was not disposed to think of him kindly.
“What brings you to New York, Ms. Nealon?”
“ Hamilton ,” I said, pushing my way through the crowd without committing felony assault. It was not easy.
“Does it have anything to do with the incident on Wall Street this morning?”
“Why, what happened on Wall Street this morning?” I asked, playing innocent. “Did somebody knock over a bank or something?”
“Ms. Nealon, what do you think of Captain Frost and Gravity Gal? Have they inspired you to come up with your own superhero name?”
That one evinced a scowl, though I was trying to keep my head down as I waited for my checked bag. Damn me for not squeezing everything into a carry-on. “Everything cool is already trademarked,” I said.
“What about Power Girl? Or Mega Girl—”
I spun on the crowd of reporters. “If anyone calls me ‘Fill-in-the-blank-Girl,’ I will slap them so hard in the balls that they’ll spit them out like watermelon seeds.” I scanned the crowd, which had fallen into a stunned silence. “I see you believe me. Good.” I caught movement on the conveyer out of the corner of my eye and scooped up my suitcase, which was, at Ariadne’s suggestion, adorned with a pink tassel. So I could recognize it, and, apparently, soften my image in front of the entire world since a boatload of paparazzi took about a thousand pictures of it. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go haggle with a scalper for theater tickets.” And I flew over their heads and shot out the door.
The hot, humid New York summer hit me full in the face. I landed on the pavement just as a black sedan screeched to a stop in front of me, the mob of reporters at my heels. Lieutenant Allyn Welch was waiting behind the wheel. “Get in,” he said.
“But the sign inside says not to trust rides from unlicensed cabbies—”
“Get in before the savages catch up with you,” he said, and I took heed, tossing my luggage over the seat into the back. I jumped in, and he tore away from the curb before I’d even closed the door, clearly as happy to get away from the damned press as I was.
“Good flight?” Welch said, the air from the open driver’s side window blowing through his thin hair, rendering his comb-over even more of a mess.
“Got a little bumpy at the end,” I said, watching the cluster of paparazzi that we were leaving in the dust. “I hope it’s not a sign of things to come.”
12.
Jamie
When Mr. Penny the banker had left, Jamie stayed in her office and put her head down on her desk, giving her forehead a good thud against the wood a few times—gently, of course. It always had to be gentle these days, otherwise she’d break right through the desk.
“How’d the meeting go?” Clarice asked, sneaking into the room almost soundlessly. Almost, because Jamie had meta hearing now, and the click of the locking mechanism was like a cannon shot to her.
“He was a really nice guy,” Jamie said, lifting her head to rest her chin on the surface of her desk. She pushed hair back over her head, then folded her hands in front of her and just laid there, chin on the desk, as Clarice came in and sat down. She had a little buzz of excitement about her, vibrations Jamie could practically feel across the empty space between them. “He had ideas for how we can make things run better around here. How we can maybe get into profitability, finally.”
“That’s good,” Clarice said. She was the soul of encouragement. “And he wasn’t mad that you were late?”
Jamie closed her eyes. “Didn’t seem to be.”
“That’s … interesting,” Clarice said, and it sounded like there was more to tell.
Jamie opened her eyes. “What’s interesting?”
“Oh, nothing,” Clarice said, holding back. It was clearly something, and it only took her a second to break, leaning forward, eyes alight. “He was kinda impatient before you got here.”
Jamie concentrated, trying to put it together but failing. “I …
“What brings you to New York, Ms. Nealon?”
“ Hamilton ,” I said, pushing my way through the crowd without committing felony assault. It was not easy.
“Does it have anything to do with the incident on Wall Street this morning?”
“Why, what happened on Wall Street this morning?” I asked, playing innocent. “Did somebody knock over a bank or something?”
“Ms. Nealon, what do you think of Captain Frost and Gravity Gal? Have they inspired you to come up with your own superhero name?”
That one evinced a scowl, though I was trying to keep my head down as I waited for my checked bag. Damn me for not squeezing everything into a carry-on. “Everything cool is already trademarked,” I said.
“What about Power Girl? Or Mega Girl—”
I spun on the crowd of reporters. “If anyone calls me ‘Fill-in-the-blank-Girl,’ I will slap them so hard in the balls that they’ll spit them out like watermelon seeds.” I scanned the crowd, which had fallen into a stunned silence. “I see you believe me. Good.” I caught movement on the conveyer out of the corner of my eye and scooped up my suitcase, which was, at Ariadne’s suggestion, adorned with a pink tassel. So I could recognize it, and, apparently, soften my image in front of the entire world since a boatload of paparazzi took about a thousand pictures of it. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go haggle with a scalper for theater tickets.” And I flew over their heads and shot out the door.
The hot, humid New York summer hit me full in the face. I landed on the pavement just as a black sedan screeched to a stop in front of me, the mob of reporters at my heels. Lieutenant Allyn Welch was waiting behind the wheel. “Get in,” he said.
“But the sign inside says not to trust rides from unlicensed cabbies—”
“Get in before the savages catch up with you,” he said, and I took heed, tossing my luggage over the seat into the back. I jumped in, and he tore away from the curb before I’d even closed the door, clearly as happy to get away from the damned press as I was.
“Good flight?” Welch said, the air from the open driver’s side window blowing through his thin hair, rendering his comb-over even more of a mess.
“Got a little bumpy at the end,” I said, watching the cluster of paparazzi that we were leaving in the dust. “I hope it’s not a sign of things to come.”
12.
Jamie
When Mr. Penny the banker had left, Jamie stayed in her office and put her head down on her desk, giving her forehead a good thud against the wood a few times—gently, of course. It always had to be gentle these days, otherwise she’d break right through the desk.
“How’d the meeting go?” Clarice asked, sneaking into the room almost soundlessly. Almost, because Jamie had meta hearing now, and the click of the locking mechanism was like a cannon shot to her.
“He was a really nice guy,” Jamie said, lifting her head to rest her chin on the surface of her desk. She pushed hair back over her head, then folded her hands in front of her and just laid there, chin on the desk, as Clarice came in and sat down. She had a little buzz of excitement about her, vibrations Jamie could practically feel across the empty space between them. “He had ideas for how we can make things run better around here. How we can maybe get into profitability, finally.”
“That’s good,” Clarice said. She was the soul of encouragement. “And he wasn’t mad that you were late?”
Jamie closed her eyes. “Didn’t seem to be.”
“That’s … interesting,” Clarice said, and it sounded like there was more to tell.
Jamie opened her eyes. “What’s interesting?”
“Oh, nothing,” Clarice said, holding back. It was clearly something, and it only took her a second to break, leaning forward, eyes alight. “He was kinda impatient before you got here.”
Jamie concentrated, trying to put it together but failing. “I …
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