Ivy stood in front of the mirror and tried to clean herself up.  The flood of tears and self-recriminations had been completely undignified, and she appreciated the fact that Selina gave her space. 

     Finally she gave up, though.  She already looked a mess with the poor complexion and the dark circles.  What were flushed cheeks and red eyes on top of that?

     “Pammy?”

     Ivy brushed her hair back with one hand, as if everything looked just fine, and turned around.  “Selina, I’m sorry.  Normally I would never behave so, but it was a momentary weakness.”

     “It was more like fifteen minutes,” Selina said kindly, “Don't worry about it, Pammy. Happens to the best of us.”

     Ivy glanced at the clock and winced at the correction.  “Yes, all right, perhaps it was that long,” she admitted.  “But I assume you’ve had enough time to realize that you need to help me?”

     As always, Ivy knew exactly the WRONG way to say whatever it was she was saying, and despite the sympathetic stance Selina had taken with Bruce, Feline Independence now rebelled.  “You need to help me” indeed!

     “I agree that Harley needs help,” Selina said tersely.  “And I may regret this, but I'm willing to stretch the premise to include helping you to help her.”

     Hope blossomed in Ivy’s heart.  “Thank you,” she replied earnestly.  “Now, I can get you blueprints in an hour, and then–”

     “Whoa, whoa, let’s back that train of thought up right now.  I’m not going to help you break Harley out of an asylum.”

     Ivy stared at her blankly.  “But you said–”

     “I said I’d help you help her, and I will. The way sane, rational people go about it.  Not the Arkham way that gets summed up later as 'zany hijinx ensued'.”

     “But I need to get her out of there now, Selina!”

     “And what happens after that, hm?” Selina asked calmly.  “You’ll take her on the run with you?  Thelma and Louise tearing up Route 66 in a souped up convertible?  Pammy, either she’s suicidal or she’s developed a split personality.  Either way, it’s going to take time to straighten her out.  Time you won't have if you're running from the cops and Batman and possibly the National Guard if she takes her inner Joker out for a spin.”

     “It will be difficult, yes, I suppose,” Ivy acknowledged, “but I don’t have an alternative.  They’re certainly not going to let her out any time soon.”

     “They might,” Selina said cautiously.  “This is Arkham we're talking about.  They're predisposed to let patients out; it's the path of least resistance.  Pammy, don't you see, they'll want to get rid of her and clear the case, have that credit for the corresponding debit, it's how they operate.  If she gets better — better enough, at least — and if there is an attractive enough candidate to fob her off on, they'll let her go.  She’s in Arkham under a civil commitment order, right?  So if she can get to a point where she’s no longer considered a danger to herself, then you can get a court to release her into your care.”

     Ivy snorted.  “If she got better, why would a court take my side?  I’m not exactly a model citizen in their eyes!”

     “No, this is the hard part.  They won’t release her into the hands of Poison Ivy, ecoterrorist.  But they might release her for Pamela Isley, successful and reformed business woman.”  Selina smiled at her.  “If you can keep the Rydbergii open long enough, then that’s the image you present in court.”

     “Well–” Ivy thought about it.  The club was doing better.  She hadn’t broken the law in months.  She was a legitimate business owner now, and a concerned citizen who had been visiting Harley for months.  “She’s been getting worse for months, though.  Why would she get better just because I want her to?  Believe me, if I could do that, she would have been out of Arkham in a week!”

     Selina bit her lip and thought. 

     “Well, people that aren't you and me would probably consider this amoral, disgusting, and wrong.  But we're bad girls, right?  You’re saying that Harley believes that Joker is alive and pretending to be dead, correct?”

     “I think so, yes.”

     “Exploit it.  How much longer do you think Jocular Jack would stay in Arkham?  And Harley always does what he tells her.  If he needs that body out of the asylum so he can get on with business, she's got to get herself a clean bill of mental health.  All you have to do is convince ‘him’ that he's had enough and it's time to get himself released.  Harley was a psychiatrist, she can put on a better sane act than any of you.”

     Ivy blinked.  That wasn’t altogether crazy.  Arkham had always had a revolving door, but ever since they'd implemented “fast-track rehabilitation,” it seemed like they needed a reason to keep an inmate IN rather than needing compelling evidence before they would be released.  It could work, it could—

     Then Ivy froze.  "Wait, no," she breathed.  "Oh, nonononono, fuck me, no!"

     Selina winced.

     "Pammy, that sounds like another shoe dropping, and by now you really should be barefoot."

     "It's Oswald," Ivy said, clutching at her hair.  "I've been away from the Lounge too long!  By now he's–”

     Selina skewered her with a look. 

     “Ah, let me guess.  He's been your drugged slave for months, but you've been so focused on Harley for the past day that you forgot to go back and tighten his noose?"

     Even through her newest bolt of anxiety, Ivy felt her hackles rise.  "Not like he's a friend of yours, Selina."

     "No," Selina said coldly.  “He's not a friend, that doesn't mean I'd wish him a fate that only Gotham Post writers deserve.  It's also another puddle to clean up, step over, or work around.  You do seem to have a lot of them.”

     "Yes, well, I'm glad you're happy for Oswald's liberation," Ivy said angrily.  “You're the one telling me I need to present a respectable front and get Harley out through legal means, and now I've lost the Lounge!  What am I going to do, green someone new?  Oh, I'm sure Brucie will be more than happy to—”

     Ivy stopped as she realized the truly desperate idea flashing through her mind was also leaking out her mouth.  Bruce Wayne!  She was standing right in his house!  In Gotham, it didn't get any more legitimate or respectable than Bruce Wayne.  If only she hadn't spoken the name before she realized what she was saying.  Because when Ivy looked at Selina, she saw knowledge—the reflection of her own thoughts looking back at her, and they were NOT met with “Come on, we're both bad girls” approval.  They were met with an eloquent warning: those who poke into the wildcat's lair and help themselves to the wildebeest she bagged are asking for pain.

     Catwoman's reflexes were as quick as her namesake's, but not even the cheetah can outrun pheromones as they traveled up the nasal cavity into their brain.  Instinctively, Ivy's body unleashed a full dose of pheromones to counter the violent ass-kicking telegraphed in Selina's eyes, and they stopped the thief in her tracks.

     Hostility gave way to a friendly smile… and only then, once that short-term threat was sidestepped, did Ivy's mind catch up with what her body was doing.  A crotch-kick of abject terror bent her body in two and she sunk weakly into the visitor's chair: This was exactly what she had sworn never to do again.  When Selina came out of it, she was going to tear Ivy to pieces.  The punishing pain that was only a warning moments before was now a promise and a certainty. 

     But she didn't have a choice!  She needed someone with money, respectability, and power to help get Harley released into her care, and here she was in Bruce Wayne's inner sanctum.  Harley didn't have any time.  What else could she do?!

     Once she had Wayne - and that snooty butler of his - under her control, she'd just have to handle them the way she'd handled Oswald.  She'd drench them with pheromones now, then administer daily boosters until Harley was healed.  Afterwards, well, Ivy would probably have to release them.  The retribution would be terrible, Selina did not make idle threats (c.f. setting Scarecrow on fire), and Selina had made it very clear what would happen if Ivy so much as considered greening her again.  But if that was the only way to save Harley, that was simply the price Ivy would have to pay.

     "Selina," Ivy said, her voice trembling a little.  "I'm sorry.  I'm really sorry.  (“And going to be sorrier” a needling voice in the back of her mind added.)  But I need Bruce.  I need him now.  Could you get him for me?"

     Selina looked at her for a moment without speaking.  And then she smiled winningly.  "Sure," she said.  "What are friends for, right?  Just give me a minute."

     Ivy smiled back nervously as Selina left the room.  She got up, paced, and then, since it seemed she was still waiting (How far did Selina have to go to find him and how big could this house be?), she sat down very carefully on the edge of Wayne's desk.  She wondered what would happen to the Rydbergii.  Probably the Penguin already had the staff tearing everything out by the roots.  She would weep for the poor plants later.  They'd still be alive if she hadn't been so thoughtless.  But they could be regrown.  There was just the one Harley…

     "Ms. Isley?"

     Ivy looked up at Bruce, who had just spoken and was standing in the doorway.  There was something off about Selina standing next to him, something that she couldn't quite place, but that didn't matter.  Before her nimrod boyfriend could give himself a headache wondering why Selina was acting differently, Ivy came towards them, hitting Bruce with enough musky jungle essence to put him in a daze for hours.  "Selina convinced me that she knows a better way to get Harley out of Arkham," she said, "and for that I'll need…"

     She trailed off.  Something felt very wrong about this.  Why were red flags going off in her head?  Yes, this hadn't been the plan when she got here, and yes, she regretted the desperate straits that had led her to this, but… But… But Bruce looked exactly the same, that was the problem!  There was no glint of admiration in his eyes, no aura of infatuation, no eager-to-please expression that merely awaited her words to enlighten him on what he, as a low and unworthy toad, might do for her as his queen and goddess.

     Through a haze of her own, Ivy dimly realized what was wrong with Selina, too.  Though she saw the other woman only through her peripheral vision, she could see that that warm, accommodating smile was noticeably absent.

     Both Bruce and Selina continued to regard her silently, and Ivy… reeled.  She knew how a man in this state was supposed to behave—and how this particular one behaved.  She'd greened Bruce Wayne before, after all, most recently at the Grayson bachelor party.  She knew he reacted the way all straight men react to her lure: with adoration and complete obedience.  But now, his eyes were as clear as ever.  Befuddled, yes, but he always looked that way.  But they were not dazed.  They did not look adoring.  And she couldn't help but feel they would not be especially obedient.

     Ivy felt the temperature in the room grow five degrees colder… then ten degrees warmer… then fifteen degrees colder again.  Her brain seemed to slow, her thoughts stiffening like particularly bitter molasses… Selina… wasn't greened… that meant pain…  Bruce wasn't greened… that meant no one to protect her… from Selina… claws and pain… pain and claws… might lose an eye…  Maybe a lung too… 

     "Selina?" she asked fearfully.

     "Pamela," Selina stated flatly. 

     "I uh…” was the best she could come up with.

     She looked at Bruce, as if hoping he might have a cup of words she could borrow.

     He said nothing.

     She looked at Selina with the same hope.

     “I uh…” she tried again.

     “Pamela, let's review Joker and Harvey's treatise on the phenomenon called the Really Bad Day.  Because you're having one.  What makes yours particularly interesting is that nobody else has brought any acid or chemicals.  There's just you… and your CATASTROPHICALLY BAD IDEAS!"

     Ivy squeaked and backed away, pulling the visitor's chair between her and Selina as if it represented an impenetrable barrier, and directing a second dose of pheromones at them both.  It was enough to make every man in Haight-Ashbury her bosom buddy.  But all Bruce did was blink a few times like there was too much pollen in the air for his taste, and Selina just wrinkled her nose.  Then she started approaching with that gimlet look in her eyes, and once again, Ivy clutched the chair like it might offer some protection.

     "Selina," Ivy said helplessly.  "You have to know this wasn't the plan when I came here today.  I didn't… I hadn't… I wouldn't… But you heard!  Oswald is free by now, I need a replacement, and I thought maybe . . . "

     "Thought maybe what?" Selina asked.  "Thought maybe you'd turn the two of us into your very own Fred and Ethel for a few months?  Thought maybe attempting suicide YOURSELF would give you some insight into Harley's situation?  Because let me tell you, Pammy, between her attempt and yours, THIS IS A HELL OF A LOT MORE LIKELY TO SUCCEED!"

     “It was an impulse!” Ivy said, growing desperate.  Joker would have appreciated this sick joke.  Here she was trying to get Harley out of the hospital, and Selina was going to put her into one.  “Bruce has money and power and legitimacy and – well, all the things you said, and, um, he was handy!”

     “So you decide you’ll green me – something I already told you to never do again – to get to Bruce, who you were also going to green because he was convenient?!” Selina asked as she got to the desk while Ivy’s rear end bumped against the corner of the room.  “The manor isn’t a 7-Eleven, Pammy!”

     “I didn’t have time to find a new patsy!”

     “Did you ever think of, I don’t know, something as mind-bendingly rational as asking for his help?  Oh wait, I’m sorry, you tried that with Harvey, didn't you?” Selina snarled.  She looked behind her.  “Bruce, can you step outside for a minute?  Also, tell Alfred I’m going to need some large sheets of plastic.  I wouldn’t want to stain the walls.”

     “Why are you mad at her again?” Bruce asked foppishly.  “There was this weird smell, and then your friend here started screaming.”

     “She's not my friend,” Selina corrected coolly.  “My friends don’t try to drug me.”

     “Oh, is that what that smell was?  Drugs?  I wonder why I don’t feel any different, because I always got quite a contact high at Club Deep and Limelight.  I hope I haven't built up a tolerance.”

     Ivy had been too frightened to wonder about that herself, but now that Wayne mentioned it…

     “He’s right.  Neither of you are affected,” she pointed out.  “And you should have been.”

     Selina glared at Ivy. 

     “What kind of a deathwish do you have, you psychotic harpy?  Forget WHY, and worry about the consequences.  You're not going to drown, Sundance, it's the fall that's gonna kill you.”

     “No, Selina, listen, I’ve greened you!  I have!  And I’ve greened him.  But now, look!  Nobody's green!  I couldn’t pull it off when you were together.  For some reason, I couldn’t make you love me when you were near him and vice…”  Ivy paused.  For a moment, the clinical side of her brain kept the fear away.  “…Versa.  How bizarre.  I wonder if… But that's… No… and yet, it's really the only way to explain it. Selina, you actually fell in love with that doltish playboy, didn’t you?”

     Selina closed her eyes and took a deep breath, summoning patience.

     “Okay first,” she said finally, “That is the sort of confidence one might share with a friend.  We are not friends, Pamela, and frankly, I'm getting a little tired of having to explain that to everybody.  Nevertheless, in a probably futile attempt to help you extract your head from your ass, I will tell you that yes, I actually did.  And further bulletin: he fell in love with me.  The regular way.  I didn’t need to fuck with his head – the merits of which you’re finally about to learn.” 

     She wasn’t in costume.  She didn’t have her whip or her claws.  Theoretically Selina and Ivy were both completely unarmed.  That didn’t stop Ivy from believing that she was about to be flayed alive. 

     “Please, Selina, don’t do this.  Harley won’t have anybody if I’m in a full body cast.  It’ll be up to you to get her out.”

     That drew Selina up as she was coming around the desk.  She froze Ivy in place with her eyes as she drummed her fingers on the wooden surface. 

     “No, no it wouldn't, Pammy.  I can - and will - just leave her where she is.  And you'll have wrecked any chance she had, because of this little stunt of yours.”

     Ivy gasped.  “No!” she said, panicked.  “You have to help!  You have to!  You can’t punish her because of something I–”

     “No, I don't HAVE to, Pammy.  I don't HAVE to do anything for you.  You don't get to lie in a hospital bed, blissfully unconscious, while I do all the work.  I’m not punishing her, Pammy.  I’m punishing you.  Because I’m not going to hurt you… Well, not much anyway.”

     Like a snake, Selina shot forward.  Ivy cried out as Selina grabbed her by an arm, twisted it behind Ivy’s back, and then slammed her face first into the desk.

     “You’re not taking the easy way out, Pamela,” Selina said coldly.  “You are going back to the Iceberg, and you will crawl towards Oswald.  You will beg for forgiveness, and if you want him to help you with a show of legitimacy, you better promise him anything he wants.”

     “Selina – “

     “Anything!  I don’t care if he wants you to dance on tables, become his new washroom attendant, or shred azaleas to freshen up his footbath.  Pammy, I don’t care if he wants you to dress up in a big penguin suit and wear a sandwich board in Times Square!  You do whatever it takes to get Oswald to preserve the fiction that you’re still in charge of the Lounge until Harley’s out of Arkham.”

     Fresh tears spilled from Ivy’s eyes as her cheek pressed painfully against the desk and her arm was twisted mercilessly.  She hadn’t believed her pride could be crushed any further, and she’d been completely wrong.  “Selina –”she tried again.

     “Say you’ll do it, Ivy,” Selina warned her.  “Say you’ll follow my instructions to the letter, and I might even drop by the Rydbergii a few times to help business pick up.  Otherwise, I’d say you’ve let your only friend down for the last time.”

     That leveled Ivy.  She was humbled completely.  Selina’s last words, coupled with the fact that Ivy was utterly at her mercy, showed her just how alone in the world she had become.  No wonder she couldn’t protect the plants.  She couldn’t even protect herself any more!  “All right,” Ivy choked out.  “I’ll, I’ll do it.  For Harley I’ll do it.”

     The pressure finally eased a little on her arm.  “Whatever it takes,” Selina repeated.  “For Harley, ‘whatever it takes’ is your new motto.  Whatever it takes to bring in customers, whatever it takes to stay in the black, whatever it takes to save your friend, you’re going to do it.”

     Ivy nodded as she was finally able to lift her head.  “Yes,” she said hopelessly.

     Someone cleared his throat.  Looking up, Ivy saw Bruce standing there.  “I take it you won’t be needing those plastic sheets any more?” he asked.  

     Ivy looked around with trepidation as she reentered her apartments above the Rydbergii.  She didn't hear anything.  But then, if Oswald was waiting in hiding with a loaded umbrella, she didn't think she would hear anything.

     Hopefully he'd talk first, shoot later.

     It was vital for Ivy to maintain the veneer of legitimacy she'd acquired as the proprietress of the Rydbergii Lounge if she wanted to have Harley released into her care.  That had been made perfectly clear to her at Wayne Manor.  The only obstacle - and it was a big one - was the fact that by now Oswald was no longer under her control.

     But even if Oswald was already reasserting himself as the true owner of the Lounge, surely he'd allow her to preserve the fiction that she was in charge if she asked him nicely.  He'd done it for Jervis when his Aunt Gladys came to town.  Why not her?

     Well, there WAS the fact that she'd drugged him and turned him into her servant months ago.

     Ivy grimaced.  Selina had been very insistent.  If she wanted to save Harley, then she needed the Lounge. And if that meant Ivy would have to offer Oswald anything he asked for, she probably deserved it.

     Ivy didn't like the word "anything".  It implied, well, ANYTHING.  And the Penguin was a lonely man who had privately held a torch for that strumpet Roxy when she was still in town.  He'd already seen Ivy naked.  What if "anything" meant, well, seeing more of her body?

     Why the hell would he want YOUR fat ass?

     Ivy's stomach rolled like a ship on the high seas.  That hadn't occurred to her until now.  She wasn't sure what would be worse - the Penguin demanding her sexual favors, or rejecting them.  He hadn't merely seen her naked.  He had seen her naked at her worst - poor complexion, bad hair, and extra pounds where they didn't belong.  She had been too shocked by her appearance at the time to worry about what he'd seen.  Now, however, her self-esteem was taking a fresh beating.

     And it was only going to get worse when he laid eyes on her now.

     "Oswald?" Ivy called out.  Her voice cracked slightly, and she hated herself for it.  "Um, look, I realize you may be upset with me, but I'm sure we can–”

     "You're quite right I'm upset, my dear dewdrop," the Penguin said as he stormed out of the kitchen with his shirt sleeves rolled up, drying his hands on a dish towel.  More importantly, there was a clarity in his eyes that she hadn't seen since the night the Joker died.

     My dear dewdrop?  Sarcasm, all right, she probably - from his point of view - deserved that.  "I'm sure," she said again, "that we can work something out."  

     "I'm sure we can too," he replied.  "It's called a cell phone."  He took one out of his pants pocket and waved it in the air.  "You take it with you when you leave, and then if you're not going to come home after the Lounge closes, you call."

     She stared at him.  Eh?

     "I wasted a perfectly good vegetable lasagna," Oswald complained.  Then he peered closely at her.  "You look different, Ivy.  Your petals, how they droop.  Where have you been?"

     "Quiet," Ivy said, walking towards him.  "Just be quiet for a moment."  She pressed an index finger beneath his chin and raised his eyes to look into hers.  She hadn't been mistaken when she came in earlier - there had always been a dazed quality to them.  But now there wasn't.  Confused now, yes.  But not befogged.  This was NOT a man under the influence of her pheromones.

     "Are you mocking me?" she asked him.  "Is this some kind of joke?"

     He took an anxious step backwards.  "I assure you, dearest, there's no jocularity here.  Why would you think that?  You returned home much later than usual.  You've never been gone longer than twenty-four hours."

     Well, there had been a pretty good reason for that.  Had been, anyway.  If Oswald wasn't faking . . . if he wasn't faking.  If he was, he certainly wouldn't tell her.  This could be an attempt to lull her into some sense of false security, so that he could do something horrible to her later.

     "And you hadn't called to say why," he had gone on to say.  "I was deeply worried.  Not enough to call the police, of course, but worried."

     But if he wasn't faking, then the only other possible answer that came to mind - was that prolonged daily exposure to her enhanced pheromones caused some kind of permanent mental modification.

     "Ozzie," she said sweetly.  "How long have you loved me?"

     "Hrmph, what a question!" he said.  "Since as long as I can remember, of course."

     "And the night the Joker died, did you love me then?"

     He paused.  "I don't recall that.  When was that again?"

     "You know," she prodded, "when you and the Joker came to the Lounge with guns?  The night the television crews were filming?"

     The Penguin scratched his head, mystified.  "Now why would I go to the Rydbergii with a gun?  Especially with that clown primitive of crime!"

     His memory had been modified.  She'd have to question him further, but his memories seemed to have been either altered or selectively erased.  Perhaps he'd worshipped her so long that he simply couldn't remember a time when he hadn't.  Even though she'd greened him almost as soon as he and the Joker arrived at the Iceberg, he would still remember going there with him.  How could anybody forget that night?  He'd been right there. 

     For a few moments, Ivy did some forgetting of her own.  She forgot about the man in front of her.  She forgot about her looks.  She forgot about Selina, who would undoubtedly be disappointed when she found out Ivy wouldn't have to submit to a single indignity from the Penguin.  She even forgot about breathing.

     All she knew was the idea that had come crashing down on her head like a redwood being felled by a tornado.

     If she could make the Penguin forget that night, then she could make Harley forget. 

     She'd forget any and all involvement she'd had in the Joker's murder.  She'd even forget she was there.  She'd stop blaming herself.  And maybe then, she'd be herself again.

     Ivy put a hand to her left cheek and realized that tears had sprung from her eyes.

     "Ivy?" Oswald asked.  "What's happened?"

     "It's - it's Harley," she said thickly, shaking her head to clear it.  "She's hurt.  She's been hurt really badly."  All at Ivy's hands.  "But I'm going to make it all better.  For both of us."     

     To be continued…