"A variety show?"

It was Friday, and the Committee met once again. Harley continued, "Yeah! Look, you're all thinking about the big acts: orchestras, pop stars and whatever. But the Foundation's all about the little guy and making sure he's got a leg up in this bad old world."

Selina was listening to all this, although she listened to Harley gushing it out in the car ride home last night. She sounded more like her old, excitable, slightly bubble-headed self as she outlined her scheme.

"So turn your thinking upside down! Don't get big names! Get little ones. They have better rates, so the Foundation can afford to pay 'em, they've got lotsa different acts so everyone will hear something they like, and you'll pull lots of donors in. Everybody wins!"

"It could work," said Riley, "A showcase of small-time Gotham artists presenting their talents as a gift to the city, maybe!"
"I think we can sort something out," said Lucius Fox, "But how many acts are we talking about?"

"Jerry Black says he can point us to a few singers and ensembles. I think we should make sure we take in lots of different styles. We need dances of course, but why not Christmas carols?"
"Nothing like a carol-sing to bring people together," said Riley, nodding appreciatively at Selina and Harley. "I know a group who does old-time Christmas songs and spirituals too!"

"Well," said Wayne, "I'd say we have our direction." His smile was broad and genuine. "Harleen, this really is excellent work."

"The only thing that worries me is bringing in a former mob piano man," Fox said.

"He's just a musician trying to make his way. Take it from me, when you're in a tight spot, the law isn't a big concern for you," Harley said, a little sharply.

"Still," said Fox, although his expression told her he didn't really want to say this, "we'll have to go through some vetting to make sure that we're not letting any mob double-agents in."

"Don't worry about it, Harleen," said Wayne, "Lucius and I will handle that side of things. Right now, just start building us a list of artists." Wayne produced a notepad and scribbled down a list of names, "Here, try these magazines and papers. Lots of Gotham musical acts are profiled and advertised in them. Do you have Mr. Black's number?"

"You betcha. Er, I mean, yes Mr. Wayne."

Wayne's eyes sparkled a moment and said, "See how many musicians he wants to bring into his ensemble. Riley will get you the information on his friends, too."

Thus Harley spent most of her day on the phone. It turned out that White Black wanted to make a quintet: himself on piano, of course, and he also played vibrophone. He was bringing his drummer, his saxophone player, his bassist and guitar guy, and a clarinetist. He'd also rattled off a list of songs they could do, including some holiday stuff and some nice dance songs.

The group Riley had recommended, the Waterfront Four, turned out to be a quartet who specialized in Old Time, folk and traditional music, who had been playing in the arty coffee houses and dockfront bars of Gotham and other cities for years. A fiddler, guitarist, trumpeter and singer/tambourine player made up that group. Significantly, unlike Mr. Black's group, two of the quartet were women. Harley, going through a programme the group gave out, smiled at that, then remembered it was Ivy who'd made her conscious of that. A little twinge and she moved on.

That still left a certain something missing. A choir maybe?

Thoughtful, Harley headed out into the street, the list from Mr. Wayne in hand.

Montoya had been right; it was getting colder. A chill wind was blasting up the streets of downtown Gotham as Harley slipped out the back door and headed down the street in search of newsstands.

Harley pushed open the door to her room at the halfway house with a pile of arts magazines and CDs in hand. She put some rice on the stove and plonked a portable boom box she'd borrowed from the landlady on the kitchen counter.

She'd been on the hunt for the third act for three days now. She'd looked up lots of acts, some of whom Mr. Wayne knew. Choirs, ensembles, the usual. She'd scrounged together a bunch of demo CDs and borrowed the boom box to try them out.

She poured herself a soda and sat down to wait for the rice to finish. With trepidation, she started listening to the recordings.

The St. Jerome Cathedral Choir were pretty good. So was the Gotham Consort. But Harley fretted as she put in the CD for the Gotham Gothic Singers. Something wasn't clicking.

The music was alright. It was grand and well-done and all that jazz but…

Harley blinked. Jazz. Of course, she wasn't looking for jazz, but the music was…stiff. It didn't have swing to it. It was good, but it wasn't fun.

Harley turned off the recording, switched on the radio and went to sort out some vegetables to go with the rice.

The evening news came on. Summer Gleeson's voice said, "…and in society news, Wayne Enterprise's Christmas Benefit has begun planning, and the word is it won't be anything like what's come before! Lots of people are speculating what direction it could possibly take, since the planning committee appears to include none other than reformed masked villain Harleen Quinzel. Quinzel, recently discharged from Arkham Asylum after a memorable false start, appears to be moving up in the world, finding herself entrusted with handling charity money. It's a twist of fate considering that in the past, Quinzel, operating under her old masked identity of Harley Quinn, helped rob the benefit along with her accomplice and suspected paramour, Gotham's own the J-"

Harley sprang across the room and wrenched at the knob. She didn't want to remember back to those days. She certainly didn't want to have those days paraded around for the whole city to hear.

Her heart was suddenly beating fast. She grabbed her curry and wolfed it down, trying to think clearly. Thinking clearly, that was the key. Look at what's around you, deal with the real thing yourself. That's what she'd had to learn to do, not to see what she wanted to see, not to cling to somebody else's version of reality…

She paused in her eating. She knew what she wanted, what she really needed, was a caroler group with some pep, with a sense of fun. But the concept of fun made her insides go cold. After all, what had she considered to be 'fun' over the years?

"Oh, no…" She moaned to herself. She'd had an idea. An act who would work perfectly, but, like Jerry and his band, it had some dangerous associations.

Harley ran a hand through her hair. None of the groups she and Wayne had been able to track down quite fit. They were too stiff, too well-known, too mainstream, as he'd put it. She needed to find the right act. She needed to, or she'd failed.

"Everything's been going so well 'til now," she grumbled. But she had to try. She had to use the tools she had, if she was going to make this new life work.

Conflicted feelings at war behind her eyes, she changed back into her suit and went out.