Glass Ionosphere

The Glass Ionosphere

"You always do this Grace! It's never a time when we can sit down like
adults and discuss whatever it is that's bothering you. It's always
when I'm leaving for work, and all it does is upset me and set me on
edge for the rest of the day. I just wish that? well for once you
could?"
"What? Could what Graham? Come on spit it out!"
Graham rubbed his forehead above his left eye. She was getting to him.
She could tell.
"And you can stop all that shit with your eyes," he said. "I'm not
afraid to tell you."
"Well then?" she asked defiantly. "Exactly what is it that I have to do
for once?"
"Be less selfish!" he finally spluttered looking to all the world like
a man who had finally coughed out a fishbone that had been stuck in his
throat for days.
She hadn't expected selfish. She hadn't seen that coming. Graham was
looking at her triumphantly now as he pulled on his raincoat over the
immaculately pressed Hugo Boss suit. Despite what she had just heard he
still looked hot. She had to admit that. It still gave her a thrill
knowing that his face adorned the walls of millions of teenage girls
and inhabited the minds of millions more women when they made love to
their partners.
"We'll talk about this later," he said grabbing his briefcase and
heading towards the door of their Fifth Avenue apartment. It wasn't
until she heard the sound of the door closing that she spoke again.
This time it was to the baby that lay gurgling in the carrycot at her
feet.
"No we won't," she sighed. "We never do."

* * *

Grace waved from her seat in Starbucks to attract the attention of the
attractive brunette that had just walked in carrying the infant in a
Burberry-checked car seat. Her own baby sat on her knee guzzling
hungrily at the bottle of formula, its eyes drawn to the bright lights
of the caf?'s ceiling. Around them baristas working for the minimum
wage before being plucked from obscurity to a starring role on Broadway
called out orders to waiting customers. It seemed to Grace like
everyone in Manhattan drank skinny lattes. In front of her lay a
half-drunk Americano, looking considerably cooler and less appealing
than it had twenty minutes earlier when she had first ordered it. When
the baby had awoken he had immediately demanded his mid-morning feed
(and with lungs as powerful as his nothing was going to stop him from
getting his way). He was, she mused cynically, getting more like his
father every day.
"Sorry I'm late," apologised the brunette, shaking off her sheepskin
coat as she sat down. "Getting the car parked was hell."
"You should move back to the city," Grace told her. "Then you wouldn't
have to drive anywhere."
"True," nodded the brunette. "But getting CJ here into a decent public
school would be impossible and there's no way his father would agree to
a private education. Not with the amount of alimony he's paying you
know who." Then looking up she shouted towards the counter: "Could I
have a tall skinny latte please?"
Grace had to fight the urge to roll her eyes heavenwards.
"So?" asked the brunette. "What's the problem now?"
"Graham. His work." She felt more than a little disloyal talking about
him like this behind his back, but what else could she do?
"Let me guess. It's the fact that he has a career and you don't.
Right?"
Grace nodded.
"Welcome to the club, sister. Nobody tells you what it's going to be
like do they? Of course, it's not all cuddles and walks in Central
Park. The books tell you about the downside, sure - the sleepless
nights, the feeling of exhaustion, the painful caesarean scars - but
what they don't tell you is what it feels like to resent the fact that
you are the one who is expected to give it all up. You're the one that
has to put your career on hold to bring baby up. You're the one that
has to dutifully kiss your husband goodbye every morning as he goes
into the office. You're the one that has to face the rest of the day
without a single adult to talk to." Her diatribe was interrupted
momentarily as the barista brought her coffee. "Thanks," she said
smiling. Diana Prince was still an incredibly beautiful woman, her pale
blue eyes as clear and bright as they had always seemed. Grace would
never have guessed that she would have harboured such resentments. It
made her feel better about her own situation. "Of course," Diana
continued. "It's worse for us. Our husbands have two jobs; one keeps
them busy during the day and pays the bills, the other makes them
world-famous at night. Meanwhile, we stay at home and bring up the
kids. And even if we could go back to work once their in school we'd
find that there was a whole new generation keeping us out of the job
market. Talk about a glass ceiling," she snorted into her latte.
"Sometimes it feels like there's a glass stratosphere keeping us
down."
"Oh no," said Grace. "I'm afraid it's much higher than that in our
case."
The two women laughed. For Grace it seemed like the first time she had
laughed in ages.
"So what are we going to do about it?" she asked.
"Nothing sweetheart," said Diana Prince. "We've made our beds and now
we have to lie in them."
"We could burn our bras like they did in the Seventies. What about
burning your star spangled bra and hot pants?"
Diana Prince put down her coffee cup and looked into Grace's eyes, the
pale blue of her irises suddenly dimming as if a light had been
switched off inside. "Oh sweetheart," she said laying her hand gently
on Grace's arm. "They were burned a long time ago."

* * *

Grace sat on the bench in Central Park and watched the courting couples
spend their lunch breaks in the ritual dance of love. Around them the
trees were brown, shedding leaves in time to the sway of the breeze
that was blowing off the Hudson, creating a crisp carpet for the lovers
to stroll across. As an undergraduate at Columbia she had often come to
the park to think. Sometimes in the company of a lover, mostly on her
own.
"I thought it was you," said a voice from behind her. She didn't need
to turn around to know the identity of the man that had spoken. Charles
Martin, AKA "The Dark Magician", was someone with whom she had been
well acquainted in a previous life. A life that now seemed to have
belonged to someone else.
"Do you mind if I sit down?" he asked politely. Manners had never been
an issue with him, of course. Grace nodded her head and he sat down,
crossing his legs. He smelt of expensive cologne and wore a navy blue
double-breasted wool coat that must have set him back at least $800.
What was it about their generation, she wondered, that had turned them
into such conspicuous consumers of haute couture? Where had their
idealism gone?
"So this is wonder boy's son and heir, then?" he said gazing into the
pram that sat in front of them. What surprised her most was the
complete absence of malice in his voice. But what was it she could
sense in his voice - sadness, regret?
"Yes."
"He's beautiful," said Martin. "You're very lucky to have him." And
then as if he felt he should acknowledge the existence of her husband
he added: "You both are."
"Thank you."
"Do you ever??"
"No, I don't," she answered before he could finish the sentence.
She could sense that Martin was smiling to himself; his perfectly
straight white teeth would be almost dazzling in the late autumn
sunshine. "I'm flattered you used your talent on me."
"Let's just say it saved me the trouble of having to guess what you
were going to ask," she said trying to sound bored and uninterested
when the truth was she felt only discomfort. Discomfort because she
sometimes did find herself wondering what it would have been like if
she had chosen this man instead of Graham.
Martin raised his hand and with his index finger traced the outline of
her jaw. Involuntarily she pulled away.
"You're still as beautiful as ever," he told her. "We could have made
quite a team."
For the first time since he had sat down she turned and looked into his
eyes.
"In your dreams magic boy."
Then she stood up, kicked the brakes off her son's pram and walked
off.
"You know where I am," shouted Martin from behind her. "If you ever
want to talk about the old times."
But she knew she wouldn't because that was exactly what they were; old
times and she was ready for something new.

* * *

It was almost eight o'clock when Graham finally came home from his day
job on Madison Avenue where he worked as a copywriter with a successful
firm of advertisers.
"About this morning," she began.
Graham rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand. "Oh Grace, do we
have to?" He sounded tired; as if the weight of the world were on his
shoulders. "I'll probably have to go out tonight."
"I know, honey," she said trying to sound sympathetic. "But I think
it's time we talked."
"About what?" he asked.
"Us. The marriage."
"What's wrong with it?"
"I'm bored and I want to go back to work." There, she had said it.
Immediately she tensed herself for the flashes of lightning, the peals
of thunder, the sky falling down. But of course, none of that happened.
The world still turned. If she looked out of the window the moon would
still hang above Manhattan and the Big Dipper would be exactly where it
had always been.
"I though we had been through this before," he said.
"No Graham, you have, not us!" she said, aware that her voice was
becoming a little shriller with every syllable. She had to calm down.
Diana had told her that if she became hysterical she wouldn't stand a
chance.
"Okay," he said in manner that was supposed to convey understanding but
which only served to infuriate her. "What do you want to do about
it?"
"I've told you," she said crossing her arms in an act of defiance. "I
want to go back to work."
"And who is going to look after our son?" he asked.
Grace raised her chin slightly. "We are."
"I'm sorry," Graham said, feigning surprise. "We are? And how exactly
are we going to do that when I'm at work all day and I have to go out
in the evenings doing what I do?"
"We'll just have to share the night work," she told him.
By the look on his face she knew that she wouldn't have to bother
reading his mind to know that she had defeated "The Sidewalk
Avenger".

* * *

"So he gave in, just like that!"
"Well, not exactly," admitted Grace sipping her coffee as she relayed
the events of the previous evening. "He tried to talk me out of it
using the old "it's dangerous out there" argument. Of course I didn't
fall for it. I told him that no-one ever got hurt doing our line of
work. That basically it was fantasy. Entertainment even!"
"And that persuaded him?" asked Diana.
Grace nodded. "Pretty much so. The argument ended there and all that
was left to discuss was the logistics of it."
"And they are?"
Grace laid down her cup and became a little more excited. "Well we've
decided that I'll only do three nights a week - Monday, Tuesday and
Wednesday."
"The quiet ones. You'll be lucky if you see any action on those
nights."
"I know," agreed Grace. "But I'm just happy to be going back to work.
I've missed it." She looked down at the baby in the carrycot at her
feet. He was sleeping soundly, his tiny chest rising with each breath
he took. Suddenly she was overwhelmed with the enormity of it all -
work, marriage, motherhood. Quickly she reasserted herself and without
realising it she found herself talking out loud. "You have to make this
work."
"Sorry?" asked Diana. "Did you say something?"
Grace shook her head. "No, I was just thinking aloud." Then trying to
get the conversation back on some kind of track she asked her friend:
"Don't you miss it, Diana? The job, I mean?"
"Oh God!" exclaimed Diana. "Do I miss it? You bet!"
"Why don't you go back to it, then?"
"Clark would never allow it."
"Have you asked him?"
"No point."
"That's what I thought about Graham but look what happened."
Grace was trying to get excited for her friend.
"Look sweetheart," said Diana. "Things are different for me. When Clark
and I got together he was still with Lois. When it came out that we
were having an affair the tabloids slaughtered me! I was painted as
this scheming bitch that had stolen "Superman" from his true love and
in the process broke up America's favourite couple. The last eighteen
months have been a battle for me to get accepted as the new Mrs Clark
Kent. Do you really think I would jeopardise what little progress I've
made by going back to work and looking to the whole world like a
selfish, child-neglecting career bitch? No way. I've come too far and
put up with too much to risk that. I mean the maid has only just
started talking to me and she's been employed for almost a year! I
would have sacked her by now but do you know how hard it is to get good
help out in Long Island?" She shook her head. "No Grace, I'm afraid
"Wonder Woman's" spun around for the last time."

* * *

Free at last, the tight-fitting red Lycra bodysuit that her mother had
made for her all those years ago when her special powers had first come
to light seemed to glow brightly in the New York City night as she
swooped down through the concrete canyons of Manhattan Island and
headed out towards Ellis Island. As she flew round the Statue of
Liberty "The Firefly" stopped, grabbed hold of the old lady's torch and
gazed back towards the city's skyline. She could still remember the
first night she had gone out "on the job" and fought "Lady Electra" to
a standstill on the roof of the World Trade Center. New Yorkers had
stood below and greeted the arrival of a new heroine with cheers as
officers of the NYPD had finally taken the energy-stealing villainess
away. But times had changed. The Twin Towers had been brought down by
terrorists and traditional "baddies" were proving harder to find. Even
"Lady Electra" had left the business, married "The Joker" and retired
to Florida.

As she pondered the new order of things her senses became alert to
someone in distress. Cocking her head towards Manhattan she leapt off
the Statue of Liberty and swooped down to sea level in pursuit of
whatever, or whoever was in need of her help. As she neared her target
she began to get an uneasy feeling, after all, this was her own
neighbourhood. It was even her own apartment block, the old sandstone
familiar to her even with her eyes closed against the wind chill as she
flew along Fifth Avenue. From sidewalk height she shot up vertically
and came to a halt on the balcony of her own apartment. Throwing open
the French doors she found Graham pacing the floor holding their son,
the infant's face red and contorted by his screams. Graham looked
surprised to see her back so soon.
"What's the problem?" he asked. "It's only a little colic."
Grace turned around and headed back to the balcony, her shoulders
dropping slightly, the excitement of the evening vanishing like the
mist from the Hudson on a summer morning. Perhaps, she thought, going
back to work wasn't going to be so easy after all.