He can't believe he's doing this. The photography thing is supposed to be freelance. Get pics of Spidey, I'll take them, I'll get you a Christmas ham but you don't have a job. Yet he's so goddamn broke he's taking A&E photos.

It's kind of a cool assignment, though. Better than when JJJ makes him go to society balls. He'd rather fight the Sandman with a broken arm than repeat that experience. He's going with Ned Leeds to cover Mary Jane Watson, a newcomer on Broadway who's about play Ariel in The Little Mermaid. Opening night is tomorrow, and they're getting the interview and photos at dress rehearsal today. He's seen Mary Jane in magazines and on billboards, and she's stunning. Might be nice to meet a star, especially a beautiful gal.

Ned nods to him as they meet outside the theatre. "Hi, Pete. Betty says hello."

"Tell her I said hey back," Peter replies as they pass under the arch and enter the lobby. Betty and Peter dated for a while. She was his first love, he supposes, but she was too fragile for his crazy life. He's glad she's happy with Ned, and that they can still be civil, even if it's still a little awkward.

They enter the auditorium to the director yelling at their girl. She's yelling right back.

"We've kissed about twelve thousand times, no wonder we're 'losing the passion!'" she yells at the guy, a middle-aged man in a beret who look furious.

"It's your job to keep the passion, MJ! C'mon, you have to make this real for the audience!"

"Okay, what am I doing wrong, then?" she demands.

He throws up his hands. "You need me to teach you how to kiss?"

Peter and Ned stand awkwardly in the back, exchanging 'what the hell do we do' glances; MJ's eyes land on them and she calls, "Ooh, press. C'mon down, boys."

They come on down.

"Listen, Bart," she says, "Do you want it more like-" She seizes Peter's arm and kisses him, softly, sweetly, tenderly, and then pulls away, smiling at his expression (which he's sure is basically screaming what oh my god I just kissed Mary Jane Watson) "or do you want it more like-" she grabs him again, and this time her kiss is hungrier, wilder, and lasts longer.

"Christ, MJ, this is a Disney production."

"Oh, sorry," she says, separating from him. "Okay. What'll it be, Bart?"

"Can you combine the two? The sweet thing was good, but you need to really feel how desperately she loves this guy."

"So, like this?" And she kisses his again. She starts out soft, almost hesitant, but then she leans into him, and her hands brush over his cheekbones, and her tongue meets his before she slowly pulls away.

"There it is!" The director claps. "Now if we could get that with Aaron..." (Her costar, Peter remembers, and feels a rush of envy for the lucky bastard getting to taste her lips every night.) "Say, kid, can you play a decent Prince?"

"Uh- no," he laughs, and he knows he's blushing hard.

"Sorry about that, tiger," she apologizes to him, grinning, tucking a piece of her red hair behind her ear. "I learn best by doing."

"Uh, no problem," he stammers.

"No hard feelings then? Fantastic. C'mon, let's go to my dressing room."

"You have twenty minutes," the director threatens behind them.

"Relax, Bart!" she calls back, leading them through the wings and into her dressing room. Makeup and stray costumes are everywhere, and she sits in front of her dressing table like she's comfortable there.

The interview is straightforward, Peter thinks. She talks as she starts applying her makeup. He watches her, how she moves, how she laughs, her eyes and how they shine when she talks about her work. He gets a few candid shots of her, and he knows they'll work. She wishes them a cheerful goodbye, and they start for the stage exit when Peter grabs Ned's arm and says, "Hey, wait for me outside, okay?" and runs back.

He knocks on her dressing room door, and she opens it and smiles. "Hey. Forget something?"

"My name is Peter Parker, and this is nuts, but I'd like if maybe we could go get dinner sometime? When you're not busy?" he blurts out. She cocks her head at him. He really is a complete moron, he thinks as the seconds pass. Like Mary Jane Watson is going to go out with a guy like him.

"You know what? I would love to, Peter Parker. You're a good kisser, and don't let this go to your head, but you're just about the cutest thing I've ever seen. Let me just-" she writes her number on his hand in black ink. "Call me, 'kay? I have shows every night, but I can do breakfast or lunch."

"Great," he stammers out. "I-uh-great."

"Face it, tiger," she winks. "You just hit the jackpot."