Madam Fatal: Power free porn video

There was a male comics character in the 1940s who fought crime by cross-dressing and calling himself Madam Fatal. Here's my take on the character, the second in what will be at least a trilogy of tales. MADAM FATAL: POWER by BobH (c) 2020 Characters are the property of DC Comics. (Note: This story is a sequel to MADAM FATAL: PROWL. Images in the SWI version show what the character looks like.) - 1 - According to my informant, one of my enemies would be arriving aboard a freighter today and would be met by another, the pair intending to join forces against me. I had no further details, alas. Which is why I was on this wharf so early in the morning, crouched down atop a pile of crates that were waiting to be shipped off to our fighting forces in Europe, watching as the vessel in question slowly docked. I wondered which of my enemies it could be. The Black Witch? Electric Wizard? Tiger Woman? Jester? The Crimson Vulture? Unfortunately, I had no way of knowing in advance. Jester didn't have any reason to wish me harm and most of the others were dead, curiously enough. What made it curious is that so many should die during our encounters, yet I never killed any of them. A distant church bell struck the hour. It was 6 am on Tuesday May 16th, 1944, and the sun had been up for a little over twenty minutes. I knew I'd be leaping into action soon so I gave my make-up a final quick check. I never want anyone to be able to claim Madam Fatal fights crime looking anything other than her best. Though I wasn't particularly looking forward to facing old foes again, I was feeling far more trepidation about my meeting tonight with my estranged daughter, the teen-aged crimelord. She says she wants a relationship with me, but only on her terms. Then there's the gift she sent me two days ago, with its accompanying card. I pulled the card out from where it was tucked away in my belt and looked at it again for what felt like the thousandth time. On one side it read: "La Parisienne on the 16th at 8. Come as Juliet," while the other bore a lipstick kiss and was signed "VP" for Vanessa Prowl, the name I'd have to get used to calling her. I touched my fingers to the kiss for a moment, then turned the card over again. Juliet. How the hell did she know about Juliet? I guess I'll find out tonight. I tucked the card back into my belt, because it looked like it was show time. Just before the gangplank was lowered, a car pulled up, its windows darkened so I could see neither the driver nor who else might be inside. The rear door opened, and a familiar figure got out. Dressed in a dark blue garment resembling a monk's habit, but tighter fitting and with a belt that had a skull where the buckle should be. This was someone I thought was dead. "Black Witch," I murmured to myself, "but I saw you die." The hood of her garment was up and some of her long grey hair visible, but from this angle I couldn't get a good look at her face, nor had I the last time we met, actually. She stood by the car, watching the gangplank, and was rewarded a minute later as another familiar figure appeared at the top of it, a striking young woman who was also supposed to be dead. Tiger Woman was dressed in her signature attire of a tiger-fur Cossack-style hat and an ensemble the of same golden colour as found between tiger stripes. This consisted of a dress with slits up both sides, a cape, and large motorcycle rider style gloves, accompanied by a wide black leather belt and black leather boots. It came together in quite a striking look. As she made her way down the gangplank, carrying something I couldn't quite make out at this distance, I decided it was time to move. I dove off the crates, executing a perfect somersault and landing in a crouch. This startled the women, but only for a moment. The Black Witch raised her arms and began singing a surprisingly loud and piercing ululation. Which is when *they* appeared. A motley collection of glassy-eyed stevedores, longshoremen and other dockworkers emerged from wherever they had been concealing themselves and advanced on me. I knew that letting them crowd in on me would be suicide so I leapt at the nearest, swinging my steel-cored cane at him as if it were a baseball bat and laying him out. Then I was in among the others, kicking, punching, leaping acrobatically, and taking them out. As the last went down, and others were starting to get to their feet again, I glanced over at the car to see Tiger Woman had been filming the fight. "Seen enough?" asked the Black Witch. "I think so, yes." "Then let's go." Tiger Woman got into the car and the Black Witch followed. Before closing the door behind her she threw a glass jar among my assailants. It shattered on landing, releasing a milky mist that swirled around them. As the car sped away so the men I'd been fighting began shaking their heads, as if emerging from a trance. I'd seen this before and knew how quickly they could recover. Not wanting to face them or their questions, I ran off before they were fully themselves once again. - 2 - As soon as I was clear I slowed down and began walking back to where I'd parked my car, a 1940 Chevrolet Coupe which I affectionately thought of as 'the Fatalmobile'. It looked perfectly ordinary, but I'd tricked it out with an immobilizer of my own design which made it impossible to 'hot-wire' and number plates that could be switched at the flick of a switch. That way it bore Richard Stanton's legal plates when he was driving it and Madam Fatal's fake ones when she was. I kept my Madam Fatal costume, several spare fighting sticks, and my make up kit in a hidden compartment in the trunk, along with a set of civilian female clothing for in case I ever needed one in a hurry. Madam Fatal entering or leaving my apartment building was something I could get away with when dressed in conventional clothes as the 'crone', but not any more. Not without attracting unwanted questions, anyway. Because not only was my current attire more obviously a costume, but I'd been photographed in it by the press on several occasions now. So these days I usually only changed when I'd parked the car somewhere quiet and could do so unobserved. As I made my way to my car I reviewed what had just happened. And what had just happened was that I'd been set up by my so-called 'informant'. The witch had her entranced men already in place, and Tiger Woman was carrying a newsreel camera, an Arriflex 35 if I wasn't mistaken, ready to film me fighting as soon as it all kicked off. But why? Tiger Woman and the Black Witch. I shook my head. I had no idea they were even aware of each other's existence, yet here they were working together. Was there a connection between the women I'd somehow missed? Curious, I thought back on our previous meetings.... I met them both in 1941; first Tiger Woman then, several months later, the Black Witch. The Tiger Woman affair began with the Taggart Expedition to Costa Fuego, a tiny South American nation. The expedition returned with a great many items, including several of religious and cultural importance to the local indians. Led by the beautiful Tiger Woman, a group of these came to the city to recover those artefacts and to attack the Explorers Club, which had financed the expedition and supplied most of its members. They succeeded in killing all of those particular members one by one except for Philip Taggart and his wife. During a struggle with Madam Fatal, the Tiger Woman fell to her death. The indians melted into the night after that, taking her body with them, and have made no further attempt to recover the disputed artefacts. In fact these have only recently been put on display at the Metropolitan Museum as "The Taggart Expedition: A Memorial Exhibition". The centrepiece of the exhibition is a large amethyst that had been dug out of the head of a pagan idol of the local volcano god. I first heard of the Black Witch from my friend newspaper magnate Tom Wade, publisher of the 'New York Clarion'. We were walking back to his house from a meeting at the midtown gentleman's club, where he and I - as Richard Stanton - were both members. Tom had just given a talk about his time in Haiti to the assembled members, and was telling me about a strange elderly white woman he and his wife had met there. The locals seemed to fear her, a fear Tom put down to superstition. "They called her the Black Witch, and she took a great interest in Marjorie and me," I remember him saying. "Somehow I didn't trust her, or the way she looked at Marjorie, and... WHAT'S THAT?!" "A scream from your house," I said, "let's go!" The scream had been Marjorie's. We ran the final few yards to their townhouse and discovered a group of strangely-garbed men attempting to abduct her. We rushed them, and in the ensuing fight I was felled by a blow from behind. When I came to I was alone - both Tom and Marjorie had been taken. I made my way to my car, which I'd parked outside the Wade residence earlier that evening. Another vehicle had clearly been parked next to it in the interim, one with an oil leak, because I discovered a small, oil-stained patch with a an oil trail leading away from it. Since their kidnappers would have needed a vehicle of some sort to carry the Wades away there was a very good chance this was where it had stood. Ten minutes later I had switched from Richard Stanton to Madam Fatal and was following the trail. This was the 'old crone' version of Madam Fatal I affected back then rather than her current, rather more glamorous incarnation. Something about the kidnappers' behaviour had bothered me. Though formidable enough, they were glassy-eyed and didn't seem to be acting of their own volition. That's when I remembered something else Tom had mentioned in his talk, something about zombification - the process of sapping the will of others and making them subject to your own. Was that what we were dealing with here? If so then Haiti was the connection, making the Black Witch the most likely person to be behind this. Marjorie Wade was quite a woman, an accomplished athlete, sharp- shooter, martial artist, and fearless adventuress who would have been a perfect candidate for membership in the Explorers Club, if they allowed women. She had bitterly protested this exclusion on the basis of her gender, but to no avail. The kidnappers' trail led me to a tall, stone house outside the city, which I gained entry to by slugging the 'zombie' who answered the door. In the basement I discovered a cell being guarded by another zombie. This one proved a lot tougher than the first and as we fought he managed to get me in a bear hug from behind. He was crushing my ribs and I was on the point of blacking out when someone cracked him over the head causing him to release me. That someone was Tom Wade, who had somehow managed to free himself. He looked surprised to see it was an old woman he had rescued. "Thank you, young man," I said. "I'm Madam Fatal." The guard came to very quickly and Tom was all for giving him another whack on the skull. "No, wait!" I said. "If my guess is right, that blow has knocked him out of the trance the Black Witch had him in!" Which indeed it had. "Quick, tell me," Tom demanded. "What's the Black Witch up to and why has she brought my wife here?" "She intends to take the heart and blood of a woman," said the guard, "to look for the secret of eternal life!" So that was it. But what was so special about Marjorie, I wondered? Why pursue her from Haiti rather than take some other woman? "She wants to carry on her work of crime and doping of zombies!" the guard added. What? This sounded more like something the man had either made up or misunderstood, which made me wonder how accurate his other reporting was. Nevertheless, we clearly needed to find Marjorie as quickly as possible. "Come on," I said, "and let's hope we're not too late!" The guard led us up several flights of stairs to a room decked out with black magic artefacts, Marjorie Wade lay on a stone slab before a leering idol. She did not appear to be restrained in any manner and was clearly conscious, yet she made no attempt to move. Over her stood the Black Witch, garbed in her dark blue monk's habit. As we watched so she raised her knife.... Which was our cue to rush the guards in the room. Startled by the commotion, the witch turned to face us.... only to see the 'zombies' we had struck over the head now free to think for themselves and advancing on her angrily. "Get back!" she snarled, pulling a gun from inside her sleeve and training it on us. I threw my walking cane across the room, knocking it from her hand. Knowing she was beaten, the witch turned and plunged through a window. She had obviously intended to land safely in a pile of hay below, but in her haste she had misjudged her trajectory and so missed it. When I looked out the window she was laying beside the hay, her neck clearly broken. Behind me Tom and Marjorie were embracing. Which was my cue to slip away, leaving the happy couple to contact the authorities. Sadly, Tom was killed by a hit-and-run driver eighteen months ago, so they weren't a happy couple for much longer. I hadn't thought about that in a while but now it suddenly struck me; eighteen months was a decent interval, and Marjorie a damned fine woman. It had been a few months since I'd last seen her. Perhaps I should give her a call, set up a date.... Whether the Black Witch had any actual sorcerous abilities I couldn't say. At the time I didn't think so, not having yet encountered real magic and knowing that 'zombification' was achieved using a drug. Both she and the Tiger Woman had fallen to their deaths, but beyond that I wasn't seeing any obvious connection between them. Which is when I realised I also wasn't seeing my car. I knew this warren of small streets near the docks like the back of my hand yet somehow, impossibly, I was lost. - 3 - It called itself Club Veritas. After half an hour spent wandering strangely deserted streets that had become, quite literally, a maze, I immediately knew that it was to here I had somehow been herded. I rang the bell and the door was opened by two very pretty young women wearing slips, a blonde and a brunette. Both had slender, almost boyish figures. "You're late!" said the first. "I am?" "Penny's right," said the second. "Venus said you'd be here two minutes ago." "Two minutes is hardly la..." "No, Sophie's correct," said Penny. "Venus is very precise about these things. You'd better come in." I entered and found myself in what was clearly a brothel, a very high class one judging by the decor, the luxurious furnishings, and the women arrayed on them, most of whom were rather more curvacious than Sophie and Penny. They were displaying their wares in all manner of interesting lingerie, some of which I'd like to have had for myself. "Who's Venus?" I asked. "She owns Veritas," said Penny. "She's with a client at the moment, but she'll be with you as soon as she's finished with the senator. Now you'll have to excuse us. Sophie and I have to give our own clients a proper send off." She nodded to where two very familiar men in their thirties were accepting drinks from a tray held by a voluptuous woman clad in a corset, stockings, heels and nothing else. "Say, isn't that....?" "The Hollywood film star, yes," said Sophie. "And the guy with him looks like...." "It is," said Penny, "the famous big band leader." With that they left me to go and drape themselves over the men. I frowned, puzzled at such an obviously high-class establishment being in such a low rent neighbourhood and wondering how I'd never heard of it before. Given the quality of its clientele and the social circles I move in I should have. From the way that clientele was gradually leaving it must be close to closing time. Also, 'veritas' - truth? What sort of name was that for a place like this? The door to the back room was located beneath the sweeping staircase that presumably led to upstairs rooms where the girls could service their clients in private. The door opened and one of our state senators emerged with a dark-haired young woman clad in a basque, heels, stockings, and a negligee, all scarlet. After seeing the senator off she summoned me into the room, which appeared to be her office but also had a couch along one wall. "So your name is Venus?" I said, after she closed the door and we were alone. "It is. I prefer Aphrodite, but the other name I'm known by serves me better in this time and place." "Aphrodite? Like the goddess?" "I *am* the goddess," she said, lifting the lid of the polished wooden box on her desk and taking out a cigarette Hoo boy. "So the goddess of love is a working girl?" "For now, yes," she said, lighting her cigarette with the desk lighter. "So how does that work, exactly?" "Periodically we each spend a decade living as mortals do," she replied, exhaling appreciatively, "but I see that you're sceptical. When it comes to those things of which I am the goddess nothing is hidden from me. You make a very attractive woman but you're male, as are Sophie and Penny." "They are?" "And two of my most popular girls. Probably because of the absurd laws against the healthy expression of adult sex in all its varieties that currently prevail in this country. It's given them the added allure of 'forbidden fruit'." I couldn't really argue with this. "Your real name is Richard Stanton," she continued. "You were born with the century and sent away to an all boys 'prep school' when you were eleven. You remained there until you were seventeen. It was here that you first experienced love and sex." "Now wait just a minute...!" I sputtered. "Boys will be boys," said Venus, calmly. "I do not judge. You played female roles in the plays the school put on and, though you yearned to play male roles too, you felt no shame that this gave you as much pleasure as it did. Nor should you have. Indeed, you later played some female roles on the Broadway stage. After your daughter was kidnapped and the death of your wife you took on your Madam Fatal identity, vowing to find your daughter. But she wasn't the first other identity you adopted, was she? No, she was the second. Before her there was Juliet Montague." "How can you possibly know all this?" "Goddess, remember?" said Venus, taking a long drag on her cigarette while regarding me thoughtfully. "Your wife Lucy knew about Juliet, didn't she? And she understood your need to be her." It was clearly pointless to deny anything Venus said. "She did," I conceded. "It was only a couple of times a month, but shedding my facial prosthetics and going out as a beautiful woman worked wonders for my mental and emotional well-being, and it made me a better husband to Lucy. She always appreciated how much more attentive I was to her needs afterwards. It's surprising how much a little flirting, some admiring looks from men, and having a dance or two could really perk me up." "Not so surprising," said Venus. "They've always worked for me. But you stopped being Juliet." "The kidnapping. It happened on a night I was out on the town enjoying myself as her. Had I been there as I should've been, had I not been so wrapped up in my own needs...." "It would've made little difference." "My head knew that," I said, "but my heart didn't believe it." "Mortals can be so strange sometimes," sighed Venus. "Guilt is something the gods don't feel and which we have never understood." "Gods," I said, believing it more now than I had five minutes ago. "I don't understand how but you somehow altered my perceptions to lure me here. Why?" "To gift you something. In decades to come a new generation of heroes will arise. They will come from many places including the planet named for the god of war, from sunken Atlantis whose people still worship Poseidon, and from the hidden island where dwell my own beloved Amazons. The Amazons will send forth their favourite daughter, a princess, whose eventual fate will be neither just nor fair, though it will be necessary." "Why will it be necessary?" "She will be required to give up her strength, her youth, and her beauty, to give up her very identity and take on that of another in order to ensure the power is exactly where it needs to be at the precise moment it needs to be there. The chain of events that lead her to that destiny begins today with you." "What do you mean by 'the power'?" Venus placed her cigarette in an ashtray then snapped her fingers. A small glowing sphere appeared above them, about an inch in diameter and milky like a pearl. "Hold out your hand," she said. It was a request, but one neither I nor any other mortal could have refused. The sphere slowly floated over to me and gently touched down on my palm, gradually sinking into it until nothing remained. I hadn't felt a thing, but I knew that everything had changed. "And now the power is yours," she said. "Others will do your bidding if you instruct them while your flesh is touching theirs. If you touch the flesh of two people you can swap their minds. And when you are ready you can pass these powers to another, but be careful. Once transferred they cannot be returned to you. You will know how to effect the transfer when the time arrives." Retrieving her cigarette from the ashtray she took a long, final drag before slowly and regretfully stubbing it out. "Finding someone to carry the power was the final task given me," she said, "so now it's time for me to shed this mortal form. Oh, and you'll find your car parked outside." So saying she went over to the couch, laid down on it, crossed her arms over her chest, and died. - 4 - I didn't quite believe it at first, but when I checked she had no pulse, nor did a mirror held close to her nose and mouth show the slightest sign of breath. She was gone. I stepped out of the office to find everyone had left - prostitutes and customers alike - save for Sophie and Penny. Penny now had ample female curves, with cleavage visible at the neckline of her slip. "Pennynochio here got transformed into a real girl, just like she always wanted," said Sophie, "a going away present from Venus, as promised." "But not you?" "Nah, this was always just a job to me. I've made enough money, so just as soon as I'm out of these clothes I'm going back to Iowa and marrying my fiancee." "What would she think if she knew how you made that money, I wonder?" "It was her idea," said Sophie. "We were foolin' around one day and she wanted to see what I'd look like as a girl. We were both surprised at just how good I looked. Which is when she said she knew a way we could use this to make us a lot of money real quick. I was on a bus to New York City the next day." I didn't quite know what to say to that, but I did wonder what their marriage was going to be like. "We all knew this was the end of Veritas," said Penny, "Venus asked us to stay behind to see you off." "How come I never knew about Veritas before this?" I asked. "Only those Venus wanted to find it could do so," explained Sophie, "girls and johns alike. The police never did, and we were always safe here." "Safe?" "Some customers like to hurt the girls," said Sophie, "which Venus didn't allow, however rich and famous you were. Anyone who did like it would never find Veritas in the first place - she made sure of that. You didn't have to be here long to realise there was something special about Venus, that she could do things no ordinary person could." She turned to Penny. "C'mon," she said, taking her friend's hand. "There's a change of clothes waiting for us upstairs." While they changed, I went out to my car, noted the street Veritas was on, and took my male attire from the trunk. Back inside I waited, ready to change clothes myself after Sophie and Penny had left. When they came downstairs, Penny was looking very pretty in a short-sleeved summer dress, hat, heels, and white gloves, while Sophie had removed her - or rather *his* - make-up, discarded his wig and was wearing brogues, slacks, a white shirt and a sports jacket. "Well, Soph....," I began, then stopped. "I can't keep calling you Sophie." "Not really, no," he grinned. "Name's Jones, Hugh Jones." "Well, Hugh Jones," I said, holding out my hand, "have a safe journey back to Iowa, and I hope you have a long and happy marriage. And you, Penny, what will you do?" "I'm going to Hollywood to become an actress," she replied, "because it's what I've always wanted to be, and now that I'm a girl I can. Venus told me that if I did I'd be successful, that I'd star in movies, marry a handsome actor, and have three beautiful daughters. When she said something was going to happen it always did." "Then I hope it does," I said. We shook hands, all three of us, and they left. I changed clothes, put on my facial prosthetics, and then rang police Commissioner Willard Cooper. "Coop," I said, "I'm afraid I have to report a dead body...." I waited there for the police to arrive, gave a statement, watched the body be removed, and then returned home for a few hours. The autopsy was that afternoon. I had a lot of explaining to do to Coop about why I'd been at Veritas, beginning with the fact I'd only been there as Madam Fatal and not as a client. I managed to do this without mentioning anything about Venus being a goddess or the powers she'd given me, after which he reluctantly agreed to let me sit in when the coroner reported his findings. "Funny thing," said the coroner, "I did a full autopsy but I can find no obvious cause of death. It's almost as if she just... stopped." "What can you tell me about her life?" I asked Coop, who consulted the folder he was carrying. "There's no record of Venus Collins prior to ten years ago when she appeared in her first local beauty contest. She won it too, and several others on the local circuit. The next time she came to our attention was five years ago when she was rooming with a friend of hers from the circuit and the friend's husband. Neighbours seemed to think the three were all in a sexual relationship together, but we were never able to find enough evidence to make a morals charge stick. A year later she's moved on and the friend gives birth to sextuplets." "Sextuplets?" "Yeah, six kids. You must've heard of them; they were all over the news at the time." "I think I vaguely remember something about that," I said, frowning. "She next appears on our radar three years ago when she got busted for soliciting a few times. She always got bailed out by the same guy - Christos Maximus." "The bootlegger?" I said, surprised. "Former bootlegger," said Coop. "When alcohol was legalised again he moved all his ill-gotten gains into various legitimate enterprises and is now a respected member of the city's business community." "Figures. What was his connection with Venus Collins?" "Unknown. At first we assumed he must've been one of her johns, but that does not appear to have been the case. And that's all I can tell you, because that's all we know." "Then I guess that's that." "You coming to Detective Murphy's retirement party tomorrow night, boss?" the coroner asked Coop as I was leaving. "Can't," came the reply. "I've got an annual reunion to attend." Once back in my apartment, I went to my library and pulled down a book on mythology, turning to the page on Aphrodite: "Aphrodite, also known as Venus, was variously the goddess of love, beauty, victory, fertility, and even prostitution. Fleet-footed Hermes, the messenger of the gods, fathered her son Hermaphroditus, whose name combined theirs and who was the epitome of effeminacy and androgyny." There was more, but I'd read all I needed to. "Oh, my!" I said, closing the book, laying it down, and steepling my fingers. Everything made a kind of sense now, the beauty contests (beauty and victory), her roommate having sextuplets (fertility) and, of course, the prostitution. Her decade as a mortal had involved expressing all those things she was the goddess of. And in me as Madam Fatal perhaps she had seen both a champion and an expression of the effeminacy and androgyny of Hermaphroditus, her son. Was that why she had chosen me to receive the power? - 5 - I spent several hours getting ready for my date with my daughter that evening, making sure I looked perfect, which I did. I hadn't donned the wig I wore as Juliet in over a year, so it was a little strange seeing myself in the mirror as a blonde woman again. I got to La Parisienne a few minutes before Vanessa, checked my hat and coat, and was shown to the booth she had reserved for us. When Vanessa arrived she looked as effortlessly stylish and sophisticated as usual. She'd had her hair elaborately styled with a double victory roll on top and a chignon at the rear. I got to my feet, we air-kissed taking care not to muss our make-up, then we both sat down. Vanessa looked me over, nodding approvingly. "It *is* you!" she said. "You're perfect like this, just perfect, and looking every bit as beautiful as I remember." "Remember? Remember what?" "In a minute," she said, taking a pack of cigarettes from her purse. I watched as she pulled one from it, envying her long, exquisitely manicured nails. As she did so a waiter appeared at our table, lighter in hand. "Allow me, madam," he said, lighting her cigarette. "Can I get you anything?" "A Jack Daniels, please," said Vanessa, blowing a stream of smoke skywards, "on the rocks. Juliet?" "Uhh, just a spritzer for me, thanks." The waiter left to get our drinks, Vanessa smiling appreciatively at his departing tush for a second or two before turning back to me. "I figured I'd probably got my brains from you," she said, studying my face, "but now I think maybe I got my looks from you too." Beneath my make-up I blushed, more pleased than I should have been at this unexpected compliment. "Oh, and you're wearing my gift," she said, happy to see the pearl necklace she had given me. "I hoped you'd like it." "I adore it, and I have a gift for you," I said, reaching into my own purse and taking out a small box containing a diamond ring. "Your own diamonds are more impressive," I said, noting the diamond earrings and diamond cluster brooch she was wearing, "but this was given to your mother by her mother, who was given it by her mother before her. I know they'd want you to have it." "I shall cherish it," she said. The waiter returned with our drinks. "Enjoy, ladies," he said. Vanessa stirred the ice in her Jack Daniels and took a sip. "Do you always drink bourbon?" I asked. "That, or single malts," she replied. "I've only really developed a taste for alcohol in the past year." "A taste?" "Don't worry, I'm very measured and sensible when drinking. I deliberately got drunk once, just for the experience, and I didn't care for it at all. I like being in control and having my thoughts sharp and clear." "And the smoking?" She stared at me for a moment, then shrugged. "OK, if you want to know all that stuff... I started smoking at twelve and wearing make-up and adult clothes at thirteen. That was the year we moved to Manhattan, the year I left my childhood behind me on Bleak Island, where it belonged." And she had. There was nothing of the child in the young woman sitting before me, nothing at all. "As I mentioned last time we spoke, Daddy got me documented as being eighteen because I asked him to. He always let me make my own choices and develop at my own rate. If you'd raised me I'm sure you'd have forced me to adhere to society's laws and mores about such things, which I would've found unbearably stifling. So I'm glad that you didn't." Though I'm sure she hadn't intended to be cruel, that stung. "Fair enough, but what about society's other laws? You're running a criminal empire for Doctor Prowl, for Pete's sake!" "True," she said, calmly taking a drag on her cigarette, "but have you ever thought about what crime is and how it functions within our society? Since there has always been crime it's reasonable to assume there always will be. That being the case, isn't it less disruptive for that crime to be organised rather than disorganised? And if it is organised isn't it better to have someone like me doing the organising? When crime is organised and so part of the system, we have a vested interest in maintaining that system. It's then in the nature of things that anyone whose approach to crime is chaotic and anarchic will not rise far before their activities inevitably come into conflict with our own. At which point we will then nip these in the bud. This is first and foremost to our own benefit, I admit, but society benefits too. We maintain order in parts of society where the police can't and we keep our conflicts 'in the family', as it were, doing our best to ensure no civilians are harmed." "There's a logic to your argument," I conceded, "but what about morality?" "What about it? The moral code of our society is theoretically based on a set of tenets laid down in the bible, but how many people actually follow those tenets? How many among those who proclaim themselves to be Christian aren't guilty of violating one or more of those tenets on a regular basis? And if it's such a pick'n'mix affair where everyone gets to choose which tenets they'll adhere to and which they'll ignore, why shouldn't I do so too?" Vanessa had clearly thought all this through and wasn't likely to be swayed by any of my arguments, so I changed the subject. "Growing up on Bleak Island must've been fun." "It was. I had a pretty idyllic childhood, all things considered, but I knew when it was right for me to move on." "Kind of odd that a minor paradise like that should be called 'Bleak' Island." "Not really. It's named after Captain Thomasina Bleak, an eighteenth century pirate who had the mansion built and who retired to it with her ill-gotten gains and a couple of young studs after she'd buckled her last swash. Kind of a role model for me, now that I come to think of it. Inevitably, of course, there's a legend that her treasure is buried somewhere on the island." "A female pirate captain?" "Supposedly, and there definitely were some, but there was also a rumour at the time that Thomasina was actually Thomas." "A kindred spirit!" "Perhaps," said Vanessa, taking another drag on her cigarette, "or perhaps this was just a scurrilous rumour put about by male pirate captains jealous of her success, which is what I tend to think happened. There's no way to know for sure at this remove, alas." "Juliet," I said. "Tell me how you know about Juliet." "Last time we talked you asked me if I remembered anything from before I was taken and I replied 'very little' which isn't surprising since I was only two years old at the time. But very little isn't the same as nothing. I have one very clear memory of being picked up by a blonde woman and thinking she was the prettiest thing I'd ever seen. For years I had no idea who that woman was, but when I'd worked out I must be adopted I concluded she had to be my birth mother. Yes, Uncle Jack said I looked like my mother and I was dark-haired, but I knew I'd started out fair-haired. That memory was one I held on to and cherished, fantasizing about what she was like. So imagine how shocked I was last year after being told who my birth-parents were, finding a photo of Lucy Stanton, and discovering she was not the woman I remembered. So who was that woman? I had no clue, nor any idea as to how I might find out. The other thing I did at that time was to investigate you, of course, to stake out your place and try to find out more about this man Richard Stanton, who was apparently my birth- father. Imagine my surprise when I saw the woman I remembered exiting your apartment building carrying a small overnight bag. She was older, of course, but it was definitely the same woman. So I followed her. She took a taxi to an out of town hotel where she met a man, a man I recognised. They shared an intimate dinner, danced, and then went upstairs and spent the night together having signed in as man and wife. During all this, while surreptitiously taking photos of them and eavesdropping, I heard him him call her 'Juliet'. I booked a room myself, slept for a few hours, but made sure I was up early enough to observe people checking out. He came down first, paid the bill, then drove off in his car. An hour later who should come down in the lift but Richard Stanton, carrying Juliet's overnight bag. He walked straight across the lobby, out through the doors, and into a waiting taxi. Even if I hadn't been a genius it wouldn't have taken me long to put two and two together: Richard Stanton was Juliet!!! I watched you for a while longer after that, but I never saw you go out as her again." "That man," I said. "If this got out it would ruin his marriage and end his career!" Vanessa reached into her purse and pulled out an envelope, which she slid across the table to me. "Photos and negatives," she said. "No one but me has ever seen them." "Thank you," I said, relieved. "I know the power you might have been able to exert over him with these." "It's more important to me to have your trust," she replied. "So, when did you first go out dressed?" "In the spring of 1919, after the war and after the second wave of the Spanish Flu had swept through New York. I just wanted to celebrate having survived both, not knowing a third wave was on the way. It was a warm day and I can still remember how much I loved the feel of the skirt swishing about my calves, and the breeze on my legs as I walked through Central Park." "Were you Juliet then?" "No, that came a little bit later." "How often did you go out as her?" "At first, a couple of times a month. It was me picking you up just before heading out one time that you must have remembered." "So my birth-mother knew about your cross-dressing?" "She did, yes. Lucy was the most loving and understanding of women, and I loved her dearly." "When did these twice-monthly outings stop?" "When you were kidnapped. I just couldn't after that." Vanessa laid a sympathetic hand over mine. "I hope you now understand why I wanted you to meet me as her, as Juliet," she said, "the woman whose image I cherished all those years." I nodded. "Good, because while I have a father I love dearly and who loves me there's a role in my life that you, as my birth-parent and as the person you are, may be ideally suited to fill. Mom died when I was nine and so there's a lot of mother-daughter stuff I never got to do with her, stuff I want us to do together. That's why I sent you those pearls on the day that I did, the 14th." "I don't...." "May 14th was Mother's Day this year." She looked at me hopefully, and for the very first time I saw in her eyes not the sophisticated young woman she had become but the 15 year old girl she was underneath. Now it was my turn to lay my hand over hers. "Of course," I said, my voice cracking, barely able to conceal how moved I was. "I'd love nothing more." That she'd want me to be this for her was more than I'd dared hope. "Good," she said, giving a relieved little laugh, "then the first thing I want to know is what that amazing perfume you're wearing is and where I can find it...." It was as if whatever ice there was between us had finally been broken and we spent the next couple of hours in animated, often girly conversation. Vanessa wanted to know all about my life and I told her everything - except about Madam Fatal, of course. Over those few hours she smoked several cigarettes but only had one more Jack Daniels, which she nursed as she had the first, confirming her claim about her attitude towards alcohol. Near the end of the evening there was an incident. La Parisienne was a classy, upmarket establishment. While it had a small dance floor you never saw anyone jitterbugging and the band played subdued, sedate jazz rather than the loud swing, boogie-woogie, and big band dance music you'd find in other establishments. So it was a bit of a surprise when a couple of G.I.'s sauntered in, looked around, and made a beeline for our booth. "C'mon, baby!" said one, alarming Vanessa by grabbing her wrist. "Dance wit' me!" I laid one hand over his and the other over that of his companion, who was leering at me. "Stop," I said quietly, "and listen to me." This they did, becoming glassy-eyed. "You will apologise to this young lady," I told them, "then you will turn around and quietly leave. In future you will be much more polite to women, you will respect their wishes, and whenever a woman tells you 'no' that will be an end to it and you will not pursue her any further." I removed my hands, the pair looked momentarily confused, and then their whole demeanour changed. "I'm so sorry, miss," the first one, looking very contrite, said to Vanessa. "I don't know what came over me, but rest assured I won't be so 'grabby' with women in future." "Yes," his companion said to me, "we'll never behave so inconsiderately again." With that they gave a little bow, turned, and left. Vanessa was looking at me in amazement. "How did you do that?!" So I told her about my encounter with Venus earlier that day, and the powers she had given me. "So you can swap people's minds and then make them unable to tell anyone else what's happened to them?" she said. "Apparently, though I haven't yet." "Wow, you could take over the country with power like that." "I guess," I said. "I haven't had time to think through all the implications yet, but I certainly won't be doing anything like *that*. No, I think I'm meant to use this power both carefully and very sparingly, and that's what I intend to do." - 6 - May 17th was an important day for me, a day on the calendar I kept clear of everything else. This was the one day I always allowed myself to be Juliet Montague, even during that time I'd given up being her the rest of the year. And this was the one place I'd always find my way back to on this date, no matter where I was or whatever I was doing. When Vanessa had followed me and photographed me last year she had not known what a violation of something sacred to me that was. "A penny for them?" I looked up to see Will smiling at me across the restaurant table. "I was just thinking back that time in 1919 in Central Park when I literally bumped into you, my Romeo." "I couldn't believe it," he chuckled, "my Juliet, looking just as pretty as I remembered. It was like something out of a dream." We had been in school together, cast as Romeo and Juliet, and that first time we kissed.... It was electric, and it astonished us both. As for what followed later in private, well let's just say that Romeo went all the way with his Juliet. In later life circumstances would lead me to flirt with and sometimes even kiss other men, but it was only him I would ever do that with. A few days after this we met again, on May 17th, and stayed overnight in this very hotel for the first time, booking in as newlyweds. We both had girlfriends so this was supposed to be a one-off, a way of recapturing something we had shared at school whose importance to us both we had once denied but now acknowledged. However, as we were checking out the next morning we looked at each other and realised that this couldn't be it. So we decided to do it again, same time next year. And we've been returning here annually ever since. The rest of the year it's never mentioned between us and we're just friends and colleagues, but not tonight. After we'd finished, Will stood and offered me his hand. "Shall we?" he said. I took his hand and Commissioner Willard Cooper, my oldest, dearest friend, led me upstairs to our room where I would fully become his Juliet once more. - Epilogue 1 - Relaxing before bed in her quarters on the top floor of the Prowl apartment, smoke drifting up lazily from the cigarette resting in the ashtray beside her, Vanessa Prowl felt a sudden twinge of pain and winced. Laying down the book on quantum mechanics she was reading she gingerly touched the square of gauze taped over the fresh wound on her right shoulder. The birthmark there had been the only way to identify her as the former Elizabeth Stanton, the only way to tie her father to her kidnapping. Now that Richard Stanton knew who she was it seemed prudent to have it removed, so that afternoon she had. Having started a new relationship with him - or rather with Juliet Montague - that was very important to her, Vanessa had decided to trust Juliet. Sadly, trust could be betrayed. If that happened it would hurt her deeply, but it was better to take precautions now rather than be sorry later. Sighing, Vanessa retrieved her book and was soon once again engrossed in the fascinating illogicalities of the quantum realm. - Epilogue 2 - In the Manhattan townhouse that was now her home, the woman Madam Fatal knew as the Black Witch sipped her tea and regarded her companion fondly. Sensing she was being watched, the other woman looked up from the copy of LIFE she was reading. "I love you," she whispered, smiling. "I love you, too, my darling," said the witch, "and, goddess willing, I'll soon be worthier of your love than I am now." "Don't be silly! You're worthy of it whatever happens, and just as worthy of it now as you were when we fell for each other on Haiti," said Marjorie Wade, laying a reassuring hand on her lover's thigh. Their scheme to lure Tom Wade to the old stone house where he would heroically sacrifice his life while saving his loving wife from a (bogus) black magic ceremony had unfortunately been thwarted by the unexpected presence of Madam Fatal. But her lover had got rid of him later anyway, by running him down with her car, so things had all worked out. Tiger Woman entered the room. "How do I look?" she asked. "Amazing!" said Marjorie, gazing at her in open admiration. "I mean, I only saw her through the car windshield, and at a distance, but I'd swear this was her! The hair, the make-up, the clothes; they're all perfect!" "I couldn't have played her as an old woman but I feel good in this costume, powerful even," said Tiger Woman, swinging the walking cane and gazing down at herself, approvingly. "And when I'm practiced enough in the moves we filmed to pass muster, no one will be able to tell me from the real Madam Fatal!" ********* The End. ********* Notes: So a funny thing happened on the way to this story.... The reason I'm writing Madam Fatal stories at all is because I was thinking about my Wonder Woman/Frank Becker sequence and whether or not I should tell the story about how the powers Frank inherited got to be in circulation in the first place. I like WW2 stories and the early comics characters from that period, so I thought perhaps I should give one of them the powers. Given the focus of this site Madam Fatal seemed like the obvious choice, but beyond the basics I didn't know a lot about her. A bit of googling revealed that not only were all her original tales in the public domain and freely available to read online, but that she had been reimagined by writer James Robinson and artist Darwyn Cooke in THE SHADE #4 (2012) - and not used again since then, so far as I can tell. What I read of the comic sounded intriguing, so I sent off to a local dealer for a copy. After lots of reading and much thought, the story for MADAM FATAL: PROWL came together - but it did so with no room in it for the connection to Frank Becker's powers that set me on this path! Never had a story crowd out the idea that sparked it in the first place before. Yes, I know that in Shakespeare's play Juliet was a Capulet, not a Montague. Created by Arthur Pinajian (who's now regarded as an important American abstract expressionist painter), Madam Fatal appeared in Quality's CRACK COMICS #1 - 22 (May 1940 - March 1942). I've gone through these and picked out the foes who have the most potential for being fleshed out and developed into a proper 'rogues gallery' for Madam Fatal, which she lists at the beginning of this story. The issues they appear in are: The Electric Wizard (#7), Dr Prowl (#8), Tiger Woman (#9), Jester (#10), Crimson Vulture (#15), Black Witch (#18 - story retold above). Panajian liked having villains fall to their deaths. Fortunately, villains returning from their *apparent* demise is a long tradition in comics. I'm also developing the rogues gallery by adding new characters to it - gentleman jewel thief The Ghost last time, and a new villain in the next tale. The Frank Becker/Wonder Woman sequence: A. Powers (3) B. The Producer (4) C. Whatever Happened to Wonder Woman? (1) D. Whatever Happened to Wonder Woman: The First Day (7) E. Whatever Happened to Wonder Woman: The Investigation (2) F. Whatever Happened to Wonder Woman: The Villain (5) G. Whatever Happened to Wonder Woman: The Amazons (8) H. The Politician's Wife (6) I. The Politician's Widow (9) ** ** - coming eventually Numbers in brackets are the order in which the stories were written. Letters indicate the reading order.