by Ben Bequer
“I’m so sorry about that,” he said, smoothing my ruffled coat. I was wearing blue jeans, dress shoes, a polo, and a blue blazer. Yes, my girlfriend dressed me. The look wasn’t really my style, but I needed to be presentable for the big meeting.
“Are you okay?” Apogee said, giving me a once over once the doorman was done.
“Fine,” I said. My leg was sore from calf to hip, a low throbbing pain that tugged at my attention. The faster we got upstairs, the sooner we could avoid the screaming crowd outside.
“I’ve already called the police,” the doorman said. “I think I’ll call them again.”
“Ingrates,” Apogee scoffed, staring at the mob. “What did that guy want with you?”
I shrugged, not wanting to delve into the subject. “Forget it,” I said, leading her towards the elevator.
As we rose in the elevator, Apogee muttered bloody murder, slamming a balled fist into her free hand. If she’d had any amount of room, she would have paced. Pacing was her thing whenever she was pissed, or thoughtful, or even when she was bored.
She looked lovely when she got upset, and it didn’t help that the halter top she wore under her jacket was low cut and her bra was doing a wonderful job of keeping the girls pressed together.
I should have been admiring the inside of the elevator, with its marked engravings reminiscent of the walls of an Egyptian crypt. The carpentry looked old and expensive, as did the silver framed mirror on the back wall. Instead, I was thinking about the old guy. It bugged me that people blamed me for things I didn’t do. Did Brutal murder his family in Amsterdam? Or maybe they were at Dartmouth when I finally took the villain down. Well, I was there, asshole, and if not for me millions more would have died. I’m sorry about your family, but it wasn’t my fault. That’s not on me.
“Hey,” Apogee said, holding my arm. “Where were you?”
I looked at her through the reflection in the mirror. We were kind of matching, though she wore a lighter color blazer and dark slacks. We looked like a pretty nice couple. She sported a slight bruise under her eye where someone had tagged during the Point Nemo mission. I’ve seen her beat up before, and the little blemishes only made her more attractive.
“Easy there, tiger,” she said, noticing my change of mood. I could see the stupid smile on my face in the mirror. “Maybe after lunch, we can head back to the apartment for some private time.” She put her hands on my chest, her nails digging into my muscles through the polo.
“I’d like that.”
“Play your cards right, be a good boy, and we’ll see,” she said, pulling a tube of lipstick from her purse and leaning into the mirror. I watched her, loving the whole lipstick application process, including the final kiss to herself in the mirror when everything was perfect.
“You still with me?”
I nodded.
“How’s the leg?” she asked.
“Fine.”
“I’m going to kill that bitch.”
“I’m fine.”
“On another note, you’re fine with all of this, aren’t you?”
“I guess. I figure I made a lot of people mad. It’s going to take some time to get those people to forgive, or at least forget.”
“You’re being naïve,” she said. “See, it’s all political. There’s money in supers, and not just in the obvious things you’d expect. There’s money in the whole argument of whether we’re good for humanity or not – as if we’re some other species or something. And where there’s money, there are predatory worms that exist on contention and divisiveness. Frankly, there’s more money in hating and denigrating things, in making people fear their own shadows than there is in trying to fix things.”
“Politics…” I said scooping her up into my arms – we had enough floors until the Penthouse that I could get a good smooch on. Instead, she pushed back, freeing herself from my arms.
“I already did my lipstick, stupid,” she said.
We rode another couple of seconds in silence, both of us facing the door as we came nearer and nearer to the Penthouse. I could see her out of the corner of my eye, a little smile on her lips.
“What?”
She shook her head. Finally, the elevator neared our stop and began to slow. “When I’m with you, sometimes, I feel like I’m back in high school or something.”
I knew what she meant. I was handsy, grabby – a romantic fool and in her, I had a receptive audience. When I played my little jokes, or made her breakfast in bed, or lined up a movie weekend for us, I was showing more enthusiasm for her, for us, than any guy had shown her in years.
She was also receptive to my way of doing things. We matched, in some weird and organic way. I loved to eat, and she loved to cook. But I wasn’t a passive eater, that is, I didn’t wait for her in the other room while she prepared her magic. I was an eager participant – an assistant at best – dicing onions or carrots, or fetching utensils for the task at hand. I was also learning, and from time to time, I’d lead the parade. We were partners, and that was the best part of the relationship. Better than the sex. It was having someone to share the day with, to share everything with, really, and I had never experienced anything like it.
I also appreciated that she had her private time. Hell, I needed a few hours in the lab or my brain was bound to explode. Apogee had dozens upon dozens of businesses, from a licensing deal with a toy manufacturer to a publishing deal for her children’s books to several foundations and charities. The interesting thing was that she was genuine about all that stuff. She loved nothing more than to spend time in a hospital – in or out of costume – seeing the cancer ward kids, giving them gifts and sharing words of encouragement.
Money-wise, she wasn’t even that wealthy, though I didn’t have access to all of her accounts. She had a few places spread around the globe. Mostly apartments in places that she frequented, San Diego, New York City, Paris, and Hong Kong. The businesses weren’t awfully profitable, but she had enough in the bank that she could retire and forget the public life altogether.
Thing is, she loved the life. She loved being a hero. The incident downstairs notwithstanding, she was thoughtful about her public persona. She understood her position in the community, both as a super and a symbol. She knew people were always watching, snapping photos or taking video, and that said nothing to the paparazzi that seemed to have her itinerary. It was a responsibility she shouldered with grace and dignity, as much a superpower as the speed or the purple energy.
“I was thinking of the Big Sleep tonight,” I said as the car was settling.
“Is that the one with Bogart?”
I nodded, “It’s his best movie.”
“I don’t like him,” she said.
“I already forgive you,” I said.
“Make some of that Pasta Aglio e Olio from that movie we were watching the other night, and I’ll watch whatever you want.”
The car came to a complete stop. “Serious? It’s like six ingredients.”
She shrugged.
“And besides, we’re supposed to eat here and you’re already planning dinner?”
Madelyne smiled, “I get really hungry before angry sex.”
My mouth dropped, eyes flashed wide when the door open, revealing the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A really, really old bonsai, two terracotta warriors and a partridge in a pear tree
The woman that met us at the elevator was basically the opposite of Madelyne in nearly every way. Petite, probably a shade over five feet two, with long, straight black hair and jade green eyes. From her features and dark skin, I would wager she was Indian or Pakistani, and my suspicions were confirmed as soon as she spoke with the dulcet accented English from that region.
“Madelyne,” she said, taking both of her hands with a broad, welcoming smile on her face. “Oh, dear – what happened there?” she asked, outlining the edge of Madelyne’s bruise lightly with her thumb.
Apo
gee didn’t let go of her hand as she answered, “A little memento of our recent adventures in the South Pacific, right?” She gestured at me for approval.
“To be honest,” I said. “I didn’t see what happened.”
It was interesting, Apogee hadn’t introduced me yet, nor had this woman asked about me for the moment. “Well, it was during the scrum when you went after Primal. Some villain called Psychometric walked right up to me and grabbed my breasts and pulled down my top.”
“Oh dear,” our host said.
“Can you believe it?”
I flashed a knowing smile.
“So there I am, with everything bare to the world,” she said, motioning to her chest.
“What did you do?”
Apogee laughed, “I hit him so hard that one of his teeth flew out of his mouth and hit me here.” She pointed at the bruise. “Then I put my tits back where they belong and went on to the next guy.”
The woman graced us with the most perfect, noble laugh, then gave Madelyne a welcoming kiss on the cheek before turning to me. “This must be the legendary Blackjack,” she said.
“Jamilah, I present Dale McKeown,” Apogee said. “He’ll be on his best behavior.”
I reached out to shake her hand but she walked past it and put her hands on my elbows, regarding me for almost five seconds before she spoke. “Oh, my. He’s so very handsome, Maddie, and so strong.”
Jamilah studied my arms and chest muscles and my legs, which strained against the blue jean fabric. “I don’t know what it is you’ve done to my friend,” she said. “But I love you for it, Mr. McKeown. My Madelyne is happier than I’ve seen her in ages and I think it’s because of you.”
“Well…I don’t know.” What do you say to that? Yeah, I’m kinda sexy and cool – or whatever. No, I had nothing. She looked at me still longer, her face serious, her green eyes boring into mine.
“I want you to know that you will have all the help we can provide for you, Mr. McKeown. We’ve only just met, but to Graydon and I, Madelyne means the world, and now you do as well.”
“Thank you,” I said, as she finally released me. “Please call me Dale.”
“Only if you call me Jami,” she said. “Forgive me, I get so over-serious sometimes.” Jamilah and Madelyne intertwined an arm. “We’ve known each other…” she looked at Apogee as she thought, “Twenty years? Is that right?”
Apogee nodded.
“She and I have seen some difficult times, enough to know to enjoy the good ones,” Jamilah said.
Madelyne patted her arm, “Okay, enough with the performance.”
They shared a giggle, but Jamilah wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. Despite the joke, Madelyne drew Jamilah into a short hug.
“That’s what I did for a living, Mister…I mean, Dale. I was an actress for a time.”
“Bollywood?” I said.
She smiled, “Oh dear, no. I’m from Saudi Arabia, you see.”
Okay, so Grayson Chase was into Arab money, not Russian money. Got it.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Your accent is quite distinctive.”
“I was raised, in part, in London, so I suppose I kind of sound a bit like someone from India. But no, I was born in Riyadh.” She stepped away from Madelyne, looking over her shoulder. “Oh, I want to apologize about Graydon. He had a call come in just as you were announced. It’s one of those calls,” she said, though I didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. “Why don’t we do a quick tour while we wait, then we’ll sit on the balcony and have some drinks. Does that sound fun?”
Madelyne looked at me, knowing I was totally out of my element, and couldn’t hide a smirk.
“Of course,” I said, extending my arm like a proper gentleman. Jamilah took it and led me farther into the apartment. I looked back at Apogee, “Joining us, dear?” I said, and she did everything she could to fight the urge to break out laughing.
The dime store tour included a quick visit to the bedrooms, a study, and we even passed by Graydon Chase’s office, where he waved at us with a phone stuck to his ear. The kitchen was expansive, large enough to feed fifty people, and a pair of staff slaved away, preparing something that smelled amazing. They looked to be a husband and wife team, and Jamilah treated them like family, though it was clear the couple were Hispanic.
Yeah, the place was expensive and amazing and prohibitive and impeccably styled – something that Jamilah took whole credit for, but the thing that really impressed me wasn’t the incredible views of Manhattan or the Hudson River or even the Statue of Liberty beyond. The thing that made me stop in wonder was the Bonsai room. They had an enormous 400-year-old bonsai tree, dominating the center of a vast room that had the most unique windows I’ve ever seen. Flanking the ancient relic were two Qin Shi Huang terracotta warriors, which were as rare and valuable as the tree. I didn’t doubt they were genuine, making me wonder how much money the guy had to spend to get them to the states. To my knowledge, the Chinese weren’t fond of sharing their antiquities.
“I can’t take any credit for this beauty, I’m afraid,” Graydon Chase said, finally joining us. He still had the phone in his left hand, and a solid grip on his right. “No, that falls squarely on the dozens – maybe hundreds – of Japanese horticulturists that came before me. I only found out about it falling into disrepair and had it transported here to…ensure its care. I’m Graydon Chase,” he said, giving me the shake.
It was an interesting affectation, the same that Jamilah had displayed earlier; say hello after a quick anecdote. Maybe it was a way to break the ice, fast-forward through the introduction process. What was also interesting was that while Jamilah and Apogee seemed to have an old and deep relationship, Chase barely knew her, and he used another anecdote.
“You know, the glass in this room comes from an experiment we’re helping to finance over there in Mali,” he said, and I recalled meeting the woman who was leading the experiment into selective polarization, a woman who was terrified when she realized who I was.
The bonsai was impressive. It drew my attention away from Chase, and I had trouble focusing. I don’t know if it was like a pheromone or whatever the equivalent in trees. No idea, but before I knew it, I was staring at the thing, a moth drawn to the flame, unable to escape its grasp. I was fully aware of what was happening around me, Chase was mid-conversation about the origins of the tree, about the place and condition he’d found it in and about the difficulties bringing it across the pond. Only Apogee noticed something was happening. That’s how weird it was, I had full awareness, but zero ability to escape the thing.
“Dale, you alright?” she asked me, but it wasn’t until Chase jumped in that I was able to escape whatever had me.
“Oh, nothing wrong with appreciating beauty,” he said, with a friendly tap on my shoulder.
“Right,” I said. Madelyne gave me a short sidelong look. She knew something was wrong.
“What’s going on?” She said, grabbing my arm.
“Nothing, felt a little light-headed,” I said, not wanting to talk about it in front of the Chases. Something was odd about that tree, and not that it was old as hell. Maybe there was a device beneath it, inside the platform that lifted a couple of feet in the air. It was a big plant anyway, about the size of riding lawn mower.
“Tell you what,” Chase said, his tone light and friendly. “Come with me to the study and I’ll give you something that’ll help steady you a little bit.”
He took me by the arm and led me down a hallway in a direction we hadn’t gone before. As we walked, he regarded my limp and the cane. “Should I ask about that?”
I waved him off, “Occupational hazard.”
He laughed. “The thing I liked about this place, besides how close it is to the office, is that the property was in a raw state - that means no walls.” We passed through a room that was darker than the rest and closest to the central axis of the building. Rows of armor on lined both sides, a Persian depiction of the legendary Immortals, a
set of Japanese Samurai armor, something probably worn by Charlemagne with engraved metal armor plates. Last among them was a modern set of armor, slim and tactical, like something out of a science fiction novel. It had wrist-mounted weapons and a shoulder-slung rifle that was straight out of a James Cameron movie.
He paused, noting my attention on the new armor.
“Like it, huh? You have a keen eye, my friend. This is something we’ve been helping DARPA with. You know DARPA? Yes? Good. Well, this isn’t just a prototype or an artists rendering, like some concept car that you’ll never see in production. This armor’s functional, and practical for a small, elite unit.”
Chase let me stare for a bit. He relished the idea of having cool toys, and who could blame him? When he said this was “something he’d been helping” with, I’m sure he meant monetarily, leveraging his massive wallet to get things done, rather than working on the thing hands on.
The armor had a lot in common with Superdynamic’s work, only armor-plated and more combat intensive, with a full helmet and bristling with weapons. The wrist guns had inserts for clips, so the weapons were more practical, bullet-chuckers rather than energy or particle devices.
“Now, I doubt someone inside this armor could withstand a full blow from someone like you,” he went on, waving for me to follow. “There are limits to science,” he said, laughing. “But in the right hands, maybe even those of an enhanced being, that armor could make all the difference. And there’s also further work being done on the weapon systems. I imagine there are bullets that could hurt even someone like you, am I right?”
“Doesn’t take that much to hurt me,” I said. “Can always hurt my feelings.”
He stopped, cocking his head while he thought about it, then smiled. “You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”
“Just breaking balls,” I said.
