Zeus

Modern Mythology #11

by maven

STANDARD DISCLAIMER: The characters of Birds of Prey are the property of Warner Bros. and DC Comics, all other characters are the property of DC Comics.

RATING: PG/PG13. Just two people talking. A few bad words.

CONTINUITY and SPOILERS: This is an Alternative Universe as it�s a blend of the Birds of Prey television show and a variety of DC comic books, particularity The Killing Joke and the Batman titles between 1983 and 1991. There will be spoilers for all 13 episodes of the series now that I�ve seen them all.

CREDIT WHERE CREDIT IS DUE: We'll boil it down to BG, Warped and Nik as being the chief prods to this particular muse.

SERIES NOTES:
1) Imagine my surprise when it turns out that Gabby appeared in two episodes and was mentioned in (so far as I can remember) one other. So this Gabby is pretty much made up from whole cloth. Plaid, I think. Greens and browns and dull yellowy-gold. Nothing too garish, a hunting tartan rather than a piper's.
2) Timing. Right. Darned if I know. I'm going with the events of the final episode happened near the end of Dinah and Gabby's junior year (grade 11 for us Canucks) and that Policy and Procedure happened at least six months after that. Modern Mythology, therefore, starts in the middle of their final (senior, grade 12, 12th grade, year 12, whatever) year. I think. Kind of hazy.

FEEDBACK, COMMENTS AND FLAMES: Email at maven369@sympatico.ca

---

I use to take chairs for granted. I mean... they're chairs. Not like beds or couchs or fridges. They're the low end of the furniture pyramid until one day, everything changed and chairs were suddenly important.

This is a good chair; no, a great chair. Supple leather. Dials and levers that let you adjust everything... height to the floor so my toes don't fall asleep, length of the thigh so that circulation isn't cut off at the knee. Lumbar support, backrest angle, armrest height.

Arthur runs me through the discreet buttons in the armrest. The left controls the soundless vibration in the seat and back rest. The right are communications, audio-visual, recording... all at my fingertips.

I feel the urge to order Warp 9.

"Are you ready?" Arthur asks, realigning his pen for the tenth time so that it parallels his legal pad exactly. Which only goes to reinforce his resemblance to the Shawn Wallace character from 'The Incredibles' in everything but personality.

"Cry 'Havoc!' and let slip the dogs of war."

"That would be a yes?" Arthur asks, a slight smile flitting across his face.

"That would be a yes," I affirm, pressing the button for the intercom. "Send them in Ms Wilson."

"Very good, Ms Kyle."

+++++

Arthur George was my mom's right hand. She entrusted me to Barbara and her money to him. Not that either one came out ahead in the deal. The night of chaos wiped out a lot of my mom's holdings and Barbara got a sixteen year old with her head firmly up her ass but... things worked out in the end.

"How do I get my hands on all the Wayne money?" I'd asked Arthur when Barbara was finally safely back at the Tower and Kyle -and me- had stopped nervously checking her every five minutes.

"Legally?" I'd always liked Arthur. He had a cool sense of humour. He continued after I grunted an affirmative to the legal. "And I assume you mean beyond the allowance generated by your trust fund? Because that is what trust fund means... you can't get that money at all."

"Whole ball of wax, Arthur. Nine yards. Enchilada."

Arthur sighed but even after all these years I recognized the element of affection in it. He'd sighed the same way when mom had paid cash for the Mercedes and when I'd smashed some ugly vase in his office. "There's having the money and there's controlling the money. Which do you actually want?"

"Control is the same as have, isn't it?"

"Essentially," Arthur agreed and there was a pause and click of pens being arranged on his desk. "It is, at least nominally, a publicly owned corporation. If you own 2% of the stock you are entitled to sit on the board and influence decisions. To actually control... the simple answer is that you need 51% to control the board. There are, actually, several answers to that question but that's the most direct one."

"How do you know all this? I mean, is it always the same?"

"Generally. The specifics for Wayne International... well, I'm on the board. Uh, due to my own holdings as well as the proxies I hold through your mother's estate. The bulk of your mother's holdings that remained after... after everything comprise approximately 3%. If you actually read the letters I send every year before the annual meeting you'd realize that you've been continuing the practice since reaching your majority."

"I have?" I asked, amused at the fluster.

He sighed again. "Yes, Helena. Do you wish to rescind the proxy? Your mother's estate plus the voting stock in your trust fund would give you about 8%."

I don't have to think that over. "Hell, no. Please keep doing it? Mom trusted you to do a good job. Besides, I'd rather have a friend than 3%"

There's a pause and I can hear him clear his throat through a suddenly muffled phone. "Thank you, Helena."

"Now. This trust fund... how much is that again?"

"5%."

"Right. But I need 51% so I haveta get 46% more? How much would that set me back?"

"Ah. At today's prices approximately..." there's a slight pause and I hear computer keys and then Arthur names some amount usually reserved for discussing Bill Gates or the GNP of a medium sized country. My brain shuts down -not getting that much through tips anytime soon- then it wakes up when Arthur continues.

"Or control through proxies," Arthur said. "Ah, Helena, may I ask why, after all this time, you're interested in all this?"

Arthur George is a gentleman. What he was really asking is why I was calling him after all this time

"Arthur, would you like to meet me at Don Peppe's for lunch?"

+++++

There were nine of them and I knew them all. Not personally but Arthur had collected pictures and bios and the minutes from some previous meetings. All around Arthur's age because - unless you do the inheritance shortcut like I had - it takes a bit of time to accumulate the wealth needed to own 2% of Wayne International. Most pause by the door, conversations started in the anteroom dying as they entered and saw me. Probably trying to figure out who the incredibly hot chick sitting at the head of the table was.

Maybe I should have made a nameplate. 'Head Bitch' or something. They all had fancy nameplates. Engraved brass polished to gold sitting above leather portfolios containing my plan on making their day miserable. I considered having one made for next time but decided to hell with that; they'd remember me.

I stole a trick from Barbara's first day routine. Just sit and watch everyone find their place, build up the new teacher mystic. I knew who my enemies were likely to be, who my allies might be and who would remain neutral.

Arthur was my ally. And, he explained, as I was upsetting the status quo, everyone else was likely to be my enemy.

"Usually the stenographer sits to the side, miss," Norman Addison says as he sits, reaching for the crystal decanter of water to pour himself a glass. I restrain the urge to say anything, leaving this one to Arthur.

"May I present Ms Helena Kyle. She will be chairing this meeting as is her prerogative as a member of the Wayne family."

+++++

The matre'd automatically stuck us into a quiet corner. Arthur sighed at me.

"Doubtless to protect my reputation," he said. "It is good to see you again, Helena."

"You too, Arthur," I said sincerely. I had, after mom's death, cut myself off from a lot of her friends. We reminisce, gossip about some of mom's old gang and marvel at the sudden death of Larry Ketterly.

"Now, Helena, are you in trouble?"

It's asked quietly and calmly, no judgment or censor. Mom once told me Arthur would rob a bank for her and, hearing him now, I think he'd do the same for me.

Just for the memory of her.

"No, Arthur," I say, reaching across the table to embrace his hands. "I'll tell you what I need and why."

"They're not going to like it," he says when I finish. "The board is, for the most part, conservative. They prefer to diversify rather than focus on one aspect. I'd offer to table the matter but I don't have the clout. You do, however, have my voting block. I know your mother would approve."

"Who does? Have the clout I mean?"

"Well, Bruce Wayne but he hasn't attended a meeting in the last ten years at least."

I nod. I take a deep breath. "What about his kid?"

+++++

"I have included a notarized statement by Bruce Wayne dated September 2001 acknowledging Ms Kyle as his natural child."

"That would be page one," I told them.

There's a flutter of talk and they dive right into their portfolios. Most of them give the first page a good once over and continue with the rest of the paperwork. Kids at Christmas; can't wait. A couple give me a good staring at first though.

"This is preposterous."

Walter Ramsey is Addison's right hand lackey. The "Axis of Stupidity" Arthur had called them.

"Absolutely preposterous."

Roger Berkley was the left hand lackey. Together the three of them controlled a sizeable block of stock but they always voted on Addison's lead.

"An admirable goal," Michael Baldwin said. "But is it good business?"

Baldwin attended maybe half the board meetings, spoke rarely and I'd been unable to get any feel for him from Arthur's briefings. He was about Arthur's age, his face the over smooth tightness of Botox.

Arthur cleared his throat. "I believe the prospective outlines that, while there might be a detrimental effect to profit in the short term, there..."

"Is no guarantee of recouping that in the long term," Addison grumbled loudly, leafing through the pages.

"I believe that the goodwill the company stands to gain..."

"Goodwill?" mocked Addison, interrupting Arthur. Who coughed to hide his dismay. He was right. He didn't have the clout to handle the hyenas.

"Goodwill," I agreed, gritting my internal teeth over what I had to say next. "Under the directorship of my grandfather and father Wayne Industries and later Wayne International enjoyed a reputation of fair play and good works. That's slacked off in the last couple of years. I want to see it continued."

There was some nervous shuffling and silent exchanges.

"Then," Michael Baldwin said with a slight smile, " welcome to the Board of Directors, Ms Kyle. Now, convince us."

+++++

"Helena?" Arthur had asked over desert and coffee.

"Yes, Arthur?"

"Why?"

"What do you mean?"

"I've known you since you were a baby. You have a good heart."

"Thank you?" I manage. Wondering where the hell this is going.

"But... why? You never showed any interest in your mother's business dealings and then your, ah,"

"Belligerent ignoring?"

"Your disinterest in financial matters. I'm concerned that this is, pardon me, but..."

"Some half assed, 'save the whale' thing?" I ask, referring back to an incident that had been as intense as it had been brief. Ten years old, full of good intentions that had left Arthur's office devoid of both photocopy paper and tape.

"Not exactly how I'd phrase it but yes."

"You doing anything this afternoon, Arthur?"

"I cleared my calendar after your call."

"Come with me. I want to introduce you to my family."

+++++

I'd been running through the prospective. Detailing which foundations and business could be realigned to a more specific goal. Arthur's people had done a lot of work here and he'd spent patient hours tutoring me.

"Is this is because of Barbara Gordon?"

That one threw me. And caused me to start revising my mental picture of Michael Baldwin. This vain man with Botox cheeks and the ill fitting suit. Who was quiet as a mouse in Arthur's notes and had obviously done some background digging about me even though only Arthur knew of my plans.

"Yes."

"Who the hell is this Barbara Gordon?" Addison asked.

"My partner."

"Business partner?"

"No, Addison. Not my business partner."

There's a satisfying stunned silence as they all struggle to assume their politically correct masks. Most of them anyway.

"You're asking us to reshape the entire financial plan for Wayne International because of your girlfriend!"

+++++

"You have a wonderful family," Arthur tells me. He had accompanied me to Kyle's school to pick him up, then down the street to the high school where we'd surprised Barbara. He'd regaled both Barbara and Kyle with stories from my childhood, accepted a supper invitation and now, standing beside me on the catwalk, listened as Barbara read to Kyle from 'The Secret World of Og'.

"Thank you."

"I remember the night, of course. The hospital. I was there when they brought Ms Gordon -Barbara- in although I don't think you remember. I knew her name from your mother's paperwork, that she was your legal guardian if something should happen."

I nod but he's right. The memories of that night, of that whole first month, are blurry with events and people still out of sequence.

"And I remember," Arthur continues, voice hushed and awed, "hearing that she'd been paralyzed and being strangely grateful that Selina had been killed. So strange, so cold it sounded but I don't think your mother would have adapted nearly as well as Barbara has."

The shock is gone before it has a chance to manifest. And he's right. Mom had never dealt with illness with grace.

"But," he continues, "just because she has adapted doesn't mean she has to continue. You have my votes, Helena. And any pressure I can bring on the other members. I'll have my analysts prepare a perspective of your ideas, give some suggestions on a strategy."

"Thank you, Arthur," I say sincerely.

"A grandson," he whispers under his breath. "How that would amuse her."

+++++

"Arthur," I ask, not taking my eyes from Addison. "What's the market value of Addison's shares?"

Arthur promptly quotes a figure roughly equivalent to the GNP of a small country.

"Cut him a cheque, Arthur," I say. In my peripheral vision I can see Arthur pull out a chunky fountain pen and write out a cheque, blowing briefly on the ink before handing it to me. I don't bother looking at it; merely slide it down the table.

Addison stares at it.

"Take it," I say. I know it's made out for the amount Arthur just quoted plus a healthy profit. My idea. Everything in Arthur's notes says that Addison is a greedy bastard concerned mainly with his wallet. Stiffly he picks up the cheque, stands and walks out. Leaving his two henchmen looking like headless wonders.

"Anyone else?" I really, really hope not because that stunt wiped out the line of credit my trust fund secured. Guess I won't be upgrading the Honda anytime soon.

"You, ah, vote?" squeaks one.

"Well, if it's necessary," Arthur says, holding up a sheaf of papers. "However, Ms Kyle has now shares and proxies totaling 31%."

+++++

"I don't understand. You said I needed 51%"

"No, I said you needed to control 51%. Proxies would count as well." Arthur smiles at me as if I were a particularly slow child. Which, I guess, I am sometimes.

"Who the hell would give me their proxies?"

"Perhaps the other trust funds, they're all self-administrated. If you took your proposal to them," Arthur says almost to himself, mulling over the glass of Scotch we keep around for when Jim visits. "People tend to be more responsive than organizations to things like this."

"Other trust funds?"

"It is well documented in the annual reports that there are three private trust funds as well as the ones used for various charity organizations such as the University and Gotham Memorial. I knew you were one recipient but if we can determine who the other two are..."

"Barbara. And Richard."

Arthur looks positively poleaxed. "Unless you already know." He takes a sip of his Scotch. "Barbara Gordon and, I assume, Dick Grayson is Richard."

"Yeah. Barbara knows I hate... hated the handout and doesn't discuss it much. I'd forgotten about it."

+++++

"Trust me?"

She looks over the top of her book at me. "A question designed to make me worry."

I'm massaging her left foot, the right one propped on my stomach. "It's not a patrol 'trust me'. This is a ... financial trust me."

She puts the book down on her lap. "Not reassuring me here, Hel."

"I want you to sign your trust fund proxy over to me but not ask why," I tell the ceiling.

"That's it?"

"Yeah."

"Sure. No problem," she says, picking up the book and opening it."

I turn my head, watching her read for a few moments.

"You're not going to ask?"

"Helena," she says, not looking up from the book. "I trust you."

+++++

Arthur reads out the results and I don't let myself show my relief. If everyone stood against me I'd loose. But they don't.

The rest of the meeting is brief and I miss most of it giving, apparently, the correct responses at Arthur's prompts. We decide to announce the dividend agreed upon at an early meeting on the traditional date. We decide to hold the next meeting on the normal date. We decide we've all had enough excitement for one day and the movement to adjourn is seconded by three people.

Arthur smiles, patting my shoulder as he passes, following the majority of the board members out of the room. Only Baldwin remains, writing in a notebook. I'm not sure of the protocol so I stick around... maybe it's like a dinner thing and the host is the last to leave the table.

"You remind me very much of your mother," he says abruptly.

"You knew my mom?"

There's a pause where he looks through me, at some place or time not here. "Yes. She was a remarkable woman. As is her daughter."

He stands then, pushing the prospective into an elegant briefcase. Totally focused on the trivial act and I study him without the distractions of a room full of people. It's hard to get a body type on him, the slightly oversized suit camouflaging his build and a slouch that makes his height vague. He is, I realize, a bit of a jigsaw puzzle and I'm having a lot of trouble finding the edge pieces.

I close my eyes; let my eyes go bright behind my lids and slowly breath in.

The ventilation system is state of the art and the room is already scrubbed clean of everything but me, him and the air conditioning. I ignore me and the air conditioner and decypher the rest. Latex and spirit gum. So it's not Botox but...

Holy fuck.

"I understand you and Ms Gordon have a son?"

The hairs along my neck rise and I can feel my sight almost shift again as some maternal protective instinct kicks in. "Yes."

He smiles slightly. "I'm sure you're both very proud of him."

"We are," I say and something in my tone must have tipped him off because he freezes for a few seconds before he goes back to arranging his briefcase contents. He seems almost flustered and very human.

I reach into my purse and pull out my wallet, slipping a photo from it and skating it across the table. It comes to a rest against his case.

"Ah," he says, picking the picture up. It's a candid shot; the three of us playing Disney Trivial Pursuit game and Kyle doing his touchdown dance while Barbara and I laughed. Name the Seven Dwarfs and he'd nailed it for the win.

"You have a wonderful family."

I smile slightly. "Keep it," I say when he hands it back to me.

"Thank you," he says with a tight nod, sliding it into the briefcase and finally shutting it with twin snaps. He pauses, as if to say something more but instead just nods at me, striding past.

"My mom?" I hear myself say. "Do you think she'd be... ah...you know...?"

"I know," he answered firmly, voice close behind me. "I know that she loved you very much. And she was always very proud of you."

"And my dad?"

There's no answer. Only the faint click of the closing door and I don't know if he even heard the question.

END

Next: Dionysus

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