Chapter Ten

Mary Jane's feet pounded up the rickety stairs in the rundown apartment building five blocks from the E.S.U. campus as her heart pounded inside her chest. Her hair was disheveled, her mascara was running, and her wedding gown was dotted and streaked with soot. But she did not care. She never felt happier than she did when she threw away the life of wealth and privilege that had been offered to her in a defiant expression of liberation. Shewas her own person now, determined to live by her own dreams, not as a reflection of other people's expectations, or in her father's case, lack thereof.

The second-floor corridor was empty and quiet, except that someone was taking a shower. Mary Jane glanced around, wondering if she was in the right place. Then she saw the number on a partially-open door that matched the mailbox she had seen just inside the entrance. Girding herself, she ventured up to the door and knocked . . . once . . . twice. "Peter," she called out softly as she cautiously pushed the door back. No answer. Swallowing nervously, she stepped across the threshold and into the apartment.

The place was so spartan that could have easily passed for the living quarters of a novice at a monastery. The walls were cracked, the paint was chipped, and a single solitary light bulb hung from a cord that reached halfway down from the ceiling. The only furnishings consisted of a plain-looking bed, a two-drawer chest, and a second-hand cubic refrigerator that was the standard issue of college dormitory life. Peter didn't even have a nightstand; his lamp rested on a plastic crate. The only luxury item in the apartment, if it could be called that, was a pair of rickety French doors with stains on the glass that afforded a view of the top of the Empire State Building off in the distance.

Mary Jane gaped at the destitution she saw around her. She knew that Peter had been struggling, but she never imagined that he could be in such dire straits financially. She felt like Snow White entering the dwarfs' cottage for the first time. Like the fairy tale princess, she wanted to grab a broom and tidy up the place.

M.J. looked at the bed again, this time more closely. Clothes lay strewn about, including a pair of boxers. Well, that mystery's been solved, she laughed to herself. There were also a few books scattered about: differential equations; quantum mechanics; and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's The Song of Hiawatha. Curious, she picked up the book and opened it to the page that Peter had marked. Her eyes opened wide when she read "The Four Winds" . . . Day by day he gazed upon her . . . Startled, she nearly dropped the book as she realized that he really was reading poetry, trying to find words to express his love for her. But then she saw pictures of herself scattered around the room; the shot he'd taken of her at that high school field trip to Columbia University, the hear-/see-/speak-no-evil poses she had given him at Coney Island about a year ago. That said it all. A solitary teardrop fell from her right eye.

Mary Jane was so engrossed in her thoughts that sound of the shower being turned off barely registered with her. The door to the bathroom opened and a familiar voice began to mournfully sing a Johnny Cash classic, slightly off-key: " . . . and I ain't seen the sunshine since, I don't know when . . . I'm stuck in Folsom Prison . . . and time keeps drag. . ." Peter swung the door open and stopped dead in his tracks. Startled, Mary Jane whirled around in time to see Peter standing ten feet away from her framed by the doorway, open-mouthed, wearing nothing but a ratty robe, his hair still wet from the shower. He was red all over.

Thinking that Peter was just blushing from embarrassment at his state of undress, Mary Jane smiled. "A word of advice, Tiger," she said affectionately, "Don't quit your day job anytime soon."

"Mary Jane . . ." was all he could manage to say.

"Surprised?" she asked.

"You really shouldn't be here," he said slowly, noticing how disheveled she looked for a bride on her wedding day. "John's probably out looking for you."

Mary Jane didn't say anything. She just shook her head. She could tell by looking into Peter's eyes that he was not altogether unhappy to see her.

"What happened?" Peter asked, still dumbfounded.

"I told John's father to stick his editorials where the sun doesn't shine."

"You did what!" he exclaimed, slowly beginning to understand.

"I told him off . . . In front of everyone." Peter quickly understood that there wasn't going to be any wedding that day, or perhaps ever.

Peter's eyes went wide, and then rolled up. "How could you do a thing like that, Mary Jane?" he asked frantically. "It's bad enough that Jonah has it in for me. Now he's gonna screw up your life, too." He shook his head sadly, wondering if he was the only one in the room who had any sense of the coming repercussions. "Oh, Mary Jane . . . You had everything being handed to you on a silver platter. For God's sake, why did you throw it all away?"

But Mary Jane steadfastly held her ground. "Because I love you, not John." She rushed over to him and embraced him, nuzzling her cheek right up to his. But when he grimaced in obvious pain, it dawned on her that the redness on his skin was not a blush. It was a burn. "Oh my God!" she gasped. "Peter, you're still hurt."

"Take it easy, M.J.," Peter replied calmly. "I heal very fast. It'll be gone in a few hours. Trust me." He grasped her by the shoulders and was about to repeat his standard stump speech about why they couldn't be together.

But before he could say anything, she cut him off. "I know exactly what you're going to say, Peter" she said with a firmness of conviction that he had never before seen in her. "And I know you thought you were doing the right thing when you pushed me away. But you're wrong. All you're doing is forcing two people apart who belong together." She gently put her hand on his cheek, careful not to press too hard. "Even when John proposed to me, I was thinking about you. I never wanted to marry him. The only reason I was seeing him at all was to . . ." she hesitated for a moment, lowering her head in shame. " . . . make you jealous. But I was so pissed at you for standing me up when I saw you at the planetarium that night that I let things get out of control. One thing led to another, and before I knew it, I was planning a wedding."

Peter's eyes went wide at this revelation. He felt a little shocked. All the time and effort he put into wooing her back, all the heartache, all the angst that came from quitting his responsibilities; it was all for naught. It suddenly occurred to him that if he told her straight out that he loved her on the night he finally saw The Importance of Being Earnest, she might have come back to him that very moment. But in his view, she still wasn't thinking straight.

"M.J., even if Spider-Man were not an issue, I couldn't even begin to offer you what John could. You know that. I can't even afford to take you to the movies. And guess what? I'm just one paycheck away from being homeless. Is that the kind of life you want?"

"If it's with you, yes." she replied resolutely, her position as hard as his pectorals. "I would live in a tree in Central Park if it meant we could be together."

Peter blinked, his armor finally beginning to crack. "Really?"

"You bet your gorgeous butt I would." She affirmed, flashing her megawatt smile at him. "The only reason you're struggling is because you're trying to do everything yourself. But you can't. No one can." She looked into his eyes, pleading for him to understand. "You need me Peter," she said, her voice starting to break. "As much as I need you, you need me. I want to take care of you while you take care of the city. I want to be there for you when you come home."

"But . . . what about . . . John?"

"John understands, believe me. He'll get back on his feet, and probably very soon."

But Peter was still cautious. "And Jonah," he asked, looking away from her. "You realize that when the spaghetti hits the fan, he's going to tell his theater people to lace it into you. You could be back waiting tables again. Or worse."

Mary Jane remained unperturbed, however. "Peter," she said softly, "Let's not worry about those problems unless they become problems. Stop looking for reasons to keep us apart. We'll manage." Their lips were less than an inch apart, and the gap was closing fast.

Peter's eyes were moistening. He could see that her love for him was as absolute and unconditional as his love for her. "Day by day he sighed with . . ." he started to recite. Unable to remember the rest of it, he abandoned his effort. "Aww, the heck with it," he whispered. I love you, Mary Jane Watson."

"Tiger, that's the most poetic thing you've ever said," Mary Jane replied as her lips parted for the oncoming kiss.

"Uh . . . M.J. . . . I need to um . . . get out of this robe."

"You're right," she said as she gently closed his door. "And I need to get out of this dress. Hope you don't have any plans tonight."

Peter shook his head and cracked a smile as he lowered his venetian blinds.