Spiderman 1 (30 page)

The door buzzer sounded without a voice speaking to her
over the intercom. She shrugged, pushed it open, and entered
the immaculate front hallway. She knew from the apartment
number that Peter and Harry's place was one flight up, so she
trotted up the stairs, her heels clicking on the wooden steps.
When she got to the right door, she knocked.

"It's open," came Harry's voice from within.

She entered the apartment, glancing around. She'd been expecting something of a disaster area, considering it was
two guys living on their own. But, startlingly, the place was
immaculate. Harry was lying on an elegant living room
couch that had black leather cushions, reading a book. The
couch looked nice. Indeed, everything in the place was nice.
Somebody in the apartment had money, and she had a
sneaking suspicion it wasn't Peter.

"Hey, Harry," she said.

Harry both sat up and turned so quickly that he almost
fell off the couch. He was wearing a T-shirt and gym shorts,
and looked baffled and confused.

"Mary Jane?!"

"Last I looked."

"What are you doing here?"

"I was in the lady's room at Grand Central, and someone
had written, 'For a good time, go to ...' and this address
was listed."

He stared at her blankly, reflexively straightening his hair.
"What?"

"I was kidding. Peter's aunt gave me the address."

"And how'd you get up here?"

"You buzzed me up, Einstein," she laughed.

"Oh. Right." If Harry had looked any more sheepish,
M. J. could have used him to knit a sweater. "I thought it was
Peter. He forgets his keys sometimes."

"Ah."

There was a pause. Then Harry, as if suddenly remem
bering his manners, said, "Sit down! Sit down! Can I get you
something to drink?"

"Anything. What'cha reading?"

He padded barefoot into the kitchenette, which was just
off the living room.
"Interview with the Vampire.
Have you
read it?"

"No. Saw the movie. The little kid in it creeped me out."

He came back with a couple of glasses and handed one to
her. "Cheers," he said and they clinked glasses.

She sipped from the glass. "Ginger ale?" He nodded.
"Harry, you wild man. Off and living on your own and
you're getting crazy with ginger ale."

"You should see us scarfing Cheez Doodles. We're prac
tically animals."

They laughed together, and then they were silent for a moment. "Do you know when Peter will be back?"

"Not sure. Think he might be at the lab. He's got a job at
a lab, you know. So
...
you came by to see Peter, then?"
Harry asked.

"Both of you, actually. I just . . . happened to be in the
neighborhood, really. Thought I'd say hi. Uhm . . ." She
looked down into her drink, feeling a bit embarrassed. "I
should say thank you. For your help at graduation, I mean."
"Oh. No problem. Whenever anyone needs a shoulder to
cry on, I'm more than happy to be there."

She got up from the chair, her glass empty. "Wow, you
were thirsty. Want another?" When she nodded, he said,
"Help yourself."

As M. J. poured out another glass, she leaned against the
countertop and smiled sadly. "You must have thought that
was some kind of timing on my part. Me breaking it off with
Flash on graduation day."

"I guess it was. But it was understandable."

His casual tone of voice surprised her. She turned to look
at him. "It was?"

"Well, sure." He appeared to be pondering the matter,
reaching for a thought, or perhaps trying to recollect some
thing he'd considered earlier. "Let me take a guess: You didn't get on great with your father, right?"

Mary Jane was utterly taken aback. "How did you know?"

"Takes one to know one. He put you down, right? Made
snide remarks, made you feel worthless. Am I getting
warm?"

"You're scalding!" she said in wonderment. Harry had
had his feet up on an ottoman, but M. J. came over to him
and sat on it now, so he put his feet on the floor. "I'm really
impressed, Harry."

"Like I said, when someone's got the same difficulties in their life as you do, you just get a knack for telling. Let me
guess," and he leaned forward, fingers steepled. "As much as
your dad didn't like you
...
he adored Flash."

"Yes! That's exactly right!" Her face was flushed with excitement.

Warming to his subject, Harry said, "So, in a way ... you
stayed with Flash as long as you did because he offered a
kind of protection. He helped you survive by giving your father something to like about you. And it made you feel a lit
tle bit less lonely in a family where love was hard to come
by. But by dumping Flash, it was like you were sending a message to your father. Almost like you were signing your own Declaration of Independence."

"Holy God," breathed Mary Jane in awe. "I swear, Harry,"
and she took his hand in hers. "It's like you know me better

than I know myself! I mean, some of that stuff I hadn't even
really thought of before ... but I think you're right! It's like you figured it out before I did! You are something else!"

"Aww," he said modestly.

"No, really! You're like ... like Sherlock Holmes and Dr.
Joyce Brothers all rolled into one."

"I'm just here to help," said Harry.

That was when Mary Jane's stomach rumbled, rather
loudly. Her face colored with embarrassment. "I'm ... I'm
sorry."

"You're hungry."

She tried to laugh it off. "Yeah. I think the people down
stairs probably know I'm hungry after that. Sorry ..."

Briskly, Harry clapped his hands and bounced up from
the chair. "Tell you what," he said. "I'm not sure when the
heck Peter'll be home. How about I take you out to dinner.
My treat. We can catch up on what each other is up to. Just lemme throw on some clothes."

But I wanted to talk to Peter . . . to tell him how I feel .
. .
but Harry's being so nice, and my stomach is killing me. .
. .

"You got it, Mr. Osborn," said M. J.

Harry winced as he headed into the bedroom to grab
some clothes. "Do me a favor; don't call me that. I hear 'Mr.
Osborn,' I look over my shoulder for my father."

The alarm at the jewelry store at Forty-seventh and Sev
enth was screaming into the night air when the police car
pulled up. Officers DeFalco and Owsley jumped out of the
car. The two cops couldn't have been more physically opposite. DeFalco, the senior officer, was heavyset, middle-aged,
and Italian, while Owsley was black, in his early thirties, and something of a health nut. Their nightsticks out, they saw the
shattered doors at the front of the building. There were no
signs of the perpetrators; more than likely they had high
tailed it out the back.

Nevertheless they were cautious when they entered the
building. But because the alarm was blasting so shrilly, they
didn't hear the muffled noises of grunting and protest until they were already inside the room. Owsley and DeFalco looked around, trying to locate the source. It sounded like
someone had been gagged.

Then they looked up.

For a moment they thought that what they were seeing
was the staff of the jewelry store, rendered helpless by the
crooks. But then they realized that there was a thick bag of
loot attached to the two men who were dangling from the
ceiling, helplessly wrapped head to toe in
...

"What the hell is that?" DeFalco said, prodding it with
his stick. The robbers—for that was who they were—
shouted in protest over the fact that the cops were in no
hurry to get them down. But since the white material was
covering their mouths, they couldn't really make them
selves understood.

"Man ... looks like ... some kind of cocoon ..."

"What," DeFalco said skeptically, his voice thick with
disbelief, "you're telling me that these two jokers were
nailed by a giant caterpillar?"

Owsley rubbed some trailing threads between his fingers,
noting the adhesion. "Or," he said with an air of great significance, "a giant spider, man."

"Great," snorted DeFalco. "Well, it's better than last
week, when you read about those soldiers getting trashed in New Mexico and said some kind of incredible hulk did it."

Mary Jane still couldn't believe it, looking around the restaurant in wonderment.
"Sardi's,
Harry? I can't believe
we're eating at Sardi's!"

Harry shrugged as if it were no big deal. All around them,
framed caricatures of famous actors smiled out from the
wall. The place was incredibly busy, and the aromas of the

glorious food all around them were so pure and inviting that M. J. literally had to fight to stop her mouth from watering.

"And we walked right in!" she continued, waving the
menu around. "It's usually impossible to get a reservation
here! But we just walked in and the maitre d' goes, 'M'sieur Osborn! Eet ees excellent to zee you again!'" she said, imi
tating his French accent.

Harry laughed and surveyed the menu. "You might try
the roast duck. It's really good here."

"My God, the prices . . ."

He waved dismissively. "My treat, I said. Remember?"

"I know, but . . ."

"No buts," he said firmly. "You deserve it. You deserve
some happiness."

Mary Jane leaned back in her chair and smiled sadly. "It's
been a long time since I thought I did. Thank you, Harry."

"You're welcome. And anything I can do in the future to
treat you the way you should be treated ... you just tell me.
Because you know why? You're high class, Mary Jane. High class, all the way."

"That's ..." She almost felt breathless, giddy. "That's so
sweet of you. I don't know what to say ..."