A Serious House on Serious Earth

Thankfully, we didn’t have to walk far to a small restaurant. We sat inside the slightly crowded café to escape the heat. The minute the elderly waitress disappeared with our order, I addressed my confusion. “This is a change of pace. I don’t think we’ve ever had lunch together.” Three years ago, I would have rudely interrogated Bruce until he told why he wanted to have lunch with me. I was a bit paranoid back then. But with my change of attitude, I danced around my internal question.

“There’s a first time for everything." Bruce’s attention, and mine, was then given to one of the televisions in the café. Mike Engel, who had managed to survive being kidnapped by the Joker, was still head anchor of Gotham City News. At the moment he was discussing the current endeavors of Charles Blakely. Blakely owned one of the many companies which competed with Wayne Enterprises. Blakely Industrial was new and extremely small compared to Wayne Enterprises but they had recently established a regional office in Gotham; Wayne’s home turf.

“I admire a man who vows to rebuild the city and starts by building a golf course.” Bruce scolded with his own sense of sarcasm. Blakely had managed to acquire a number of tax breaks by promising to invest a majority of the profits from his Gotham office back into the community. It had been two years and so far none of the records showed any philanthropy on Blakely’s part. Just the construction of an expensive golf course and country club on the north side of Gotham. However, Wayne Enterprises was practically famous for its altruism. Not only did the company donate large sums of money to charities and the community of Gotham but also to numerous organizations around the world. Currently, Bruce Wayne and his company were working on remodeling the train system his father had built decades earlier.

From there, the conversation digressed into business and politics. Mayor Anthony Garcia had survived reelection, with help from Bruce Wayne’s campaign donations, and Jim Gordon had stayed on as police commissioner. With the death of Harvey Dent and Rachel Dawes, something which I never mentioned around Bruce, Henry Bullock had been elected as District Attorney. With the gradual downfall of the mob, for the first time in a long there was little to no corruption in Gotham’s government. Nonetheless, Gotham’s economy wasn’t the best and even with the still ever present Batman, crime was still problem.

Sometime though our lunch, Bruce got to the point. “Can I ask a favor of you, Marie?” His tone was cautious.

I stopped eating and put my fork down. “You can ask, but that doesn’t mean I’ll do.” I was pretty sure whatever he was going to ask didn’t involve my job.

“I have been invited to a dinner party by Charles Blakely and I need a date.” Bruce said quietly, mentally preparing himself for my response.

“No. Certainly not. No way. Do you not remember what happened last time?” As I gave my initial rejection of his request, my mind was racing to find an excuse. But Bruce knew of my lacking social life, so any lie would not get pass him. “Why are you even going? You just spent twenty minutes complaining about the man.” I said in my attempt to put the attention back on him.

“Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. Come on, Marie. It’s not like you have anything better to do.” Bruce said, pushing his empty plate away and adjusting his jacket. A normal girl probably would have been offended by his last statement, but it was the truth.

“I can think of a hundred things I could like to do before I went to another one of your dinner parties as your ‘date’.” I emphasized the last word by mockingly using air quotations.

“Please, Marie. Are you saying that you’re not comfortable enough in our relationship –? “

“Bruce, no normal person would call our casual sex with each other a relationship.” I said in small whisper. I was quite aware of the numerous consumers in the restaurant who had recognized Bruce and were who probably trying to eavesdrop on our conversation.

“Our friendship then. I could really use your help here, Marie. I hate these things just as much as you do.” Bruce casually laid more than enough money on the table and we continued our conversation outside in the heat.

“So what? Are your saying we should be miserable together?” I had abandoned my original defensive tone for a more peaceful one.

“Maybe. And who knows, if you pretend to have fun, you might just have some on accident.” Bruce said with a smile once it was obvious that I had given in.

“Did Alfred tell you that?” I said with a quick, sincere laugh.



By Saturday afternoon, I had considered calling Bruce and telling him I had changed my mind. But instead, I drank a small glass of cheap wine to cure my nerves and got dress. My dress, which I had found the day before, was a lively indigo color and made out of a thin, silken fabric. The neckline was modest and the dress was cut about an inch or two above my knee. I was never one to show much skin. I left my hair alone after I straightened it. I put on a matching jewelry set, which I found in the back of my closet, buried underneath some clothes. I put the bracelet on my left wrist and only a small ring on my right hand in hopes of not bringing attention my scar.

In my nervousness, I had managed to get ready an hour early. I had to pour the bottle of wine down the sink to keep from drinking the entire thing. I spent a whole twenty minutes staring at myself in the mirror to determine if there was anything I was forgetting. I wasted the last half hour lounging on the couch, watching television. I was still there when someone knocked on my door. We complement each other on our attire as were took the elevator down. As usual, Bruce was wearing a suit, but his current one was more polished than his workday attire.

When Bruce totaled his Lamborghini, the same one I had stolen, he purchased a less-flashy car, but I was sure it was just as expensive. The small saloon car was a gleaming black color accented by big silver rims and handles. The inside was much more flamboyant that the outside.

The dinner party was held at an Italian restaurant which preoccupied the entire first level of a ritzy hotel in downtown Gotham. Bruce and I were the last ones to arrive and a round of greetings and introduction occurred almost immediately. As we were seated, I took noticed that I was dressed appropriately, which gave me a wave of confidence. There were five other people at the long rectangular table. A Mr. and Mrs. Fitzgerald sat directly across from us. I barely recognized James Fitzgerald as a member of the City Council. He was a plump man of perhaps fifty with thinning gray hair and glasses. Susan Fitzgerald was smaller than her husband and her blonde hair was cut short. She looked nice enough.

Next to Mrs. Fitzgerald was a Chelsea Huntson, a woman in her mid-forties who was the president of the largest private bank in Gotham. The same bank that once a safe-haven for mob money. She had a stern face, long brown hair and was wearing a very austere dress. She did not have the same friendly aurora as the woman next to her did. Erik Brewington, a financial investor, was sitting to the right of Bruce. He was perhaps the same age as Bruce. He didn’t seem very interesting so I didn’t pay much attention to him.

Charles Blakely said to the left of me, at the head of the table. He was thirty years old, and, from what I had seen of him on television, he was your typical, arrogant businessman. He had started Blakely Industrial by using his large inheritance to buy small, troubled companies. Once bought, he would fire the entire workforce and hire a new one at dramatically lower wages. His sole goal in life was to make as much money as possible. Blakely’s hair was a shade lighter than Bruce’s and a bit shorter. His conceited smile and overconfident tone reinforced my previous notion of him.

“So happy you could join us, Bruce.” Blakely said as if he and Bruce were old school friends. Eventually, the conversation turned to include me too.

It was grim Ms. Huntson who addressed me first. “So, how long have you and Bruce been dating?” I hated her the moment she opened her mouth.

I was briefly aware of the tension that had become visible in Bruce’s face. “Oh, Bruce and I aren’t dating. We’re just…friends.” Of course the questions didn’t stop there. Everything from my love life, family, and job were brought up. And each time I was asked a personal question, I answered while trying to put the attention back onto someone else, mainly Bruce. Like when Susan asked, completely out of curiosity I’m sure, if I would ever consider getting married. “Well, maybe one day. But I’m only 21, so I have plenty of time. Or at least more time than Bruce.” My innocent poke at Bruce received a laugh from the whole table.

The only real annoyance of the night was Charles Blakely. When he wasn’t talking business and politics he spent the rest of the night flirting with me. He was apparently very excited when he learned Bruce and I were not together. For Bruce’s sake, I remained polite and good-mannered but by the end of the night it was increasingly difficult to ignore Blakely’s unwanted advances.

My agony was put to an end when dinner and the chit-chat ended just past midnight. Even in the dead of night, the heat was still unbearable. “So, home?” Bruce asked as he drove away from the restaurant.

“No, let’s go to your place.” I said, taking hold of Bruce’s free hand. His only response was a simple smile.