The She-Hulk Diaries

by Acosta, Marta

  “Ms. Walters, you agreed to these meetings as part of your settlement with the Avengers Mansion Trust in order to work on your rage issues, so you have acknowledged that you have a problem.”

  “I made no such admission, Dr. Alvarado. She-Hulk has rage issues.”

  “Yet you choose to manifest as She-Hulk.”

  “Do we really have to go over this again? She-Hulk is the natural consequence of my exposure to gamma radiation.”

  “Is she?” He clicked his prayer beads against his teeth, which was really annoying. “There’s no definitive proof that gamma radiation always exhibits in rage. Did you choose this bestial form because of repressed pain over your mother’s murder?”

  She-Hulk grumbled within me, but I knew Dr. Alvarado had used “bestial” to provoke a reaction. I didn’t say anything, and he finally gave up waiting for me to respond.

  “Let’s move on, Jennifer.”

  “Ms. Walters.”

  “Ms. Walters.” He gave me that fake, granola-eating, wavy-arm-dancing smile. “Most people look at the New Year as a time to reflect and reassess their lives, as well as make positive changes. Have you made any New Year’s Resolutions?”

  “No. New Year’s Resolutions are designed to fail since they’re made at a time when people are exhausted emotionally and physically.”

  “I see.” Teeth-tapping ensued. “Do you plan to continue living exactly as before?”

  I gave him my perjury-busting, let-me-rephrase-my-question fake smile. “I am presently seeking a new position at premier law firms. I am also balancing my life by exploring interests in the performing arts and international culinary arts, as well as staying fit with a disciplined exercise regimen.”

  “What about dating? She-Hulk’s had significant relationships, but you haven’t really dated anyone since, let’s see…” he said and looked down at his file as if he didn’t already know.

  “I’ve joined a social group expressly for that purpose.”

  He didn’t believe me, but I had told Amy that I wouldn’t mind meeting men.

  “What are your plans for She-Hulk? I mean, aside from her lively party schedule.”

  “Per usual, She-Hulk will always be available in times of municipal, state, national, planetary, and intergalactic crisis.” Fake smile.

  “I believe you’re in denial about her situation. Hasn’t she been asked to step away from those greater issues and resolve problems that are smaller in scope, like overturned vehicles and commuter tie-ups?”

  I hated his passive-aggressive technique, and I wasn’t going to say that, yes, Shulky had been demoted to a superstrong meter maid. Fake smile. “Shulky is a proud resident of New York and is delighted to be able to assist in matters great and small. Rest assured that she will act without hesitation to protect the inhabitants of this great city, state, nation, and Earth, including you, Dr. Alvarado.”

  “I was afraid of that.”

  Then we gave each other bogus smiles until my time was up.

  JANUARY 9

  Dahlia called and told me to get to the salon stat! She also gave me the location of a Moroccan food truck. I shuffled out in the freezing, drizzling day and got two plates of lamb, spicy merguez, and couscous, and two cups of mint tea.

  Before I went into Dahlia’s Arrested Youth, I checked out her new window display. She had arranged her collection of Barbies in a disturbing Spanish Inquisition-meets-Catholic schoolgirls tableau. Dr. Alvarado would love to get inside her twisty brain.

  She was finishing up with a client, so I went back into the break room and picked up a Vogue. I was sipping hot sweet tea and studying an article about accentuating eyes for girls with glasses when she joined me.

  “What’s the emergency, Dahl?”

  “Your hair. I was watching Charlie’s Angels last night—the classic series not the supposedly ironic movie—and admiring Farrah’s hair.”

  “Kindly don’t go there. That hairstyle probably requires a dedicated staff and relentless upkeep.”

  “The classic Farrah required staff, but I’m going to reinterpret it for you.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “No.”

  “Yes, yes, yes, yes!” Dahlia scrambled up on a chair and pointed at me, saying, “I command you to submit to my greater hairstyle authority.”

  I might as well have argued with Rodney, who was on a pillow in the corner, licking his puny privates. I threw a piece of lamb to him. “I accept your stylistic authority, but I don’t want anything high-maintenance. You need to keep it long so I can put it in a ponytail for the gym.”

  “If you took hula-hoop class with me, you could let your hair and your hips swing free.”

  I needed a trim anyway, so I let her have her way. I liked being in her salon and watching other clients in the mirrors, although they were all blurry with my glasses off. I told Dahlia, “Remember, I don’t want it too short.”

  She handed me a new Marie Claire and said, “Shut up and let me work.”

  I flipped through the pages and stopped when I saw a feature on ReplaceMax.

  Dahlia looked over my shoulder and said, “That ReplaceMax is pretty amazing.”

  “I’m surprised to see a story about an organ-cloning company in a fashion mag.”

  “Oh, the beauty community can’t wait to use it for cosmetic applications.”

  “Seriously, Dahl? That seems fraught with problems. First, the company has been accused of falsifying test results to get early approval. Second, ReplaceMax grows organs, not eyebrows. Third, the price would be prohibitive. And fourth, people are claiming that ReplaceMax organs degrade. No one would want that.”

  She grinned. “A, did you actually say ‘fraught’? B, beauty treatments are a natural extension of medical procedures. Everyone would want it, including men who want, uh, to be extended naturally. C, no one would care about the cost or if it would kill them. D, dermafillers and other treatments already degrade.”

  A woman sitting at the next station stared at us, and I sunk down into my seat, but her stylist told her, “Don’t pay any attention to them. They’re like weird twins who have a secret language.”

  My haircut? Awesome! So why did I always worry that Dahlia would hack off hunks at the back of my head?

  ADVICE TO SELF: All beginning professionals make errors. Establish a relationship with someone who has learned from those errors, and trust in their experience.

  4:00 P.M.

  My hair is still fantastic, very full with lots of waves and feathery bangs. Since it looked so good, I headed over to Park Avenue to take Ruth the cat calendar. I stopped by a Joocey Jooce to buy a smoothie for her. Even though the shop was crowded, everyone smiled and waited patiently, which seemed strange for New Yorkers. The counter help were smiling and laughing, and their cheerfulness—and my new haircut—put me in a very hopeful mood.

  The public spaces on the first floor of the Avengers Mansion were full of tourists per usual, but I was able to walk right through the crowd without anyone turning around. I felt a little like a tourist myself, still thrilled after all this time to be near the greatness of the superhero residents. It seemed impossible that I’d lived here, too, albeit existing inside She-Hulk, who didn’t share my respect for the grand mansion. I think she did miss all the big assignments, though. It was as if she’d been on the board of directors and was now relegated to being a janitor.

  The impressive curved banister on the stairs and the chandelier looked as if they’d never been demolished. The only trace of Shulky’s last escapade was a faint discoloration on the ceiling from smoke damage when she built a bonfire with the antique, sixty-person dining set.

  I ducked into a hall and used my bioprint to get access to the staircase. Ruth has moved into a roomy office on the third floor, but she’s already covered the walls with photos of her herself and the Avengers. Ruth was on the phone, and she began wildly miming at her own head and mouthing “OMG, your hair!” when I came in. After she hung up, she sa
id it aloud. “OMG, Jen, your hair looks AMAZING.”

  “Hi, Ruth. I just wanted to tell you that I’m back and to see how things are.” I handed her the Joocey Jooce and the cat calendar and listened to five more minutes of OMGs and amazings! I sat in the guest chair, setting off the automassage, which began gently pulsating the tense places on my back. “I want to marry this chair.”

  “Everyone does.” She tacked up the calendar beside another cat calendar on a bulletin board and beamed. “Can I tell you something privately? The Mansion is having a hovercraft derby and the others decided that it was best not to invite Shulky, but I know it would be okay if you came. You shouldn’t be shut out because she’s been sidelined.”

  I felt my face tighten, but I smiled. “What’s a hovercraft derby?”

  “Everyone will have personal hovercraft shoes. They’re Mr. Stark’s—I mean Tony’s, because he told me to call him that—invention. He’s such a genius! And I swear he gets better looking every year.”

  “I’m sure he thinks so, and thanks for inviting me, but I can’t make it. Speaking of Tony, is he around?” I tried to sound casual.

  NOTE TO SELF: Stop looking for excuses to see Tony! It is always the same:

  Five minutes of being dazzled by his brilliance and looks.

  Ten minutes of giving him free legal advice while being dazzled by his brilliance and looks.

  Fifteen minutes in which he argues with my advice because he’s such a know-it-all, which immediately diminishes my appreciation of his dazzling brilliance and looks.

  Five minutes of defending my point of view before realizing that it would be easier just to kick his ass.

  Five minutes of him getting turned on by my anger and trying to get his hands under my clothes.

  Two minutes of caustic good-byes.

  Ruth said, “No, the Pentagon called him away on a secret mission! It’s so exciting. I’m sure he’ll solve whatever problem it is.” She frowned. “Jennifer, I got your message—are you really going to keep She-Hulk out of action? Won’t you miss being superhuman?”

  “I’m trying to balance my superhuman and human personas. Shulky doesn’t need to be around on a daily basis, especially since the others have always treated her as if she’s not in their league, because they’re all such serious important crime fighters and she’s, well, she’s Shulky. I won’t miss her partying hardy and waking up god-knows-where with god-knows-whom.”

  Ruth looked to the right and to the left, and then leaned toward me. “I think Shulky is AMAZING, but she doesn’t seem to care that the guys here… I totally love them all, but they’re going to judge any female as a slut if she’s as sexually active as they are.”

  “She resents that inequity and isn’t going to let the double standard restrict her, um, enthusiasm,” I said.

  “You know what she said to me once? ‘Male is not the default gender for superhero.’ ” Ruth smiled. “I enjoy my more serious conversations with Shulky.”

  “She likes them, too,” I said. “How’s the new fan club president working out? Alec?”

  “Alex. Amazing! He’s all caught up on her social media and I’ll forward his log of personal messages.” Ruth pursed her mouth. “Jennifer, I hate to ask, but can you sign off on some damage reports? I’d like to clean up all the reimbursements before Shulky sets off a new round of destruction.”

  “No problem, Ruth.”

  I was in the right mood to go to the arsenal room in the basement. I looked over my wonderful collection of weapons and decided to check out my Smith & Wesson and do a little target practice. The heft and balance of this revolver always feels so comfortable in my hands, and the patina of the walnut grip becomes richer every year.

  When I turned in my gun to the young weapons master, he said, “Planning to hold up a stagecoach with that antique, Ms. Walters?”

  “My dad gave it to me for my Sweet Sixteen,” I said. “I love New York, but sometimes a girl just wants to be out in a field under the blazing LA sun blasting cans off a fence post.”

  “She-Hulk always tells me ‘bigger is better.’ ” He gave me a wink. “Well, she would say that, wouldn’t she? Of course, she needed serious firepower when she was working with the Avengers on catastrophic situations. You’re probably fine with your karate stuff, right?”

  “Yes,” I said and smiled. Because while all the other superheroes are saving the world, I’m looking for a job and an apartment, and no one is inviting me to the parties either. “Bye.”

  “Have a nice day, ma’am!”

  INVITED ERROR

  JANUARY 12

  Only one month and two days until my resolutions begin! I’m feeling very optimistic, but not overly optimistic. As I advise my clients, “A negative attitude is an invitation to look at every setback as a failure. A realistic attitude prepares you to handle the vicissitudes that are typical in every business. An optimistic attitude allows you to go beyond the vicissitudes and see the possibilities.” I told Dahlia this when she was having problems with the square footage of her salon, and her answer was “Did you actually say ‘vicissitudes,’ poodle?”

  Great things about my neighborhood:

  Dahlia’s salon and pet-sitting condo are nearby.

  So many eateries I never have to cook.

  Azzan, one of my all-time fave martial arts instructors, teaches at the gym five minutes away.

  Excellent access to public transit and two secret passageways to tunnel system.

  Lots of activity and always something to do.

  Negative things about my neighborhood:

  Because Dahlia is nearby, she always expects me to bring her lunch.

  Buying takeout every day is an unnecessary expense, and I should learn to cook.

  Whenever I see Azzan on the street, he criticizes me for not training more.

  So expensive that I’ll have to move somewhere else unless I get a job with a huge salary.

  Yesterday, while I was on my way home with a bacon cheeseburger, chocolate milkshake, and double fries, I ran directly into Azzan. He looked down at the paper sack and shook his head. Then he gave me a ten-minute lecture on my lack of discipline. His English is not perfect, but his thick black eyebrows are fluent in the international language of disdain.

  I did a lot of ers and ums, but he wasn’t interested in excuses, so today I had a private session with him. After two hours of kicks, wrestling moves, and throws, my muscles were limber, and my mind was as clear as my bank account was empty. Maybe I can freelance until I find a job.

  As I was toweling off, Azzan squinted at me. He has a very unnerving squint. I’m convinced it’s a Mossad interrogation skill.

  “Jennifer, why is such a nice girl wants to learn military fighting technique?”

  “The streets can be dangerous for a woman.”

  He gave a derisive snort. “I am thinking that maybe you are not a nice girl.”

  I tried not to react. “My legal career is on public record. In fact, I’m between jobs right now, so I’ll have to scale back on private lessons.”

  Azzan waggled his hand in a distinctly foreign way. “To bullshit me is an insult, Jennifer, so please do not do this again. If there is money problem, I know peoples who would very much like to employ such a girl as you for a honey trap—the nerdy shy librarian who will take off the glasses and shake the gorgeous hair and beautiful perky ass, and then, after intelligence gathering with kinky sex, can recruit an asset or terminate a target by breaking his neck with her iron-firm thighs.”

  Gorgeous hair! “Thank you, Azzan, but I plan to continue my legal career.”

  He shrugged. “The offer is open and I don’t judge—except for your diagonal dives and rolls, which need to be tight and fast. Give me fifteen more minutes on the mat.”

  Afterward I went to Whole Foods and stocked up on fruits, vegetables, chicken, fish, and grains. I could feel Shulky itching inside when I passed by a tequila display, but I resisted. She itched more when she saw a huge guy whose muscled
neck was as wide as his head. He smiled my way and I hurried down another aisle. I honestly don’t get her taste sometimes.

  I got back to my building just as the nice doorman, Claude, was ending his shift. Here is how I got maneuvered into doing free legal work by an old man.

  First, Claude looked very happy and said, “Evening, Miss Jennifer. How are you doing?”

  “Hi, Claude. I’m good. How’s everything today?” [My first mistake; never ask a question without knowing the answer.]

  “Everything here is fine, but I just got this letter…” He pulled a letter from his jacket pocket, which meant that he’d been prepared to ambush me. “I can’t make heads nor tails of it. Am I in trouble? I can’t afford to pay more. My niece always took care of the taxes for me, but she’s gone and moved away.” [He sensed my vulnerability for the poor-poor-pitiful-me tactic.]

  The letter was a boilerplate notice from the IRS about a miscalculation, but the numbers were all wonky. [Lured me with unusual problem.]

  He smiled again and somehow made his eyes look twinkly. [Helpless and friendly making it hard for me to say no.]

  “I’m not a tax specialist, Claude, but it may be a simple fix. Do you have a copy of your filing and any supporting documents?”

  He bent over so slowly I could practically hear the creak-creak-creak of his bones, and then he hauled a large cardboard file box from under his desk. “Here they are.”

  Good gawd! I did an er here and a gosh there, but Claude said, “You’re the only one I know who’s good at this stuff. I didn’t want to ask anyone else here because them other tenants are so important. But you’re not like that.”

  This was basically the rubber chicken all over again. At least he didn’t call me ma’am.

  I hauled the box to the loft, intending to set it aside since it wasn’t a priority. Curiosity got to me though, and within ten minutes I was browsing through the contents. I found unorganized receipts, invoices, bank statements, county assessor notices, and several dozen two-for-one Joocey Jooce coupons.