To Play the Fool

Chapter Five

I walked into work slightly later than usual–9:07 instead of 8:55–but I had a good reason for it. And it wasn't like Mr. Wayne would be in before noon, I reasoned. Not that it made me feel any better.

So it figured that as soon as I made it to my desk, Mr. Wayne was already in his office waiting for me. He came out right when I was about to sit down. "Jenny! You're late."

I eased myself into my chair very, very slowly. "Hardly. You're early." I clutched my ribs when I made it down. They didn't take kindly to movement like walking or breathing after I broke them. Last night was rough.

"Are you alright?" said Mr. Wayne. I couldn't hide it that well.

"I'm fine. I had ... softball practice last night. It didn't go so well." Man, it hurt to talk.

"What happened?"

"I got hit by a softball - twice - in the ribs. The pitcher apologized, but it was mostly my fault." I sighed. "Man, does he have a strong arm."

I could see Mr. Wayne's brows furrow in concern, but there was no need to be alarmed. "You can take the day off if you're not feeling well."

"Mr. Wayne, I'm fine. There's not a whole lot to do here anyway. And besides, it looks bad if I take a sick day after only two weeks of working here."

"Really, if you need to-"

"I don't. Mr. Wayne, not to be rude, but why are you here?"

"I own this company?"

"Yes, but you don't have anything to do until 1. Is there something I need to know?"

He shook his head and shrugged. "Nope." He started for his office, but stopped and turned back to me. "Wait, yes. I'm having a housewarming party tomorrow and I want you to be there."

I was floored by this invitation and there was no way it didn't show in my expression. A Wayne Party. A Wayne Party. "I have no idea what to say."

"Say yes."

"Wasn't your house rebuilt two years ago?"

"Well, yeah," he replied hesitantly. "Doesn't mean I can't have more than one, or two, housewarmings. Just tell me you're coming."

"Why do you want me there so bad?"

"It's handy to have a secretary at these things. I always end up spending a lot of money on spontaneous business transactions, and I don't want to deal with the fine print. Why? Don't you like parties?"

"I don't like people. Yes, I'll go. I'll be there."

"Perfect! Thank you. The party starts at 8." He went back to his office with a bit of a spring in his step, and I was left wondering where in the world I was going to get a dress on this short of notice.

I admit, I left work early, but that was because Mr. Wayne could see how much pain I was in even though I tried my best to hide it. I've never cracked any ribs before in my life, and I was beginning to understand why the people in the emergency room gave me such sympathetic glances last night. Anyway, he gave me enough time to shop for a suitable gown, experience a minor panic attack at the prices, and have a sudden craving for a pain-killer addiction, all within three hours. Then I enlisted some help in the form of Imogen who promised to do my hair and help with my dress shopping, and then went home to do some much needed homework for a lab on Saturday. By the time I drove back home, I was so distracted that I didn't even care that some jerk with a shiny black and red motorcycle had stolen my parking space.

I was going to a Wayne party tomorrow.

"You look gorgeous! I feel like a fairy godmother!" said Imogen, spinning me around.

"I feel like I'm going to suffocate," I moaned. The two of us decided on a navy blue evening gown with a pleated bodice and some beaded flowers at the waist, and with it I wore dark blue, round toe pumps that were probably the most comfortable part of the entire ensemble. Fancy enough for a party, but serious enough for my me. Of course, it was tighter than a corset so it wouldn't slide off me, which made my still-sore ribs complain, and there was an incredible amount of tape helping to hold it up because I wasn't as well endowed as the makers of the dress thought I would be. "I have to find a new gym."

"What you need to do is be more careful at softball practice. You had to pick the one with the tricky zipper, didn't you."

"It's the only one I can breathe in."

"Which reminds me." Imogen ran to my medicine cabinet and retrieved the bottle of Tylenol. "Don't forget this."

I threw it in my clutch and wrapped her in a hug. "What would I do without you?"

"I shudder to think what you would have done to your hair." She had done an amazing job on such short notice. I think she was waiting for this moment for years, when she could just go all out. The best I can describe it is that it involved a lot of curling and a couple cans of hairspray. In the end, it was an updo that I would be loathe to undo at any point in time.

"You know I wouldn't have done anything."

"I know. You'd better knock 'em dead tonight."

"That's ... not what I'm hoping for."

"I don't know what you have to be afraid of, Jenny. You've been obsessed with Gotham's elite for years. Now you get the chance to meet them in person, and you don't want to go."

"There's a huge difference between listening to rumors and actually talking to them."

"So what are you waiting for? The taxi's waiting!" Then Imogen practically kicked me out of my own apartment and locked me out.

I went downstairs, which is no easy task if you live on the fourth floor and are dressed like I was, and got in my waiting black cab. The driver was professional and completely un-talkative. All he wanted to know was where I wanted to be dropped off. And that was just the way I liked it.

I live a half-hour away from Wayne Manor, which meant I had plenty of time to collect my senses and wits. Imogen was right. I had been worrying too much over how I was supposed to act at a major social event, rather than being excited that I was invited to a place filled with lies and manipulation. Oh, and money. Couldn't forget that part. I wasn't surprised to see a huge number of expensive cars parked all around Mr. Wayne's mansion. My driver dropped me off in front of the steps to the door and helped me out. Looked like I was the only one who had to take a taxi. I paid him and started my long walk up to the door. "Good luck tonight," the driver called back to me.

"Thank you." I was going to need it.

I was deliberately slowing my steps. I really wasn't eager to be going in so soon. A couple passed me on my way up, although they were sort of rushing to get there. She was young with bleached-blonde hair, probably in her late twenties, and addicted to plastic surgery. That nose was very fake, and her lips, well. He was middle aged and slightly balding. What hair he did have was rapidly going grey. He was slightly overweight, some of which came from his substantial wallet. Conclusion: Expensive call girl and rich businessman suffering a mid-life crisis. I hoped the others wouldn't be nearly as bad.

I finally made it to the doorway. The doors had been thrown wide open so there wouldn't be any hindrance to the party. I was bombarded by the atmosphere. There was a full size orchestra playing a waltz and dancers swirling all around the dance floor. I thought I might have been overdressed for a moment, but then I was quickly proved wrong when I saw all those gowns and tuxedos. All around the ballroom were tables with refreshments piled high. Most of them I couldn't name, mostly foreign or too expensive for me to have tried before, although I did spot a couple fondue pots and a chocolate fountain. Something for everyone. The entire place hummed with conversation, nearly overpowering the orchestra.

I stood at the edge of the ballroom just watching everyone. I recognized several people, but the problem was I knew them all from magazines and the news. No one here actually knew me. I was going to be alone tonight, unless I spontaneously made a few friends. Not likely. People didn't like how I could look straight through them, and I didn't know how not to. So I took a strawberry from a refreshment table and a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and prepared to learn about all of their dirty secrets.

But there's only so much I can learn from watching and eavesdropping. I could tell which people a dominant personality, this group was submissive and acting passive-aggressively, that guy was a pathological liar, everyone was lying, and he was cheating on her with that other women he was watching across the room, and who exactly knew about the affair and was holding their tongues. I wasn't surprised at all by the results. With a crowd like this, anyone who showed a sign of weakness like a shrinking bankbook or a cheating lover, was subject to the wolves.

Then I heard someone calling, "Jenny! You made it!"

Mr. Wayne appeared out of the crowd with a beautiful girl on his arm. No one else had noticed him before he called to me. I don't know how he can sneak through his own party like that, but it was a talent I was about to exploit. "Mr. Wayne," I said as cheerily as I could manage. "Of course I came."

At this point he introduced me to his friend. She wasn't especially gorgeous, but she was curiously pretty. She had curly, light brown hair with glints of dark gold in the right light, a permanent smile to her face, and lively brown eyes. She wore her hair in a loose french braid and had a red silk rose pinned at the nape of her neck. Her dress was a simple, but elegant long burgundy gown with a sweetheart neckline and a bow on her right hip. "Star, this is Jenny Harkness, my secretary. Jenny, this is Star."

She turned her full attention on me and gave me a smile worthy of her name. "Jenny, I've been so excited to meet you!"

"Really?" This was a surprise to me. How it the world would she have heard of me? Oh, right. I was nearly as famous as my sister. Nearly. "You're from New York, aren't you."

She was taken off guard by this out-of-the-blue remark. "I am. How did you know?" Her eyes suddenly lit up with embarrassment and understanding. "Oh, no I wasn't talking about that. No, I heard about how you got rid of that Cobblepot bore. Practically threw him out of the office."

"That's ... a bit of an overstatement. A fabrication, actually." I directed that last sentence at Mr. Wayne. He fidgeted a bit under our glances, then quickly excused himself to get them something to drink.

We watched him slip back into the crowd. This time, he drew away a bit of the crowd's attention, and others wanted to borrow his time for a bit. "Did he really say that?" I asked.

"Sort of. He said you were a genius, like a detective or something. Then I pretended to be jealous, then he said you threw him out the window, then I pretended to be insulted and made him invite you to the party so I could see for myself."

"Oh." Nothing but a game. I was here because of a playful lovers quarrel. "I see. I'm not really a genius. He was making that up too."

Star shook her head. "No he wasn't. I can tell when he's lying. He's a terrible liar, believe me. So how do you do it? How do you read people like that?"

"It's not a party trick. All you have to do is observe and deduce." I let my annoyance show through in my voice, but she couldn't be dissuaded. She just kept looking at me, expecting more until I eventually gave in. "For instance, I can tell you've been working with clay for a while because your hands are quite dry and you didn't quite get the last of it out from under your fingernails." She quickly and discreetly cleaned them. "I could tell you were from New York because of your accent. You try to hide it, but it still comes out a bit when you're excited. Also, a lot of theater actors live in New York, so I knew it was a safe bet." I had to stop because once I get going, some people get very offended.

"That's amazing. You have to teach me."

"Now? No."

"Why not?" I swore I saw her stomp a foot in frustration like a child, but that might have been my imagination.

"It takes time, Star. Believe me, it takes time."

She sighed in defeat. "Fine, but I'll hold you to it. You're as bad as Lucius."

"Who?"

"Lucius Fox." Then she spotted someone in the crowd. "Oh, there he is. Do you want to meet him? Lucius!" She waved at a black gentleman in his sixties with greying hair, and gestured him over to us. He politely excused himself from the conversation he was in and started on over towards us. "He's a good friend of Bruce's," she explained.

"Star, it's good to see you again," he said with a patient smile.

To my surprise, but not his, she suddenly hugged him. He wasn't a touchy-feely sort of person, but he seemed to like or tolerate her. "I thought you weren't coming."

"I wasn't, but then I couldn't think of an excuse to stay home."

"Oh, this is Jenny Harkness," she said, remembering to introduce me. "Jenny, Lucius Fox."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Fox," I said, shaking his hand. I could swear I had seen him before. "You look familiar. Didn't you-"

"Run Wayne Enterprises at one point or another? Yes," he answered for me.

"And the R&D Department," Star interjected. "You still owe me a tour."

"I don't work there anymore," he playfully argued.

"But you still have the clout to go anywhere you want in there!"

"What's in the R&D Department?" I had to ask.

"Research and Development of new, interesting technology," said Mr. Fox. This I already knew.

"Freaking awesome technology, he means," Star clarified. "It's like an airplane museum. You don't exactly understand how everything works, but the science behind it all is amazing. Bruce showed me around once, but he didn't really know anything."

"What was that?" said Mr. Wayne, appearing behind her, noticeably absent of any drinks.

"Just saying how you should stick to napping in meetings."

"Oh, thanks," he teased. "Do you like this song?"

"I think I do." Mr. Wayne took her hand to lead her to the dance floor. "Nice to meet you Jenny!"

Mr. Fox and I watched the two of them hurry to the field of dancers and joining them. As soon as they were safely out of earshot, I asked, "What's the real reason she can't go?"

"She's a little ... curious."

I understood completely. She likes to touch things, which probably explains why she liked doing pottery so much. "She reminds me of my sister. Jackie couldn't keep her hands off anything. Our family was banned from a few museums for a while."

Neither one of us were any good with meaningless small talk, so we were quiet for a bit. The dance was hypnotic, and Mr. Wayne and Star seemed to be genuinely enjoying themselves. But apparently our silence is a sign we're doing something wrong. "I'm not one for parties either," Mr. Fox said, breaking the silence.

"I've never been to one before, so I can't say I don't like it yet."

"You just can't seem to get a straight answer from anyone here."

"I know what you mean. I keep wishing that man over there would just tell his wife he's cheating on her because she already knows. But, yeah, I think this is my first and last-"

"Excuse me," said a gentleman, tapping me on the shoulder. He was a good foot taller than me and had wavy blonde hair he had expertly tamed. His hand was rough with aged, unused callouses that were barely noticeable. His tuxedo, unlike all the others, was a rental. "May I have this dance?" he asked.

Against my better judgment, I said, "Of course," and gave him my hand. Mr. Fox gave me a knowing look that said, Good Luck. I sent him one back that said, Knock it off.

We joined the dance floor with the Foxtrot. He held my hand quite gently, like it was an honor to be dancing with me. "My name is James. James Carroll."

"Jenny Harkness."

"How do you know Bruce?"

"I work for Mr. Wayne. I'm a secretary and a part-time student."

"Have you been there long?"

"Two weeks. Two very short weeks."

"I've only been his neighbor for a year and a half, but I didn't think he even knew my name."

"Where are you originally from?"

"Colorado." That was a lie. He was avoiding my eyes and I noticed his irises tighten just slightly. But I just didn't want to call him on it.

We chatted for several minutes about anything and nothing. He seemed to have an odd fascination with Alice in Wonderland and Johnny Depp. I was actually enjoying myself. And so long as I kept my mouth shut, I seemed to have made a friend.

So it's fitting that right then, the party was crashed by none other than a very familiar, stocky man in a severely outdated suit with an umbrella of all things, who screeched loud enough to drown out the orchestra entirely, "Hey Brucie! Didn't know you were having a party. Why didn't you invite me? Now we can really get the party started!"

"Who in the world is that?" said James.

"Oswald Cobblepot," I spat. "Give me a minute, I'm going to go find out what he wants." And then get rid of him.

Cobblepot was busy attacking the refreshments, pushing other guests out of his way and telling them to go take a hike. Anyone within a ten-foot radius suddenly relocated to another part of the ballroom. As soon as he was done with one table, he made a bee-line for Mr. Wayne and Star. This was where I came in, quickly intercepting him before he could do anymore damage. "Mr. Cobblepot," I said as loudly as I could without shouting. "What can I do for you?"

"You can let me talk to Bruce." He tried walking around me, but I blocked his path again.

"He's over this way," I gestured to a place away from the party. "If you could just follow me."

"But I can see him right behind you-"

"This way. Please." There was no more civility in my voice, and he did as I asked.

I took him to a hallway that was far enough away from the party that he wouldn't be a bother, but still completely in sight of the guests. I didn't want anyone getting any funny ideas. Most of the crowd's attention had been drawn to us, even if the party hadn't come to a standstill, but at least they were trying to be subtle about it. I'm pretty sure they were genuinely worried about me. At least one waiter - no, he was a butler - stood at the end of the hallway and wouldn't take his eyes off us. Mr. Cobblepot didn't seem to notice, so I didn't notice either.

What I did notice was some movement in a doorway, then it was gone.

"This is cozy..."

"Mr. Cobblepot, what do you want?" I demanded.

"Bruce and I never got to finish our discussion."

"You've been banned from the building and you know Wayne Enterprises won't have anything more to do with you. How is acting like an obnoxious loon going to help you here?"

"Don't you dare talk to me like that!" he snapped, throwing a finger in my face.

"And don't you insult my intellect! Why are you here?"

He dropped his buffoon persona and replaced it with a smirk. "Nothing gets past you, does it?" He chuckled quietly, but there was nothing amusing behind it.

"Not much. For instance, I noticed that there are two guests who shouldn't be here and are going through Mr. Wayne's home."

Alright, that was a bluff based on the movement I saw earlier. Sherlock Holmes would be very, very ashamed of me. Still, it got the response I wanted. Mr. Cobblepot's eyes narrowed in anger, although he tried to keep his smile in place. "I wouldn't know anything about that."

"Now that was a lie. It's written all over your face."

He relaxed again and gave me a friendlier smile. "Listen, Jackie."

"Jenny."

"Jenny. Would you like a job?"

"I have a job."

"I could use someone like you to help me find the unsavory secrets of Gotham city. We could start with Bruce."

"Absolutely not."

"I don't think you understand. This is a job with substantial pay. We're talking seven figures."

"Mr. Cobblepot, I will not be involved in blackmail, especially not with you. Now, I would appreciate it if you and your friends would leave Mr. Wayne and his business alone. Now."

"You listen to me," he hissed, grabbing my arm. "I leave when I feel like leaving." I pulled my arm out of his grasp and he marched back to the party, pulling a cigar out of his pocket as he went.

My arm felt bruised where he touched it, but it was probably fine. I went after him, but was stopped by the butler who was listening in. "Are you alright, miss?" he said in a British accent.

"I'm fine. Tell me we have security."

"Just tell me who needs to be escorted out. I'll take care of it."

"Apart from the obvious, there are two other men going through the house, and they're not here to steal the silver. They'll probably be looking for an office or any personal paperwork."

He turned away from me to make the call to security, but I saw his eyes go wide when I told him about the intruders. Then he practically ran away to go find the other intruders. Two men entered the crowd and converged on Cobblepot who was trying to dance. Each of them grabbed an arm and forcibly dragged him out the door. He let out a long string of obscenities and insults right up until he was thrown down the steps, at which point the cursing became shouts and grunts of pain. Another man dragged out one of the intruders who swiftly followed his boss.

Then came the butler with the second man's arm twisted behind his back, and for as old as he was, it didn't seem like he was putting any effort into it at all. He threw the stranger out the door, and slammed them shut with an echoing BANG! that could be roughly translated as: Good Riddance! The audience erupted in applause, and I joined them. The butler didn't even seem to notice, and quickly got back to work.

I intercepted him as he picked up another tray of champagne. "Thank you for that," I told him.

"Oh, it was nothing, miss," he replied with a smile.

Mr. Wayne burst out of the crowd, intending to catch his butler before he tried to disappear again. "Alfred, what was that?"

"Just removing a trespasser," he replied. "Nothing to worry about."

"Yes there is," I interrupted. "The man is a modern-day Charles Augustus Milverton. A blackmailer," I clarified when I saw their confused expressions. "He just tried to offer me a job to collect material on you."

Mr. Wayne raised an eyebrow. "You didn't ..."

I shook my head. "Of course not. There's nothing blackmail-worthy on you anyway. What I'm trying to say is that he'll be back. Probably not tonight, but later. Have a good night, Mr. Wayne."

My patience was entirely spent for the night, and my ribs were in so much agony that no amount of Tylenol was going to fix, so I headed towards the door. Unfortunately, my plans to leave unnoticed were spoiled when James Carroll caught up to me. "You're leaving?"

"I'm sorry, but the night's no good now."

"Let me drive you home."

"I'd rather take a taxi."

"But it will be a while before it comes."

I sighed in frustration. He had a point. I did not want to wait around for a ride. "Fine. But I refuse to be good company, and I'm not inviting you in."