The newsstand man was right. The bank was unmissable. It stood prominently on the street.
Natasha pushed the door and walked inside with quiet steps, her heels tapping the tiles hardly making a sound. A spy habit she had had as far as she could remember. This was why the receptionist who was looking down at his paperwork didn't notice her standing across the counter.
She cleared her throat to make her presence known.
The receptionist, a man in his early twenties, lifted his head slowly and gaped at her sight.
'May I help you?' he asked clearly his throat and rearranging his tie as a nervous twitch.
'Yes,' she smiled more than it was necessary to obtain what she wanted even more easily. 'I wish to speak with the director, Mr Kent.'
His slightly mouth opened in surprise.
'Of course! Allow me to call him,' he answered quickly whilst he picked up the phone.
'Who shall I announce?' he asked.
She put her arm on the counter as she prepared to recite what had been Fury's instructions.
'Just tell him I would like to discuss the terms of my banking contract.'
The young man repeated her exact words then hung up.
'Mr Kent is on his way,' he said to her.
She glimpsed at the name pinned onto his shirt.
'Thank you, Peter,' she smiled charmingly, making him gulp as a unique response, then she stepped away.
A few seconds later, a tall and stern man came down the marble stairs and walked up to her. He looked at her with a composed and professional gaze then shook her hand.
'If you want to follow me, please,' he said. They made the same way he had just done before but in the opposite direction. After reaching the top of the stairway, he turned right to a big door.
He reached for the knob then invited her with a polite but mostly reverent gesture to step in first. He waved a hand to the seat and walked round his desk to sit on his thick leather armchair after she sat down first.
He crossed his hands over his desk and leaned forward, looking her up and down as he probably tried to spot a detail that would give out the real purpose of her visit.
'Which terms would you like to discuss exactly?' he asked calmly.
The whole conversation was going just like colonel Fury had described it would. She crossed her legs and watched him intently and with all the confidence in the world.
'Terms 241-a and 573-c. Account number 926547813,' she answered.
Mr Kent's features changed slightly but much enough for her to notice. His look communicated a completely other form of professionalism as if her words had brought out a second persona that he kept hidden in the dark and would only reveal to his fellow co-workers.
He rose to his feet and walked to the landscape painting hanging on the side wall. He pulled it open like a window and proceeded to enter a combination in the safe concealed in the wall behind.
He pulled an envelope out, closed the safe and put the frame back to its original position. He sat on his armchair again and put the envelope on the desk, gently pushing it over to her with his finger.
Natasha remained still and composed acting like the secret agent she was, even if it was from another time. She took a glimpse at the envelope and evaluated there amount to be of fifty grands by the thickness of it.
She looked back at the director.
'Thank you,' she said with a conniving smile.
'There is a key inside. 37 East 64th Street, 4th floor,' he said. 'Feel free for the duration of your stay. Just leave the key to the concierge when you decide to vacate the apartment. Is there anything else you would need?'
She smiled again. Everything went according to the plan. And 'discretion' and 'rapidity' seemed to be the main keywords.
'No. I got everything I wanted.'
She stood up and put the envelope in her pocket. 'Thank you for help, Mr Kent.'
He nodded politely then walked her back to the main hall.
'No need to say my visit here never happened,' she spoke softly with a little smirk as they went down the stairs.
Mr Kent tilted his head and furrowed his brows. 'What visit?'
And here she became the chimera.
Natasha glanced at the big clock hanging above the exit. She had a bit less than three hours before the beginning of the show.
She rushed out on the sidewalk and hailed a cab.
The taxi took her to a fancy store on the Fifth Avenue. Her priority right now was to blend in and, judging by people's glances on the street, the vintage dress that Stark had had delivered still wasn't vintage enough for 1942.
She got in the shop and looked round. She found everything she needed within her reach. Suits, formal and evening dresses, skirts and blouses, but also coats, shoes and other accessories; there was enough in this room to compose her wardrobe for the next weeks she planned on spending here.
Her eyes fell on an elegant black knee-length dress displayed on the mannequin. The skirt part flared was made of a soft and light fabric that slightly flared under the waits while the chest, the shoulders and the arms were covered with refined lace.
'May I help you?' the sales assistant came up to her. She shot a mildly dismayed glanced at the dress she was wearing. 'You had one job, Stark,' Natasha thought, mentally rolling her eyes.
'Would it be possible to try on this dress?' she asked, pointing to the dummy.
The woman grinned with all her teeth, happy to find a customer who could afford her best item. She complied readily and accompanied her to the fitting room.
Natasha stepped out a couple of minutes later and looked in the full length mirror. She nearly gasped in shock. The dress did not disappoint. It looked actually ten times better than how she had pictured it in her head. The fabric molded her curves perfectly without being suggestive. As she watched herself in her mirror, she felt for the first time since she arrived like she actually fitted in this world.
'I'll take it,' she said as she turned to look at the back of the dress.
The sales assistant hardly contained her enthusiasm.
'Fantastic! You look stunning in it,' she stated with what could only be honesty now that the deal was sealed.
'Is it for your husband? Or a special man, perhaps?' she asked.
Natasha paused and gently slid her hands down the fabric.
'It might be,' she murmured softly. Her mission was definitely to get close to Steve. She had to pique his interest in order to do so. Not in a conspicuous way that would scare him off, but in a subtle and intellectual way.
The sales assistant smiled.
'Trust me. That will catch his eye.'
Natasha couldn't hope for a better outcome. She turned to the employee.
'Do you mind if I take a look around. I might need a couple more things.'
The sales assistant grinned like she had just witnessed the Second Coming.
Natasha walked out of the shop with about a dozen of full bags. Or maybe more. She had stopped counting after a while. The sales assistant forbid herself to yield to the seizure out of happiness that threatened to burst out throughout the purchase to focus on packing all the articles put on her counter instead. Shoes, coats, dresses, skirts, scarves and gloves and purses; nothing was missing and the woman exulted at the prospect of having to restock her inventory.
Natasha hailed a cab and asked the driver to drive her to a salon nearby.
She spent half an hour there as the hairdresser meticulously styled her hair up in a way that was fashionable and contemporary.
When she finally reached East 64th Street it was already dark and the show was to begin an hour time.
She got in the elevator all the way up to the fourth floor. The apartment was spacious and pretty luxurious without being showy. She dropped the shopping bags on bed and went to the window. People were walking on the sidewalk unconsciously following the rhythm of the traffic. It was a moment of stillness for her before returning to her frantic pace.
She closed the curtains and went to have a shower.
When Natasha stepped out of the cab and looked at the neon letters shining in red, blue and white colors in honor of tonight's show, she felt a lump tighten up in her throat.
The idea of being minutes away from seeing Steve made her more nervous than she had been all day (even before using the time travel device).
She took a deep breath in and stepped into the venue. Couples, but mostly women were chatting and laughing loudly all around her. She went to the cash office and looked at the man sitting behind the glass, his feet on the desk while smoking a cigarette.
'One ticket for the Captain America show,' she said. She had a hard time processing the words she had just voiced out loud. Captain America the Avenger, who was here no more than a cabaret entertainer. Definitely something you had to witness to believe.
The man lazily took his feet down and tore a leaf off of the little notebook put in front of him.
He wrote a number on it and slid it on the counter. She paid and strongly grasped the piece of paper in her hands for fear of losing it as she made her way towards the main room.
A quiet corridor on her left leading to an open door caught her attention. The show wasn't to start until fifteen minutes and she couldn't resist the opportunity to snoop. She glanced right and left and started to pad her way up the corridor.
She heard women giggling as they swiftly walked back and forth in the room with the sound of ruffled skirts.
She pressed herself against the wall when one of them halted just near the door frame.
'And damn it, George can wait! A lady should always play hard to get,' she exclaimed then moved back inside the room.
The giggles and voices faded as the girls seem to be headed in another part of the room. Natasha held the side of the door frame and quietly leaned in to take a look. Costumes, hats and other glittery accessories were scattered on an armchair and even on the floor. Her eye kept roaming along the room until it caught a glimpse of a strong and sharp silhouette, dressed in cheap blue fabric. The person seemed to be sitting apart at the artists' dressing table. Her heart skipped a beat before her brain had even had the time to process who that person was very likely to be.
She contained the gasp that desperately wanted to escape her lips as she popped her head farther inside the room through the frame of the door. She looked again and saw a strong arm propped on the table, then the square shoulder slightly bent forward and then…
'This is a restricted area,' a man called firmly behind her. She slightly jumped in surprise (something that rarely happened to her and only when she dropped her guard) and reluctantly shifted her gaze onto the security guard facing her.
Nobody else but them was in this corridor. She could have easily knocked the shit out of him in the most absolute silence and dragged him in a dark corner for interrupting but her reason reminded her this wasn't the place nor the time for it.
'Oh, I'm sorry,' she gasped instead, looking more innocent than a lamb. 'I was looking for the bathroom.'
Definitely an overrated and outdated excuse that the highly skilled spy she was would not have normally used. But since it was 1942, this excuse still had many prosperous years to live.
The security guy bought it like any macho who easily believed a woman was destitute of any sense of orientation would and he led her back to the public area.
She smiled at him as a thanks although her eyes screamed 'You're lucky you're still standing on your feet' and she walked into the main room this time.
The stage was average size and the whole decorum was somewhere between luxurious and modest. Round tables with chairs had been near to the stage while the back of the room was furnished with red velvet sofas and square tables covered with tasteful cloths.
She went up to the bar in the back and ordered a cocktail. She took her midnight blue coat off and put it on the stool next to her.
She drank a sip of the spirit and let it slide down her throat like a warm caress. She looked as people came order their drinks and acknowledge her presence as if she were one of them. Right now, in this venue, in this decorum, she fitted perfectly.
A tall man came and stood next to her.
His eye fell on her then he ordered a whisky.
'Hello,' he eventually started with a seductive smile. 'Did you come along with a friend?'
She took her eyes off the empty stage.
'I'm more of a loner,' she answered with a smirk.
Her reply fuelled his determination as he took a seat on the free stool next to her.
He had dark brown hair combed on the side, a pricey dark grey suit with shiny cuffs. His features were very symmetrical and his green eyes pierced through his long eyelashes. Really he was charming anyone would say, but she found him tragically average.
'May I pay you another drink after this one?' he asked, flashing what he had learned with experience was his most dashing smile.
The bright lights suddenly lost intensity announcing the imminent start of the show and people hastily regained their seats.
She grabbed her coat and her purse.
'Sorry,' she answered dully but with a playful smirk on. 'You're not my mission.'
She swiftly hopped down the stool and went to sit on one of the red velvet sofas across the room.
'Ladies and gentlemen!' a man yelled from the stage. 'Please welcome for his last show in New York City the one and only, America's hero, Captain America!'
People cheered and applauded as the spotlight hanging above the stage went on. Natasha instinctively pinched the skin under her chin.
A line of starlets wearing short sequin skirts with the Star-spangled flag on them paraded onto the stage and started to sing with big grins on. The men in the room were clapping and whistling hysterically.
She glimpsed sideways and noticed the man cheering on the table next to hers, leaning on his leather notebook. He seemed just as enthusiastic as the others.
From the music to the lyrics and the vibe; everything oozed 1942. If she had any doubt she had reached the good year, it had just been blown away like dust.
The dancers kept on dancing in unison, lifting their legs up high and twirling repeatedly.
After what seemed an eternity, they eventually parted into two groups to make way for America's hero. She filled her lungs with air and her thoracic cage rose up as a figure, dressed in the same blue fabric than the one she had seen earlier on from the door frame, walked on the stage in the most awkward gait possible and faced the audience with a smile on that hardly made up for the terrorized look he had under his cotton helmet.
People shouted and cheered. 'Captain!'
She watched completely riveted as he stood there, only a few meters away from her, looking safe and sound. He held up his wooden shield and started to recite a text he still hadn't learned by heart, she could tell.
She blinked a few times completely stunned, processing the undisputable fact that Steve was alive again. It took her great strength not to rise from her seat and run up to the stage. He suddenly moved around the stage and she irrationally panicked, forbidding herself to let him out of her sight for even one second. She followed him closely as he ran back and forth to play his little superhero act. After several minutes only her eyes progressively accustomed themselves to the sight of Steve moving about right in front of her.
She allowed herself to take her guard down a bit and to enjoy the show for what it really was; to put it simply, a mess.
She looked at his ridiculous outfit (his tights!) and his so-called shield, she watched him recite hollow speeches about freedom and victory in which he didn't put one bit of his legendary conviction. She watched as a clowny Hitler look-alike barged onto the stage and got knocked down by the most unrealistic and theatrical punch she had ever have the joy to witness.
She couldn't resist any more and chuckled. She pressed her hand against the side of her face and shook her head. 'Oh Rogers, I will tease you about it until my last breath,' she whispered to herself, an amused smile playing on her lips.
When the show finally ended, people rose to their feet to applaud the idol who clumsily bowed over to thank an audience he had never really asked for.
He and his dancers disappeared off the stage and single women started to rush to the door just like they aimed to do.
'What is happening?' Natasha asked one of the waitresses passing by.
'Everybody wants an autograph from Captain America. He always comes out here after performing.'
Steve appeared a few minutes later, indeed. Or more like, she caught a glimpse of him in the crowd of women surrounding him.
She got ready to take her coat in the arms, waiting for the right opportunity to bounce.
Steve signed numerous autographs and made his way through the crowd to the bar. Natasha started to get up her seat when a charming brown-haired woman beat her to it and engaged him in a conversation that quickly turned seductive.
Natasha was first annoyed by this undesired delay until she picked up something that piqued her interest. She watched them both interact and noted the huge gap between their body languages. While the woman's was open and engaging, Steve's attitude betrayed his only desire to walk out of the conversation. He remained polite of course but he looked just as uninterested as she was before with the tall man at the bar.
Furthermore, she could say without the shadow of a doubt that Steve had the attitude of someone whose heart was taken. She pouted slightly. This last minute discovery wouldn't make it easy for her. She expected him to reject her as soon as she would approach him. She had to think of another approach strategy that wouldn't put her in the position of a potential seductress or groupie. Her eyes roamed around the room when she turned and saw the man with his leather notebook drinking down his last sip of alcohol.
'Hey, you,' she called out to him as she leaned over. 'Fifty bucks for your notebook and your pen.'
The man gawked at her.
'But I've got some important notes in it,' the man answered.
She quickly glanced in Steve and the brunette's direction. Her stiff body language informed her he was in the process of rejecting her.
'You can tear up the pages you need for all I care.' She opened her purse and pressed a bill between her index and her middle finger that she shoved under his nose. 'Will a hundred dollars pay for the casualty?'
He goggled at the bill then down at his notebook.
A few seconds later, she was making her way to the bar, holding her coat over her arm and carrying the notebook and the pen in the other hand. The brunette was long gone and an old memory.
She stood behind him.
'Excuse me,' she started. Steve turned and looked at her slightly frightened by what he would hear. She froze for a few seconds. Seeing him up close took her back to her initial state of shock.
'Steve.' She cut herself off after the word tenderly slipped out of her lips before she had time to think. Her head was blurred with the painful memories of his death. But then a blissful feeling of relief took over her and wrapped her up in a warm and soft embrace she didn't want to pull away from. She clutched the book harder against her chest to keep herself from reaching towards him and hold him close so she would feel his heart beat this time around. She physically needed to feel him and touch him to make all this real, to prove to her reluctant and analytic mind that she had actually succeeded. She craved to hold him tight and whisper: 'I did it. I found you.'
And she also wanted to laugh at his face for wearing such a ridiculous costume; but this was another matter.
Steve looked at her as a frown started to form.
'Apologies', she said in a lighter tone. 'I mean captain Steve Rogers.'
'I'm sorry, do I know you?' he asked half shy and half embarrassed not to recognize her if he did.
She felt her joy drop a bit. It was one thing to expect him not to recognize her but it was another to actually look into the eyes of the person who had died in her arms and find nothing other than infinite void in return. It felt like losing him a second time.
She pushed those thoughts aside, locked them away in a closet and focused on her mission. She could start all over again. She could make them bond again. She was Natasha Romanoff and she had never given up. She had never backed down from a challenge for there had never been a challenge that was too big for her.
'No, not yet,' she smiled. She noted the change in his body language. He was starting to get uncomfortable. She never thought Steve could be any more awkward around women than she knew him to be. 'I am here for our interview,' she continued with a calm but expectant look. She looked at him as he glanced down at the leather notebook. Bingo.
He furrowed his brows. 'I don't recall having any interview scheduled.'
It was her turn to frown.
'You didn't get any call? Someone was supposed to inform you of my visit.'
'You're the first person who has approached me regarding this interview. I'm sorry; you seem trustworthy, it's just that I usually get a call when some journalist wants to meet me.'
She scratched her temple.
'Oh, that's a shame. Jimmy will definitely hear from me,' she said to herself with a feigned annoyed pout then looked back at him. 'I can call my boss and have him speak with you if that can put your mind at rest. It's Friday evening though and it's getting a bit late, he'll probably give me an earful on Monday for disrupting him while listening to his game.'
She laughed it off light-heartedly then pretended to head for the nearest phone. He stopped her just like she expected the guilt would work him up to her advantage.
'That's alright,' he said kindly. 'I'd hate to get you into trouble for such a silly detail. We can do without the official call.'
He smiled genuinely at her. She found that to be adorable.
'Thank you,' she smiled in relief. 'I owe you one. I'm Natalie Rushman, by the way. It's a pleasure to meet you.'
Natalie Rushman had always been her favorite alter ego.
He looked at her intently.
'It's an honor, ma'am,' he spoke softly.
The urge to say 'hi' like she had the very first time they met was hard to fight.
'Shall we start?' he asked.
She nodded. He motioned for her to go first and followed her as she took them to an isolated red velvet sofa in the corner of the room.
'What I would like to do is something polished,' she said. 'I don't want to write about Captain America; everybody thinks they know him. I want to write about Steve Rogers, about you as a person.'
His look expressed bafflement.
'It's a lot more than any journalist has ever asked from me.'.
She grinned.
'That's great you like it cause I really want to meet you every day for the next...let's say few weeks.'
She dropped the bomb in a gentle manner.
'Few weeks?' he laughed nervously. 'I don't think I'm interesting enough to fill yours days for such a long period of time.'
'Don't worry. You are.'
She meant it and he perceived it.
She grabbed her pen and opened the notebook to create the illusion. She started to think of questions to ask.
'What paper did you say you worked for?' he asked.
She swayed the pen between her fingers.
'Hum, Soldiers' housewives magazine.'
Catchy. Intriguing. An accurate touch of misogyny that would fit suit the decade. The title was fairly believable.
'We want our soldiers' spouses to feel involved in the war too and not just be put aside as they wait for their husbands to return from the field. We want to keep them informed on everything from battle reports to latest ilitary improvements,' she explained with a professional composure but a hint of passion.
'It sounds very good,' Steve said. 'Pioneering even.'
She smiled. She suspected he would like the concept. Even she liked the concept. The magazine was totally fake but she would have totally checked it out if it wasn't.
'Groundbreaking is my thing. I believe you have to go against the rules and shake up the world to see it change for the better.'
He eyed her with an intrigued look.
'Do you do that a lot?' he inquired.
'Was it really ground-breaking?' he exclaimed.
It made him smile genuinely and took a new posture that betrayed his interest and openness.
'The last time was only a few hours ago,' she said with a smirk.
'Oh, ground-breaking does not even start to come close to it,' she answered with a playful smile.
'And did it pay off?' he continued, slightly leaning forward in her direction, his elbow propped on the table.
She looked up at him behind her long lashes.
'It's a bit early to say. But so far, definitely.'
He lifted his hand up and propped his chin on his thumb, the rest of his hand rolled in a fist. She knew he craved to know more, she could see the interest sparkling in his eyes, but she also knew he was too much of a gentleman to ask for further details. There was fine line between being curious and prying and Steve Rogers had been taught to never step on it.
'I hope it keeps on that way,' he concluded to put an end to this talk, much to his regret.
'I am confident it will,' she assured.
'Why that?' he didn't resist to demand one last time. She enjoyed the idea of his breaking the code of the perfect gentleman because he found her fascinating enough. Just like the Chimera was.
'For the simple reason I always get what I want,' she explained matter-of-factly. 'Even when it seems like I have failed or it is impossible, I always find a way to get around it.'
He gazed her quietly with nothing other than jazzy music playing in the background.
'Did I shock you, captain Rogers?'
He raised his eyebrows then shook his head.
'Not the least, Miss Rushman. Actually, you remind me of someone,' he spoke softly, almost fondly.
Only a woman could leave such a deep mark. He paused for a short moment then mentally brushed off the thought (or perhaps the reminiscence) he was having.
'So you really want to see me regularly for the next few weeks?' he changed subject and asked slightly embarrassed to get so much interest at once.
'I do,' she answered with a smile. 'I will be very flexible and will follow your schedule. I can make myself very discreet.'
He shook his head.
'Honestly Miss Rushman, I will be honored to be in your company.'
She spotted in his eyes the look he used to have whenever she did something heroic or noble. For a moment, it felt like having Steve back and this made something inside of her bloom.