Act I

Chapter 1

The sun was beating down hard on the already shriveled grass of Bryant park in Midtown. It was early afternoon on a Wednesday and the park was, for all intents and purposes, empty. It was the fifth day in a row to break the previous day's heat record and though the first two days had been filled with sunbathing and cheering for the true arrival of summer, people were now quite over it.

Restaurants, cafes, shops and even grocery stores, anything with air conditioning really, were jammed packed with citizens fleeing the heat. The few people braving the outdoors walked quickly and with purpose. Seeing men in business suits crossing the park in long strides reminded Clara once again why she enjoyed being a woman: the day when she would be required to wear a suit would never happen.

The record breaking heat bothered Clara very little, a genetic gift from her mother's side she'd always claimed. She was stretched out on a blanket under the searing sun, book in hand. It was a trashy novel about the desperate love of a young woman who wound up dying at the end, but Clara devoured it nonetheless. A daily dose of drama never hurt anyone.

She was going through a particularly awful cliché emotional scene when she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. Clara looked up from her book and was surprised to see what had to be the most interesting character to cross the park since her arrival. It was a man, medium height, nearing his forties, dressed in a smart casual attire. He had a clean shaven face and soft slightly curly brown hair the front of which he whisked away from his left eye with a sharp swing of his head. Nothing about the man himself was very impressive, except for the fact that he too seemed to be unwavering under the sweltering heat.

Like his age, the temperature was nearing or had already surpassed 40 degrees Celsius and anyone dressed in long thick pants and jackets could not possibly be having a stroll...unless they were insane. But the man did not look deranged.

Much.

It was the way he slouched while dragging his feet in the dry grass, both hands stuffed in his pants' pockets, like he could not care less where he was actually heading. His eyes roamed around, alternating from staring at his brown shoes, to looking at the surrounding park, then up in the sky, and finally back down - all with a squint and a small satisfied smile on his lips. He was in no hurry, seemingly enjoying the excruciatingly hot weather for what it was: a beautiful bright sunny day.

This was not the kind of man she usually saw in Midtown.

She watched him casually, her silly book completely forgotten. Clara knew this was not something she should do. What if he looked in her direction? It was impolite to stare, dangerous even, but she really could not look away. As he neared her, still walking in a straight line about ten meters away, she saw him tense up as if he had sensed something.

He drew taller, his squint became a frown and he turned his head to look away from her over his right shoulder. Seeing nothing he turned back and resumed staring at his feet, then around, and finally he made eye contact with her.

Clara had tried really to look away, or so she told herself.

He seemed surprised to see her, or rather, surprised to see her looking at him. Either way his eyebrows went up slightly and then his face froze for a moment as if unsure which expression would be appropriate for this particular moment. Clara opted for the deer in the headlight look. He was still walking away, but as he moved his eyes remained glued on her. He attempted a half smile.

Suddenly it was too much to bare and with a furious blush she looked away, hiding her smiling face behind her stupid novel. She counted to five in her head, more than long enough for any normal person to look away and return to pretending that no other human beings lived around them, but he was apparently not normal.

Luckily when she caught his eyes this time he turned his head away, though she imagined it would have become difficult for him to keep walking otherwise. As he moved further toward 6th Avenue she craned her neck to watch him exit the park. He climbed down the step toward the fountain and was about to disappear behind one of the table's umbrellas when he stopped. Turned around. And looked at her again.

She was wearing a broad smile now and when he collected his hand from the depths of his pocket to give her the most awkward of waves, she waved back. For a moment she was terrified that he might actually double back and come talk to her; she was nuts for doing this, honestly. But a second later he was gone.

Suddenly feeling deflated she fell back onto her blanket and giggled.

"That was very silly," she said to no one at all.

She attempted to pick up her book and continue reading, but failed to immerse herself back in the over-sexualized trash writing. She picked up her smartphone from the blanket to check the time, 3:00pm - still a long time before work started.

Oh well, she thought, it'll only mean that she'll look extra nice for the evening. It was, after all, a very special occasion tonight.

Taking her time, Clara began to pack up her things into her rucksack. It was a short walk to Times Square - 42 station, about a block, but the heat made it feel like like an eternity. Unmoving on a blanket, the day's heat had been tolerable, but walking around with nothing but asphalt and concrete around her reflecting the heat made her feel like a roasting chicken. By the time she reached the dark tunnels of the metropolitan subway, her feet felt as if they were on fire. Wearing thin sandals had apparently been a mistake.

The subway was its usual disgusting self, only with more poignant body odor in the air. Luckily she was only a few stations away and barely fifteen minutes later she emerged in the dusty summer air once again. She lived on 56th street, on the top floor of a 23 story building. Gorgeous place with an overview of Central Park which had cost her more money than she had ever dreamed of ever earning in her life. In fact she had been quite shocked while looking to buy a place when she realized exactly how much a bank was willing to loan her. Math was not Clara's forte, she earned enough, spent often and saved the rest.

The elevator led her to a tiny corridor with only one door, her own place. Owning the entire floor was very comfortable. No noisy neighbours, no random people walking about the hallways (you needed a special key card to reach the penthouse), and just a general huge place all to herself.

The loft was spacious and open, she had torn down nearly all walls in order to create a unified home with only a few divisions as required. The far wall was a single huge window with a spectacular view of the park, and the middle of the room was dominated by a circular staircase leading up to a terrace on the roof. Clara dropped her stuff on the bench near the entryway before moving into the kitchen to her right. As the evening promised to be filled with much alcohol, a proper snack was in order. She would not want to be drunk after her first glass of wine.

Cooking, showering, dressing, all at a leisurely pace which suited Clara just fine. She disliked rushing. At 7pm sharp the doorman rang up to let her know that her ride had arrived. She answered saying that she was going to be right down, put on a pair of newly purchased black sling pumps, and left the place. Wearing a tiny silver dress with an open back and low cut dress which showed a healthy amount of cleavage, she knew she was quite the sight.

It was her job to look amazing.

On the street a black limousine was waiting, inside five other women just as glamorously dressed ushered her in. She was the last one to be picked up as she lived closest to their final destination: Stark Tower.