Warren looked out his office window. Distorted clouds, lit by the mid-morning sunlight, swam across the reflective paneled exteriors of the towers of Manhattan. Everything he felt about the city had changed. It was suddenly a hostile, unfamiliar place with rules he didn’t understand. His mind raced backwards, reviewing the past four hours.
He’d had no time to think. He spied a stretch of asphalt large enough to receive two falling adult males next to the bank of ambulances and fire trucks that surrounded the base of the Richard Meier building. It would have to suffice as a landing strip. From six feet above Josh Gould and the old man might well break their legs, or worse, but Candy Southern was going to cleave a crater in the middle of First Avenue if he didn’t drop them now.
“Bend your knees! I have to let you go!” Warren shouted.
In a single coordinated move, the Angel released the two men, arched upwards and caught the girl tumbling from the sky. She smacked into his arms. He was shocked when she started laughing, as if she were on a ride at an amusement park.
Helicopters with spotlights whirred overhead blocking the path above to obscurity. Angel was trapped. There was nowhere to hide. When he rescued people before – from burning high rises or bridge accidents or other perils – he’d taken cover behind a cloud of smoke or quickly left the scene before hordes of reporters arrived. He’d never found himself in the midst of a media onslaught like this. Unless he wanted to provide a video close-up of his face and Candy’s for one of the aerial camera operators, the only option was descent.
Although footage of him had appeared on the internet, in news shows, papers and magazines for almost ten months, no clear images of his physical features had emerged. And ever since his mutation first manifested in his early adolescence, all employees of the Worthington household had been carefully vetted and required to sign strict confidentiality agreements. Unlike Xavier, Jean, Ororo and several other X-Men, who had made public statements defending the rights of mutants, the Angel had remained an anonymous hero.
But he always knew the secret of his identity wouldn’t last. Drifting down holding Candy, he realized that his subconscious desire to be discovered was the reason he’d ceased wearing a mask. He’d never felt right hiding his face – he wasn’t a criminal. Forcing his father to confront reports linking the term ‘mutant’ to the Worthington name was something he’d wanted to do for years. Perhaps the moment had come.
Candy seemed aware of his dilemma. A searching beam from one of the circling choppers lit up her large eyes.
“This is the second time you’ve rescued me, isn’t it? I knew you had to be the Angel. Guess it’s time to come out of the tower.”
They sank into a sea of video lights and camera flashes. A thin strip of yellow and black police tape guarded by a small complement of officers was all that separated Warren, Candy, the wounded victims, and the emergency workers from the swelling throng of spectators and press.
The moment his feet hit the ground, Warren felt an instinctual urge to leave Candy and return to the sky, despite the presence of the airborne media; but he needed to find out if Josh and Mr. Heifitz were all right. He squinted as multiple camera crews aimed their lights at his head. The reporters shouted questions over the din of screaming sirens coming from the rescue vehicles and police cars.
“Why did you save the men first?”
“Angel, tell us your real name!”
“Are you with the X-Men?”
There was too much noise. Warren was confused. Candy took his hand.
“Just ignore them. Come on, Josh is this way.”
Two paramedics were preparing to load Josh Gould into an ambulance. Candy and Warren rushed to the truck.
“Josh! What happened to you?” Southern called to her friend.
“I only fractured my collar bone. I’m fine, really,” Josh answered, while the emergency workers raised his stretcher.
“Where’s Mr. Heifitz?” Warren asked.
“They got him in the van already. He broke his legs...” Josh paused, noticing Angel’s pained reaction. “Warren, I owe you my life. You saved us all.”
One of the EMTs climbed inside after Gould and closed up the rear of the ambulance. The other approached Candy.
“You should get checked out, Miss. There’s another ambulance over there.” The medical technician pointed out an emergency crew tending to a policeman who’d been hit by falling debris. “We’d take you but it’s full in there now.” The rescue worker directed his words solely at Southern; he avoided eye contact with the mutant.
“There’s nothing wrong with me,” Candy responded. “Which hospital are you going to?”
“Metropolitan. Are you family?”
“No. We’re very close friends. All of us are, in fact.” She looked at Warren.
“Well, they won’t let you in until visiting hours then.” The EMT entered the passenger side of the vehicle. “Nine a.m.,” he said and shut the door.
Standing beside Southern, Angel watched the ambulance drive off. If he’d gone directly to the site of the crane collapse instead of wasting time searching for Jean, Josh and Mr. Heifitz wouldn’t be going to the hospital with shattered bones, he thought. Jean Grey didn’t need him and probably didn’t want him. Two people were suffering because he’d flown off chasing a dream.
“Well, I’m headed downtown,” said Candy, bringing him back to the present.
“What? Wasn’t that your apartment? Where are you going to sleep? You look like you haven’t gone to bed yet.” Warren glanced at her cerulean chiffon evening gown.
“Josh and I were out – at one of Fiona Sachler’s parties. Do you remember her? Well, they always go late… He came up to talk about his new boyfriend. They’re having problems, Josh doesn’t want to commit, you know, give the guy keys to the brownstone, etcetera…”
“Do you want to stay with me? Until visiting hours start at the hospital? I’ve got five bedrooms on my floor in the Tower no one ever uses.” Warren hoped his offer didn’t sound like a proposition.
“Stay in the Tower… It’s funny. I always pictured you living up there. Well, honestly, I don’t have my handbag or anything. So I was going to have to ask you for a lift anyway…and I’d love to see the place after all these years.”
Candy slid her arm around Warren’s neck.
“You’re okay with flying after that fall?” he asked.
“If anything happens, I know you’ll catch me.”
He swept up her legs and rose into the air. He remembered the feel of her body. It might have been merely the adrenaline pumping though his bloodstream, but she didn’t seem heavy at all. She felt just right.
The news choppers had dispersed. The skies might be clear for the four minute flight fifty-four blocks south to 500 Fifth Avenue. Candy was tense at first, but as they soared above the skyscrapers she relaxed. Warren sensed her eyes on his face during their spiral descent to the glass rooftop of the Worthington Tower.
With a quick motion of his wrist, he triggered an eighteen-foot wide opening in the transparent surface. Sailing downward through the aperture, he resisted returning her gaze. If he looked at Candy right now he’d have to kiss her.
He kept his focus on the multicolored skylight a hundred feet below. The red-haired angel glowed in the darkness, floating in her circular encasement, marking the way to the interior of the building. The translucent beauty approved of his restraint. Then, as her painted visage grew closer, her expression appeared to change. The curve of her garnet mouth sharpened. Was she mocking him?
Candy’s lips weren’t made of crystal; they were soft and real and she was lying in his arms. While they hovered a few yards above the skylight, Warren turned his head to meet Southern’s big, dark eyes.
Suddenly a harsh whiteness bleached out her face. The slicing rhythm of power-driven rotors churning in the air blasted his ears. He spun around to confront the intruders, swinging Candy out of the glare. It was one of the news choppers. Behind the spotlight, a cameraman leaned out of the aircraft to get a better angle.
Worthington immediately used the wristband to close the hole in the roof. But the helicopter did not retreat. The video crew continued recording them through the glass. Still holding Candy, he remotely activated the stained glass window. It moved aside. After they were safely within his office, the sixteen-foot circle slid back into position over their heads. The chopper finally departed. Yet, even as he heard the sound of the propeller fading away, Angel dreaded the coptor’s return.
He set Candy down on the Brazilian Walnut and Red Oak inlaid floor. Her stiletto heels clicked on the polished wood. She touched his chest.
“Warren, it’s all right. They’re gone. No one is watching us anymore,” she said, looking up at him.
“They practically broke in… What do they want?” Warren shook his head.
“They want a story.”
“I bet I know what story it’ll be. My father’s not going to like it.” Warren stretched out his wings and sat down on the silk-upholstered divan that was centered underneath the skylight.
Candy joined him on the couch. “I know it’s been a long time, but as I recall, you don’t particularly like your father.”
“We see the world differently. He wants me to be someone I’m not.”
“Don’t your parents know about ‘the Angel?’ They must’ve come across something in the news.”
“We have an unspoken agreement. They ignore my activities, as long as the family name doesn’t show up next to a shot of a mutant.”
“But this was bound to happen, Warren, sooner or later. Did you really think you could keep your identity from the press indefinitely?”
“You’re right. I should’ve planned for it, somehow. I guess I never really thought it through - I just started doing things, helping people…”
“Well, beginning today, the people you help will know who to thank. And maybe your dad will get a better idea of who his son is.”
Warren rose to his feet. “Let me show you your room,” he said, moving towards the east exit.
Candy followed him out of the office into the ornate hallway that comprised the east corridor. The black walnut lines in the floor spread to the walls where they bordered blocks of red chevrons. Warren pointed to the door on his right.
“This is the Blue Room, next is the Gold Room and the one after that is the Rose Room. The Green Room is at the end of hall. And on your left, partway down, is the Burgundy Room.”
“This is totally different from what I remember. These bedrooms weren’t here.”
“They were executive offices. After Father’s new building on Columbus Circle was completed, my parents converted this floor into a residence. So we’d be closer to my doctors.”
“Well, I have to give your father credit for that place on the Circle. It’s amazing, especially the lobby - those sound sculptures and the inverted waterfall…”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been inside.”
An uncomfortable silence trailed Warren’s statement. Candy fingered the globe-like crystal knob of the nearest door on her left.
“What color is this room?” she asked.
“That’s my bedroom. It’s mostly gray. I’m going to stop sleeping in there though. The ceilings aren’t high enough.”
“What? You aren’t twenty feet tall, Warren.”
“I scraped my nose…while I was dreaming. I suppose I was flying while unconscious.”
“Oh, that’s how you got that cut.” She let go of the knob. “I was so worried I’d slashed you with my heel when you caught me. Well, guess I’ll take the Burgundy Room. Oh wait. Do you have an extra set of pajamas? This outfit is a little restrictive…” Southern adjusted a dress strap that had fallen off her shoulder.
“There’re several things in the closet. My mother used to like that room.”
“I’d rather not wear one of your mom’s nightgowns. I could just borrow one of your t-shirts or something.”
“I don’t own any t-shirts. I can’t wear them. I think you’d find the shirts I do have a little strange.” He flexed his wings.
“Forgive me. I’m such an idiot.” Candy walked down the hall to the Burgundy Room.
“Don’t worry about it, please,” he said. Candy paused by the door. “You know my mom never wore any of that stuff. Bergdorf’s just delivered everything so the room would be ready, if she ever decided to drop in. And she hasn’t.”
Candy looked back at him and smiled. “I’ll see you in a few hours, thanks for saving my life.”
Angel lowered his sight from the mirrored sides of the skyscrapers to the intersection of Fifth Avenue and 42nd Street sixty stories below his apartment. It was 9 a.m. and a crowd, six, maybe eight layers deep encircled the building. Hundreds of gleaming telephoto lenses jostled for inches of sidewalk.
Nearly eighty private security agents blocked access to the main lobby and other entrances. As soon as Viktor saw what was developing, he’d called in dozens of extra personnel. These guys were professionals; they weren’t letting anyone in. The Worthington Tower had become an armed fortress. Warren knew his life would never be the same.
He wanted to go away. He wished he was back in the mountain cavern over the Pacific Ocean, where he’d taken refuge after Charles Xavier expelled him from the Institute. His only companions for days had been tundra swans and the occasional albatross. He remembered waking up on the cold dry earth hearing Jean’s voice in his head. A crackling blurt suspended his thoughts. It was Viktor on the intercom.
“Mister Worthington…”
“Yes, Viktor?”
“A request has come through to security.”
“What is it?”
“It is Barneys New York. They say they are making a delivery to a Miss Candy Southern on the 60th Floor.”
“Yeah, it’s okay. You can send up the packages.”
“There are also two young ladies who say they are Ms. Southern’s personal wardrobe coordinator and an assistant.”
“No people, Viktor.”
Warren returned his attention to the masses gathering outside. He watched two ridiculously fashionable girls stomp through the throng and scuttle into a cab. A minute later, the click of vintage Manolo Blahnik stiletto pumps accompanied by the swish of silk pants announced the arrival of his guest. Candy, wearing burgundy pajamas from Bergdorf’s, joined him at the window. She patted his shoulder.
“Don’t worry. It won’t always be this bad. They’ll be chasing a new mutant next week.”
She left him and strolled to the small sunlit table where tea and coffee and scones had been laid out. She poured coffee from the engraved silver server into one of the china cups. The porcelain was emblazoned with the red and black Worthington insignia. Stirring in sugar with a teaspoon, she began touring the space.
“When I first came here, we were in what, eighth grade?” she asked.
“Sounds right.” Warren turned away from monitoring the gawkers and cameras on the street and crossed to her side.
“Daddy didn’t have time to drive me back to Lindsley, so he dropped me off here, to get a ride with you and your lovely parents. There were these mats here…” Candy pointed out a portion of the floor.
“Japanese cushions.”
“Yeah. And we had to sit, in like total silence while your dad finished his work.”
“I remember.”
“You were in so much pain.” Candy scraped the bottom of her coffee cup with her spoon. “You’d just had one of your operations so you couldn’t lean against the car seats without it hurting a lot. And your father kept telling you to sit back like you were supposed to.”
“He’s never cared how I felt, about anything.” Warren followed her to the middle of the chamber.
“I can’t believe this was his old executive suite.”
“I’ve made a lot of changes.”
Candy stopped next to the divan and looked up at the stained glass window. “I saw this when you brought me in. Was it installed recently?”
“No. It was always here. My dad disliked my grandfather’s taste. He covered it over, as well as the mahogany coffering and the paneled walls. I restored all the fixtures…”
“Do you know who did this?” she interrupted.
“You mean the artist? I don’t actually. Do you?”
“It’s gotta be Alphonse Czerny.”
“Who was he?”
“One of the greatest decorative artists of the twentieth century. This must be one of his last pieces. He left the States in 1934. No one else did this kind of work.” Candy was transfixed. “The red headed angel, that’s Rosalind Grey.”
Warren’s stomach jumped like he was in free fall. “Who?”
“Rosalind Grey. Czerny’s favorite model. She was a Martha Graham dancer and became kind of an ‘it’ girl in the art scene in the early thirties. Didn’t stick around long though. She disappeared around the same time Alphonse left the country. She must have had something going on with your granddad...”
“How could you possibly know that?”
“Well, I’ve never seen her nude before. Close, you know, see-thru drapery, but never totally naked. I doubt she would have taken it all off for just anybody. And this was his private office, right?”
Viktor’s flanged syllables popped from the intercom speaker. “Miss Southern’s packages are waiting for her in the Burgundy Room. Security had to inspect them. Apologies for the delay.”
Candy sauntered back to the tea set-up and put down her cup. “I hope those rent-a-cop boys enjoyed the lace panties I ordered.”
“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t know they were going to rifle through those bags.”
“Oh, I don’t care. But I better go put on something so you and I can visit Josh at the hospital.” Candy brushed one of his wings on her way to the exit.
“I can’t go. It’d be a madhouse,” he said as she passed him.
Southern stood in the doorway. “I understand. I’ll tell him and Mr. Heifitz you send your best.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have a rough time getting out of here. When Viktor drives the car out of the garage you guys will probably have to run over several photographers.”
“That’s okay, I don’t need a ride. I think I’ll stop by my bank on 43rd and the subway’s right there.”
“But those people will tear you apart…”
“I’ll be fine. I know how to deal with the press.” Candy rested her hand on the door handle. “I’m one of them. I’m a reporter for New York Magazine.”
“Oh…” Warren’s brow became knotted.
“I hope we can still be friends.”
“Of course. I’m a little freaked out by everything, that’s all.”
“One more thing, you can tell Viktor to deliver the clothes from Barneys to my loft in Tribeca, since I’ll be staying downtown for the foreseeable future.”
“I thought it was a little weird you having an apartment on the Upper East Side. What’s the address?”
“It’s my dad’s old place. 10 White Street, top floor.”
The death of Jarret Southern had been a major news item some months ago. “I’m sorry you lost him.” Warren tried to sound sympathetic.
“I’m not. I got his money and that’s all he ever gave me anyway. Thanks for the hospitality.” Candy winked at him. “See you around.”