Chapter 13 - Dinner Crashing
I'm sure glad Barbara was with me that evening. She's pretty cool, you know, and she's kind of pretty, too, but I would have been lost without her. She knew about the dress code things, which was good because everyone was dressed up at the snooty restaurant. I almost lost nerve when we walked in and the lights were low and soft music was playing in the background and the host guy was wearing a tuxedo.
I know, I know, I live with a billionaire – shouldn't I be used to nice places by now? Well, maybe, but we don't go that many places. Or rather Bruce doesn't take me with him. Most of the time he goes out late at night, and he's all dressed up so I'm glad I don't have to go and wear dumb clothes.
We wear nice stuff and go to church every now and then, but even then I think we look way too dressed up for church. Bruce says I need some spiritual instruction in my life, but the last time we were at church the minister was preaching about children obey your parents, and Bruce looked all smug, and I scowled the whole way through the service and got lectured on the way home.
But this restaurant was way nicer than Gotham First Church, and I balked when the host guy came up to us.
"Yes?" he said in a very snobby way. "May I help you?"
He looked down his long nose at us, and I stepped back, ready to forget the whole thing.
"I'm Miss Barbara Gordon," Barbara said in a clear voice. "I'm the daughter of Commissioner Gordon. And my date here, Mister Richard Grayson, is the ward of –"
"Ah, Mr. Wayne," the host guy suddenly didn't seem as snobby. "Yes, he and Miss Kyle are already seated. Are they expecting you?"
"No," I shook my head, "but we don't have to see them. We'll take a table somewhere else."
"You wish to make a reservation for yourself?" his eyebrows rose as he looked down at us.
"Yes," I replied, trying to still be polite, "we want to eat here."
He paused, and his eyes darted to the side. I hate when people look all sneaky.
"I think you better come to Mr. Wayne's table. He will probably like know you are here. Then maybe we can find a table for the two of you."
He started into the restaurant, and we followed.
Barbara gave a small gasp as we stepped out of the foyer and into the main restaurant. "Dick, it's beautiful," she whispered. She looked up at the ceiling, two stories above, and the light of the hanging chandeliers shone in her eyes.
The place was fancy with expensive stuff and marble pillars and an orchestra playing on one side, but I was looking straight ahead. In the middle of the restaurant, at square table with loads of plates and silverware and wine glasses, Bruce was sitting. Selina sat on the edge next to him rather than across the table, and she had her hand in his arm as they were laughing about something. Bruce leaned down to whisper something in her ear as he reached his other hand out to place on top of hers, and then he saw us.
Well, truthfully, I guess he saw me, but the reaction was same.
In a split second, his face changed from amusement to rage. There wasn't even time for surprise or confusion or mild annoyance – no, it went from Bruce laughing to Bruce furious.
"Excuse me, sir," the host began, but Bruce interrupted.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, looking straight at me.
My mouth went dry. I was going to be all brave and swagger in and give him a "who cares about you?" look, but I completely lost my nerve. I haven't been this scared of him since I was nine and broke his computer by spilling chocolate milk on it. That time I had hidden under my bed until he came up and found me and I was crying and he sat beside me on the bed and said it was okay, but I couldn't touch his things anymore. Comparing the two, this made that look like nothing.
"I – I – I –" I stammered.
"Dick asked me out for dinner," Barbara said. She must be the bravest person alive because she stepped beside me and wrapped her arm around mine, like we were an item or something. "We wanted to say hi before we start."
Man, she was cool, like we were real adults. I made myself nod along, doing my best to match her casual expression. Selina sat straight in her seat and glared daggers at both of us. I would have felt smug at her irritation, but I was a little worried about angering the strongest man in Gotham to feel too satisfied.
"Where's Alfred?" Bruce asked me.
"Home," I said in a small voice.
If it were possible, he looked even more furious. His eyes seemed almost black.
"Where is your father?" Bruce demanded to Barbara in a tight voice.
"At work. Where else?" Barbara replied, slightly less cool.
"Thank you," Bruce turned to the host who looked nervous and slightly sick, "please pull up two chairs for the children."
"We were going to get our own table," Barbara said, but not too loudly.
"Sit down," Bruce ordered as he reached into his coat and took out his cell phone.
We dropped down into the seats that the host brought, and then he hurried away.
"Bruce," Selina protested, but he was already on the phone.
"Yeah, Alfred, it's me," Bruce said into the phone. "He's here with me . . . yeah, I don't know what's going on, but I'm going to find out . . . I will . . . Oh, believe me, I will," he looked straight at me, and I felt my stomach turn right over and try to jump up my throat.
Bruce hung up the phone and took a deep breath.
I could see his chest rising, and he seemed to be swelling with fury, and I felt paralyzed.
"This is such a nice place," Barbara commented looking around. "So pretty – do you come here often?"
"Barbara," Bruce looked very stern, "I need to know –"
"What about you, Miss Kyle?" Barbara turned to Selina. "Do you have men bring you here a lot?"
"What?" Selina nearly screeched. "How dare you?"
"Sorry," Barbara apologized. "You look really pretty, and I thought you must get a lot of dates."
"Oh," Selina stopped, looking torn between being mad and accepting the compliment. "I guess."
"I like your hair," Barbara went on. "I tried putting mine up and having it curve down like that, but I couldn't get it right. You should be on the cover of a magazine. You look like a movie star beside Mr. Wayne."
Selina smiled, showing her white teeth. "You're such a sweet girl. How did you get mixed up with this dreadful boy?" She glared at me.
"Sometimes you just need a date for Friday night," Barbara sighed. She pushed her chair back. "I need to go to the ladies room to put on more lip gloss. Will you come with me like they do in the movies?"
"Certainly," Selina swung out of her chair and grabbed her clutch purse.
Bruce stood and I did the same, remembering it was polite to stand when a lady left the room.
"While we're there," Selina said as she walked with Barbara, "let's see what we can do with that hair."
"It's a mess," Barbara confided as they walked off.
We sat back down, and I watched them go and then turned slowly to face Bruce.
"You are dead!" he hissed at me. "When I get you home – dead! You snuck out of the house and came by yourself all the way to Gotham just to ruin my night."
"No, I came to take out Barbara," I protested, finally finding my voice.
"You're thirteen – you don't take anyone out," he retorted. "You are in so much –" unable to finish, he started making gestures with his hands. He pulled his fingers across his throat and then brought his hand down in the air two times fast before jabbing his finger towards me. I guessed that meant I was either getting my throat slit when we got home or I was getting the spanking off my life.
"Bad, bad, bad," Bruce kept jabbing his finger at me. "When I get you alone – oh, you can't even begin to imagine it. How dare you come here?"
"Fine, I'll leave," I half-rose from my chair.
"Sit. Down," Bruce ordered between clenched teeth. "You move an inch from this table, and we're both taking a trip to the men's room together."
I guess we weren't going to be putting on makeup and doing each other's hair if we went there, but I wasn't brave enough to say that.
"Okay, one question," Bruce took a breath, "and you better answer this right, or I swear you're getting caned when we get home."
I felt the blood drain from my face.
"Did you take out the bike?" he asked.
"No," I shook my head, "I didn't touch the motorcycle."
"Then how did you get here?"
"I rode the bus."
"You rode the bus! You rode the bus all the way from our house?"
"Well, how else was I going to get here?"
"How else were –" Bruce broke off again and went back into doing the hand gestures. I wonder if he ever thought about becoming a mime.
"You get to go out," I objected. "Why can't I?"
"Because I'm an adult," Bruce hissed. "I go to work, I make money, I make the decisions. You're thirteen, and you do not sneak out of the house without telling anyone, ride the bus all the way into Gotham, and ruin my evening."
"Your evening – it's all about you, always."
"It is not. If I want a break occasionally, I'm entitled to one!"
"You want to take a break?" I sneered. "When do I get a break?"
"You're a kid – your whole life is a break."
"No, it isn't," I argued. "I have to do what you tell me all the time. Go to school, do your homework, take a shower, don't watch TV. I want to be treated like an adult."
"But you're not an adult. You don't think like an adult and you certainly don't act like one."
"I could," I claimed.
"Oh, really?" Bruce raised his eyebrows. "How were you going to pay for dinner?"
"I brought money," I announced. "My own money, too."
"How much?"
"Fifteen dollars," I told him.
"Ha!" he snorted. "That won't even buy an appetizer here."
Man, that wasn't fair. Bruce and his snobby restaurants! "We'll go somewhere else," I decided. "Some place cheaper."
"And you'll spend your money on dinner for you and Barbara?" Bruce asked.
"Yes," I held my head up.
"All of it?"
"Yes."
"And how will you get home then?"
I froze, struck by his question.
"See?" Bruce said in a low voice. "That's why I'm the adult and you're the one who's in big trouble."
I wanted to argue more, but the girls came back from the bathroom and we had to stand again.
Barbara had her hair all twisted up, but I liked it better down. She gave me cautious look, but I gave the smallest of nods.
Selina reached the table and leaned over to kiss Bruce right on the mouth. She kissed him for three whole seconds, and I made a face.
When Selina sat down, Bruce stood for a moment, his eyes dazed.
"See?" Barbara whispered with a smile to Selina. "Told you he would like it."
Selina looked very proud of herself, and when Bruce sat down, he kept his hand on the curve of her neck for just a second, and his fingers brushed her hair for a second.
"So Barbara had a wonderful idea," Selina said brightly. "She thought that since they intruded on our evening tonight, we all should go to the Gotham Ball in two weeks."
"Oh, really?" Bruce smiled, amused. "All of us?"
"Yes, we could all dress up and make an evening of it. We'll meet everyone and dance the waltz and –"
"I don't want to dance," I protested.
"Oh, you're dancing," Bruce assured me.
"Wouldn't he look just adorable in knickerbockers and knee highs?" Selina simpered. "With a sailor's collar like little boys wore in the 1800's, with lace all around the edges?"
I wanted to strangle her. I looked at Barbara, but she had her napkin up to her mouth, laughing behind it.
"Not a bad idea," Bruce admitted.
"Then it's official?" Selina looked at him.
"Yes, you're my date for the Black and White Ball," Bruce told her. "And Barbara can ask her father if she can ride with us to the Ball."
That seemed to ease some of the tension out of the room, though I don't know why. I guess Barbara figured this would help, but it seems stupid that a dumb ball could make grown-ups happy.
"Is everyone situated?" another guy in a tux came up, ready to take our order.
I hesitated, wondering how I was going to pay for the food. The menus didn't have any prices on them, and I couldn't guess what stuff cost here. I knew I was going to look like an idiot again, and I felt my eyes sting, but I would make the best of it. I wouldn't eat anything and that way Barbara could get something and –
"Well, since this is a special evening, dinner's on me," Bruce smiled at Barbara and me with ease. "Get anything you like. Selina?"
"I'll have the risotto to start with," she decided, glancing over the menu.
As she ordered the rest of the entrée, I looked down at the menu and found that most everything was part French and even the words that looked English I didn't understand.
Selina finished, and Barbara figured out what she wanted, and fortunately Bruce ordered before I did.
"And for the young sir?" the maitre'd turned to me.
"I'll have what my father is having," I said, handing him the menu like everyone else did when they were finished.
Bruce's face relaxed even more, and for a moment, his eyes were warm as he looked at me. I guess Bruce likes it when I talk about him like he's my father. I'd have to remember that for later.
"Barbara, don't you think you should call your dad?" Bruce prompted.
"He won't be back until eleven," she said.
"He leaves you alone at night?" Bruce questioned.
"Well, he calls every so often," she explained. "And if anything happens, we have a panic room in our house where I can hide. But our house is unlisted, and most people don't know where it is unless they're our friends."
"See, I told you I'm old enough to stay at home by myself," I told Bruce.
"Drink your water," he told me.
The first course came and it was weird food, but I ate what was put in front of me, knowing better than to object at the food. Tonight was not the night to start pushing limits or complaining.
Considering how awful the dinner started, the rest of it wasn't that bad. Barbara was good company, and Selina seemed to like her, and they did most of the talking. Bruce eased up a little, too. I mean, he never really relaxes the whole way because he's Batman and he always has to be on guard, but still, he was trying.
When it was finally time to go, Bruce insisted on driving everyone home in his car. Fortunately, he was driving the Bentley that has four doors, and I got into the back with Barbara while Selina sat up front with Bruce.
When we got to Selina's place, Bruce got out and walked around to open her door and he walked her up to her door. I sighed and leaned back against the headrest.
"You hate her that much?" Barbara asked, surprised.
"No, it's just – Bruce remembers everything. When to stand and open doors and what to say and all that."
"He's a grown-up," Barbara shrugged. "They're supposed to remember all that. That's why they can't have any fun. They have to remember to do all that manner stuff and go to work and pay bills and drive right and take care of kids. No wonder they don't have fun."
"Bruce said tonight was supposed to be his break," I admitted. "I think I'm in a lot of trouble."
"Oh, you're in deep trouble, Grayson," Barbara grinned. "Loads of trouble. And once Bruce tells my dad what I did, I'm in trouble, too."
"Really?"
"Come on – you knew we were going to get into trouble. I knew it the minute you showed up on my doorstep. But that's what we do. We're teenagers and we get in trouble and our fathers yell and shout and threaten and we get grounded and feel awful. All part of life. Someday, we'll have kids and they'll do the same to us. At least, that's what Dad's always saying when I do bad stuff – 'Someday you'll have kids, and then you'll know how it feels.' Doesn't help now, Dad."
"He's worried about you, after what happened to your mom," I pointed out.
"You think Bruce isn't worried about you after what happened to your parents?" she looked right at me.
I hadn't thought of that, but it made sense. I felt bad that I kept worrying Bruce, but I couldn't seem to be able to stop myself when I wanted to do something and he told me no.
The car door opened, and Bruce got in.
We drove in silence to Barbara's house, but when Bruce pulled into front of it, I said to her, "I'll walk you to the door."
I saw Bruce nod at me in the mirror, and I got out and went around the car to open her door. She walked beside to the front door of her house, and I shifted awkwardly, wondering what I should do.
"Man, Grayson," she shook her head as she got out her key, "you can't hide anything. Why are you such a pansy?"
"Shut up," I told her.
"There's my boy," she grinned. Then quick and sudden, she leaned towards me and grabbed the back of my neck. I thought for a minute she was going to smash her forehead into my face and maybe break my nose (come on, it is Barbara), but she didn't. Instead she pressed her lips against mine.
I closed my eyes, and I felt the softness of her lips, and I tasted raspberries from her lip gloss, and I smelled her soft hair. It was too much – my stomach was turning over and over, and my legs felt weak, and my body was all tingly and achy.
Then she pulled back, smirked, and went inside, shutting the door.
I stood there for a moment, trying to remember how to breathe. I had never felt like that before, and I loved the feeling, but at the same time, the intensity of it scared me.
Somehow, I stumbled back to the car and got in the front seat.
Bruce was quiet for a moment as we sat there. Finally, he asked, "Was that your first kiss?"
"Yeah," I admitted, my face flaming red.
"Well, how was it?"
"I feel weird. I don't know. Good, but really weird."
"That's how it is," he nodded.
I didn't look at him, afraid he was going to start the sex talk again, which now might be important because I had finally kissed a girl.
"I'm glad it was special," Bruce started the car. He pulled into the dark street.
"Me too," I leaned back, trying to deal with all my feelings.
Wham! Something hit the side of my left thigh hard.
I jerked, shocked, but Bruce raised his hand again and walloped me on the side of my leg again.
"Bruce!" I protested, trying to pull myself against the door, away from his rock-hard hand.
"You are going to be the sorriest first-kissed boy I've ever known," Bruce promised as he kept swatting whatever he could reach as he drove with one hand. "You snuck out, went into the city by yourself, pulled Barbara into your shenanigans –"
Really, who uses the word shenanigans? I guess the same guy who tries to spank someone while driving.
"– worried Alfred, disrupted my date, and have been a spoiled brat all evening."
"I wasn't a brat," I kept trying to maneuver out of the line of fire.
He hit the top of my thigh one last time. "There, that will have to do you until we get home. I swear, I've never met anyone so – naughty!" He pointed his finger at me.
"What?" I felt outraged at the word.
"Naughty," he repeated. "That's what you are. Naughty, naughty, naughty. You keep getting into so much trouble because you're a naughty child."
"I'm not naughty." I was furious. "I'm rebellious. I'm bad, I'm defiant, I'm a punk."
"You're naughty," Bruce decided, looking very satisfied at finally figuring me out. "You keep acting out to get my attention. Well, you have it now. You want to act like a naughty boy? Fine, you're going to be treated like one."
"I know I'm getting spanked when we get home," I retorted, showing him I wasn't afraid of what was coming to me.
"Oh, more that," Bruce promised. "Tomorrow night we're going out to patrol, but all day tomorrow you aren't leaving my sight. I'm going treat you like you're seven years old, and we'll see how you like it."
"Seven?" I sneered. "What does that mean?"
"You're going to eat a seven-year-old's breakfast and then read to me like a seven-year-old and then play your toys while I work on the computer and have a rest time in the afternoon, and we'll see if that doesn't change your behavior."
"You wouldn't!"
"I'll make you hold my hand to cross the street," Bruce threatened.
"That's not fair," I yelled.
"At the end of day, if you want to act your age and go on patrol with me, I'll let you," Bruce told me. "But anymore of this naughtiness, and you're going back to being seven."
It was too horrific for words. He could not be serious. Oh, man, why couldn't I have Commissioner Gordon for a father? A cool father who left for the evening and let me do what I wanted? Instead, I was stuck with the world's most controlling man who thought up the worst punishments imaginable. And being seven was so stupid – no one wanted to be a seven-year-old, except maybe a six-year-old who wasn't old enough to know that both ages were lame.
We made it back to the house and the front lights were shining. It was not quite eleven, and I guess Alfred was up waiting for us.
I was still fuming inside, but when we got out of the car, I went to walk beside Bruce, close enough that he could grab the back of my neck or my ear, just to show him I was cooperating. He put a hand on my shoulder, but he didn't hold on too tight as we went up the stairs.
The door swung open when we reached it, and Alfred stood there, his face calm but furious.
Okay, honestly, up to this point, I was kind of hoping that Alfred might be on my side like last time and make us all go to bed without letting Bruce punish me. I took one look at Alfred's face, and I knew that wasn't happening.
"He's not hurt?" Alfred asked.
"No, he's fine," Bruce said.
"The motorcycle is still downstairs, sir," Alfred said as he locked the door.
"Good," Bruce did not stop moving. He herded me up the stairs, down the hall, all the way to my bedroom. Worst of all, Alfred followed us and came into my bedroom, too.
"Take off that ridiculous coat," Bruce ordered.
I had forgotten I was still wearing the blue coat, but I undid the buttons with shaky hands and slipped it off. Alfred came forward to take the coat and hang it over a chair.
"Pants down and lean over the edge of the bed," Bruce pointed to the bed.
I blinked. Usually, I got to keep my clothes on and I was over his lap. I wouldn't mind leaning over the bed (it was always humiliating to go over his lap), but I didn't want to lose any clothing either.
"You – you said I was getting punished tomorrow," I protested weakly.
"You are, and before you start complaining about getting punished for the same thing twice, I'll divide it up for you. You snuck out without permission," he held up one finger, "went by yourself to Gotham," another finger, "got Barbara involved in this mess –"
"What?" Alfred exclaimed.
"She's fine and I took her home," Bruce assured him before returning to me. "Barbara," a third finger, "and crashed my dinner with Selina," a fourth finger. "Four things, Dick, and I'm not amused at any of them."
"I don't think dinner with Selina should count," I objected. "She wasn't too mad, and we're all going to that stupid ball so I think that should cross the dinner out."
Bruce considered and then nodded. He lowered his smallest finger, leaving three fingers still up. "Okay, only three then, and I better not hear a word of protest about the ball or dancing lessons."
"What!"
"Dancing lessons are part of the deal," Bruce declared. "So we got three things to face now. You're getting spanked tonight – that's one. Tomorrow will be the second. As for the third . . ." He trailed off, and I stared in dismay at that one remaining finger. What awful punishment would he think up?
"I'm not sure yet," he admitted. "But I think it will involve chores of some kind. Hours and hours, maybe days, of chores."
I groaned inside. I hate chores, especially with Alfred picking over every last thing I did wrong.
"Very good," Alfred nodded his approval.
"Over the bed," Bruce commanded.
I unbuttoned my pants and let them slip down. I was wearing briefs instead of boxers, and the briefs were light gray and not white, but it was still embarrassing. I bent over the end of the bed. It was too tall for me to put my knees on the floor, but not tall enough for me to stand with my legs straight and my chest on the bed. I half-bent my knees so my upper body was on the bed and my toes still touched the floor.
Bruce didn't say a word; he pulled his hand back and swatted my rear.
Ow.
He did it again, this time with more force.
Really ow.
And he did it again.
Really, really ow. But I didn't make a sound. I was going to man this one out – I could take it and not yell or whine or bawl.
There was a pause, and I looked back to see Alfred handing Bruce a wooden-back hairbrush.
Traitor! Ugly, British, snobby, despicable traitor! Don't give Bruce any ideas when he's bound and determined to punish me, and certainly don't hand him any weapons.
I closed my eyes and dug my fingers in the soft comforter of my bed. I could do it – I could take this.
Then the thought suddenly crossed my mind that I wasn't just getting spanked by my father like a normal kid – I was about to be spanked by the man who is Batman, the man who can beat criminals to a pulp with a few well-aimed punches. The man who can handle any kind of weapon to bring down a foe. The man who bench-presses three hundred pounds everyday so his arms are huge and like iron.
And now that man was standing behind me with a hairbrush in his hand, ready to take out his frustration on my poor backside which was only covered with the thin cotton of my briefs.
And I had a worse feeling that that would be the last thing I was able to think about coherently for a long time.
I know, I know, I live with a billionaire – shouldn't I be used to nice places by now? Well, maybe, but we don't go that many places. Or rather Bruce doesn't take me with him. Most of the time he goes out late at night, and he's all dressed up so I'm glad I don't have to go and wear dumb clothes.
We wear nice stuff and go to church every now and then, but even then I think we look way too dressed up for church. Bruce says I need some spiritual instruction in my life, but the last time we were at church the minister was preaching about children obey your parents, and Bruce looked all smug, and I scowled the whole way through the service and got lectured on the way home.
But this restaurant was way nicer than Gotham First Church, and I balked when the host guy came up to us.
"Yes?" he said in a very snobby way. "May I help you?"
He looked down his long nose at us, and I stepped back, ready to forget the whole thing.
"I'm Miss Barbara Gordon," Barbara said in a clear voice. "I'm the daughter of Commissioner Gordon. And my date here, Mister Richard Grayson, is the ward of –"
"Ah, Mr. Wayne," the host guy suddenly didn't seem as snobby. "Yes, he and Miss Kyle are already seated. Are they expecting you?"
"No," I shook my head, "but we don't have to see them. We'll take a table somewhere else."
"You wish to make a reservation for yourself?" his eyebrows rose as he looked down at us.
"Yes," I replied, trying to still be polite, "we want to eat here."
He paused, and his eyes darted to the side. I hate when people look all sneaky.
"I think you better come to Mr. Wayne's table. He will probably like know you are here. Then maybe we can find a table for the two of you."
He started into the restaurant, and we followed.
Barbara gave a small gasp as we stepped out of the foyer and into the main restaurant. "Dick, it's beautiful," she whispered. She looked up at the ceiling, two stories above, and the light of the hanging chandeliers shone in her eyes.
The place was fancy with expensive stuff and marble pillars and an orchestra playing on one side, but I was looking straight ahead. In the middle of the restaurant, at square table with loads of plates and silverware and wine glasses, Bruce was sitting. Selina sat on the edge next to him rather than across the table, and she had her hand in his arm as they were laughing about something. Bruce leaned down to whisper something in her ear as he reached his other hand out to place on top of hers, and then he saw us.
Well, truthfully, I guess he saw me, but the reaction was same.
In a split second, his face changed from amusement to rage. There wasn't even time for surprise or confusion or mild annoyance – no, it went from Bruce laughing to Bruce furious.
"Excuse me, sir," the host began, but Bruce interrupted.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, looking straight at me.
My mouth went dry. I was going to be all brave and swagger in and give him a "who cares about you?" look, but I completely lost my nerve. I haven't been this scared of him since I was nine and broke his computer by spilling chocolate milk on it. That time I had hidden under my bed until he came up and found me and I was crying and he sat beside me on the bed and said it was okay, but I couldn't touch his things anymore. Comparing the two, this made that look like nothing.
"I – I – I –" I stammered.
"Dick asked me out for dinner," Barbara said. She must be the bravest person alive because she stepped beside me and wrapped her arm around mine, like we were an item or something. "We wanted to say hi before we start."
Man, she was cool, like we were real adults. I made myself nod along, doing my best to match her casual expression. Selina sat straight in her seat and glared daggers at both of us. I would have felt smug at her irritation, but I was a little worried about angering the strongest man in Gotham to feel too satisfied.
"Where's Alfred?" Bruce asked me.
"Home," I said in a small voice.
If it were possible, he looked even more furious. His eyes seemed almost black.
"Where is your father?" Bruce demanded to Barbara in a tight voice.
"At work. Where else?" Barbara replied, slightly less cool.
"Thank you," Bruce turned to the host who looked nervous and slightly sick, "please pull up two chairs for the children."
"We were going to get our own table," Barbara said, but not too loudly.
"Sit down," Bruce ordered as he reached into his coat and took out his cell phone.
We dropped down into the seats that the host brought, and then he hurried away.
"Bruce," Selina protested, but he was already on the phone.
"Yeah, Alfred, it's me," Bruce said into the phone. "He's here with me . . . yeah, I don't know what's going on, but I'm going to find out . . . I will . . . Oh, believe me, I will," he looked straight at me, and I felt my stomach turn right over and try to jump up my throat.
Bruce hung up the phone and took a deep breath.
I could see his chest rising, and he seemed to be swelling with fury, and I felt paralyzed.
"This is such a nice place," Barbara commented looking around. "So pretty – do you come here often?"
"Barbara," Bruce looked very stern, "I need to know –"
"What about you, Miss Kyle?" Barbara turned to Selina. "Do you have men bring you here a lot?"
"What?" Selina nearly screeched. "How dare you?"
"Sorry," Barbara apologized. "You look really pretty, and I thought you must get a lot of dates."
"Oh," Selina stopped, looking torn between being mad and accepting the compliment. "I guess."
"I like your hair," Barbara went on. "I tried putting mine up and having it curve down like that, but I couldn't get it right. You should be on the cover of a magazine. You look like a movie star beside Mr. Wayne."
Selina smiled, showing her white teeth. "You're such a sweet girl. How did you get mixed up with this dreadful boy?" She glared at me.
"Sometimes you just need a date for Friday night," Barbara sighed. She pushed her chair back. "I need to go to the ladies room to put on more lip gloss. Will you come with me like they do in the movies?"
"Certainly," Selina swung out of her chair and grabbed her clutch purse.
Bruce stood and I did the same, remembering it was polite to stand when a lady left the room.
"While we're there," Selina said as she walked with Barbara, "let's see what we can do with that hair."
"It's a mess," Barbara confided as they walked off.
We sat back down, and I watched them go and then turned slowly to face Bruce.
"You are dead!" he hissed at me. "When I get you home – dead! You snuck out of the house and came by yourself all the way to Gotham just to ruin my night."
"No, I came to take out Barbara," I protested, finally finding my voice.
"You're thirteen – you don't take anyone out," he retorted. "You are in so much –" unable to finish, he started making gestures with his hands. He pulled his fingers across his throat and then brought his hand down in the air two times fast before jabbing his finger towards me. I guessed that meant I was either getting my throat slit when we got home or I was getting the spanking off my life.
"Bad, bad, bad," Bruce kept jabbing his finger at me. "When I get you alone – oh, you can't even begin to imagine it. How dare you come here?"
"Fine, I'll leave," I half-rose from my chair.
"Sit. Down," Bruce ordered between clenched teeth. "You move an inch from this table, and we're both taking a trip to the men's room together."
I guess we weren't going to be putting on makeup and doing each other's hair if we went there, but I wasn't brave enough to say that.
"Okay, one question," Bruce took a breath, "and you better answer this right, or I swear you're getting caned when we get home."
I felt the blood drain from my face.
"Did you take out the bike?" he asked.
"No," I shook my head, "I didn't touch the motorcycle."
"Then how did you get here?"
"I rode the bus."
"You rode the bus! You rode the bus all the way from our house?"
"Well, how else was I going to get here?"
"How else were –" Bruce broke off again and went back into doing the hand gestures. I wonder if he ever thought about becoming a mime.
"You get to go out," I objected. "Why can't I?"
"Because I'm an adult," Bruce hissed. "I go to work, I make money, I make the decisions. You're thirteen, and you do not sneak out of the house without telling anyone, ride the bus all the way into Gotham, and ruin my evening."
"Your evening – it's all about you, always."
"It is not. If I want a break occasionally, I'm entitled to one!"
"You want to take a break?" I sneered. "When do I get a break?"
"You're a kid – your whole life is a break."
"No, it isn't," I argued. "I have to do what you tell me all the time. Go to school, do your homework, take a shower, don't watch TV. I want to be treated like an adult."
"But you're not an adult. You don't think like an adult and you certainly don't act like one."
"I could," I claimed.
"Oh, really?" Bruce raised his eyebrows. "How were you going to pay for dinner?"
"I brought money," I announced. "My own money, too."
"How much?"
"Fifteen dollars," I told him.
"Ha!" he snorted. "That won't even buy an appetizer here."
Man, that wasn't fair. Bruce and his snobby restaurants! "We'll go somewhere else," I decided. "Some place cheaper."
"And you'll spend your money on dinner for you and Barbara?" Bruce asked.
"Yes," I held my head up.
"All of it?"
"Yes."
"And how will you get home then?"
I froze, struck by his question.
"See?" Bruce said in a low voice. "That's why I'm the adult and you're the one who's in big trouble."
I wanted to argue more, but the girls came back from the bathroom and we had to stand again.
Barbara had her hair all twisted up, but I liked it better down. She gave me cautious look, but I gave the smallest of nods.
Selina reached the table and leaned over to kiss Bruce right on the mouth. She kissed him for three whole seconds, and I made a face.
When Selina sat down, Bruce stood for a moment, his eyes dazed.
"See?" Barbara whispered with a smile to Selina. "Told you he would like it."
Selina looked very proud of herself, and when Bruce sat down, he kept his hand on the curve of her neck for just a second, and his fingers brushed her hair for a second.
"So Barbara had a wonderful idea," Selina said brightly. "She thought that since they intruded on our evening tonight, we all should go to the Gotham Ball in two weeks."
"Oh, really?" Bruce smiled, amused. "All of us?"
"Yes, we could all dress up and make an evening of it. We'll meet everyone and dance the waltz and –"
"I don't want to dance," I protested.
"Oh, you're dancing," Bruce assured me.
"Wouldn't he look just adorable in knickerbockers and knee highs?" Selina simpered. "With a sailor's collar like little boys wore in the 1800's, with lace all around the edges?"
I wanted to strangle her. I looked at Barbara, but she had her napkin up to her mouth, laughing behind it.
"Not a bad idea," Bruce admitted.
"Then it's official?" Selina looked at him.
"Yes, you're my date for the Black and White Ball," Bruce told her. "And Barbara can ask her father if she can ride with us to the Ball."
That seemed to ease some of the tension out of the room, though I don't know why. I guess Barbara figured this would help, but it seems stupid that a dumb ball could make grown-ups happy.
"Is everyone situated?" another guy in a tux came up, ready to take our order.
I hesitated, wondering how I was going to pay for the food. The menus didn't have any prices on them, and I couldn't guess what stuff cost here. I knew I was going to look like an idiot again, and I felt my eyes sting, but I would make the best of it. I wouldn't eat anything and that way Barbara could get something and –
"Well, since this is a special evening, dinner's on me," Bruce smiled at Barbara and me with ease. "Get anything you like. Selina?"
"I'll have the risotto to start with," she decided, glancing over the menu.
As she ordered the rest of the entrée, I looked down at the menu and found that most everything was part French and even the words that looked English I didn't understand.
Selina finished, and Barbara figured out what she wanted, and fortunately Bruce ordered before I did.
"And for the young sir?" the maitre'd turned to me.
"I'll have what my father is having," I said, handing him the menu like everyone else did when they were finished.
Bruce's face relaxed even more, and for a moment, his eyes were warm as he looked at me. I guess Bruce likes it when I talk about him like he's my father. I'd have to remember that for later.
"Barbara, don't you think you should call your dad?" Bruce prompted.
"He won't be back until eleven," she said.
"He leaves you alone at night?" Bruce questioned.
"Well, he calls every so often," she explained. "And if anything happens, we have a panic room in our house where I can hide. But our house is unlisted, and most people don't know where it is unless they're our friends."
"See, I told you I'm old enough to stay at home by myself," I told Bruce.
"Drink your water," he told me.
The first course came and it was weird food, but I ate what was put in front of me, knowing better than to object at the food. Tonight was not the night to start pushing limits or complaining.
Considering how awful the dinner started, the rest of it wasn't that bad. Barbara was good company, and Selina seemed to like her, and they did most of the talking. Bruce eased up a little, too. I mean, he never really relaxes the whole way because he's Batman and he always has to be on guard, but still, he was trying.
When it was finally time to go, Bruce insisted on driving everyone home in his car. Fortunately, he was driving the Bentley that has four doors, and I got into the back with Barbara while Selina sat up front with Bruce.
When we got to Selina's place, Bruce got out and walked around to open her door and he walked her up to her door. I sighed and leaned back against the headrest.
"You hate her that much?" Barbara asked, surprised.
"No, it's just – Bruce remembers everything. When to stand and open doors and what to say and all that."
"He's a grown-up," Barbara shrugged. "They're supposed to remember all that. That's why they can't have any fun. They have to remember to do all that manner stuff and go to work and pay bills and drive right and take care of kids. No wonder they don't have fun."
"Bruce said tonight was supposed to be his break," I admitted. "I think I'm in a lot of trouble."
"Oh, you're in deep trouble, Grayson," Barbara grinned. "Loads of trouble. And once Bruce tells my dad what I did, I'm in trouble, too."
"Really?"
"Come on – you knew we were going to get into trouble. I knew it the minute you showed up on my doorstep. But that's what we do. We're teenagers and we get in trouble and our fathers yell and shout and threaten and we get grounded and feel awful. All part of life. Someday, we'll have kids and they'll do the same to us. At least, that's what Dad's always saying when I do bad stuff – 'Someday you'll have kids, and then you'll know how it feels.' Doesn't help now, Dad."
"He's worried about you, after what happened to your mom," I pointed out.
"You think Bruce isn't worried about you after what happened to your parents?" she looked right at me.
I hadn't thought of that, but it made sense. I felt bad that I kept worrying Bruce, but I couldn't seem to be able to stop myself when I wanted to do something and he told me no.
The car door opened, and Bruce got in.
We drove in silence to Barbara's house, but when Bruce pulled into front of it, I said to her, "I'll walk you to the door."
I saw Bruce nod at me in the mirror, and I got out and went around the car to open her door. She walked beside to the front door of her house, and I shifted awkwardly, wondering what I should do.
"Man, Grayson," she shook her head as she got out her key, "you can't hide anything. Why are you such a pansy?"
"Shut up," I told her.
"There's my boy," she grinned. Then quick and sudden, she leaned towards me and grabbed the back of my neck. I thought for a minute she was going to smash her forehead into my face and maybe break my nose (come on, it is Barbara), but she didn't. Instead she pressed her lips against mine.
I closed my eyes, and I felt the softness of her lips, and I tasted raspberries from her lip gloss, and I smelled her soft hair. It was too much – my stomach was turning over and over, and my legs felt weak, and my body was all tingly and achy.
Then she pulled back, smirked, and went inside, shutting the door.
I stood there for a moment, trying to remember how to breathe. I had never felt like that before, and I loved the feeling, but at the same time, the intensity of it scared me.
Somehow, I stumbled back to the car and got in the front seat.
Bruce was quiet for a moment as we sat there. Finally, he asked, "Was that your first kiss?"
"Yeah," I admitted, my face flaming red.
"Well, how was it?"
"I feel weird. I don't know. Good, but really weird."
"That's how it is," he nodded.
I didn't look at him, afraid he was going to start the sex talk again, which now might be important because I had finally kissed a girl.
"I'm glad it was special," Bruce started the car. He pulled into the dark street.
"Me too," I leaned back, trying to deal with all my feelings.
Wham! Something hit the side of my left thigh hard.
I jerked, shocked, but Bruce raised his hand again and walloped me on the side of my leg again.
"Bruce!" I protested, trying to pull myself against the door, away from his rock-hard hand.
"You are going to be the sorriest first-kissed boy I've ever known," Bruce promised as he kept swatting whatever he could reach as he drove with one hand. "You snuck out, went into the city by yourself, pulled Barbara into your shenanigans –"
Really, who uses the word shenanigans? I guess the same guy who tries to spank someone while driving.
"– worried Alfred, disrupted my date, and have been a spoiled brat all evening."
"I wasn't a brat," I kept trying to maneuver out of the line of fire.
He hit the top of my thigh one last time. "There, that will have to do you until we get home. I swear, I've never met anyone so – naughty!" He pointed his finger at me.
"What?" I felt outraged at the word.
"Naughty," he repeated. "That's what you are. Naughty, naughty, naughty. You keep getting into so much trouble because you're a naughty child."
"I'm not naughty." I was furious. "I'm rebellious. I'm bad, I'm defiant, I'm a punk."
"You're naughty," Bruce decided, looking very satisfied at finally figuring me out. "You keep acting out to get my attention. Well, you have it now. You want to act like a naughty boy? Fine, you're going to be treated like one."
"I know I'm getting spanked when we get home," I retorted, showing him I wasn't afraid of what was coming to me.
"Oh, more that," Bruce promised. "Tomorrow night we're going out to patrol, but all day tomorrow you aren't leaving my sight. I'm going treat you like you're seven years old, and we'll see how you like it."
"Seven?" I sneered. "What does that mean?"
"You're going to eat a seven-year-old's breakfast and then read to me like a seven-year-old and then play your toys while I work on the computer and have a rest time in the afternoon, and we'll see if that doesn't change your behavior."
"You wouldn't!"
"I'll make you hold my hand to cross the street," Bruce threatened.
"That's not fair," I yelled.
"At the end of day, if you want to act your age and go on patrol with me, I'll let you," Bruce told me. "But anymore of this naughtiness, and you're going back to being seven."
It was too horrific for words. He could not be serious. Oh, man, why couldn't I have Commissioner Gordon for a father? A cool father who left for the evening and let me do what I wanted? Instead, I was stuck with the world's most controlling man who thought up the worst punishments imaginable. And being seven was so stupid – no one wanted to be a seven-year-old, except maybe a six-year-old who wasn't old enough to know that both ages were lame.
We made it back to the house and the front lights were shining. It was not quite eleven, and I guess Alfred was up waiting for us.
I was still fuming inside, but when we got out of the car, I went to walk beside Bruce, close enough that he could grab the back of my neck or my ear, just to show him I was cooperating. He put a hand on my shoulder, but he didn't hold on too tight as we went up the stairs.
The door swung open when we reached it, and Alfred stood there, his face calm but furious.
Okay, honestly, up to this point, I was kind of hoping that Alfred might be on my side like last time and make us all go to bed without letting Bruce punish me. I took one look at Alfred's face, and I knew that wasn't happening.
"He's not hurt?" Alfred asked.
"No, he's fine," Bruce said.
"The motorcycle is still downstairs, sir," Alfred said as he locked the door.
"Good," Bruce did not stop moving. He herded me up the stairs, down the hall, all the way to my bedroom. Worst of all, Alfred followed us and came into my bedroom, too.
"Take off that ridiculous coat," Bruce ordered.
I had forgotten I was still wearing the blue coat, but I undid the buttons with shaky hands and slipped it off. Alfred came forward to take the coat and hang it over a chair.
"Pants down and lean over the edge of the bed," Bruce pointed to the bed.
I blinked. Usually, I got to keep my clothes on and I was over his lap. I wouldn't mind leaning over the bed (it was always humiliating to go over his lap), but I didn't want to lose any clothing either.
"You – you said I was getting punished tomorrow," I protested weakly.
"You are, and before you start complaining about getting punished for the same thing twice, I'll divide it up for you. You snuck out without permission," he held up one finger, "went by yourself to Gotham," another finger, "got Barbara involved in this mess –"
"What?" Alfred exclaimed.
"She's fine and I took her home," Bruce assured him before returning to me. "Barbara," a third finger, "and crashed my dinner with Selina," a fourth finger. "Four things, Dick, and I'm not amused at any of them."
"I don't think dinner with Selina should count," I objected. "She wasn't too mad, and we're all going to that stupid ball so I think that should cross the dinner out."
Bruce considered and then nodded. He lowered his smallest finger, leaving three fingers still up. "Okay, only three then, and I better not hear a word of protest about the ball or dancing lessons."
"What!"
"Dancing lessons are part of the deal," Bruce declared. "So we got three things to face now. You're getting spanked tonight – that's one. Tomorrow will be the second. As for the third . . ." He trailed off, and I stared in dismay at that one remaining finger. What awful punishment would he think up?
"I'm not sure yet," he admitted. "But I think it will involve chores of some kind. Hours and hours, maybe days, of chores."
I groaned inside. I hate chores, especially with Alfred picking over every last thing I did wrong.
"Very good," Alfred nodded his approval.
"Over the bed," Bruce commanded.
I unbuttoned my pants and let them slip down. I was wearing briefs instead of boxers, and the briefs were light gray and not white, but it was still embarrassing. I bent over the end of the bed. It was too tall for me to put my knees on the floor, but not tall enough for me to stand with my legs straight and my chest on the bed. I half-bent my knees so my upper body was on the bed and my toes still touched the floor.
Bruce didn't say a word; he pulled his hand back and swatted my rear.
Ow.
He did it again, this time with more force.
Really ow.
And he did it again.
Really, really ow. But I didn't make a sound. I was going to man this one out – I could take it and not yell or whine or bawl.
There was a pause, and I looked back to see Alfred handing Bruce a wooden-back hairbrush.
Traitor! Ugly, British, snobby, despicable traitor! Don't give Bruce any ideas when he's bound and determined to punish me, and certainly don't hand him any weapons.
I closed my eyes and dug my fingers in the soft comforter of my bed. I could do it – I could take this.
Then the thought suddenly crossed my mind that I wasn't just getting spanked by my father like a normal kid – I was about to be spanked by the man who is Batman, the man who can beat criminals to a pulp with a few well-aimed punches. The man who can handle any kind of weapon to bring down a foe. The man who bench-presses three hundred pounds everyday so his arms are huge and like iron.
And now that man was standing behind me with a hairbrush in his hand, ready to take out his frustration on my poor backside which was only covered with the thin cotton of my briefs.
And I had a worse feeling that that would be the last thing I was able to think about coherently for a long time.