Chapter 36: Strategies And Conquests

The pre-occupying conversation in the penthouse was either the World's Fair or the anticipation of a great dinner.

Not that she really cared, but Yolanda felt certain that no one noticed that she was fuming. No one other than Lorna, that is. And Lorna had no choice in that matter.

The dining room entrance in the Pym abode firstly introduced the guests to the end of a very long table. The other end, the head of the table, was just in front of a large window. The view through that window was a spellbinding view of the New York City skyline.

The first few people to enter the room stood in front of their chosen seats, allowing Henry to walk towards the host's chair …. and any fool could see that Uma was planning to sit by him.

Soooo, Yolanda silently fumed. Plans to flirt and hang on to Henry Pym's every word seemed to have made Uma forget she had children, hmmm? What type of mother is she?

Henry and the cling-on were inside of the dining room now. There were a few more feet to go before Uma could usurp the throne— that is, sit at Henry's right. With Lorna in tow, Yolanda tripled the pace of her steps.

It was time to make that man-hound a good mother again ….. and for Yolanda to protect her future claim.

Lorna wasn't easily impressed, but the fancy white linen, four different shiny candle-holders that had each held thee long white candles, the elegant dinnerware, the polished silver covers on the main course the decorative ceramic covering on the side courses…. The young brunette was wide-eyed. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, came Yolanda's voice and a sharp, unappreciated pull.

Yolanda's hand reached Uma's shoulder. The woman instinctively turned around. Almost as quickly as a Venus Flytrap could capture it's annoying, manure-eating victim, Yolanda moved in front of her. Their noses were just 6 inches apart. At this range, the single mother had too little peripheral vison to notice anything but Yolanda.

"Uma, dear, we haven't spoken for almost two weeks."

With the moves of a crafty stage magician's hand, Lorna's wrist traveled from Yolanda's right hand to her left. Yolanda had moved the dark haired girl swiftly behind her back until the 17-year-old found herself between Uma and her intended prey.

Yolanda spoke again as her hands held onto the ends of Uma's shoulders in a false exhibition of camaraderie.

"We should get together before the night is over," the clever former Russian concluded. Yolanda moved around her competitor and suddenly Uma had two females separating her from Henry Pym.

The crafty young woman then plopped Lorna on the left corner seat next to where Henry customarily sat. Yolanda ran behind her beloved and took the corner seat to the right.

She glanced up to Uma. The would-be beau-snatcher looked like the cat who thought she was pouncing on a bird, but only landed on its shadow. Good! Now let her attention go to where it's needed—her children.

Uma's father, Stanislaw, was behind Uma and Yolanda gestured to the end of the table where the boy and girl were about to be seated.

"Stan, please be the gentleman and pull out a seat for you daughter by the children."

Stanislaw shook his head playfully. "Uma needs a break from the little terrors sometimes. Grandmother can handle them."

He then sat Uma— who still looked dazed— between himself and Lorna. Okay, it wasn't where Yolanda wanted her seated, but it was still a victory for the young genius.

Oh, no! When the young genius looked to her left, at Henry, she suddenly discovered that the "victory" wasn't completely secured.

"Henry. Sit down, please."

"I can't. Everyone hasn't taken a seat yet."

"SIT DOWWWN!" As soon as the words came out of her mouth, she discovered how angry they sounded. Her hands came up to swallow her face as embarrassment consumed her again. Seconds later, Yolanda's hands moved down so that she could peek over her fingers. Henry looked so shocked. Suddenly, her hands gave up the cover.

"I'm sorry. I … I …didn't…" The words escaped her. Her self-assurance deserted her. Her brilliance took wings to find a calmer nest. It was no wonder that her eyes sought the refuge of her fingers again.

Surprisingly, there was a soft, yet strong touch on her left wrist. Her hand was pulled away from her eyes. She recognized the attractive, manicured finger s that moved to claim her palm in a strong, yet gentle stretch.

What a sensation. Her scientific mind would have explained that her palm held many nerve endings—but to blazes with that. It felt like Henry's fingerhad lovingly stroked the very core of the young surprise over his action added to the unbridled, embracing sensuality. Her whole being responded with a small tremor and she involuntarily let out a small gasp of primal delight.

Yolanda came to her sober mind early enough to find Henry sitting and leaning in her direction. His hand held her hand. His eyes were filled with concern.

"I haven't done anything to anger you, have I?"

Oh Heavens. She looked into his eyes. They were beautiful and they were INVADING HER INNER BEING! In instinctual self-preservation, she looked down to those marvelous fingers that were holding her hand.

"No, NO! Of course not," Yolanda lied. "I … I just don't know what came over me."

Her heart almost jumped out of her mouth when Henry's second hand joined with the first to wonderfully blanket her hand.

No, no. She was locking her emotions behind the steel door of resolve. Yolanda would give Henry her all after he proved himself worth—meaning, he had to shut Jan Van Dyne out of his life completely.

With a caressing tone, Henry said, "Good, because I'd never, never want to be the one to upset you."

Forget jumping out of her mouth— her heart was ready to rocket out into orbit. Like a thirsty faun drawn to a brook, Yolanda was unconsciously pulled into the previous mistake. She looked into his face.

His eyes— they were melting down her steel door. No, that ultra-disciplined mind that mastered every scholastic challenge wasn't going to let her be so vulnerable. Her pupils turned away— Yolanda was determined not to let him into her protective castle. Yolanda wholly focused on his tender, yet strong hands. Okay, it wasn't a strict fortification around her being … but it certainly would not lead to another embarrassing gasp.

Regrettably, he took his hands away too soon.

Forgetting again the danger, Yolanda's eyes began to follow his fingers as they returned to the wonderful man. Mercifully, halfway along her eyes' unwise travel, a detour appeared. Yolanda caught a wide smile from Lorna.

"Well, hello Tabatha," Henry said as the second overnight guest took her seat on the other side of Yolanda. The white-haired young woman didn't bother to greet the newest arrival to the table.

It takes a sharp, cunning cookie to identify one of her own. Well, Lorna hadn't figured it out right away, but she got it: Yolanda had tipped over someone's canoe, picnic basket and all. And considering how the fake red-head was cheesing all over Dr. Dimples, and how quickly bodies moved around to separate Uma from the good-looker, Lorna pieced everything together.

Any ill-feelings she felt towards Tabby for abandoning her to a room full of fossils disappeared. This Yolanda-chick looked vastly more interesting and a hell of a boatload of fun.

The 17-year-old rubbed her index fingers together in the universal "Naughty, naughty" sign.

The busty babe didn't laugh.

Yolanda was stone-faced, but her anger was mounting. She didn't like Lorna's smile, nor her finger movements.

To make matters worse, the brunette on the other side of Henry brought her hands to the right side of her chest. She looked up to the ceiling in a pinning way while giving a fake tremor to her lips.

What was wrong with the girl?

The food was beginning to be passed around the table. Though Yolanda's face was turned towards the coming serving dish, her eyes were aimed like a double-barrel shotgun towards Lorna.

Lorna then planted her elbows on the table. She bent her wrists so that her chin rested on the back of her fingers. But she wasn't finished. Lorna's eyebrows arched upwards and she crossed her eyes. Facing directly at Yolanda, Lorna dropped her tongue out to the side of her smiling mouth. The top of Lorna's head tilted from left to right to left.

OH, DEAR LORD! Had Lorna discovered what Yolanda's motivation for what she had done? Was she now mocking Yolanda attraction to Henry Pym? Yolanda never gave such a silly, exaggerated facial expression, but she hoped that she didn't look so obviously head-over-heel when Henry's touched her.

The intellectual 19-year-old did a quick side-to-side eye glance. Luckily, everyone at the table was immersed in conversation to notice Lorna's antics.

Yolanda looked at Lorna with a facial signal telling Lorna to stop her nonsense. Instead, the thin-chinned girl pressed her cheeks inward with her index fingers. All the while, her wide eyes fluttered and skipped between Yolanda and Henry. Lorna's mouth rounded to launch a series of air kisses with machine gun rapidity.

WHY, THAT UNGRATEFUL, INSOLENT SNOT! How dare she?! Lorna was lucky that she wasn't mocking the Yolanda of the Soviet Union. The old Yolanda had a devastating right cross that even frightened the boys. The old Yolanda would have Lorna recovering her teeth the next morning from the toilet bowl when she crapped then out.

But that was a soooo different girl in a soooo far-removed realm. Not that she had quickly left behind old habits. In her early US years, those university campus tin horn Marxists found out what a fire brand she was when they tried to suppress her opposing opinion. But today she was calmer … sophisticated. As a sophisticated person, she knew how to handle those who ridicule. Yolanda would show Lorna that the little mocking pig-sweat could not get to her.

Like a light house, Yolanda illuminated a big, unbothered smile to her mocker. The blank expression on the other side of the table meant that the older teen had staggered the younger.

The annoying girl relaxed her face long enough to pass on the green beans and accept the dish with sweet yam. Lorna then looked up again. Lorna lifted one side of her upper lip in disgust and shook her head slightly. This expression of distain was an admission that younger female's arsenal was spent—it was the last mock of the fallen.

Just to rub it in, Yolanda tilted her head back and faked a body shake that depicted a suppressed laugh. Yes ma'am, that really burned Lorna.

With her foe vanquished, Yolanda turned to more important matters. Forgetting her earlier embarrassment, she freely talked with the dreamboat at her left. There were inventions, product testing, news conferences, scheduling of renewed Spanish lessons, and other things to discuss.

After a while, Yolanda concluded that Henry was fearing that he was excluding Tabby and Lorna. The handsome intellectual asked the girls if they were interested in a trip to Coney Island, and later the World's Fair. Lorna was cool, but Yolanda saw her interest pique. Tabby was less reserved. She was ready to go even at that moment.

Lorna tried one more salvo—as lame as it was. With her head tilted forward, and her brows raised she asked, 'I would hope that the Doc here would get some help chaperoning us. Do you think that Uma - "

Yolanda interrupted, "Mrs. Wasluski will no doubt, be pre-occupied looking for an apartment for her children and herself. She cannot stay with her parents for very long. She said that to us in the living room, remember?'

"Oh, then Miss Van—"

"As much as you may like Miss Van Dyne, she is actively trying to establish a career. I don't think that she would be warm to the idea of spending a day away from her pursuit….. But I could be wrong."

Now it was Yolanda's turn to tilt her head forward. "Why don't you ask her? I'll try to encourage her to join you."

Yolanda knew that the teen couldn't stand Jan's presence anymore that than she could. And it was clear that Lorna took it as an I- dare-you challenge.

They locked eyes. Lorna leaned her upper body forward and rolled one of her cheeks to give a smirk.

"Well, Miss Vanko, I guess that leaves you."

Yolanda also leaned forward. With a fake smile and unblinking eyes, she responded, "I wouldn't miss the pleasure for all the money in the world."

Both females returned to an upright posture. Yolanda gave a side glance to find Henry looking dumfounded. Yolanda decided that before he asks what had just transpired between the two females, it was time to begin another conversation.

The dining area was alive with the different voices mixing in undiscernible noise.

Suddenly the room exploded with dead silence. Yolanda couldn't help but follow Lorna's eyes to the source that seemingly robbed the all the guests of their mouths.

Yolanda knew the perfect "Queen's English", but she also picked up a lot of American-ize. Yolanda liked the less impenitent tonality of distain that came from American phraseology when offended. And so …

When Yolanda's eyes finally reached the doorway, all she could say to herself was, "Oh, yeah?!"

For what could have been the first time in her life, Erica Collingsworth was speechless. She couldn't believe it.

In their nearly five year marriage, Erica had appreciated her husband's tightrope walking when it came to pleasing her and his mother Agnes— the witch who had only one son. Honestly, Erica could not guarantee that she, herself, wouldn't be so possessive if she had only one boy.

Still, there were times when she had sharply disagreed when he acquiesced to his mother. In these isolated instances, she had challenged his courage to be a man— it was horrible of her to do, but it was true.

On this early evening, Barry and Erica were sitting on his hospital bed with a portable table between them. It was meant for food serving, but now it was a card table.

In the anticipated time, Cruella DeVile stepped into the hospital room to visits her son. The couple expected the disagreeable woman to give Erica a verbal jab for some stupid thing or another. Maybe Agony Agnes would say that Erica should sit on a chair like a civilized person, maybe something else.

When it appeared that Agnes was about to haul off, Barry stopped her.

"Mom, before you say anything, I have something to say."

This caught both women by surprise.

"Mom. Please sit down."

Oh good, Erica thought. The queen of aggravators was going to sit on the booby trapped brown chair. That lamp on the nightstand was going to her lap companion in a second. To Erica's frustration, the woman whose looks could curdle milk froze on the spot.

"Mom, NOW!"

Agnes replied coldly, "I am no dog that can be ordered around." Well, the ordering around— okay. But Erica disagreed on that first claim.

The older Mrs. Collingsworth continued, "I can stand perfectly."

Barry stretched his arms towards his mother, but the stubborn woman remained still.

"Okay then, mom. Let ne first remind you that you have said repeatedly that no other son was as devoted as I am to you."

Erica instructed herself, "Don't puke, girl."

"I love you, mom. You love me. It is in the name of that love that I want you to begin respecting the woman I married. For whatever reason you can't see her as I see her. No one will deny you the right to your judgments.

"On the other hand, I married her because I saw her as the most wonderful, loveliest girl in the world … I still do.

"It took spending a night here, without her, to reinforce that realization. It hit me like a sledge hammer to the head. Would you believe I woke up twice and I had to fight the urge to call her and wake her just to hear her voice?

Something in the center of Erica was sparkling

"I have asked you nicely plenty of times. Today I'm finished asking. Mom, no more words about how I could have married this one or the other. I'm madly in love with Erica—there could never be another for me. And I won't have you tearing into her ever again."

If there was a contest on whose mouth could drop to the floor quickest, Erica and Agnes would have had to rely on a finish line photo to see who had won.

"All my life you've wanted the best for me, mom. Well here she is—the girl of my dreams."

Hearing Barry's next words, Erica understood that her hubby chose to coddle her before she threw up defenses or stormed out. "I'm the luckiest guy in the world for having you as my mom. You cheered me on in Spelling Bees and Little League.

"Well, if you've ever celebrated any of my accomplishments this one should be at the top of the list … I married Erica. The top prize of all prizes. And I remain madly and happily in love with the most gorgeous, most incredible wife in the universe."

The younger Mrs. Collingsworth felt her head spinning.

"Be happy for me. Be happy for yourself to see that you raised a snot-nosed little boy to become a wise man …. wise enough to see that he found the rarest of gems the first time he set eyes on her. And I snatched her for myself.

"And not only can I not be with anyone else, but on the day that we exchanged vows, I became one with her. So when you lash out at her, you have to realize that you're lashing out at me. You might as well be slapping me across the face. But now Erica and I won't be punching bags anymore."

Dear Lord, if this old bat wasn't in the room. Erica would have stripped him naked, jumped on top of him and rewarded him for his declarations.

Barry got to his feet and held his mother.

"Mom, the first woman who cared and love me should never degrade the woman who is currently doing the same. Appreciate her. From now on you will think and speak encouraging things about her."

He sat again and then added, "Besides, I don't want our children to think of their wonderful grandmother as a grouch."

What? How did he…? No, of course he didn't know. Erica herself didn't know the results and Barry had no idea that she was being tested for pregnancy.

Barry took his mother's hands in his left hand. Barry brought Agnes closer to Erica. His free arm stretched behind Erica to bring his wife to himself.

"Mom..?" Barry ventured. The old woman nodded stiffly. She then asked if her son was finished. His soft "yes" brushed both women's ears.

Breaking through the silence, the phone rang. Barry rose up. He kissed his mother on the forehead, before reaching over to answer it. Agnes gave Erica a less chilly look. The older woman looked away and let out a small sigh.

It would have probably cracked her face to smile at her daughter-in-law, so Erica took the expression as a signed peace treaty extended to her from a defeated foe.

Erica could not resist the spoils of victory. Barry had raised the phone's receiver two thirds of the way to his ear when Erica stopped his hand's ascension. She sprung off the bed.

Forgetting that they weren't alone, she gave him the most heart-felt, lingering, loving kiss she had given him in months. What could he do, but wrap his arms around her and respond? HE HAD BETTER!

From the middle of her back came the words, "Hello, hello."

"I'll be right with you," Barry said without taking his eyes off of his beloved. The phone disappeared behind the statuesque woman as fast as it came up in front of her. And then he began another torchy smooch.

Eventually, they were forehead-to-forehead, nose tip-to-nose tip.

"I hope you haven't hung up on me," the voice on the phone said.

"Maybe in a minute," Erica giggled. OOOO MY. There was something promisingly naughty that she felt against her. His arousal was churning her excitement.

"Yeah," she said with a laugh. "We're hanging u-" Erica stopped as from the corner of her eye, there came the reminder that someone was watching.

"You better answer, sweetheart," the suddenly collected Erica told her husband. Her eyes darted to the left to say "look over there."

Barry turned to his mother and smiled uncomfortably.

"Hello? Oh Wally. Thanks for calling, What a sec, okay?"

Barry requested that Erica go home and rest. Her protest was quieted with a quick kiss and his insistence.

All right, then. Tomorrow would be another day for whoopee. Erica finally greeted their friend from the State Department. Erica yelled, "Hi Wally. 'Bye, Wally."

Erica got her things together and for the first time in a long time HONESTLY wished her mother-in-law a good night. Why not? Erica was now the undisputed Queen in Barry's life and Agnes seemed to have acknowledged the end of the shared throne era.

"Excuse me," Agnes said as she turned towards the bathroom. Yeah, Erica thought. He surprised the sh- t out of me, too.

Erica gave Barry a peck on the lips and waved to her man. That brilliant smile from Erica brought a devilish smile on his face.

"Tomorrow," he said wickedly. The door had not fully closed behind her when Erica remembered the booby traps that she had set for her now fallen foe.

Erica rushed in and she made a hand motion that told Barry to continue his conversation with the well-wisher.

She moved quickly as her husband was distracted on the phone. The victor of Barry's heart pretended to swat at invisible flies. The truth was that two of her swipes snapped off the brown thread that was tied covertly to the brown chair's arm rest and lamp. She disposed of the plastic cup that was supposed to have dripped soda on Agnes' lap. Erica wiped the insides of one of Agnes' slipper wherein Erica had smeared tooth paste.

There, she finished. And her husband and her mother-in-law were clueless as to the traps that she had set for the old wit—eh, the former witch.

Erica blew Barry an air-kiss and proceeded to close the door. Again, she stopped. Hmmm ….. She got everything, right? Nothing was forgotten.

Suddenly, she heard a faint pop and Agnes shrieking. Oh yeah—the blast caps on the floor of the bathroom.

Peter wasn't home a half hour when his girl, Betty Brant, called him.

With few exceptions, Peter had always loved these impromptu calls from Betty. Unfortunately, this was going to be one of those exception.

Peter had the phone in one hand. He looked up at the ceiling as his spread-out fingers, shook inches above his face.

Why is this crap being stirred up again? Yesterday, Daily Bugle Editor J. Jonah Jameson, being too cheap to pay a staff writer Sunday pay, took Betty (who was a decent writer, herself) to the pier to cover the arrival of Kraven, the hunter. Jameson dragged Peter along for photographs.

Meanwhile, Liz Allen had called the house and Aunt May told her where to find her nephew. Liz didn't know that the dim-witted, possessive jock, Flash Thompson was following her. Bing-Bang-Boom. Liz appears to make a pass at Peter in front of Betty. Flash jumps out of nowhere to accuse Liz and Peter of sneaking around together.

In one wonderful late morning, Peter lost his job for failing to take pictures and Betty for not speaking quick enough to put Liz and Flash in their places.

That night, though, he called Betty to explain that Liz' sudden interest in him probably came when Liz figured out that in the real world, a brainy guy could make way more money than a dumb muscle bound jock. Peter told his beloved that he wasn't going to be Liz' nor anyone's tool.

He also explained that he hadn't forgotten the times when she had joined her then-steady, Flash, to ridiculed him in front of a crowd. Hearing students' laughter echoing in the halls wasn't fun.

Finally, and most importantly, his heart belonged to Betty—no ifs, ands, or buts about that.

So … the situation was settled, right? Good Lord, will he ever understand a woman?

Aunt May was in the kitchen bringing the food out to the dining room. He was the only soul in the living room, but he was still within hearing distance of his beloved aunt. That was not going to happen. The last two times that she overheard Peter and Betty squabble, Aunt May tried to push of on him Anna Watson's niece …. eh, Mary Jean? Maggie Jane? Whatever— Peter wasn't interested.

"I'm taking this upstairs," he shouted to his aunt.

"All right dear. I'll hang up when you call down to me."

Seconds later, the teen had disconnected the second floor hallway phone from the jack. He connected the unit to the jack under his nightstand.

Man, with the extra money he made, Peter was going to get a private line and his own phone.

After he called to his aunt downstairs, he closed his bedroom door. His stomach was beginning to make that familiar knotting squeeze.

"I don't understand, Betty," the youth said in exasperation. "I thought this was all settled. I thought that I made it clear that I knew nothing about Liz following me to the docks."

"I know," Betty replied. "But I can't get the picture out of my head. She was making a fuss over you, putting her hands on your chest. And you seemed to …."

"I didn't initiate it. And if you remember, I took a few steps back when she touched me."

"After you remembered that I was there."

"WHAT?!"

"How long was her hands on you? Do you suddenly have amnesia?"

"I was surprised by her behavior, Betty. Did you want me to grab her hands and throw them to the sides? I'm glad I didn't. You would probably say that I grabbed her hands because I had the hots for her and I only threw them off because I rememberrrred that you were there."

Hold on there, Pete. Let's lower the volume, he told himself. This conversation was her call for reassurance. Still, this wasn't the first time she was being difficult and the youth had his own insecurities. Why would she consistently throw a wrench into the works when their relationship was moving forward? Betty was pretty and other guys would have tried approaching her. What if she was interested in someone else and she didn't want to come out and say it?

No, he mustn't think that.

"Betty you're the only girl for me. If I wanted Liz would I be pleading for you to understand that I only have eyes for you?"

The voice over the phone moaned. " Peter… Peter. I want to believe that. But I know guys prefer pretty blondes."

"I prefer a lovely brunette who doesn't see that I want only her."

"And when I saw you together … I'm older, while Liz is your age and—"

"And acts like a seven-year-old. Nope, I want to cuddle with an old hag whose twice my age."

There was a momentary silence. Then Peter was knocked for a loop.

Betty replied angrily, "Do you have any idea how you sound to me? I am showing you how I hurt, how I fear … and all you can do is mock me?"

"No, wait Betty."

"Old hag?! Do you hear your coarse, insensitive, uncaring, inconsiderate self, Mr. Parker?"

It was Betty's turn to regret her outburst. But alas, it was too late. Peter, being wounded, lashed back.

"Insensitive?" he replied with the same amount of rage. "I have put up with your B.S. for so long and I'm insensitive?

"Why don't you stop you B.S. and tell me you want to break up. You don't have to worry about me. I can do just fine with someone who wasn't a deceptive witch like you. Better, I'd say."

Oh Lord, did he just say that? Well, like most heated request to make sense of relationship difficulties, heated emotions corrupted the talk. The speaker's words come out wrong. The hearer hears only an insult. The hurt hearer then launches a defensive attack. Back and forth it goes. Each attack escalated in wall-building and bomb-throwing. By the time she slammed the phone down on him Peter was relieved. Well, not entirely.

He muttered crazily for minutes as he walked around his room in circles. He should have zinged Betty with this. He should have come back at her with that.

Aww, forget it. Peter was a good boyfriend who deserved better than that nut-job.

Oh man— you wait! He was going to find someone who wasn't a head-case. She'll see. She'll be sorry. Screw that Betty. Yeah— that NUT-JOB, Betty!

Del used the intercom to call Jan's bedroom and inform her that dinner was served. The last of Miss Van Dyne's eyeliner had been applied when she turned coldly from her vanity table to the voice unit on the wall.

The mere sound of Del's voice brought back flashbacks and anger. Jan hadn't forgotten how uncooperative the old bat was when the younger woman wanted to know where Hank was hours ago. Because of that foolish woman's evasiveness, Jan did not immediately know that he was in possibly the battle of his life. Jan was convinced that if she had joined her Hunk-a-bundle at the outset of the struggle, the danger would not have been as intense.

Jan was going to have a long talk with the old turd—whatever the hell is her problem with Jan, Del's diversions from truth could have cost Hank his life.

That was for later. Right now Jan was concerned with taking a last look of her appearance. Oh yes, she was hot stuff, if she said so herself.

Still, Jan had no intention of leaving her room before a certain time. During the half hour, or so, that the guests were chit-chatting, her door was ajar just enough to hear the voices from the living room down stairs. She knew that when they lowered in volume, they would be entering the dining area. Then all she had to do was wait the appropriate minutes for everyone to take their seats and then she's make her entrance, …. and bowl them over.

Why not? In addition to acknowledging the obvious— she was a knock out— this was also her home. If she flaunted her attractiveness in public, surely this was a more fitting venue.

All right— she had waited long enough. Two quick sprays of a perfume that had a hint of honey suckle—Hank's favorite—and it was time for her grand entrance.

The four of the elevators in the penthouse were shared by the other occupants of the Kurtzburg Building. Albeit, the other people had no access to these top floors, the odors that they left behind did. Jan would not chance a smoker's scent to cling onto her. Therefore Jan took the wall-hugging stairs. Besides, there three almost full-lengthen mirrors lining the stair's wall. She could check herself out in each of them.

The equally spaced mirrors confirmed the pre-mentioned obvious: the alluring Janet Van Dyne was a sight of splendor. The last reflection that she enjoyed of herself instilled a further strengthening of a confidence that really needed no boost, at all.

She wore stylish black high heels. Jan had on a pair of tight, form-fitting black slacks made of silk—the material of Oriental goddesses. The reflected light on the silk was not overpowering, but it helped accent her slender, muscular, dancer's thigh and her curve of her firm derriere.

That would have been enough to race any man's heart, Jan was sure. But she hadn't stop there.

The skilled head-turner knew about the male mind. That is why in this non-formal setting, she wore a blouse and a brassier that were similar to her skin color. They were light cream. They worked great together in flashing an al naturale look from a distance ... What could possibly be a more effective attention-getter?

The blouse was sheer, but only enough for men to make out her sensual upper body underneath. Wearing the same toned brassiere was essential for the up close appearance. The thought that men would strain their eyes in trying to see if she was bra-less— and consequently allow them to enjoy an extra attraction— brought a great satisfaction to her.

There were a series of small white flowers on the outer side of her blouse's lapel. It was unimportant if they couldn't be made out perfectly. If they only seemed like a white line, they had severed their purpose in forming an arrow pointing to the cleavage that was generously enhanced by the nearly invisible push-up bra on the "B" size that nature gave her.

Oh yes, at a distance, she could stop the show. At close up, she could cause eye-strain.

Jan loved knowing that when men looked at her, they were left with embarrassing bulges in their pants, but she would not cross a certain line. Jan wasn't about to unveil any scandalous detail. She didn't want Hank to get ticked off again.

The expert male-manipulate had just the right make-up, a modest necklace, and the absence of wrist and finger jewelry to balanced out her magnificence. This would direct all eyes to the areas that she wanted them to go.

In truth, she was only focused on fanning Hank's lust, but if her fantastic features ensnared other male eyes (as she knew they would) …. Ahhh, what could she say? Stealing the other men's attention had always been a mood enlightener on slow days when she had to and rely on memories to entertain herself. Still, these stares were still mere inessential side notes to the great music score.

Jan made it to the first floor. She didn't have to rehearse her swaying walk— her hips were well trained in speaking for the seductress. But she wanted to do it. It was a sort of a one woman military parade showing her victorious armed forces— Jan had plenty for show and to use.

She got to the doorway of the dining room with a clear plan to appear oblivious to her admirers. The eye-catching woman looked forward, in the direction of the large window at the other end of the dining room. The bottom of her eyes, giving her a peripheral assessment, spotted Hank in his usual seat… so handsome, so predictable. She stayed there waiting until they noticed her.

They did—every conversation stopped. Well, almost every. One female voice continued, but it was probably a woman marveling at Jan's perfection. Miss Van Dyne gave a small welcoming smile as her eyes quickly swept along the faces of people captivated by her beauty.

After a nod and a sultry hello, Jan proceeded to her throne situated next to Hank. Jan was careful not to lift her eyes above the floor in front of her. That gave her a particular air of inapproachability that usually stirred more desire from males.

Oh yes, she told herself. Jan, ol' gal, you leave the men with their tongues out and the women with speechless, jealous awe. You own the -WHAT?!

This was unbelievable! The Russian Rat was sitting on her seat. It was the bitch's voice that Jan had heard when all others stopped. She was leaning in on Jan's man and cozying up to him.

The bitch was more than just trespassing. This morning she had tried to replace Jan as Hank's crime-fighting partner, and now she thinks that she can unseat her in the hierarchy within the penthouse? OHHH NO!

For his stupid part, Hank wore this big idiotic smile. He briefly turned to Jan for a quick waive and then redirected his attention back to the sewer rat.

That seat at his right was Jan's. His loooone partner is Jan. And if she was ticked-off at Yolanda, she was more out-of-her-mind furious at Hank for allow anything like this to happen.

Ohhhh, he was going to pay. They were BOTH going to pay.

Okay, she calmed herself. No need to lose the cool, in control allure that she started with. Jan would teach the Soviet Skunk who the real woman of the house is.

Before long, Jan could easily take Hank's attention away—she was the master at manipulating of her man. Jan would just sit on the other side of him and— NO, THIS JUST WASN'T HAPPENING!

The thin-chinned juvenile delinquent, Lorna, was sitting on Hank's left.

Darkness almost completely covered the sky and Aunt May was in bed. Peter could get some air and hopefully some action to forget his trouble—i.e. one Betty Brant.

Long ago, he had forsaken the self-scrutinizing of the sanity of a guy who actually looked for night time perils to forget his problems. If facing off dangerous super powered characters and looking down at the wrong end of a gun was his therapy, well, it was what it was.

He was in full costume when he put upon his noggin the headset that Dr. Pym awarded him. From behind a curtain, Peter focused his spider-senses towards the outside environment to detect potential witnesses. No sensations. He pushed the sliding insect screen to the right and allowed himself enough room to squeeze out of the window.

In quick time, he traveled from Forest Hills, Queens to the 59th Street Bridge.

Will he ever pass that bridge without thinking about that Wasp- and-Captain America shocker? And, man oh man, did he actually come away from that scene thankful that he had Betty? Well, the big guy and the Wasp were together again, so probably Peter will soon forget that treacherous embrace. Betty, on the other hand, will take a lot longer… but HE'LL FORGET HER, TOO!

Staying on the east side, Spider-man assumed his familiar route towards southern Manhattan. At Battery Park he reversed himself to zigzag between the center and west side streets on his northern trip to South Bronx.

Man, this was the life. The night air. The racing through the city. He was faster than the subway, faster than any taxi. He was faster than a speeding bul—whoa. That was a little too much, he thought. There was no big red "S" on his chest.

And even if that comic book character was real, Peter doubted that he would ever have as much fun flying as the teen had traveling this way.

It was when he reached the twenties—the diamond district— that his headphone picked up a police bulletin calling for available police to collect at 62th Street and Third Avenue. Burglars had taken a store manager captive when the hoods noticed that he had triggered a silent alarm.

"Okaaaay," Peter said to himself. "Time to—"

A shot rang out from a nearby roof. What was that saying about a bird in the hand as opposed to reaching for birds inside of a bush? Peter was going to investigate this before high-tailing it north.

He moved towards the area where he perceived that the gun went off. Sure enough, his trusty spider-senses sparkled faint warnings into his head. He continued in that direction and the tingling became stronger.

He hopped onto the top of one of a higher buildings to look down on scenario taking place on a lower roof. Spider-man saw eight men—five with guns. They had four large satchels, and one security guard on the floor. The uniformed old fellow was bound and blind-folded.

The teen hero placed his headset on the corner wall of the higher roof on which he stood. He sprayed enough webbing on it so that even a mule could not pull the head gear free from its place.

Up there he was beyond traffic noise. Spider-man vaguely heard the crooks arguing about who fired the mysterious gun. Two others argued as to why they had brought the watchman up to the roof with them.

One replied, "'Cuz my form-a motherf- - king boss fired me so dat he could hire dis ancien' piece of sh – t …. his father-in-law."

"So what?" the second man asked.

"So I figure I'd give him an' da whole family some'in ta cry about."

"You plan on throwin' him off the roof, you a - - hole?"

"Dat would be something, huh?"