PART THREE
Tuesday, November 23 2004
"Well," Peter said, leaning back, "that's it. The first issue, off to the printers." He let out a deep breath, watching his email program, which didn't seem to understand the import of what it had just sent.
"Pastels are ridiculous," barked the man sitting at the desk across the room. He was in his fifties, his hair carved into a flat-top, his face a staring mess of opinion. His sleeves were pushed up, revealing muscled and hairy forearms, and he was dressed in a loosened and rumpled suit from the fifties. His jacket was across the back of his chair and his tie was loose.
He glared at the screen. "I don't know how people can stand to live in those Teletubbies toyhouses, where it looks like color therapy got in a train wreck with anti-depressants and sedatives. Look at this room! What's that new age hippy crap? Look at the arch. It's not an arch. It's oblique," he gestured. "Ridiculous."
"Hm," Peter observed, pulling up his most recent batch of photos on the screen.
"Wood!" Jameson nodded curtly. "Wood is what people live in. Since rock, it's been wood. People can't live in day-glo igloos. Me? I have hardwood floors. Exposed rafters. Wood paneling in my den. It's manly! It's human! It's the only medium that's both sophisticated and primitive! Your study is, what, robin's egg blue?"
"Me like sheetrock," Peter said with a small smile. "Me like smooth wall. Like waterfall."
Jameson scowled at him. "Next week, the Barker apartment complex. Sure you don't need help?"
"I do my photo shoots alone, you know that," Peter said.
"I miss the days of setting up a tripod and just taking a shot," Jameson said, walking around behind him and looking over his shoulder at the pictures.
"You probably would rather I use a magnesium flash, too," Peter grinned.
"I mean, how do you get these ridiculous angles?" Jameson said. Peter wondered if he was slightly deaf, if perhaps he couldn't hear how loud he talked. "Looks like you are hanging from the ceiling for that one."
"Will you look at the time!" Peter said, glancing at his watch. "Hey, it's been great. But evening has come, and I gotta get home. I'm in for it as it is. Can you finish up here?"
"Yeah, I'm missing out on meatloaf," Jameson grumbled. "I'm sure I can find some more to do."
"See you tomorrow," Peter grinned, and he scooped up his jacket and headed out the door.
xXx
Peter jogged up the spiral staircase to see Mary Jane seated at the desk, regarding her computer. She was draped in a houserobe, her hair up in a tangled bunch of crimson casual finery.
"What's up," he said, approaching and sliding down into a chair.
"Just working on our social calendar. And it's a good thing I'm unemployed, I have time to get a grip on the details," she said with a rueful smile. "How did it go? First issue in the can?"
"You bet," Peter grinned. "Locked and loaded. Tell me all about my social calendar."
"Tomorrow is Wednesday, we've got the bash at Worthington's place. My parents are flying in Friday, and we've got to pick them up and do Thanksgiving dinner. Then Saturday is Harry's Thanksgiving party. We really should go," she said.
"Even if you don't have a thing to wear?" Peter teased.
"Believe me, that's not so much a problem at this point," Mary Jane shrugged.
"Hang on, supper with your family on Friday? I thought that was Saturday. Friday night I have a fundraiser I told Worthington I'd attend."
"Okay," she said, "we'll have the Watson Thanksgiving for lunch on Saturday, and go to Harry's afterwards."
"Great," Peter said, leaning back. He shook his head. "Seems like a lot of work to be thankful."
"We have a lot to be thankful for," Mary Jane admonished. "Lots of karma to burn off, grasshopper."
He smiled as she rose and shed the house robe. She wore her sports bra and biker shorts. "I gotta put on my gi, get to class. I'm already too late to get there on time. I'm going to have to call Illyana as it is."
"Um… have a good time," Peter said a little awkwardly. "I'll get some dinner downstairs."
"Okay," Mary Jane called from the bedroom. Peter rose and drifted down the stairs.
Mary Jane shrugged her gi on, and picked up the phone. She called Illyana's cell. "Hey, it's me, Mary Jane. I'm running late. Can you pick me up?"
A second later, an eldritch ring of blazing and dark fire swirled in the bedroom, and Illyana stood next to Mary Jane. They both wore their gi's.
"You know, I think I'm spoiling you," Illyana said severely. "You really should try to make it on time."
"But Illyana," Mary Jane replied with mock startlement, "as a fellow woman, you know we deserve to be spoiled." She grinned.
Illyana rolled her eyes, and the flame coiled up around both of them, leaving the bedroom empty.
They stood in the back corner of the drafty loft. Mary Jane looked over to see Tandy and Tyrone stretching and warming up, and the door banged as Dani trotted into the studio and shrugged her bag off, bowing in.
"Got a minute?" Mary Jane said, suddenly serious as she put her hand on Illyana's arm.
"Sure, what is it?" Illyana asked.
Mary Jane glanced away, biting her lip. "Does Strange know that Peter… well, hung up the playsuit?"
"He does," Illyana nodded, a certain distance in her eyes.
"Right," Mary Jane said, unable to make eye contact. Her hands rubbed each other. "See, it's like this. I'm… I'm worried. Just between you and me," she rushed on. "Don't go telling anybody else about this, okay? Please?"
"Okay, sure," Illyana soothed. "Let's talk in here." She stepped through a door into the small office, a leftover from when the loft had been a warehouse. Illyana sat on a swivel chair, drawing it over to where Mary Jane sat on the bench.
A shadow moved into the doorway, and the ladies turned to see a beautiful woman with strawberry blonde hair pulled into a severe pony-tail. "What's going on?" she asked curiously.
"Valeria, I'm just talking with Mary Jane for a minute before class," Illyana said. "Go on without us. We'll catch up."
"Good to see you back," Mary Jane said with a smile. "You look really… vibrant! Your trip must have been good for you."
"Believe it," Valeria said with a peculiar expression. "Well… we'll go ahead." She smiled at them and nodded again, then she stepped back and closed the door.
"God I feel stupid," Mary Jane said, rubbing her face. "Like I'm making something out of nothing, seeing problems where they don't exist."
"Well, they're getting ready to do exercises," Illyana said wryly, "so take your time. You can talk to me. Start with an example, maybe."
"Like his camera. You know the one Strange gave him when he was dating Gwen? The one that never gets lost, always finds its way home? Yeah, he has it in a box in the closet. He uses a new digital jobber, and he can go on and on about how much better it is. He's really into digital photography. And he's learning so fast! First issue, and he's already got the ins and outs of the software managed, the principles of layout and design. He's got everything like these threads that all come to his hand, he's tending it and keeping track of everything. Like this magazine…" She trailed off.
"Yes?"
"Like this magazine is his web, he's tending it like a good spider," Mary Jane said, not without bitterness. "It's kind of scary, now that we actually have some money to work with. He got the signing bonus, see, and a month of salary. He's got this financial web set up, he's maximized the relation between his various accounts and investments. It really is spider-like," she murmured, her eyes luminous with wonder at the realization.
She sighed. "This new magazine job is his life. And… and he's been severing his ties. Like this class, dropped. Aunt May is dead. He's trying to distance himself from Strange. I don't know when the last time he talked to Harry is. And he's even getting twitchy about seeing the Stacys."
Mary Jane looked Illyana in the eye. "It's like he's trying to leave the past behind, and start all over. But that scares me, it scares me a lot. Because I am part of that old life. What happens when there isn't room for me anymore?" She hesitated, her thoughts drifting even further. Then she blushed, suddenly self-conscious. "Listen to me go on."
Illyana took Mary Jane's hands. "Hey, you ever need to talk, you can talk to me."
"Only you can't pass any of this on to, you know, Strange or his people," Mary Jane said, concern mirrored in her eyes. "Peter would not be amused."
"I won't," Illyana reassured her. "But I'll do what I can to help."
"No, don't do anything," Mary Jane said, uncomfortable. "I have this feeling. That Peter would… take it poorly."
Illyana watched her narrowly for a moment. "Sure you want me to stay out of it?"
"Positive," Mary Jane said.
"Alright," Illyana sighed. "But I will be seeing him Saturday. You are going to Harry's bash, right?"
"Right," Mary Jane nodded. "How do you know Harry again?"
"Through you guys. And that little incident with the Darkstone," Illyana said. "Strange was invited, he's sending me. I'm thinking about checking out cute guys and trying out expensive drinks." She grinned mischievously. Mary Jane couldn't help but chuckle.
Illyana rose, sensing Mary Jane was through. "Well, you know you don't have to participate tonight if you don't want to."
"What, are you kidding me?" Mary Jane grinned. "This class helps me stay sane. I need something to hit."
"You go, girl," Illyana laughed, and she pulled Mary Jane into a quick hug. Then they turned, and left the office, headed for the rest of the hapless, unsuspecting class.
xXx
"Honey, I'm home," Mary Jane called out into the cavernous apartment as she strolled in the front door. She peeked around, then headed for Peter's home office as she shrugged out of her coat.
A desk lamp next to the flat panel monitor was the only light in the room; Peter's features were washed out and highlighted at the same time by the twin lights. His gaze flickered around the screen, his face was absently set. One hand drifted seemingly independently on the mouse as he color-shifted a photograph on the screen.
"Peter," Mary Jane clarified. "I'm home."
"Hi," he said.
"So… how did your evening go?" she asked.
"Good." His eyes were absorbed, she was talking to his echo.
"Valeria is back," Mary Jane said stubbornly, leaning on the doorframe. His head tilted towards her, he glanced over.
"Did she have a good trip? How's she doing?" he asked.
"Good, she's doing great. I got to spar with Illyana tonight. I actually knocked her down, how about that!"
"Cool," Peter nodded, eyes straying back to the monitor.
Mary Jane stood quietly, but the silence did not gather weight between them. She realized Peter wasn't really home. And a deep chill slid through the marrow of her bones as she realized she was really watching the spider ghost at work, with a whole new mask that looked a lot like Peter Parker.
Silently, she stepped back away from the door, and headed up the spiral staircase to the second floor and the bedroom. She quickly stripped down, and climbed into the vast, soft bed.
She couldn't get warm.
Wednesday, November 24 2004
"Now see, this is what I'm talking about," Jameson confided in Peter as they crossed the threshold between the lavish foyer and the breathtaking ballroom. "Wood!" The floor was marble, but paneled and patterned wood swept and swirled up away from the ground, and the three story open space was dominated by a vast chandelier that flickered with light, reflected from mirrors set in patterns in the wall, so the whole room danced with candle light.
"Welcome to the Hellfire Club," Mary Jane murmured, overawed as she held on to Peter's arm and they joined the rest of the gathering. They stepped forward into the crowd of elegant formal wear, blending in more than Mary Jane would have guessed was possible. Of course, Jameson drew attention away from them, and that didn't hurt.
"Parker! Take a picture of me and my wife," Jameson barked, backing up to a wall. A dumpy, plump, genial enough woman was on his arm. She smiled nervously, creating an effect something like a muskrat's death grin. Peter snapped the shot anyway, and Jameson nodded curtly. He turned to his wife. "We have people to meet and greet," he said. And he led the charge onto the dance floor.
Peter turned to Mary Jane. "I wonder if he'll even notice the Seccubus carving in the panel they were standing in front of," he wondered aloud, and she blinked innocently.
"Peter Parker?" said a voice by Peter's elbow. He turned to see a gangly young man in his early twenties, ill fitted for his tuxedo, freckled and decked out with curly hair. "Are you Peter Parker?" the young man asked again.
"I am," Peter smiled. "You are…?"
"Olson, Jimmy Olson. I work for the Daily Planet. More journalism photography instead of art, but I gotta tell you, I really admire your work," Jimmy said, shaking Peter's hand vigorously. "You've been with the Planetary for a couple years now, right? I got a subscription after that issue, 'Things That Eat People.' That was wicked cool, man, especially those subway shots."
Peter's smile was genuine. "Why thank you, Jimmy. I remember your work now. You had that expose on graft in the police commissioner's office, right?"
"Yeah, that was me. And the feature story on the aftermath of Fisk's criminal empire."
"That's some dangerous stuff to cover," Peter observed.
"Well," Jimmy grinned, "I just find a fearless reporter and tag along, you know?"
"Tell you what," Peter said, "here's my card. Go ahead and get in touch with me if you ever start thinking about experimenting with some different kinds of photography. I can help you get some freelance work. You've got a good eye and solid nerves."
"Gee, thanks, Mr. Parker. I'll remember that." His whole face was a smile.
Then a shapely brunette emerged from the crowd at his side. "Where have you been, Jimmy," she said in a low voice. Her face was attractive, but her beauty flowed from her energy rather than her features. She was wrapped in a gown that suggested at every shape of her athletic build, and her dark sweep of hair was simply done up. Her eyes flashed with will and intelligence. "Don't make me leash you."
"Ah, Mr. Parker, allow me to introduce Lois Lane."
Peter smiled at her. "I read your work. Very insightful. Oh, this is my wife, Mary Jane." He turned to her, and blinked. She was gone.
"Well, I'm sure she'll turn up," Lois said blithely. "Come on, Jimmy," she said to him in a low voice. "Richard Fisk is here. Let's get some shots! And don't run off."
"Pleasure meeting you!" Jimmy grinned, and then Lois dragged him into the crowd.
"Okay, great," Peter muttered under his breath. "Now where the hell is my wife?" he mused as his senses unreeled into the crowd.