Chapter 24

Chapter 24

"If a Middle Eastern terrorist flings a soccer ball containing a grenade into the Stark Industries cafeteria at lunchtime," Bernice read aloud. "And you were to kick it, where it would land and how far away you need to get to avoid getting fragged by exploding green Jello salad?"

"Who dreams up these examples?" Jacquie asked.

"Tony Stark himself, it's rumored," Bernice said with a sigh as she plugged the numbers which had been noted on the diagram into a Pythagorean theorem and began to proof her answer.

"If I wanted to do math," Jacquie laughed, "I wouldn't have gone to art school!"

Bernice stared at the stack of 'homework' and squelched the urge to say 'me either.'

After the second time Mr. Stark had summonsed her to doodle flights of fancy on a smart pad while he worked, he'd drilled her on how she could accurately recreate scale drawings without understanding the mathematics which underlay it. All her life Bernice had been able to bamboozle, charm, and otherwise dodge learning the tedious subject, relying on her ability to instinctively just know what something was supposed to look like to avoid doing the actual work of proving how her mind had leaped to those conclusions. Tony Stark, however, was too good at what he did to let her get away with it. He'd declared her paltry mathematics abilities to be 'utter and complete crap' and promptly sent her to the Mathematics for Dummies class he'd set up for any employee caught exhibiting deficits in the subject matter.

She was in good company there, with everyone from the janitor from inner Mongolia, Tony considering mathematics a more valuable language for the man to learn than to improve his faltering English, to the brand-new 'Director of Interplanetary Marketing' Pepper had just hired to explore selling Stark Industries products to alien cultures … if and when they found any that were friendly.

At least the class was more interesting than the boring formulae she'd been forced to drill in high school, with real-life weapons demonstrations and hands-on learning to back up their knowledge. Tony had a saying … 'math sticks better when you get to blow shit up.' Bernice thought of the 'salad shooter' they'd built out of PVC and ignition elements from an old gas grill, one of the more enjoyable lunchtimes she'd spent shooting cucumbers, heads of lettuce, and eggplants at a concrete wall in one of the shooting ranges in the basement. Next week, they were supposed build a working trebuchet. Mr. Stark, to her surprise, extended his belief that life should be fun to include his employees.

"Maybe it's time you swallowed your pride and called Mike," Jacquie said. "He keeps calling me, begging me to talk some sense into you."

"I don't want anything to do with him," Bernice said. "I thought you said he was an ass."

"He is an ass," Jacquie said, giving her a Machiavellian grin. "But he's an ass who's damned good in mathematics."

"Forget it," Bernice said. "If there's one thing I've learned from listening to Tony Stark, it's just how cutthroat the world really is."

"What does that have to do with Mike?" Jacquie said. "He said he was sorry. How much sorrier do you want him to be?"

Jacquie gestured towards a bouquet of roses which had arrived three days ago. Bernice had initially hoped they were from Steve Rogers, her heart dropping when she read the card signed 'Mike.' Steve had said he would call, but after a week with no telephone call, she was beginning to lose hope. She was resigned to another Saturday night spent with her three favorite people. Me. Myself. And I.

"It's not about how sorry Mike is," Bernice said, doodling a cartoon of a soccer ball flying into the Stark Industries salad bar and blowing Jello all over her coworkers. She added Doctor Nyi scooping a spoonful of the quivering mess off the bald head of one of her coworkers and eating it. Engineers viewed weapons demonstrations as a fun way to prove their egg-headed theories, something Tony Stark reminded them was not the case once their weapons left the laboratory for the real world.

"What more do you want him to say?" Jacquie said. "He got cold feet. Reality dope-slapped him. Now he's begging for forgiveness. At least return his phone calls so he stops calling me for information about what you've been up to."

"The only reason he's calling is because his law firm is looking for an in to getinto Stark Industries good graces," Bernice said with a snort of disgust.

"He doesn't know you've been working directly with Tony Stark," Jacquie said. "I mean … who would have figured?"

Bernice gave her best friend an appraising stare that communicated 'cut the bullshit.' Jacquie had been on her case for weeks now to give Mike the time of day.

"Okay," Jacquie confessed. "Maybe I mentioned it the last time I ran into him. He does work for the law firm who represents our architectural design firm. But the only reason I told him was because he asked."

Bernice gave Jacquie the 'evil eyebrow.' A look she had inherited from her grandmother that communicated she found an excuse, such as 'those aren't my fingerprints in the frosting of that cake,' to be lacking. Jacquie gave Bernice her most innocent, Japanese anime wide-eyed look.

"Well you were so down in the dumps after your grandmother died," Jacquie said, "that when Mike called to ask how you were doing, I figured he would cheer you up. After making him properly grovel about my beautiful wickedness, of course." Jacquie's colorful red-and-black striped hair gave her grin the appearance of a tiger about to eat somebody for lunch.

Bernice's eyes trailed over to the partially completed oil painting she was bringing to life. Steve Rogers, balanced upside-down on a pair of still rings, his expression one of utter peace even as his muscles bulged with the strain of holding the pose. It was still little more than an outline with only the faintest coloring, but she could already tell the portrait was going to be a masterpiece.

"The guy saved New York and probably the world," Jacquie said, her eyes following Bernice's to the picture. "He isn't going to call. At least Mike is genuinely interested in salvaging your relationship."

"I thought you hated him," Bernice said.

"That was because he dumped you and you were crying all the time," Jacquie said. "He's doing really good at his new job. They promoted him, you know?"

"Who cares."

"At least talk to him," Jacquie said. She pointed towards the portrait of Steve. "Bernice … I'm worried about you. You've drawn dozens of pictures of this guy and you've talked to him like, what once? A guy like that can have any girl he wants."

"He's not like that," Bernice said.

"I just don't want to see you get your heart broken," Jacquie said.

"Mike broke my heart," Bernice said. "Which you seem to be conveniently forgetting right now."

"He's really sorry," Jacquie said. "You guys were together for more than three years."

"And he threw it all away the moment something better came along," Bernice snorted.

"Hey … you know I wouldn't be giving Mike the time of day unless he convinced me his interest was real," Jacquie said. "I made some inquiries to make sure he's not just doing that thing guys do when they look up an old flame because they're between pieces of tail. You know I've got your back, girl!"

That made Bernice smile. Before she'd met Mike, some guy she'd met at a party had called to set up a date, then never showed up at the restaurant he'd arranged to meet her at. Bernice had nursed her soda for nearly two hours, only leaving after she'd run out of money for a fourth soda. Jacquie had gotten back at the jerk on her behalf by sticking a dead fish under the passenger seat of the guys car.

"At least talk to him," Jacquie said, her arms crossed in front of her chest. "I'm not going to screen your phone calls any longer. If he shows up, I'm telling him you're home."

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Jacquie ran for the buzzer, peeking at the tiny camera before hitting the 'enter' button.

"Some hot guy is here to see you," Jacquie called, giving her a grin. "I'm going to get the hell out of here so you don't have an audience."

Jacquie grabbed her purse and scooted out the door, words exchanged in the hallway with whoever was on their way upfrom the street below. Butterflies danced in Bernice's stomach, hoping against hope it was him. She opened the door before he even knocked, her face dropping when she saw it was who she suspected it would be instead of who she wanted it to be.

"Mike."

"Hey, baby," Mike said nervously. He held out a bouquet of flowers. Wildflowers. A bouquet identical to the first bouquet he had ever given her. Tall, dark, and handsome, if she'd ever had a type before she'd met Steve Rogers, Mike was it.

"Thanks."

She said it with as little enthusiasm as she could muster. She took the flowers and walked into the tiny kitchenette, not inviting him in even though he followed her as though he belonged there. At one time, he had belonged there. They'd lived together here for three years before he'd suddenly moved out, leaving her scrambling to find a roommate mid-semester because she couldn't afford the rent on her own. She'd been lucky Jacquie had been looking for an excuse to bail from the dormitory.

"I love what you've done with the place," Mike said.

Bernice shrugged. Normally she would plunk flowers into the nearest vase and wait until her guests left to artfully arrange them. Instead, she filled the sink with cold water, trimming each stalk and arranging it as Mike stalked through the apartment, examining what she'd done to eradicate his presence from what had started out as his apartment.

He paused in front of the painting.

"Who's this?"

"A friend."

"Since when did you take up the study of gymnasts," Mike asked, a hint of jealousy in his voice.

"Pankration," Bernice said. "It's an ancient Olympic sport that combines wrestling, gymnastics and martial arts. Alexander the Great used it to train his armies."

"So now you're chasing after some meathead body builder?" Mike asked, his tone of voice taunting.

Bernice shrugged. The flowers now safely in their new home, she had no excuse to avoid talking to him. She walked over to the tiny table with her 'assignment' spread over it and sat down, picking up her pencil to signal 'I'm busy.'

"Jacquie said you needed help," Mike said, his tone conciliatory. "I was always better at this kind of stuff than you."

Bernice jutted her chin in the air, her eyes meeting his milk-chocolate brown ones. Eyes she had drawn a thousand times, expressing every emotion from laughter, to curiosity, to the passion they had once been filled with after making love to her. Bernice searched within her own heart for the emotion she had once channeled when drawing those eyes and found none. Not even hurt over Mike's betrayal. Only indifference.

"Mr. Stark says I need to learn to do it myself," Bernice said, what she suspected was Mike's real reason for suddenly being interested in her once again.

"You shouldn't have to debase your art drawing mundane things," Mike said. He pointed to a painting of an enormous dragon bowing before a maiden. A maiden which looked suspiciously like Bernice as she'd had nobody but herself to use as a body model. "Jacquie said they have you drawing engineering specifications for weapons."

"That's classified," Bernice said.

She had heard this speech before. Right up until the point he'd changed his tune and said her talent had no practical value. Mike's world was broken down into billable hours. Although everything at Stark Industries had to justify its existence, some work, such as hers, was recognized as having non-monetary value such as 'building good will,' 'fostering creativity' or 'making sure rising sea levels don't swallow Stark Tower.' As Pepper had said the day she'd hired her, if she wanted to be a part of Stark Industries, she had to do something she felt passionate about. Bernice was no engineer, but she loved giving shape to the wild ideas that spewed forth from Tony Stark's and the other engineer's heads so they could bring the most worthy of them to life.

Mike grimaced. Once upon a time, it had been him saying 'that's privileged information' whenever she'd tried to engage him in conversation about his new job. The one he had dumped her for … along with whichever beautiful female lawyer had sparked his interest.

"Let me support your work," Mike said. He pointed to the picture of the lady and the dragon mounted on her wall. "If you put in a good word with Mr. Stark, Wolfram and Hart will hire you to design their entire penthouse suite. Like Jacquie is doing for Stark Towers. Only they'll put you in charge of aesthetics. Not just give you a couple of bathrooms and a back hallway to design."

"I have a job," Bernice said. A hurt expression crossed Mike's face. Just because he'd treated her badly didn't justify her acting rudely in return. "But thank you for thinking of me. I appreciate it."

They stood there, two strangers. Bernice had changed so much since Mike had dumped her that she no longer even knew herself. She didn't recognize the more assertive woman she was turning into, but she was growing fond of her.

Mike's eyes trailed back to the painting of Steve, suspended mid-air in a pose only the fittest of the fit could ever hope to achieve.

"When you're done making an ass out of yourself with the mystery man," Mike said, his voice tinged with jealousy. "Give me a call."

He stalked out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

Bernice sat in front of her design for a trebuchet, the equations for motion and trajectory blurred from tears. How many times had she dreamed of Mike showing up at her door begging to get back together? But whether or not Steve ever called, and she was beginning to think he would not call, she liked the independent young woman who was emerging from the ashes of the old Bernice. The last thing she wanted was to crawl back into some comfortable old shell just because it was easy.

She walked over to the unfinished painting, the scent of thinner signaling it was a work in progress.

"My grandmother said they created your kind to be an example for the rest of us," Bernice said.

She pictured how good Steve had been with the gang kids. He allowed them access free of charge in the hope of coaxing some of the less hardened gang members into a direction other than a life of crime. Superheroes. Even if Steve wasn't interested in being her superhero, she was glad he did exist. She worked for Iron Man and had once shared a cup of coffee with another superhero who shared her interest in art. Who needed fantasy when reality was so much better? Picking up her brush, Bernice began to finish her masterpiece. A study in realism.

X

It was several hours later when Jacquie came sheepishly back into the apartment, a fancy gold-lettered envelope and a box held in front of her as though it were a talisman to ward off tongue-lashings.

"Sorry," Jacquie said, giving her a sheepish little wave. "Maybe I should just mind my business?"

"Yes," Bernice said, barely looking up from the shading she was painting to accentuate Steve's six-pack abs clearly visible beneath his sweaty wifebeater.

Jacquie was obviously aware things hadn't gone the way she'd hoped with Mike. She held out the envelope and rushed into an explanation before Bernice could chew her out.

"A courier brought this while I was on my way up."

Bernice wiped paint off her hands and took the envelope, her fingers sliding across the Stark Industries logo embossed in real gold leaf on the top left-hand corner. She'd heard of this, rumors flying through the company about which employees were important enough to attend. Doctor Nyi had been invited, but nobody else in the laboratory had received, or expected to receive, an invitation. She carefully opened the envelope and slid out the beautifully hand-calligraphed invitation.

'Mr. Tony Stark begs the pleasure of your attendance at the birthday celebration of Miss Pepper Potts. Stark Tower Penthouse. 7:00 p.m. Tonight.'

Bernice opened the box, her hands trembling as she moved aside the delicate tissue paper. Inside was a sleeveless, royal blue evening gown, deceptively simple in its styling. A classic Vera Wang. The blue, she noted, was the exact same shade of blue as the uniform Steve had worn the day he'd led the others to take down an alien invasion. Resting on top of the dress, almost as an afterthought, was a cheap little red-white-and-blue shield pin. One of the many 'superhero' memorabilia pins that had grown common after super-soldiers had taken down an alien armada.

She looked up at Jacquie, tears in her eyes. It was her best friend who voiced the emotion for her.

"Squee!"

X

Note: The fairy gawdawful-boss has just waved his magic arc reactor so Cinderella can go to the ball and hook up with her handsome prince. What could possibly go wrong?

I plead the Fifth on the incident involving the fish. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you…

Did I mention I like to LARP? You haven't lived until you've gone out into the woods dressed in renaissance costumes with a bunch of engineering geeks and built medieval war machines to lob rotten food at the opposing camp. It's the only use I've ever found for that horrid calculus class I had to take in college. It seemed reasonable for Tony to want Bernice to fill in the gaps in her knowledge so she can 'talk geek' to her weapons-developing co-workers …

Don't forget to leave a review on your way to the ball…