Harley went to the Iceberg Lounge the night of November twenty-seventh, suited up as usual.
Selina had arranged a meet-and-greet between the musicians for Thanksgiving eve.
She was looking forward to the glamour and the fun of talking about music. The last couple of weeks had been wall-to-wall hectic planning, and all for something not happening until December 23rd! She was really feeling the pressure now. Catering, décor, all the rest of it. She'd thrown herself into it, if for no other reason than to distract herself from the shadows that still haunted her dreams. She hadn't slept well last night and her head felt fuzzy. She could seem to keep warm enough no matter what she did.
Things were coming together, to be sure. Wayne didn't actually delegate that much onto her, but kept her in the loop about things like catering and décor, and taken her suggestions to heart.
She headed straight for the large table where Wayne and Selina were already entertaining the guests. Before she got there, she was intercepted by a portly, impeccably-dressed and beaky-nosed little man. Oswald 'the Penguin' Cobblepot tipped his silk top hat to her and said, "Ms. Quinzel, welcome back to my humble establishment."
Given that the Iceberg could seat over 1000, had a massive pool inhabited by sleek leopard seals and served some of the rarest and most expensive drinks in Gotham, she had to smile at his definition of humble.
"You're looking uncommonly straitlaced, but stylishly so, my dear," he went on, bowing.
"You're looking dapper yourself," she replied.
"I have your companions seated already," he gestured, "I have to say you have plumbed the depths of the underground entertainment business and come up sparkling. I congratulate you, though I daresay many in society may not see eye to eye with you."
"Huh?" she said, looking toward the table. The musicians did look a little uncouth, drinking and laughing as Wayne and Selina sat stiffly alongside.
"I don't mean to worry you," he went on, "but there are some artistic egos spreading their wings at that table tonight."
"Hey, Harley," Jerry Black called out, and the musicians rose to greet her.
All three groups were there; Jerry Black's ensemble, the Wonderlanders and the Waterfront Four.
She shook hands all around and then sat down.
"Glad you're here," said Selina softly, "Things are getting a little rowdy. And some potential sponsors are in the room, not to mention," she jerked her head across the lounge, where Harley was startled to see Summer Gleeson.
"Well everybody," she said as loudly as possible, drawing the artists' attention, "I'm Harley, as you all know! I'm glad we're all together in one room at last! Let's talk about music!"
"Look, Harley," Jerry said, "Mr. Wayne and Ms. Kyle here have been telling us the broad strokes of the show, but we need a musical program here. What do you want us to play?"
"Well," said Harley, "we need dance tunes and carols. We want a sing-along and a soiree, seeing as so many socialites need to be seen," she was dismayed that nobody did more than smirk at her alliteration.
"Okay, but who's doing what," Gavin Jones, the Old Time band leader asked. "Who's taking the lead?"
Harley hadn't really thought about this, and even Wayne looked a little concerned. Finally she said, "Well, that's what we're here to figure out!"
"I just don't see that you can do Old Time, Jazz and Classical all in one night!" This was from one of Jerry's fellows.
"That's Renaissance, thank you," said Natalia, the blonde woman who headed up the Wonderlanders.
"Whatever."
"Look," said Harley, "Everybody will get their share of playing time. We'll work it out, don't worry about that."
"Let's work it out, then," said Gavin Jones.
There was much discussion, and while Jerry and many of the individuals were on board, each ensemble had its dissenters.
"Okay," said Jerry, who had emerged as the de facto spokesman of the musicians, "this is all fine, we get that we can rotate every so often. But what about the details? Who's doing which actual songs? I don't want to do Jingle Bells on the piano just to find out Gavin here's doing it too."
More negotiation ensued, Harley frantically taking notes to keep track of it all. She was amazed the passionate debates a claim to a song could provoke.
"Look," she said, just as it looked like Jerry's group and the Wonderlanders were about to punch each other, "How about you work together on this one? You've both got a great sound. Have a jam session and see what happens!"
"I can't see it working," Natalia lead sniffed. Her cheeks were flushed. Harley wished they'd sent the waiters away earlier.
"Maybe if you hadn't been taking mob money," one of Gavin's fellows snapped, "you would know what it means to compromise!"
"Whoever you may have worked for in the past," Wayne cut in, "you're working together now."
Harley was beginning to see what a mistake she'd made. Wayne, himself looking discomfited to one side, had entrusted her to make this work, but she had miscalculated badly in not doing something to make sure that these issues were sorted out. She should have done this earlier, but how was she to know that this is what would result…
"Look, all we want is you all to play beautiful music," Harley pleaded aloud.
Wonderlanders' singer tossed her head disdainfully, "And what do you know about music, clown? Did you think we'd all have a wonderful sunny jam session together? This is not a joke!"
All the colour went out of Harley's face. She barely heard the vicious tongue lashing Selina unleashed. Her insecurity, her self-doubt, suddenly opened up under her feet.
The ensuing shouting match was suddenly cut through with a new voice, nasal and refined, "Ladies, gentlemen, I have been tolerant of your tetchy tirade up until now, but if this persists any further, I shall have to ask you to leave."
Harley looked at the Penguin's sharp glare and said distantly, "Yes, I need to go."
"Harley, wait," Bruce Wayne's voice fell short of stopping her as Harley tottered out into the street and hailed a cab.
Stony-faced, she arrived at the halfway house and passed through the lobby. She saw that the housekeeper's light was on. She felt drawn there, feeling the need to talk to somebody. Part of her fought back, fearing her clingy personality getting hold again. But she had one option, maybe…
She went in, pushing the open door further to enter. The diminutive woman was sitting in a (for her) oversized office chair, her arm lit by the glow of her desk lamp.
"Uh, excuse me," Harley began, "Do you have the number for Dr. Leland? I think I need some advice.""
There was no answer. Harley came closer, a sense of foreboding growing, "Are you okay?"
She reached out and turned the chair, and nearly screamed.
The landlady was sitting quiescently, as if asleep. Her breathing was deep and even. But her face was hideously contorted. The skin was stretched so badly that it was bruising in places. Her eyes were wide, popping and bloodshot. And her mouth was stretched into a hideous rictus grin.
"All work and no play, isn't that right Harley-girl?"
Harley thought her blood might have actually frozen. That voice: cold, high, jolly…
She turned around to see a figure looking in the door she'd entered by. Tall, thin, wearing a dapper violet suit, his chalky skin throwing his dark eyes and red lips into alarming relief, and his green hair debonairly slicked back, the Joker walked nonchalantly in, smiling cheerfully. He put both hands on her shoulders and examined her.
"Well, look at my new, improved Harley Quinn," he said, "your tailor's a bit square, but she knows how to sew. HA!"
Harley was shaking and her voice did too as she said, "Hey, M-m-mister J. What're you doing here?"
Joker looked taken aback, "Why, I'm here for you, of course, Harley! I heard that you're new life hit the skids, and I thought I'd see if I could do anything for you!"
"Oh," Harley felt trepidation, fear, and a creeping relief.
"Talk to me Harley, girl," said Joker, throwing an arm around her shoulders and walking her away from the office.
Outside, the lobby lights had been turned up. The service door at the rear stood open, and two clown-faced gunmen waited beside it.
Harley briefly shrank from his touch, but she ached to give in. To let go of the conflict and the responsibility and the dreariness of real life…
"It was awful, Mr. J," she wailed, "I've been going half-sane with work, and the musicians are all fighting, and I don't know what to do about it…"
"Ah, isn't that always the fate of a struggling entertainer," said the Joker melodramatically, "too many egos clogging up the creative process, for my delightful and beautiful Harley!"
"Yeah, seems that way," Harley said miserably.
"Well, Slugger," the Joker said, steering her toward the door, "what say we teach those killjoys the meaning of fun?"
Harley looked at the Joker quizzically, "What did you have in mind?"
"Well, with Boxy Bennett out of the underground entertainment game, I've taken the chance to branch out, a few hostile takeovers here and there. A big organization demands big stakes, big plans! Whaddya say?"
"Yeah," said Harley half-heartedly. Then, slowly, she felt liberated. No more suit, no more stress. That same old freedom from being boxed in. Mister J was her only hope now…
"Yeah," she said, more strongly, "Nuts to 'em! We'll show 'em how to have fun!"
They walked out together, the Joker cackling gleefully all the way.
Afterword: I neglected to mention earlier that the landlady with the speech impediment, and the halfway house itself were originally featured in the Batman TAS episode 'Double Talk' where Arnold Wesker aka the Ventriloquist goes for his rehabilitation. Penguin's Iceberg Lounge is a recurring setpiece in the later Animated Series.