**Disclaimer: Not much to disclaim here, only that I've watched half of "Revolutionary Road" lately and I'm sure that had something to do with this. As for the party, scenes of the movie "Capote" danced through my head. I'm pretty sure that's it.**
*Gotham City, Late-October, 1959*
She rarely fell into bed as she had the night before, at least, not these past few years. Rarely slipped so completely into sleep. So untroubled, so guiltless.
And she'd beat her own best timing. She'd made it into and was bored right out of the Totenfeld's party in just under two hours. Bruce hadn't even bothered to show but she knew better—and had practically promised—not to be offended.
The street had rumbled and the windows rattled just as she'd stepped out of the cab. An explosion some blocks away. The driver had smirked and tipped his hat, "Another night, another wack-job in a mask trying to knock something over."
She'd gathered her coat close and smiled, it certainly figured. Upstairs she gave into her nicotine craving, bumming a cigarette from Dot DeLancey. Bruce would be disappointed; she'd gone three whole days this time.
She stood in their rotating circles and laughed at their stories and gave a few witty remarks of her own and shrugged off Pal Dershowitz's advances. She had one martini, the most she could take on an empty stomach, but Betsy "Best" Totenfeld was quite disinterested in food. All the girls were. They popped olives and cheeses just like their pills and if they gave in to a decent meal, lo how they "unswallowed" it all, angry and frustrated on their knees in the morning with a finger to their uvula. In the meantime, they settled for filling one another with hot air.
Bert Golding of the Gotham Weekly Review was going on about Castro and, God, if Stanley Vreeland wasn't joining in. Selina let a stifled yawn flare her nostrils—all very ladylike—and slipped into the hallway. She cautiously opened the door to their sons' room that was pulling double-duty as the cloakroom. The twins were asleep, oblivious in their matching print pajamas. The one with the freckles—she remembered his name was Alan—was nestling a Mickey Mouse doll under his left arm. The other one must have been Bobby.
Selina watched them for a moment before they began to tug all the wrong strings and annoyance set in. She'd been pregnant once. When Donny shipped out and got all caught up in that Battle of Midway or what have you. She'd knitted and was delighted and everything. Her mother took her to her dressmaker downtown and they had poured over the fabric, planning out her maternity dresses but she'd miscarried and cried in her cousin's arms that summer at Newport. Donny never forgave her for losing it and it became just another one of her basic failures.
Her brow flattened and she tugged her coat, none too gently, from the heap over Bobby's form. The boy didn't so much as bat an eyelash. She turned from them both and let herself sneer. But just as quickly she shook the expression away. They're just kids.
She wished for another cigarette but decided that she'd simply cut out. Going through the living room might involve a number of excuses and sorrys she didn't feel like making up. She reached into her pocketbook and felt the compartment at the bottom. There were, after all, other ways of showing her appreciation for the invite.
**Morning**
She blinked at the gold haze that colored her room. If she didn't know better, she'd simply shrug off that strange solid shadow at the edge of her vision and sink back down into sleep. But, she did indeed know better, and against all reason began to speak to it, "How long have you been here?"
She knew her throat was somewhat hoarse from disuse, but she waited as he turned around. He was holding two things.
She sat up fully and rubbed her eye and pulled her knees up to her chest, "You might say 'good morning.'"
He pulled his mask back and looked at her solemnly, "I always liked this one best."
He held it up for her, the purple and green job with the slit up the leg. She smirked, sleepy and intrigued, "Me too…but you'll agree, it's not very functional. And oh, but I kept putting runs in my silk stockings, snagging them on fire escapes and the like. And if the war taught me anything, it's that there's nothing so precious as a pair of silk stockings."
She lay back again and reached into her bedside table, retrieving and starting a cigarette.
His brow curled, "You were doing so well."
She ignored the gentle admonishment and looked at the door to the hall, "Why don't you wash up and join me?"
He sat down at her dressing table chair, letting her old costume fall to the floor next to the newer one, "You told me, many months ago, that you did not want to be one of the ninety things I had to worry about. Perhaps…you prefer to be number one."
She smiled, blushing slightly, "You flatter me Bruce."
He opened his other hand and held out the string of pearls and handful of diamonds and silver she'd taken from Betsy Totenfeld's safe, "I don't know what to say…"
Selina propped two of the pillows up behind her and set the cigarette in the ashtray, "I said you had ninety different reasons to watch your back…I'm not interested in tripping you up or seeing you 'disappeared,' or anything like that." She stopped and let the idea land home for a moment, him in chains, shoved along by guards, going away, perhaps forever.
She let her head fall back over the pillows and closed her eyes, "Take them back if you want them, but I…I deserve a little fun, it's been too damned long and anyhow, Betsy bores me. They all do."
"Oh?"
"I guess I've been away too long," she snuggled down beneath the eiderdown and stared at him, "Society's fading Bruce. You and I know it. But I don't fit in with commoners, like Ted, and I don't really give a damn about the Register anymore. The only time I really feel human is when I've got that mask on," she smiled, "And then, perhaps my fingers get a little…sticky."
He nodded and slipped them into his belt before replacing the cowl and turning to leave.
"Wait," she stubbed out the cigarette and got up, bringing the cover with her, "Aren't you tired?"
She caressed his cheek and didn't react when the cover slipped off one of her shoulders, exposing her breast. She could almost see him turning over the possibilities in his mind but he turned and pushed up the sill, letting cold air flow into the room, "I'll need to return these."
She harrumphed and shut the window behind him before climbing back into bed. This time, sleep did not come as easily and was not nearly as satisfying.
