Conan the Barbarian* bustled about his penthouse, offering a canape here, pointing out the way to the WC there, host for the First Hopefully-Annual Superheroes' Bash. Maybe his suave demeanor and luxurious digs would attract a female superheroine; it was hard to find an understanding date when one was ... different. He hoped Wonder Bra, er, Wonder Woman would come. Although everybody from Dick Tracy to Wolverine was here, she was nowhere to be found.

"Say cheese," said a voice in Conan's ear as a buffed-up arm was slung across his shoulder. A miniature lens appeared in front of him.

"Daredevil! With a camera phone? I mean, you're, well–"

"Blind. Yeah, but with this puppy I can visualize the photos. Something about pixies."

"You mean pixels," Spider-man said, descending on a thread from the ceiling.

"Some folks know everything except when to stay out of a private conversation," Daredevil huffed.

Strains of "The Ride of the Valkyrie" swept across the room, followed by Thor's thunderous voice.

"Hello. ... We're breaking up! ... Hold on a little longer, I beg you. ..."

Conan's heart leaped. Perhaps Wonder Woman was tired of the Nordic nerd at last. All evening he'd hoped to hear his own phone ringing in response to the automated redials sent to her cell phone. He nudged his way through the crowd and arrived at Thor's side as the god was fitting the Nokia into a niche in his helmet. "Bad news?"

"Ja. Silver Surfer got arrested for distracted surfing. Has a hands-free model, too. But it was a bad reception, so I think he was weaving in traffic."

In a corner of the dining room, Batman and Lois Lane were exchanging confidences.

"It's not that I don't love him, Bruce – can I call you Bruce?"

"Just don't say it too loud. Bruce Banner gets positively green-eyed whenever one of us is talking to a beautiful woman."

"I'd rather take my chances with that Hulk than keep pretending I don't know Superman's true identity. Anybody can tell it's Jimmy Olson the cub reporter just acting incompetent so no one will guess!"

"You know, Lois, it's kinda crowded in here. Maybe we could find another room better suited to a real conversation."

"I'll tell The Supe I went to powder my nose. He always falls for that when I need to give him the slip."

In a tiny room off the kitchen, Lois and Batman scrunched on furniture suited to a midget. They were intrigued by a faint, bouncy rhythm seeming to emanate from a Degas print hanging above the miniature divan.

"What on earth?" Lois grabbed a shot glass from an end table, placed it against the wall, and mashed her ear against it. Her lips formed the words, "old reporters' trick." Replacing the glass, she told her companion, "That's Wonder Woman's theme music. Now, where could it be coming from?" She scanned the room; her eyes cut to Batman and locked with his.

"Secret panel!" they whispered in unison. It was short work to slide a bookcase back, pick the lock, and squeeze into the chamber to liberate Diana Prince, whose bra continued ringing throughout the rescue.

- - - - To Be Continued - - - -

* Feel free to substitute "Conan the Primal Tribesleader" for the purposes of political correctness.