Misery Loves Company…Or Does It?

            The midmorning sun streamed through the open drapes causing her to moan in protest and roll into the pillow face first, a futile effort to reclaim the dream she'd been having.  For once it hadn't been about her dead husband, but a pleasant afternoon picnic with her father under a great oak tree, with sandwiches her grandmother had made.  But the damage was done and the dream faded back into her subconscious.  She rolled back over and opened her eyes.  The room was completely unfamiliar, the massive bed felt strange beneath her, and she was alone.  Moving slightly, the silk sheets whispered against bare skin.

            As the cobwebs of sleep were dispelled, memories took their place.  Her skin felt flushed as she remembered the previous evening's events.  In the seventeen years since losing her virginity on the eve of her high school graduation, she had never experienced anything like it.  He was single-minded and intensely diligent in his efforts to the point where she was not even certain he'd been aware of his surroundings.

            She peered over the edge of the bed to see Jesse's dress a crumpled heap on the floor.  Have to get it dry-cleaned now.  She balked at having to wear the garment again, it would be garish in the daylight, but figured it would be preferable to the alternative.  Flipping back the bed covers and swinging her legs over the side, she happened to notice a stack of clothes at the foot of the bed.  Not believing it to be a coincidence, she pulled the pile towards her.  On top was a sweatshirt with "Gotham City University" printed on the front.  Underneath was a matching pair of sweatpants.  She placed the shirt to her nose.  It smelled clean, but stale, as if it had been in storage for a long time.  They were much larger than she, but the pants had a drawstring she could tie to keep them from falling down around her ankles.  Mardi dressed quickly, and then availed herself of the master bathroom's facilities to wash her face and put her hair in some semblance of order.

            She paused at the bottom of the stairs, trying to get her bearings from the night before and wondering where Bruce might have gone.  Poking her head into the dining room she saw him sitting out on an adjoining deck, accessed through a pair of French doors.  He saw her and motioned for her to join him.  The patio set was wrought iron painted white with a glass tabletop and floral patterned cushions.  "Help yourself," he said, motioning to the array of breakfast items spread out before him.

            She took a piece of toast after sitting and spread a dollop of orange marmalade across it.  She accepted a cup of tea that he offered from a delicate china teapot, adding sugar and milk to it.  After a few moments of silence she asked casually, "Have you been up long?"

            "No.  I'm not really a morning person.  Did you sleep well?"

            "Yeah.  I must have been sleeping like the dead, I didn't even hear you get up."

            "I'm used to being quiet."

            "I guess I should thank you for the clothes.  Are they yours?"

            "No."

            "Will the owner be expecting them back?"

            "No."

            "You're a real chatterbox this morning."  He didn't answer and she looked over at the manicured lawn.  He must have a service come regularly to maintain it, she thought.  "How about giving me the ten cent tour before I go.  Maybe it will look more stately in the daylight."

            He took her around the estate and back into the house, allowing her to admire some of the artwork he had kept on display, although more and more of the rooms were being closed off, furniture covered with protective sheets, since one person had no use for so much.

            Passing through the parlor she looked up to a large portrait hanging above the fireplace.  A man and a woman stared down, smiling like a royal couple benevolently surveying their kingdom.  "Who are they?" she asked.

            "My parents."

            "The look nice."

            "They were."

            "What happened to them?"

            He was quiet for so long she thought he must not have heard her.  Then as she was about to repeat the question he said, "They were murdered by a two-bit thief right in front of me.  I was eight years old."

            She turned to him.  "That's so tragic.  I'm so sorry.  You must have been traumatized."

            "I survived.  It was the defining moment of my life."

            "How so?"  He stared at her.  "How did it define your life?"  His face was stone, she couldn't read anything from it, but really what did it matter? With a sigh of resignation she said, "I'll just go grab my things and call a cab."  She turned and headed towards the parlor door.

            "You're angry."  It wasn't a question.  It wasn't even an accusation.  It was more of an expectation.

            She whirled back around with a smile devoid of happiness.  "If I was any other woman then I probably would be; you've barely spoken to me this morning.  But I'm not really bothered by it.  We agreed last night would be what it was.  And maybe if I'd been any other woman I'd be a little upset that I confided my most painful secret to you at great personal expense and what do I get in return?

            "Yet I am not other women.  You can feel free to remain in your realm, alone by your own choosing, alone perhaps because of a tragic loss at a young age, or maybe because you're just not a nice person.  That loneliness is for you and you alone to keep close.  Let it continue to define you.

            "I do have to wonder what about me drew you out.  I doubt it was my charming smile or witty repartee.  You sensed something in me.  I think deep down inside you're simply a broken little boy looking for someone as broken as he is."

            The silence that followed settled around them like a ton of bricks.  She dropped her eyes to the floor and resumed her exit from the room.

            "I'll drive you home."

            "That's not necessary.  You've done more than enough already."

            Stiffly she walked from the room.  Despite her assertion to the contrary, she was angry.  And the reasons for her anger greatly disturbed her.  Being with him last night had felt so right.  All he'd have to do is ask you to stay and you would, in a heartbeat, the small voice in the back of her mind taunted.  No! she cried out to herself.  I can't want that, because he won't, and wanting what I can't have will be all that much worse.

            She made it as far as the third step up to the second floor when an arm wrapped around her waist and hoisted her backwards.  She yelped as her feet briefly left the ground, and then came to a jarring stop against his massive chest.  He spun her around and held her firmly with one hand on each hip.  Having nowhere else to go, her hands settled gently on his forearms.  Please, oh please, she thought desperately.  Please ask me to stay.

            "You always have to have the last word don't you?"  She nodded dumbly.  "I said I'll drive you home and that's what I'm going to do."

            "If you insist," she replied tightly.

            "I do.  I'll wait here for you."  He released her.  She went back into the master bedroom to collect her belongings.

            The dress was tucked under her arm and she hugged it like a talisman as she rejoined him.  There was no conversation during the drive other than the few monosyllabic directions she gave him to her apartment building.  He found a parking spot on the opposite side of the litter-strewn street and pulled to a stop.  Critically he surveyed the gray and run-down buildings, the dirty sidewalks, and the tired residents who regarded him with equal parts skepticism and distaste.

            "Thanks for the lift," Mardi said quietly as she opened the door.  "Keep in touch," she finished ironically.

            Ignoring the obvious sarcasm he joined her on the street.  "I'll escort you to your door."

            She briefly considered protesting, pointing out that in the twenty-first century women were capable of moving from point A to point B with little or no assistance, but gave up at the mere sight of his jaw so set and determined.  Slowly but surely she was learning this was not a man for whom 'no' was an acceptable answer.  "Whatever," she called over to him as she crossed the street, barely avoiding a speeding car.  He caught up with her as she entered the front door.  In the corner of the vestibule was a homeless man who acknowledged her by name, to which she responded with a nod and a smile.

            "The elevator's broken.  I'm on the fifteenth floor."

            As they topped the fifteenth floor landing she found herself slightly winded and was momentarily concerned that he may have pushed himself too far, but looking back he wasn't even fazed by the exercise.  What on earth must he have done to cause a heart attack?, she thought to herself.  They walked the long hallway to her door, which was the last one on the left side.  The walls were thin and snatches of conversation could be heard coming from the neighboring apartments.

            "Well, this is it."

            "I don't like you living here.  It's not safe."

            "It's affordable and luckily for both of us you have no say in the matter."

            He looked at her intently.  "I could arrange for you to…"

            "No!" she stopped him with a raised finger.  "Never."

            "I didn't mean any offense."

            She nodded and held out her hand in what, she hoped, was a gracious gesture.  "Goodbye Bruce," she whispered.

            Instead of taking it, he cupped his hand behind her neck and bent down to deliver a kiss on her forehead.  It was simple and elegant and tender.  He released her and took a step back, face as impassive as before.  "You know how to reach me, if you need anything."  Then he was gone.

            Mardi retrieved her house key from her bag and let herself into the apartment.  Jesse, who was reading on the couch, leaped to her feet with a cry.  "Where on earth have you been?  I almost called the cops when you didn't come home last night."

            Mardi leaned back wearily against the door.  "Why didn't you?"

            "'Cause I figured you got lucky," Jesse replied with a smile.

            "So I could be dead in a gutter and no one would be looking for me because you assumed I was screwing some guy I just met?"  It came out a lot harsher than she intended and felt immediately remorseful when she saw the look on her friend's face.  She walked forward and plopped down on the couch, defeated and deflated.   "I'm sorry."

            Jesse sat next to her, draping her arm along the back.  "Well, where were you?"

            "I spent the night with him," Mardi replied miserably.

            "Was it that bad?  Sometimes when men get to a certain age things just don't work right anymore."

            Mardi looked up.  "Oh that was fine.  Better than fine, spectacular even."

            Jesse squealed and gave her a quick hug.  "That's great!  So when are you going to see him again?"

            "I'm not."  She stood up and unfolded the dress.  "I'll get this cleaned for you.  Thanks for letting me borrow it."  She moved off towards her bedroom.

            "Why not?"  Mardi turned.  "Why aren't you going to see him again?"

            "Jesse, do you know what they call women who go after rich, older men?  It's not pretty."

            "Who cares what other people think?  Do whatever makes you happy."

            "That just won't happen.  He couldn't possibly make me happy."   She reached for the doorknob and turned it.

            "You just plan on being alone and miserable for the rest of your life?  Why is it so hard to believe he could be the one to make you happy?"

            Stepping into the room she replied quietly, "Because he's just as miserable as I am."

            As she closed the door behind her she heard Jesse yell out, "Misery loves company!"