To Play The Fool
Chapter One
Mrs. Yvonne Miller sat behind her great mahogany desk, flipping through a small set of papers in a folder. I sat in front of her, careful to keep my face cheerful, yet professional. She went through my qualifications quickly, definitely having interviewed for this position several times before. She was looking for something specific, though I could not say what exactly. Her ring finger had an indentation where a ring should have been; she was most likely married for quite a while and only recently divorced. I could tell from her hands that she had been an administrative assistant for years, kept up a professional front, but had a streak of rebellion by painting her nails in sparkling gold. She wore sensible shoes, and her socks were probably patterned to match the season, not her suit. She had a diamond pin of some sort on her lapel, meaning she had given several years to Wayne Enterprises and was proud of it. From her demeanor, she wasn't just head of this office, but she was given a special freedom because she could run the place so well.
"Jenny Harkness," she read aloud from my résumé. "Why does that name sound so familiar?"
"Probably because of my sister," I replied. "It's not a big deal."
"Oh? What did she do?" She squinted at the paper in confusion, trying to remember why Harkness was so significant.
"Nothing really. She just didn't exist for two weeks."
"Oh! You're Jacqueline's sister," she said like she knew her personally.
The truth was annoying sometimes. Over three years had passed since those horrible two weeks, and hardly anyone who met me could avoid bringing it up. They always had the same questions too. I bit my tongue and made sure my smile was still in place.
"Has she gotten her memory back yet?" she asked. Ah, yes. The doctors diagnosed her with some sort of temporary amnesia that hadn't worn off yet. It probably should have by now.
"She hasn't said a word about it. As far as I know, she hasn't."
"It must have been a terrible time for your family. How did you handle it?" It was always the same question, but re-phrased each time.
"How any one handles a crisis, I think. I had to go at it head-on. I helped comb the neighborhood for clues. I went door-to-door asking our neighbors for tips. But mostly, I had to sit and wait it out."
"What was it like when she walked through your front door? It must have been a miracle to see her."
That's the part that most people had trouble with. The police usually found missing people. Our missing person came straight home. Truth be told, right at that moment, I was so mad at her, I could have skinned her alive. However, I needed to be professional for right now, so I told her what she wanted to hear. "It was a huge relief to know that she was alive and well. It was actually Mom that needed the medical attention. She fainted as soon as she saw Jackie."
"And how is your sister doing now?"
I'd have to stop this line of questioning in its tracks. I was here for a job interview, not a feature story for the Gotham Chronicle. "Well, as soon as she came home, she went right back to school, graduated, and announced she was going to travel the world. Last I heard, she was in Egypt. As far as my family is concerned, the whole incident is a closed chapter in our lives that we'd much rather not re-read."
"Of course. I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry. Now, I want to know why you want to work at Wayne Enterprises."
"Well, I like the corporate atmosphere and keeping everything in order. I like the direction Wayne Enterprises is going in, especially in the technology you're developing. I was recently let go from a smaller company, Litetech, which went under. We were one of companies Wayne Enterprises bought supplies from, and I was referred here."
"Yes, I see. They gave you quite the glowing review," she said, lifting up one of the papers in her folder. Rightly so. I was probably one of the only people keeping that company alive. I'm still not sure why I stayed for so long. Oh, right. I had to pay for school.
Jackie's disappearance had thrown a spanner into my plans. I was all set to graduate a year ago, but since I had to drop out right in the middle of the semester, I lost my scholarship and my schedule was set back. I had to work full time so I could go to school in the evenings. Just one more semester, and I would have my degree in Chemistry from Gotham City College. Go GCC Vigilantes.
"Now, you're still in school, correct? Will working here interfere with your class schedule?"
"No. I'm taking a couple evening classes and an online class, and I'm careful to keep school from interfering with work."
"Good, but don't drop out on account of us. We want to support your education too."
"I'll be graduating after this semester. Then I'm all yours, so there's nothing to worry about."
"You may know that we have let four assistants go in the last year and a half. Working under Mr. Wayne isn't going to be like it was in Litetech. What makes you think you have what it takes to last longer than six months?"
"I'm not afraid of a challenge. I was at the head of three separate searches for my sister at a time when I just wanted to throw my hands in the air and scream for all I was worth. After that, I knew that there wasn't anything I couldn't handle." Alright, I'm not above using Jackie's disappearance to score pity points. I needed this job. Besides, it was true.
"The other girls thought that too, but they found that Mr. Wayne was a bit more persistent than they first thought."
"How do you mean?" In hindsight, this was probably a ridiculous question. Everyone who lived in Gotham for a few weeks got to know Bruce Wayne's eccentricities. Either he kept asking them out and they kept turning him down, or it was the other way around. Judging by the turnover rate and the fact I hadn't heard otherwise, I would say it was the latter option.
"It doesn't matter. Well, Ms. Harkness, it was good to meet you," she said, standing up and extending her hand. I did likewise. "We'll give you a call in a few days to let you know if you've got the job."
"Thank you, Mrs. Miller. I look forward to hearing from you, and I would really enjoy working for Wayne Enterprises." And on that note, the interview was concluded.
I walked out of the office feeling very confident. One of the interns passed me and wished me luck with my job hunt. The others in the office ignored me as I made my way out of Wayne Enterprises, especially the girls. I was just another interviewee that probably wouldn't be coming back. Also, I think the fact that I happen to be blonde had something to do with their doubts of my intelligence. I managed to sneak a glance towards the empty desk that sat outside Mr. Wayne's office. It was well lit by the windows behind it. The entire city lay stretched behind whoever sat at that desk, giving them a sense of power. The desk itself was distinctly lacking in anyone's personal touches and had a stack of mail sitting in the middle. Even while Mr. Wayne was missing an administrative assistant, the work didn't stop.
I liked how I could feel a buzz of energy emanating from everything in the building. There was a sense of urgency in everything. That feel of being on the edge of tomorrow's technology was a part of every aspect of its development, even the paperwork.
I managed to get an elevator going down before the lunch crowd left. Even still, it was packed. I made small talk with the people that would make eye contact with me, but most of them got off on a floor well before mine.
The ground floor was possibly more impressive than the highest offices of Wayne Tower. The lobby had a glass front and the ceiling stretched up seven floors high. There were exposed hallways, like an entire section of the building had been cut away so visitors could see the inner workings of Wayne Enterprises. In the lobby, there was a small reflecting pond so full of pennies and nickels that it had gone from obsidian to a dull copper glint. It was all very welcoming.
Whatever the outcome of my interview, I felt very lucky to have seen Wayne Tower as close as I had today.
Three days later, Mrs. Miller called, letting me know that Wayne Enterprises had decided to hire me and I would be starting on Monday.
"Got the job," I announced to my friend Imogen Watson as I pocketed my phone. "I start next week."
"Really? That's great!" she said, pulling my hair back so she could work with it. "But I thought they were looking for someone with experience."
"I do have experience."
"Not that kind," she said with a knowing smirk.
Imogen started combing through my hair so she could style it. I've had a little agreement with her since we met at Gotham City College five years ago as freshmen. I allow her to do whatever she wants to my hair, and I get to pump her for any information she gleans from her clients. This may seem like a one-sided deal, but keep in mind that I hate letting people touch my hair – even people I know especially well. But Imogen works at a spa that all the wealthy men and women of Gotham visit from time to time. She is privy to all the dirt that even the tabloids can't dig up, so I let her play with my hair, style it, cut it, and practice on it whenever she feels like.
You may be asking why I need all this dirt on Gotham's elite. It's for no specific nefarious purpose. I just like knowing that if any of them tried to overtake Gotham City, then I would have some information to put them back in their place. They're powerful enough already. Plus, it gives me a false sense of control that I thoroughly enjoy having.
"I wish I could have hair like yours," Imogen sighed. Again. That was another reason Imogen was fine with doing my hair for free. She was jealous. She was born with thin, dishwater-colored hair that refused to grow longer than her shoulders. Despite all appearances to the contrary, Imogen was an excellent hair stylist. She just couldn't use her skills on herself.
Imogen was also the reason I didn't chop off my long, golden blonde hair as soon as I got to college. We shared an apartment my freshman year and she forbade me to let any scissors go near my head, so long as they were hers. I don't know why we hit it off. I couldn't care less about hairstyles, and she worked in a hair salon to pay for her business degree. She wasn't exactly quick or clever, but she was headstrong and knew how to keep people and inventory in line. Right after graduating, she was running the Spa de Soleil on her own. It's a place that appeals to both business-men and socialites, the ruling classes of Gotham.
"Any requests?" she asked about my hair.
"What do you have on Bruce Wayne?"
She was confused. "That's an easy one. I don't think there's anything I can tell you that you don't know. He doesn't visit Soleil, so I don't have anything straight from his mouth."
"I can use rumors."
Imogen decided to give me loose curls in celebration of my gainful employment. "Mrs. Clark told me that Bruce bought a national park last month so he could build an amusement park, but since she couldn't name which park it was, I think that it was probably something smaller."
I shook my head, which was difficult with Imogen having a solid hold on my hair. "It was a nature preserve just outside of Gotham. I probably should have mentioned that I thought it was a nice charitable gesture of Mr. Wayne's to Mrs. Miller."
"You've already got the job, remember? You don't need to keep sucking up."
"It's true, though. I found it buried in the second section of the Gotham Chronicle, and even then I had to do some digging to find out it was Bruce Wayne that personally sponsored it."
"Why do you need me to tell you this if you already know?"
"Because I need the underhanded stuff. The things that aren't going to make it to the papers as easily."
"Hm … Laura Walker may have mentioned a few things about him, but she was texting the entire time I was trying to do her hair, so I'm not sure what version of the story I got. I know they were going out for a week or two, which gave little Hotshot enough fame to inflate her ego even more than it should have. She said he was cheating on her with some other girl, which means that she doesn't want to admit that they broke up several months ago."
"What does Laura Walker do?" I couldn't help but wonder.
"I think she's dabbled in modeling, but mostly, she's famous for being famous. And the fact that her parents are old money might have something to do with it."
"Huh. Well, I thought Bruce might have a girlfriend. I managed to spot a bouquet of daisies in his office that he was meaning to give away, and I might have smelled a touch of perfume that didn't belong to any of the girls at Wayne Enterprises."
"How do you know that?"
"Well, half of them wouldn't wear perfume of any kind, and the rest wouldn't have any reason to step foot in his office long enough to leave the scent around."
"Any clues telling you who she is?"
"No, but I expect I'll find out. You're not thinking that there could possibly be any romantic interest between Mr. Wayne and I, are you?"
"Well, you never know. And he is kind of Gotham's Playboy."
"It's a job, Imogen. Nothing more to it."
She sighed and got her curlers. "Whatever you say, Jenny."