The TV droned on endlessly about battles in the government, battles in countries around the world, and courtroom battles that seemed to increase in ridiculous numbers every day. Stan had finally won out, in spite of the sandwich, and Charlie had gone home – or what he fatuously called the miserable hotel room he occupied.

He patiently scrolled through the channels and finally settled on an old movie already part way through. He sipped his drink and yawned, lifting his feet up onto the scarred coffee table.

As he watched, the film went to commercial, and when it returned he saw the title was Fatal Attraction and the irony of the plot had him quickly hunting for another program, as once again images of his past indiscretions paraded through his mind. He shut off the TV and picked up a magazine, flipping through and stopping to read anything. Anything that would flush his mind.

Angie's teary face bloomed like a firework display in front of his face, her agonizing sadness slicing through his gut. He hurled the magazine across the room and sat up, clutching his head.

"Oh, Jesus, Angie- I'm so sorry. I was stupid, thoughtless and ignorant. I didn't see what I had, always looking for more – elsewhere." His self recriminations left him drained and shaking his head. "If only I could talk to you. Tell you what I know now about what I was – apologize – for what it's worth."

He couldn't stop thinking about it. Bury it. Clear his head. Scenes kept popping up. Scraps of dialogue, mostly his lies and her disappointment. How could you do that to her, blatant lies and total disregard for her feelings . . . for her very existence? His eyes fell on his phone and he blinked a few times as he looked at it. Could he dare to try again? Just to tell her how sorry he was. Would she listen?

He paced around, looking at it like it might bite, stopping, staring, and pacing again. Finally he picked it up and hefted it in his hand as though the weight would make his decision. Sucking in a lungful of air, he hit the call button.

"Hello?"

Charlie hesitated.
"Hello?"

"Angie?" The silence went on seemingly forever. "Angie, it's Charlie . . ."

"Why are you doing this, Charlie?" Her voice was low and very stressed.

She didn't hang up! He wet his lips. "Angie, I wanted to tell you, I know now I was so very wrong. I know I hurt you, and I'm so sorry." He sat on the arm of the sofa and concentrated on listening. "I wanted to tell you this face to face, but regardless, I had to tell you."

"What do you want from me, Charlie, forgiveness? Will that stop you from bothering me anymore?"

"No, Angie. I just wanted you to know that none of what happened was your fault, in any way. I was- I was--"

"A bastard, I know already."

"Okay. You're right. But believe me, Angie, I'm truly sorry for everything I did and the misery I caused you – and thank you for letting me say it."

"Goodbye, Charlie."

The call ended, and he sat with the phone to his ear, staring at the wall.

***

"You stayed on the line!" The surprised reaction made Angela sigh as she faced her friend from the office.

"I figured if I let him say his piece, that would be the end of it."

"Babe, your voice and your words don't match."

"Carol—"

"I know, I know . . . you think it's over."

"It is over – darn you."

"I don't hear a fat lady singing."

"That's a little misogynistic don't you think."

"Whatever. Makes my point." She forked in some of her lunch salad.

"He really sounded defeated, Carol. He hasn't worked since, and he's pretty well lost all his so-called friends."

"You're feeling sorry for him Angie." She sucked her teeth and carried on with her salad.

Later, at her desk, Angie pondered her friend's comments, finding them sticking in her thoughts persistently. Was she softening her stance? Had listening to the unfamiliar tone of his voice struck some long buried chord? She finished the day, pushing back the errant thoughts related to Charlie, but on her way home they came flooding back.