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Peggy answers the door to see Angie standing with hips cocked and a bottle of schnapps raised in greeting.
“Good morning to you too, Angie.”
“Well I heard you up and about and thought we could while away the wee hours.” Angie slides past her into the room, kicking off her shoes by the side table and searching around for glasses in the half light.
“Angie, it’s two o’clock.”
“And I have had a hell of a day, let me tell you.”
“You should be asleep.”
“No, I just got off my shift. I have cause to be in need of a stiff drink. You, on the other hand, work at the telephone company and have no good reason to be awake at this ungodly hour.” Angie holds out a glass, shakes it when Peggy gives her a dubious look.
“Angie.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask. Just sit with me, would you English? Let me tell you about my crappy day.”
Peggy sighs and takes the drink. Angie falls back onto the top of Peggy’s bed and sets about unbuttoning the neck of her uniform, drink balanced on one knee. Peggy keeps her dressing gown carefully tucked around her legs as she curls into the wall next to her. She hadn’t quite finished washing off the blood before she heard Angie’s knock.
“I thought you had morning shifts this week.”
“I do,” Angie groans. “But then Marnie’s mother had to go to the hospital for an emergency appendectomy or something so she had to stay back and look after her sister’s kids and I knew I would be in the neighbourhood after dance class, so. Lord, I can’t even feel my feet.”
“Because you worked two full shifts and went to dance.”
Angie snorts into her glass. “This might be the first time I’ve actually sat down since breakfast.”
“Angie you have to look after yourself.”
“Yeah well you’re in no position to lecture, Peg. Don’t think I haven’t seen your bruises.”
Peggy fiddles with the edge of her glass, face now drawn and weary. “I guess you wouldn’t listen to, do as I say, not as I do.”
Angie laughs and it feels like a weight has been lifted. Peggy leans back and they sit in silence for a while, sipping at their drinks.
Peggy could tell her. She could tell Angie that she betrayed her adoptive homeland for her best friend, who betrayed her for a vial of blood from the man they had both loved. A vial of blood which is now resting in the wall behind the portrait next to her vanity. She could tell Angie that these days, she fears losing her feelings for Steve more than she grieves his passing.
But then she thinks of Colleen.
Peggy knocks back the rest of the schnapps in her glass and goes to the side table for the rest of the bottle.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about.” Angie grins as Peggy climbs back onto the bed and tops up both their glasses. This time Peggy lets her gown flap and settle as it would, and she can feel Angie’s eyes trace the scars on her thighs, the dark smear of blood against her ankle. She reaches over and pulls Angie’s legs into her lap.
“English!” Angie yelps and raises her glass to keep it from spilling. “What are you doing?”
The words brim with laughter, but Angie’s cheeks are flushed and her eyes are wide. What is she doing? Peggy’s mouth is dry, and her heartbeat is a constant pressure against her throat. It had seemed like the obvious thing to do, and yet now Peggy has no idea why she did it.
When she doesn’t respond Angie pulls herself up, sets her glass aside, and leans in. Their shoulders brush together when they breathe. There’s only a hand’s breadth between their chests, their necks, their mouths. Angie’s legs are still draped across Peggy’s lap, and Peggy’s hands tremble where they skim across Angie’s calves, trying and failing to find an innocuous place to settle.
Angie’s voice is a whisper, barely more than a breath against her shoulder. “What is it?”
“Do you – well...”
Angie looks back at her, eyes wide and unassuming. Peggy tears her gaze away.
“I mean, I could give you a massage. If your legs are sore.”
“Sure. That would be great, Peg.” Angie touches Peggy's cheek, brushes a strand of hair back behind her ear with a knuckle. Then she sighs and leans back into Peggy’s pillows. She kicks up her feet so they dance on Peggy’s thigh and grins wickedly. “But if I fall asleep on you, I’m not moving.”
Peggy just nods and moves her hands, pressing her fingers into the meat of Angie’s leg and dragging down towards her ankle, careful not to let her nails scratch. Angie jerks a little at the pressure, then squirms when Peggy’s thumbs press into the tender underside of her arch.
“Jesus, you’ve got strong hands.”
“Too much?”
Angie shakes her head and reaches out, pulling at one of Peggy’s arms until she can get at her hand. She holds it in both of her own, cages it in warmth and holds it against her stomach.
“Never, Peg. Never.”