Part Three
Seven o'clock and the classmates were starting to arrive, stopping at the gates, passing through the security checklist and rolling up the three mile driveway to the main entrance. The cutoffs and bathing suits were changed for more formal clothes with the men in sports jackets or better and the women in new party dresses and heels. Hair and makeup were polished and the competition was on full force.
It was archaic and as non-PC a world as you could find; the married women subtly had the edge over the singles who were a notch below the engaged. The ones who'd managed to reproduce were in a class by themselves, discussion colic, teething and the terrible twos, making it all sound adorable.
The marrieds group together to talk husbands, the engaged compared notes about wedding preparation and honeymoons and the singles were available.
It was as obvious as possible to every woman there and completely lost on every man but this was Brixton where, with some exceptions, the women were still a vital accessory to the men who had important jobs and supported a life-style beyond most people's understanding.
"Y'know, I think I was at college when I first met someone who didn't know how to waltz. I'd just assumed that everyone had ballroom dancing lessons in junior high."
"That's because you went Ivy League, if you'd gone to NYU or someplace you'd have met lots of people who don't get copies of Emily Post for Christmas."
"Maybe they should. Seriously, have you ridden public transportation? Major disgusting."
"God, Brian, you're such an ass."
Dick Grayson silently thanked whichever god who had placed Alfred in his world; his new Armani tux was pressed and waiting for him when he finished his after workout shower. The workout, he needed it to get a lid on his anger about the Harley. He'd dusted it for prints and all but come up blank. Whoever did it must have either worn gloves of been incredibly careful, especially with dozens of people hanging around for the reunion picnic. It had to have been someone in the class or working set up or something along those lines and it was obvious that he'd been targeted—two damaged bikes in two days. That wasn't a coincidence.
So—who? Aye, there's the rub. Who hated him, was jealous of him, wanted a payback or was just stupid and crazy?
Ten minutes later he walked through the Manor to the side yard (as he thought of that area) to where the tent (lined with silk) had been set up just past the pool in the event of rain or an unlikely July evening chill. The trees were strung with thousands of fairy lights, a decent enough band was playing unobtrusively and the wait staff was circulating with the various appetizers while the open bar was doing steady business. The underwater lights were on in the pool, and would be casting romantic reflections when the sun went down in an hour or so.
It could have been any Saturday night at the Manor and Dick had seen this a hundred times over the years—charity dinners, galas, birthday parties, political fundraisers, it was all the same.
"Dick, over here, I've saved you a seat!"
He turned, Emily was waving at one of the waterfront tables. Well, fine, he had to sit somewhere and she'd been fun this afternoon. He kissed her and Patty on the cheek, "May I get you something from the bar?"
"Ginger ale would be great, thank you—you clean up nice, y'know."
"You ain't chopped liver yourselves. 'Back right back."
Waiting his turn at the bar he contained his mild annoyance when Dave Benson gave him a slightly too hard punch in the arm greeting. "Hey, Grayson, things are looking par for the course around here." He took his neat scotch from the bartender, downing it in one swallow. "The rumor that you're slumming as a cop true and why the hell would you do that?"
"A ginger ale and whatever you have on tap, thanks." Benson elbowed him, wanting some kind of an answer. "It was a whim, Dave." Picking up the two drinks he nodded a "'Later" and walked back to his seat just catching the surly look thrown his way as he left.
Putting the soft drink in front of Emily he took a drink of his beer, scanning the crowd, picking out faces here and there of people he actually wanted to catch up with. Jeez, Thornton was going bald and Hardwicke, he looked about six months gone with that gut he was carrying. Have some self respect, people. "Where are Patty and Chad?"
"'Talking over there." She nodded to another table. So, do you still live here or are you down in Bludhaven now"
He turned to Emily, noticing that she was really a very pretty woman, more so than when they were lab partners in biology. She seemed to have grown into herself, was more comfortable in her skin now. "I have an apartment down there; it's easier than driving every day. What about you, you still in Brixton?"
She nodded, "My mom, I help take care of her." It was a statement of fact and Dick wracked his brain to remember what she was talking about—oh, right. Her mother had cancer, that was it. She had some kind of cancer.
"That must be hard."
She half shrugged and half nodded. "It's okay. 'Better me than some stranger."
"Should I ask how she is or not?"
"She's—not well." Emily stated it as a fact, neither good nor bad, just that it was. "You've been through it, though, losing a parent. You know what it's like." She caught the slight, very slight shock on Dick's face, immediately replaced with a blank facade. "God, I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything."
"I know, it's all right. Most people don't remember anymore and when someone does, it's always—they don't know what to say or they get that weird look because they're thinking about those stupid rumors about me and Bruce." He took another pull of his beer. "I accepted it fifteen years ago. You don't forget, ever, but you move on eventually."
"Because there's no real choice."
"Because there's no real choice." They understood one another, at least about this.
"Is that why you join the police?"
"That's part of it, sure. Bruce understands, or is trying to; it's a good fit for me, I'm doing something that matters, 'making a difference where I can."
"I'm sure that you are." She gave him a smile he wished she'd shown him five or six years ago. "Me, too—I mean with my mother, making a difference for her."
"I'm sure that you are." Clumsy pause which went on a few seconds too long. "Well, that was incredibly depressing. 'Want to dance?"
Emily breathed out a relieved sigh, "'Love to."
Across the pool, Dave Benson turned away from Brian Lightner, still his best bud after almost twenty years. They'd been through everything together; Cub Scouts, measles, first loves, getting ditched, ditching. Captain and co-captain of the Brixton Bison, helmed the football team in their first winning season in thirty years. Now Brian was an alcoholic, divorced, behind in his child support and holding onto his job by his fingernails and would be out of work if it wasn't owned by his father. Dave was doing better; against all odds he'd finished college and was now a junior exec over at Wayne Enterprises, working in procurement. He shopped for a living, it was what he did—no, not for the big things like corporate jets or tracts of land or whatever. He was the guy to call if they were running low on Post-it notes or you needed a new desk chair. Coffee-maker for the HR department? He'd fix you right up.
So, he was doing better than Dave, no question about that. Hell's bells—here he was being wined and dined right under the nose of the big man himself, if he was home, that was. Old Bruce wouldn't know him if he fell over him and never would.
He was small potatoes.
Small change.
An underling.
A cog in the machine.
Replaceable.
Nothing.
No one.
But old Dick, now there was someone to take a long look at, thank you very much. He'd been handed anything he ever wanted on not just a silver platter, but an heirloom, Georgian, engraver silver server and he's had the gall, the balls to say 'thanks, but no thanks'.
He was a cop. He walked a beat—no, that's right, he rode a beat. Big difference. He wore a damn uniform, he had a badge, he was a flatfoot, he gave out parking tickets and he'd been raised in a circus—a circus, f'the love of god.
The golden boy, the favorite son, the prodigal was supposed to ace Harvard, finish up at oh, maybe Wharton then take the reins from Bruce so the old man could spend the rest of his life playing golf and getting laid. That was what was supposed to happen, it was like writ in stone or something. But here he was, acting like this was just another weekend at the old homestead; band playing, hot and cold running servants, women buzzing around him, pheromones flying full staff.
"Dave, what's happenin', bud, you okay?"
"Me? Great; have you tried the food floating by, Bri? Good stuff."
"Yeah, y'know, this weekend is only costing us like fifty bucks—how'd they bring it in so cheap? This has to be costing a serious pile of change."
"I dunno, but I'd guess that Grayson underwrote it, the party's at his house, isn't it?"
Brian looked around a little blearily. "Oh, yeah. 'Nice of him..."
"Okay, let's get you some food, dude, and you need to slow down with the booze, man. Seriously."
"Yah'kay." Dave maneuvered Brian into a chair as the band stopped playing and Muffy Clarke stepped up to the mic.
"Okay everyone, settle down, c'mon, quiet down for a minute and listen up. Annie said the caterers are ready to serve dinner so find a seat. Yes, that means you, too, Whitney." There was some shuffling around as they all found a place to sit, the talking dwindling down to almost silence. "Okay, I want to really thank everyone for making the trip back to Brixton this weekend—five years, can you believe it?
Okay, now give a big hand to the organizing committee who really worked hard to get all this set up—and anyone who still owes money, we know who you are. Swenson, I'm talking to you, y'know so pay up! And let's also give it up for Dick Grayson and Bruce Wayne who are letting us use their incredible house tonight—Dick, Bruce—is Bruce here? Okay, stand up, guys and take a bow..."
Muffy went on for another fifteen minutes, ignored by everyone but the other former cheerleaders as people started on their meals and chatted amongst themselves. The table he'd found himself at seemed to be having the best time, if the laughter level was any indicator with jokes and school stories, rumors laid to rest or not and old flirtations brought up and fully aired. Jackie, Emily, Chad and various other old classmates kept things moving and the meal was more fun than he'd had in a while. Dick found, to his pleasant surprise, that Emily was pretty—which he sort of knew but never gave any thought to—intelligent, funny and incredibly nice. She didn't giggle, she didn't simper or remark on how blue his eyes were (which he'd come to find annoying, they were just eyes, for god's sake) and she had put her teaching career on hold to care for her mother while she fought breast cancer. She could even dance.
This was turning out to be a much better time than he thought it would be.
The evening went on, more dancing, lots of talk, jokes, most of which weren't even too dirty and way the hell too much networking and attempts to impress each other.
'Yale? Well, yes, of course it's a good school but I just really found that Stanford was much more what I was looking for and being a legacy...'
'And so told him, Look Barack, I don't care how busy you are, you have to hear me out...'
Because Dick had been so tied up with being Robin, working with Batman and the Titans while he was in school, he hadn't spent much time on athletics or school clubs and so didn't have the connection a lot of the others did. He spent most of the evening with Emily and one or two of her friends and their significant others. By ten o'clock the second band was on, a majority of the alumni were dancing, a few were in the jacuzzi sipping wine and Dick had taken Em out to show her the view of the city from the gazebo. They'd been there for a while and neither knew or cared how late it was getting.
"How many girls—sorry, women have you brought out here?"
"Me? None, I swear. You're the first."
She laughed. "Liar."
"Okay, maybe one or two but I promise I won't ask you to see my etchings."
"Do you have any etchings?"
"...When I get some, I promise not to show them to you." This was good, this was fun; she wasn't a first date, they'd known one another on and off for a dozen years or more and shared a history. The ice was already broken. "Come with me to the, the—whatever it is that's on the schedule tomorrow."
"A softball game at the school field and I'd love to." They sat close together, watching the lights of the buildings, taking turns trying to identify landmarks. "It's getting late."
He looked at her in the darkness, wondering what she meant. Did she want to leave and was she just making an excuse or was she really tired? "Did you want to get home, check on your mother?"
"My brother is taking care of her for me tonight. No, I was thinking that you've been spending the whole day with me practically, if you were getting tired of me I was giving you an easy out."
"Are, um, do you want to go?"
She was smiling at him, he could just make it out. "God, you have to be the most polite man I've ever met—that English butler, right? No, I'm having the best time I've had in years and no, I don't want to go home."
Well, okay, in that case—a"I think it sounds like the party is starting to break up, would you like to, I mean, would it be all right, you wouldn't be offended if..."
"Dick, spit it out." She was laughing at him, bust somehow it didn't hurt.
"I'd really like you to stay."
Laughter gone she studied his face as well as she could on the moonless night. "I'd like that very much."
Back at the pool area the classmates were drifting away. It had been a long day, the sun had been hot on the beach and the dinner had too much good food, the bands had kept the dance floor filled and they were all tired. The party was breaking up.
"Dave, c'mon, I'll drive, your shitfaced again."
"Am not." He lost his balance getting up from his chair, barely catching himself on the edge of the table. "Whatever. I gotta take a leak first, where's the can in this place?" He staggered towards the house, Brian following to make sure he didn't pass out in a potted plant.
They ended up exploring the mostly dark and seemingly empty house, making their way up the stairs and down a few corridors. "Holy crap, they have suits of armor; 'think they use them for kinky sex?"
"C'mon, Dave, let's find you a bathroom."
Opening a door they were in a bedroom. "'Must be one in here somewhere." Dave opened two more doors in the room, ignoring the closet and semi-shouting 'Eureka' when he found his goal. Brian waited in the bedroom area, idly looking at the stuff on top of the bureau. A wallet. He picked it up, sifting through the various snapshots and credit cards, pocketing the two hundred and thirty-seven dollars. Turing over another flap he found a Bludhaven Police Department badge... "Whoa, now this could come in handy."
He slid the wallet into his pocket.
TBC