An Unlikely Encounter ch. 7

CHAPTER 7

I just kinda stood there, staring stupidly at the entrance of the dining hall. Order a sandwich? Was that some type of code for something?

I realized just how ridiculous I looked standing there, gaping like some fish out of water. I know for a fact that if somehow I fail to succeed in whatever my mission is, the Joker WILL NOT be happy. Not one bit. Not at all.

So with great courage and a little bit of curiosity, I stepped through the glass doors into the elegant room.

A large French crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling in the dining hall, the tables were covered in white cloth, and they were scattered all over the room. Large booths were located at the edges of the room, and famous paintings of the ages and around the world covered almost every inch of space on the wall.

The place was extremely posh and fancy to say in the least, and many people were there, as I assumed that it was around lunchtime.

I marveled at the black marble floors, and red velvet carpeting that lined the walls and floors of the establishment. I might've stood there for a little too long though, because soon, a tall, skinny waiter with dark hair and large, dark eyes seemingly noticed me for the first time, and tapped me on the shoulder, trying to direct my attention to him.

"Excusez-moi Madame," he said in a French accent, "But do you 'ave a reservation?"

Not wanting him to get suspicious, I tried desperately to attain a bit of class.

"Oh yes! I um, I believe I might have, yes, a reservation. Absolutely." I said nervously, taking great care to pronounce my words carefully and make them sound a little more elegant.

The waiter narrowed his eyes and took out a notepad with names scribbled on them.

He cleared his throat. "Um, yes. And, what name eez your reservation under by chance?"

I searched my mind for something clever. Think girl, THINK. What is a nice, common, classy name that I could use?

I thought about using my name for a second, but quickly eliminated that possibility.

I thought of the first name I could think of.

"Jacques?" It unintentionally came out as a question. And the waiter tilted his head in confusion.

He looked at me one more time before he looked down at his notepad, and scrolled down for 'Jacques,'

I held my breath for a few seconds, praying to every God I knew that somewhere in this world, this would work.

The waiter snapped his notepad shut, making me flinch, and he swept his arm towards the tables, gesturing me to follow him.

I blinked. 'Seriously?' I thought, amazed at my luck. I gave a little 'thank you,' to all the Gods I knew, before I turned my attention back to the waiter.

"Right zees way mademoiselle, Jacques," he said.

He began walking to the center of the room, weaving his lithe form through the spaces in between tables, searching for a place for me.

Unlike him though, I didn't manage to get through as easily or painlessly. I had to apologize many, many times for knocking over and tripping on chairs in my haste to catch up with the waiter. The fact that I as well as everyone else in the establishment knew that I didn't belong didn't help my lack of grace or propriety.

Finally we reached my table, which was located toward the back of the room, giving me a full view of the restaurant and all the people in it.

The waiter pulled out my seat for me, and introduced himself as Willem, before quickly extracting himself from my presence, obviously embarrassed by my behavior.

I sighed deeply and absorbed my surroundings. Nobody paid very much attention to me, all of them wrapped up in their own conversations to pay any notice to me. I saw a few men staring at me when I tripped though. That might count for something.

Not knowing what else to do, I picked up the menu on the table and looked at it.

Whoa.

The prices for food were ridiculous! Half of the stuff I couldn't even begin to pronounce! 'A small cup of soup for fifteen dollars?!'

I tried to look for the most inexpensive thing on the menu, knowing that I didn't have much on me.

I stopped.

I didn't have ANYTHING on me. I had no money whatsoever. How was I supposed to pay for any of this?

I was too busy fretting over the concept of me paying the bill with no money to notice a very well dressed man pull up a chair at my table.

He cleared his throat surprising me, slowly, my eyes processed his presence before me.

He studied my face with great interest not blinking or moving in the slightest. The fact that this man had the audacity to just sit down at my table and stare at me, not saying ONE WORD, just analyzing my features put me at unease.

I had to break the silence.

I swallowed, "Uh, can I help you?"

The man raised an eyebrow and tilted his head, still studying me. I took a second to stare right back at him, studying his features myself.

He was a rather good-looking man, short blonde hair, gelled back against his scalp in a boyish fashion, square jaw, full pink lips, light green eyes and dark, arched eyebrows. I could tell that he had a nice body under his suit.

'Not bad,' I thought considering, 'So not my type though,'

"How old are you?" He asked me suddenly, his voice silky and rich.

I didn't know whether or not to answer him at that moment, but he seemed pretty harmless, so I humored him.

"Twenty-three."

"Hmmm . . ." He responded. I have no idea whether that was a bad thing or a good thing. He didn't say anything else, he just kept on staring, and I started to get a little annoyed.

I sighed exasperatedly, "Not that I don't enjoy being observed by random strangers," I began sarcastically, "But was there some sort of purpose behind coming here? I don't really believe that you just wanted to know my age."

"How much do you charge?"

I looked at him, and at first, his words didn't register in my brain.

"Excuse me?" I asked him, offended as comprehension began to dawn on me.

"How much do you charge? I really don't have all day," He said lazily. He looked down at his fingernails and raised an eyebrow. "Really. It's almost as if you're surprised."

"I am surprised!" I responded angrily, "I am not a prostitute!"

The whole room quieted and heads swiveled around to face us. My face was burning with embarrassment as I tried to ignore the fact that everyone in the room heard me.

"I'm not a prostitute," I repeated much more quietly.

The man frowned at me.

He gestured to my clothing, "Well of course you are! You're my 2:00 P.M! I got a note from your manager to meet you here. He described to me exactly what you were dressed in so that I would find you." He explained.

I opened my mouth, preparing to contradict his story, when I stopped.

'Maybe this is what I'm supposed to do,' I thought.

I raised an eyebrow at him, "Does the phrase, 'Order a sandwich on me,' mean anything to you?" I asked him.

His face lit up for a moment, and then twisted into a sly grin.

"Oh," He answered seductively, "You're THAT type."

I pulled back from him slightly, confusion evident in my features. "Wait, what?!"

"Do you want me to buy you lunch first, or shall we go?" he asked me with anticipation.

I stuttered a bit before answering him, "Uh, I-I um, let's have lunch first." I couldn't wrap my mind around the situation.

I cannot believe that the first time I actually get to eat in the most popular, most expensive restaurant in the city, I have to act as a prostitute for a man I don't even know. I mentally sighed dramatically.

We ordered lunch, he wanted duck, and I tried the shrimp sushi, and afterwards, he paid the bill and offered his arm to me.

"Shall we?" He asked with a smirk.

I was at a loss at what to do, I wracked my brain for options, but I didn't come up with any. Finally I decided 'Fuck it,' and took his arm as he led outside the restaurant, the valet holding out a pair of keys belonging to a silver Bentley.

I looked around before entering the car, hoping to see some sort of sign from the Joker, that I was doing the right thing, and not getting into a vehicle with an attractive stranger, but saw none.

Gathering up my courage, entered the car on the passenger side, and he pulled out of the lot, driving out of town.

I looked out the window and bit the inside of my lip nervously.

'God, I really I hope I'm not wrong about this,'
____________________________________________________________________

"Ok, wait. Just . . . just wait a sec," Roxanne's boyfriend, Aleks, began with a frown, "You're trying to tell me, that you think Kathy's been kidnapped by The Joker? THE Joker? As in, the same Joker that's been dead for two years? That one?"

They were at Aleks's flat on the fifteenth floor of a very modern, very sleek apartment building located in the hustle and bustle of downtown Gotham.

Roxanne sighed and rubbed her temples. She was currently sitting down on one of his rectangular shaped black leather couches. "Yes. And I don't think that she's been kidnapped by the Joker," she muttered, Aleks looked a little relieved.


"I KNOW that she's been kidnapped by the Joker,"

He looked at her curiously, and then burst out laughing, "Oh, Roxy, that was a good one," He sobered up quickly, "Alright now seriously, tell me the real reason why I'm here."

Roxanne looked at him, her expression unwavering. Slowly, his grin died on his face as the realization set in.

His eyes widened, and he tried to form words to create a competent sentence, but was failing miserably.

Roxanne stood up, threw her hands up in the air, and growled in frustration simultaneously, "I know right?! Of all the dumb-shit that could happen to Katherine, kidnapped by THE JOKER? I mean really! C'mon now girl." Roxanne started pacing, and forgot about her boyfriend's presence in the room, while appearing to be talking to an invisible Katherine directly.

"If only we could bottle your luck, girl. We'd have a weapon of mass destruction in our hands! But seriously! The fucking Joker! Who's been dead! For years! I don't understand!" She began her full on rant now, complete with the flailing arms and red face.

Aleks walked over to her and put his hands on her shoulders, turning her around, and forcing her to acknowledge him.

He looked into her eyes for a moment, "Roxy," he said quietly, "Is she alive?"

Roxanne looked back at him for a moment, and then looked down.

"I don't know," she replied almost inaudibly, "I just . . . don't know. She could be lying facedown in ditch somewhere or something horrible like that. I just. Don't. Know," Her voice broke off in a loud sob as she covered her face with her hands, refusing to cry in front of him.

He pulled her into a hug for a moment, and held her there until she pulled away from him.

Roxanne wiped her eyes with the back of her arm, trying her hardest to be strong and look confident.

"I don't think she's dead," She said with conviction, "I spoke to her at one point, and she was in the Joker's company. He didn't kill her then . . ."

Roxanne's voice trailed off, and she knew that they were both thinking the same thing. He didn't kill her then, but he could kill her at anytime.

Roxanne's head snapped up and she clapped her hands together in an attempt to change the subject.

She put her hands on her hips. "Well," She began, all trace of sadness gone from her voice, "I'm gonna just sit here and twiddle my thumbs while the Joker does who-knows-what to Katherine." She stated confidently.

"I've got a plan and I need your help."

Aleks brightened up. "Am I going to like, kick someone's ass or something like that?"

"No," Roxanne replied, grinning.

"Am I going to break into The Joker's hiding place and distract him while you steal her away?"

"No,"

"Am I gonna be your technical in a van, helping you with cameras and mini phones and what-not?"

"God no!" Roxanne said shaking her head in amusement, "We're not secret agents or something! This isn't Mission impossible, babe!" Roxanne laughed a little before sobering up.

"No, I need an artist for this plan," Roxanne said, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. She turned to him and grinned.

"And you're just the guy."