Chapter VII: The Number One Ace

Jack scanned the room. Many prospects but no real winners.

The former Royal Flush member had been clean of the criminal life for a year, lived with his little sister in a luxurious downtown condo, and managed to scheme a cushion job for the biggest finance company in all of Gotham. He cut his hair to a shorter yet more up-to-date style, keep the goatee, and decided that pricey Italian suits would be apart of his daily dress code.

Jack even made himself calm some of his ego, but the love for money and the confidence were still his. His aristocratic grace wasn't gone and it allowed his new urbane style to blend nicely into a personality that charmed the pants off everyone.

This worked well with the female persuasion.

Melanie wanted no part of his new life, he allowed her to settle into life as a "normal" teenager as they lived off his new income and some of their "trust funds" slashed away in case of rainy day (like the possible day their parents were freed from prison). Mel was at some party tonight with some young guy trying to be seventeen, the guy was thoroughly warned to keep his hands to himself or he would lose them.

(Jack never forgave the guy she bemoaned a year back for breaking her heart. He did love his sister, she was the only person he had in the world even if they fought like cats and dogs.)

Women were numerous as dollars here tonight but he was seeking a jewel, a queen of hearts.

"Drink sir?" A waitress with pink lipstick asked him, the only bright spot admit the solemn uniform.

"Why, yes." He selected a glass of champagne, "Thank you."

"Drink up." She gave him a flirt's grin and walked off.

He watched her disappear into the crowd, taking slow slips. "You look drinkable. . . .' The thought kicked around in his mind until . . .until . . . until a black dress caught his eye.

'But she'll quench my thirst nicely.'


Ditched again. After one hour, they managed to do the same thing again.

Even Hanging Gardens' exquisite but expensive scenery could distract her from her anger.

Dupe. The only word Max felt like. Blade suddenly felt like the weekend high school parties were kiddie pony rides party compared to the chic dinner party her parents were taking her to so she could mingle.

(Actually, she just wanted to get a rise out of Nelson Nash.)

Blade could bring along friends so she choose Chelsea and (after much convincing) Maxine. So after (much more) convincing and an added element of bribery, their dark-skinned friend decided to get dressy for one night. If anyone knew she was going to be wearing a dress even a retro one, no deal she told the two. So they painted her up some (after much, much more convincing) and got her into a pair of low heels for the party.

Now she was alone in a room full of rich folks she would never know by the drink table, looking very much alone.

'If I'm still standing here by nine, I'm leaving.'

"Excuse me, Miss?"

"Yes?" Max turned around. Her halter-style, black floor-length gown turning with her.

The teenager found herself faced with a older gentleman: Slate Italian suit, polished black gators, short neat hair, a fine goatee. A large expensive watch graced his wrist, good teeth.

"I'm sorry, this may sound tacky-"

"As it will-" She said bluntly, "but continued."

He continued with cation. "Your beauty drew me to you and I must simply have this dance. I can't imagine a prettier creature whose arm I want to grace so badly."

Max thought about it. Since her friends were playing "catch the cute rich boy," she figured why not? No one else cared that she was there, they were all having low conversation about money and high society things.

Besides, under that silk shirt, she saw that guy was RIPPED. She extended a hand:

"Love to."


"Terry, I can't believe you got me in here!"

"Hey, when you have connections."

Hanging Gardens promised to be the overly chic, lavish restaurant he expected.

Trimmed in greens, golds, and black the place had a garden motif with large flora hanging in front all the windows, strained glass windows with art beyond this world or wallet. A live band playing soft classical or jazz music for rich taste. Imported oak tables, china, crystal glasses, soft candles on the center of the tables. Gold silverware. White lilies and lotus flowers floating in the manufactured ponds with imported goldfish from China. A fountain in the center of the whole place. The first level held the larger parties and bars, the second for those eating, the third for the truly exclusive where the balconies were for those who wished to see the city dwarfed under their money.

The happy couple were on the third floor at a private table, the private five-piece jazz band playing light tunes for eating. One waiter and waitress were appointed to them serviced their every need. They had a simple meal of seafood, bread, salad and pasta that was given a pricey name on the menu. A bottle of sparkling grape juice chilled on ice for them.

(Wayne promised to kill him if he got toasted.)

"I love the dress. Thank you so much."

The pastel blue evening dress he remembered her looking one day in the mall went well with the silver jewlery she wore. It bought out her eyes nicely, made her legs look even better, and went well with her swept up hair.

(His mother promised to do worse if he got her pregnant.)

"It was nothing." Like any male being praised by a woman, he milked it for all it was worth.

"Can you believe how nice this place is?" Dana pot a shrimp in her mouth.

He nodded at her, holding her hand. "Only the best."

"Can you also believe we meet Danny from . . ." She continued to chat on about the boy band member they ran into. Bragging rights earned from her, Terry was set for life as he listened.

"You know what?" The Asian girl suddenly said, looking into his eyes.

"What?" He leaned closer.

"I'm just happy we finally got one night alone. No interruptions, no work, no fights, nothing-"

They shared a kiss.

Moments like this made him put all doubts about their love away.

Moments where he finally saw Dana happy.


His partner got a impromptu dance lesson in salsa, not bad for someone who admittedly hate wearing heels. The music then slowed down three songs later.

"I'm surprised that you danced with me. Women have been throwing themselves at me virtually all night." Jack Walker toward Maxine Gibson.

"An ego I see?" His partner teased.

"What you can ego, I call confidence."

"Really?" She let him dip her, "Then I call myself an "ego-crusher.'"

He laughed heartily as he pulled her back up, then pulled her closer.

"Humor. I love it! That means we can have real conversation."

They conversed about various things: Why they were at the party, pastimes, funny observations about the rich and snobbish.

The focus then found itself on romance and such things (well, it was Valentine's).

"I fear your boyfriend will kill me. I have taken his date away for the whole night."

"Actually, I'm single."

"Really?" Jack was interested.

"Guys aren't my cup of tea right now. I need to worry about school."

"Ah." Then his brows danced, "You won't put me in jail will you now, my lady?"

"I'm not that kinky."

"Ha!" His arm draped around her waist as he laughed again, "Who is this gorgeous creature dancing with me? Such wit!"

"I'm just a girl who was ditched by her friends."

"And to think that someone would ditch you. I'm shocked. The very thought wounds me."

Their eyes met for an intense instant.

"Any man who can't see it should be shot on sight. You're stunning Maxine."

Without realizing it, Max laid her head on his shoulder, wordlessly, for the rest of the dance.

Yet, she fought hard not to imagine another hand resting on the small of her back.


When she opened her eyes finally, they caught sight of a familar person rushing off by the dance floor in an elegant three-piece suit.

"Terry?"

"My dear?" Jack asked her suddenly, lips near her ear. "What is it?"

Her thoughts were jarred suddenly, her head popped up. She felt bad vibes following behind the boy.

"Can you excuse me for a sec?"

"Something wrong?" His eyes flashed concern.

"I-I-I gotta go." Max cursed to herself. She didn't want to go but her friend needed her. Without another word, she kissed Jack on the cheek.

She forced herself to break the spell Jack Walker weaved around her to run (if shuffling along in heels could be called running) after Terry.