"My ankle....?" I slurred around my rubbery tongue. The hot, shirtless guy (not the one giving me a massage, the one bandaging my lower extremity) looked up briefly. His eyes were flat.
"It's broken."
"Yeah, I guessed. But it doesn't hurt?"
"Thanks to my newest plant salve!" Poison Ivy put her cool, green hand on my forehead. I rolled my eyes up to the heavens, thankful for the best best friend I'd ever had.
"Feeling better?" she asked, and I nodded.
"Let's take a walk."
"Oooh, can we go shopping?" I cut in, before she could offer to show me around some old, boring garden or something...even if we did have to break in to get there. The former debutantes kept some of the best flower gardens around Gotham, and they were locked up tighter than the Maximum Security wing at Arkham (I should know. I've been there.)
So we dressed up in her best going-about-town clothes, made up our faces and fixed our hair until I got all the bad-insane-asylum-pillow snaggles out of mine and Ivy's red locks glowed, then proceeded out in her enviromentally-friendly convertible to shop, drink, and gossip.
"Ooh, that green dress is so cute on you, girl!" I squealed, but Ivy puckered her lips in distaste.
"Can't. That designer uses endangered plant life in some of her fragrances, cosmetics, and skincare products, so I'm silently blackballing her before I strike. That mansion is going down!"
It was a shame. That dress matched her eyes (and her skin) so well! However, I did manage to coerce her into buying a pretty, sheer, eggplant-colored mini that showed off her toned arms and legs, so I felt like my mission was complete. We were walking out of one of the classiest department stores in the city, sipping fruit smoothies (Ivy's choice) when, all of the sudden, the hottest geek I've ever seen in my life (excluding my brother, but he's a freak of nature) rushed up to Ivy and almost hugged her.
"Pamela," he gasped, so enraptured as he gazed at her his eyelashes were almost fluttering. Then he took her hand...and kissed it. I thought it was incredibly cheesy, and yet romantic, but her eyes were as subtly dangerous as a Destroying Angel mushroom.
"Now you come back, Tad? When we were in college, when I was mousy and timid and just another shy redhead, you ditched me during a date for that size-zero blonde who secretly practiced pole dancing in her spare time. Did you two have a good time pole dancing together? I hope she dumped you flat on your toned, but not worth the hype, behind." Then she grabbed his shoulders like she was going in for a kiss, but her hands reached for his neck - and twisted it so hard that I heard the bones snap. She dropped his limp body on the ground like it was street litter, covered in some gross gunk no girl wants to get under her nails, then circled back and took his wallet to cover it up.
"Thank goodness I don't have fingerprints anymore," she laughed, taking the cash out and tossing the rest of the wallet and its contents into a Dumpster.
So that's why Ivy doesn't date. Sometimes I wish I could do that to my Puddin', but of course I never would. A girl knows better than to try and outsmart her man. I'd get a snoutful of Joker gas for it. Maybe he wasn't worth going back to. Maybe I wasn't going to try and stick things out this time.
I stood on top of a box laying by the Dumpster.
"I'm done with you, Mr. J," I shouted, and then, because I didn't want to totally cut the ties yet, I added,
"Well, maybe."
CZYTASZ
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