A/N This is info I forgot to stick in my last author's note: In Chapter 15, when Somerville is telling Bruce about the incident with the reporters, it flashes back to show what actually happened. However, while Somerville didn't exactly lie, she didn't give Bruce all the details, particularly the one about her gun. This wasn't at all clear in the chapter (I'll go back and edit so that it is), and I apologize for that. Thanks to IcyWaters for pointing it out to me.
Disclaimer I do not own Batman or any affiliated settings, characters, or gadgets. Nor do I own the phrase "playboy klutz." It was, as far as I know, invented by Eccentric Banshee in her marvelous Batman fic, Haven. If you're looking for a Bruce romance, you should definitely check out her most excellent story.
Acknowledgement I must give a nod to Grace Livingston Hill who, when I was still at a young and tender age, formed my notion of the evil society woman. Thanks also to Seafever for reassuring me about the first bit of this chapter.
Chapter 17
Diplomacy means lying all the time, so that your enemy has no idea of what you're really doing.
King Matt the First
"You didn't really come out here to enjoy the garden all alone?" The low, sultry voice sent prickles of dismay up his spine, as a hand slipped along his sleeve, caressing his bicep. The advances of random and oversexed women were just one of the occupational hazards of the playboy lifestyle, but it had to be the one he hated the most.
Forcibly stifling the impulse to flinch away, he turned, smile in place. "Hi. Do you like fountains, too?" He recognized the curvaceous brunette with really bad taste in formal wear as a relative newcomer to the Gotham social scene. Was her name Fifi? Or maybe Gigi... Tonight she was wearing a dress that appeared to consist entirely of glitter-coated feathers. In fact, she was leaving a trail of sparkles across his coat.
"I love fountains," she purred, allowing her tongue to linger over the 'l' in 'love.'
He slowly backed up until his legs pressed against the low rim of the fountain. She followed and reached out to place both of her palms against his chest. "Goddess, it's like rock. How often do you work out?"
"It's the…um…polo." He shifted again, so that they were both standing by the side of the fountain.
She pulled her full mouth into a pout. "You're not running away, are you?"
Just smile. "That depends on what's chasing me."
Her hands stroked his abs. "Simple curiosity."
"Curiosity?" he managed, his skin crawling. Wait...
"I want to know whether the infamous Bruce Wayne can live up to his reputation." She stepped suddenly forward, pressing her body against his; his foot slid between her four inch spiked heels, and the next instant he was falling to his knees beside the fountain as she tumbled into it.
He blinked, eyes big with innocence and shock. "I'm so sorry! Are you ok?"
She answered with a string of not very complimentary opinions about his natural agility. Bruce noticed with a clinical sort of interest that the feathers weren't holding up under their impromptu ducking. "I'll just…go and get someone to send you a towel…"
He strode away from the cursing would-be seductress, shuddering and trying futilely to brush the glitter off his clothes. Playboy klutz strikes again. Some things just didn't fall into the category of what was necessary.
- - - - - -
It took some time to locate Judas in the crowded room. Cecilia slipped unobtrusively along the wall, garnering very little attention from the other guests. It must be apparent that I'm one of the people who put the 'charity' into charity ball. She at last spotted her silver-haired boss chatting amiably with an elderly couple. She joined the group in time to hear Judas giving a rundown on his publicity campaign for Hearts and Homes.
"Every week we distribute a fresh flyer. We don't want people to forget we're here, but neither do we want to bore them with the same old song and dance. Several advertising agencies have volunteered staff and hours to help with the designs." He turned to her. "Ah, Cecilia, I was wondering where you were. Allow me to introduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Fredricks. Mr. Fredricks serves on the board of Wayne Enterprises," he added meaningfully, before reversing the introduction. "My colleague, Cecilia Somerville. Currently, she's strictly a social worker, but I'm hoping tonight will convince her to sign up and swell our ranks at H&H."
"It's a fine work, Miss Somerville," Mr. Fredricks enthused, removing one wrinkled but steady hand from his ornate cane and offering it to her. "The children of this city need so much."
"Yes, indeed," his sweet faced wife agreed. "Hearts and Homes has always been one of our favorite organizations."
"And you've always been some of my favorite benefactors," Judas put in.
Cecilia just stopped herself from rolling her eyes. Should we start sobbing tears of gratitude on each other's shoulders now, or does that come after they give us another check?
Judas continued, "I only wish all of Gotham's elite were as generous."
Fredricks focused across the room, on the part of the floor in front of the orchestra which was reserved for dancing. "Of course," he said, his expression hardening, "there are those who would use charitable donations as a pay-off for other, less commendable actions."
Cecilia followed his gaze and saw Bruce Wayne gracefully waltzing with a red-headed woman whose figure hinted that she'd been squeezed out of a toothpaste tube. Look out Barbie.
Henry Judas was also watching the dance floor. "You might be interested to know that Cecilia is the case worker for Mr. Wayne's ward. I presume that, as a board member, you are familiar with the situation?"
Fredricks' voice was cold. "Yes, although I only became aware of the boy's existence when Fox explained the matter last week. Had I known earlier, you may be certain that I would have filed a complaint long before Earle. I can hardly imagine a less fit guardian of a small child. Miss Somerville, I trust you will take the right course of action."
Cecilia eyed the enraged old man cautiously. "I will endeavor to make my investigation as thorough and objective as possible."
Fredricks angrily rapped his cane against the polished floor. "The man is a disgrace to one of Gotham's finest families. Did I not feel as if I owed his father something, I would have resigned my seat on the board last spring." Without another word, he stalked away.
Mrs. Fredricks looked apologetically at Cecilia and Judas. "You must forgive Matthew. He was a close friend of Thomas Wayne's, and I am afraid that young man has been a great disappointment to many of us." Shaking her head sadly, she followed her husband.
- - - - - -
An hour and a half later, Bruce had had as much as he could stand. Milking his cold for all it was worth (his headache really was coming back), he issued a round of general goodbyes and went hunting for Somerville. He found her lurking behind a cluster of potted palms.
"Miss Somerville, you wouldn't by any chance be hiding from someone, would you?"
She didn't look amused. "I hope your inauspicious presence indicates that you are ready to leave."
"It does."
She stood on tiptoe and peeked over the palms. "Do you see Henry Judas anywhere?"
"Last I knew, he was in the salon talking the ears off of a potential benefactor."
"Thank heaven," she muttered, hurrying beside him as he strode toward the exit. "I am not cut out for PR work."
Bruce smirked. I could have told her that.
As they stood waiting in a tiny side foyer for the car to be brought around, there was a commotion in the hallway behind them.
"Nobody knowsh the troublesh I've sheen,
Nobody knowsh! My shorrow.
Nobody knowsh the troublesh I've sheen…"
Audrey Williams staggered past them up to the desk. "Jusht haf my car brought 'round. Theresh a good man. Jush tell 'em shend Bubblesh car. Sheesh got plashesh to go."
The deskman looked like he wanted to argue, but the drunk blond turned away before he had a chance.
"Nobody knowsh the troublesh I've sheen.
Glooooooooooooreeeeeee Halluh…halluhluh…"
She broke off and blinked up at Bruce, apparently noticing him for the first time. "Brushie! Brushie, sho good t'shee you." She swayed dangerously and Bruce grabbed her arm. She smelled like she'd been bathing in champagne, not just drinking it. "Wanna come for a ride, Brushie? Jush you an' me an'…" She saw Cecilia. "Whooshee?"
"Your car is here, sir," the deskman interposed.
Bubbles looked out the glass doors at the limo waiting by the curb. "Ish tha' your car, Brushe? Ish bee-ooh-full. Good ol' Brushe, alwush drivesh the besh carsh. Alwush." She threw herself against his chest. "Take me in your car, Brushie. Your bee-ooh-ful car. We can give my car to sharity!" She squinted blearily around and again spotted Cecilia. "Give it to her! Sheesh a sharity all righ'." Bubbles smiled charmingly. "Wush your name, honey?"
Somerville looked faintly amused. "Cecilia."
"Sheshi…shishi…I don' like tha' name."
Bruce cast an apologetic look at Somerville. "I think I'd better make sure she gets home."
"Yesh, lesh go home," Bubbles agreed. "In your car. The sharity c'n haf mine."
"I would be willing to drive Miss…er…"
"Williams," Bruce supplied.
"Miss Williams' vehicle," Somerville offered.
"Yeah, take it back to the Manor, and I'll have someone return it tomorrow," Bruce directed, gingerly guiding Audrey toward the door. "Bubbles, don't get sick on my upholstery."
"I'm no' shick!"
Once inside the car, the girl slumped down in her seat and hummed softly to herself as they sped through the streets of Gotham.
And suddenly, a dozen blocks from the hotel, the girl was no longer slumped and staring vacantly but sitting straight up with a gaze that was frightened but alert. "Bruce, please take me home with you!"
He folded his arms and stared at her thoughtfully. "That was a pretty good act, but you overdid the slurring a little. Why the charade?"
"I…I want to talk to your butler." Her hands twisted nervously in her lap.
Whatever he had expected, this was not it. "Alfred? Why?"
"He…he was kind to me once, and I need some advice."
"Bubbles, are you in trouble?"
"I don't know!" she wailed, and burst into tears. Bruce handed her his handkerchief and waited patiently until she was able to speak. "Ever since I…I jumped, I've felt like someone was watching me. And today, I was positive my car was being tailed. That's why I didn't want to get in it."
Bruce regarded her narrowly. "Are you sure this isn't just…you know…nervous reaction after…"
"After I tried to kill myself?" she asked bluntly. "No! Bruce, I swear to you, someone has been following me."
"Then we should call the police."
"No!" she all but shrieked. "No police!"
He studied her frightened face, then nodded. "All right. You can talk to Alfred." Bruce hit the intercom to the chauffeur and ordered, "We've changed our minds, take us to the Manor." Shutting the intercom back off, he picked up the limo's phone and dialed home. "Alfred? Audrey Williams is coming with me. She wants to talk to you…I don't know. Listen, Somerville is driving Miss Williams' car. Call her and tell her someone may be following her. Suggest she pull over somewhere where there are people and stay there until someone comes to escort her."
When they arrived at the mansion, Alfred was waiting. He escorted Bubbles into the library, then pulled Bruce aside for a private word. "I was unable to reach Miss Somerville."
"She should have been here by now. We drove twelve block in the wrong direction." Bruce absently ran a hand through his hair. "I'd better go look for her. You find out what Bubbles wants. Call Gordon if you have to."
"Yes, sir."
Alfred headed back to the library, and Bruce ran up the stairs to his study. Once inside the underground cavern, he strapped on his armor and hesitated. The Tumbler was great for heavy work, but it wasn't exactly inconspicuous. And tonight, he did not want to announce to the entire city that the Bat was on the prowl. He headed instead for a battered black corvette with tinted windows – perfectly innocent on the outside, lots of special features inside. I should start teaching Dick how to take an engine apart, he thought absently as he started the car.
Half a minute later, the only moving things in the cavern were the bats that swooped down from the roof, ready for their evening flights.
To Be Continued…
A/N As you can probably tell, I have very little respect for high fashion. To be blunt, I think most of it's dog ugly, not to mention stupid and probably inconvenient to wear. Anyway…
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