1965-02-20 - Clubbing with the Green Giantess
Summary: Rosemarie visits Club 41 with Jennifer Walters and good times are had all around!
Related: Finding the Lynchpin
Theme Song: None
jennifer-walters rosemarie 

At the moment, Club 41— colloquially '41'— is the hottest night club in New York. This is a fluid definition, subject to the whims of New York socialites, the media, the artists and the musicians and the patrons who want to be seen rubbing elbows with the elite of New York society.

It's a place to see and be seen, so Jen Walters is dressed in her best plumage. Much like a tropical bird, the outfit is meant to be eye catching, with complex red, white, and yellow striping going across her body and sewn in contrasting angles. The dress is low backed with a collared halter, leaving her arms bare, and the big green lawyer's hair is done up in a messy pile atop her head and left to trail down her left shoulder. The hem of the skirt is dangerously short if she moves too fast, and calf-high white boots with a chunky heel complete the ensemble.

Jen emerges from the back of the Checker Taxi, the springs lurching with a relieved *creak* as seven hundred pounds of She-Hulk departs the vehicle. "Thanks Billy!" she tells the drive, digging in her small clutch for a few neatly folded bills.

She stands on the sidewalk, matching all the stares with a big smile, and beckons Rosemarie to join her and link arms. "C'mon, I know the bouncer. We won't have any problem getting in." Despite the hundred or so people in line at the velvet barricade, Jen seems utterly unconcerned with bypassing the mob.


Boy, is Rosemarie ever happy to see the jolly green giant-ess! Concerned about punctuality and full of nerves tingling with barely-controlled excitement, she arrived about fifteen minutes ago. Knowing no one in the crowd all lined up and waiting to bypass the thin and svelte red blockade, she had taken her time in observing the crowd as nonchalantly as she could manage.

Now, slipping her arm through the taller woman's offered angle, the librarian feels the anxiety abating a little…though not enough to make the fans of azurine feathers disappear. They frill up, one on each side, behind each ear. A linked headband in silver ovals across her coifed brown hair makes an effort to excuse them as clever jewelry, frippery instead of the real thing. There was no way her blood pressure was going to drop low enough to encourage them to melt away, so she makes the best of it and hopes no one asks.

She's not as colorful as Jen, not by a long shot, with her only hues in the oceanic-hued plumage and her opaque tights in a nearly identical hue. Her dress is silver, beaded in short lengths, and shimmers as she walks — a precursor to the infamous Go-Go fashion to come, though her boots are nearly identical to the laywer's white pair, the only difference in a few inches higher up her leg to tuck beneath the crook of her knee.

"I-I'll f-f-follow you!" She says overtop the rumble and murmuring of the crowd.


"Good! Hang on tight, half of getting anywhere is just getting a good head of steam and not letting anyone stop your momentum."

Jen squeezes Rosemarie's arm, grinning down at her with excitement, and with a toss of her head starts marching towards the entrance.

"Tony!" Jen tells the bouncer. His clothing is stylishly modern, but the set to his jaw is definitely ex-military. He looks up at his name- then UP at Jen, eyes widening a bit as the Green Giantess bears right down at him.

"O-oh, Jen, h-"

"You look great baby! Like you've been working out! She's with me," Jen says, encircling Rosemarie's shoulders with her arm. A $20 is slipped into the bouncer's front shirt pocket. "You have fun, take care, bye-eeee!" she sings.

And just like that, they're in 41. Jen ducks through the doorway and stands inside for just a moment, striking an indifferent pose as eyes turn towards her. She definitely stands out, and instead of heading for a discreet place to sit, Jen basks in the attention until people return to their individual parties.


A quick nod makes the feathers jiggle alongside her head and then swoosh, she's quick-stepping as she can to keep up with Jen's strides. The sequence of sudden stop, arm about shoulder — cue the attempt at a grin, though she's probably projecting that shyness at full wattage here — and then the total bypass of the entire line has Rosemarie's head spinning. She's glad to be able to place a hand briefly against Jen's arm as the woman pauses.

The lights of the nightclub play along every reflective surface, from tables to glasses, jewelry and metal accents on the walls, and along the shimmering surface of her dress. Self-consciously, she tugs down slightly at the hem that hits about mid-thigh on her, and then glances over at the lawyer in her bright colors.

"W-W-What d-d-do w-we d-do now?" She likely has to speak up again; the music playing from speakers around the place is the most popular of the times and a little loud. "D-Drinks? F-Find a t-t-table? D-Do y-y-you know anyone?"


"I know /everyone/," Jen tells Rosemarie, leaning down to be heard without needing to raise her voice. "But the whole point of clubs like this is to be seen, or be seen with people. If you show up and look for people, then people think that you wouldn't be here unless you needed to be seen with someone, and someone who needs to be seen with another person isn't someone worth being seen with."

Apparently, that all made sense to Jen, because she's half walking, half propelling Rosemarie to the bar. Jen doesn't step on any toes, but she sure lets her sheer presence push ahead of them like a ship's prow parting the waters. People get out of her way, and Rosemarie is caught up in her wake.

Cash appears in her fingers, and even more than her size, that seems to summon the bartender. "Hi! I'll have the Mai Thai with the Carribbean rum? And something for my friend," Jen says, unfolding a $10 and passing it to the bartender. "They run a pretty good cocktail lounge here. And there's a lot of live music, they bring in bands from all over the East Coast. Ray Charles was here last year, he was /amazing/."


That social logic does in fact make some sense to the still somewhat-dazzled librarian. She follows along in the lawyer's wake at a brisk pace, nodding as if this gesture can be seen.

"Oh! I-I've heard his m-m-m-music, y-yes!" Now at the bar…somehow (this lawyer's ability to part people is something just barely short of magical), she eyes the large number of bottles behind the bartender with a mild sense of wonder. Thank goodness for her time idling about Lux, elsewise she'd have no idea what to order. Summoning up the willpower to settle down that dang stutter, she says, "I'll have a rum d-daiquiri, p-p-please!"

Once she's certain that her request has been properly heard, she looks to Jen again. "D-Do they ever host th-the r-r-really p-popular bands? The C-Contours? Or even the R-Rat Pack?"


Jen wrinkles her nose, thinking. "No- I mean, the Big Band types sell out the big venues. 41 is hot, but it's really small. So it's solo acts, or groups who are trying to break out. See— that's Les Grossman, he's a junior producer with Columbia," she says, gesturing at a slick-haired fellow talking and laughing with a drink in hand. "And that's the editor of the Village Voice," Jen says, nodding at a short, slender blonde woman with a strange intensity to her socializing. She's holding court with a few people, and making notes in a small pad in her hand.

"So you never know who's gonna make it big. Some band from Albany comes in, they're looking to make a name, they're in here on the right night, right song, right crowd— it's hard, but I think the payoff is worth it. And we do get some big names, Bobby Darin comes in sometimes and sings a few sets with the house band."


Rosemarie's dark eyes follow the brief accolades and explanations as to whom is whom here in this collection of many well-known whoms. She nods, glancing back and forth from Jen and out to the crowd. At the mention of Bobby Darin, she does sigh just a little, in a winsome way and nibbles at the corner of her lip.

"Oh my god," she says breathily and ends the exhale on a giggle, her cheeks already flushing. "If B-Bobby D-D-Darin w-were here, I'd ask h-him to s-sing "Beyond the S-Sea". It's m-my favorite," she admits. The bartender returns with their drinks and she mouths a thank-you before daring a sip at the concotion. "Ooh, this is v-v-very g-g-good!" She raises her glass as one half of a toast, giving Jen a more bold smile now. "T-To…research?" Bless the tentative upsweep in pitch in the word.


"Right? A little sweet, but it packs a punch." Jen grins down at Rosemarie and clinks glasses with her. "Clinkies! To good research," she says, and throws back a third of the large mai thai in a single gulp.

"Jen! JEN!" The green lawyer looks around, then down, then emits a happy yelp and extends her arms towards a petite brunette dashing up to her, wearing a stylish beaded headband, jeans, and a leather jerkin.

"Carrie, hi! Rosemarie, this is my friend Carrie, she's the manager over at Charro's— dressmaker, over in the garment district? I get all my suits from her."

"From me and the Spanish Galleons we raid for enough cloth to make them," Carrie says, hugging Jen and giving her an impish grin. She turns to look at Rose and offers a handshake and a peck of the cheek. "Hi Rose! It's great to meet you. WOW! I love your headband! Are those real feathers in it?" she inquires, marvelling at Rose's plumage.


The brunette has time to take another larger sip of her drink and make a note to ask Lucian about making it with that spectacular muddled rum he keeps in the basement before the arrival of a friend. Momentarily leaning back hard enough to have the bartop press into her side, she turns and sets her drink down and swallows hard. Socializing! She can do this.

Oh, but Charro's!!!! Rosemarie's heart leaps up into her throat briefly as Carrie takes up her offered hand. The little kiss burns like evaporating ice on her freckled cheek and she stammers out an answer as best she can: "Y-Y-Yes, they are r-r-r-r-real!" Hopefully her eyes aren't blossoming golden about the centers, but at least the Shi'ar influence is more proud than annoyed by the question. "N-N-Nice t-t-t-to m-meet y-you too," she adds belatedly with a shy smile, kicking herself for flustered manners.


"I love it! So trendy," Carrie tells Rosemarie. "Listen, I can't stay— I'm here with John and Mandy, and we're going to a house party on the cape in a bit. Big names, can't say who it is, but it rhymes with 'Kennepy'," she says, winking and laying a finger aside her button nose.

"Anyway! Rose, come by Charro's and say hi sometime, huh? I can see you in yellow, big, flowing silk. Total New Delhi, it's this /fab/ thing that's all the rage in Milan right now. Anyway, toodles!" The effusive fashionista offers hugs and cheek kisses, and vanishes back into the crowd.

"She's got that look, better be careful," Jen teases Rosemarie. "She sees everyone as mannequins. The first time we met, I had to find her off with a broom because she had this crazy idea about togas."


Wham, bam, another kiss on each cheek, and the fashionista tornado is off again. Rosemarie is left blinking, glad that she wasn't holding her drink for how it may have end up sloshed about.

"Togas?" This, the librarian manages not to stutter, miracle of miracles for how big her doe-eyes are. More libation is necessary. She takes another huge sip of her drink, coughing a little. "D-Does she r-r-really w-want me to m-model yellow silk?" Her titter is all nerves. "I m-m-mean, if she asked n-n-nicely, I m-might th-think about it." And then it hits her and she stares at Jen. "Did she mean the Kennedy family?!"

Nothing like the realization as to the social rung she's currently sitting upon to clear up that stutter!


"Probably not THE family," Jen assures Rosemarie. People brush up against her as she occupies her space, but the green-skinned glamazon barely seems to register it, even as a drunk fully stumbles into her elbow and bounces off like he'd hit a doric column.

"It's like a set of cousins or something. Big family, you know, very connected, lots of siblings. If you go to Charro's— and definitely do— just be prepared to cut and run. She loves dressing people up, and you can get stuck on a podium for a few hours while she runs through design ideas. Love her, but she's more focused than a lotta lawyers I know."

"So like— what're you doing working as a librarian?" Jen asks, lifting a brow. "You're smart enough to be doing more than indexing file cards, and I'm pretty sure the City of New York isn't paying a whole lot for civil service. Why aren't you in the private sector? With a memory like yours, you could clerk for any number of commercial groups."


Rosemarie hasn't had any sort of impact incidents yet, but just wait. The drink will probably be catching up to her in short time. At least there's the bar to lean on and look somewhat cool, as if she belongs here rather than masquerading about like Cinderella at the royal ball.

"Well…" and she fades as she considers precisely why. Another sip of the rum-based mixed drink disappears. "It w-w-was an easy j-job to g-get w-when I w-w-was y-younger. I l-like w-working in a q-quiet place. The p-people are nice…f-for the m-most p-p-part. I l-like my coworkers…well, m-most of them." Her chuckle is genuine if not quiet. "There are always th-hose ones, y-you know? It d-doesn't p-pay much, b-but…" She flushes more darkly still, nearly tucking her chin. "I d-don't n-n-need the salary anymore. I…f-f-found a very r-rare b-b-book that the library p-paid me to sell t-to them. I am…" Her voice falls out before she finds it again. "D-Doing w-well for myself." This has the note of a sudden conclusion and her dark brows rise as she looks through Jen for a fleeting moment. Coming back with a shake of her head, she drains her glass and coughs lightly. "W-Why d-do you ask?" The little smile returns on those rosebud lips.


"An old book? Are you a treasure hunter on the side?" Jen inquires, eyes dancing merrily. "Whozat guy, the one in South America— Percy Fawcett!" she says. "He's the guy who found El Dorado, right? Or said he did?"

"Well, it ain't bad to be independently wealthy," Jen says, a little enviously— and there's a subtle shift in how she speaks to Rosemarie, slightly impressed by the other woman's skill in securing her own future. "I'm hoping I'll be at that point in a few years, if my firm takes me on as a partner," she explains. "Right now, I'm just an hourly. Junior partners come in on salary, and in a few years if I bust my rear and really make a name for myself, I might get picked as full partner. That's where you really make the money, you get a cut of every case and settlement," she explains. "The real high rollers in this town are lawyers and real estate developers, believe it or not. Even the politicians don't have the kinda pull that some of the big rest estate families— like Waldorfs, people who own whole hotels or apartment blocks."


"Um…I thought he s-said he d-d-did, I d-don't remember though," she admits, lifting her empty glass to her lips before she realizes that it is devoid of liquor. A sigh and she sets it aside for now, glancing back at Jen again.

"A f-full partner? I'm sure they w-will! You d-do your research and you care." Rosemarie puts extra emphasis in her assertion by placing a palm on the green giantess's arm momentarily. "That m-must c-c-count for s-something? I d-don't have that m-much m-money though, n-n-not like the Waldorfs. Who knows? Th-They m-may have even b-bought the b-b-book afterwards…no," and she laughs, leaning more heavily on the bar, "Bart w-wouldn't have l-let them. He's the c-collections acquirer f-for the library. W-When he saw the b-book was by N-Newton, he w-was very adament that the l-library should have it."


"Don't get me wrong," Jen says, setting her empty drink aside. She signals for another, and glances inquisitively at Rosemarie at the same time. "The firm I work for is great. Everyone donates time to pro bono work, even the senior partners. They hired me out of Los Angeles because they wanted someone /different/ working as a public defender." She brushes her hand through her hair, pulling it around the back and down her other shoulder. "Not just a woman, but a metahuman— someone who can get down in the trenches and really related to my clients. It also doesn't hurt that I am a /really/ good lawyer," she says, without a trace of false modesty. "I wouldn't have taken the job if it was tokenism."

"So— how did you get your hand on a book by Newton? Aren't those all super old and rare and in museums already?" she inquires, paying for her drinks and taking a sip of the newly refilled one.


The librarian nods solemnly to herself before realizing that she hasn't yet ordered her second drink.

"C-Could I get another one of these? Thank y-you," she says to the bartender. She turns back to Jen and smiles, the most genuine one yet. "They are v-very lucky to have y-you, Miss Walters. You seem l-like an excellent l-lawyer and y-you do understand. Y-You are…unique." She bobs her head as she decides upon the word, the motion itself rather avian-like in turn. Like me, she doesn't say aloud, sheerly by interruption due to her second drink arriving. Discretion is a form of valor and thus, she too pays for this glass and closes out her tab. Being too inebriated might allow for more feathers to show and the night has been so fun so far — no need to risk it! In regards to the book…

"It w-was the r-real thing, that b-book. A copy of Philosophiae Naturalis Principia Mathematica from the 1680s. It was a g-gift." She sips at her drink before looking somewhere over Jen's shoulder, her mein briefly distant. "An…admirer g-gave it to me." Her gaze drops to her hands and she wrinkles her nose against a rather silly grin. "I w-was shocked, to say the l-least. It's m-much safer with the l-library anyways. Lola, my cat, m-might have hurt it."


Jen whistles soundlessly, shaking her head. "Some boyfriend," she says, a little enviously. "I got socks from my aunt for Christmas. And I had a boyfriend give me a new ironing board for my birthday," she remarks, drolly. "Well. Ex-boyfriend, about five minutes later, anyway."

"I can't imagine having something like that just up on the shelf with my law books and pulpy fiction novels. 'Oh, hey, I couldn't find a coaster, here's a book that predates America."

She rolls her jade eyes, but an incorrigible grin crosses her face. "Anyway. I'm not saying— paralegal, yes/no— I'm not making an /offer/," she says, taking a lawyer's non-position. "Just… if you are intersted in exploring some other optiosn for employment, there might be some avenues open to someone with your qualifications."


Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License