Chapter Five: The World Unity Fair

Janeen sat on the sofa in the living room of their apartment, pulling a brush through her roommate's red hair. Mary Jane was seated in front of her on the floor, dressed only in her underwear. Harry was supposed to pick her up in an hour and she'd given up on getting her hair done herself, frustrated with every look she tried. Janeen had overheard MJ cussing in the bathroom and come in to see how it was going. Before MJ could say a word, Janeen had yelped, "Great idea!", run to her room and returned with a pair of lacquered chopsticks, offering to put her hair back in a twist with them. Agreeing enthusiastically, MJ plopped down on the floor and let Janeen have at it.

"Guess if I ever make it as an actress, I'll have people to do my hair for me all the time," she sighed, leaning her head back.

"Never say if, girl. Determination is what makes it in this world. Right now, I'm determined to get your hair back and make it stay—it's so fine it keeps slipping out of the bun."

Mary Jane laughed. "No kidding. I'd give anything for hair like yours, long and thick."

"Hey, when I was growing up, I hated my little sister for having this great naturally curly hair, really fine and soft. I thought it was so pretty, I spent half of high school with my hair dyed brown and permed. So, my senior year? Little Joanie goes and gets her hair straightened and bleaches it blond because she likes mine so much," Janeen pulled another strand tight.

"Yeah, well, I always wanted a sister. Seems like fun, not being an only child," MJ grunted as Janeen pulled too hard.

"Sorry. Sometimes, although she can be a real pain." Picking up the hairspray, Janeen told her to cover her eyes. After a few seconds, MJ started giggling. "Are you trying to shellac it?"

"You betcha. If I have anything to say about it, this hairstyle is staying up no matter what happens. Here, take a look."

Jumping to her feet, MJ went back to the bathroom and checked her hair out, turning to see as much as she could of the sides and back. "Fantastic!" she yelled back to the living room. Hurrying to get her dress and makeup done, she realized that her bad mood had evaporated. This was going to be fun, just like Harry had promised.

Norman Osborn strode into his study, black thoughts churning in his mind. He walked right past the full-length mirror on the right, the one that opened on a hidden chamber. The idiot who'd sold him this penthouse years ago had gone on and on about how it had been a stash for moonshine during prohibition. Like he cared. It hadn't ever crossed his mind that his young son might find it fascinating or fun to have a secret room in their house, so he'd never brought it up. The space was unnecessary and he'd forgotten about it, although lately, the mirror had been catching his eye. It had started to make him uneasy when he used the mirror. Today, he strode along without stopping to check his reflection.

After three days with his lawyers, he was forced to admit that the OsCorp board members had every legal right to deal him the treacherous blow he'd taken. Out, was he? The back-stabbing disloyalty was astonishing, unbelievable. He had considered these men his friends, his staunch allies—that they could turn against him, could do this to him! Clenching his fists, he leaned against his desk, eyes closed.

"Dad?" Whirling, Norman glared at his son. "Ah, hi. I...didn't mean to interrupt, I could come by again later," Harry stammered.

"No, no. Of course not," Norman walked around to the balcony doors. He heard Harry come up behind him. "Is something wrong?" the boy asked quietly.

Norman opened his mouth and hesitated. He had to tell Harry, of course. Losing OsCorp would affect his life too. They would hardly be poor, but his legacy, his immortality was gone. The company named for him would disappear in the merger. Harry had to know. It would be publicly announced at the Fair. The humiliation tasted like bile.

Breathing deeply, Norman decided not to say a word. It might be silly to put it off—nothing was going to be different tomorrow, was it? But he couldn't stand to tell Harry now. Telling Harry would make it real somehow. Norman felt a surge of resentment, almost hatred, for his only child. If Harry was any use, if he'd been working with me, beside me, would this have happened? All his anger against the board members was welling up inside him, and it was hard to keep in mind that Harry wasn't one of them, Harry was his family, not a traitor. He forced his lips into a smile.

"I've been working too hard," he said easily. "You know how busy work has been lately."

"Yeah, well," Harry cleared his throat and looked down. "I know you're going to the Unity Fair today, and I thought that I'd bring," he laughed nervously, "that mystery girl I've been dating." Harry looked up at his father. "Her name's Mary Jane, she's an actress."

"An actress?" Norman raised one eyebrow doubtfully. "You mean she waits tables?"

"No, Dad, she's really good. Gets a lot of work," Harry said defensively. "I want you to meet her. She's gorgeous, talented, smart—"

"The kind of girl who's lucky to be dating my son," Norman joked. Harry smiled wanly. "Of course, I'll be there. I can't wait to meet the lady whose been taking up all your time."

Harry looked away, exasperated. "No, hey, don't blame Mary Jane for my grades slipping. I've just been, well, really lost on some of this stuff." He looked at his father. Norman was staring at his reflection in the mirror behind Harry, his eyes distant and eerily blank. Harry waited a heartbeat before going on, "So, I'll see you later today?" There was no answer. "Dad?"

Norman jerked back to awareness. "Absolutely, Harry. I'll be there with bells on."

Mary Jane held a champagne glass in her hand and looked out over Times Square like a queen in a fairy tale. When she first came outside with Harry, she had gazed out over the crowd, trying to spot Marco and Shawnee, or Lisa. They'd all said they would be there. She'd given up after a few minutes, firmly reminding herself to enjoy being up on the balcony. When would she get a chance like this again?

And it was fun. The limousine ride, the chauffer opening her door, uniformed staff jumping at the chance to treat her like a VIP—it was all exciting and different. Just as Harry had promised, the lunch was incredible and the floor show had been entertaining. Even better, she had seen admiration in the eyes of several of the male guests when they looked at her.

Even if Harry hadn't shared the general approval of her looks today. Much to her disappointment, he hadn't said a word about her dress or hair. C'mon, girl, she told herself. You don't need people to shower you with compliments all the time. Not even your boyfriend. Mary Jane thought back to the day before, and audition/workshop she had attended. She still didn't have a part—but she could tell that her work was improving, and the director had made some positive comments about her audition. That was enough to raise her head and bring out the dimples in her cheeks.

Maybe, she thought, surprised, Harry's nervous. It occurred to her that Harry needed to look good to his father even more than she needed to succeed as an actress. That hadn't occurred to her before. In fact, she didn't spend much time thinking about what Harry felt or needed. It's funny, she mused, I think I'm a stronger person than Harry. I've got my own moods but...I'm going to be OK. Harry...I don't know if Harry will be. Maybe I'm strong enough to help him out...if I want to.

"MJ, why didn't you wear the black dress?" MJ looked at him, a little puzzled. Uh, gee, because this one's prettier? "It's just, I wanted to impress my father. He loves black," Harry continued.

OK, that's a ten on the weird scale. Black? "Maybe he'll be impressed no matter what," Mary Jane answered reasonably, glad she'd spent the last few minutes giving herself a pep talk. "You think I'm pretty." So, maybe I need to fish for compliments now and then.

"I think you're beautiful," Harry said. He leaned in to kiss her, but MJ turned away and pretended to be absorbed in the music from below. So what your dad thinks is more important? Harry took the insult without a word, turning to look over the edge of the balcony with her. I wish you knew what you want, Harry. Heck, I wish I knew what I want. Why am I here with you?

"MJ, would you do me a favor...I left my drink inside, uh, come on," Harry said suddenly, gesturing to the doors and putting a hand out to guide her. MJ followed quietly, stopping to chat with a businessman who complimented her on her dress. Harry leaned over to talk to the bald man in the wheelchair, one of the OsCorp bigwigs. Above Times Square, a black trail of smoke was streaming toward the Fair.

As the Green Goblin swooped over the heads of the antlike crowd he couldn't stop laughing. They were pointing and cheering, the fools. He glided from one end of the square to the other, enjoying the irony of their excited approval. Soon, the cheering would stop for good.

On his second pass, he came close to the executive balcony. By now, surely, the OsCorp traitors had recognized their own glider and flight suit. Ha! As if anyone but him had the strength, the reflexes to use this equipment. His own abilities had earned him the right to it, the way they had earned him OsCorp. On the right side of the balcony, a handsome boy stood by a girl in a cheap pink silk dress, gaping at him. The Goblin weighed the small orange bomb in his hand. Throwing it could kill the boy. Did it matter? Well, some things had to be left to chance.

Tossing a bomb from a moving glider was harder than he thought. His aim was off, the bomb impacting below the balcony without killing anyone or causing enough damage to the building to take the balcony down. Hmm. Shifting his weight, he turned to the left, gliding back over the square. Now, the crowd was screaming and running, clearing out as chunks of masonry fell. His laughter stopped as he came in closer this time, right up to where the board members trembled like the cowards they were. "Out, am I?" he screeched, unable to help the words from coming out of his mouth, needing to let the traitors know how badly they'd miscalculated, before he killed them. The second bomb landed perfectly, radiating a shock wave that took the skin off their bones and left the bones to dissolve into dust. Wonderful, wonderful. This was going perfectly!

Momentary curiosity led him back to the other side of the balcony. He rose up from under it, noticing that there was more damage than he'd initially thought—soon enough, it would collapse. The boy was lying senseless by the wall, but the little tramp in pink had been caught on the outer edge, unable to scramble back across the break. Or too scared. He was certain, as he faced her from inches away, that the boy would be better off without the gutless girl. Yes, indeed.

"Hello, my dear," he said.

Mary Jane had been huddled by the crumbling rail forever. Every minute lasted an eternity, as the stone and mortar creaked around her, trembling with her slightest movement. Her only support was a slab of cement that had once belonged to the building in front of her and that now dangled on the far side of a terrifying gap. She was dimly aware that she had been shouting, Oh God, help me! Harry! but Harry had fallen, hit by a loose piece of concrete. Dazed, she confronted a nightmare that had come out of nowhere, smashing into her without warning. Suddenly, there was nothing between her and death except a precarious section of balcony, her whole world narrowed to an unstable patch of concrete and the dizzying drop underneath.

When a shimmering green monster rose up beside her, she stared at him numbly until he purred a greeting, looking right at her, speaking to her—Oh, God, why me, why is he looking at me? What does he want? Panic breaking over her, she screamed, mindless with horror.

And then he was gone. MJ blinked in shock, almost sobbing. Everything was happening too fast, it was all too strange for her mind to accept. She heard people screaming, heard a sudden burst of gunfire, and she twisted again, trying to get to her knees to see what had happened to that—that thing, that demon. The balcony swayed alarmingly beneath her and she stopped, eyes squeezed shut. Almost, she thought she heard someone shout her name—Harry?—and she opened her eyes, reaching out a hand, screaming senselessly, desperately, "Help! Someone, please, help me!" Even that tiny motion set the balcony to shuddering. One of the railing posts broke off and she watched, mesmerized with fear, as it fell...and fell...and shattered to pieces against the ground, so very far down.

Wrenching her eyes from the distant pavement, she realized there was movement, near her, coming across the square. A bright red figure jumped toward her, bouncing from one parade balloon to the next, coming closer, miraculously coming to help her. She held her breath. He was there, almost to her.

And then she screamed again in fear and despair as the green monster hit him from behind, flying into her would-be rescuer with enough force to throw him into a window. Turning her head, she threw up a hand to protect her face as glass daggers exploded outward in a sharp-edged rain. That thing had killed him, and now, now he would kill her. They were wrong, all wrong, death wasn't grim and black and silent—it was green, with terrible yellow eyes, and it was coming for her.

But as she turned back, her eyes widened with hope. Unbelievably, they were still fighting, the first man slugging a red elbow into the monster with enough force to drive him back, following it up, slugging him. Mary Jane felt a hysterical impulse to cheer die in her throat, as the monster overcame him and threw him down. His back hit the ledge above her with enough force to rock the fragment of balcony, and MJ felt the concrete beneath her break free and begin its inevitable surrender to gravity. Overhead, the man flipped fluidly around, facing her with a smooth red mask and expressionless white eyes.

"Hold on!" he shouted. Past his head, she could see a green head rise up, chuckling madly, denying the brief hope she'd felt.

"Watch out!" Mary Jane held up a hand in warning, and the man turned instantly, firing something white at the monster's eyes. It writhed and howled with anger, blinded, while the masked hero, with a quick handspring, reached the underside of his bat-shaped glider and ripped into its wiring. Even as the glider swerved crazily, out of control, the balcony shifted. The slab abruptly tipped parallel to the wall, and her body slammed into the railings, which slid loosely away. She dropped helplessly into the air.

It made her sick, made her feel like she'd left her stomach behind, like every nerve was spooling out from her body and drawing tighter and tighter. MJ had always hated roller coasters and free fall rides and this was worse than all of them, without any chance for the sensation to end except in black, brief pain. She fell flat, the ground rushing up at her face, as she kicked her feet uselessly and screamed and screamed. Her throat was raw with all the screaming she had done, and now she was going to die screaming and there was nothing she could do.

There was a sharp jerk and her insides seemed to change direction, slamming downward as her body floated upward again. It sounded like people were cheering. Do you get applause when you go to heaven? Mary Jane thought, muddled. It didn't hurt...she felt something shift her body around and grabbed out, automatically sliding her clenched fists around someone's neck.

The buildings were acting very oddly, swooping and rising as they rushed past. An arm like iron was looped around her waist, holding her tightly against a hard chest. Wonderingly, she turned her head to look at the impassive mask of the man who held her, swinging easily from a line so thin and fine it was almost invisible, except for the glitter of the sun. She gripped him harder, feeling the warmth and reality of him, the solidity of his body welcome against the realization that they were hanging by a thread, far above the ground.

He switched arms around her, throwing out a new line that pulled them into a dizzying curve around the corner of a building. They were flying, not falling, flying in joyous looping arcs over Manhattan. Slipping past a cathedral whose stone towers seemed to soar with them into the sky, her feet suddenly touched soft ground. He held her waist, held her up as he ran a few steps, until she got her feet under her and could stand. All around her was grass and hedges, and a small pool of water lay at her feet, although the city still stretched out around and beneath them.

Panting, she looked at him. Fear and wonder, terror and incredulity were crashing through MJ. She had seen men die, witnessed a nightmare come to life, been swept away into this strange garden. There didn't seem to be anything real left in the world, and she didn't know what would happen next, what bizarre threat or miracle would face her now.

"Whoo!" said the masked man. "Well, it beats taking the subway." What?

Mary Jane laughed happily, disbelievingly at the stupid joke. Just like that, the world seemed to settle back around her, all the pieces of her life falling back into place, real and comfortable and entirely changed. He turned at waved at a startled couple sitting on a nearby bench, saying, "Don't mind us, folks, she just needs to use the elevator."

Mary Jane finally understood that she was standing in a rooftop garden in New York, safe, unharmed. Her hero was already moving past her—leaving? She grabbed at his arm. "Wait!" she said breathlessly. "Who are you?"

"You know who I am," he said, serious and low.

"I do?" For a heartbeat, she felt something in the air between them, some hidden desire or unnamed wish connecting them. When he spoke, and the spell was shattered by his cheerful, commonplace tone.

"Your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man!" Taking a couple of running steps, he flipped over the hedge and low wall at the edge of the roof, falling from sight. MJ stumbled across the grass in her heels, leaning on the parapet to watch him as he swung across a building, running sideways between a row of windows, a faint "Whoo-hoo!" echoing back to her.

His freedom, his glorious, preposterous existence left her with an odd, flowing excitement filling her veins. It was as if she could fly with him, as if she was held here on the ground by nothing but chance. Looking out over the dirty, ordinary buildings of the great city, she saw the world for the first time as a world of bright primary colors, epic and grand, filled with hidden impossibilities, only waiting for her to open her eyes and see.

"Incredible," she said.