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The lengthy reprise of balmy temperatures in New York is thoroughly over, replaced by the tyranny of rainfall and autumn's blustery clutches. Leaves fly around with garbage in Brooklyn's streets. Working class folks, young professionals, and families can all rest easier under those dark skies knowing good people like Jen, and her staff, toil away inside brick buildings instead of rampaging around Central Park's miasma full of demons, ghouls, and horrors not even dressed up for Halloween.
Several friendly pumpkins mark the stairs up into the GLK&H building. Their resolute junior secretary screens clients, consultations being funneled off to the junior staff, though the partners might be looking to rescind the title of 'junior' for a seven foot tall emerald Amazon curled up in the records room with her assistant, two clerks, and about fourteen bankers boxes. "I'll carry them," she is busy saying. "Really, it's no trouble. Make sure to take those papers into my office, and send the memo off to Ms. Potts. Not official letterhead, and— ah, Betty, let's make sure we send her something nice. Practical, not fluffy like flowers, but thoughtful. Tea, coffee, books? Figure that out, please."
And Jen Walters, fourteen boxes carried like it's nothing, skims through the reception area en route to the upstairs conference room. No one mind her making it look like the easiest thing ever. No one has time for her to use the cart six times.
*
A black car, glistening with rain, hums quietly at the curb outside the law offices. An odd-looking chauffeur steps out — slightly gray and lumpen, but with its brass-buttoned uniform cut to fit its strange figure — and shambles around to open the passenger door. The woman who steps out is as beautiful as the chauffeur is ugly but she smiles at it nonetheless, brushing its cheek with her long, golden fingers, before making her way up the stairs, past the pumpkins, and into the building.
Beni, wrapped in a long, caramel-coloured fur coat, a few drops of rain clinging to the beetle-shiny huge sunglasses she doesn't need in this weather, pauses in the foyer and waits to be noticed. When she lifts a hand to remove those sunglasses, gold and gems glisten on each finger, diamonds on a cuff just visible beneath the fur are dazzling, even if only partly-glimpsed.
She is difficult not to notice, quite deliberately. It saves time.
*
Priscilla is the gatekeeper here, a secretary in the mold of Victorian governesses, a dash of a royal lady-in-waiting, and the iron-backed uptown women who let nothing threaten their husbands. Wrap her up in a powder blue suit, her manicured nails essentially perfect, and she is the first line of defense against the unknown from the big bad world. That, and the friendly tumble of spiders and cobwebs decorating her polished, orderly desk. She is a woman to dread, what with tidiness and dust free delight when fake spiders are decorating her battlefield. Look closely, and there is at least one or two creepy crawlies in Spider-Man's colours.
"Good morning," she says, almost by habit without making it sound forced. "Welcome to Goodman, Lieber, Kurtzberg, and Holliway. How many we help you today?"
Her pen is poised, the almighty calendar before her. None of the other seats are occupied, proof the clients are cared for, and promptness is worshipped where they bill hourly. To the quarter-hour, likely.
Upstairs, the slight creaking gives away the presence of that lovely copper statue gone animated.
*
"I'm looking for Ms. Walters," Beni says, giving Priscilla a warm smile. "I'm afraid I don't have an appointment but we were in the area and my chauffeur mentioned that she and I might have some business to do together." She passes over a business card — elegant, almost velvety, cream-colored, with scrolling black lettering a just a little gilding at the corners — that reads BENI, with a single phone number and her cities of business — Paris, Port-au-Prince, New Orleans, New York — printed along the bottom.
"I dislike telephones. That number will reach one of my assistants, however. But, if Ms. Walters has time?" Beni looks hopeful. "My schedule is unexpectedly free this morning." Let us not discuss why, let us simply be grateful there's no blood on Beni's lovely boots.
*
No appointment is tantamount to a sin. Priscilla consults that lined book and slides her finger down the columns, though she takes the business card and sets it aside. "Ms. Walters?" Might as well say she is here to see Santa Claus or the winner of Iowa State Fair's blue ribbon for blueberry pies; it's treated with similar gravity. "I shall have to inquire to see whether she has time in her schedule. Appointments are typically necessary after initial consultations." Technological deficiencies at this particular firm are not looked at with blinding confusion; when you have a client who literally is intangible, understandings are met.
Whatever kind of switchboard she has, it is rather modern. She can rotary dial two numbers and wait patiently, the little blue light flashing on the set. Approximately a minute later, a creaky noise is met with a pause. And then, as it should happen, a slim brunette comes down the stairs, adjusting the buttons on her jacket. "Pardon, Priscilla, Gloria forward the call up." Glasses perched on her freckled nose help to reinforce Jen's professional, almost school marm look. She glances briefly to the secretary, then Beni, and offers her slim hand. "I understand you wished to meet with me? Jennifer Walters."
*
"So kind of you to accommodate me, Ms. Walters." Beni looks about thirty and very wealthy, her accent is some strange hybrid that hints at warm places. Everything about her seems warm, as though she glows ever-so-slightly. "I thought we might be of assistance to each other. I've just come to town to open a new night club and I have need both of representation and employees. My chauffeur informs me that you are generous enough to spend time finding placements for those who might normally be considered unemployable through no fault of their own. It's generally my preference to offer work to those unlikely to find it in less-prejudiced environments."
*
Everything about Jen speaks to professionalism, not a thread out of place on her rather standard black suit, one that isn't the finest in tailoring and style. She is an attorney, not a fashion plate at Harper's Bazaar or Vogue. "Delightful. Shall we take a seat in my office, so you are not required to stand about? Priscilla, see I have an hour block open, please?" Never treat the secretaries badly. She withdraws her hand and then inclines her head for the door. "How would you prefer I call you, ma'am? And right this way. Your chauffeur has spoken rather highly of me. It's not quite that way, but we do represent a good many clients who would be considered metahuman, mutant, and the like."
*
"Just Beni will do. That's all I need." Beni is the type of person who really doesn't require more than one name. She sails along in Jennifer's wake, leaving a swirl of a subtle and expensive perfume behind her. "You have something of a reputation as a bright light in the lives of people for whom circumstances tend to be grim, no matter the cause. I strive toward that myself, though from a different direction, to be sure. Those who suffer the scorn of the commonfolk tend to raise up their champions as all-purpose legends, having little else to hope for."
*
"Beni," agrees Jennifer, taking the short way through the main door into the office area. Scandinavian minimalism meets a touch of orientalism, probably the conflicting tastes of the partners being balanced upon the axis of a very good interior designer. The hallway stretches out to a crossing intersection, but before they get there, Jen indicates a door to the side, not far off the records room. Her office is small, but her own, shared by none save her erstwhile clerk. (Also green. Unlike her, permanently.)
"I only do what is proper under the law, and question when those entitled to protections or rights do not receive them," she says to Beni quietly. "We may live in troubled times. That does not prohibit the law from applying. Someone deserves a job, they cannot be refused because they happen to have a tail or a capacity to read thoughts. Arrangements can be made to deal with those, rather than blanket denials. It's the same as African-Americans face." Nope, not negroes; she doesn't use that at all. "I wouldn't call myself a champion. Someone who speaks too much and pokes her nose in, yes. But then you might as well know I am proactive. What sort of clientele, specifically, are you searching for?"
*
"I require the usual staff for the club. Everything from waitstaff to entertainers." Beni sheds her fur coat, revealing a gorgeous — and somewhat scandalous — long cashmere jersey dress. "My mother is from Nigeria, so I am familiar with some of the negativity toward those who don't meet the norm. My fortune is literally my good fortune in that I am not beholden to anyone."
Beni takes a seat — or, rather, she graces the chair with her backside — and crosses her lovely, long legs. She looks like a modern queen in that pose. "In terms of representation, I require the usual attention around liability, negotiations with city hall regarding my renovations, various and sundry ordinances…" She waves a hand dismissively but the light in her eyes suggests she is anything but casual about these things. "I may require other services," she allows. "The business, by its nature, stands in the shadows of good society and tends to attract all manner of person." Beni, herself, is one of those people — just outside the shadow enough to claim ignorance but never ignorant in truth.
*
Given that everything looks scandalous when Jen adopts her other form, she can simply look past the possibilities of others. She heads to her desk and sits in the comfortable chair, barely earning a squeak. A legal pad is pulled out from a drawer, a pen taken from the organizer in a peculiar wood that defies description: it happens to be reddish-purple, a shade that must be dyed, and isn't. "Women empowered by wealth have an advantage in our society that their working class or homemaker sisters do not. It is a fortune indeed." Pen poised, the attorney watches with keen, curious blue-gray eyes.
"A club invariably does attract attention. My specialty does not lie with working on the particulars of City Hall, though we have specialists for that. One contracts the firm as much as the lawyer. Liability and insurance matters, on the other hand, are something we are well familiar with. Underwriting and liabilities unfortunately do often tend to rise when anyone suspects there might be fire thrown about, as it goes. Unpleasant, but a reality. Where do you plan on siting? You might encounter more difficulty with Queens, Harlem, or the Bronx compared to some."
*
"East Village," Beni says without hesitation. "I have an eye on an old theater there that, speaking of fire, suffered such an unfortunate incident some time ago. There is little more distressing than such a terrible accident at a place that should bring happiness to people. One of my agents brought the building to my attention. The damage is largely cosmetic, though the place will need to be gutted. I prefer to start fresh, but with a nod to history, anyway."
For once, Beni had nothing to do with it. Old buildings, old wiring, and a lightning strike converged to set up the disaster, such as it was. "I hope that with new utilities and modern considerations in construction, obtaining coverage will not be impossible. Of course, if you have recommendations for workmen, I am happy to consider them."
*
"East Village." Jennifer scribbles another set of notes in her jagged printing, underlining something shortly. "We can assign a clerk for that, assuring permits are filled and the like. Coverage should not be impossible, though you may have to contend with any historical designations, if the building had any. It's one thing to keep a gutted frame and fill it in, unfortunately, if someone has stuck a plaque on it. I would be more concerned with Manhattan, though it should be easy enough to manage. Alas, construction is not my forte. Priscilla might have recommendations. I can suggest good inspectors to you, however, which makes all the difference. As for your insurance agency, we have a list of those, too, at least the few we have not issued letters of notice to."
The corner of her mouth lifts in a smile. "Prospective employment, then. I can put word out. How should they respond? Do you have a post box for them, a phone number your employees will consider, or is it drop off an application at a given address?"
*
"Applications can be found, and returned, at The Black Cat," Beni says with a little smile. "Those unwilling to venture in have no place in any establishment of mine. I prefer to rely on the local pub instead of the post office. Old habits, from times and places where the post office was not its own entity. The number on my card will connect callers to an assistant of mine. I prefer not to use the telephone. I find it uncomfortable." She makes a face at that. Modern amenities are all very well but throwing one's voice down a wire instead of, say, using magic? A bridge too far.
*
"Very good. I shall assume the information on the card is also suitable for billing arrangements and the like. There will be paperwork and a contract sent that way, drafted by the end of the day. Any particular edits you want to make," Jennifer says easily, "make a note. Though for saving a courier, you might want to come in person if terms are not desirable. We charge fairer than many of the large firms in the city, but in the event we cannot make an arrangement work, we can recommend others." See, friendly. Her fingers drum against the pad, smudging the ink only a moment. "The Black Cat? I don't believe I have been in there, though this line of work allows few opportunities to kick my heels off and dance. I will have to look by." Might help to know what they're talking about, there.
*
"A notorious establishment," Beni says, with a hint of laughter and a sparkle in her eye that suggests she thinks nothing of the sort. "Favoured by mutants and homosexuals, much to the dismay of the puritans among us. I can only hope for such a reputation for my own business. I find myself quite at home there and, should anyone be unwilling to enter in order to gain employment, well, they would not be at home with me. And I prefer us all, all of us working together, to be comfortable with each other." She sounds genuine about that.
"If you'd like an excuse to meet there, I'm certain that your work would understand if I were to make an appointment to see you there. We could discuss contracts and you could enjoy the atmosphere." There's something mischievous in Beni's face, a ghost of delight at the idea of holding court in a place most unsuitable for the practice of law — according to its stuffier practitioners. "There's nothing to make some dry paperwork palatable like a good drink."
*
"Let's just mingle with some minorities to set hair on fire." Jennifer looks the part of an attorney: straight-laced, tidy, perfunctory. Apparently there is a personality under there, without doubt. "Clutch the pearls, ladies wearing no nylons and skirts above the knee, yes? Your flavour of business is your own. Given the firm's reputation, however, we don't take on criminal enterprises and naturally keep a distance from such things. I say that as some think we're related to the mafia somehow — without an Italian among us, I don't see how — but it is worth noting. There are dangers enough among us to make life difficult, ma'am, and that is not one we care to mix with."
Her pen wiggles. "I can use the excuse. I simply don't often get that way." Not without being statuesque, green, and giving random nosebleeds to bystanders. "It beats the stuffy, overpriced watering holes in the Financial District, I assure you."
*
"I assure you that my intentions for The Rose are completely legitimate." Other intentions, not so much so. Beni requires legitimacy to function. "I had heard the rumors but I also am familiar enough with the ebb and flow of business to know that it is untrue, or I wouldn't be here. One must be careful about one's reputation, and one's associations. Sometimes there is a fine line to walk but walk it one must." Of course, one must know when and where and how to cross that line. But that's a story for another day. "I will have one of my assistants make an appointment for next time, then. So as to not inconvenience you again."
*
"Good. Then the paperwork can be gathered up together, and then we can manage the business at the Black Cat for signatures or review. It might not hurt to enjoy oneself, though I will bring a copy just in case one of them gets wet." Jen, ever practical. She inclines her head. "What draws you to New York? Business, I assume. Though looking at your card, I see you are set up in several other cities as well. Call it curiosity."
*
"Expansion, nothing more." Beni's fingers flutter, the rings glitter. "My business in New Orleans is thriving but I have been established there for some years. New York calls. Things are reviving at a rapid pace here and I prefer the East Coast to California. So much opportunity. And Broadway — I've always loved Broadway. I'm considering investing there. So it stands to reason that I begin with what I know: nightclubs, people, alcohol, and music."
*
Jennifer nods, not quite taken in by all the glittering features. Could it be this is a woman immune to jewelry? She probably hasn't received enough; law doesn't pay well for the ladies. Truly, they make even less than the male clerks. "Revival, there is that," she agrees, chuckling. "Broadway is lovely, and there are more theatres showing up than mushrooms after a rainstorm around here. I do think you will find it's a welcome addition. Now, then, I will go and get the boys started on your paperwork. Is there anything else I can do for you, ma'am?"
*
"I think that's everything." Beni rises gracefully to shake Jennifer's hand, then to retrieve her fur. She wraps herself up in the long, soft coat with a satisfied sigh. "I look forward to working with you. You've been most accommodating, Ms. Walters." With that, she's on her way, descending to the main floor and sweeping out into the street where her strange little grey chauffeur awaits her, looking pleased with itself.