Angel on the Stage

"I'll go get ya a vase fer these from Michael's dressing room, Love. He's got some he ain't never used." Less than a minute later, Bertie returned with a large, rather dusty pink ceramic vase. After wiping it off and adding water, Angel filled it with the flowers from George Box. They were beautiful, a deep red, interspersed with bright green leaves and having the appearance of being covered with dew.

"The bloke what sent these wants ta know if he can come back and see ya. I tole 'im he'd hafta wait until I talked ta ya."

"By all means, Bertie, send him back here." Angel thought she knew who he was and fervently hoped she was right.

She was. Standing in her doorway, she saw Bertie usher Mr. Box backstage and point him in her direction. As he approached her, Angel was very glad to see that he was tall, well over six feet, and he looked even more handsome in the bright backstage light than he had inside the club. Height was important to her because, even though nearly six feet tall herself, she liked to look up at men when they were hugging or dancing or...other things. Angel was surprised that such a frankly sexual thought was even passing through her mind about the man. Her surprise wasn't great, however. Even though she had never even spoken to him, and had just learned his name, her thoughts had been on him all night, and had gone from attraction to sexual fantasizing.

"Hello, George," she greeted him, offering her hand. "Thanks for the flowers. They're beautiful."

"No more beautiful than you are, Angel." George shook the hand she offered and she invited him into her dressing room, leaving the door open. Although she found him very attractive and had been having extremely pleasant and erotic thoughts of him all night, Angel didn't actually know anything about Mr. Box, and wanted to take no chances on his being some kind of creepy pervert. She sat on the chair by her dressing table and he moved the only other chair closer so he could sit directly in front of her.