The She-Hulk Diaries (8 page)

“He was on the road, Jen, and, OMG, are you going to try to lure him away from this evil bitch, Amber Hammerhead?”

“No, they’re engaged and I respect that commitment. Also, it would be like sticking my hand into a bear trap for a cupcake. I won’t get the job now, and I’ll never ever see him again.”

“You’re delusional. This city is like college. We see the same people over and over. He’s here. You’re here. Your long legs and beautiful eyes are here. Every time he’s heard that song, he’s thought of you—naked and servicing his every perverse whim! He’s got…” and here she scrunched her face and calculated. “If he heard the song once a week, and that’s on the low side, for six years, then he’s had over three hundred sexual fantasies about you!”

“That’s simply conjecture!”

“No, it’s simply multiplication—on the subject of men, I am an expert witness. How many other songs did he write about you?”

“None.”

She sighed dramatically. “What happened to that innocent sweet
Jennifer who stuttered when she tried to tell a fib? Never mind… Rodney! What the hell are you eating? Drop it! Drop that!”

Dahlia tried to wrest something that looked like a frozen mouse from Rodney’s nasty pointy teeth, and I hoped she’d forgotten the subject, but she finally let the dog eat whatever it was, and then said, “ ‘Gin and Entropy.’ It was about you.”

“It was about martinis and depression.”

Before I could stop her, she took out her phone, searched for the song and hit
Play
, and Ellis’s lusty rough voice cut through the thin winter air.

Despite the chill of the day, I felt my temperature rising, and I said, “The lyrics are nonspecific.”

Dahlia looked at Rodney and said, “Your Honor, the prosecution would like to treat Ms. Walters as a hostile witness.”

Then that damn rat-dog yipped as if he understood.

“Dahl, I didn’t only wait for Ellis to call. I called
him
. You know that was excruciating for me, and he never ever called me back. I kept thinking he would, but he never did.”

“Maybe there’s a good reason.”

“Yes, he just wasn’t that into me and there were hundreds of hot girls in line.” Funny, how old hurts are still painful even when one is a successful, if temporarily unemployed, top-level attorney. “You can’t tell anyone! I’ve already wrecked my chances with QUIRC and I don’t need other firms knowing that—”

“That you are an internationally notorious mystery sex goddess? Okay, I will protect your deepest darkest secret!”

Rodney saved me from trying to think of a response. “D, that rodent-thing is pooping on someone’s knockoff Vuitton.”

In order to get Ellis out of my head, which is already crowded by Shulky sprawling all over the place, I decided to participate in something outside my comfort zone. After searching singles meet-ups, I found a
Game of Thrones
marathon party at an establishment called Professor Sam’s. I thought I’d meet other bookish battle fans and we could talk about favorite weapons and comment on the authenticity of the broadsword scenes.

I dressed appropriately for a visit to an academic soiree—a navy Shetland wool sweater over a button-down shirt, jeans, ankle boots with Velcro closures. I don’t know how Shulky can move in the sky-high heels she adores, but it’s true that she can fling a stiletto shoe with the force and accuracy of, well, an actual stiletto.

I should have Googled images for the location, because the address was a bar. Women who complain that there are no men in Manhattan obviously haven’t visited a sports bar on a night where everyone gets a
free Jell-O shot each time a character is stabbed, beheaded, or cudgeled in a fantasy adventure show.

All the men were friendly. Very friendly. Too friendly. The Jell-O shots may have had something to do with it. They all seemed to know one another and they were all using insider slang, so I slipped away to the ladies’ room and ran cold water over my wrists until I had the nerve to go back out.

I found a place by the bar and kept my eyes on the big screen.

A man sidled up to me and said, “How’s it going? Your first time here?”

“Mmm, yes. It’s very crowded.” I turned to look at him. I didn’t mind that he was shorter than me. A lot of men are. I didn’t mind that he smelled a little minty—I like the smell of mint. I
did
mind that he was wearing a T-shirt with an image of a topless Rogue on it, prominent headlights and all, because she’s my friend.

He said, “We’re always glad to have more of the lady fans here. We like to have a good time.”

I couldn’t stop staring at his horrible shirt.

“You like my shirt? I did the graphics myself. Rogue modeled for me.” He seemed nervous as he lowered his voice. “She was wearing less than this by the time we were done. She kind of spoils a man, but you’re not bad as far as normal human chicks go.”

Shulky growled within me, but I shushed her. I grabbed my coat and walked by the too friendly drunken crowd and out the door. As I was wrapping my scarf around my neck, feeling upset about everything, I heard the bar door open and then the dweeb was beside me, crossing his arms tightly on his narrow chest and saying, “I’m sorry! Geez, I’m sorry!”

“Why?” was all I could say.

The little man looked miserable, shivering so much that his teeth rattled. “I signed up for a class on how to pick up girls and this was our first field trip and my assignment was to…” He trailed off. “I’m supposed to wear something provocative, but I hate this stupid shirt and we’re supposed to like give girls ‘negs.’ You know, I have to say something negative
to bring down a girl’s ego and then she’ll want to impress me. But it’s really mean, right? I feel mean and stupid, and I paid a
lot
of money to feel this way.”

“You won’t feel anything unless you get out of the cold. What’s your name, and do you have a jacket?”

“Nelson Kaspar and my jacket is inside? I don’t want to go back in there. Numinous, that’s the pickup master who teaches the class?” Nelson was one of those people who speak in questions. “He’ll humiliate me if I don’t score, okay? I already tried to get my money back and he just insulted me.”

I’d heard about the scummy pickup tactic, and I felt for the little guy. “We’re going inside and I can get you a refund. You just have to agree to let me represent you.”

He said “yes” and “but, but” a few times, and we went back into the loud, warm bar. Now that I knew who I was looking for, I immediately spotted Numinous. He was a tall, bone-thin guy with long bleached white hair, guyliner, and a silver-topped walking stick that he twirled in his skinny ringed fingers. Three women, who looked like actresses hired for a performance, fawned over him.

He leered at me as I came up. “Sorry, nerdette, you’ll have to stand in line, although I’ll bump you up if you give me a good reason.”

“Mr. Numinous, my name is Jennifer S. Walters and I represent Nelson Kaspar, who would like a full refund of his payment for your class.”

Numinous sneered. “He got his money’s worth, picking you up, didn’t he? If you don’t mind.” He turned from me and said to the by-the-hour talent, “Losers.”

I spoke in my firmest courtroom voice. “Mr. Numinous, you are compelling your students to engage in second-degree harassment, which is a violation of New York Penal Code Section 240.26. When my client enrolled in your course, he believed that all activity would be both legal and ethical.”

Numinous continued to look the other way, but I could tell he was listening, so I said, “Now, if you do not refund Mr. Kaspar’s course fees, I
will be forced to pursue legal recourse, including posting a notice in all local print and online publications seeking your students and victims of your students in order to ascertain the full extent of your malfeasance.”

“All right!” Numinous squirmed in his chair and hissed, “All right, I’ll give the little weasel his money back!” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a checkbook. He snapped his fingers and one of the girls brought out a pen from her clutch. “Kaspar, you could have gotten laid big-time, you could have been a man, but you’re too much of a wuss and you had to go running to mommy to take care of you.”

“Confident men do not denigrate women,” I said. “Cease abusing my client or I shall seek redress.”

Norman took the check and gave me a big smile as we were leaving. He had very nice teeth. “Thank you, Jennifer! You were so brave.”

“Only about legal things. I hate bullies.” We stood out on the cold dark street.

“How did you know that code right off the top of your head?”

I knew it because Shulky has been charged in violation of Section 240.26
once a few times
frequently. I said, “I really wanted to watch the show.”

“I live near here? That’s not a line because, uh, I prefer girls my height. Looking up at you is giving me a neck crick.”

My resolution to make new friends hadn’t started yet, and I was planning to turn him down, when he said, “I have a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos?”

He seemed sweet once he’d dropped the douche act. “Sure. We can catch the last two hours.”

I expected a grubby studio, but Nelson had a terrific space with comfortable leather furniture, dark wood floors, a big-screen TV, and a fireplace that he soon had roaring. I found out that he was a dentist, which explained his great smile. He spent several minutes deliberating on the right wine for Doritos, and finally decided on ale from a new microbrewery.

While we watched the show, we talked about the fight scenes. Well,
I
talked about the fight scenes and he asked questions and then said, “Jen, how come you know so much about sword fighting?”

“When I was a kid, my cousin and I used to battle it out in the fields with sticks. I never stopped. It was always fun.”

“I couldn’t do anything like that,” he said. “I’m not brave?”

“Nelson, most people would be terrified to do your job. I’m sure you could learn the fundamentals of swordsmanship.”

“You think so?”

“Absolutely.”

I taught him a few basic moves with umbrellas. He was a fast study and listened to instructions. I was nice and cozy as the TV blared, the fire crackled, and Nelson practiced feints and jabs. He threw the awful T-shirt in the flames and we toasted with a second bottle of beer. I told him about the Forestiers, and he said he’d like to go to the next meet-up and asked if there would be any shortish girls there. I told him yes, because Amy Stewart-Lee was shortish, single, and always brushed and flossed after lunch.

I’d gone outside my comfort zone, and after an initial awkwardness, I’d made a new friend, enjoyed delicious salad dressing-flavored chips, and watched an exhilarating show. Nelson complimented my smile, which made those years of braces seem worthwhile, and even gave me pocket-size samples of dental floss!

The entire evening had passed without me fixating on Ellis. With Amber. In their brownstone. Having naked sex while he sang her a love song about sensual consensual mitosis and rhymed it with “Too much Gin gave me emotional cirrhosis.”

After reviewing my Valentine’s Day Resolutions, I realized that most are contingent upon getting a job and a boyfriend. Would it have been better to structure them in a diagram with consecutive steps, or would that slow down all progress? I’m beginning to see other bugs in my plan. For example, how can I have a real date for Valentine’s Day when Valentine’s Day was the official start to my resolutions? Luckily, I have time to amend my goals!

AMENDMENT A:
I will assign points to every achievement and work toward 100 cumulative points per week. That way, if I don’t get a job ASAP, which I’m giving 500 points because a job is a really big deal, I can compensate with social activities, or by going on a date.

AMENDMENT B:
Since my first day of resolutions actually starts a month and a half after New Year’s, my Valentine’s Day date should be rescheduled as well. My goal is now to have a date of Valentine’s Day-type
quality
in the week preceding or after April 1, as April 1 has non-romantic implications.