Wanting to look inconspicuous, she locked up her diamond earrings in the wall safe and put on a plain red velour dress, albeit with a plunging neckline. She took broad steps as she walked through the graffiti-strewn corridors of the Chelsea apartment tower. A tedious trip on the elevator, and then she was on the sidewalk, surrounded by distracted New Yorkers who wore jackets and held umbrellas. The day was cloudy, but dry as of yet.
She abandoned her usual mincing gait, as the casting director was expecting her, and frowned on tardiness. Anything goes in this city, she thought, watching a few Goths and a fat lesbian couple stroll by. I could wear cat skins and they wouldn't bat an eyelash.
As she descended the stairway to the train station, she reached up and laid a finger in her right ear, pretending to scratch. If J'onn calls me now, I'll shred his green hide. She recalled bitterly the summons she had received while chatting with Donald Trump at a cocktail party. By the time the League had arrived at Times Square, that showoff Lobo had already buried the latest incarnation of the Royal Flush Gang under a mountain of taxicabs. Nothing short of an omega-level threat will stop me from landing this role, she thought.
A moderate-sized crowd had squeezed into the subway car, and all the seats were occupied. She hated to stand—she attracted more attention that way. The train lurched forward, and she remained on her feet with catlike steadiness.
She was idly reading a public-service ad about unwanted pregnancies when her sensitive ears picked up the words she hated most. "Hey, you're the woman in the commercial!"
A gaunt old man in a striped suit had spoken them. She glared at him, three passengers away, and imagined slicing off his head with one quick thrust. Take it easy, girl. He's not worth it.
"No, I'm not," she said glibly, without a hint of a smile.
A teenage girl with straight blond hair chimed in. "You're totally right, it is her!"
A middle-aged woman with heavy makeup held up her purse and grinned. "Chase your dreams faster with Elliot Lucca handbags," she recited.
She felt the anger of a dozen very annoyed rhinos build up in her gut, but pushed it down. "You're mistaking me for someone else," she insisted.
"Can I get your picture?" asked a shaven-headed man as he lifted a digital camera to his eye.
"I've got a waterbed," said an unshaven man who slightly reeked of alcohol.
"Jesus is my refuge, my fortress," mumbled a black woman with a wrinkled face.
The passengers around her babbled on, some wanting her to describe life as a model, and others making unsavory propositions. Finally she could bear no more. I'd like a little privacy, if you don't mind.
Calling upon the primal animal forces within her, she became one with the spirit of the skunk.
The stench filled the train car within seconds. "Oh, that's disgusting!" grumbled the bald man.
"Why don't you take a bath?" said the middle-aged woman, pointing accusingly at the drunken man.
"I've never smelled anything so awful," said the old man as he backed away. "And I've lived on Staten Island for thirty years."
With the other passengers huddled at the ends of the car and holding their noses, she was left to enjoy the quiet and solitude. You don't need super powers to make it here, she thought, but they sure do help.