Gotham Through the Ages, Part III
Gotham City - 1922
A drowsy jazz tune played on the radio as Harleen Quinzel waited impatiently by the entrance to the kitchen. "Lewis, I need the order for table twelve!" she snapped, wiping the sweat from her forehead with her arm. It wasn't just from the hard work, although this morning had been exceptionally busy – the heat today was ridiculous, and clearly nobody felt like cooking. So they came out to eat at the diner, which was fine for the customers, but less so for the cooks and the waiting staff.
"It's gonna be another couple of minutes, Harley," retorted the cook, Lewis, face flushed and sweat pouring off him as he slaved over the grill. "Just offer them some more coffee or something."
"I've refilled their cups three times, and they're getting impatient," said Harley.
"Tell 'em if they wanna come in here and cook, they can be my guest!" he snapped.
Harley gave an annoyed sigh and stormed away. It wasn't Lewis's fault, really, but they were all on edge with the stress and the heat and the crowds of people. Nevertheless, she forced a smile as she approached her customers at table twelve.
"Just be another couple of minutes on the food, folks – who wants more coffee?" she asked, holding up the pot.
"We've been waiting forty-five minutes now for a couple burgers," snapped one of the customers.
"Well, we are very busy today, sir, as you can see," said Harley, refilling the coffee mugs.
"I could have had lunch prepared, eaten, and been ready with dessert in the time it's taken just to place an order and wait for it," chimed in the customer's wife, glaring at Harley.
"Yes, the delay will be reflected in your tip, young lady," said the man. "It's honestly ridiculous to expect people to put up with this kind of wait, in this day and age. You would think in this modern world with such miracles as radios and motorcars, the least people can do is make us lunch in under an hour."
They also had a child, a spoiled-looking little boy, who had been swinging his legs under the table and now kicked out at Harley, hitting her in the shins. His parents made no motion to discipline him for such behavior, so he grinned and did it again.
Harley gritted her teeth as she finished filling the mugs and then headed back to replace the coffee pot. The other waitresses were all in the same boat – not that there were many of them, thought Harley. The boss was too cheap to hire more help, so the women who did work there were constantly busy, receiving snide remarks and abuse more than they ever received tips.
As she walked past a table, another man reached out to pinch her. "Hey, sweetheart, what time do you get off?" he asked.
"None of your business," she retorted, rounding on him angrily.
"Aw, now don't play hard to get," said the man, trying to slide an arm around her waist. "C'mon, pretty little thing like you needs a big, strong man to look after her."
"Yes, and you're clearly not one of them," retorted Harley, shoving herself away from him as she returned to the front of the diner. She took a deep breath, pretending to check the menus, but really trying to concentrate on holding back her tears. She hated her job, especially on days like this, but also in general. The salary she earned was barely enough to make ends meet and to pay the rent for her small, derelict little apartment in the slums of Gotham City where she lived alone. She hated it, but it was all she could afford on her salary, and she didn't see herself getting either a pay rise or a better job anytime soon. She also didn't see herself getting any kind of companionship anytime soon either – all the men she had met in Gotham City had been creeps, only interested in her for her looks rather than her personality. She had gone on a few dates with a couple men, but they never led to anything serious. And so she was alone, stuck in a terrible job, and living in an ugly area. She hated her life more than words could express.
The bell over the door to the diner rang, indicating another customer had entered. Great thought Harley. Just what we need…
She forced a smile and then looked up. "Hi, welcome to…"
But she trailed off as she stared at the man who had entered. He was tall and thin and strangely handsome despite being an older man, with deep, piercing green eyes and a ready, easy smile, which was directed at her as he puffed casually on a cigarette. He was dressed in a shabby suit which looked as if it had been worn and repaired many times, but nevertheless, the man seemed to exude a kind of natural, classy charm. He had removed his fedora to reveal thick locks of dark, wavy hair, and Harley could only stare at him, stunned.
"Wel…welcome to Pauli's Diner," she stammered at last. "Party of…one?"
"Yes, ma'am," he said, nodding, in a pleasant, distinctive voice, with another charming smile.
"Right…right this way," she said, taking a menu and a set of cutlery and leading him through the crowd of people to an empty table.
"Hey, baby!" shouted the man who had pinched her, reaching out to try to grab her again. "C'mon, one little date! I'll buy you dinner!"
"No, thank you," growled Harley, trying to avoid his eager hands.
"Now that's no way to be…" began the man, but he gasped in sudden pain as the man with the green eyes suddenly reached out and seized his hand, bending the fingers back and crushing them.
"The lady said no, sport," he muttered. "That means no."
He released him and the man cradled his injured hand, looking in fear at the man with the green eyes who followed Harley to the table. "Thank…thank you," stammered Harley.
He shrugged. "Don't thank me. Just common courtesy. Guys can't treat a lady like that, or what'll the world come to? Can't let everyone get away with bad manners, buncha pigs," he said, tapping his cigarette into the ashtray. "If people don't show you respect, you gotta make 'em. However unpleasant that might occasionally be," he added, grinning at her.
"Well, it's…a little harder for some of us to earn respect, as a woman working a dead-end job…" said Harley.
"Gotta make 'em respect you, like I said," replied the man, nodding. "Gotta earn it. And if you can't earn it just by being you, you gotta earn it in other ways. But don't feel like you're obliged to put up with crap from anyone because you're a woman working a dead-end job. A woman always deserves respect. A working woman even more so. You're one of the brave ones, going out there and taking advantage of the opportunity given to you by the times we live in. Coulda stayed at home and just got married, done the safe thing, but you didn't. You're following your own path, and that's a real brave thing to do. Don't let anybody tell you different," he said, puffing out a cloud of smoke.
Harley's heart was beating wildly as she stared at the man, who was becoming more attractive by the minute. But she remembered her place and cleared her throat, taking out her notepad. "So…uh…what'll it be?" she asked.
He glanced at the menu. "I'll have the pepper steak, medium rare," he said. "And a cup of coffee."
Harley stared at him. "Steak?" she repeated, eyeing the man's clothes. "You can afford steak?"
She realized that she had meant to only think that, not say it, and found herself blushing. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean…only it's a whole fifty cents…"
He chuckled, smiling at her, and then reached into his pocket and withdrew a wad of bills. "Got it covered," he said, grinning.
"Wow…you're rich!" she gasped. "I've never seen that kinda money before…"
"I ain't rich," he said, shaking his head. "I just had a streak of good luck recently. And I'm in the mood for a steak."
"Coming…coming right up," she said, writing it down. "And I'll go get your coffee right now. It's free refills so…just let me know when you need some more. I mean, I'll be keeping an eye on you anyway…not just you, on everyone, that's my job, I mean…"
"I know what you mean," he interrupted with a smile. "And thank you, I will."
Harley headed off to the kitchen to place the order, glancing back at the strange man. She couldn't take her eyes off him.
"Order for table twelve is up, Harley," said Lewis, shoving some plates at her. "Harley?" he repeated.
"Huh?" she asked, tearing her eyes away reluctantly. "Oh yeah…yeah, thanks, Lewis."
"What's the matter?" he asked, following her line of sight. "You worried about that drifter sneaking out without paying?"
"Drifter?" repeated Harley.
"The guy in the shabby suit," he said, nodding at the man with the green eyes. "Got a shifty, untrustworthy kinda look about him, doncha think?"
"Uh…no," stammered Harley. "No, I don't, Lewis. I actually think he's kinda cute. And he seems nice enough…"
"Yeah, crooks have gotta be charming," agreed Lewis. "That's how they operate. But trust me, underneath that smooth charm, they're a nasty piece of work."
"Thanks, Dad," retorted Harley, sarcastically. "I'm not stupid, y'know, Lewis. I'll be careful." She handed him the order. "Just make him a steak, medium rare."
"He's old enough to be your Dad," said Lewis. "And he can't possibly pay for steak."
"I've seen the cash – he's good for it," retorted Harley. "So just do your job, and let me do mine."
She took the plates over to the family table, where more snide remarks about how long it had taken were directed at her. But she was able to ignore them, glancing over at the table where the man with the green eyes smoked, smiling to himself as he looked out the window. He had such a beautiful smile.
She came over to pour his coffee to see him still staring out the window. "Something out there has got you hypnotized," she commented. "Pretty girl shopping across the street?"
He grinned at her. "Why would I wanna stare at one across the street when there's one right in front of me?" he asked.
Harley felt herself blushing. "I was staring at the car," he explained, nodding out the window to a sleek automobile parked on the curb next to the diner. "She's a beaut."
"You prefer cars to women?" asked Harley.
"No reason why a man can't enjoy both," he replied, grinning as he tapped out his cigarette. "You know who she belongs to?" he asked, nodding at the car.
"Yeah, the owner," replied Harley. "He owns most of the buildings in this area. He works in one of those high-rise offices around the corner, but he has to pay to park there, so he always parks his car here because nobody will charge him. And so he can make his employees feel his presence, and constantly remind them who's in charge," she added. "Or at least it feels that way sometimes."
The man chuckled. "Smart girl, to figure out his game," he said, puffing on his cigarette. "He's a busy man, I take it? Works late into the evenings most nights, huh?"
"Yeah," agreed Harley. "I usually shut up the diner around ten, and the car's still there. Sometimes it stays there until the next day – we figure he doesn't get along with his wife or something."
The man laughed. "Probably," he agreed. "Probably has a nice, obliging secretary who lets him stay over, no questions asked."
"Yeah. You…uh…got a wife…Mr…?" asked Harley, slowly.
He grinned. "Napier. Jack Napier. Single," he said, holding up his hand free from any wedding ring. "And you, Miss…"
"Quinzel. Harleen Quinzel. But call me Harley – everyone does," she said, hastily.
"And are you married?" he asked.
Harley laughed. "Oh no, no, no, I'm definitely not," she said. "As you can see," she added, holding up her own bare hand. "I've been unlucky enough not to…uh…find anyone yet."
"You call it unlucky," he said, shrugging. "But I think it's very lucky indeed. For me, anyway," he added, smiling at her and puffing out a cloud of smoke.
Harley felt herself blushing again. "Yeah…well…I gotta go…see to the other customers, Mr. Napier. Let me know if you need anything," she said, leaving him with her heart pounding in her chest.
Harley wanted to chat with Jack some more, but the diner only got even more crowded, and she barely had time to give him his steak and hear his thank you before she had to rush off to another table. When she finally had time to pause in her work, her eyes strayed over to the table by the window…and her heart fell when she saw that it was vacant.
She rushed over to see the empty plate, and a note scribbled on a piece of paper.
Harley,
Great steak, thanks. Left a little tip for you under the plate. Really nice meeting you, and best of luck – you deserve it.
Jack.
Harley lifted the plate to see a few bills placed into a pile – the largest tip she had ever received in her life. She gathered up the money, knowing that she should be ecstatic about it, and grateful, but her overriding feelings were disappointment and depression. She had thought she and Jack had had a connection, that he was interested in her, but he hadn't even left an address to contact him. Clearly he was just being charming, as Lewis had warned, but without any substance underneath it. Harley should have known better than to get her hopes up by now.
She sighed, pocketing the money, and tried to be cheerful, forcing a smile onto her face and resigning herself to the fact that she would never see Jack Napier again.