Author's note: I had to break this chapter into two parts. It was going to be too long.
***
Slowly, the seven civilian clothed Titans boys, Kid Flash, Robin, Cyborg, Beast Boy, Hot Spot, Aqualad and Speedy trudged into the room off to the side of the much larger one that contained the bar and tables and stage where women danced and undressed for up to 200 men.
They moved with no enthusiasm. They weren't used to losing or being wrong or feeling powerless. They shuffled into the smallish room which turned out to be a sort of locker room with the usual bad carpeting and gray metal lockers. And once the door was closed behind them, tempers flared. Wally zipped over to Roy and shoved him with the palms of both hands.
"You idiot! Your ID's are foolproof, huh? You're so cool, huh? Well look where your cool got us!"
And then an incensed Cyborg shoved Roy against one row of lockers. "Mr. Party Planner, huh? Nice going . . asshole."
As Roy gathered himself, he saw he wasn't the only target of the group's ire, Gar and Ty were both in Dick's face.
"What the hell was that weak negotiating there, little man?" cracked Gar.
"What the hell were you doing caving like that? I gotta be some fricking chippendales dancer cuz of you!" Ty shouted and finished by pushing Dick to the carpet and as shocking as that was, Dick's not fighting back was even more so.
Garth, the improbably strong atlantean, was the peacemaker, pushing everyone apart with ease and calming everyone down.
"Well, what do we do now?" asked Gar after tempers had eased.
"The fat guy said to go in here and undress and that they'd pick four of us," said Ty repeating what they all knew.
"I could turn into a fly and go try to find where our ID's are," suggested Gar.
"That's no good. How would we explain you're not being here?" asked Roy.
"But they're fake ID's, anyway!" argued Ty. "They can't find us with those!"
"Um . . yeah, they can," countered Cy. "They can do a biometric analysis, relative position of eyes, size of nose, size of mouth, relative positions of your jaw, ears and cheekbones, the width and height of your face, all that on those pictures and compare 'em to any pictures in the data base. They've got security cameras in here, too. They'll find us. Worse, they might find say, Aqualad instead of just Garth Flounder."
"Oh."
"We need to get those ID's and whatever they put into their computer," said Robin trying to reassert some leadership. "But we can't do that immediately. We'll . . . we'll have to play along, for now."
Everyone seemed to sigh at once realizing they had no other options and they all started pulling off their jackets, shirts, pants etc till they were stripped down to their underwear. In the case of Wally, Dick, Cy, Gar and Garth, this meant boxer shorts of one sort or another. Wally looked over at Ty, who was wearing stretchy boxer briefs.
"Under dress pants, Ty? Really?"
Ty shrugged. "I didn't bring anything else with me."
And then Roy stepped to the end of the line of Titans boys that had formed, stepped there in his black silk mesh bikini style underpants.
Gar spoke for all the others when he looked at Roy and shook his head. "I can't believe we listened to a guy who wears those."
Roy did a little shimmy of a dance. "What? They're comfortable. And the chicks dig 'em. So do some of the guys."
"Maybe your kind of guys," said a head shaking Cy.
"Not all of us," said Garth rolling his eyes at Roy's exotic underwear.
"You guys are sure you don't see green?" whispered Gar adjusting his boxers.
Wally looked over again. The cloaking ring was doing its job. Gar looked like a fair skinned blond haired version of Garfield Logan. "No. It's cool. You're the bleached version of you."
"And . . uh . . no machine parts?" whispered Victor Stone with a questioning glance to the other six.
Dick Grayson glanced over at boxers wearing Vic, cloaking ring doing its job, only dark brown skin and black hair, no metal, no red eye. "None," he assured his teammate. And seeing sex freak Roy's underwear again, Dick sighed. He glanced at Wally then nodded over toward Roy and shook his head. Wally smirked.
A few moments later the fat man waddled in, with a blond woman the boys all recognized as one of the dancers, behind him. Only now she was wearing a lab coat over, well, next to nothing.
"Did you boys not hear me?" he bellowed. "I said take your clothes off! Underwear's clothin', ain't it?!"
Dick Grayson sputtered an objection prompting the fat man to get right up into his face. "Let me make this clear, shorty, cuz we ain't gonna have a whole lotta stoppin' and startin' and arguin' about every point along the way, here. Yer gonna do what I tell you to do or the police get you boys an' all those fake ID's. Period. That's the way it's gonna be."
The seven Titan boys glanced at each other. Naked?!
"Come on! All of ya! Take everythin' off!"
The seven Titans boys all reluctantly pulled off their boxers and briefs and, because a woman was in the room, covered their male equipment with both hands. In the middle of the line of seven naked boys, Dick glanced to both sides. There they were, his teammates. His pals. All the people who counted on him for leadership. The most powerful boys on the planet, powerless because of me. Naked and humiliated because of my failure to lead, he told himself. I failed. I failed. I failed.
Naked Wally, at one end of the line of Titan boys was trying to avoid eye contact with the strange woman looking him over from a foot away and looked to his right where he saw Dick, in the middle of the line, looking almost physically sick. He felt a little that way himself.
Oh god. Jinx is gonna kill me, he thought to himself before finally glancing to his left again only to see that the blond stripper was still staring at him but was now smiling too. And she had some kind of thin, yard long stick in her hand. He felt a tap against his bare backside. Was there some point at which this would stop getting worse?!
He stood rigidly at attention, ignoring the stripper in the lab coat and her stick. But she wouldn't leave him alone.
Tap.
At attention.
Tap. Tap.
Eyes focused like lasers looking forward.
Taptaptap. Finally, the stripper chuckled.
"Hell, yer lucky!" the fat man continued. "Coupla my . . performers up and quit on me or their stagin' some kind of strike over money or somethin'. Don't matter. Works out the same for tonight and pay ain't an issue for you boys. Yer payin' off yer debt to me by providing the entertainment tonight."
"Entertainment for whom?" asked Garth, like the others, standing at attention, naked and with both hands at his crotch.
The fat man chuckled and turned to the blond lady now standing behind Wally and Garth. "No sense of proportion, huh, Suzy?" Then he turned to naked Garth. "Ya didn't notice that the room you were in is only 'bout half the size of the buildin'? Yer gonna dance for the women in the audience on the other side, of course."
Five of the seven teen boys gulped nervously at the prospect. Roy "Speedy" Harper just smirked. Ty "Hot Spot" Randolph rolled his eyes, unimpressed and annoyed.
Slowly, the blond stripper in the lab coat, Suzy, went around the line of seven undressed Titans with a three foot long narrow stick in her hand. She'd been in situations like this before. The fat man had done this a couple times. Some pretty boy stepped over the line on one side of the building when they were short of dancers on the other side and the fat man sent him over to be the entertainment. But, even the ones that were in pretty good shape had a little flab or were hairy or had hideous tan lines or were a little weak in the arms or legs or abs or glutes. Something was always wrong with them despite their bravado about their looks. But these seven boys were fantastic! The black one on the end was huge. The others were all amazing swimmer, gymnast or track star bodies. Even the "worst" of the seven must've had 3% body fat, tops. And the red head on the end, the one with the buns! He never met a fat molecule. Oh, these boys would do. All seven would do. It just has to be narrowed down to four.
Suzy took her time. No need to rush this, not with boys like this! She tapped at the back of the short, dark haired one. The boy seemed petrified. She grinned silently. It was so cute when attractive men were shy. She kept working her way down the line of pretty boys. The blond was a bit less well muscled than the others. He sort of looked like a boy who'd just had a growth spurt. She tapped at the other red head's back side. He half turned toward her with a smirk. God, no shyness there! The smaller black guy didn't seem too annoyed either. The huge one on the end was.
And then she walked around front of them.
Mmm hmmm. Mmm hmmm. Mmm hmmmmmmmm.
God, seven pretty boys!
All seven! Not a single oversized nose or too deeply set pair of eyes or weak chin. Not one! Seven gorgeous boys. Six packs on all of them, hell, a clear eight pack on the freakish red head at the end. God, the beautiful light blue eyes and long lashes on the short, dark haired one. What a cutie!
She gave taps or pokes from her stick to this one's abs and that one's deltoids or pecs. here and there and then stepped back and quickly pronounced her judgement to the fat man, pointing with the yard long stick to each boy about whom she was commenting.
"Okay. The huge one on the end is just too big," she said pointing to cloaking ring disguised Cyborg. "The petite women are too intimidated by one that size. The other black one," she said pointing to naked Hot Spot, "will do just fine. Good swimmer physique, excellent tone. Same thing for the red head next to him with the smirk. Hell, he probably wants to," she added. The others noted the lack of denial from Roy Harper and the way he seemed to be smirking more than ever. Did he ever stop smirking?
"The blond one in the middle's a total hottie. They love that look for models. You could be on the cat walk right now pretty boy. I wonder if he already has. You look kind of familiar," she said looking Gar in the eye. "But, anyway, your look is just not quite man enough for here. Did you just had a growth spurt or something?"
"Um, yeah, kind of," Gar confessed, not elaborating that he'd been eight inches shorter just six months ago."
"You're in great shape, but you're just a little skinnier than the others, too skinny. The red head on the end," she said turning to Wally, "Wow. Do you have a fat molecule on you? What a taper! What's your chest size?"
Wally bit his lower lip. "Um, forty one," he muttered uncomfortably.
"And your waist?"
"Twenty eight," Wally lied not wanting to say twenty six and three quarters."
The blond woman chuckled. "And those buns! You were made for this, carrot top. You're in."
Wally sighed, in disappointment at this news eliciting another chuckle from her.
"That just leaves our two dark haired boys," she continued, stepping closer to Garth and Dick standing at attention, side by side with their hands over their equipment. "Normally, fat man," she said over her shoulder, "I'd say pick him," she said gesturing to Garth. "Six one with terrific shoulders, great shape overall. The long hair's kind of interesting, too. But the job requires a personality, too. And the little five eight one here," she gestured to Dick, "is just such a cutie." She touched the end of her stick to Dick's small nose. "Neither one puts out a positive vibe for this but the little cutie here has a whole reluctance thing going that a lot of the women'll find irresistable. Plus, the eyes." She pointed to Garth. "I don't know what's going on with eyes that dark. But, the little dude here has dazzling light blues and lashes like every woman wishes for."
Dick seemed anything but pleased at these compliments. A few feet away, Gar snickered.
"That's it, then," said the fat man. "You four. You other three can get dressed but Willie," the fat man turned toward the door and shouted, "Willie!". The employee who'd been vacuuming up behind the fat man in the strip club, came through the door.
"Yeah boss."
"Take the clothes these four were wearing," said the fat man, pointing to the heaps in front of Wally, Dick, Roy and Ty, " and put them in the safe. And bring these boys some . . costumes to wear. Ya understand me? Cosssssssssstumes."
"Sure boss." The stooped over guy muttered then scooped up the clothes and shoes in front of each of the four and left the dressing room through another door.
Wally's mind raced. What's this gonna be like? God! Why'd I ever listen to Speedy, the guy in the silk mesh bikini underpants! And Wally remembered seeing a rerun of Saturday Night Live with the sketch where fatso Chris Farley had played at being a Chippendale's dancer on a split screen with that poofy haired actor, what was his name? The poofy haired one. Is that what this was? They'd have to dance like ridiculous fools like they did on that SNL sketch while wearing skin tight black pants and a dopy bow tie? Flash would be so ashamed of me. Is this what you do with super speed, Wally? You become an exotic dancer? Is that what you should be doing with your super power, Wally? Oh god.
Dick's mind raced. Why'd we ever listen to Speedy? So stupid! I let the guy wearing silk mesh bikini underpants call all the shots. Stupid!
All Batman's puritanism came flooding back into his thoughts, all Batman's visceral hatred of prostitution and pornography, any sex related crime or activity of any sort. He played their last confrontation out in his head.
I don't need your help Bruce. I can make it on my own, Bruce. I'm starting my own team. Maybe Bruce Wayne could help them but we don't need Batman.
Oh really? Don't come crawling back to me for help!
I don't need your help!
How would he chuckle at this? How much would he enjoy this? He'll throw this back in my face the rest of my life. I'll be in the Justice League satellite 20 years from now as we decide how to defend ourselves against an invasion from another galaxy and he'll throw it back at me. Are you sure, Dick. This better not be another situation where you end up dancing in a strip club to make amends.
Aaarrrggghhh!!
Ty's mind raced. Damn! Thought these guys were on top of things! Stupid Roy! Can't even set up a night of fun without screwing it up. And stupid Robin! He's supposed to be clever and cagey and all that. Mr. fricking leader. Ha! He collapsed like a house of cards there. You'll call the police and tell our mentors! Oooo! Ick! Alright, whatever you say. That's what happens when you live in a frigging tower instead of living in the real world and spending time on the streets.
Ty sighed and reminded himself to stay calm. A flaming head right now would put a dent in the old secret identity. Just hafta deal with this. Exotic dancing for a bunch of women, huh? Well, ha, I'll make those white boys look pathetic.
Roy was calm. Oh yeah. I am gonna strut my stuff. Suhweeeeeeeeeet!
The fat man interrupted their thoughts by clearing his throat and announcing. "Now that you boys won't have any choice but to wear your dance outfits. Here they are!" he chuckled and his lackey threw them onto the floor in front of the four. To the consternation of Wally, Dick and Ty but no reaction from Roy, four patches of black satiny, spandexy material with string-like attachments, looking like nothing else so much as four slingshots, were tossed inside. Dick picked them up with one hand still covering his equipment with the other.
"What are these? That's it?" he grumbled.
"Relax, Grayson," said Roy as he casually pulled on his. "I'm sure we'll start off with some kind of costume that we dance in wearing and then strip out of and then we just dance around in these at the very end. That's how they do these things."
"We dance around in these?!" groaned Dick holding one minimal garment out in front of him to display the shoelace width spandex waistband and similar single strap in back. "These?! Ty, look at this!!" Dick continued complaining but Ty also simply pulled on his slingshot of a garment and adjusted it as best he could. "Wally?!"
Wally sighed dejectedly. It was still getting worse.
But after another sigh, Wally only shrugged. What are we supposed to do? We're backed into a corner. With a sigh he bent over and picked up one of the slingshots and pulled it on. Finally, Dick did likewise. Then both spent a minute trying to adjust what little material as there was so that the presentation of their . . . equipment wasn't too outrageous. But they found, to their chagrin, that no matter what they did, the slingshots somehow made them look bigger than ever.
Wally groaned. Still getting worse!
The Kid Flash suit had always nicely compressed and disguised male endowment that elicited impressed guffaws even in the showers at Titans Tower. Robin's layered outfit, cape, top and pants had also served to hide equipment of a size that contradicted the first part but underscored the second of the nickname "boy wonder".
"Are you having the same trouble I'm having, Wally?" whispered a frantic hunched over Dick Grayson. "I'm not this . . . . it won't just hang . . down . . . . it makes me look even more . . . "
"Yeah . . I . . can't seem to get this stupid bulge to . . . no matter how I try to arrange it I look even more like a freak."
"Maybe you are," said a voice neither Dick nor Wally recognized as the door to the locker room opened. It belonged to a big beefy young guy, with a flat top haircut, built like maybe a fullback at a small college, with a handsome face and short cropped hair gelled to stand up. He dropped a small bag on the floor and pulled off a running suit like a player entering an NBA game. Underneath, he already had on black spandex pants like a Chippendale's dancer.
"That's just the way those fit," he told Dick and Wally. "More spandex in the middle, more nylon around the edges so you can't help but stretch out the middle. What're you complaining about, anyway? Hell, some exotic dancers stuff theirs. I mean, not me, of course," he lied, "other guys. Some of the others. Nobody complains that they look too hung."
Dick and Wally shrugged. Um, allright. Fine. The damn thing doesn't adjust. Allright. Fine. Whatever! Dammit! It would fit that way in front. It just would. But there was nothing in the back! Nothing!
At that moment, the building's ventilation system kicked on causing a slight breeze to pass over their bare skin, emphasizing their near nudity. Wally and especially Dick were frantic and upset at the situation they found themselves in.
"This is like something only the sluttiest girl would wear on the beach in Rio de Janeiro," Wally complained to Roy across the room tugging at the shoelace width waistband that could actually only be worn just above a guy's hips.
"I love that beach," Roy chirped back.
"Would you love it if you had to dress like this?" shot back Wally gesturing to the ridiculous black satin cone between his legs. Roy's immediate smile was all the answer he needed.
Dick shook his head in disgust.
The beefy guy held one hand up and glanced around the room. "Hey, anyway, the name's Lance Stryker. Glad to meet ya. Who are you guys?"
"Wally . . Swift," said Wally.
"Ty . . Owens," said Ty.
"Alan Raytahnteef," said Dick"
"Dick Grayson," said a grinning Roy who only grinned bigger upon seeing Dick's furious clenched teeth reaction. "We uh, we kind of got drafted from the other side of the building."
"Oh, really," said beefy guy and he reached out and shook Dick and Wally's hands, the two within reach. Wally turned to say something to Dick and beefy guy gave him a pat on his bare rear.
"Those're amazing. How'd you get 'em like that?" asked Lance. "I do squats and lunges and everything else but I can't get like that."
Wally froze. The room was silent. He glanced frantically at Dick. Did you see where he touched me?!?! Did you see?! Is that okay in this locker room? Is that actually okay in here?! More than three years as a Titan. More than a thousand showers after missions or training sessions with the other guys. No one ever put their hand back there. Not even Speedy!
Dick raised both eyebrows. I don't know!
"I . . I just am like this," Wally finally answered.
"Haha! Bitch always says that," Roy immediately chuckled as he walked over. "Truth is more like 200 reps in the morning and 200 at night on the Glute Blaster."
Lance nodded. "Yeah. Makes sense. Nobody's like that normally," he agreed then turned and fiddled with his bag at his locker.
Wally immediately stepped toward Roy. "You called me 'bitch'!" he angrily whispered. "I don't care what I'm wearing, Roy. I don't have to take that!"
Roy steered them both a few feet further away from Lance. "And do you want him to think you just . . are in that shape naturally? How could that be? Hmm? What would you have to be for that to be true? Maybe a-a superhero or something? See?"
Wally sighed. Reluctantly, he had to admit that Roy was right. He went back over to stand next to Dick. Because the four nearly naked Titans really were two distinct pairs, freaky Roy and semi-freaky Ty and uptight Dick and semi-uptight Wally. As music from the ladies room could be heard through the door that opened into that section of the building, Roy started dancing to it, as did Ty.
Meanwhile, all Wally and Dick could do was think about how disappointed their mentors would be if they could see them like this and occasionally glance, in horror, over their shoulders at their bare backsides in the full length mirror on the wall behind them.
Finally, egged on by Dick's air of humiliation, Gar could suppress it no more and burst out in laughter pointing at nearly naked Dick.
"Oh god! You . . wearing . . that!"
Dick rushed at him. "Keep your mouth shut, Gar. I don't want you blabbing about this to everyone. Is that understood?"
Gar nodded soberly, then snickered at Dick's bare back side as he turned away. Gar leaned over toward Vic next to him. "You . . are recording this all on video, of course."
Vic nodded ever so slightly with a smile.
Garth's expression wasn't quite a smile. "Ironic that you should now be attired like that, isn't it, Wallace?" he said to Wally across the room. "And told by the very same stripper that you'd said had a body for stripping that you, yourself, have a body that means you should be a stripper,. That is irony, Wallace. Yes, it is. Perhaps now you might wish you had agreed to a evening of more high minded entertainment, as I had suggested, now that you, yourself, will be the entertainment. Instead of seeing other young men dance Le Corsaire, you'll be dancing yourself but nothing quite so artistic. And-"
"Enough, Garth! I get the point!"
"Well you brought this bad karma on yourselves," noted Garth with a final hmmph before crossing his arms and stepping back against the lockers next to Gar and Cy.
While The Titans boys, clothed and nearly naked talked, Lance Stryker checked out the competition. Damn. These guys are cut! Especially that one redhead. But he felt better noticing that none had built up their pecs like a pro would. Still, they all had that schoolboy thing going on that some women went crazy for and terrific glutes. Again, that redhead. Lance shook his head. The kid was insanely toned, too. Usually when guys got down below 2 percent fat they started to get veiny, like their bodies were straining to deal with it. This kid had no fat at all and looked natural. Wow. Total pretty boy, too. Lance found himself hoping the kid couldn't dance at all so that he wouldn't suck up all the tips. He stepped forward and pulled up the shade on the door into the ladies section of building. At first, Dick and Wally jumped out the way. Those women will see us like this! But, quickly they realized that it was a two way mirror that allowed the male exotic dancers to see what was going on out there without the women being able to see in.
Wally and Dick edged slowly forward, inherently curious about how the present group of dancers was doing the job they'd have to do. And slowly their jaws dropped watching what was going on. The guys "dancing" looked just like beefy guy. Big, young and oddly overmuscled in the pecs. But more than that they looked stupid. They looked so completely, ridiculously stupid! Wally and Dick looked back and forth from the big doofuses comically gyrating their hips to each other. We have to do that?!
WE HAVE TO DO THAT?! THAT?!
"we have to do that?!" they both finally mumbled aloud.
"Yer Damn right yer gonna do that," said the Fat Man, back in the room. "You ain't gonna get outta this by not tryin'. I tell new hires that they can expect to make $200 a night in tips. I expect better than that from a bunch of pretty boys like you four. If you don't end up with twelve hunnert dollars total, the four of ya, I'll consider that to be you boys not trying and I call up my friend on the force. He'll come running. And it won't be from far away, either. He's got a front table back over there where ya came from."
Wally and Dick turned back to watch the goings on among the ladies in the larger room. One of the beefy doofuses was doing a sort of inch worm movement simulating sex and furiously displaying his tongue to the cheering women.
Wally and Dick looked at each other further in shock.
And then, to top it off, the beefy doofus stood up and one of the women squeezed a dollar bill inside his string-like waistband and slapped his backside. Dick and Wally both looked to the Fat Man like kids demanding a call from an umpire.
"They-they touched him!" complained Dick, pointing out the two way mirror at the perceived transgression.
"They slapped his butt! Do something!" demanded Wally, remembering that any man who touched a female stripper on the other side could get thrown out of the club.
The Fat Man stepped forward chuckling and put his fat, pudgy fingered hands on their shoulders. "You boys don't seem to understand that the rules are, well, they're a bit different on this side of the building," he said, pointing toward the ladies side where a shrieking, manic middle aged woman was reaching out for the backside of another beefy doofus. "See, you're strong young men. If a few women get a little over enthusiastic in . . appreciatin' how pretty you boys are, what's the problem? They can't hit ya with a closed fist or bite ya but everythin' else is fair game. Really now, what could happen?" he said and backed away, chuckling at the two shy ones. He noticed that the other red head and the black one were smirking at their modest friends' reaction.
What could happen?
Wally and Dick were both looking out into the large room with expressions of horror and, unconsciously, the two teen boys did the exact same thing, slowly sliding their hands down their sides and over their backsides.
What could happen? What could happen?! A frantic Dick remembered the infamous "incident" at the Gotham School for Wayward Girls. 13 years old, scheduled to appear with Batman at the Gotham School for Wayward Girls and on their way there when they had to stop and fight Two Face and his flunkeys. They were just starting to clean up after beating them when Robin noticed the time. They were already late but just five blocks away from the school. Batman sent Robin there alone. Half his cape had been torn off and he had several scratches and bruises. But that was nothing compared to what happened to him once he stepped inside and started up the main aisle to the stage inside the school. There was an odd murmur in the air from the very start. It was different from how people reacted to scary Batman entering the room. They were all smiling at him, grinning oddly. It was different right away. Then, one wayward girl shouted, "Oh my god, he's so cute!" and they swarmed. They swarmed! Standing there at the two way mirror, Dick recalled his terror. Wayward girls swarming from every direction. Wayward girls screaming like banshees. He couldn't fight them. He couldn't hurt them. All those little hands! All those wayward little hands! Grasping! Pinching! Squeezing! Nothing would calm them. Nothing would stop them.
And now they'll all have alcohol and I'll be wearing this, he thought and looked down at his insufficient attire. Oh god.
"What could happen? What could happen?" Wally repeated to himself. He thought back to the circumstances that had resulted in the issuance of a total of 4,287 demerits at the St. Mary's School for Girls in Keystone City, a total unmatched since the Spanish Inquisition he was told. He and Flash had saved the lives of three girls who attended the school. Please come and speak to our girls. Give them the example of fine, healthy upstanding men like yourselves, the headmistress had said. And then Flash was called away on some Justice League thing at the last minute. He thought maybe they should reschedule or cancel but Kid Flash had said he could handle it. God! He wasn't some little baby. He was a hero. And he was 14 now. He was growing. He did solo missions now. It was just a public appearance. People were always in awe of him and Flash at those things. I can handle it, he told Flash.
Maybe he would have handled it if he hadn't given in to the headmistress's desire that he walk up the center aisle leading to the stage and podium. Flash always just super sped to a spot. But the headmistress wanted it to be a dramatic entrance. He went along with it. But he'd barely started down the center aisle when, all of a sudden, there were shrieking girls in plaid skirts and white blouses coming at him from all directions. He couldn't hurt them. They were girls! But they didn't seem concerned with hurting him. All those long finger nails! All those pinching fingers! They tugged and tore and only after the headmistress had been screaming into the microphone for five minutes shouting out the penalties for the girls for how they'd treated their guest was he able to free himself.
"Ten demerits for Catherine Phillips! 25 demerits for Susan O'Reilly! 50 demerits for . . .!" He stumbled to his feet and up to the podium. He couldn't recall what he'd said. He was shocked that girls would react that way to him. And even more that they would do that to him. And then afterward, he'd had to have Aunt Iris's help. Because the only way to fix a torn Flash suit is to super glue the tears back together. But he couldn't reach back there. He tried to give her a story. Yeah, it was, uh . . . Trickster who tore my uniform like this. That's right. Trickster. But his ace reporter aunt kept him talking even while she had him bend over the dining room table and pretty soon his story crumbled and Aunt Iris laughed.
As bad as his Kid Flash suit was, this slingshot thing was infinitely worse. And now the girls would all be liquored up. Oh god.
What could happen? What *would* happen! It was still getting worse.
But things seemed a little better when one of the Fat Man's lackeys came into the locker room with Chippendales dancers style black tights for Dick, Wally, Roy and Ty to wear. The one complication was that they were secured at the sides by buttons and velcro. This was odd but Dick and Wally, especially, were ecstatic to have anything else to wear over the slingshots. Then, the Fat Man told them they'd be performing almost a little act at the start in which Suzy, the stripper in the lab coat would pretend to be a teacher and they would all pretend to be students. "You look so young, we may as well use it," said the Fat Man. And Suzy took it from there. They would dance out to the small stage at the center of the semi-circular room and she would pantomime asking them three questions. If they got that question right, she would give a star. If they got it wrong, she would give a whack across the bottom with her stick. She waved the stick back and forth with a smile. Dick, Wally and Ty looked at it anxiously. Roy smirked. She continued and explained, with a mischievous smile, that if they got the last question wrong, she would adjust their tights for them. But, at any rate, after their little skit, they would dance around the room till their 90 minute shift was up.
With that, Suzy left the room. Through the two way mirror, they could see that the other dancers, five pumped up morons in g-strings, were all approaching the door, grinning and waving goodby to the women, some of whom were shouting for the beefy doofuses to please stay. Dick and Wally jumped back from the door so as not to be seen and still nearly got run into by the guys entering the locker room as the music boomed forth through the open door. There were a few moments of competitive appraisal as their might be at a gym when a new team stepped onto the court. The beefy doofuses seemed impressed by the tone of the Titans boys but Dick and Wally could almost hear them snickering to themselves about the less muscular incognito heroes. But they were more interested in counting their tips, pulling one crumpled bill after another, ones, fives and even some tens and twenties, from their waistbands and the fronts of their slingshots.
"What is this, amateur night again?" a blond one kidded Lance Stryker. "Who are you guys?" he asked, looking around the room.
"Dick Grayson, damn glad to meet ya," said Roy stepping forward and shaking hands with the blond beefy doofus, as the real Dick Grayson fumed again at Roy hijacking his name. "And that's Ty Owens, Wally Swift and Alan Raytahnteef," he said pointing around the room. The other doofuses introduced themselves. All had comically fake names. And quickly, they changed into other clothes and were out of there.
No sooner had they gone than the opening of "Hot for Teacher" by Van Halen could be heard from the main room and the Fat Man returned with a wireless microphone. Wally felt his pulse race. Dick looked like he was about to have a nervous breakdown.
"Okay, what're you boys' names again," asked the Fat Man. "I gotta introduce you."
"Dick Grayson," said Roy to one more bout of fuming by the incognito boy wonder.
"Hmmph. Dick. That'll work."
"Ty Owens."
"Alan Raytahnteef."
"Wally Swfit."
The Fat Man shook his head. "Nope. Can't use Wally. Only geeks and losers are called Wally. Doesn't fit the image."
Now it was Wally fuming as the other three smiled.
"How 'bout Wesley?" suggested the Fat Man. "Wesley Swift."
Wally shrugged. Okay.
The opening of Hot for Teacher was still going on, they'd obviously looped it to be as long as they wanted. And then the Fat Man lined up the boys, Dick and Wally nearly hyperventilating and opened the door. Roy, at the front of the line, the only one visible to the women smirked at 200 pairs of eyes staring at him through the swirling lights.
"Ladies, tonight we have a special treat for you, five dancers who've just finished tryouts at the olympic trials. First up, Dick . . Grayson!"
Roy danced out into the room toward what looked like a teacher's desk set up on the small stage in a spot on imitation of how the previous batch of beefy doofuses had been dancing.
"Next, Lance . . Stryker!"
As Lance gyrated out into the crowd a heavily breathing Dick turned to Wally. "I can't do this. I don't dance, Wally. You know that. I can't do this. I can't be loose and just-"
The Fat Man introduced Ty and then grabbed Dick by the elbow.
"It's all about acting shorty! Never stop smiling. Never stop movin' yer little butt. It's all about acting. Pretend you like it. Pretend you enjoy showin' yersefl off and it'll go fine. It's actin' more than dancin'," he said and then let go of Dick's elbow.
Wally was now at the front of the line. He could see a few dozen of the women closest to the door inspecting him. He turned to his pal over his shoulder. "Dick, you're a better gymnast and acrobat than I could ever be. You can do anything I can do. Just imitate me and fake a smile. Okay?"
"Okay," Dick squeaked.
"Wesleeeeeey . . Swift!"
At the announcing of his stage name, Wally danced out, trying to fake a smile and feeling completely ridicuous. He stopped next to the teacher's desk on the stage where Roy, Ty and Lance Stryker had stopped.
"Alan . . Raytahnteef!" boomed the P.A. system and as the others watched, Dick froze. He took one step forward into the room and the door closed behind him but he took no more steps. He didn't shake or gyrate or do anything. And just when Wally thought he might have to run over and somehow help his pal, Dick ran and leaped forward, starting a tumbling run worthy of any olympic gymnast that finished with him sticking the landing right beside Wally and Roy.
"Nice 'dancing' Mary Lou Retton," snickered Roy.
And then the show began.