The next morning, Harley arose early and with a spring in her step. She put on her new dress again, packed up what she needed for the day, and headed out to catch the bus downtown. Her destination, in Gotham's lower downtown, was the Wayne Foundation job centre. Time to get her life back on track!
The centre occupied the third floor of one of Gotham's smaller skyscrapers on the edge of the downtown core, in a safe neighbourhood but within easy reach of the not-so-safe ones.
Harley flounced in and announced herself to the secretary.
"Hi, doll! I'm Harleen Quinzel! I have an appointment!"
The dour-faced secretary raised an eyebrow and consulted her computer, "Ah, yes. I do see you listed here. You'll be speaking with Mr. Pennyworth."
"Pennyworth?" Harleen scoffed, "Sounds like a stuffy old Brit or somethin'."
Five minutes later, Harley was regretting that statement a little bit as she sat across from the dour-faced, moustachioed Englishman in a smart suit. He was shuffling some papers and hadn't said a word to Harley since telling her to sit down.
"Uh, say, Mr. Pennyweather, what's the deal here? Is something the matter?"
"Mr. Pennyworth, if you please Ms. Quinzell. And no, there is no particular problem. But you are a lady of some education and skill. Suffice to say that most of the people handled by the Wayne Foundation employment program turned to crime or succumbed to mental illness precisely because they did not have such advantages."
Harley hid her discomfort with this faintly disapproving tone behind a crooked smile. "I made mistakes, I admit it. But I'm gonna do what it takes to make a new life for myself."
"I see you were schooled in psychiatry, attended college on a gymnastics scholarship; a capable singer and musician. May I conclude from this that you are an able judge of character and talent?"
Harley's smile froze. She'd thought she was a good judge, but where had that notion led her?
Before the cackling answer to that question entered her mind she blurted out, "Oh yes, sir-ee! Absolutely! You need a judge of character, I'm your gal!" She stuck out her chest and jabbed her thumb proudly against her breastbone.
Alfred patiently cast his eyes skyward away from Harleen's outward thrust cleavage and said, "Mr. Wayne asked me to interview you personally for a position of some importance. Planning is about to begin for the Thomas and Martha Wayne annual Christmas benefit. Perhaps you know of this?"
"Oh yeah!" Harleen said, "We rob – er, I mean I went to it once…"
Harley's heart was pounding in her ears. Suddenly she felt like a heretic under the Inquisition. Every little word she said could do for her right here and now.
Mr. Pennyworth didn't appear to have noticed, however and went on calmly, "The benefit will need to recruit artists and performers. The wider the variety of artists we can attract the greater the breadth of donors will be attracted. We need – well, the official title would be Deputy Artistic Director – but in practice you would be a talent scout, if I have the term right. You would also have a part to play in the planning of the event itself, including catering and décor."
He stopped, and for the first time in the interview Mr. Pennyworth looked her right in the eye. For a stiff old man, he had a gaze like a diamond drill. She'd only met one other person with a gaze like that, but this guy would not look any good in a cape.
Harley hesitated. This was a little off the deep end to what she'd expected. A lot of responsibility, a big chance, a lot of pressure…but what an opportunity! At the bottom of that deep water, there might be sunken treasure!
"I understand that you might not feel ready for something of that magnitude yet. If you prefer I also have some administrative positions to fill at some of the Wayne Foundation Clinics…"
"I'll take it," she cried out exuberantly, "The Christmas gig, I mean! I don't wanna hang around a bunch of sick people. They're no fun!"
Alfred cleared his throat and said, "Very good, Doctor Quinzell. I shall notify Mr. Wayne immediately. He is chairing the planning committee in person this year and he'll want to meet you right away to develop some broad plans for you to build on. Here is the job description, and he'll meet you at his office at Wayne Enterprises tomorrow. However…" He cast an eye over her summer dress and boots, "If you'll pardon me, madam, I think an investment in some new clothes would be prudent."
He took a business card out of his jacket and handed it to her. She took it and read "Gerstein and Rose, Tailors of Gotham since 1939," followed by an address.
"I'll let them know to expect you this afternoon. Here is the job description," he handed over a file folder, "and the time and location of your appointment with Mr. Wayne. Congratulations, Ms. Quinzel."
"You won't be sorry, Mr. Pennyfeather," Harley sprang to her feet and bowed in a parody of courtly manners.
"I trust I will not," said Alfred imperturbably. Then he said, "Please excuse me, madam, I have to make some telephone calls. Have a pleasant day."
When Harley was gone, Alfred picked up the telephone that sat on the desk beside him. First he dialled the tailor and let his old friend Mr. Rose know to expect a young lady of excitable disposition for a fitting later that day. Then he phoned Wayne Enterprises.
"Mr. Wayne, please. It's Alfred Pennyworth calling."
A smooth, pleasant voice replaced the operator. "Bruce Wayne."
"It's me, Master Bruce," Alfred said. "The young lady has accepted your offer."
Suddenly the pleasant voice changed, becoming lower, colder and raspier, "You disapprove, Alfred."
"A second chance is a noble thing," said Alfred, in a sharper tone than he usually used with his master, "She deserves it more than most. But this is a dangerous game you're playing with her Master Bruce. A grown woman she may appear to be, but at heart she's barely more than a child."
"Then this is her chance to grow up, Alfred."
"A dangerous game, Master Bruce" Alfred repeated.
"High stakes, high rewards, and not just for us. Don't worry, Alfred, we won't be cavalier about this."
The phone clicked and Bruce Wayne rang off. Alfred replaced the receiver and sat in thought for several moments, then muttered, "God preserve the unfortunate child…"