by Nick Svolos
“That’s fascinating. Oh, and, ‘Ew.’”
“OK, so maybe that didn’t come out right.”
“I’ll say. Come on, let’s go and see if she’ll let you date her car.” She giggled at her little joke as we got out. A valet hurried up and handed her a ticket, apologizing for the delay. I met her around the front of her car and she took my arm.
The sun was just going down and it was still hot and muggy, but I didn’t mind. I felt like a million bucks walking into a big, fancy party with the prettiest girl ever on my arm. I was almost able to forget the hassle of the last twenty-four hours. Time enough to worry about that tomorrow.
The party was held outdoors in the college’s big Alumni Park. No doubt the planners had expected better weather than the hot, humid August night that Mother Nature deigned to provide. If this was a Polynesian event where we were all in Hawaiian shirts and beach sarongs, it would have almost been pleasant. Instead, us guys were all sweating in our monkey suits. The women had a bit more leeway in their evening wear and seemed to be getting the better end of things. Still, with the lovely woman in a backless gown and slit skirt beside me, it wasn’t a terrible place to be a man. Wearing a tux was a small price to pay.
The party boasted a veritable “Who’s who” of the Los Angeles upper class. We joined the mingle of politicians, business leaders, doctors, lawyers, actors, musicians, writers and faculty members as catering staff worked their way through the crowd with trays of appetizers and champagne. A string quartet played off to one side. If Gail Crenshaw was footing the bill for all this, she certainly wasn’t stinting with the cash. To the side opposite of the quartet, an array of dining tables had been set up, awaiting the call to dinner. On the far side of the socializing throng, a dance floor had been set up, complete with a DJ station. Several open bars stood around the perimeter of the gathering and appeared to be doing a brisk business in icy beverages. Sycamore and magnolia trees dotted the area.
Helen spotted a group of friends from work and we walked over to them. She introduced us and we chatted about the weather and made with the small talk for a while. One of her colleagues, a woman in her mid-forties recognized my name and asked me about an article I’d written, a profile piece on Crimson King. She disapproved of my giving so much space to such a murderous creature, and she decided to take me to task for it. I explained that if someone’s willing to talk, I’m willing to listen. If the story’s good, I write it. If my editor thinks it’s worth publishing, it goes in the paper. It’s a simple as that. Truth be told, the interview was one of the most terrifying things I had ever done. The man was truly insane, could sprout knives from his body and project them with psychic force. He enjoyed killing, that was true, but there was something in him that was still human. He wasn’t a sociopath, not entirely. Something within him actually regretted the harm he caused. He just couldn’t stop himself. I was proud of the story. It’s not every day one gets an opportunity to look inside the head of a madman.
“Well, at least he’s been put down, now,” the woman said as I finished my tale. The Gold Crusader had claimed his life last May. He wasn’t normally a bounty hunter. I think the armored hero just got sick of him breathing the same air as he did, so he registered with the DHS and went out and killed him. The bounty was well over a hundred million dollars, and the Crusader used it to set up a trust fund for the victims’ families. “I swear, those people are getting out of hand. All of them, even the vigilantes. Take that thing at the refinery last night. They only make things worse.” She launched into a, well, “tirade” isn’t quite the right word, let’s call it a lengthy lecture about all the damage and lives lost due to superhuman activities.
I glanced at Helen as the woman went on, but if she had a reaction she kept it well-hidden. The polite, sensible thing to do would be to just let it drop. Excuse myself to get a beer or something. I’m known for many things, but two of them that don’t generally make the cut are polite and sensible.
“Well, that’s one way of looking at it. I tend to look at it another way. These are just people. If I’ve learned anything from watching and reporting on them, it’s that they’re really not that different from you or me. Sure, they’re scarier than us, but so are gang members, soldiers, terrorists and even cops. You could say the world would be better off without them, but you could say that for any other group. The reality is, it doesn’t make much difference either way. Even if they didn’t exist, we’d still have our wars, crimes, murders, and corruption. Human suffering is the constant. I’m just grateful for anyone who steps up and tries to make things better.” I was growing conscious of the enormous party foul we were engaged in. “Perhaps we should just drop this and agree to disagree. We’re bringing the mood down.”
She wasn’t going to let me off the hook that easily. “Oh, we’re just having a friendly debate, here. Nobody minds, do they?” She looked around at our little group, apparently ignoring the discomfort we were causing with our discussion. “See? Now, if you think I’m going to allow you to make such a ridiculous statement and simply walk away, you have another thing coming. Look at you. You were injured by one of these people. How can you say you wouldn’t be better off without them?”
Oh, man, I was getting ready to unload on her. I could feel my ire rising, getting ready to strike. I was already lining up the words, loading them like ammunition into my argument gun. And then, I stopped. Instead of something stupid, I did something smart for a change. “That’s a good point. I’ve enjoyed our discussion. I hope we can pick it up again at some more appropriate time and place.” Who knew I had it in me?
I think she finally got the hint, realized that we were being poor party guests, and relented. Everyone went back to the small talk, and after a few minutes, Helen pulled me away, telling her co-workers that there was someone she wanted me to meet.
As we made our escape, I apologized. “I’m so sorry, I should never have gotten drawn into that. I hope I didn’t get you into trouble. Please tell me that wasn’t your boss.”
She played it off. “What, Alice? Forget about it. She does that to everyone. I think she just likes to make a scene.” She gave my arm a little hug. “Besides, what you said was sweet.” She led me through the crowd and I saw that she was guiding us to an older woman holding court at the center of a few VIPs. I recognized Gail Crenshaw immediately. She was, according to her bio, eighty-six years old, but she didn’t look a day over seventy. She appeared very fit, and moved gracefully in her silver, conservatively-cut evening gown. Her manner was dignified yet somewhat playful as she traded jokes with a Senator and the CEO of a competing tech company. Helen took us to a spot nearby and waited patiently for Crenshaw to acknowledge us.
Crenshaw didn’t keep us waiting long, and soon she excused herself from the conversation and walked to Helen with outstretched arms. “Helen, darling, you look radiant,” she said as Helen greeted her with a friendly embrace.
“Mrs. Crenshaw, I just wanted to thank you for such a lovely party. Your support means so much to the university.”
Gail Crenshaw wagged her finger playfully. “Helen, I’ve told you before, it’s ‘Gail’. I get enough of that ‘Mrs. Crenshaw’ nonsense at work. Now, tell me who this handsome fellow is.”
I guessed she meant me, although the adjective “handsome” kind of threw me off for a second. Helen said, “Gail, this is my friend Reuben Conway.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Ma’am,” I said as we shook hands. I almost had to stop myself from bowing, she just had that sort of presence about her.
She laughed. “Oh Lord, another one. Weren’t you paying attention, young man? Please call me Gail.”
I smiled. “I’m sorry, Gail. Blame it on my father. If I addressed you by your first name without your permission, he’d know, and I’d never hear the end of it.”
“Your father sounds like a good man. I like him already. Is he single?” she joked and we all shared a laugh.
I decided to lead off with some sm
all talk. “Helen tells me that’s your Bentley we saw outside. She’s beautiful.”
“Oh, that was my husband’s car.” She was widowed about twenty years ago, if I remembered correctly. “He loved that thing so much, I never had the heart to sell it.” She paused and asked, “So, what do you do, Reuben?”
“I’m a reporter for the Beacon.”
“Oh, so you’re the one I heard about. You were at that refinery fire last night. Helen, why are you letting this man take such risks?”
Helen gave me a look. “Oh, don’t get me started.”
I laughed it off, and I thought I saw my opening, “Well, it’s not normally like that. Say, perhaps you could help keep me off rooftops for a little while. My editor’s been asking me to do a profile piece on you. Nothing too arduous, just what you’d be willing to share about the support and technology that you provide to The Angels, what it’s like to work with Ultiman, any plans you may have to support other superteams. Things like that. I know you’re busy, but if you have a few minutes sometime, I’d love to interview you.” When I said the bit about Ultiman, her smile dropped slightly and there was a slight twitch in her left eye. Son of a gun, there was something there.
“Well, I don’t actually deal with Ultiman all that often, but I can certainly find some time to speak with you about the rest.” She reached into her clutch purse and we exchanged cards. “Give my office a call and we’ll set something up.” We chatted for a few more minutes until one of the catering staff started walking through the gathering with a little four-tone xylophone to announce that dinner was ready to be served. Gail excused herself and Helen and I joined the throng making their way to the tables.
As we walked, Helen leaned over to me and asked, “Did you see it?” I nodded and she continued, “It doesn’t take a mind reader to know there’s some hurt going on behind those eyes.”
“Hmmm. You said ‘hurt’. I read it as ‘anger’.”
“It’s hurt, trust me. Call it women’s intuition. Hurt can turn to anger, though.”
I pondered this as we found our way to our table, but had to file it away as I was introduced to the other diners we were seated with. Turns out the people at our table were all faculty members and their plus ones. Everyone was polite and pleasant and we had a good time. There were little menu cards at each place setting and I was pleased to note that I could get a simple steak, which turned out to be really good. The string quartet continued to play through the end of the dessert and coffee course, and when the dinner service was complete, the DJ started up as the musicians and many of the guests started to leave. The DJ’s musical selections focused on popular dance music, and couples started drifting out to the dance floor. I didn’t recognize any of the songs he played. My exposure to current pop music is pretty much limited to what they play in cell phone commercials.
Helen and I stuck around the dinner area as she chatted with her diminishing group of colleagues. Eventually, the DJ worked his way to a section of his repertoire that I liked, Thomas Dolby’s She Blinded Me With Science. I caught Helen’s eye, stood up and offered her my hand, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I believe you said something about dancing?”
Her face brightened and she excused us from the table. I shrugged out of my coat, with the Angelphone in its breast pocket, leaving it on the back of the chair. We had a good time dancing to at least a half-dozen numbers from the 80’s. After a bit, the DJ decided to give us dancers a break and played Al Green’s classic Let’s Stay Together. Helen moved into my arms and we began to sway gently about the floor, looking into each other’s eyes.
It was a sweet and happy time, and I regretted that I was going to have to mess it up. I had a growing suspicion about who might have fingered me and Ben that afternoon and I may never get a better chance to share it. I let the song play out and the DJ started another slow song, and I figured I’d have one, maybe two more slow songs before the DJ bumped up the tempo again. “Helen,” I began, “Are you wearing your communicator right now?”
“No.” She smiled down at me. Her eyes sparkled enticingly and I realized she had a different idea of where this conversation was likely to go because she added, “I have the whole night off.”
Oh God, I should just shut up right now and enjoy this. But, if I was right, she and her team were in danger. “Good, because I don’t want anyone listening in on what I’m about to say.” I caught the look of expectation in her eyes. Dammit, dammit, dammit! “I apologize for bringing this up now, but I couldn’t say this in the car or at the Tower. I’ve been mulling over this afternoon. Trying to figure out who told Hammerblow where to find me. It’s crazy, but there’s only one person I can’t explain away. I think Archangel might be compromised.”
The sparkle left her eyes and her look of disappointment almost broke my heart. “Oh, Reuben, how could you...” Then realization dawned on her face. “Oh, damn, that makes too much sense. But wait a minute, she’s the one who told us you were under attack and where to find you.”
“Yeah, that’s the part that’s giving me trouble. Maybe she’s got a split personality thing going on. Maybe she doesn’t even know it. Maybe I’m wrong or paranoid. I actually hope I am. I can’t think of any other suspect that fits for this, though.”
We danced for a bit longer to a Bill Withers tune. I was at a loss as to what to do about this situation, and was about to ask Helen if she had any ideas when she pre-empted me. “Okay, here’s how I think we should play this. When we get back to the tower, I’ll mosey on down to the IT office as Herculene and see who’s working tonight. If it’s who I think it is, I know the guy. He has a total crush on Herculene. The Tower has some dead zones where the sensors don’t work. All the private bathrooms, for instance. Ultiman didn’t like the potential for lawsuits. Archangel won’t be able to see us there. So, I’ll invite him over to one. He’ll follow. Then I let him down as gently as possible and get him to quietly run a diagnostic or something.”
She sighed. I could tell she didn’t like the plan. “What do you think?”
“I feel very sad for this guy.”
She frowned. “Tell me about it. I hate playing the poor guy like this. I’m sure there’s a better way to go about this. I just can’t think of one right now.” She grinned. “Some dumb reporter guy kinda has me on tilt right now.”
I felt a big, dopey grin spread across my face. “Sure, blame it all on me.” I forced myself to be serious, “Actually, your plan is good, but let’s see if there’s an alternative. You implied there might be other dead zones. Any idea where?”
She thought about it, “One day when I was doing a security check, I lost Wi-Fi in a corner of the building. It’s a big ‘if’, but maybe the sensors have the same flaw. I have a hardcopy of the building’s schematics in my quarters. Ultiman made me memorize them when I joined the team, and I never turned them in. Maybe there’s a spot I can use without giving him the wrong idea.”
“There ya go. You can still fall back on your abundant charms if you can’t find one.”
The smile returned to her face. “Hey, look at that! You improved my hare-brained scheme.” She snuggled in closer as the song drew to its conclusion. “We make a good team, Reuben.”
I smiled up at her, immensely enjoying holding her close. “That we do, Helen. So, should we go?”
She shook her head. “Archangel’s smart enough to know something’s up if we come back early. Besides, I’m having too much fun. Let’s enjoy the rest of our evening. The Tower can wait.”
Who am I to argue with logic like that?
We danced to the DJ’s music until they announced that the party was over and he started to pack up his gear. At first it felt kind of forced. After all, the most powerful superteam on the West Coast was probably in danger from a subverted AI with unknown intentions. Somehow, we persevered and got into the spirit of things. At the end, I was exhausted and drenched in sweat while Helen looked like she had just stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine. Superhuman stam
ina has its advantages.
We were some of the last to leave the gala, and only had to wait a minute or two for the valet to bring her car around. On the drive back to the Tower, we chatted, avoiding any discussion of the business at hand for fear that Archangel might be listening in. We discussed, for the AI’s benefit, possibly stopping for a bite to eat, but decided against it. It was after midnight and neither of us had had much sleep in the last couple of days, my brief nap notwithstanding. After a short, pleasant drive that was refreshingly free of supervillain attacks, we soon found ourselves back at the Tower.
Helen held my hand as she walked me back to my quarters. I felt a little out of place, I mean, I should have been walking her back to her place, but my lack of access to her floor made that impossible. As we reached my door, I joked, “Wanna come in and see my etchings?”
She smiled. “I make it a point not to view etchings on a first date.”
“So traditional. I like that. I had an amazing time tonight, Helen.” I edged a little closer to her, and she didn’t back away so I kissed her. It was a little awkward at first, with her heels she was a good four inches taller than me, but we worked it out.
We held the kiss for not nearly long enough, but it had to end sometime. As we parted, she whispered, “Ooh, I’m so in the mood to look at etchings tonight, too.” She recovered and added, “But, I gotta go to work. Good night, Reuben. Thank you for tonight, I had a lovely time.” She gave me one last smooch and turned and walked back down the hall.
As I had earlier, I just stood there, watching her go and enjoying the view. She spotted my approving gaze as she got into the elevators and giggled, blowing me a kiss as the doors closed. I just grinned my damn fool head off, turned and went into my room. I stripped out of my tux, tossed it on the bed and took a quick, cold shower. Refreshed and with a clear head, I started hanging my tux back up in the closet. As I was emptying the pockets, I found a folded cocktail napkin in the coat pocket. I didn’t remember putting it in there. I unfolded it and found a note written in lipstick:
