Author’s Assortment #7 – Batman: First Person Bat Pt. 4

Posted: December 29, 2018 in Uncategorized

By G.N. Jacobs

With the tenth cell phone flash blasting in her eyes, Selina learned why certain Hollywood celebrities had become famous for wearing sunglasses indoors. Alfred noticed her discomfort and found a nice set with indoor/outdoor polarization that mostly matched the dress and borrowed handbag. She kissed the fatherly man on the cheek for being the sort of man to think ten chess moves ahead. She would ask if someone had built inter-dimensional pockets into the gray three-piece suit.

FLASH! BWEE! Things got even more blindingly serious now that the photographers that could afford digital SLRs and high power light bars shouldered their way to the edge of the red carpet. Angling the flash to prevent red eye only slightly helped Selina’s flash blindness. And the recharging tone…FLASH! BWEEE!

“Ms. Kyle!”

Selina blew past this reporter expressing a grim set to her jaw. FLASH! BWEE! FLASH! FLASH!

“Mrs. Wayne!”

This one got a turned head.

“What did you wear to your…”

“White,” Selina said with a smile that covered the curtness.

“Where is…”

“Home with a busted leg from the ski trip,” Selina answered. “Playing first person shooters, like every other teenager home sick.”

The next reporter, a young stringer wearing a HALO 4 T-shirt under her big girl black coat, pinched somebody’s arm to ask – “which ones?” Selina chuckled a bit and pointed respectfully to the young lady and launched into five minutes on the many varieties of first person shooter. The reporter seemed about to ask if Selina played herself as her spiel suggested, but the needs to know more about her purple dress pushed the reporter aside.

The flashes receded as soon as the guest sat for the expensive but ultimately indifferently cooked Chicken Marsala. Selina sipped the disappointing chardonnay and tried to pretend the people at her table weren’t boring. And then she stood up to speak in place of Bruce retelling his jokes about music lessons adroitly sidestepping the social climbing elephant in the room.

Upon hearing that the professional auctioneer had wrapped his Uber around a telephone pole just a few blocks away, Selina kept the microphone and played up her inner auctioneer. Surprisingly, the swag offered by the rest of Gotham’s one-percenters and a few of the ten-percenters there as plus ones proved interesting. She watched faces and guessed that even among people who would never starve before the complete destruction of the American economy that covetousness ruled the day. Yes, they could buy another item like it, but they wanted the one on the block.

Through it all, Selina couldn’t hide the shivers at the podium. The reporters noticed and commented in their copy attributing it to her first time speaking and trying to save the dinner and auction. She wouldn’t tell anyone about her hidden past conflicting with the stormy present, where she typically attended such things in her alter ego as Catwoman…and usually robbed the place blind. Still, it made for jumpy nerves barely contained by the wine expecting someone else to visit.

The ride back to the manor made use of a sweet spot in the traffic out to the Gotham Heights exurbs where the one percent had built stately manors with impressive views of the city and sea…and soaked up all the winter sun possible in these climes. Alfred shifted the mirror to look at his de facto daughter in law still radiant in her purple. Selina smiled but still searched the sparse vehicle lights on the highway looking for some kind of meaning that wouldn’t translate into conversation.

“Holy Hell, Alfred!” Selina said breathing out explosively. “I thought I knew what…”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Alfred said.

“Ma’am? I’m too young.”

“But very married, Ma’am.”

“Funny,” Selina replied. “I thought I knew about all this watching Bruce work. And he delegated where he could, I see that now.”

“Proof that wearing the shoes is still different from standing next to the person that does, Ma’am,” Alfred said. “It will be a small part of your overall adjustment from Ms. Kyle to Mrs. Wayne or variation of the above.”

“I thought I knew that too, Alfred,” Selina said.

“Yes and no, Ms. Selina,” Alfred said evenly as he made a lane change. “Your marriage has been twenty years coming. You’ve kissed and flirted but you never got to do normal relationship things like go to prom or chat at the keg at university. The two of you know more about your costumed personas than you do the people inside. That too will take time.”

“I suppose,” Selina said.

“Which brings us diagonally to the nerves you displayed handling the auction,” Alfred probed. “It seemed more than doing something unplanned to save the evening.”

“I kept expecting certain people to show up,” Selina admitted. “Like the old days.”

Alfred whistled his appreciation. “Ms. Selina that is a rare problem. Though for most of your…old friends I think the preponderance of zircons and the handling of the proceeds by check, credit card and cell phone data kept most of them away.”

“It’s the guys that would show up for the chaos of it all while bringing card rippers sewn into wait staff coats that worry me,” Selina said curling up lips. “The jerkoffs that would always go too far and then I typically burned them.”

“I noticed that over the years, Ms. Selina,” Alfred said. “You’re a lady and my daughter for all intents and purposes so I won’t ask.”

“Lady?”

“Yes, in all the ways that matter.”

“How sweet,” Selina said. “Please tell me there’s at least the glimmer of a middle-aged possible Mrs. Pennyworth. You’re wasted on just being Bruce’s batman.”

“Now, who’s being kind?”

“Anyway, you didn’t want to ask and I thank you,” Selina said. “The answer is that I teased my old friends with not being a lady on just enough occasions to get them to chill out. That and throwing certain other loot their way to say sorry goes a long way.”

“And now that you’ve overtly changed sides…ish to stand up for the downtrodden?”

“I think they’d show up to any event I’m in a nice dress playing society wife, just to see me cry,” Selina said shivering at the thought. “Bringing us full circle to the deal at the podium.”

“You have more resources now, Ms. Selina,” Alfred said. “It is good to be Queen of Gotham.”

“So it seems.”

“And as a personal aside, your work on the fourth rubber chicken event you helped liven up always struck me as your most artistic work,” Alfred added.

“Nice thing to say,” Selina said. “Now get us home, please. I have lots of zombies to slay with Bruce.”

The limo proved easy to follow on the nearly empty highway out to the Heights. The black stretch moved rapidly at the sweet spot between the speed to get home and the probable tolerance of the Gotham City Police Department. A small drone kept the car squarely in view, just in case.

Burt Weston tried to remember things as he drove. Was he really Burt Weston? Who was Edison? Both people seemed to like movies to the exclusion of everything else and following the fashionable lady with a husband home with a broken leg scratched an itch called Rear Window. The problem was that nothing about the Wayne Manor lent itself to voyeurism upon the neighbors. Tomorrow’s problem, he thought making a lane change to be less obvious about the tail.

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