Leisure section and began to read aloud. She uttered each word in a tense, clipped manner." 'The young Miss Watson is a pretty girl, easy on the eyes but not on the ears. Her small voice didn't carry past the first row.' "
"That's ridiculous," Peter assured her. "I was there."
"You were
in
the first row."
"So something was wrong with the acoustics. Or the sound guys didn't have you wired properly. Any one of a hundred technical things, none of which have anything to do with you or your performance." Seeing she wasn't mollified, he took the newspaper from her, tossed it aside, and put his hands gently on her shoulders. "Listen, you have to know you were great. This is something you just have to get used to. You can't take it so personally. I've been through it. Spider-Man gets attacked all the time—"
"Spider-Man isn't your real name! At least you have something to hide behind! I don't!" Here Peter was nattering on about his alter ego? How could he not understand? "This isn't about you; it's about me!" she snapped at him, probably more angrily than she should have, but she didn't care. "It's about my career!"
"I know. Exactly," he said, as if they were on the same wavelength when she knew they weren't. "And all you have to do is believe in yourself and pull yourself together and get right back up on that—"
She clamped a hand over his surprised mouth. "Don't give me the horse thing." He nodded in mute acknowledgment, and she removed her hand, but she was no less frustrated. Why was someone as intelligent as Peter being so dense? "Try to understand how I feel. I look at these words and it's like… like my father wrote them."
Understanding dawned on Peter's face. He knew full well that Mary Jane's father had lived for tearing her down at every opportunity. When she had wanted to embark on her acting career, her father had been her first and loudest critic. She had been determined to prove him wrong in his negative assessment of her abilities. Now it was looking as if her father was correct.
Peter took a moment to regroup and started to open his mouth to reply, when the police radio he kept on his desk crackled to life. Keyed in to the emergency frequency, it only went active when something truly major was hitting the band. That happened now, and Mary Jane saw Peter wince as the voice—static-filled since Peter's eavesdropping connection wasn't exactly legal—announced, "All units in the vicinity of Fifty-sixth and Madison, report. Large crane out of control. Approach with caution, Fifty-sixth and Madison. Pedestrians in danger."
Instantly, Mary Jane felt conflicted. Part of her wanted Peter to ignore it, to focus on her. On the other hand, how could she be that selfish? Yes, her career was on the line, her ego was on the line, but so were lives. Careers could be rebuilt, shattered egos restored, but dead was dead. If Peter could save their lives…
She hated this. She hated that she couldn't even seek solace from her boyfriend without it turning into a major soul-searching referendum on her priorities as a woman and a human being.
Peter stared at her, waiting for some clue as to what she was thinking. She gave none. She just gazed at him with an impassive face. She didn't even give him the slightest twitch of an expression when the sound of a siren blew in the front window. As if he were prompting her because she'd missed a cue, he said hopefully, "Go get 'em, tiger?"
He never even considered staying for me.
But… what did you want him to say? "Don't worry, honey, let people's lives be at risk. This is more important."
Except this is more important, to me at least.
My God, how can you even think that?
She lowered her head, feeling frustrated, feeling ashamed, feeling angry that she had come seeking emotional support, and all she had gotten was more frustration and conflict. First the review had belittled her talent. Now she herself was belittling her values as a person. A little more support like this and
"That's ridiculous," Peter assured her. "I was there."
"You were
in
the first row."
"So something was wrong with the acoustics. Or the sound guys didn't have you wired properly. Any one of a hundred technical things, none of which have anything to do with you or your performance." Seeing she wasn't mollified, he took the newspaper from her, tossed it aside, and put his hands gently on her shoulders. "Listen, you have to know you were great. This is something you just have to get used to. You can't take it so personally. I've been through it. Spider-Man gets attacked all the time—"
"Spider-Man isn't your real name! At least you have something to hide behind! I don't!" Here Peter was nattering on about his alter ego? How could he not understand? "This isn't about you; it's about me!" she snapped at him, probably more angrily than she should have, but she didn't care. "It's about my career!"
"I know. Exactly," he said, as if they were on the same wavelength when she knew they weren't. "And all you have to do is believe in yourself and pull yourself together and get right back up on that—"
She clamped a hand over his surprised mouth. "Don't give me the horse thing." He nodded in mute acknowledgment, and she removed her hand, but she was no less frustrated. Why was someone as intelligent as Peter being so dense? "Try to understand how I feel. I look at these words and it's like… like my father wrote them."
Understanding dawned on Peter's face. He knew full well that Mary Jane's father had lived for tearing her down at every opportunity. When she had wanted to embark on her acting career, her father had been her first and loudest critic. She had been determined to prove him wrong in his negative assessment of her abilities. Now it was looking as if her father was correct.
Peter took a moment to regroup and started to open his mouth to reply, when the police radio he kept on his desk crackled to life. Keyed in to the emergency frequency, it only went active when something truly major was hitting the band. That happened now, and Mary Jane saw Peter wince as the voice—static-filled since Peter's eavesdropping connection wasn't exactly legal—announced, "All units in the vicinity of Fifty-sixth and Madison, report. Large crane out of control. Approach with caution, Fifty-sixth and Madison. Pedestrians in danger."
Instantly, Mary Jane felt conflicted. Part of her wanted Peter to ignore it, to focus on her. On the other hand, how could she be that selfish? Yes, her career was on the line, her ego was on the line, but so were lives. Careers could be rebuilt, shattered egos restored, but dead was dead. If Peter could save their lives…
She hated this. She hated that she couldn't even seek solace from her boyfriend without it turning into a major soul-searching referendum on her priorities as a woman and a human being.
Peter stared at her, waiting for some clue as to what she was thinking. She gave none. She just gazed at him with an impassive face. She didn't even give him the slightest twitch of an expression when the sound of a siren blew in the front window. As if he were prompting her because she'd missed a cue, he said hopefully, "Go get 'em, tiger?"
He never even considered staying for me.
But… what did you want him to say? "Don't worry, honey, let people's lives be at risk. This is more important."
Except this is more important, to me at least.
My God, how can you even think that?
She lowered her head, feeling frustrated, feeling ashamed, feeling angry that she had come seeking emotional support, and all she had gotten was more frustration and conflict. First the review had belittled her talent. Now she herself was belittling her values as a person. A little more support like this and
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