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| Issue #12 July 2006 |
"Keeping Secrets" Written by John Bush |
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“Hey, MJ. It’s Peter. Sorry I couldn’t get you when you were near the phone, but I got your message last night, and I really want to talk to you, too. I don’t know if I can fit you in today – Jonah’s got me running over for some big thing at the U.N. – but afterwards, or maybe tomorrow, I think it would be great if we could –”
*BEEEEEP*
“What the…? Damn thing cut me off,” Peter Parker mumbled to himself, rubbing the back of his neck. He wanted to call his estranged wife back, to leave her the full message, but he was afraid that it might come across as weird and stalker-ish. That wasn’t the message he was trying to send, though. So he put the phone back on the hook and sighed, laying back on his unmade bed. He knew there were things he could be doing to fill his time before going to work – grading science quizzes, picking up the piles of shirts and pants strewn about the grey carpet of his bedroom – but he really just wanted MJ to call him back. So he just kept heaving weary sighs and staring at the 60-watt light bulb fixture above him. It was pretty bright.
***********
“Mary Jane Watson! Good to finally meet you, darling. You look great,” a tanned man beamed, holding out his hand. MJ took it, noticing the black jacket he wore over a white, button-down shirt, open at the collar. He rubbed his hands on his designer jeans a few times before sitting down in his black leather office chair behind his metallic black desk. Mary Jane looked around the office; noting the lack of walls – the architect had instead opted to use windows all around. On a sunny day like today the whole room was flooding with light glinting off the white tiled floors. Edward J. Harper was one of the top producers in Hollywood. This fact was made even more impressive by the fact that his main offices were in Manhattan.
“Good to meet you too, Mr. Harper. I’ve been looking forward to this meeting,” Mary Jane replied enthusiastically, flashing brilliant white teeth, “This project is very exciting for me – I’ve always wanted to get into acting.”
“Oh, please, call me Eddie. All my friends do,” Edward J. Harper responded warmly, winking one of his light blue eyes, “But I assure you, Miss Watson, that no one is more excited about this project than me. Perfect Man is the ultimate hero – he’s been around since forever. He’s almost more American than Captain America himself – this movie’s going to be huge, so I thought to myself ‘Who better to play the part of Perfect Man’s beautiful bride than the most beautiful woman in the world?’ Which begged the question ‘who is the most beautiful woman in the world?’ Of course, there was only one answer, MJ, and I’m staring right at her.”
“Oh, please,” Mary Jane answered, blushing and looking at her feet, “Stop. That’s embarrassing.”
“What? It ain’t like he’s lying, MJ,” Carter Woodward chimed in. MJ blushed a deeper shade of red at her agent’s compliments – she had never been good at taking them.
“Let’s talk about the project,” MJ said, changing the subject, “Let’s discuss Miss Louisa Lorraine.”
“Fine, fine,” Edward J. Harper conceded, throwing up his hands, “We want you for the role. You, you, and only you, Mary Jane – we think you’re perfect for the role, and you know what? We’re right, and we know it. We can hammer out the details later, though – for now, the question is, are you willing to commit to this project right here, and right now?”
Mary Jane looked at her agent, who nodded his assent.
“I am, Mr… Eddie.”
“Good to hear, Mary Jane. Great to hear, even. Now, let’s get down to brass tacks…”
***********
“OK, great class, everyone. Remember to read the next chapter for tomorrow, and we’ll pick up where we left off,” Peter Parker yelled, trying to overpower the final bell of the day. He was almost sure he didn’t succeed, but he guessed it would become apparent tomorrow whether he had or not. He smiled as he gathered his papers together and threw them into his briefcase, in no particular order. He slung the strap over his left shoulder, and grabbed his camera off the desk, slinging the strap of its case over his right. He began to walk to the door when he noticed someone still sitting in the back of the room.
“Carla? The bell rang. You can go home now,” Peter joked, smiling. The young girl didn’t get up, but she did focus her eyes on her increasingly uncomfortable chemistry teacher. “Carla, is everything all right?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Parker. Is it?”
“Uh… OK… I asked you first, but I guess I’ll break the ice. I’m perfectly all right, Carla. Now it’s your turn; are you?”
“I guess I am too, Mr. Parker.”
“Ooooookaaaay… Let’s try this again. It seems like something’s wrong, Carla. I know I’m just your chem teacher, but if I can help, I’d like to. Is there something wrong, Carla?”
“I know your secret,” Carla whispered, sliding out of her chair and throwing her backpack over her left shoulder. She shrugged her long, brown hair over her shoulders and thrust her hands into the pockets of her black jeans before she began shuffling towards the door.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear what you said,” Peter said. The young girl didn’t respond, she merely walked to the wooden door with the cracked window in the center into the hall. She looked back at Peter over her shoulder before leaving.
“It was… nothing,” Carla said quietly as she walked through the door frame.
“That was… weird,” Peter said aloud, before shrugging and heading for the door himself. He had to catch the train to the Bugle before heading to the UN for the big speechy thingy.
***********
“Parker! You’re late!” J. Jonah Jameson barked at the top of his lungs. Peter didn’t even have time to wonder how the man with the least-positively-connotated-moustache in the world could see him through his office walls. He must have had some sort of freelancer-harassing-sense. Checking his watch, Peter noticed he was over half an hour early – though he knew it would probably be suicide to bring it up, he did it anyway.
“I’m early, Jonah. You said five o’clock – it’s barely four thirty,” Peter announced as he opened the door to Triple J’s office. The newspaper editor didn’t say a word for a minute – he just puffed heavily on his cigar a few times, looking very cross. Robbie Robertson sat on the red couch in the corner, hiding a smile.
“Good to see you, Peter,” Robbie said, extending a hand. Peter shook it.
“You too, Robbie,” the webslinger’s alter ego responded before turning back to Jameson. The office hadn’t changed any – the walls were the dullest grey possible (grey paint was apparently cheaper), as was the carpet. Jonah’s desk was cluttered with hundreds of proofs, papers, and photos. Jonah sat behind it, arms crossed, puffing away. He was doing his angry-puffs, so Peter knew not to push things too far.
“Here’s your pass, Parker. I want the shots on my desk no later than four o’clock tomorrow,” Jonah demanded, taking the cigar out of his mouth.
“Sure thing, Jonah,” Peter said, turning towards the door, “Good to see you again, JJ. You too, Robbie.”
“Always a pleasure,” Robbie added, waving slightly and smiling as Peter walked out the door.
***********
“One line, people! Have your cameras, recorders, microphones, and other equipment out and ready for inspection by the time you get to the head of the line. If you’re not ready by then, we’re not letting you in. It’s as simple as that,” the SHIELD lieutenant shouted over the din of the assorted members of the press. Peter only had his camera – he had ended up with enough time to drop his briefcase off at home before coming to the UN building. He let the camera dangle from his neck by its strap while he thrust his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. He felt a silky smooth item in his left pocket – it had a familiar texture, but he wasn’t sure what it was at first. A quick glance at his pocket brought a bad feeling to his gut – how had his mask gotten in there? He hadn’t had the costume at work today. He was next in line.
“Sir, place your camera on the belt and step through the scanner, please,” a young SHIELD agent asked sternly, holding his gun low across his stomach and making himself look more intimidating by straightening his shoulders.
“Sure thing, officer,” Peter responded nervously, obeying the directions. He stepped through the scanner – what kind of scanner, he couldn’t say, but it looked high tech.
“Sir, turn around and spread out your arms,” a different SHIELD agent commanded. Peter did as he was told, and felt the agent pat him down. The agent stopped at Peter’s waist, and Peter felt a tug at his pocket. The guard had found the mask. OK… time to come up with an excuse.
“Sir? What is this?” the guard asked sternly.
“Oh, that? I was… at a costume party the other day. I went as Spider-Man. I must have forgotten to take the mask out of the jacket,” Peter laughed nervously when he finished speaking. The SHIELD agent eyed him suspiciously before handing Peter his camera and the mask and motioning for Peter to head through the door to the general assembly room’s press box. Peter was so relieved, he didn’t notice a fourth guard slip past the checkpoint and into the general assembly room. He did, however, notice a slight tingle in his spider-sense. He jerked his head in the direction that was setting it off, but all he could see was a SHIELD agent walking ahead of him. Peter shrugged it off and hurried into the press area. No one would be stupid enough to try something with all this security.
***********
Peter could see the Secretary General from his seat in the press box – he was talking to a few heads of state seated behind him. They all laughed nervously at something. Peter felt that strange tingle again – his head snapped to the direction it was coming from, but again, he only saw a SHIELD agent. He was sure, though, that it was the same on. Peter kept his eye on the soldier, noticing that he was glancing around nervously. Peter looked around the soldier, too – no one was looking at him, except Peter, but the soldier couldn’t see him from his vantage point.
Peter’s spider-sense kicked into high gear at the same time, incidentally, that the soldier shouldered is rifle and took aim at the world leaders assembled on-stage.
“Gun!” Peter yelled, pointing at the SHIELD agent he had been spying – every single guard in the assembly room looked at Peter, then at the young soldier, who, presumably in desperation, squeezed the trigger. The gun went off, but the SHIELD agents on stage had shoved all of the dignitaries to the ground before the shot went off. Cameras flashed wildly as the would-be assassin dropped his rifle and ran out the nearest exit, slamming the door behind him. A dozen agents ran out the door behind him, only to come back in a few minutes later. Peter noticed the same Irishman who had been in his room yesterday morning jump down from the stage. The soldier in charge said something to Dugan, who yelled back at the soldier. He ran off, and Dugan looked generally unpleased, before noticing Peter in the press box. He tipped his hat quickly and walked back to assist some agents in escorting the dignitaries out of the assembly room. A well-dressed man walked up to the microphone.
“I’m sorry, everyone, but due to what has just happened, we’re going to have to cancel today’s press conference. We’ll release an official statement later today.”
The members of the press groaned in unison – especially the freelancers. The paycheck may have just got a whole lot lighter. Especially for Peter – the only photographer in the room without pictures of the event.
***********
“Hey Peter, It’s MJ again. Sorry I missed your call – I was in a meeting. If you’re still up for meeting up sometime, give me a call when you get back and we’ll work something out. *BEEEP*”
“Damn, missed her again,” Peter grumbled, angrily hitting the end button on the machine. Not too heavily, though – spider-strength cuts right through the damn things. Peter picked up his phone and dialed MJ’s cell phone number again, letting himself fall back onto his bed. The phone rang once. Twice. Thrice. Four times. Five times, and… the machine. Peter hung up and threw the phone at the wall. Grumbling to himself, he walked over and picked it up, kicking off his shoes onto the already-cluttered floor as he went. He returned to the other side of the bedroom, placing the phone on the receiver, before walking over to his closet and pulling out the union suit and webshooters – nothing to pick a lonely superhero up likes a nice swing around the city. As he was pulling off his shirt, he heard the phone ring.
“Pleeeeeeeaaase be Mary Jane,” Peter said aloud before jumping to the phone and snapping it up, “This is Peter.”
“Peter, dear! I’m glad I caught you,” came a familiar, equally-loved voice on the other end of the line.
“Aunt May! How are you?” Peter responded warmly, feeling ashamed when he wished she hadn’t called him just then. She was a lonely, old lady who loved her nephew – nothing wrong with that. Still, MJ would have been better…
“Oh, I’m fine dear. I just wanted to call and see how you were doing. I haven’t talked to you in ages.”
“Yeah, I know,” Peter winced, recalling a whirlwind of Spider-Slayers and an endless parade of his B-list rogues gallery, “I’ve been busy at work. Teaching and all. It’s a busy occupation. You know how it is.”
“Oh, I know, Peter, I know. I’ve just been worrying about you, dear. Ever since Mary Jane left you like that, you’ve been… well, distant. You know how I worry, Peter. I’m just a silly old woman.”
“You aren’t either, Aunt May. But you don’t need to worry – I’ve been through worse. Trust me, everything’s going to be fine.”
“Well you certainly sound happier, dear.”
“Yeah, well… no point in being angst-ridden for the rest of my life. Might as well enjoy it while I’ve got it,” Peter mused, taking off his pants and replacing them with his spider-tights, “I really hate to do this to you, Aunt May, but I’ve got to go. Work stuff. I’m going back to some freelance stuff for the Bugle – make a few extra bucks.”
“Oh, wonderful! You always did love photography work, Peter. It’s good that you’ve gone back to that. Well, I suppose we’ll talk later,” May finished.
“We will,” Peter affirmed, “Good night, Aunt May.”
“Good night, Peter, and good luck with your work,” May responded before a final click sounded in Peter’s ear. Peter hit the off button and put the phone back on the receiver. He returned to the closet and finished changing.
***********
Thwip!
Thwip!
Thwip!
The happiest sound in the world. Spider-Man sighed a breath of joy as he swung through the air, left arm, then right, then left again, over the streets of Manhattan. Taxis and traffic lights and cracked sidewalks blurred together underneath him as he soared between buildings. The wind splashed on his face, breaking against his mask. All was right with the world, if only for the moment. Once around the island. Then it was on to grading quizzes and lesson plans. And explaining to Jonah how he didn’t get pictures of the story of the month. That one would be done over the phone.
***********
“Let’s see how you did here, Jimmy,” Peter said aloud, looking at the pile of quizzes before him, “Question 1, Identify mitosis. And you wrote ‘The things on the end of mifeetsis.’ Cute, but no.”
Peter marked a big red X on the paper on top of the pile. Jimmy wasn’t looking to do very well. The streak of X’s that followed sealed the poor kid’s fate. Peter stretched back in his chair at the small kitchen table in his apartment’s kitchen area – his outstretched arms hit the wooden cabinet doors behind him. He was only halfway through the quizzes, but it was time for a break. Peter walked to the window at the far end of the kitchen and peered out – the cool night air of New York City blew in through the inch and a half of open window. It felt good against his bare arms – the sleeves of his white button down shirt were rolled up to his elbows. His moment of calm was interrupted by the shrill ring of the phone.
“Please be MJ,” Peter repeated to himself as he strolled across the room and picked up the receiver, “Hello?”
“Parker!” barked an angry voice, “What’s this bull$#!* about you not getting any photos of the assassination attempt? You were right there! I give you a job out of the good of my heart, and this is how you repay me? I couldn’t feel more betrayed if you were my own flesh and blood, and you’re practically that anyway – all the times I’ve bled out the wallet for you!”
“Uh… sorry, Jonah. I was too busy pointing out the shooter to get a good shot.”
“YOU POINTED OUT THE SHOOTER?! Why didn’t you let him get a shot off? You could have had the excl – SHUT UP, ROBERTSON! I’ll show you heartless, you sonuva- *click*.”
“Nuts… now I owe Robbie another one,” Peter sighed, placing the phone back on the receiver. He strolled back to the table. He could at least do one job right tonight.
***********
“Huh? Whuzzat?” Peter grumbled, sitting up in bed. The blaring ring of the telephone on the night stand sounded in his ear – a quick glance at the alarm clock let him know it was way too late at night for this kind of thing. He snatched the phone off the receiver and delivered a grumpy “hello?”
“Peter? I’m glad I finally got you on the phone.”
“MJ?! I, uh, I’m glad, too. It’s a little… late, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, I just wanted to call when I knew you’d be home.”
“Oh,” Peter responded, scratching the back of his head and yawning, “Well, it worked, I guess.”
“Yeah, I noticed. It’s good to finally get you on the phone.”
“We’ve been over that part.”
“Sorry, it’s just been frustrating to keep missing you. I really wanted to talk to you, maybe talk about getting together sometime soon, for lunch or something.”
“That would be great, Mary Jane. I work during the week, though, so are you going to be around this weekend?”
“I’ll be around for a while. I’ll swing by your place Saturday?”
“I’ll be there.”
“See you later, Tiger.”
“Goodbye, Mary Jane.”
MJ hung up first. Peter followed suit, and placed the phone on the receiver. He was never going to get back to sleep now.
***********
Wednesday and Thursday had gone slowly. Very, very slowly. Hours upon hours spent in the classroom proceeded uneventfully, although Jimmy had finally learned the wonders of cell division. Even the webswinging had lost its luster for the past two days. Friday had gone slowly as well, but at least it was almost over. Peter sat at his desk, watching the clock as eagerly as any of his students – perhaps more. They were getting out of a classroom – he was one step closer to a hot redhead. The seconds ticked by ever slower as Peter gripped the dull grey desk with both hands. Ten more. Five more.
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP
“Thank God,” Peter muttered under his breath as he grabbed his briefcase and rose from his chair. He tapped his foot impatiently on the dusty green tile floor as his students filed out, one at a time. Each student seemed to be going slower… slower. S. L. O. W. E. R. Finally the last one passed him by – Carla turned to him and smiled, waving.
“G’bye, Spidey,” She said quickly.
“W-what?” Peter responded, shocked.
“I said ‘goodbye, Petey’,” Carla responded innocently.
“Oh… it’s Mr. Parker, if you will. It’s more professional that way.”
“Sure thing,” Carla laughed, practically skipping out the door. Peter’s eyes followed the young girl for a second. No way she said what he thought she said, right? No way. He was just anxious. Yeah. He needed to calm down before he saw MJ. No spazzing out in front of her.
***********
Knock, knock.
“Be right there!” Peter called, pulling on the left sleeve of his blue button-down shirt. He didn’t button it up, rather leaving it open to expose the “I’m with stupid” with the arrow pointing up T-shirt underneath. He pulled the door and dropped his jaw to his chest. She was only wearing a faded pair of jeans and an oversized red sweater, but she still took his breath away. Her red hair flowed over her shoulders – even under the aviator sunglasses, her green eyes burned into his.
“Hi, Tiger.”
Peter smiled sheepishly, stuttering nonsense for a second and a half before giving up and just motioning for her to come in. He hadn’t expected to be this nervous – it was just Mary Jane. His wife. The woman he had spent every day of his life with for… several years before… the incident where she went away. So why, now was he so afraid to speak to her – what’s the worse she was going to do? Leave? She had already done that. Shaking the stray thoughts out of his head, he followed MJ deeper into the apartment. She had removed the sunglasses and was casting a disapproving eye over brown carpets, dirty, formerly-white walls, and piles of whatever Peter hadn’t cared to clean up over the course of the week littering random spots on the floor.
“Has May seen this place?” she asked, horrified.
“Not since I moved in.”
“Good. She’d probably have a heart attack.”
“It’s not that bad…”
“Oh, it’s much worse than ‘that bad’, Peter. It looks like you’ve been robbed. Repeatedly.”
“You know, I may have been. I haven’t been able to find the remote since last month.”
Mary Jane chuckled, her frowning lips reverting to a smile. Peter shuffled his feet while smiling at them, looking bashfully up at her face.
“We need to get out of here. I’m about to die of bad taste,” she said after a few seconds.
“Where to?”
“My agent recommended a place.”
“Neat-o.”
***********
“Uh… I feel a little underdressed,” Peter mumbled meekly, eyes sweeping a room full of three-piece suits and classy dresses – and that was just the usual lunch crowd, at least according to the snooty Maitre’d (also, his official job title was Maitre’D – you won’t find that at your TGI Friday’s). Mary Jane shrugged her shoulders and followed the waiter (who, Peter noted, was better-dressed than either he or his wife) to their table.
“I’m famous, Tiger. I don’t have to worry about that stuff anymore,” she said absent-mindedly, “At least they gave you a jacket and tie.”
Peter frowned, grabbing one end of the silky strip of fabric draped around his shoulders. He hadn’t bothered to tie it – he would have just looked like a hobo, most likely. Maybe if he had bothered to shave that morning – but no use thinking about that now.
“When you said lunch, I thought maybe, I dunno, like, a diner or the Bean or something,” Peter said in a low voice, “Not ‘Casa de we’re-so-fancy-we-have-French-titles’.”
“That’s not the restaurant’s name.”
“I know! I’m just saying, is all.”
Peter tapped his finger on the table – already suspecting it was a mistake to come here – he wasn’t ready for this. His back still hurt from getting beaten half to death by giant robots the week before. The red carpets and high, gold chandeliers and the clinking of forks on plates from the tables around him crashed into his senses – even his spider-sense was going off. He narrowed his eyes at the handsome, dark-haired man approaching his table. Mary Jane seemed happy to see him.
“Eddie!” the beautiful redhead beamed, holding her hand. The man took it to his lips and kissed her on her ring – her wedding ring. She was still wearing it.
“Mary Jane! What a surprise to see you here!” the man exclaimed, releasing her hand, then, turning to Peter, “And who is this cross young fellow?”
“This is my…,” Mary Jane started hesitantly, “This is Peter Parker.”
“Not the Parker in Mary Jane Watson-Parker, are you?” the man asked, smiling and extending a tanned hand. Not currently, but maybe later, Peter thought to himself, smiling slightly before cautiously reaching for Eddie’s hand.
“You’d have to ask her,” Peter responded quickly, firmly shaking then releasing Eddie’s hand. Peter’s spider-senses were still going off the scale.
“Eddie’s the producer on the new Perfect Man movie,” Mary Jane interrupted, noting the I-want-your-head-to-explode look Peter was giving the tanned newcomer, “He wants me to play Louisa.”
“That’s good,” Peter responded. He couldn’t think of anything else to say. Eddie rolled his eyes slightly towards MJ, then suddenly gave a short wave.
“Well, I just wanted to say hi,” the producer said, taking a step back, “See you later, Mary Jane.”
“Bye, Eddie,” she said. Peter nodded at the man as he turned around and headed for the door.
“What was that all about, Peter?”
“What was what all about?”
“The jealous thing?”
“Jealous? Of who? Eddie? Pffft. No.”
“Really? Then what was with the whole ‘I’m not going to say anything but I will stare at him viciously’ routine? That’s kind of rude.”
“That’s not it.”
“What, then?”
“Just a bad feeling. That’s all. Look, I’m sorry – why don’t we just have lunch? Tell me about the movie.”
“If you say so,” Mary Jane responded, one disapproving eyebrow rising involuntarily. So far, things were not going well.
***********
Lunch had gone sort of badly for Peter – after the Eddie thing, the atmosphere had just gone a little cold, and then kept sliding down from there. She had agreed to call the next day – maybe even go out for coffee with May – but had seemed disappointed with their time together overall. Peter had tried not to concentrate on messing things up – instead, he blamed his spider-sense, which had started the whole Eddie thing in the first place.
Eddie. What a stupid name, Peter had thought to himself as he clicked on the Internet Explorer icon on his computer’s desktop. He Googled the Perfect Man movie, and from there had found the producer’s full name (Edward J. Harper) and his office’s address. Spider-Man was currently swinging into the swankier part of Manhattan to check it out. His spider-sense wasn’t usually wrong – something was up with this Eddie guy, and Peter didn’t want MJ involved.
Spider-Man was so lost in thought, he almost swung right past his destination – Farmer Towers, noted for it’s all-glass-walled upper level, where Edward Harper kept his office. Sneaking in would be hard for anyone – even if they could scale the walls without any sort of aid. Peter swung to the level right under Eddie’s office and stuck to the wall. Cautiously pulling himself upwards, Spider-Man peered around the floor – only one person was present on the entire floor, and, the Parker luck holding, it just so happened to be Mr. Harper himself, on the phone. Brilliant. Peter crawled around to the other side of the building to get a closer look. A window in the office was slid slightly open, allowing the webslinger to hear the conversation.
“I know I missed, but… what? I was supposed to? Why…? Uh-huh, uh-huh, yeah. Whatever. Do I still get paid? OK… with a bonus? Very generous… Why are you laughing?... ‘Wait until I see the bonus first?’ What does that mean?” the tanned producer (it was a really deep tan) exclaimed, reclining into his chair. The man placed the phone back on the receiver, scratching his head.
“No matter. There’s nothing that old man can do…,” the man started, his hair turning a plasticy shade of white, as the rest of his head followed suit, “…That the Chameleon can’t handle!”
“Aw, no way!” Spider-Man whispered under his breath, almost losing his grip on the building. Leering, Spidey pulled himself back to the wall, shortly before his spider-sense hit him like a runaway truck.
“Whoa… no way the Chameleon makes that big an impact,” Spidey whispered, turning his head around and scanning the sky surrounding the building, “But that, on the other hand… Man, I thought I was done with those things.”
Spider-Man barely had time to cover his face as the Spider-Slayer crashed through the glass walls of the office.
****END****
See? Didn’t Chameleon creep you out when you were a kid? I mean, you could always find Norman Osborn in a crowd – he’d be the one with Brillo pads glued to his head or in the green latex Halloween mask. The Chameleon, though - he could be ANYONE! Even your best friend, and you’d never know until it was too late. Scary stuff, man. Anyway, wow. The Chameleon’s back. And the Slayers. What’s going on with that?
