A Night on the Town

            Bruce hung up the phone and frowned at it.  He hadn't really expected her to accept.  He hadn't even expected her to call.

            He picked up a sheaf of papers on the desk before him.  A few phone calls had netted him with enough information about her to make him seriously question her motives.  She had held fourteen jobs in the last eight years.  All of her former employers proclaimed that she was hard working, considerate, and indispensable.  In almost every case she had left with little or no notice, often citing 'family emergency' as her reason for leaving.  Even so, every employer promised she would be hired back with no qualms.  He suspected she was running away from something or someone. 

After quitting college she had taken a job at an accounting firm, where she worked for almost five years, until she married one of the CPAs named Darren Shelbey.  Seven months later he was dead.

            Bruce pulled out the copy of the accident report and the death certificate that had been faxed to him.  The coroner's report stated death due to a severed spinal cord at the second vertebrae, findings consistent with the reported trauma caused by the two-person motor vehicle accident.  According to the statement of the police officer who first arrived at the scene, there was no evidence of driver error.   The driver was listed as Mardi Purcell Shelbey.  It was less than a month after the funeral that she had left the town she was born in, grew up in, and married in, and as far as he could tell, she had never been back.

            He sat back with a sigh and listened to the silence of the old house.  He almost expected Alfred to come through the door with a tray of tea.  But he was gone.  The emptiness of the house never bothered him in the course of his duties, but he was discovering that retirement was boring as hell.

            Shaking himself out of the reverie, he reached for the phone and dialed a number.  He waited – three rings, four – and then the call was answered.  "Major Crimes Unit.  Lt. Gordon speaking."

            "Barbara.  How are you?"

            "Bruce," the voice said after a moment.  "It's been a while.  How are you doing?"

            "I'm as well as can be expected.  I'd like you to do something for me."

            "What?" she asked, caution clearly in her voice.

            "I need you to check for a police record."

            "Why?"

            "Just to set my mind at ease."

            "Who is it?"

            "The name is Mardi Purcell."  He spelled both names and gave her date of birth and social security number.

            "Who is she?"  Barbara asked, but he could her the clicking of her computer keyboard in the background.

            "No one important."

            "Then why do you care if she has a record," Barbara retorted sharply.  "Is there something you're not telling me?  I know the last few years have been hard for you, but I may not be there next time if you do something foolish."

            He sighed.  "She's just somebody I've meet.  It's personal."  He sat back and listened to the distant noises of Gotham PD's finest at work.  Though their relationship had been strained at its best since she left both Batman and Bruce Wayne, he considered her a very special person.  After his final outing as the Batman, trying to save Bunny Vreeland, when the suit had become more of a burden than an asset, when he'd had to turn to a gun for self-protection as his body protested against his will, he'd somehow managed to return to the cave, chest tight and breath short. Barbara was the one person he could call.  She came and helped him out of the suit and upstairs where she stayed with him, holding his hand, as they waited for the ambulance.  When he came home from the hospital he closed up the batcave for good.  The time had come for the Dark Knight to retire.  But what was he if he wasn't Batman?

            "I've got something," she said.

            He leaned forward.  "What?"

            "When she was 21 she was arrested for shoplifting.  Apparently she was rushing a college sorority and that was one of the prerequisites.  All charges were dropped."

            "That's it?"

            "Disappointed?  Yes that's it.  Listen, I heard the news about Powers.  I'm very sorry."

            "Don't be, it was bound to happen sooner or later.  He's been gunning for Wayne Enterprises for years."

            "You're taking care of yourself?"

            "Yes."

            "Don't stay cooped up in that house, Bruce.  It's not healthy."

            "As a matter of fact I have something going on this weekend."

            "Good.  While I have you on the phone, there's something I'd like to tell you.  I wanted you to be the first to know."  Her voice was hesitant.

            "I'm listening."

            "Sam has asked me to marry him."   Sam Young, the up and comer in the District Attorney's office, who Barbara had been seeing for the last year.  "Bruce?  Did you hear me?"

            "I'm very happy for you," he said.

            "There's more.  Since my dad, well, you know, since he's gone, I was hoping that maybe you would consider walking me down the isle.  If it's too uncomfortable for you, I'll understand."

            Bruce closed his eyes.  He wasn't certain he'd even want to attend the event, much less give the bride away.  It wasn't that he had any lingering feelings towards Barbara, but no man liked to see a former lover marry someone else; it was a matter of pride.  Clark and Lois' wedding had been bad enough, and Clark even had the gall to ask him to be best man.  This was almost too much for anyone to bear.  "I'd be honored Barbara.  When's the date?"

            "Oh it won't be for a year or two.  It'll take that long for us both to rearrange our schedules so we can have a proper honeymoon.

            "I'm worried about you," she said suddenly.

            "Why?"

            "I'm afraid…Oh never mind.  Just promise me you'll stay out of trouble."

            "Of course."

            "Stay in touch."

            He hung up the phone, realizing the evening had come, leaving him in darkness.  He sat alone at his desk in the night that he was most comfortable with, the tick of the grandfather clock keeping time with his own heartbeats.  After a while he feel asleep.

            She was waiting on the steps of the Botanical Society building as he walked up the street.  She was wearing a full-length burgundy strapless dress made out of some iridescent material that brightened and darkened as she moved in the waning evening light.  Two inch black velvet heels adorned her feet and she wore a matching black velvet wrap to protect her exposed shoulders from the evening chill.  Her hair was styled expertly, sculpted around her face.  He thought she was wearing makeup, but not so much that it did no more than accentuate her features.  A teardrop diamond pendant hung around her throat with matching diamonds dangling from her ears.

            He paused twenty feet away and simply observed her as she nervously eyed the flow of pedestrian traffic before her.  Her eyes darted to and fro taking in every face that passed.  Looking for him, or on alert for someone else, some threat?  It didn't take long for her to finally spot him.  He closed the distance to join her.

            "Hi," she said first.

            "Hello," he replied.  "You look stunning."

            "You really think so?" she asked anxiously.  "This is my roommate's dress.  She wore it as a bride's maid in her sister's wedding."  She reached up to grab the upper bodice edge and gave it a firm shake.  "Unfortunately she fills it out much better than I do."

            "I think you fill it out perfectly," he replied quietly, hoping she didn't notice the catch in his breath.

            Grinning up at him, she said, "Thanks.  And you're not looking half bad yourself.  Something about men in tuxedos is terribly sexy."  As soon as the words left her mouth she blushed fiercely.

            Choosing to avoid replying, and therefore save a portion of her dignity, he said instead, "Where would you like to eat?  There is a restaurant over by…"

            "Right there," she interrupted him pointing to the end of the block.

            Following the direction of her finger he could see no eating establishment in view.  The Botanical Society's building and its accompanying gardens took up the entire block.  All he could see was a silver cart with an umbrella standing on the corner.

            "A hot dog stand?"

            "Sure, my treat.  Are you up for it, or has too much champagne and caviar spoiled your palate to life's basic pleasures?"

            "A hot dog is one of life's basic pleasures?" he asked skeptically.

            "You bet.  Let's go."  She took off down the steps and up the sidewalk.  Warily he followed.

            The vendor was in the process of taking down his stand for the evening as they walked up.  "Are we too late?" she asked and Bruce willed the man to say yes.

            "I got a couple left," the vendor replied.

            "Great.  Two please.  Catsup, mustard, and relish."  She turned to Bruce.  "We'll start you off easy.  Next time you can move onto the harder stuff, like chili."

            The vendor reached into his steamer and removed the last two hot dogs, adding the condiments as requested.  "That'll be eight dollars."

            Mardi reached into her bag and pulled out a ten.  "Keep the change."  She took one dog and handed the other to Bruce.  They drifted away from the cart.  She took a huge bite of hers while he eyed his suspiciously.  Dick and Tim had both eaten hot dogs on a regular basis, but Bruce had never found any desire to try them.

            "What's the matter?  Give it a try."  She went for a second bite and he could see a glob of the toppings hang precariously from the end.  She was an expert, though, and contorted her body at the last minute so it dropped harmlessly to the ground.

            Throwing caution to the wind he shoved one end into his mouth.  He savored the warm, saltiness of the meat mixed with the sweet and tangy contrast of the condiments, then swallowed.  For the first time in his life, Bruce Wayne discovered he liked hot dogs.

            Mardi watched in awe as he finished the entire thing in three more bites.  After he swallowed the last she asked, "Well?"

            "Not bad," he replied noncommittally.

            She reached up with a napkin and wiped his chin.  It was an automatic and innocent gesture, yet it sent a jolt of electricity through his entire body.  "You've got a spot of mustard," she explained softly.

            They threw their trash into a nearby receptacle and by silent consent began to walk down the sidewalk that ran along the perimeter of the gardens.

            "Were you ever married?" she asked after they'd fallen into step.

            "No, but I was engaged once."

            "What happened?"

            "Things just didn't work out."

            "And you never met anyone else you wanted to share your life with?"

            He paused before answering.  "There were several.  In the end my work always took priority.  I just couldn't have it both ways."

            "So you're all alone because you were a workaholic.  Was it worth it?  Any regrets?"

            "It's really not all that important."

            She shrugged, letting the topic drop.  After a few moments she asked hesitantly, "How old are you?"

            "How old are you?" he retorted, even though he knew the answer already.

            "I asked first."

            "58."

            "35."  She inhaled deeply, and then said, "That's almost 25 years difference."

            "I know."

            They had come to the end of the block and rounded the corner automatically.  Bruce realized they were now at the back of the gardens.  The street that lay on their right was little more than a service alley used for deliveries with very little traffic.  It was dark and isolated.  He frowned, his instincts crying out with foreboding.  He was about to suggest they turn around when a figure immerged from the shadows in front of them.  A young man, hair unkempt, clothes dirty and rumpled, holding a knife in one hand approached them.

            Bruce heard Mardi gasp in surprise and he attempted to pull her behind him.  "No way," the kid said.  "Give me your wallet.  And I'll be taking your jewelry too," he said motioning to Mardi's neck.

            Her hand flew up to cover the necklace.  "My father gave me these."

            "So you'd die to keep them?"   The mugger leaned forward, reaching out with the knife to illustrate his threat was not idle.

            The man was so focused on intimidating Mardi that Bruce easily reached out and grabbed the wrist that held the knife.  He gave a hard twist.  The sound of bone snapping was heard only seconds before the thief cried out in agony.  Bruce released the hand and watched the man crumple to the ground, the knife clattering harmlessly away.  "You broke my hand," he screeched, tears of pain running down his dirty cheeks.

            Bruce bent down towards him and said, "Consider yourself lucky.  I'd find another line of work if I were you."

            He turned and grasped Mardi by the upper arm, leading her back the way they had come.  He was angry and exhilarated at the same time.

            "You broke his hand!" she exclaimed.

            "Yes."

            "But how?  How on earth did you do that?"

            "I was just lucky." 

            She stopped, leaving him no option but to stop as well unless he wanted to drag her down the street by her arm.  "Lucky?  I think you can do better than that."

            "It's not important."

            "One of these days you're going to have to tell me what things are important."  Her brows knit together and she reached up to pry his fingers away from her arm.  He could see the red marks they had left and realized in his determination to get her to safety he had hurt her.  By morning the marks would more than likely be black and blue.

            Instead of being angry, she gently took his hand in her own and began walking again.

            As they passed under the great arched doorway of the Botanical Society, with it's sculpted vines and blossoms, Mardi slipped her hand out of Bruce's grasp surreptitiously.  She didn't think it would be appropriate to show such a public display of affection, and she was fairly sure he would agree.  It was simply a matter of being the first to do it; pride goeth before a fall, Jesse would probably quote to her.

            Less than an hour had passed since she saw him overtly watching her from a distance, and her emotions were in turmoil.  She still couldn't believe she'd actually been bold enough to wipe the spot on his chin.  It had been such an intimate moment; his eyes boring into her had caused a flush of pleasant warmth.  Unconsciously she soothed the sore spot on her arm.  The ease with which he'd disarmed the mugger, the dark edge that seemed to settle in his voice, even the way he had looked at her when she questioned him – Mardi was certain there was a Bruce Wayne deep inside that few people got to see, perhaps dangerous.  Unfortunately that didn't dispel the feelings that were growing inside her.

            Yet now as she quietly walked among the crème de la crème of Gotham society, she saw something else.  His shoulders, still broad and well defined beneath the tailored tuxedo jacket, seemed slightly more rounded; his voice gained a lighter tone; and his face became more animated in conversation than she had ever seen.  This was a public persona if she'd ever seen one.  Drifting closer to him, she had to wonder to herself, which one is real?

            He was speaking to a short dowager with silver hair and an excessive amount of jewelry, nodding and smiling at everything the lady had to say.  Mardi was finding it increasingly difficult to keep her eyes off of him; she couldn't recall ever being so attracted to anyone in her life.  As she took a sip of her wine, he looked up and beckoned for her to join them.

            Holding his hand out, he said, "Mrs. Filmen, I'd like to introduce you to my date for this evening.  Mardi Purcell.  Mardi, this is Estella Filmen, chairwoman for the Society."

            "How do you do?" Mardi asked demurely with a smile.

            "I'm marvelous, my dear.  This handsome gentleman has just promised that the Wayne Foundation will match all the proceeds from tonight's gala.  That will more than cover the cost of renovating the balsa exhibit you know we were so desperate for.

            "Bruce, I just wanted to tell you how well you look.  How long has it been since your heart attack?  Almost three years isn't it?  I'm so glad you're taking better care of yourself.

            "Oh my there's Phillipa Durham.  I must say hello.  Will you excuse me please?"  Estella strode of if a swish of silks and lace.

            Aghast, Mardi turned to Bruce, who was still wearing an incongruous grin.  "You had a heart attack?"

            The grin faded to a slightly amused and much more natural looking smirk.  "A few years ago.  I'm fine now."

            Unconvinced, she continued.  "Oh my God!  You changed my tire that day.  And I made you eat a hot dog!  All that fat and processed meat.  God, what was I thinking?"

            He put a hand on her shoulder.  "I said I was fine.  Don't worry, you won't kill me."

            She knew he had said it in jest, but she felt the blood drain from her face all the same.  Her ears rang with the words, and she lost the feeling in her hands, the wine glass slipped unheeded on to the floor.  The crash caused many heads to turn their way, and she thought this might just be the time she'd discover what it felt like to faint.   A server came out of nowhere to clean up the spilled wine and shattered glass.  Bruce's arm went around her waist and he hurried her away from the murmuring crowd, leading her up a staircase to an unused upper level terrace that looked down onto the main floor.  It was darker up there, all the spotlights focusing on the floor below.

            Mardi moved to the terrace's rail and sat against it, affording herself a view of the festivities.  Servers bearing trays of hors d'oeuvres or champagne weaved their way through a sea of overdressed, bejeweled men and women, all awaiting the bloom of a single flower.

            She sensed Bruce's movements in the shadows as he came closer.  "I'm fine," she said.  He was silent.  He was close, so close she could almost feel the heat radiating from his body, but she didn't look up from the party scene.  Swallowing a lump in her throat, she said, "I killed my husband."

            "I doubt that," he said mildly.

            "Remember I told you he died in a car accident?  Well I was driving.  The police said it wasn't my fault, but they weren't there.  They don't know."  A hand gently gripped her shoulder.  "We were fighting, you see.  It seemed like all we ever did was fight.  We were newlyweds and I can't remember a single day that didn't end badly."  She paused for a breath, licking her lips.  "He was in a foul mood, and I was trying my best to ignore him.  I just wanted to get home.  Then he said something, I don't remember exactly what anymore, but it was one of those stupid things he said to get me going.  He couldn't stand having an argument without me.  It made me so mad I took my eyes off of the road, I looked at him to tell him," she dropped her head and looked at her hands, "To tell him what an asshole he was.

            "When I looked back at the road, there was a little girl.  She had chased a ball from her yard.  She was so close there was no time to brake, and I just turned the wheel as hard as I could.  I missed her, but we careened into the side of a garbage truck, you know the ones as big as tanks.  The impact was so hard I think I blacked out for a second.  He was killed instantly.  I broke my leg in two places.  I couldn't walk for a month."

            "And you ran away as soon as you could?"

            For the first time she looked up at him.  "I had to.  Don't you see?  Almost from the moment I said 'I do' I wanted to divorce him.  But I couldn't stand the idea that I'd failed at marriage.  I'd always looked down on people who couldn't be bothered to make their marriages work, I didn't want to be the same type of failure.  And all of a sudden I'm the grieving widow, able to go on with my life?  It was the answer to my prayers and it just wasn't fair.  I have these dreams sometimes, where I'm trapped in the car with him.  I can tell he's dead from the way his head is hanging limply, but somehow he manages to look up at me and says so sweetly, 'I hope you're happy now Mardi.  You're free.'"

            "So you keep moving, never staying in one place for very long, just in case you might actually find some of that happiness you don't think you deserve anymore?  Would he want you to keep punishing yourself over this?"

            "This isn't about him, not at all.  It's only about me."

            He was standing in front of her now, staring down with inscrutable eyes.  His hand came up and he gently pushed his fingers into her hair, cupping the back of her head.  Her scalp tingled and she shivered as he leaned in closer, finally laying his lips against hers.  She stiffened for a fraction of a second as he started to kiss her, and then allowed herself to relax.  She had one bright flash of thought – He's old enough to be my father – before wrapping her arms around his neck and completely let her mind go blank, allowing the heat of passion course through her veins.

            The shadows of the balcony hid them from the bustling activity below, but it could not shelter them from the sounds of applause and muted cheering that suddenly rose up.  They drew apart and looked down as the entire group surrounded the endangered plant that had been the entire reason for the gathering.  Mardi swallowed, her heart pounded in her chest.  "I guess we missed the big event."

            "I didn't miss anything."  He bent and kissed her again, though it did not resume with the same heat as before.  Pulling away from her, but not releasing the hold on her head, he said bluntly, "Come home with me tonight."

            She licked her lips.  In a husky, almost desperate voice, she said, "Only as long as we understand each other.  There's a - a tension that needs to be relieved, but nothing beyond that.  Tonight is what it is.  Agreed?"

            Instead of answering he took her hand and led her back down to the main floor.  Escaping, however, was easier said than done.  No less than a dozen people wanted to shake hands with Bruce and offer their sincere thanks for his charitable efforts.  He smiled, nodded, and made his excuses for early departure where possible.  Flying low on the radar, Mardi hovered at the outer edge and watched him slowly make his way towards her.  With a mind of its own, her body responded to every movement he made, every facial expression.  It seemed either supreme torture, or exquisite foreplay.  Finally they were able to collect their things and make their way out.  On the still busy sidewalk he looked at her and asked, "Where are you parked?"

            "I took a cab."

            Wordlessly he placed a hand on the small of her back and led her to his car.

            In what seemed like hours, they arrived at Wayne Manor.  Bruce unlocked the front door and allowed her to enter first.  A small lamp was lit at the end of the entranceway, but the rest of the house sat in murky dark.  As he removed her wrap she remarked, "Don't you have a butler, or something?"

            "I did up until ten years ago.  He died."

            "Why didn't you hire someone to replace him?"

            "No one could replace Alfred," he replied mournfully.

            "I see," she said, although she really couldn't understand.  "So you live in this gloomy museum all by yourself now?"

            A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips.  "Most people call it 'stately'."

            She stepped forward and drew her fingertips slowly down the lapels of his jacket.  Leaning forward conspiratorially, she whispered, "Most people are trying to kiss your ass."

            He wrapped his arms around her waist and began kissing her again, as she slid her hands beneath the jacket to feel the hard muscles of his chest.  He pulled her close and started to nuzzle her neck.  She cleared her throat.  "What do you call this part of the house we're standing in?"

            "The grand foyer," he responded against the soft skin of her throat.

            "Well as grand as it is, I don't think it's really appropriate for what's going to happen in about five minutes."  With a bemused look he turned and brought her up to the master bedroom.  A sudden attack of nerves caused Mardi to start questioning what they were doing.  He was sitting on the bed, the silver moon made the whole room glow.  Standing before him, she combed her fingers through his hair.  "It's been a long time; there hasn't been anyone since my husband died."

            "It's been considerably longer for me," he replied shortly.

            "Why?  Why now?  Why me?"  Her heart pounded erratically and her tongue seemed to have swollen to twice its normal size.

            He looked at her with narrowed eyes.  "Retirement has not been as satisfying as they lead you to believe."

            "Maybe you need to take up a hobby, like stamp collecting.  Think about your heart; this might not be such a good idea…oh my…"  He placed soft kisses along the top of her breasts, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in their path.

            His hands reached around and she heard the small ripping sound of the zipper being lowered.  "Shut up," he said gruffly.  And she did.  There were moans, sighs, and one brief cry, but she didn't say another word for the rest of the night.