Ch. 6

No matter how Walter looked at it, he couldn't shake her out of his mind.

When she first came in, he had been stunned. Out in the street at night, Rorschach knew everything. Here at his menial day job, Walter felt naked and worthless. Here in the daylight in full view she just looked...

No, he wouldn't think about it too hard.

How did it play out, though? He had to just go over it again in his head. Above him in his mind's eye he could see it, the small dress shop he was sent to that morning. The usual worker was out sick, probably for a week. He was told to fill in. Walter was usually kept in the back, out of sight, but this shop was too small and really, had no back area to be sent to. He was sent to the side instead, where he measured, cut, and pinned fabric to the specifications given him. Keeping his eyes on his work, he could hear the incessant chattering of two middle-aged women off to his right. The shop owner, a man large in all directions, stood with his thumbs tucked into his suspenders as his assistant, a woman in her mid-twenties, tried to persuade the older women to buy one dress over the other. The women bickered over fabric and style and color while Walter grit his teeth. Too much background noise. He didn't like it. The door to his left opened. He meant to merely glance, but he was left with a pin hanging in mid-air and his mouth open.

A girl came in -- that wasn't important in itself. It was a woman's dress shop, after all, but no, it was the way she walked and looked. He knew it had to be her. Then she turned and smiled at another customer who was excusing herself as she walked past. When he saw the smile he knew for sure it was her. An older woman, probably her mother, came in behind her.

"Stay here Laurie, while I speak to Mr. Greer," she told her.

The girl, Laurie, nodded and began to look around. She approached the display that Walter was standing behind, so focused on looking at the display itself that she didn't see Walter himself standing right there. Rorschach would have frowned at her inattentiveness, but Walter defended her -- how many people noticed him, after all? She didn't see him so it gave him ample time to study her. Far away, she was pretty. Close up, he had no words. He tried to take every detail in before she left him. If there had been glass in front of him he would have been looking through a fog. He didn't realize she had looked up until she smiled.

"Hi," she said.

Walter had no reply for that. He looked down and started working again. When he looked up, she was still studying him. He stared. They silently competed against the other's gaze, until she broke it when her mother approached.

"Laurie," her mother began, then looked over at Walter. Her lips pursed and she frowned in the way women did when they looked at him. Disapproval. "Laurie, here, why don't you show him darling? Turn around."

Laurie nodded and turned in a half circle. Mr. Greer, who had been watching, nodded.

"Yes, I think the newer style would suit her, Sally," he said.

"Why don't we get her something in pink?" said the mother, Sally. "My little Laurie's going to be sixteen in two weeks."

Walter blushed, embarrassed. She was younger than he had initially guessed. Now he felt dirty. But why? He wasn't thinking anything about her, not at all. There was nothing he thought about her that would make him feel ashamed.

"Walter," said Mr. Greer suddenly, making him jump, "Measure her."

Walter's eyes went wide. He looked over at Mr. Greer's assistant, who was still busy with those cursed women.

"Haven't got all day, Walter" he snapped. "Hurry."

Walter came out from behind the safety of the counter and took one tentative step forward. Then another. Sally ignored Walter completely and continued to talk.

"Laurie wants to spend her birthday with her dear old mother -- just the two of us together, all day. Isn't that sweet?" she asked Mr. Greer, who just nodded with vague disinterest.

He measured her arm. Laurie giggled.

"The dress doesn't have sleeves," she whispered to him. Walter was mortified.

She held her arms out to her sides. He wanted to close his eyes so he didn't have to see where his hands were going, but that would be ridiculous. He wouldn't be able to see the numbers. So he made sure to pay extra attention. Just for measurements' sake. Then he measured her again to make sure. Then a third time. She started to laugh, embarrassed. He was embarrassed too. He didn't mean to be rude or anything, honest, it's just that he kept forgetting the numbers... He looked up, expecting Mr. Greer to be glaring at him, but his eyes were glazed over, Sally apparently talking his ear off.

"And you know, when Laurie grows up she wants to be a crime fighter just like her mother," she gushed, giving Laurie a smile.

Laurie smiled -- a forced one.

"I used to be the Silk Spectre," said Sally, looking directly at Walter for once.

"Congratulations," Walter muttered.

Sally didn't hear, but Laurie did. She laughed. He smiled at her. She smiled back. He felt faint. He measured her again. Wasn't he forgetting something? Oh yes, the neck. His fingers brushed her throat as he passed the measuring tape through them. He froze. Did the dress even come with a high collar? He looked up, and found her looking at him. At this close proximity, it was too intense. He looked away and happened to look at her mouth. Looked at it too long, and realized what he was doing and pulled away quickly. The tape measure still around her neck, he pulled Laurie along with him.

"Wow," said Laurie, laughing as she put a hand on his arm. She ducked down from under the tape.

"What are you doing, Laurie?" asked her mother, suspiciously.

"Nothing!"

"Come look at the fabric, dear. Doesn't this pink look nice?"

"Yes."

"You're not even looking at it. Come here, darling."

Laurie turned and made a face at Walter. It took him a moment to realize that the face was made towards her mother and not him. He stared after her, mesmerized.

"Walter, stop gawking and get over here," said Mr. Greer. "Bring down the fabric for them to see."

This he could do, at least. Sally wanted to see everything. Pretty soon there was a mountain of fabric in front of him, and he had to peer out from behind it to see them. He glanced out quickly to find Laurie looking at him again. He was pretty sure he was blushing now. She smiled. He ducked back behind the fabric, suddenly feeling his forehead break out in a sweat.

"I think I'll go with this color," said Sally. "What do you think, Laurie?"

"It's fine."

"Just fine? Your mother is buying you an expensive, beautiful dress for your birthday and it's just fine?"

"It's lovely, thank you."

"That's better. You know, back when I was your age, I didn't get to wear dresses like this. In fact..."

Walter tuned her out and began returning bolts of fabric to their proper place. After everything else was returned, the chosen fabric remained. It was a light yellow. Walter looked at it and tried to imagine how she would look in the dress.

"Walter, get to work," snapped Mr. Greer, who tossed the fabric at him. "Pattern 83-A. It's in the storage closet. Work on it."

"When will this be ready?" asked Sally.

"By tomorrow ma'am -- if that boy of ours hurries of course. He's just temporary. Hard to get help nowadays."

"It is, isn't it? Oh, nothing's the same now -- not how it used to be."

Sally and Mr. Greer laughed as if they had just shared a joke. Walter searched for the specified dress pattern and by the time he found it and looked up, she was gone. Breathing a sigh, he went back to work. Suddenly the middle-aged women -- still chattering -- didn't seem so bad anymore. The room seemed less stifling and he felt he could see and think again. Then he realized he was going to see her tomorrow. His chest was oddly constricted. He would focus on the pattern. Patterns were easy.

Cleaning was also easy. Walter found himself easing out of his thoughts and saw the old familiar layout of his low-rent apartment. He had been thinking about that morning for the thousandth time that day. Each time he would catch himself and start cleaning furiously. His small apartment looked as spotless as it could be; the place had always looked dingy. He continued to sweep over the areas he had gone over again and cleaned as if his life depended on it. One more hour and the sun would be down and he could be Rorschach and he could stop thinking about these things because Rorschach wasn't like this. He was beyond this and all emotions while Walter drowned in them.

The paint was beginning to wear thin on the countertop. He decided to clean the oven. He looked inside. Spotless. Why not? He never used it. He cleaned it anyway, though it didn't take much time as there was nothing to clean. He sighed. He threw down the rag he was using and began to pace the small room.

He had finished that dress earlier in the day, with more care than he put into the other clothing. The other clothing looked too much like women. The dress though, looked like her. He wondered if she would like it. She didn't seem to like the fabric at all. It was nice enough fabric, expensive even. Her mother was certainly rich enough, though if she was truly affluent then she wouldn't have come into a shop that allowed him to work there. Sighing harshly, he grabbed at his hair with his hands. He washed his hands. Then his face. Then he paced the room again. Paced until sunset, then put on Rorschach. Rorschach glared at him in the mirror, shaking his head in disapproval. Walter was weak, but Rorschach would take care of things.

Trivial things; irrelevant. Women couldn't be trusted, no matter how young. Nightshade, all right, however. She wasn't a woman, just a mask. Could be molded to do good. He found her at the usual place, and she smiled at him. He nodded. Time to work.

"I saw them mention that Gimmick guy in the paper this morning," said Nightshade. "Did you read it?"

Rorschach looked at her but said nothing.

"Oh, well." She shrugged. "Where to next?"

He gestured in a direction. He knew some places. She looked at him oddly -- probably because he was so silent. He had nothing to say to her. Too busy worrying about Walter. No, needed to focus on Underboss.

Rorschach had committed the crime lord's drug route to his mind. The warehouses containing the crates had been in different locations, and Rorschach had seen them accessed on separate days and all over the city. Put them together in one map, however, there was a definite pattern there. Underboss' drug route made its slow descent to lower Manhattan. Rorschach needed to get more information before they went down there, but he knew at some point they would have to make their way to the sewers. He looked at Nightshade's shoes. Boots. Good. Practical.

"Just working together," he pointed at her.

Nightshade turned and gave him a look of incomprehension. She would know, though. She knew what he meant, deep down.

After all, mask or no, she was a woman.

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To be continued...