Chapter Three: She's So Heavy
New York City, 1975
I: Tony
One of the most comforting paradoxes about Trivelino J. Napier, Avatar of Entropy, was that you could set your clock by her.
There were certain things she did in certain ways all the time and Tony knew all of them.
She taught two classes at NYU. One in quantum physics, on Mondays and Fridays, and one on the Great Depression and World War II, also on Mondays and Fridays.
On Wednesdays, she taught Evolutionary Biology to the juniors and seniors at the X-mansion.
Every weekday, she worked at Dr. Manhattan's lab from 9AM until 1PM.
She met with Frank "Bear" Marcano, her eyes and ears in the street, at his father's pizza shop in Bensonhurst on Mondays and Fridays, and planned out her jobs for the week.
At night, every night but Wednesday and Thursday, she and her partner hit the streets, sometimes on her job and sometimes on his.
Wednesdays and Thursdays were her nights off the mask game.
She spent Wednesdays with Logan.
Tony had his eye on Mondays.
On Thursdays, she worked on her cars, sometimes at her own workshop, sometimes at Hollis mason's garage. In the afternoon, she had lunch with Hollis Mason and Dan Drieberg at the Gunga Diner.
On Thursday night, she and Eddie Blake went to the drive-in on Long Island.
On Sunday, at six, sharp, she had dinner with her family at Wayne Manor, and spent the night in.
Every night after she and the Comedian got done with their patrol, they ate at Grossmann's Diner.
And on Mondays, Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays, Liv had lunch there at noon, precisely at noon, and Tony made a point of being there with her, when it was humanly possible for him to do so.
He liked to see her because she was his friend, but he also liked to see her to keep abreast of when Uncle Sam was sending the Comedian to a small South American country to blow up drug refineries, or assassinate a tinpot dictator with a shrimp fork.
While the cat's away, the mice will play.
Although you couldn't say Napalm was not into banging groupies, that didn't mean it was her preference.
Because, apart from the novelty of the thing, sometimes the service wasn't very good.
Tony had stopped by to see her in her office at NYU, and she had one of them under the desk, servicing her.
She had one hand in his long hair, and the other was a fist, pounding on the desk as she snarled at him.
"Is that the best you can do, you sunnuvabitch?"
Most people would have taken their leave, but not Tony.
He had breezed into the room like he owned it, sent the young man on his way, made good use of a paper napkin dipped in the glass of water on Napalm's desk, and got under said desk to finish the job.
As Wolverine always said, you've got to get in where you can fit in.
But that was neither here, nor there.
The important thing was that, groupies aside, Liv was something of a serial monogamist, and when the cat was away, the mouse often came to play with Tony.
And, on the previous night, when he had visited Grossmann's with a lady friend of his named Wendy, Liv came in, alone, and went and sat with Cap.
If she came in alone, that meant the Comedian wasn't around.
Poor Cap.
If you were a man, and you were interested in your virtue, and you had a girl waiting for you at home, the last place you wanted to be was with Liv Napier at midnight when she had just got done working.
Maybe Napalm wasn't the most conventionally beautiful woman in the world, but she was 1) a real redhead and although short, built like a brick shithouse 2) pretty in a very impish, naughty fairy sort of way 3) had mojo coming out of her ears.
She may have had ten tattoos and as many near-fatal scars on her body, motor oil under her fingernails, and she didn't own a skirt and wore men's OD underwear, but Napalm was the fire-haired porno queen of superhero ultravixens.
Quite possibly the dirtiest girl he had ever known.
Now, Steve Rogers was as good and decent of an All-American man as ever there was born in New York City, or anywhere else, and, oddly enough, Napalm had a thing for him.
He was the one who got away.
Minus the bad motherfucker part, Steve was her type.
She knew she'd never get anywhere with him, and Liv wasn't the kind of woman to throw herself where she wasn't wanted, but she wasn't very good at hiding her emotions or her intentions, and there was something in her manner that always brought little beads of sweat out onto Steve's forehead.
He had sat there, laughing into his sandwich, watching Napalm, obviously horny as a junkyard dog on a full moon, wolfing her dinner and inadvertently rubbing her king-size tits across the table, talking shop with poor Steve but giving him these ferocious looks that she wasn't even aware of.
Which she would not have been doing if the Comedian was around.
Tony arrived at Grossmann's at about ten till 12 the next day.
When Napalm came in, she just sat down; Max Grossmann knew what she wanted, she always had the same thing.
"So, who was that hoity-toity broad you had in here last night? Yunno, Miss Plastic Fantastic? She looked like a real drag. What's-her-face, Candy, Sandy, Penny…whoever the fuck? The conceptual artist doll you was balling. The one who thought it was a complement when Yoko Ono went to her showing and said that she was a derivative talentless hack, bottom-feeding off of the shit that better artists dropped."
Typical Liv-speak.
She spoke in an amalgam of film noir, Brooklyn thug, and street hippie.
"You mean Wendy? "Was" is the operative word. Wendy has been having a contemplative phase in her psychosexual development as an artist, in an attempt to unblock her creative channelling."
Napalm raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, I see. She wanted you to pony up with some of the green stuff to finance her latest assault on the arts with her bullshit and she told you that until you made with the bread you were kicked out of bed?"
"Pretty much."
"So you didn't get laid last night, either?"
"Nope."
"Yeah, what a fuckin' drag. I get lazy, havin' Eddie around. Logan too. Used to be I went out every day, lookin' for action, yunno? I usedta hit those streets at noon. But now, yunno, havin' had the best, I can't get it up to go hunt for the rest. After I got done talkin' to Cap, yunno, it was 2 in the morning and I hadda be at the lab at 9. So I just went home, cracked open a coupla my comic books, an' took care of business before I hit the sack. You?"
"Well, after I got mercilessly teased all night, I had a very pleasant five minutes in the bathroom with Miss March. And, considering that I'm about, oh, three phone calls away from having Miss March, anytime I'd like, that was quite a raw deal."
"Couldn't ya even get her ta give ya a lousy hand job?"
"After I told her I wasn't giving her 15 grand, she locked me out of my own bedroom. And it was three in the morning."
"Whatta bitch."
"I'm seeing her again, tonight."
"Why?"
"To get rid of her, I expect. How's your research going? You haven't published for awahile."
They had lunch, and got into a rather loud discussion about electromagnetic radiation and black holes, which continued as they walked out into the street.
Liv was going to take the subway to NYU, but this was an argument Tony wanted to win, so he drove her back to campus, and followed her all the way to her office, where her student assistant, Peter Parker, was arranging her papers.
"Pete, you know I'm right, under the right circumstances, theoretically speaking, you could use EM to pass matter through a black hole without it's particles being atomised, couldn't you?"
"You mean on a quantum level? Theoretically."
"Screw theoretically, Pete! I mean in reality!" Tony argued.
"If you were Dr. Manhattan, maybe." Pete replied.
"See?"
Tony grinned at her.
"I see. So you and Jon are doing private space-time research in your spare hours. And with government funds, on government property. Shocking."
Liv looked furious at him as he settled into her chair, behind her desk.
"And using all that outdated equipment in that dreary basement lab. Toiling away in secret. Of course, you realise, if you would have brought the idea to me, I could have set you up with the best lab, and the best equipment, in the best location that money can buy? I'm sure Jon would feel more comfortable doing such important research legitimately. And, as long as I'm in on it, I'm sure neither one of you would mind having little old me, involved? Seeing as how I already am? So, when would you like to start?"
"You know what, Tony? I hate you the most when you're right."
He picked up her phone.
"I'll talk to Jon. You go teach your class, I'll arrange everything. Pete, you're studying physics, aren't you?"
"In my spare time."
"Good. Are we hiring him?"
"I'm hiring him, Tony. Me. This is my project."
"No, it's our project. Yours, mine and Jon's. But you can be in charge, I don't mind."
Harlequin and Spider Man left the office.
"Did you just get screwed, Liv?"
"No. We were just negotiating. Tony never included Jon on the project before; that's what we was holding out for."
"You and Dr. Manhattan?"
"Yes. We've been wanting to get Tony involved, bur I never liked his terms."
"So Stark Industries has more advanced technology than the US Government?"
"Pete, you have no idea. Listen. Whatever you see in Tony's private lab, and whatever we do, just keep your eyes open and your mouth shut."
"I don't know about the mouth shut part, but I won't tell any industrial secrets."
"Good."
***
"It's ridiculous, Pepper! How could a woman be in love with Eddie Blake? I almost understand the ones who've never met him, but she works with him!"
"Tony, Liv is your friend. She has, unfortunately for her, joined that very small fraternity. You eat lunch with her at Grossmann's almost every day. And she's worked with you on a few projects, in and out of costume. And every time the Comedian goes off on one of his secret missions, when I get here in the morning, she's here in her military underwear, making breakfast, with those pigtails swinging around her head, smoking like a chimney. What more do you want?"
"For one thing, my own day of the week. Logan has one."
"Yes. Because Eddie Blake hasn't threatened to tear off his private parts and make him eat them if he touches Liv again."
"I don't think he means that. He has to know about us, at this point. She doesn't keep secrets from him."
"In that case, he doesn't even consider you a credible threat."
"What do you mean, Pepper?"
"I know you, Tony. You play for keeps. You don't want to borrow Liv. You want to steal her. Steal her from her government job with Dr. Manhattan, steal her from the Justice League and steal her from Eddie Blake. You want it all, and you want it now, and you can't face that you are just not going to get it."
"No, Pepper. I just haven't got what I want, yet."
"You are incorrigible, Mr. Stark."
***
"…don't you see, Anthony, the symbolism beyond the, the mere semiotics of the concept, of the paradigm, the zeitgeist, I'm trying in a fully hermeneutic way, to reach the jist, the quantum jist…"
Quantum jist?
How many words can this woman string together, incorrectly, just to make a point that doesn't mean anything?
"Wendy, darling, please. You've lost me. And this is my fifteen large we're talking about."
Lost me completely.
She's a beautiful girl, she really is. Black hair. Blue eyes. Long, long legs. It would be nice if her tits were a little bigger, but they're just perfect.
And she has a lovely mouth.
If only she would shut it, because the more she flaps those lovely lips, the less interested I am.
"Oh, Anthony, you're so un-creative. You don't understand anything about art. Anyway, the mere pittance the NEA has offered me…"
"Mere pittance? Five thousand dollars is a mere pittance?"
I am not giving this woman fifteen thousand dollars just so I can have guaranteed steady pussy on Tuesday nights; I don't care how many medals for gymnastics she has.
However, it might be worth it, just to get rid of her.
And it is early, yet.
Where did I put my checkbook?
"For the kind of meta-conceptual quantum event I'm formulating, yes, it is."
WHAM!
"Anthony, what was that?"
"Just me, toots. Time to hit the bricks, baby."
That, of course was Napalm, swaggering into the apartment like she owned it.
Tony stood up.
"Hello, Tony. I was in the neighbourhood, looking for some action, so I figured I'd drop in." she said.
Just like Wendy wasn't there at all.
"Pardon me?" Wendy asked.
"Are you still here, doll? Didn't I tell you to make tracks?"
"Whoever you are, I don't know, Anthony's mechanic, or someone like that, you are interrupting a serious conversation we are having about modern art."
Liv turned to Tony and gave him a Groucho Marx kind of look.
"Dig this." She said, and turned to Wendy.
"Modern art, huh?"
She sat down on the couch where Tony had been sitting.
"I'll get us a few drinks, and we can talk. You've never met Na-, er, Liv, before. She's a colleague of mine." He announced.
"Oh. So you're a scientist, too. Do you work for Tony?"
"Well, I do a lot of things. I do some research with Dr. Manhattan, for the government, and I teach a couple of classes at NYU and the X-Institute."
"You look like a mechanic."
"Well, I like to fix things, yunno."
Liv took off her coat, and as Tony brought the drinks around, Wendy sucked her breath, sharply.
"Are those guns real?"
"Sure they are. I'm with S.H.I.E.L.D, I can't go around, unarmed."
"Is this some kind of joke? Tony, who is this woman?"
"Trivelino J. Napier. The J doesn't stand for anything." Tony told her.
Wendy knew that name.
Everybody who ever picked up an issue of the New York Post knew Trivelino J. "Napalm" Napier. She was the hell-raising, mad-genius, mysterious government agent, bar-brawling, street-fighting, man-eating offspring of the Joker, fostered by billionaire Bruce Wayne.
She was more likely to appear in the Times with Dr. Manhattan, now, but her and her ne'er do well swaggering war hero macho G-Man boyfriend Eddie Blake occasionally made the Post.
And you couldn't live in New York without hearing the rumour that they were secretly the Comedian and the Harlequin.
"I thought you looked familiar." Wendy told her.
She looked nervous.
"Yeah. Like your mechanic. And we're very good friends, me an' Tony. We were on the cover of Rolling Stone together, what year was that, Tony?"
"Last year."
"I don't read that magazine." Wendy sniffed.
"Shame. It was one of their better articles. They had us both dressed up like Dr. Frankenstein for the cover. So, you're an artist, huh?"
"Yes, I am." Wendy announced.
Liv gave Tony another Groucho Marx look, the Watch Me Give This Stiff the Business look.
"Well, I can't say I know everything about art, but I know somethin'. God only knows I had enough fuckin' education. I got like, two Masters Degrees. My stepfather, now, he's a big collector. I've picked up a little from him. But me, all I own a very nice blue period Picasso. It's just a little watercolour, though. So, let's talk art. Do you do fine art or modern art?" Liv asked.
"Fine modernistic, I'd say. I combine conceptual art with painting and sculpture."
"Oh, really? Tell me, how do you feel about the work of Man Ray? Rene Magritte? Salvador Dali? But I'm not bein' fair, I'm mixing my schools. You're a conceptual artist? Would you say that your work has its foundations in Dada, or in the Surrealist tradition? Or maybe a little bit of both. Of course, some people wouldn't know Duchamp from Cocteau, but, well, what do I know? But then again, maybe that's not modern enough. Are you more Pop Art? Andy Warhol? Peter Max? Seein' as how I love comics, I'm a big fan of Roy Lichtenstein. So is Tony. I bought him that lithograph over the mantle, the one that looks like Iron Man, for Christmas last year. It's a signed original. Spared no expense. No? No bells going off in your head, toots? Well, then, how about Steven Rogers?"
Tony bit his lip.
What Steve knew about modern art, you could stick in your ear and have enough room for the S.H.I.E.L.D Helicarrier.
When he showed him the Lichtenstein, Steve nodded, politely, and said it was very nice but it wasn't the best likeness of Iron Man, most of the kids in his apartment building subscribed to Iron Man comics, now was that a poster from one of the covers?
But, Liv had finally hit on a name that rang a bell with Wendy.
"Yes. Steven Rogers. Very much so. A great influence on my work."
Tony turned a snort of derisive laughter into a discreet little cough.
"Really? Listen, you dumb broad, Steve Rogers is Captain America. He's a great man, and a good guy, but the only thing he can draw is a map. Bye bye, now."
"Anthony?"
"Don't look at me, Wendy. I'm terrified of her. I just try to do what she says so she won't hurt me. She enjoys hurting people. Why else would you hang around with Eddie Blake?" Tony said, with the utmost in insincere sincerity.
"That's right. Don't look at him, sweetheart. You look at me. This chick's in charge here. I said blow. Scram. Take a powder. Move it or lose it. Dig? You got no more bullets in your gun, but…"
Liv actually drew on her.
With both hands.
"I got two clips in mine."
"You wouldn't!" Wendy gasped.
"You read the Post, dontcha? Ya heard Tony, din'cha? Whaddaya think? Wanna take the chance?"
Wendy grabbed her coat and left.
"And don't come back, ya plastic bitch! This ain't a bank!"
Liv put away her weapons, and slammed the door.
"So, how much cash did I just save you?" she asked, going over to the bar to fix herself another drink.
"Fifteen grand."
"Fifteen grand! For what?"
"Just to go away, at this point."
Liv downed the shot.
"Eddie's gonna be gone all week. And Logan's in San Francisco. You think you got fifteen grand worth of action for me, Iron Man?"
Tony grinned at her.
"Did I mention that, after a few modifications, yes I can do it in the suit? That alone is worth fifteen grand. But, I can afford to give you a few freebies. Would you like me to leave the face shield up, or down?"
"You're still not dirtier than I am, Tony."
"Oh yes I am. Game on?"
"You bet your ass!"
Somewhere In New York City, 1984
II: Tony
"…how did you live like that, Napalm? In a filthy flop, drunk, hurt, hungry, like an animal? How?"
"Shit, I dunno, Tony. You can get used to anything."
Liv was right, you could get used to anything.
It was a cold November, this year, or maybe it just seemed colder, because…
Because you're a homeless drunken bum, Tony?
Probably.
His leg was beginning to fall asleep under him, and he shifted his weight, huddling into the old parka he'd found.
It had been snowing for a few days and it was colder than he thought it would be, colder than it ever seemed to be, before.
"Excuse me, sir, but could you spare a little money for an injured 'Nam vet down on his luck?"
He moved aside his parka and his shirt, showing his scar from the heart transplant.
"Get a job, rummy."
Rummy.
A fine way for them to talk to him.
Tony pulled up the hood, tucked his legs under him and opened his newspaper.
No more superhero stories. Thanks to the Keene Act. Well, not as many. Superman Foils Bus Crash. Captain America Addresses Brooklyn Law School. Comedian Kills Six Muggers With One Hand, Whole Subway Car Applauds.
Rorschach and Batman Still On Loose.
Harlequin Executes Church of Humanity Central Committee With Shrimp Fork, Gets Medal From Mayor.
She's Still A Beautiful Girl.
Big deal.
So what?
"Good luck to you, you sonsabitches. Better your ass than mine."
Tony had already gotten his bottle, and the trash cans outside McDonalds were always bountiful, so it was about time to head to the abandoned building he called home.
It was supposed to be haunted, something with the former X-Men and one of the Great Old Ones had destroyed it.
People were afraid to go there.
It was said that the place would drive you mad, give you a lifetime of bad dreams.
Tony did not notice the difference.
He scrambled over the slabs of ruined concrete, and climbed down bits of wreckage, down under the Earth into what was once a parking garage, until he came to his home, in the corner of the vast concrete tomb.
An old sleeping bag on top of a rotting wooden skid, a beat-up knapsack, and a fence made of milk crates.
Home Sweet Home.
He finished off his bottle, and lay down to go to sleep.
***
The next day he picked a different corner to beg on, slouched inside his big coat, watching knees and shoes and feet go by.
"Hey, lady? We're getting close to the holidays. I used to be a superhero before we all got fired. Can you spare some change?"
"Really? Which one?"
"Ant Man. I was in the Avengers."
"And you couldn't get work after that?"
"No ma'am. I'm disabled. Bad ticker."
He showed her his scar.
"I never did like that stupid law. You poor man. I wish I had more to give you."
She gave him five dollars.
Five whole dollars.
Maybe that was the right schtick.
Maybe he could get enough money for a bed for the night.
Take a shower, go to a bar, find a woman.
Get laid.
Really, really, really need to get laid.
"Excuse me, sir. I used to be in the Avengers before the Keene Act. Can you help a former superhero who's down on his luck?"
"Yeah, right, buddy. And I'm fuckin' Superman."
Maybe the next one.
He was rooting through his knapsack when he heard a car pull up by the curb and screech to a stop.
Not unusual in busy downtown Manhattan.
But this particular pair of legs and feet, of Keds with a hole in either toe, looked very familiar.
No point in lying.
"Napalm, how is it I'm a bum, and your shoes are older than mine are?"
She didn't say much.
"You been on quite a bender, huh, Tony."
"You could say that. Did the baby live?"
"The one you brought to the hospital. Yeah. What happened to the mother?"
"She died. She was a nice girl."
"Well, you don't look so good, yourself. C'mon. Let's get you off the street, huh?"
"It's no use, Napalm. I have nothing left. No money. No home. Where am I going to go?
"With me. C'mon, on your feet."
She hauled him to his feet, tossed his knapsack into the back, shoved him in the passenger seat and got back in and drove away.
***
"Where are you taking me?" he finally asked.
"My hideout. You can live down in the bunker, as long as you need to. Money is no object."
"Sounds good. Conditions?"
"Back to five drinks a day. And you have to start working on something."
"No, I meant my conditions. But I'm alright with yours. I want my own day of the week."
"Just until you're on your feet?"
"Agreed."
"What day?"
"What's today."
"Monday."
"Fine with me. Where are the boys?"
"With their Aunt Edie. Until five. Why?"
"I'd rather they didn't see me like this. Or anybody else, either, for that matter."
Liv put the radio on.
"Ya know somethin', Tony? I like you with long hair. Don't get it cut, just yet."
Tony laughed.
"How can you still find me attractive? I've been wearing the same clothes for two months, and I only washed them twice. I bathe with Wet Naps, when I can."
"Hell, Tony, I been where you're at, now. I'm a pathetic gutter drunk too, remember? Who'm I to judge?" Liv said.
***
Under Harlequin's Hideout, a warehouse on the docks that she converted to a garage, was a two level bunker.
The deepest level was a lab, and even deeper was a large apartment even bigger and just as posh as the loft over the warehouse.
It was big enough to house six people.
Liv often harboured rogue working superheroes there, and now she would harbour him.
"Rorschach's livin' in the room at the end of the hallway."
Liv knocked on the door.
"Just a minute. Need my mask?"
He opened the door.
"You're gonna have some company."
Tony watched the patterns on Rorschach's mask shift.
"Good to see you, Iron Man. Some of us thought you were dead." He said.
"It was a near miss."
Liv led him further down the hall.
"That's the john. You can have any one of these bedrooms down this way. I gotta go take care of some things. Be seein' youse, later."
The first thing Tony did was take a shower, the second thing was find a bedroom and go to sleep.
When he woke up, Liv and Peppere were putting some of his clothes in the closet.
He didn't mind Pepper being there.
He was going to need her, too.
"Do you think he'll be angry when he finds out I told you?"
"No. He can't find his shoes without me. Look at him. He looks terrible."
"I dunno, Pepper. I like him with long hair."
"What? How can you say that? He was living on the street, like an animal, for…for months! You can't just start crawling all over him!"
"Awww, Jesus, Pepper, I lived like that from the time I was 16 until I was 22. When you're a drunk the way me an' Tony are drunks, you always end up in the gutter. I didn't end up in the street too often because I got an Uncle who owns a bar. He'd let me drink there without hassling me, and kept one of the flop rooms over the place open for me to sleep in, anytime I wanted, no questions asked? But, that don't mean I never lay in an alley all night, drunk off my ass and beat all to hell. He cleans up well. We'll get some food in him, get him back on the wagon, he'll be alright."
"Well, don't overtax him."
"There's nothing wrong with the man. He just went on a bender. You just don't know drunks. When he wakes up, he's going to want four things. A beer, a sandwich, some pussy, and a shoulder to cry on. He can have four drinks a day, five at the most under the program and the rest, I'm glad to give him. He can live here as long as he wants to."
"Well, I don't want him to know I know, yet. I'm going home. Thank you for including me, Liv."
"Well, Tony needs you."
"He needs all the help he can get."
"I know. I'll give it to him."
Tony waited a while to pretend to wake up.
"Good morning, sunshine. Are you living here in secret, or can I tell Cap where you are? He's really worried about you."
Tony thought about it.
"You can tell Steve, at least. But no one else. Not until I can get myself together, a little. Liv, listen. I want to make something clear to you. I have nothing. Zero. I'm completely broke. Destitute. I don't know how you even got my clothes."
"I bought them. And your tools. Pretty much all the contents of your penthouse. I have everything in storage."
Tony was thunderstruck.
"Why?"
Napalm shrugged.
"Well, it's not like I can't afford it. You're my friend, Tony. You can live in my bunker, and use my lab, and well, you might have a roommate if somebody else needs to flop here for awahile, but as long as you need to stay to get your shit together, fine. Whatever you need. A lawyer. Money. Credit. Supplies. Flunkies. Pepper's salary. Move her in here. Anything."
Liv sat beside him on the bed, and pulled out one of her guns.
"You want Obediah Stane? I'll shoot him right in the fuckin' head. You want his head? I'll pickle it in a jar and give it to you. Tony, I'm in this for the long haul. When I'm your friend, I'm your goddamn friend. Even after every motherfucker on God's Green Earth has turned their back on you, I'll still walk ten miles barefoot over broken glass to come to your side."
What do you have left, Tony?
I have this space, a mile beneath the city, to begin again. I have my friend Liv, and her money, her resources, and her intelligence.
And, of course, I have me.
"What do you think of 'Circuits Maximus' as a name for a company, Liv?"
She put the gun away.
"It's catchy. I like it."
"I heard what you said to Pepper, you know. About the four things I would want when I came to."
"Was I right?
"Yeah. Thank you, Liv. This is the second time you've saved my life. "
"Hey, man, what are friends for?"