The She-Hulk Diaries (36 page)

My optimistic mood changed as I walked into my office and saw my desk covered in files. Sometimes I wish we’d go back to the days when sending a letter meant making a carbon copy on a typewriter, because then people would think twice before writing a memo.

Genoa and I have been cross-checking and fact-checking every statement and every report on or by ReplaceMax. Donner runs back and forth from the copy room bringing us stacks of printouts and coordinating exhibits.

Every few hours, we take a ten-minute break with the General’s Regency-era dolls. I don’t know any of the social rules of those times, so she explains them to me. For example, I didn’t know that when a property was “entitled,” it could only go to a male heir, which meant that a second cousin might inherit an estate and throw out the girls who’d lived there.

“That’s fascinating!” I said. “I had no idea these stories were about property law and inheritance. Everyone just talks about the romance.”

“The romance is directly tied into property and status,” Genoa said. “I’ve always wished there was a romance novel theme park where visitors could participate by arguing legal cases using chronologically accurate legal principles.”

“That’s a brilliant idea, Genoa! What lawyer
wouldn’t
want to go there on her vacations? I’d book myself into a medieval love story, because medieval law was wonderfully arcane and superstitious. Did you know that medieval courts could arraign bugs for crop devastation? Of course, handing out punishments was not especially effective.”

We spent a few minutes discussing names for our imaginary theme park (Tender Discoveries is our top choice!) and features, like a gift shop and carriage rides.

“Excellent! As soon as the case is over, we can work up a prospectus for the park.” I picked up a male doll in a checked suit. “I’ve decided that this guy is a lecherous gambler who has arrived in town planning to poison his sweet rich aunt.” In my best English accent, I said, “Ahoy, there, my good lad! Can you fetch my carbuncle from atop the barouche? I will
be stopping at this, er, fine stopping place for nuncheon, and I heard you concoct an excellent liver-and-squid pie.”

I flounced my doll’s coat while waiting for Genoa to respond, but she was looking at something over my shoulder. I turned and saw Amber standing in the doorway with Quinty, who was fiddling with his monocle and trying not to smile.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything important,” the hammerhead said coolly.

Genoa didn’t bat an eye. “We were taking a well-deserved break from the avalanche of paperwork.”

Quinty looked up. “If I see a Saint Bernard with a barrel of whiskey, I’ll steer him your way. How are things progressing?”

“Everything’s on track, sir,” I said. “We’re receiving the expected delay tactics, but we’re persistent.”

“Very good. Tell me, Jennifer, what’s the most important lesson you learned in your legal career?”

“The person with the biggest pile of paper wins.”

“Indeed! Enjoy your break.”

“Yes, sir.”

He walked off, and Amber paused to give us a contemptuous look, then left.

Genoa immediately returned to her doll

“Aren’t you intimidated by her?” I asked.

“I’m only intimidated by people I admire, and I don’t admire her.”

“I heard her singing at the Valentine’s Day party. Her voice is so lovely.”

“Hmm,” Genoa hmmed. “I think that’s probably how she got Ellis. I remember her singing at our annual picnic when he was there. But her voice is just technique with no honest emotion. I’d say she’s a cyborg, but many cyborgs have soul and heart.”

If Ellis liked singing, I never stood a chance with him. I said, “One of my favorite pals at GLKH is an android, and he’s terrific. When I was there, the hot topic of discussion was cyborg rights. Holden Holliway,
who founded the superhuman division, believes that android, cyborg, and bot identity law will be the single biggest issue of the next century.”

“I’m always wondering what makes us human—not biologically human, but human in feeling and thought. How can we justify treating clones as property?”

“Good question. Personally, I don’t think it’s right to create clones that go into systemic failure and die before they grow out of their toddler years.”

“Someone will solve the regeneration problems, and then clone rights won’t be a merely theoretical issue,” she said. “I’ve been going to a lecture series on artificial intelligence and alternative personhood.”

Donner tapped on the open door and walked in. “That’s one of her many obsessions, isn’t it, General?”

Genoa blushed and said, “Don’t you have work to do?”

“Yes, but I actually have a reason to be here,” Donner said and then told me that Sven had asked me to call, but it wasn’t urgent.

I returned to my office and called Sven. He picked up on the third ring—not too soon and not too late.

“Hello, Sven, how are you?”

“I only wanted to say that I appreciate all you’re doing. I look forward to this being over, when I can return to my research—and also see you on a personal basis.”

“Me, too!” I’m sure that after a few more sessions with Rene, I’ll fall madly in love with Sven.

“I’m so glad to hear that, Jennifer,” he said. “I wondered if you’ve spoken to your friend She-Hulk recently. I heard about the incident last night with the suspected superhuman. What are they calling him? Superbrat. She’s frequently in the proximity of dangerous situations, and I wonder if this could be at all connected with the foiled abduction at Club Nice.”

He was sort of making it all about himself, but it was understandable since he’d been the target of the kidnapping attempt. “The NYPD has not made a connection between those incidents, Sven. The trail’s gone cold for the nightclub assault—but at least there hasn’t been another. As
for Superbrat, I think he’s an inventive crackpot. Last night’s situation was more of a prank. You still have your security team protecting you, right?”

“Of course, just as you advised. I listen very carefully to everything you say, Jennifer. Your opinion is important to me.”

My ooky radar began swinging around, probably because I wasn’t comfortable with effusive compliments. “Thank you, Sven. I’ll be in touch.”

I go to sleep thinking of the case. I dream of the case. I wake up thinking about it. I desperately needed a break from the legal world, and so I took Saturday off and went to a Forestiers fight practice session held in an old ballroom dance studio.

When I arrived, a dozen little girls in leotards were pulling on their tiny jackets and tiny warm-up pants. At that age, my classmates and I always went out with our dance togs on, wanting everyone to see that we were ballerinas. Shooting up six inches in one year had slapped the attitude and coordination right out of me.

The little girls stared at the adults with our Nerf swords, balsa wood shields, and lacrosse helmets decorated with silver foil.

Nelson and Amy were already there, wearing matching vestments made from striped beach towels with crests pinned to their chests.

“You guys look so cute together!” I said. “I hope I’m not embarrassing you.”

Amy reached up to tug at my ponytail. “Jen, if wearing a towel poncho doesn’t embarrass me, nothing will.”

One of the little girls said to her friends, “What a bunch of nerds!”

My friends and I looked at one another and burst out laughing. Nelson said, “Scorn even from the youngest. I’ll remember that the next time a kid begs me not to tell his mother that he hasn’t been brushing.”

We had a fantastic workout. I got to practice several different kinds of injuries and was given great direction for more dramatic stealth attack scenes.

“You’ve just been smote with a two-headed ax, so we need you to
emote
, Jennifer!”

“I’m emoting smoting! I’m emoting smoting!”

I was having so much fun that I didn’t realize our session was over until our leader clapped and thanked us for coming.

I was trying to straighten out my muslin tunic, which had twisted over my coarse cotton leggings, when I heard someone say, “Jennifer?”

I looked up and saw Fritz Durning, holding hands with a darling little girl with white-blond hair who was squinting at me. “Oh, hi, Fritz.”

“Jennifer, this is my daughter Maisie. She’s staying with me this week.”

“Hi, Maisie.”

She scrunched her face and said, “You’re not a ballerina. Daddy. You said this was a ballet class!”

“I
am
bringing you to ballet.” Fritz looked around at the motley crew of mostly young adults in faux medieval garb. “What is this?”

“It’s a sword-fighting class for a live action role-playing group.”

“You were on the floor,” the little girl said. “It’s all dirty.”

“It’s okay for girls to get dirty,” Amy said.

“I think so,” Fritz replied. “Maisie, go on and say hello to the other girls.”

I introduced Fritz to Amy and Nelson, and they did that New York thing of finding out what friends they had in common. Then Amy and Nelson said good-bye, and I was alone with Fritz.

He smiled and said, “You continually surprise me, Jennifer Walters. I wouldn’t take you for a LARPer.”

“You know about LARPing?”

He laughed and said, “I wasn’t always the polished metrosexual you see before you. I still miss those games.”

“You can join our team.”

“No, you already lured me into Krav Maga, and Azzan thinks I need to practice more. You know, we have some unfinished business.”

“Are my sixty days up already?”

“You know they are,” Fritz said. “Actually, my ex and I are trying to work out a way to be together.”

“So you’re rescinding your offer?”

“If I thought you were interested, I’d extend it,” he said with a wink. “So who is he, Jennifer—the guy you’re hiding?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not dating anyone.”

Fritz held out his arms to display his body and said, “Hon, if you weren’t interested in anyone else, you wouldn’t pass on all this!”

I started laughing and was saved from a serious response by Maisie, who skipped back with a new friend.

Question 1: Does everyone assume I’m dating someone? Question 2: Whom do they think I’m dating?

Rene has office hours every other Saturday, so I came in, bringing a Joocey Jooce for him and a double latte for me. He sat in his big armchair, looking like a nice hippie grampa, and said, “You handled the situation at Lincoln Center very efficiently. Well, except for stealing the motorcycle, breaking dozens of traffic laws, and damaging all those taxis.”

“Thanks, Rene, but that was Shulky, not me.”

“Okay, we’ll keep working on merging your bifurcated personality,” he said. “But Shulky didn’t go out afterward and cause a ruckus, and that’s a huge improvement. She also collaborated with a former antagonist.”

“Thanks, I guess, but I think she’s feeling a little down at being left out of things with the other superheroes. She finally goes out to have some innocent fun—”

“Which involved vehicular theft and damage.”

“Innocent fun—the bike was a loan—only to have her evening interrupted by Superbrat, who seems to have it in for her. Once again, she saved the city from devastating economic and emotional collapse, and all the media says is that she’s a superloser and a She-Hasbeen.”

“That hurts your feelings?”

“Yes… because I care about her. She’s cheerful and brave, and her primary desire in life is to defend the vulnerable.”

“I see,” he said, sipping thoughtfully on his Joocey Jooce. “Are you ready to talk about your mother’s death yet?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Later then, but you have to face the source of your rage or else you’ll—Shulky, I mean—will keep acting out inappropriately.”

“I will face it, but not just yet.” I hoped the calming herbs had worked on him already. “There’s something else I’d like to talk about, but you have to promise not to tell anyone.”

He looked affronted. “Jennifer, everything you say here as yourself or as She-Hulk is strictly confidential.”

“Just confirming that. Okay, you know how you were talking about passion and you brought up ‘Flesh-Eating Bacteria Girl’?”

“The Fringe Theory song? It’s one of my favorites.”

I took a breath and got up my nerve. “Rene, I’m the flesh-eating bacteria girl.”

He choked on his smoothie and went into a coughing fit. I got up to pat him on the back until he caught his breath. He gazed up into my face and said, “Holy moley! Seriously? Your green eyes, your long legs, your pert—Of course, you are.”

So I told him about meeting Ellis Tesla and having the most passionate weekend of my life, waiting desperately for Ellis to call me, and eventually giving up on him. “Every time I heard one of his songs from the Gin Cycle, it was like a knife turning in my back. I knew it was just a lie because he hadn’t called me.”

“He might have had a good reason for not calling, and you could have gone to him, Gin. I mean, Jennifer.”

“Right, I could have showed up at a concert and hoped he’d pick me
out of the crowd again. But what if he didn’t? What if he picked out some other girl and told me, ‘Hey, it’s only rock ’n’ roll’?”