The She-Hulk Diaries

by Acosta, Marta

  My heart was pounding with the realization that Ellis hated me. I’d seen it in his eyes and my heart ached. It hurt even more than all those nights I’d waited for him to call and gone to bed in tears.

  7:30 P.M.

  When I arrived at Arrested Youth, Dahlia was reviewing the day’s receipts with her manager. Horrible Rodney had a new streak of hot pink in his fur and was snuffling on a pillow.

  I looked at magazines and experimented with products on the counter. I accidentally sprayed something in my eyes, which made them blur again.

  Once we were alone, I swiveled in my chair toward Dahlia and told her about my encounter with Ellis. “It was awful. He loathes me. I can’t believe he thinks I’m only out for money. And he thinks I have sex in the closet at work. And that I’m a floozie.”

  “Did you seriously say ‘floozie’? He thinks that you’re a fierce and brilliant attorney as well as a sex goddess,” she said. “Men are crazy about you. I credit my OMG! amazing haircut. I cite as examples: Dr. Stunning, that Fritz dude, your smitten doorman, the guy you flipped over at the singles meet-up, Nelson, even though you’re too tall for him. I’m sure there are legions.”

  Talking to D always made me feel better. “Did you just seriously say ‘smitten’? Do you think so?”

  “Fer sure. Let’s talk syllogisms for a moment. If Ellis hates you because you are on the case against ReplaceMax, doesn’t it follow that he’d also hate the evil hammerhead?”

  “Maybe she’s too perfect and sexually proficient to hate,” I said. “Her voice sounds like the ‘We appreciate your patience while you hold’ music in heaven. No wonder Ellis is in love with her.”

  “Honey, Ellis already told us the truth—Amber doesn’t rhyme with anything. Well, hammerhead. She doesn’t inspire his fire of desire to go higher in a pyre…” She looked at the ceiling. “Okay, that’s all I got. You get my drift. How do you feel about Cuban takeout and prank-calling Tony Stark?”

  “Dahlia, there’s nothing I’d rather do more.”

  “And then we can go dancing.”

  “It’s a school night. I mean, work night.”

  “It’s Friday night, and my date just canceled because he broke his foot or fell into a coma or something stupid. I’ll become clinically depressed if I don’t have anything to do.”

  “You have a kazillion friends you can call.”

  “But only you can get me into Club Nice, Sulky.” Dahlia gave me a pitiful look, placing her hands palms together, prayer-like. “Pulleeze, pulleeze!”

  “One, stop calling me that. Two, I don’t like weekend scenes at clubs. And three, we couldn’t get in.”

  “A, I’ll stop calling you that when you stop being so mopey. B, we’ll only go for the early part. And C, if you call the club as Shulky, we can get on the list,” she said. “Pulleeze, for the love of all that is fluffy and sparkly, pulleeze!”

  “Fine.” I didn’t want to shift just to do Shulky’s voice, so I tried to imitate her throaty tone when I called. “Hello, darling! This is your favorite green glamazon.”

  “She-Hulk! This is Caleb, the manager. Thanks for kicking bad-guy ass the other night. Will we see you soon?”

  “Absotootely, but not tonight. I’d like to have my friend Jennifer Walters stop by to observe things for me.”

  “The attorney with thoroughbred legs and gorgeous hair? She was here with Sven Morigi at the opening. I’ll put her on the list.”

  “With a plus-one! Keep it hot for me, Caleb.” I hung up and said to Dahlia, “You may be right about that haircut.”

  10:00 P.M.

  D and I got to Club Nice before the crowd, and Caleb came right over and welcomed us with kisses. He was very cute, in a gawky trendy geek way, with oversize glasses, a shirt that was too small, and pants that were too short. He invited us to sit at his table, and a waitress quickly appeared with a bottle of champagne and glasses. After we’d chatted for a few minutes, I asked Caleb if he’d gotten any tips about the attack or the attackers.

  “Nothing, but Sergeant Palmieri told me it’s unlikely they’ll come back since they were targeting Dr. Morigi,” Caleb said. “It was incredible that She-Hulk saved us, but we did incur some damages.”

  “So I heard,” I said.

  He looked a little embarrassed and said, “I talked to our insurance company, but they said that She-Hulk’s destruction falls under their ‘random acts of the universe’ provision.”

  “Don’t worry, Caleb. Just send the bills to the Avengers Mansion, attention Ruth, with a note that I’ve authorized payment from She-Hulk’s account.”

  “Thanks!”

  I glanced around the club, and everyone was being so polite and happy. “I like the name of your club. Is Joocey Jooce more than a sponsor of your opening?”

  I found out that the Joocey Jooce founders owned a small percentage of the club, mostly for bragging rights, and Caleb relayed the same story about the company’s origins that I’d already learned: they’d built their first cart out of recycled parts and made their smoothies with organic fruit. All of Caleb’s connections in the food service industry said the “Play nice” theme was part of their daily transactions.

  A familiar throbbing song came on, and I heard Ellis’s rough voice begin singing.

  “Fringe Theory,” Caleb said. “I thought I recognized Ellis Tesla at our opening. Now he’s going by his real name, Ellis Quintal, the guy who helped She-Hulk fight the intruders. I think I must have listened to ‘Flesh-Eating Bacteria Girl’ a thousand times in high school. I asked the DJs to include the whole Gin Cycle on our playlists.”

  Dahlia scooted out of the banquette while yanking my hand and said, “Let’s dance.”

  “But no one else is dancing yet!”

  “So we can be the first and have the floor to ourselves.”

  I looked at Caleb, hoping that he’d want to continue talking, but he was singing along with the song.

  “I hate being the first ones,” I told D. “It’s embarrassing.”

  “If you showed up at a reasonable time, like midnight, the dance floor would be jammed, so it’s your own damn fault.”

  Ellis was singing “Love Dynamite,” which threw me back to the summer I’d interned with the Los Angeles DA.

  Nitroglycerin stops and starts my heart

  Missing Gin is tearing me apart

  Next time I’ll be more careful and dilute my emotions

  Next time I’ll resist temptation

  From the sort of girl

  Who’ll just explode my world.

  By the beginning of the next song, other couples had joined us, then more people filled the dance floor, and I became lost in the music, back to that girl who was still hoping Ellis would call.

  An hour turned into two. Dahlia said, “I’ve got to meet my Aveda rep early tomorrow. Let’s go.”

  We waved good-bye to Caleb, and when we got out of the club, Dahlia asked why I’d wanted to know about Club Nice and Joocey Jooce.

  “They just keep coming up.”

  “It’s because they’re part of the zeitgeist. I don’t understand why you don’t go dancing more often. You’re so good and I can tell you love it. You didn’t have to quit dancing just because you had a growth spurt.”

  “Yes, I did, because I couldn’t walk without bashing into things. Jennifer Falters, ha ha, that’s what the other girls called me. My ballet teacher used to pat me on my back with this look in her eyes like I’d accidentally run over her favorite cat.”

  “Who didn’t have a horrible nickname?”

  “I bet Amber didn’t,” I said.

  “She does now, Amber Hammerhead. Tell that to Ellis the next time you see him,” D said, and I told her I would take it under advisement.

  INADMISSIBLE EVIDENCE

  MARCH 6

  I have now been following my resolutions for almost three weeks, and it is time to revisit my priorities:

  1. ReplaceMax case

  2. Find an apartment

&n
bsp; 3. Meet someone for postponed Valentine’s Day date

  4. Accept/Reject Fritz’s Proposal Countdown: 40 Days

  Work consumes my life. I feel like a tax preparer stuck in a time loop where every day is April 14. I get home too late most nights to do anything but eat cereal and turn on the TV to PBS, because that way I can score cultural education points. I count opera for quadruple points because I don’t get it at all even when I read the subtitles. In fact, the subtitles make the stories even more confusing. Everyone has different agendas, too many secrets, and people don’t talk to one another in a professional way, which would solve most of their dilemmas.

  Maybe Fritz is right about taking a more businesslike approach to relationships. He doesn’t pressure me for an answer, and when I ran into him at the gym, I asked, “Will you be upset if I say no?” and he grinned and said, “Jennifer, I have to beat girls off with a stick, so I think I’ll survive.” The more I know him, the more I like him, but still no sparks, or explosions.

  On the apartment-hunting front, I’ve only seen a few places so far, but I’ve already learned the secret code:

  Quaint = toilet in the kitchen (sure this must be illegal)

  Cozy = can touch opposing bedroom walls with arms outstretched

  Fantastic view = something somewhat recognizable is visible from roof

  Exciting neighborhood = above a bar

  Up-and-coming neighborhood = next to a methadone clinic

  Executive living = gorgeous but have to sideline as international assassin to pay for amenities

  Pets welcome = previous tenant was cat hoarder

  Gracious living = duck motif on all tiled surfaces

  Vintage charm = hot water only available between 11:00 a.m. and noon

  Secure building = located in disputed gang turf

  Open concept living = no closets or bathroom door

  I met with a chic leasing agent who showed me two lavish apartments, both significantly over the price range I’d specified. She said, “Someone in your position should have a showplace to entertain clients and business associates. It’s an investment in your reputation and career.”

  When I said the rents were too high, she showed me a squalid and depressing cramped one-bedroom with a view of the neighbor’s dirty kitchen.

  I always tell my clients, “When you are making a purchase, decide ahead of time what you can afford to pay and what you want to pay. Do not succumb to powers of persuasion or a desire to please the seller. Be willing to walk away.”

  So I broke off from the leasing agent, who said smugly, “You’ll never find what you want at that price point, especially since a background check will show your colorful rental history. You’ll be back.”

  I smiled and left, and then texted Ruth to please have the tech staff do another cleanup of my credit report.

  At least my job is going well.

  I like working with Genoa, who’s as smart as a whip and pleasant, but in a calm way. After too many phone calls and messages back and forth, it made sense for me to work at one of the big tables in her office.

  She has a bell on her desk, the kind they have at old shops to call for a clerk, and every time we finish a task, she rings it. “Interrogatory request for Daryne Cohen, chief lab technician, complete!” RING!

  “Genoa, exactly what purpose does that serve?” I asked.

  “Quinty gave it to me after I complained that I was getting nowhere on a case. I think he stole it from a deli. He said ringing it would make me more aware of achieving the small steps on the long journey. It’s weird, but it works.”

  Quinty was right, because it was oddly rewarding to clang down on the bell every time I completed a task.

  Genoa’s windowless, book-filled office was really very cozy and warm. We drank tea, kvetched about missing and incomplete documents, and helped each other out.

  I noticed that she’d kicked off her shoes, so I did the same, and we dug into our work.

  9:00 P.M.

  Spent an hour looking online for apartments. I tried to imagine them as places that would impress clients at swanky parties, where I would hold a martini in one hand and put the other to my throat as I threw back my gorgeous hair with a sultry laugh. I tried to figure out which apartment would be best for a romantic tryst with my PFLOML and I got sidetracked remembering Ellis naked. He looked good naked. Really good.

  Then I imagined Amber naked with him—eew—and I wanted to get that image out of my brain, but all I could see on the insides of my eyeballs was Amber smeering while Ellis did perverse things to her. Ugh ugh ugh.

  I went back to my apartment hunt, but the property descriptions blurred into one another. It made my brain hurt.

  Called Nelson and told him to tell me if he heard of any openings in his building. He’s going on a date with Amy tomorrow (hurray!), and they’ll both be at the next Forestiers meet-up, when we’re going to make medieval jewelry and accessories.

  Emailed Dahlia and asked her for help with costume details because all I’ve come up with is a tunic over leggings.

  I got a bottle of cranberry juice from the fridge, which made me think about Joocey Jooce. I felt like I was missing something.

  Joocey Jooce invested in Club Nice.

  Kidnappers attacked Club Nice looking for the Sven Morigi, who is suing ReplaceMax.

  A Joocey Jooce flavor inventor paid rent in coupons and has no last name.

  Their shops are ubiquitous and everyone likes everything about the company.

  It didn’t seem likely that there was a connection between Joocey Jooce and ReplaceMax, but I had an ooky sense. Sometimes you just had to see things for yourself. The Joocey Jooce plant was in New Jersey. I ran to the Mansion’s garage, and the eager new attendant didn’t make me sign a release. I really miss my old flying car. I chose a Cadillac with an invisibility shield, even though invisibility can be problematic.

  I shifted on the shield as I approached the Joocey Jooce corporate campus. I parked across from the shipping entrance, beside the Play Nice sports fields. Trucks arrived and left the loading dock with fresh fruit and supplies. Everyone looked cheerful. One stock clerk whistled as he crossed the perfectly clean lot.

  There was no barbed wire, no guard dogs, no eerie sense of abandonment. It was all very normal and my ookiness was unwarranted.

  I’d only driven a few blocks from Joocey Jooce before I nearly got slammed by a big rig. Sometimes not being seen is more dangerous than being seen. I disengaged the car’s invisibility shield and headed back to the Mansion.

  MARCH 8

  I had been calculating my postponed Valentine’s Day by weeks and coming up with an incorrect date. February 14 is the forty-fifth day of the year, so my postponed VD should be no earlier than the ninetieth day of the year, which is the eve of April 1. I don’t want any PFLOML to think a date the night before April 1 is a joke, so I am moving it to April 2.

  MARCH 12

  Another day of brain-scrambling paperwork with Genoa. One of the assistants brought in lunch and asked us what flavor of Joocey Jooce we wanted.

  Genoa and I had just brewed up a pot of Earl Grey tea, so we said no thanks.

  When the assistant had gone, Genoa added, “I don’t drink Joocey Jooce on principle.” She tugged at her ponytail, which is why it is always sideways.

  “Why not?”

  “I resent their motto. Play nice. I don’t need some marketing person telling me how to behave. It’s unnatural.”

  “No, it’s completely organic.”

  “I mean their attitude. The niceness gives me the creeps. All those employees are too friendly. They’re either being cattle-prodded or they’ve been lobotomized. It’s not normal for New York.”

  “I thought that, too. But behavior can be changed.”

  “Only for five minutes, like with New Year’s Resolutions—everyone starts out with great intentions, and two weeks later, they’re completely forgotten. Actual change requires motivation, effort, and constant vigilance.
”

  She picked up one of her action figures and walked it across her desk.

  “Who’s that?” I asked.

  “Fanny Price from Mansfield Park. She’s the poor, meek relation. She’s always sick and in love with her wimpy cousin, but she stands by her principles. I know, a grown woman playing with dolls. Feel free to mock.”

  “Only if you mock back,” I said. “I’m on a LARP team. Do you know what that is?”

  “Terrestrial or extraterrestrial? Present-day or future?”

  “Terrestrial and the Middle Ages.”

  “Do you have costumes and festivals?”

  “I just joined this group and we’re having battle games at the end of May. They’ll be held near Woodstock. This job doesn’t give me time to participate much.”

  Genoa danced the figure on her keyboard. “It’s fun, isn’t it, having an imaginary life with imaginary characters outside the tenseness of our jobs?” She smiled and said, “Donner suggested that I wear Regency-era dresses to work.”

  “Does he tease you often?”

  “Constantly.”

  “I can talk to him about it if you like, or you can discuss it with HR.”

  Genoa stared at me with her clear gray eyes and then burst into laughter. When she was able to speak, she said, “I appreciate your offer, but I can tell my own husband to STFU whenever I want.”

  “Donner’s your husband? He didn’t mention it.”

  “It’s company policy not to bring our personal business into the office. Amber’s a good example. She never lets her relationship with Ellis the fourth—you do know about that, right? That doesn’t influence her one bit as far as I can see. Amber is one hundred percent professional. She’s the exception to the rule about resolutions. I bet she checks off every item on her New Year’s List.”

  9:45 P.M.