Eye of the Beholder

Author’s Notes: Again, thank you to blue_lioness for your review, here’s another chapter for you. Please leave a review when you’re done reading. It really makes my day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Morning, Betty, how was your weekend?” Amanda greets as she walks into the office Monday morning.

“Morning, Amanda, it was really good,” Betty replies with a big grin on her face. “My mom took the kids for the weekend so Paul and I went and stayed at a hotel. We went out dinner at a fancy restaurant and saw a show on Broadway and we didn’t have to worry about the kids disturbing other people. We actually got to talk to each other like normal human beings. I had almost forgotten what that was like.”

“So, any champagne or chocolate covered strawberries?” Amanda teases with a chuckle.

“No, but we gave that hotel bed a real work out,” Betty laughs, slightly blushing. “So, how was your weekend?”

“It was interesting,” Amanda responds. “I found out Jeff has been having sex with my roommate for god knows how long, my cousin Brian kept calling pretending to be Ambassador Hank McCoy and I’m looking for a new apartment.”

“Jeff was having sex with Bobbi?” Betty gasps, her mouth hanging open in shock. “That scuzball, that slime, that, that…I hope you kicked him where it counts.”

“I did even better,” Amanda smirks. “I kicked him and Bobbi out and she’s now living with him. Of course, he’s been calling me almost non-stop all weekend begging me to take the little hussy back and refused to come and get the rest of her stuff. I finally had to ask a friend to come over and between the two of us we got her belongings out of my apartment and over to Jeff’s. Man, was he pissed when we showed up.”

“You’re evil,” Betty admiringly admits while she snickers. “Is that why you’re looking for a new apartment?”

“Yeah, I want to get something with only one bedroom,” Amanda replies as she starts to head towards her office. “I’m sick of roommates that don’t pay their rent on time.”

“And are stealing your boyfriends,” Betty points out.

“And eating the food I buy without ever contributing,” Amanda adds. “I’m better off without either one of them.”

“Agreed,” Betty nods just before Amanda disappears through the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few of hours later, Sarah, the personal assistant Amanda shares with the other two junior lawyers in the firm, sticks her head in Amanda’s office.

“Mail’s here,” Sarah announces.

“Ok, just put it on the desk,” Amanda replies, not bothering to look up from the brief she’s reading.

“Um…,” Sarah stalls.

“‘Um’ what?” Amanda asks, finally looking up at the other woman.

“Well, let’s just say you might want to clear off your desk first,” Sarah answers as she disappears out the door.

Amanda frowns at the empty doorway until Sarah comes in carrying a fairly large white crate with ‘Property of the United States Postal Service’ written on the sides. Sarah balances the overly full box down on the edge of the desk and looks at the younger woman.

“So, you still want it on the desk?” Sarah questions.

“Oh boy,” Amanda murmurs as she takes the top letter off the pile, opens and reads it. “Oh boy. Is this all of them?”

“Yeah,” Sarah affirms. “You know this probably going to get worse, right?”

“Yeah,” Amanda sighs. “Ok, leave them next to the desk. I’ll start going through them during my lunch break.”

“Ok, but watch out for Mr. Steele,” Sarah warns. “He’s in one of his moods.”

“Joy,” Amanda mumbles as drops the opened letter into the box with the others and goes back to the brief she was reading.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A couple of hours later finds Amanda working her way through the letters and sorting them into piles in between taking bites of her sandwich. As she opens yet another letter, she can hear Sarah and Mr. Steele talking and she doesn’t need super hearing to know that they’re talking about her. Fortunately, Sarah’s a great watch dog and is able to get rid of the man for the time being for which Amanda is thankful as she takes another bite of her lunch and starts reading the next letter. A short time later, Sarah slips into her office, gently closing the door behind her.

“How’s it going?” Sarah softly asks.

“It’s almost 50-50 right now, but I’m only about half way through the letters,” Amanda quietly replies. “So far there’s a few more letters supporting what I did than those who hate me and there are a couple death threats. I’ve already got a file going for those to take to the police.”

“You know this is just the beginning,” Sarah states as she looks at the piles. “Good heaven’s, who taught some of these people how to write?”

“Public education at its best,” Amanda mutters as she drops the current letter on a pile. “I’m going to have to finish this at home. It’s going to be so much fun getting these things home.”

“Do you want some help going through these?” Sarah asks.

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Amanda answers. “If Mr. Steele thinks for a second that I’m using company time or resources, he’ll run screaming to Mr. Jones and then I’ll be looking for another job instead of an apartment.”

“Well, I can at least drive you home tonight,” Sarah offers.

“I can’t ask you to do that either,” Amanda says, really wanting to kiss the woman’s feet at that second but not wanting to impose.

“That’s why I’m offering,” Sarah tells her. “Be ready to go around five.”

With that, Sarah marches out of the office and back to her desk before Amanda can voice any more objections. With a chuckle and a shake of her head, Amanda finishes her sandwich and puts away the letters. Once that’s done, she gets back to work but gets no more than five minutes worth of work done before Mr. Steele marches into her office.

“Yes, Mr. Steele, may I help you?” she calmly asks.

“I certainly hope you haven’t been going through your ‘love’ letters on company time,” he warns

“No, sir, I was going through them during my lunch, I’ll finish them when I get home tonight,” she replies.

“Is that box company property?” he demands, pointing at the box the letters are in.

“No, it belongs to the US Postal Service,” she responds, using every ounce of self control she has. “Is there something you specifically need? I’d like to get back to work.”

“Just remember not to…,” he starts heatedly.

“Mr. Steele, at anytime during my handling of Serena’s case did I use company time or resources?” she questions, staring down the man who delights in being a thorn in her side.

“No,” he growls, glaring at her.

“Then you can rest assured that at no time will I be costing the company anything when I deal with the mail that I receive,” she tells him. “Now, if you’ll please excuse me, I have work to do.”

Amanda just stares back at him until he finally leaves her office in a huff. She gives a sigh of relief as the muscles in her shoulders start to relax. She goes back to what she had been doing before she was interrupted and quickly loses herself in her work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Would you like me to do that?”

“No, thank you, Mary, I can manage,” Hank replies to his personal assistant, not bothering to look up.

“What would you like me to do now?” she asks, still a little unsure about her new boss. “I finished copying your notes from the meeting and sent copies to the other ambassadors.”

“Would you get an address for me?” he requests as he continues to write. “I either need the home address or work address for Amanda Simon.”

“The lawyer that helped that mutant girl?” she inquires. “I thought I got you her phone number.”

“She is and you did,” he answers, finally looking up at her over the top of his half moon glasses. “However, I wasn’t able to get a hold of her properly this past weekend, so I thought I’d write her a note congratulating her.”

“Ok, I’ll see what I can find,” she tells him and heads for the door.

“Thank you, Mary,” he says as he turns back to his letter. “Please shut the door on your way out.”

“Yes, sir,” Mary replies, quietly doing as instructed on the way out.

He rereads what he’s written, sighs and then crumples up the paper before tossing it into the recycling bin where it joins several other wadded up balls of paper, all attempts at writing to the lawyer in question. How hard can it be to write a congratulatory letter? He pulls out another sheet of stationary and starts writing again. Maybe if he’s not disturbed he’ll be able to get through this without having second thoughts about it.

He starts to write and refuses to stop until he’s left his signature at the bottom. Once he’s done, he reads it to himself and sighs in frustration. He can’t figure out why writing this little missive is becoming so difficult. Deciding that perhaps a second opinion is in order, he calls Mary into his office.

“I’ve been able to get her work address, but I haven’t been unable to find her home address, sir,” Mary says as she steps up to his desk.

“How were you able to get her phone number if you can’t get her address?” he asks, a bit perplexed.

“I know someone who knows someone,” she vaguely explains. “You’ll find no greater grapevine than secretaries. Unfortunately, the person who knows her phone number doesn’t know her address. I tried looking it up in the phone book, but there is not one Amanda Simon; however, there are about a million A. Simon’s. I could try comparing phone numbers if you like.”

“Oh my stars and garters, no,” he softly chuckles. “Her work address will be fine, thank you. Please, read this and tell me what you think.”

He hands her the letter and she reads it carefully.

“It looks fine, sir,” she says as she hands the paper back.

“It doesn’t sound too…snooty?” he asks, thankful for the fur to cover his growing blush.

“Uh, no, it doesn’t sound snooty at all,” she assures him, fighting the smile that’s trying to emerge.

“Ok, thank you,” he sighs in relief. “Would you please bring me that address now?”

“Yes, sir,” she answers as she turns towards the door. “I’ll get it right away.”

“Thank you, Mary,” he says to her retreating back as he pulls out an envelope.

“Oh, sir, before I forget, Mr. Harte from the president’s office wants to know how many tickets you want for the masquerade ball next month,” she states which causes him to groan.

“I don’t suppose I can decline,” he mutters.

“I believe Mr. Harte said it would be political suicide if you aren’t there with the president,” she tells him.

“Very well, put me down for two,” he sighs as he picks his pen back up. “I hope Ororo isn’t busy that night.”

Soon the letter is in its envelope, addressed and put in the outgoing mail and he finally relaxes satisfied with the knowledge that there is no way that Amanda can mistake him for someone named Brian now. He sits back and thinks about why this is so important to him. He wants to make sure she knows that all of her hard work is appreciated, but he wonders if it’s more than that.

The pictures he’s seen of her have shown a rather handsome woman with striking features, especially her eyes. Eyes that are green as a cat’s are very rare and he can only imagine what it must be like for someone on the stand to have them staring holes into you. From what he’s read, she had many a witness squirming in their seats just by staring at them at the trial. He finally shakes himself out his musings and gets back to trying to bring peace to the world for both mutant and human kind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On Tuesday, two more boxes of letters arrive and Betty offers to drive Amanda home fore which the attorney is very grateful. Wednesday sees four more of those stupid white crates dropped off in her office and all she can do is drop her head on her desk and groan. That evening, as she wonders how she’s going to get all of these letters back to her place, Mr. Jones walks into her office.

“My goodness, but you’ve become very popular,” the older man chuckles. “Of course if you listen to Mr. Steele, you’re buried up to your eyeballs and not getting a lick of work done.”

“Sir…,” she starts to protest.

“Don’t worry, my dear,” he assures her as he raises his hand in a stopping motion. “I’ve known Steven Steele long enough to know he’s just a crotchety old fart.”

She tries not to laugh, but a snort of laughter still manages to get out and he grins in response as she tries to hide her smile behind her hand.

“How were you planning on getting these home?” he asks as he lowers his rather round figure into one her office chairs.

“I honestly don’t know,” she informs him. “I’m hoping for a miracle at this point. Maybe the letter fairy will come and take them away for me. If this keeps up the way it has been, I’ll have twenty-four more of these boxes by the end of Friday.”

“I’m sure this is the worst of it,” he tells her. “Any interesting letters?”

“Well, the letters supporting what I did is slightly in the lead over the hate mail,” she states. “However, I have received half a dozen death threats so far and I haven’t even finished going through yesterday’s mail. Those have gone to the police so at least they’ll know where to start looking if I suddenly go missing.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” he replies as he scratches his neatly trimmed white beard. “They’re probably just letting off steam.”

“I hope so,” she sighs worriedly.

“So, are you about done for the day?” he asks.

“Yeah, I guess so,” she answers. “Why?”

“Good, because I’m about ready to head out and I thought I’d give you a ride home,” he states.

“Oh, Mr. Jones, you don’t have to do that,” she replies, touched that he’d be willing to do such a thing.

“I know, but I want to,” he tells her as he stands up. “I’ll go get my coat and then we’ll start hauling these bad boys down to my car.”

“Thank you,” is all she can say as he leaves her office.

She quickly tidies up what she was doing, locks her file cabinets, shuts off her computer and gets her purse out of her desk drawer. Just as she’s slipping her suit jacket back on, Mr. Jones returns with his car keys jingling in his pocket. Before she has a chance to say anything, he picks up one of the boxes and starts to head out. She quickly grabs another crate and follows him as Betty and Sarah step in to take up the other two.

After locking her office door, Amanda follows the other three out to the elevators. They talk about trivial things as they make their way down to the employee parking garage under the building. Once the mail is loaded into the trunk of Mr. Jones’s car, Betty and Sarah say their goodbyes and head off to their own cars.

“Mr. Jones, thank you so much for doing this,” she says as they pull out into rush hour traffic.

“Think nothing of it, Amanda,” he responds as he negotiates the roads. “I actually have an ulterior motive for driving you home.”

“An ulterior motive?” she questions worriedly.

“You see, I have a nephew who’s politically bound and he’s going to a ball at the end of next month,” he starts to explain.

“Ok,” she replies, still confused.

“He was dating a lovely young lady for a while,” he continues. “But I’m afraid the relationship has turned sour and he has found himself with an extra ticket. He wants to appear to be pro-mutant, so he called me this morning and he asked if perhaps you were free. I said I would ask and I understand that you and Jeff recently had a falling out.”

“Falling out?” she snorts. “That’s a nice way of putting it. I caught him coming out of my roommate’s room with his pants barely back on. Is this some political shindig?”

“Yes, I’m afraid it is and I know you’re not really into politics, but he’s my nephew and I had to ask,” he says apologetically.

“I don’t know,” she hesitates. “I don’t have anything to wear to a ball.”

“It’s a masquerade ball and I’m afraid he’s already decided to go as The Phantom from The Phantom of the Opera,” he replies. “The plans were for his lady friend to go as Christine. I’m sure there’s someplace you could rent a Christine gown.”

“I’m sure I can, but I still have a couple concerns,” she states. “My first is that I have no idea what your nephew is like and as I’m going to be doing him a rather large favor, I’m kind of interested in what’s in it for me. I hardly think spending the evening with a completely stranger is going to be fun, especially if he’s going to be spending more time smoozing than keeping me company.”

“Of course not,” he hastily agrees. “He is more than willing to meet with you beforehand and see if the two of you at least get along. He’s a very nice boy and he’s rather handsome too. And if you do agree to go, I’ll have a good long talking too to Mr. Steele about his behavior.”

“That would be nice,” she agrees. “However, I’ve dated plenty of handsome gentlemen and most of them have turned out to be rather conceited.”

“What about the ones that weren’t conceited?” he inquires.

“Gay,” she answers in all seriousness. “My other concern is that people are going to see me there and are going to assume that I’m looking to become politically active. I had enough of that during Serena’s trial, thank you.”

“It is a masquerade ball, so you’re face will be covered until the unmasking at midnight,” he reminds her.

“I’m 5’10 with black hair and green eyes,” she points out. “I hardly fade into the background. Mask or not, people are going to know who I am.”

“And if anyone starts bothering you, introduce them to my nephew,” he instructs. “That boy could charm a snake out of its scales if he put his mind to it.”

“I’m surprised that he wants to be seen as pro-mutant,” she says. “I always thought most politicians were like clay, molding themselves to what they think will get them the votes.”

“True, but the president has come out as a pro-mutant so right now, being pro-mutant is ‘in’,” he points out as he manages to find a parking spot near her apartment. “So, what do you say? Will you at least meet him for coffee or something?”

“I suppose I could meet him for coffee,” she sighs as she gets out of the car. “I guess it can’t hurt to at least get to know him first.”

“Excellent,” he grins as he helps her get the first couple boxes out of the trunk. “I’ll call him tonight and have him call you tomorrow.”

He helps her bring up the letters to her apartment and then wishes her a good night. After he leaves, she moves the new batch of missives into the spare bedroom where she’s set up her mail sorting area and then goes around the apartment opening windows to air out the stuffy rooms. Afterwards, she heads for the kitchen for a quick frozen dinner before going through enough letters that she’s sure an entire old growth forest must have died for. By the time she finally drags herself to bed hours later, she’s finished off the last of Tuesday’s mail and has made a sizeable dent in the first box of this day’s mail. With a tired groan, she crawls into bed and is asleep as soon as her head touches the pillow.