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Please Note: After 30+ years working in the technical side of things in theaters, I'm happy to reveal a little known use for certain unmentionables…
An Ounce of Prevention…
Alfred knocked gently on the study door. "Forgive me sir, but might I have a moment of your time?"
Bruce looked up from the Wall Street Journal. "What's on your mind?"
The old man placed a copy of a bill on the desk. It was from the local Rite-Aide pharmacy and showed charges of over one hundred and twenty-seven dollars from the last billing period. "This is the third month in a row that the young master has incurred similar expenses and I thought that, if you'll forgive me, I thought that perhaps it should be brought to your attention."
It was all basic stuff, toiletries and school supplies, until Bruce looked closer at the seventh item Dick had evidently purchased.
'(4) Trojan prophylactics. 36 pack. $9.99 each. Total; $39.96'
"I know he's precocious but he buys this many every month? Alfred, he's fifteen years old."
"Precisely my point, sir."
Bruce leaned back in his chair and gave Alfred a bemused look. "I suppose I should have a talk with him, then."
"At least."
He climbed the grand staircase slowly, one riser at a time. The sex talk. Christ, maybe he shouldn't have assumed that Dick would pick up what he needed to know from school or hanging around with Roy. You'd think that working vice would have given him a pretty good perspective, but well, you never knew—God knows assuming anything was the first step down the road to dumb. This was the kind of thing that Alfred would be better at, or maybe even Clark. This just wasn't, dammit, this wasn't the kind of conversation he was comfortable with. His rep as a noted player notwithstanding, sex wasn't something he liked to talk about or discuss and he certainly didn't want to sit across from Dick and delve into the whys and wherefores of playing safe. And then the emotional aspects…Jesus…
Thirty-six times four was one hundred and forty-four. Average thirty days per month and that was…Jesus…that was almost five 'encounters' a day, every day…
Oh God. How did the kid have the strength to walk?
Bruce paused outside Dick's bedroom door, listening to the music coming through; Vivaldi? Well, unexpected but okay…he knocked. "Dick, you busy?" Five times a day, he was probably comatose.
"Nah, c'mon in." The kid was sitting at his desk, with a math book propped up in front of him and looking as normal as ever.
Bruce walked over and sat on the edge of the bed as casually as he could. He just sat there desperately trying to think of how to begin. The seconds stretched out, blue eyes watching him.
"Um, Bruce, did you want something?"
"So…how are things going?"
Dick took a beat, a bit confused; Bruce was asking how he was doing? Bruce? Usually, as long as he wasn't in traction Bruce assumed everything was good. "Um, okay I guess…How's it going for you?"
"Fine, thank you."
Dick nodded, waiting until it got awkward. "Was there something you wanted to talk to me about, Bruce?"
"There was, yes."
Another pause. "…What was it?"
"So…You've been pretty busy lately."
"No more than usual." Dick was clearly wondering what the hell this was about.
"So I guess you're growing up." He gave Dick a sort of half smile. "Fifteen, that's a great age."
"Yeah, I guess; so far, so good." It was Bruce's turn to nod in agreement. "Bruce, is there a problem with something?"
"Well, no. Probably not. I hope not. No, no problem. You're okay, right? Nothing you'd like to talk about, maybe ask some questions about—this and that?"
Dick shook his head slightly, not having a clue what the hell Bruce was talking about though Bruce looked relieved, though Dick had no idea why.
"So, no problems, none at all—that's good to hear. No problems at all." He slapped his knees lightly as he stood up and moved over to the door. "You've always been pretty responsible, so that's good; no problems at all." He nodded in confirmation, emphasizing what he'd just said.
Dick was confused, but not enough to make an issue of it. He opted for just an agreeable smile.
Bruce paused in the doorway. "So, I was wondering who you've been spending time with lately."
"You mean like what friends I've been hanging with?" Bruce nodded. "'Same as always, the Titans, a few kids from school. Why?"
"Just want to keep current. Any girlfriends on the horizon by any chance?"
"Not really—between school, the Titans and working with you I don't have all that much time." Was that what Bruce was trying to get to? He was concerned about Dick's social life or maybe his love life? That was easy, he had no love life at this point...not that he didn't think that wouldn't be nice, of course, but it would happen when it happened.
"Well, plenty of time for that kind of thing, no hurry. 'Need any help with your homework?"
What? "No, I think I've got it covered, thanks."
Bruce smiled, seemingly relieved and left Dick staring at the closed door. What the hell was that about? Weird, even for the Bat. Definitely weird.
Down in the study Alfred found Bruce where he'd left him twenty minutes ago. "Everything all right, sir?"
"Yes, fine."
"Have you obtained a satisfactory explanation for the…items?"
Bruce pursed his lips for a moment. "I didn't actually ask him straight out, but he said there was nothing to worry about. I'm sure he's all right."
Nothing else was forthcoming, though Alfred had the distinct impression that the master had just fobbed this off, crossed his fingers, hoped for the best and didn't want to know; so like him. Batman would take any proverbial bull by the horns, but discussing the facts of life with a teenager was guaranteed to leave the man emotionally headed for high ground. Alfred removed the used coffee cup from the master's desk and retired for the evening wishing getting to bottom of this hadn't just landed in his lap and praying that next month's bill would be absent the items in question.
Meanwhile Bruce was privately stewing over the situation, not happy and certain he knew what was going on. Going down to the cave the used the secure line to dial an unlisted and confidential number, waiting impatiently and fuming when an answering machine picked. "Barbara, I want to talk with you…"
The next month the bill came in again from Rite-Aide with pretty much the same items listed, the same gross of condoms and, again, there was no explanation. Well, if Master Bruce wasn't willing to address the situation, then Alfred would—Good Lord, someone had to be looking out for the boy's well being and sense of morality. Around three-thirty he heard the front door open; Dick was home from school and always stopped in the kitchen to let Alfred know he was back.
"Hey, Alf, how's it going?"
"Fine, thank you—I'd like a word, if I may."
"Sure, whazzup?"
"I was hoping that you might have an explanation for this beyond the obvious." Alfred held a small shipping box with a 'Rite-Aide' return address. Opened, inside lay four boxes of condoms.
"Oh, good, I've been waiting for these. We were almost out and they were out of stock so the store had to ship them this time." His only reaction was relief at the box's contents.
"'We?' I'd appreciate an explanation, Master Dick, especially in light of the fact that you're fifteen years old, a minor and I believe the phrase is 'jailbait'."
"Oh, yeah—that." Dick paused, probably trying to figure out how to phrase this, Alfred could see the wheels turning in his head.
"I'm waiting."
"Well, c'mon, what do you think you use them for, Alf? Y'know…it's kind of a no-brainer."
"A gross every month? Might I suggest that may be a bit excessive for anyone and is an obvious detriment to your wellbeing?" Alfred gave him a Bat-worthy glare. "And at fifteen! Master Richard, I've had little reason over the years to ever chastise you on any matter of import but this time I really must intercede…"
"Well, seriously, would you rather I didn't buy them?"
"I'd rather that you had no need of them at this stage of your life, truth be known, young man."
"Mic covers." He said the phrase completely deadpan.
"Excuse me?"
"Covers, sheaths for body mics—you know, when we're—you know, the Titans are on surveillance or undercover or something we use body mics so we can talk to base. Sweat screws them up so we cover them with condoms to stop them from shorting." He gave Alfred an offended look as he spoke. "You didn't really think I was…"
"Heavens, no!"
"Because I'm fifteen and I don't even have a girlfriend yet or anything."
"Of course you don't."
"So it's not like I was using them to…"
"I'm aware of that, thank goodness."
"Bruce knows that, right?—it's an old theater trick when you're working a large house and need to be miked. If they get wet the receiver just gets crackle and then cuts out so you wrap them."
"Naturally. I'll leave you to it then."
"Thanks, Alf."
"My pleasure."
"Besides, Roy's too cheap to buy any for himself so he always swipes a dozen or so. He's been on my case to stock up."
12/29/08
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