Raoul’s Kafe-Kart had been on the corner of 59th and Madison for as long as anyone could remember. It served espresso, cappuccino and café au lait. Only. No hazelnut mochachino, no whipped cream, no flavored syrups, no oversized Rice Krispies squares. Raoul was there before corporate chains brought gourmet coffee into vogue. He remained while dozens of coffee bars sprung up around him. He would continue long after they had all been replaced with water bars and soup bars and chic boutiques selling eclectic pottery.
Bruce Wayne
stopped this morning on the way to a too-early meeting at the Foundation. Raoul didn’t see “Bruce Wayne,” of course. He saw: Saville Row suit, dark glasses. Double
espresso. Raoul had no way of knowing that the hoarse baritone that told him to keep the
change was the result of Batman trailing a gun-running operation until after
four a.m. when Bruce had to get up for a 9:30 meeting the next day.
Next was
a stunning woman: Hermes bag. A dramatic silk scarf with an image of a jewel
encrusted panther—the hallmark of a famous Gotham jeweler. A sweatshirt
advertising: CAT-TALES at the Hijinx Playhouse. Dark glasses, too. Double
espresso. Keep the change. Killer smile. Some mornings, Gotham was a great place to be…
I took
my coffee into the park, balanced it on the bench, and laid out Daily Variety
and the Times. This was the choice, the same one I had been facing every day
for a week. I opened the Times to the Lifestyle section. There are 8 million
people in this city, a little over 4,000 millionaires, dozens of museums,
hundreds of galleries, a wholesale diamond district; there had to be something
worth purloining that’s worthy of my talents.
I
glanced at Variety. The show had been running for two months; I’d made my
point. I cleared my name. And that was the point of the exercise, after all. I
needed to close it and get back to work.
I looked
back at the Times: An Egyptian Cat-God exhibit at the museum—Been there.
Feline jade statuettes at AsiAntiques Gallery—Done that.
I peeked at
Variety.
I wasn’t
out to become a star. In the past three weeks, I’d been approached to move the
show to Broadway, air it as an HBO special, perform at the White House…
Maya Jaguar
God at the University—promising, but weighs 900 pounds if it weighs
an ounce.
…have
my next caper filmed by an Indie film director, write the forward for a ‘Cat
Who’ mystery, Co-host the People’s Choice Awards with David Boreanaz….
Canary
Diamonds! Pretty, but hard to fence….
“Live
from Gotham City, it’s Saturday Night.”
No.
One
thing I’ve learned from this: Show Business is perhaps the one field of human
endeavor even more insane than dressing up in wild outfits to commit and/or
foil crimes. Back to promising cat targets…
A
memorabilia auction: Andrew Lloyd Webber’s original working score of the musical
CATS. With a capital C, and that rhymes with D, and that stands for
Dull.
The
thing is: now that I’d reestablished my reputation as an unrepentant but not
homicidal thief, Catwoman’s next caper would have to live up to the celebrated
image.
What IS
a People’s Choice Award, anyway?
…
ChatOn Software was moving their corporate headquarters here. Well now,
chaton
is French for kitten but that didn’t mean they’d have anything I’d want to take. Besides, if Batman didn’t get the feline tie-in… Much as I hate to admit it,
stealing can be a chore. The thrill of a perfect heist sweetened with a little
bat action is still a better rush than performing in front of any audience,
but, let’s face it: the legwork sucks.
Okay. Tomorrow the weekend edition would be out.
One more day, I vowed, and I WOULD get back on the job.
I turned
to Heather Hermoine’s gossip column to see who else might have shown up in my
audience. It was silly. Whatever heroes or villains had disguised themselves
and come to see the show, Heather had no way of knowing who they were…. God,
I hated to admit it, but it was fun. Doing my bit night after night,
never knowing who was out there. Getting the last word on Bats….
The JLA
sent flowers to my dressing room last night. I know it was them—the card had
six anonymous comments, each in different handwriting: “we enjoyed the show, thank you very much”
I wondered
if I should mention this in my act. ‘The path of
righteousness’ and
‘almost pee’d.’ Who’d believe me? This is what’s
protecting the planet, folks, have a nice day.
There
was still no response from the belfry. I was pretty sure he’d seen the show
twice now, once the first week and once four nights ago. I had that tingly
shiver up my spine.
At least
Nightwing and Robin admitted they were there. ‘Wing showed up at the stage door
early the second week with a cheeky “Cucucachoo, Mrs. Robinson!”
Unlike
his mentor, the kid has a sense of humor when there aren’t diamonds and a grand
larceny charge on the line. Good for him, I thought.
“Remember
little Robin,” he quoted sarcastically from the first act when I mock the idea
of he and I as a romantic item.
“Hey,
you wore green shorts. You made bad puns. You once said ‘Holy Kitty Litter.’ It
warrants comment.”
“You
once said ‘Purr-fect,’” he reminded me. I’ll be
damned, I thought, thinking how Batman would’ve imploded into a
black hole if I ever teased him like that. This one gave it right back. He
really was a great kid.
“I make
it a rule never to get involved with a man if I WAS THERE THE FIRST TIME HIS
VOICE CRACKED,” I replied. Mentally adding:
Don’t have an answer for
that, do you ya, Junior.
He laughed.
“Okay,
okay. Look, I just wanted to let you know I’d seen it and it’s a great
show.”
I smiled
back.
“Thanks…
So, has Daddy been here yet?”
His grin
morphed into a truly Batlike stonewall.
“You
won’t get your new finale through me. If he sees it, and if he wants to
respond, that’ll be his choice. I will tell you that Robin has seen it, and he
liked your Joker and Ivy impersonations at the end. But he thought Scarecrow and
Two-Face were over the top, and he thinks you should add Harley ‘cause he
always thought that Marilyn Monroe squeak-laugh she does is funny.”
I
stared. It suddenly occurred to me that the next rooftop encounter with these
people is going to be very, very weird.
To be continued…
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