"This house is getting too big for us, boy," Bruce absently scratched at
Ace's ear. Wayne Manor. Indeed, it was too much space for one old man and
his dog. Of the entire estate, Bruce occupied about a tenth of it: a
bedroom, the adjoining bathroom, his office, and the kitchen. He didn't
even use the Batcave anymore - not since the heart attack fifteen years
ago. Without the Robins, Alfred, or even the occasional party guest, most
of the manor was hidden under dust covers. He was sure someone else could
put the manor to better use, but how could he give up his family home?
Still, so many of his old friends had "downsized" to more manageable domiciles. With grown children, pared-down social calendars, and the normal physical effects of aging, even the Vreelands moved away, to an oceanfront community. "How much land does a man need, anyway?" Bruce recalled Tolstoy's essay. Certainly not this much, he thought.
As Bruce drove to the Heritage Pines Retirement Home for Active Adults, he kept telling himself, I'm just here to look. I'm just here to look. The grounds were idyllic, just like the brochure promised. Gray-haired men and women were out for morning walks, some on their way to golf or play tennis. This might be a chance for a normal life, late as it is, he thought. Now that he has put the cape and cowl behind him, maybe that would be possible. Besides, he was getting sick of cooking night after night. This place might be good, after all. He parked the car and walked up the wide, shallow steps of the stately, one-story building. A smiling, well-coiffed woman greeted him warmly. "Hello Mr. Wayne," she said as she reached for his hand, "I am Shirley Bergen, director of Heritage Pines." He smiled in response.
"This is a lovely facility," he complimented. She clutched a thick brochure under one arm as they toured the grounds.
"Thank you. We are quite proud of it. It's important to us to keep a peaceful, welcoming environment, as it is home to over 150 active, retired adults. We have several amenities available - shuttle to shopping and doctor visits, should you not feel like driving, whirlpools, tennis, golf, no-impact aerobics." her list went on, "as well as crafts and Bingo." What do you think so far, Mr. Wayne?" she stopped and looked directly at his face. He sighed as he glanced around.
"It looks nice enough here," he said," and you allow dogs?"
"Only in your private patio and condo. If you bring him to the public areas, he must be on a leash," she answered, still smiling. "Also we have a weight limit of fifteen pounds. What kind of dog do you have, Mr. Wayne?" Bruce wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed that this barrier existed.
"One that weighs more than yourself," he replied neutrally. Fifteen pound dogs - what's the point? I've met bigger rats, thought the Batman.
"Well, for an animal that size," she paused thoughtfully, "we can still allow it, but it will cost an extra five hundred credits per month, for maintenance." Or giant dog poops, in other words.
Bruce nodded mutely. I guess this is active retirement living, he thought.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"I thank you, Mr. Wayne, on behalf of the Gotham City Junior League, for allowing us to use your facilities for our meetings," the young woman shook his hand vigorously, her pearl bracelet clicking against itself. Half a dozen other well-dressed women stood behind her, beaming at the old man.
"It's no problem at all, Ms. Andrews," he replied, in billionaire philanthropist mode, "in fact you are doing me a great service by taking care of my old house. I only hope the cobwebs aren't too many," he smiled. The women laughed politely. With that he handed over the keys and excused himself. Bruce let out a heavy sigh when he started the car. Ace was in the passenger seat. "Well this is it, boy," he said to the dog, "but we're just trying it out - nothing permanent."
Bruce's reception at the Heritage Pines was interesting, if not surreal. The female residents turned out in force, lining the lobby hallway to get a glimpse of their new neighbor. This had little to do with his being a billionaire - these women didn't care about wealth. Simply put, the women outnumbered the men seven to one, and they heard this one was a hottie. Bruce tried to keep his gaze straight ahead - it had been at least twenty years since women hawked on him like this, and he was no longer used to it. What's more, these women were much more aggressive than the typical Gotham debutante.
"Oh look at that dog, Marie..."
"It's not the dog, idiot - it's the feet, you know, the larger the feet-"
"Shh! He can hear you, Ashley. Besides, it's really the hands."
"Oh who cares, Sarah? Girth is the only thing that matters...."
Bruce picked up the pace. These women were creeping him out.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Still, so many of his old friends had "downsized" to more manageable domiciles. With grown children, pared-down social calendars, and the normal physical effects of aging, even the Vreelands moved away, to an oceanfront community. "How much land does a man need, anyway?" Bruce recalled Tolstoy's essay. Certainly not this much, he thought.
As Bruce drove to the Heritage Pines Retirement Home for Active Adults, he kept telling himself, I'm just here to look. I'm just here to look. The grounds were idyllic, just like the brochure promised. Gray-haired men and women were out for morning walks, some on their way to golf or play tennis. This might be a chance for a normal life, late as it is, he thought. Now that he has put the cape and cowl behind him, maybe that would be possible. Besides, he was getting sick of cooking night after night. This place might be good, after all. He parked the car and walked up the wide, shallow steps of the stately, one-story building. A smiling, well-coiffed woman greeted him warmly. "Hello Mr. Wayne," she said as she reached for his hand, "I am Shirley Bergen, director of Heritage Pines." He smiled in response.
"This is a lovely facility," he complimented. She clutched a thick brochure under one arm as they toured the grounds.
"Thank you. We are quite proud of it. It's important to us to keep a peaceful, welcoming environment, as it is home to over 150 active, retired adults. We have several amenities available - shuttle to shopping and doctor visits, should you not feel like driving, whirlpools, tennis, golf, no-impact aerobics." her list went on, "as well as crafts and Bingo." What do you think so far, Mr. Wayne?" she stopped and looked directly at his face. He sighed as he glanced around.
"It looks nice enough here," he said," and you allow dogs?"
"Only in your private patio and condo. If you bring him to the public areas, he must be on a leash," she answered, still smiling. "Also we have a weight limit of fifteen pounds. What kind of dog do you have, Mr. Wayne?" Bruce wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed that this barrier existed.
"One that weighs more than yourself," he replied neutrally. Fifteen pound dogs - what's the point? I've met bigger rats, thought the Batman.
"Well, for an animal that size," she paused thoughtfully, "we can still allow it, but it will cost an extra five hundred credits per month, for maintenance." Or giant dog poops, in other words.
Bruce nodded mutely. I guess this is active retirement living, he thought.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"I thank you, Mr. Wayne, on behalf of the Gotham City Junior League, for allowing us to use your facilities for our meetings," the young woman shook his hand vigorously, her pearl bracelet clicking against itself. Half a dozen other well-dressed women stood behind her, beaming at the old man.
"It's no problem at all, Ms. Andrews," he replied, in billionaire philanthropist mode, "in fact you are doing me a great service by taking care of my old house. I only hope the cobwebs aren't too many," he smiled. The women laughed politely. With that he handed over the keys and excused himself. Bruce let out a heavy sigh when he started the car. Ace was in the passenger seat. "Well this is it, boy," he said to the dog, "but we're just trying it out - nothing permanent."
Bruce's reception at the Heritage Pines was interesting, if not surreal. The female residents turned out in force, lining the lobby hallway to get a glimpse of their new neighbor. This had little to do with his being a billionaire - these women didn't care about wealth. Simply put, the women outnumbered the men seven to one, and they heard this one was a hottie. Bruce tried to keep his gaze straight ahead - it had been at least twenty years since women hawked on him like this, and he was no longer used to it. What's more, these women were much more aggressive than the typical Gotham debutante.
"Oh look at that dog, Marie..."
"It's not the dog, idiot - it's the feet, you know, the larger the feet-"
"Shh! He can hear you, Ashley. Besides, it's really the hands."
"Oh who cares, Sarah? Girth is the only thing that matters...."
Bruce picked up the pace. These women were creeping him out.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++