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Three months, one week, and four days after Peggy disappears from their Upper East Side mansion with only a brief note left behind, Angie Martinelli lands her first role on Broadway.
It isn’t anything major, a member of the chorus and understudy to the main supporting actress, but it’s a role on Broadway, and Angie knows in the back of her mind that this is where she’s going to get her big break. She’d squealed in delight when the casting director called her, loud enough that it echoes through the halls of the mansion, and the vague reminder of her loneliness was enough to sober Angie up just in time to hear him relay the rehearsal schedule. Angie knows that she should go and tell someone of her success; ring up her parents and brag about how she doesn’t need secretary school anymore, pop by the Griffith unannounced and let Carole and Mary and Gloria take her out for celebratory dancing and drinks, but as she hangs up the phone and sinks to the floor with her heart in her throat she wishes that Peggy, just Peggy, was here to share in her triumph.
It helps, the rehearsing.
The days stretch for 8, 9, 10, sometimes 11 hours on the days when half the cast is hungover or distracted, and it helps Angie with keeping her days free of missing Peggy, or Mr Fancy and his cooking, or Mrs Fancy and how she was always ready and willing to go walking or dancing with Angie. It also helps her avoid Howard, who had started turning up at the mansion unannounced (something about wanting to bring Angie to Los Angeles to join his ‘film studio’, which she believes for less than a second before flinging a frying pan at him).
She keeps trying to tell herself that it’s helping that she’s distracted, that she’s working hard, that she’s making friends in the right places and climbing up the Broadway ladder, but late at night when she’s about to fall asleep and she swears she hears the door opening and Peggy’s heels clicking down the hall, or when she wakes up in the morning shivering from her dreams of Peggy’s lips against her neck, her breasts, her sex, Angie knows that no amount of distraction could keep her from missing Peggy when it matters most.
As the months stretch on and her life becomes nothing but singing, dancing, and returning to the quiet mansion every night, Angie feels her life become lonelier and lonelier.
She starts keeping a diary, writing letters to Peggy of all the events she’s missed – Dear Peg, Sarah the slut got married today. All of us who got invitations were shocked. English, I’m going to be an aunt again. My sister-in-law is pregnant with twins. We think they’ll come in April. I hope they’re born on your birthday; that way I’d get to be around some part of you, even if that day only comes once a year. Most of them are mundane; detailing what happened during rehearsal (That creep in the back line groped my ass again. I think I accidentally broke his toes in response), or the weather (English, today was almost the perfect day. The humidity was gone, the sun was shining, and a breeze was blowing. The director let us out early today so we could enjoy it, and I walked through all of Central Park. The only thing that would have made it absolutely perfect if you had been with me).
And then there is that one entry, written on the five-month anniversary of Peggy’s disappearance when she is so consumed by her ennui that even the lead actress asks if she’s feeling okay, where she pours her heart and soul out onto the little pages of her journal:
Peggy,
You’ve been gone for so long now that I almost feel like our whole friendship was nothing but a dream. I know it wasn’t, given that I’m still living in the mansion. I haven’t gone into your room since the day you left. I can’t bear to go in there. It might make me lose my mind, if your sheets are still rumpled from how you woke up or if I held your pillow and it stills smells like you.
Rehearsals have been going fine, though I’ve been feeling off more often than not. Maybe it’s because I’m starting to realize that you’re never coming back, or maybe it’s because the days are becoming more insane because the show is opening in two weeks - rehearsals have been upped to 12 hours a day, plus previews. That’s as far as they’re allowed to go, though when I come home I still practise my dancing. I know I should be smart and save my energy for when I really need it, but it helps wear me out. It helps me avoid the nights when I stay awake and worry about you.
It hurts, Peggy. It’s been five months and I still feel like it was yesterday. I know you’re secretive, and I know you can’t tell me about your work because you’re scared I’ll be in danger, but I just wish you’d come back. I want to wake up one day to find you sitting at our table eating breakfast like nothing has changed, or see you limp through the front door with bruises on your body and a head full of stories. I don't care how it happens, or when; I just want to see you again.
God, what is wrong with me? This is worse than the time I found out my best friend Carlotta was dating that jerk from the football team, and I moped for weeks on end until he got her pregnant and she had to “visit family” for nine months. Serves her right, too. I guess some people would attribute it to my monthlies coming, or the stress of the show, but the reality is that letting you go has been one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. I know a gal like me would never have a chance with someone as perfect as you, but I went and let myself fall in love with ya anyways.
Wow, there it is, somewhere other than my head for the first time. But it’s true. I love you. I’ve loved ya since the moment you walked into the L&L on that rainy day and ordered a hot Earl Grey with two scoops of sugar, and I’ve been in love with you ever since. That’s what makes this so much harder. If I’d just seen you as a friend, I don’t think I’d be taking it as hard, but I see you as more than that. I know you’d roll your eyes if you ever read this, but you’re my sunlight on bad days, and the sun is now gone. So I just have to keep surviving in the dark until you come back, or I’ll just have to learn to live in the darkness.
My eyes are starting to blur. I guess I’ll finish this tomorrow. But I can’t put this down tonight without saying that I love you one last time. I love you, Peggy Carter. I think I always will.
Try as she might, Angie could never bring herself to finish that particular entry.
Opening night is finally upon them, and the girl playing the role she understudies for turns up with a head cold.
Angie almost comes down with a case of nerves when the director tells her and when she hears them make the announcement over the loudspeakers (“Tonight, the role of Susan the Silent will be played by Angela Martinelli,” would be enough to make any newbie break down), but when she hears Peggy’s voice in the back of her head saying I can’t picture you as anything else, you’re an amazing actress, she swallows them down. She doesn’t stop moving from that second, dancing and singing her little heart out to the cheers and applause of their full house, and Angie is bursting with energy as she sprints back to her little dressing table so she can get out of her makeup and meet her family at the stage door.
When she sees the single red rose on her chair, Angie stops for the first time since she walked into the theatre that night.
The other girls ooh and ah over the flower, teasing Angie about who her secret admirer is, Angie teases them back in response and says it’s probably one of her brothers pulling a stupid prank, like they always do. But even after the rest of the theatre clears out and she’s the one left standing there with the rose, even after she’s walking towards the local diner with her family, she’s still hoping the rose is a sign her Peggy has come back.
Angie’s heart stops all over again when she stumbles into the mansion later that night and sees a familiar pair of blue T-strap pumps haphazardly strewn across the hallway. The sound of the sink running in the kitchen brings her back to reality, and she can’t take off her coat and shoes fast enough before sprinting down the hallway, clutching the rose so hard she almost snaps the stem in half.
She gasps when she sees the pie and schnapps sitting on the counter, and she knows her eyes have bugged out of her head when she turns and sees Peggy nonchalantly washing her hands, as if she never left. She turns and smiles at Angie, drying her hands off and walking towards her.
“Hello, my darling,” she says when she’s gotten so close that Angie swears she can see every new line on Peggy’s face, and how on Earth did she get that scar across her nose?! “You were utterly wonderful tonight, I always knew you were born for the stage. I’m glad you got your rose; I practically had to threaten one of the stagehands so I could get it to you. I’m sorry I couldn’t greet you after the show. You looked like you were busy with your family, so I figured we could have our own little celebration here.” Peggy smiles again, warm and proud and loving, and it makes all of the worries and sleepless nights and grief she had felt over Peggy’s leaving bubble back up into her chest.
So Angie does what any practically jilted lover would do; hauls off and slaps Peggy right across the face.
“How DARE you!” she yells, and feels a bit smug as Peggy turns back to her and looks appropriately stunned, “You disappear one morning, with nothing but a note that says ‘I’m sorry, I have to go, I don’t know when I’ll return’, and you think you can just come back one night and magically make things okay?!”
"Angie, I-“ Peggy starts, but Angie cuts her off before she can continue. “Don’t ‘Angie, I’ me, Margaret Carter! You’ve been gone for almost six months. Six months! I’ve been living in this mansion by myself for half a friggin’ year because you and The Fancies off and disappeared without even bothering to let me know where the hell you were going. And during that time, I’ve had to deal with Howard doing the work of every sleazebag in the city. I ruined my best pan having to chase him off.” Peggy smiles slightly at that, and six months ago Angie would have grinned in response, but anger and rage and heartache are bursting out of her chest, so she continues to rant instead. “Do you know how worried sick I’ve been about you? How many nights I’ve stayed up thinking that you’re hurt or dead or worse? How I worried over the fact that I did something to make you leave, or because you’ve figured out what’s wrong with me and couldn’t bear to live with a queer, or…just…something, but I haven’t slept or ate properly in six months and one night of pie and schnapps and roses ain’t gonna fix any of that.”
Peggy’s looking at her as if she’s seeing her in bright lights for the first time, and Angie’s heart leaps into her throat when she realizes what she blurted out. Shit, she thinks, now I’ve driven her off for good, and hopes the Griffith is either under new management or Fry has managed to forgive her and Peggy for ruining the Griffith’s ‘pristine reputation’, because her old room is looking like a mighty fine option.
“Angie, you’re right,” Peggy responds after what feels like hours, “I deserved that slap, and I deserve what you said. I am so sorry I had to leave on such short notice, and I’m sorry I couldn’t give you more of an explanation. I know that this can’t even begin to cover an apology to you, but I hope it can be a start. And I will sit you down and explain everything. It won’t happen tonight, or in one night, but I can assure you it will happen.” Angie nods dumbly, simply staring at Peggy, and almost jumps into the air as she feel the other woman wrap her arms around her waist and pull her closer.
“And for the record,” Peggy continues, so close to Angie that she can feel Peggy’s breath on her lips, “I find your being queer one of the most appealing things about you.” To Angie, time slows when she says those words, and it completely stops when Peggy leans in and kisses her boldly on the mouth. Angie is so stunned she can barely respond at first, thinks oh my god she’s kissing me and oh my god her lips are so soft, and when Peggy pulls away from her with a disappointed look she whimpers and frantically tugs her back, their lips crashing roughly. Angie never thought she’d be the kind of girl to get a big damn kiss like at the end of movies, but this sure as hell feels like one, Peggy’s curves crushed to hers and her hands in Peggy’s soft hair and Peggy's tongue slowly passing between her lips and licking at her teeth, and Angie about feels like she can swoon when they break for air, pressing her forehead against Peggy's.
“You’ve got a lot of apologizing to do, English, and those kisses can be the start,” she says breathlessly, and Peggy laughs, crushing their lips back together and stumbling down the hallway to her old bedroom.
Later that night, curled up against Peggy’s chest, Angie finally has a sound sleep.