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When it comes down to it, it’s Irving Berlin’s fault.
A month after they move into Howard’s second smallest mansion, Peggy arrives home from work to be greeted by Angie running into the foyer so fast that she skids nearly three feet before coming to a stop in front of Peggy.
“You’ll never believe it, English!” Angie is bouncing on the balls of her feet, eyes wide with glee.
Peggy can’t help but smile. “Well I can’t even try if you don’t tell me.”
“I got a part!” Angie lets out a little shriek of glee and Peggy’s smile widens.
“Oh, Angie. That’s wonderful,” Peggy says.
Angie giggles. “I just got the call, and here’s the best part!” She pauses, and stares at Peggy, drawing in a breath and holding it.
“Yes?”
“Ethel Merman’s the star!” Angie starts jumping up and down and before Peggy can react, flings her arms around Peggy’s neck. “I’m gonna sing and dance next to Ethel Merman, English! This could be my big break!”
Angie releases Peggy as abruptly as she embraced her, eyes sparkling. “I gotta go call my ma!” She bounds off, leaving a slightly stunned but happy Peggy in the foyer.
~~~~~~~~~
Things don’t get any less frantic from there. In under a week, Angie has managed to conscript Peggy into helping her move all the furniture to the corners of the smaller sitting room. She gathers every mirror in the house except for the ones at their vanities and places them strategically along a wall. During the day, she attends rehearsals and in the evenings, she can be found in her makeshift studio, muttering counts to herself and tapping away on the hardwood floors. Peggy fast becomes accustomed to tuning her out, since putting on records distracts Angie from the music she’s supposed to be dancing to.
One evening, Peggy is curled up in the corner of the davenport, skimming over a well-worn copy of an Agatha Christie novel. There is a loud thud, and the doors of the dance studio fly open. Angie drags herself over to where Peggy is sitting and flops dramatically into the seat next to her.
“Whoo boy, English. My feet are about to fall off, I’m so worn out.” She bends over and slips her tap shoes off, letting them fall, metal and leather clattering against the floorboards.
Peggy smiles fondly as she looks at Angie. Her hair is wrapped up in a bright blue scarf, pinned to keep the curls from escaping. Her cheeks are pink from exertion, and despite her declaration of exhaustion, her eyes are bright with joy.
“Well then,” Peggy says authoritatively, “You’ll just have to put them up so they don’t. We can’t have you missing rehearsal tomorrow because you have no feet.”
“Great idea, Pegs!” Angie turns in her seat, swinging her legs up and crossing her ankles over the arm of the davenport. Before Peggy can react, she plops her head into Peggy’s lap, pulling her scarf off and letting her curls tumble across the fabric of Peggy’s dressing gown.
“It does the trick, but having my hair up all day like that sure does make my head itch,” she says.
Instinctively, Peggy moves her hand to rake through Angie’s hair, long red nails scratching lightly against the other woman’s scalp. Angie lets out a contented little sigh and squirms, settling herself more firmly in Peggy’s lap. They sit that way for a moment, Peggy’s book and the pain of Angie’s feet forgotten. Then Angie begins to hum.
“What’s that song, Ang?” Peggy asks, still scratching gently.
Angie smiles. “It’s from the show. Ethel sings it. You should hear her, Pegs. The lungs on her!” There's a pause and Angie’s smile gets wider. “Come to think of it, that song reminds me a little of you.”
“How so?”
“It’s called ‘You Can’t Get a Man With a Gun’,” Angie says. When she feels Peggy’s hand still momentarily, her eyes get bigger. “Oh, sorry, Pegs! I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that the main character, Annie, is this crack shot, see? And she’s top notch at what she does, but the men are just too thickheaded to see her for how wonderful she is. And I was just thinkin’ that they remind me of those men at your office.”
Peggy chuckles. “They are a bit thickheaded at times, I will admit.”
“Anyway,” Angie continues, perhaps a bit too quickly, “Even just the once that I saw you doing work things you were amazing and it’s like the song says,” she sings a line from the song. “When I’m with a pistol I sparkle like a crystal….And that’s you, see? It just looks right, you being all secret agent and daring and brave and so the song reminds me of you.” She stops, glancing up at Peggy earnestly.
“You think I...sparkle?” Peggy looks down at Angie’s still-pink cheeks and the slight furrow between her brows, waiting for Peggy’s reaction.
“Gosh, yes, English. Almost makes me want to lose enough sense to let myself get captured by some big bad mobster so you can come rescue me.” She pauses. “Almost.”
Peggy’s hand slips through Angie’s hair again, feeling the soft, slightly damp curls slide against her gun callouses. It’s then that she realizes what Angie is implying. Peggy’s cheeks feel hot and she realizes that hers will soon match Angie’s in hue. “Oh.”
Angie’s smile goes from hesitant to something on the pleasanter side of smug.
Peggy’s courage almost flees past the rich brocade drapes and out the window, but instead she says, “I’m afraid if I can’t get a man with a gun, I’ll have to find a woman.”
Angie beams. Peggy leans down gently and presses a soft kiss to Angie’s lips, still stroking the other woman’s hair.
~~~~~~~~
On opening night, Peggy is in the fifth row in a seat Angie made sure to pick especially for her. When Ethel Merman is belting out the words “I got the sun in the morning and the moon at night”, accompanied by the ensemble, Peggy can swear Angie locks eyes with her for just a moment.
Any time they tell the story, they always start with “Well, it’s all because of Irving Berlin and Ethel Merman…”