"The optics are awful, doesn't matter what my official statement is, they'll remain awful."
Barbara was trying to spin things on the other end of the line, "It's a perception problem, that's all. Kate looks like an asshole right now, but one who is owning up to her mistakes. Everybody loves a repentant sinner."
Pamela was sitting on one of her mother's extremely uncomfortable, antique love seats, her knees pulled to her chest, having changed out of her black funeral dress and into something more closely resembling pajamas. "Please, let's not get biblical, here."
"I'm just saying, having Renee sitting next to her during that whole thing made you sound like a corrupting homewrecker."
"I assume that was the point."
"It was. And the fact that Harley is on the…younger, side of things, isn't helping, especially since Jared called it 'a pattern'."
"Great," Pam held the bridge of her nose, pinched between her thump and index finger. "Well, why don't we get all the women I didn't sleep with to tell Luke my personal relationships didn't create a hostile work environment."
"I mean, that's not the worst idea ever," Barbara admitted. "As long as Bruce and Selina are going to back you."
Exhaling, Pam said, "I won't hold my breath."
"Oh, shit!" Harley stood, eyes glued to the TV, shadow boxing the combos she was seeing on screen. "Steph got a sick little jab in there!"
"Are you and Luke watching the fight?" Pam asked Barbara, idly glancing up at the screen herself. "I wasn't expecting Stephanie to last 6 rounds."
"Yeah, we stayed home, though," Barbara said. "It's a mess down there right now."
"I can imagine…but anyway, I think that's enough strategizing for tonight," Pam said, wondering if an 8 o'clock Sunday night phone call with her assistant was another example of less than professional behavior. "Please update me tomorrow, I'm hoping things will have settled."
"Me too. Have a good night, Ma'am."
Pamela hung up, sighing with some exaggeration as she locked her phone and set it to the side. Selina was right, this whole thing was a clusterfuck. There was truly no feeling Pamela despised in this world more than powerlessness, and at this point, although the ball was in her court, there wasn't much she could do to rehabilitate her image.
"Red, are you watching this?" Harley was still on her feet. "Red, do you—Red!"
"Can you girls keep it down in there?!" Lillian shouted from the kitchen. "For the love of all things holy!"
Pam paid her mother little mind as she, like Harley, was now watching, rapt, by what was unfolding on screen. Dinah was unsteady on her feet, and just as Pam was beginning to process the implications of Dinah giving a less than stellar performance on this stage, she suddenly wasn't on her feet at all. Stephanie was standing over her, having delivered the knock-out blow.
"Holy shit," Harley said, just as shocked as Pamela was, just as shocked as the entire arena, based on the collective gasp heard through the TVs speakers.
Pam grabbed the remote off of her armrest, turning the volume up to hear the commentator's analysis.
"The Canary is on the ground! In a stunning defeat, Stephanie Brown has defeated Dinah Lance with a truly devastating knockout blow in the 6th! Incredible! Truly incredible!"
"I can't believe what I just saw."
Dinah's husband was inside the ring now, helping her to her feet and guiding her over to where the referee was waiting with Stephanie's glove already in hand. Stephanie was declared the winner, and Dinah hung her head. This was not the plan.
The camera view switched to a hand-held one inside the ring, and there was a microphone being shoved in Stephanie's face. "How'd you do it, Stephanie? How'd you pull it off?"
The blonde grabbed the microphone, gipping it with both hands and leaning into the camera lens, giving the viewers at home an extreme close-up of her sweaty, blood-streaked face. "Spoiler alert, biiiiitttttccccchhhhhhh!"
Pamela quickly muted the TV before Lillian could yell at them again. The silence didn't last long, though. Pam's phone vibrated with an incoming call, the caller ID reading Slade Wilson.
She already knew what this conversation would be about. "Slade," she answered.
"I need Harley on the first flight back from wherever you're filming the Get Out sequel."
Pam rolled her eyes. "I take it Harley sent you pictures."
"Yes, and I need her to know that's not why she has my phone number."
"Is that coach Slade?" Harley wondered, her ears perking up.
Pam nodded in silent confirmation. "So Dinah's out and Harley's in?"
"It'll be a Quinzel v Kane title fight."
"Oh," Pam laughed, the sound devoid of any legitimate humor. "I see Selina's already found a way to make money off my scandal."
"I thought you'd have figured that out by now," Slade said. "I need her in the gym by tomorrow afternoon, so if you put her on the first morning flight, I'll pick her up from the airport."
"She'll be there." Pam hung up after that, neither she nor Slade requiring a goodbye.
Harley was watching her expectantly. "So…what did he say?!"
Pamela pursed her lips, briefly making space for Harley's innocent excitement. "He wants you back in Gotham by tomorrow, so, in the morning, I'll have a car take you to the airport. Slade will pick you up once you land."
Grinning, Harley crossed the living room, plopping down next to Pamela on the love seat. "I'm gonna be in the title fight, huh?"
"You are."
Harley's eyes were glossing over with tears. "See, Red? What'd I tell ya? Never say never."
Pam smiled too, trying hard to keep any hint of sadness out of her expression. She knew this would come at a cost, though what would have to be sacrificed and to what degree, she wasn't sure. "I shouldn't have doubted you, Harl."
Harley kissed her then, and although Pamela was past caring whether her mother approved of her homosexuality, she was really hoping this was not the moment Lillian chose to walk in, as she wasn't prepared to defend the fate of her soul for the 8th time today.
"I have to stay for the will reading tomorrow, so I'll have to meet you back home," Pam said, after they broke apart. "I'll probably head straight to the office once I land."
"Because of this thing with Kate and Mistah J?" Harley asked.
"Yes…" Pam wiped the happy tears from Harley's cheeks. "Among other things."
"Hey, Red, listen," Harley cupped Pam's hand on her face, holding it there against her cheek. "I love you, OK? And I'm gonna kick Kate's ass for ya. You have my word."
Pamela leaned forward, planting a kiss on the blonde's forehead. "Thank you, Harley, but you don't have to defend my honor."
"No, I want to," Harley insisted. "They're tryin'a make you sound like a bad person, and you're not. Would a bad person let me live with them? I don't think so. Would a bad person help me get my money back from Mistah J? Nuh-uh. You're the hottest, smartest, funniest person I know, and I don't get like even half your jokes. If you took advantage of me, or whatever, then that's the best thing to ever happen to me."
Goddamn it.
/
It took some effort to coax Harley out of bed in time for her to catch her taxi and flight the next morning, but Pamela was ultimately successful, and after a perhaps overindulgent kiss goodbye (being that they were only going to be apart for a few hours) Harley was off.
It was 6am, the will reading wasn't until noon, but Pamela knew she wouldn't be getting any more sleep that day, so she changed into her jogging clothes.
Her feet carried her down the same path she'd taken every morning before school. The goal was to clear her head, but that seemed an impossible task as she slowed to a stop at the edge of the pond.
Pamela had known a variety of careers in her 35 years, but this was the first time she was facing the possibility of being forced out of one. Previously, she'd transitioned fields because a different, better, more lucrative opportunity presented itself. This time, if everything really did come crashing down, it would not be because the grass was greener somewhere else.
Her feelings about her profession were complicated. On one hand, it was never something she saw herself doing, the science was beginning to become repetitive, and she didn't feel challenged by it in any sense. But on the other hand, this is the closest she'd ever felt to a group of coworkers, she could put very little effort in and still make an exorbitant amount of money, and it had introduced her to Harley. The last one she couldn't comfortably file under 'pro' or 'con' yet. She wasn't able to verbalize it, but Pamela had never claimed to care about disappointing people—not her parents, not her exes…but Harley was a different breed. Disappointing Harley might actually affect her, and that was a terrifying concept. One that implied something Pamela wasn't ready to face.
She didn't know how long she'd been standing there, at the edge of the pond, watching as the water rippled with the breeze. There was a certain serenity here that couldn't be achieved in Gotham City. It was perhaps the only thing she missed. The quiet. The isolation. Her mother would get to enjoy that, alone, for the rest of her life. Widowed before 60, what an accomplishment.
Pamela walked back up to the house rather than ran, giving into her reeling thoughts. She didn't want to go down like this, in disgrace. On her heels was not a position she was terribly familiar with (on her back, however…), and she was already beginning to resent it.
Lillian was sitting on the front porch, two cups of coffee in hand when Pam returned. "Harleen didn't feel the need to say goodbye?"
"No," Pam replied, scaling the steps apprehensively. "Is that cup for me?"
"It is," Lillian placed it on the small table between the two porch chairs. "I didn't want you making a mess of my kitchen."
Pam took the coffee without sitting down in the vacant chair. "When have I ever made a mess? Honestly."
"You seem to have made a mess of your professional life by blurring it with your personal one," her mother pointed out, taking a sip from her own mug. "If you can't be trusted to draw someone's blood without sleeping with them, how am I supposed to trust you with my Italian coffee maker?"
"The correlation there might be a bit of a stretch."
Lillian cleared her throat. "You know, your father never did like that Kane woman."
Pam raised a questioning eyebrow. "How did daddy know Kate Kane?"
"Oh, he always watched those silly matches," Lillian said like this shouldn't be news. "We agreed it was an odd career choice for you, but he enjoyed the spectacle, at the very least."
"Huh…" Pam said, taking her first drink of coffee. She made a mental note to figure out what machine had made it so she could purchase one for herself. "Daddy never struck me as a fan of spectacle."
"Maybe people change."
Squinting, Pam mulled that over. "Evolve, maybe. But oh, wait, I forgot you don't believe in evolution."
Lillian shook her head. "We almost had a nice moment, there."
"Sure. Almost," Pamela pushed the front door open. "Thanks for the coffee."
She was all packed up by the time noon rolled around. The will reading wasn't supposed to take more than a half hour, so Pam had bought herself a seat on the 2:30 flight back to Gotham. Her plan was to have a car ready and waiting so that she could leave as soon as she'd heard what she needed to hear from the estate lawyer.
Lillian had been Robert Isley's first and only spouse, and Pamela had been his only offspring. He had no other living family, so it was just Pam, her mother and the lawyer in the living room waiting to hear how things would be divided between them.
"Are we ready to begin?" the lawyer asked.
"Yes," Lillian affirmed, sitting in her husband's chair, knees together, hands folded neatly in her lap.
Pam nodded from where she stood behind the couch.
The lawyer cleared his throat before beginning, speaking like he was auditioning for Shakespeare in The Park. "This is the last Will and Testament of Robert P. Isley. I, Robert P. Isley, resident of the city of Leesburg, County of Loudon, State of Virginia, being of sound mind, not acting under duress or undue influence, and fully understanding the nature of—,"
Pamela checked her watch, already bored.
"—and hereby revoke any and all other wills and codicils heretofore made by me."
Alright, let's cut to the chase.
"To my wife, Lillian Isley, I leave all of my property and real estate holdings, both private and commercial, as well as the funds in all joint accounts—,"
Pam's phone vibrated in her hand.
Selina: When do you get in?
She typed her reply with one hand. I'll be at the office by 5.
Selina: come straight to me, don't talk to the press again.
That was the plan. Pam locked her phone, returning her attention to the task at hand.
"—my eldest and only daughter, Pamela Lillian Isley, I leave the controlling interest of my corporation, Isley's Artisan Meats—"
"Please tell me you're kidding," Pam interrupted.
Lillian's disbelief and frustration were just as obvious as her daughter's. "Good lord, Robert, why?" she buried her face in her hands.
"These are Mr. Isley's wishes," the lawyer said, getting back to the document. "Along with the remainder of my stock portfolio and the contents of my personal checking account after my funeral has been paid for, and so long as Pamela was in attendance."
"Well, that seems a little vindictive," Pam said, interrupting the proceedings once more. "I don't want his pocket change, anyway. I really don't need his money, and I certainly don't need his company."
"There's close to 400 thousand dollars in that account, Pamela, I'd hardly call it pocket change," Lillian scoffed. "There's no need to be ungrateful."
"I'm not being ungrateful, Mother, I just have a job. Something you lack," was Pam's terse response. "What he's left you is all you'll have."
"You may not have a job for much longer," Lillian reminded her.
"I make 2 million dollars per ye—,"
"And your father was worth 1 billion," Lillian cut her off. "You'll take what he's given you and be grateful. Being gifted controlling interest in a Fortune 500 company typically isn't something people throw tantrums over."
Pam blinked. "I must have been an incredibly well-behaved child if you think this is what a tantrum looks like. I thought we agreed I wouldn't be responsible for the company."
"Evidently your father had other plans!" Lillian shouted, standing now.
"Um, excuse me, Pamela?" the lawyer stepped between them, which was the precise moment Pam realized he was still there. "I'm now supposed to hand you this." He produced that thick, manila envelope that Pamela recognized from the top drawer of her father's desk. The one she already knew contained her sustainable procedure recommendations. "He said you should be able to hit the ground running."
So maybe the grass wasn't greener. Maybe it was stained with blood and pig shit.