| |
We saw the Carp! film, which turned out to be bizarre. It was an amateur recording of a play given over forty years ago. The film was pretty much a mess. As for the play, lots of young, hairy people—especially the men—with peek-a-boo costumes showing flesh in unexpected places. Even by today’s standards, men with their butt cheeks hanging out were unusual. Also unwelcome, in my opinion. Anyway, a science fiction plot straight out of a comic book. Ardis and Damien stayed to listen to the panel afterward, which started with the movie producer’s explanation of the nutso storyline. I said a quiet goodbye and left, pretty sure Ardis and Damien wouldn’t miss me. Sarah had texted us both an hour ago saying she had an unexpected evening shift to work. She’d left the comicon.
I had to walk the length of the convention center to get to the exit nearest my hotel. The crowds had thinned out, which was good for making progress. The center still had plenty of evening programming ahead, but I didn’t plan to remain here hoping to perform another superheroic deed. If what I had done today with the Dimensional Diamond’s help could even be classified as heroic.
I didn’t bother to argue with myself about whether the jewel’s effect had been real, or mere fantasy wish fulfillment. My previous superheroine adventure had convinced me that however ridiculous and illogical, there were superpowers available to me—powers that no one else on the planet had.
Was Mistress Miraculous a foe with superpowers? What level of enemy did the comicon have? The “lights out” scenario this afternoon, despite its terrifying effect, had not required superpowers. Advance planning, electrical and audio skills, yes. As for the bizarre pedal-pushing flying man—or woman—I didn’t know enough about the state of amateur flying to guess. Probably there were some daring people for whom flying indoors was a cheap thrill. Throwing darts at people was on a different behavior scale, though.
I was outside on the sidewalk when somebody said, “Your costume shows your hot ass.” I stopped contemplating big box villainy and noticed that a guy my age was leering at me.
“Eff off,” I said mentally, and kept walking. Not out loud because sticking up for myself would be seen as a challenge. We weren’t on the convention center property, so I couldn’t yell for Security. I didn’t see any cops nearby, and anyway, they wouldn’t have done anything. I heaved a huge mental sigh. Time for stupid social games that tended to make me lose hope that men could ever become more than brutes. Where was Sarah and her utter confidence when I needed her?
This kind of thing happened all the time. Yet I was as covered up as if I was Amish. If I’d shaved my head and worn a wig, I would have qualified for Hassidic. My remade superheroine uniform covered me from neck to ankle in thick spandex. My nipples didn’t poke through or anything.
Why was I even considering whether I was dressed provocatively?
My “admirer” had now decided to walk next to me. Danger sign. I tensed up, waiting for my chance. I also began scoping out possible escape routes in case this guy had any fight in him.
“Sorry, I don’t know you,” I said, and kept on walking. “Enjoy the con.”
“I want to get in your hot pants,” he replied.
“I’ve got a boyfriend.” I gave him the side-eyed bitchface, but he wasn’t looking at my face. He was looking at my chest.
“A babe like you with tits like that would, but I’m a much better—”
At that point I tried to stop listening. I pretended to stumble, and deliberately stuck my boot in his way to trip him. He went down. I walked on.
Would that be enough of a kiss-off, or would he continue the harassment? A stumble wouldn’t be an obvious besting by a female, cause for him to follow me to “put me in my place” to regain his sense of masculine superiority. He could take the fall as mere bad luck. Plus, he’d get sympathy and help from the crowd around him that would soothe his deflated ego. And whatever else needed deflating.
I kept walking, but I casually pulled a small mirror from my utility belt—which had actual useful stuff in it—and looked over my shoulder discreetly, as if I was checking my makeup. I didn’t want to be struck from behind and hauled off to his secret bunker.
No sign of him, and I was finally near my hotel and a few milling doormen and bellhops. With luck, no other man would approach me in the next few yards. I wasn’t the only one in costume. The sidewalks on this convention preview night were beginning to fill up with cosplayers in outlandish and sometimes scanty outfits. Not that it mattered. Provocative was in the eye of the beholder, as my recent nasty encounter had proved. Maybe I should wear a burqa tomorrow. No. Some men probably thought those were hot, too.
“I saw what you did back there,” a male voice said. A guy a little younger than me fell into step with me. “I need to talk to you.”
Not again.
“Leave me alone,” I said. I sped up, leaving him in mid-sentence. Thankfully, he didn’t follow.
Roland buzzed me at last. “What the hell took you so long?” I demanded.
“A good evening to you, too,” he replied.
“Sorry. I had to deal with that flier, and then I got hassled by some creep, and then some other guy. I’m in a pissy mood. What have you learned?”
“That our no harassment policy isn’t working? What happened?”
I gave Roland as many details as I could remember about the first harasser, in case he tried something inside the convention center. The second one hadn’t said anything specifically vile, plus I never took a good look at him.
“That’s all I can tell you. What about Mistress Miraculous?” I was going through the hotel’s revolving doors. This was my last chance to hear Roland before I hit the lobby noise.
“We found the place where she’d rerouted the electrical. It didn’t tell us much except that it was a professional job.”
“Did she leave any clues, like her driver’s license?”
Roland chuckled. “Nope. I’m having my guys check all the service entries where people have to sign in and present ID. Then there are closed circuit TV records to review.”
“You probably have the flier incident recorded, too.”
“Already found that. The woman wore a mask. Once she keyed herself into the staff area, she wasn’t on CCTV anymore. Turns out we don't have cameras in all the staff hallways.”
“A woman again. She must know about the cameras.”
“We’re checking the list of disgruntled ex-employees.”
“What about earlier today? No anonymous notes? No scrawled warnings on walls?”
I struggled to hear his answer against the din of the lobby.
“Nothing. Maybe our villainess is a comics person who has a grudge.”
“According to you, that’s everyone who ever worked in the comics business, because they all got shafted.” I found a cozy quiet spot in the hotel lobby after all, behind some potted palms. “I assume it’s old age and lack of money that keeps them all from suing Eric’s company and CP Comics, too.”
“Why do you keep calling Fantastic Comics his company? It was founded before we all were born. He doesn’t own it, not the way Dickie Crandall owns his kiddie comics company. Eric is only the latest hired gun.”
“Eric lives and breathes FC. You don’t like him, but as another fanboy you ought to at least admire his dedication,” I said.
“I’d respect him more if he didn’t keep killing off characters whose rich history at FC stretches back before I was even born.”
New characters, too. I hadn’t told Roland about Swoonie. I couldn’t tell him now. “I’m going to the FC meet-and-greet-for-the-elite next. Are you coming?”
“I have too much to check on at the convention center.”
“I’ll—oh, wait a sec, Eric’s trying to buzz through. Hold on.”
I clicked through to Eric. “Hi. I’m talking to Roland about the trouble at the comicon today.”
“Already heard about it. I need you here at the reception. Where are you?”
“In the lobby, brainstorming with Roland. You’ll never guess what happened—”
“Tell me later. Get up here, will you?”
“Okay. Right away.” I clicked back to Roland. When he replied I quickly said goodbye, promising to let him know if anything weird happened at Eric’s party. I clicked off and stood. The hotel lobby was now filled with people arriving, people dressed in their cosplay outfits, and some bewildered “mundanes,” as haughty science fiction fans liked to call normal everyday people. Surrounded by more of us than them, the normals weren’t in their usual top dog position. They were the abnormals here.