Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

Gwen Stacy finally emerged from the shower the next morning, her mind far away as she slipped on her Spider-Woman costume and put her regular clothes overtop of it. As she finally emerged from her apartment, the sun caught her in the face and she blinked in surprise, before she took a deep breath and forced herself to walk to Empire State University. She did not meet Julia as she headed for the Drama building, much to her relief, but almost bumped into Kitty Pryde, stumbling through her as Kitty used her mutant phasing powers to prevent a collision.

"Hey Gwen," Kitty greeted her with a smile. "We missed you at the library yesterday…"

"Oh no," Gwen sighed in frustration, shaking her head in apology. "I'm so sorry...I've just been swamped with schoolwork and rehearsals-"

"Hey, it's no big deal," Kitty grinned. "I can just lend you my notes, if you like."

"Yeah, that'd be great," Gwen nodded as they entered the classroom. "I really appreciate-"

"Long time no see, Stacy," Gwen and Kitty heard an all-too-familiar voice ring out. "Have you been avoiding me, or something? And here I thought we were friends…"

Kitty could only wince as she saw Gwen's face turn red.

SPIDER-WOMAN #11

"BREAKING UP IS HARD TO DO"

Felicia Hardy only grinned mockingly as she approached, her loyal sycophant Sally Avril only a step behind her. She giggled as Gwen began taking several deep breaths and closed her eyes, clenching and unclenching her fists.

"Uh…Gwen?" Kitty began hesitantly.

Gwen didn't seem to hear her.

"Cat got your tongue, Stacy?" Felicia smirked, as Sally began to laugh.

Gwen's eyes finally snapped open, becoming cold as ice as they stared daggers at Felicia and Sally. Her fists were tightly bunched, the knuckles on her hands becoming white with the strain, as Kitty stepped back involuntarily.

"There are a lot of things I could say or do, Felicia, but I won't. You know why?" the blonde-headed young woman demanded.

"Try me," Felicia grinned back at her, not giving an inch.

"Because I don't need to," Gwen said, her voice turning cold and soft. "After all, I'm not the one who has to live with the knowledge that I slept with the entire starting lineups of the Midtown High baseball, football and basketball teams, or that my one steady boyfriend turned out to be a jealous psychopath, or that my mother floozed her way to the top at Hammer Industries. Who's your daddy, Felicia? Ever wonder how much you and Justine Hammer look alike?"

Felicia turned white, as Sally's and Kitty's jaws dropped.

"Oh, and what about Brigid O'Reilly? Whatever happened to her, anyway?" Gwen continued, her eyes narrowing.

"You stupid bi-" Felicia caught herself. "This isn't over," she finally hissed, before turning with Sally as their professor came in.

"Are you okay, Gwen?" Kitty asked her friend as they left after the class was complete. "I mean, wasn't that pretty harsh, even for Felicia?"

"It's all true," Gwen muttered.

"Even if it is, that's still no reason to sink to her level," Kitty rebuked her.

"She's been pulling that kind of crap for years, all the way back to when we went to Midtown High together," Gwen replied. "Felicia put Marie-Ange Colbert through hell. I just wish I'd…I should have done something to…"

"Stop her? Stand up for Marie-Ange?" Kitty prompted, as Gwen nodded.

"You feel guilty, don't you?" Kitty suddenly said, as Gwen froze.

"I…" Gwen stammered. "I don't know, I mean, I…Felicia just makes me so angry," she finally finished. "I know I lost it today, but she just knows how to push my buttons."

"That's not all it is, though, is it?" Kitty asked her.

"What do you mean?" Gwen asked.

"Well…" Kitty hesitated, "you just seem so frustrated these days. Are things not working out with Randy?"

"What?" Gwen asked in surprise. "No, it's been going great. Randy says he'll get an A for sure on his project."

"Well, what is it, then?" Kitty asked her. "Your schoolwork? Problems at home, or something like that?"

"Nothing you need to worry about," Gwen shook her head.

Kitty scowled at this.

"Look, Gwen, you can't just keep blowing us off like this," she said bluntly. "Whatever's going on, you've got to deal with it."

"What do you think I'm doing?" Gwen snapped back at her.

"Whatever it is, it's not working," Kitty replied, as Gwen's eyes flared. "We're your friends, aren't we? So why won't you let us help you?"

Gwen finally slumped down on a bench in the hallway, as Kitty sat down next to her. Anger gave way to fatigue as she leaned back, closing her eyes.

"I don't know what you, Liz or anyone else could do," she said miserably, as Kitty blinked in surprise. "Not unless you can keep my mom from falling apart over her divorcing my father, or help me find a paying job to help keep a roof over her head."

"Oh, Gwen…" Kitty said gently. "I'm sorry, I didn't know…"

"It's alright," Gwen muttered absently.

"You know, even if I can't help you with all that, there might still be something I can do," Kitty began, as Gwen looked back at her.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"This weekend is my cousin Ben's birthday," Kitty grinned. "We're having a big party at this club my Uncle Roger rented, the Argent Room. How'd you like to come? I'm going to invite Harry and Liz, too."

"Well…" Gwen hesitated.

"Your cousin Jill can come too," Kitty continued. "I even invited Randy," she finished with a grin, chuckling as Gwen suddenly turned red.

Gwen sat in silence for several minutes.

"I'd like to come," she began, "but I have this really important modeling test to go to at Bloomingdale's, for Kingsley Cosmetics. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate it, but I can't afford to miss this chance."

Kitty frowned.

"Well, it won't be until later," she began.

"Yeah, but I don't know how long it'll be," Gwen said too quickly, before she stood up and continued walking down the hall.

"Gwen?" Kitty called after her.

"I'm late for my next class!" Gwen replied as she ran down the hallway. "I'll see you later!"

Yeah, but how much later? Kitty thought to herself worriedly.

That night…

The Libertinewas a popular upscale restaurant in the heart of Manhattan, well-known for its expensive dining and high-class clientele. It was a popular place for businesspeople entertaining clients, movie stars and other celebrities who wanted to be seen, and wealthy socialites who sought only the best in fashionable cuisine. Such were the typical clients that the maitre d' dealt with on a typical evening such as this.

As he offered a winning smile to the departing Wilson Fisk, the maitre d' turned back to the main entrance, eagerly anticipating his next customer. No one was there for the moment, the only thing out of the ordinary was a strange humming sound that seemed to grow louder. The maitre d' frowned at the noise, before he forgot all about it when he saw the truly bizarre sight that alighted outside the restaurant's glass doors.

A figure dressed in a dark green suit of body armor, with a lighter green chest plate decorated with what resembled tiny skulls all over the front and back, matching light green gloves and boots painted to look like skeletal hands and feet, a bright gold belt with tiny figures of pumpkin heads, ghosts and bats hanging from its contours like a miniature charm bracelet and a ghoulish, leering human-sized pumpkin where its head should have been, wreathed in bright gold and orange flames, came into view. It rode a flying disk some four feet in diameter, ringed with what looked like human skulls, the source of the unnerving humming sound, that soon came to a stop as the creature landed on the ground. The pumpkin-headed thing picked up the disc and pressed a button on it, causing it to contract to some four inches in diameter, before it was replaced on the strange creature's belt.

As the creature pushed the door open and made its way into the restaurant, it looked over at the maitre d', who stood frozen in shock and fear.

"Are there any seats available tonight?" the thing asked the maitre d' in an eerily distorted, echoing voice.

The maitre d' just stood there, rooted to the spot.

"I'd like an answer," the pumpkin–headed being informed him.

"P…p…please, take whatever you want! I can even open the safe-" the maitre d' finally began trembling, before the pumpkin-headed thing laughed, a sound that sent chills down the maitre d's spine.

"Table for one," it rasped at him.

"…Excuse me?" the maitre d' finally asked him, fear turning to confusion.

"I chose the Libertine because I heard it had some of the best service in New York," the pumpkin-headed being noted, seeming to scowl although its leering pumpkin face never changed expression. "So far, I am not impressed."

It took several seconds for what the strange figure was saying to dawn on the maitre d'.

"…Oh!" he finally stammered. "Yes, well, we have a few openings, Mister…"

"Jack O'Lantern," the creature rasped. "And I'll need to see a copy of the wine list."

The conversation had by now attracted the attention of several other diners and staff, who all stood staring in confusion and fear at Jack O'Lantern.

Jack O'Lantern merely stared back.

"What are you all staring at?" it demanded. "Can't a person get a decent meal without being stared at like some freak of nature?"

Shaken and unnerved, most of the people returned to their meals, muttering to themselves, as Jack O'Lantern was led to his table. Demanding a chardonnay and a plate of steak tartare, Jack looked around in distaste at the people, who continued to look up from their meals at him. It didn't get any better when his meal arrived, as he took the food up to the carved mouth of his pumpkin head, simply seeming to vanish or be consumed by the flames, even when his mouth did not seem to move.

Finally, Jack O'Lantern finished his dinner and stood up, reaching for one of the trinkets on his belt. The surrounding diners froze in panic, and some even dove under their tables for protection, before Jack retrieved the money he owed from a pocket and left it on the table. Walking out the front door of the restaurant, he took his flying disk off his belt and quickly reactivated it, hopping on and then taking to the air.

That was a lot of fun, he smiled to himself as he flew into the night. And tomorrow night I pay Norman Osborn a little visit…

Jack O'Lantern began giggling hysterically, his voice echoing in the darkness.

George Stacy strode into his office purposefully the next morning, going through his morning mail. Taking notice of the large, bulky envelope of Nelson, Murdock and Page, Attorneys At Law, he flipped it open and began glancing over the documents, raising his eyebrows at the divorce papers he was being served with.

At this point, most of those who knew George Stacy would have expected him to fly into a rage, begin throwing things, or shout in anger. Instead, he remained calm and collected, fixing a scotch on the rocks before he sat back in his chair, lost in thought as he folded up the divorce papers. He sat in that pose for several minutes, before he finally picked up his cell phone and began dialing.

"Menken?..It's Stacy. What have you got going right now?...Uh-huh…Listen, how much do you know about divorce law?...Right…yeah…Proof of fault, huh?..."

He thought on this for a moment.

"Listen, draft an answer that'll make them have to come into court and have to contesting it. I want you to handle this personally…don't fuck with me, Menken! What do you think I'm paying you for?...Yeah, that amount is fine…just get it done, alright?"

Booting up his computer, George set to work with a satisfied smile. On one level, he almost had to admire his daughter-she had clearly pushed Helen into this, and was the one really moving for the divorce. It crossed George's mind that Gwen had inherited the Stacy drive, if not the Stacy intelligence.

After all, he knew Helen Stacy better than anyone…

That Saturday, Gwen found herself in the high-end Bloomingdale's shopping boutique, where expensive goods from all over the world were available to the discerning shopper. In the past, Gwen had enjoyed coming here with Jill, running up debt on her father's credit cards while trying on all the latest fashions, and even flirting with any cute guys they came across, as she had always seemed to lighten up whenever she was around her cousin…

She could have used Jill's presence now, as she walked up to the raised stage Kingsley Cosmetics had set up for its audition. Dressed in a sheer red dress, her street clothes and costume in her backpack, Gwen registered for the audition and went to join the nearly twenty other models in front of the stage, looking for any familiar faces. The only one she recognized, however, was Felicia Hardy, who stared murder at her but otherwise did not say anything. Gwen returned her scowl, and turned around to listen to the conversation of some of the other contestants.

"So that's it, then? Forrester Fashions is dead?" one of the models was asking the other.

"Sure looks like it," the other model nodded. "Dagny threw a screaming fit, apparently."

"What's going on?" Gwen asked them as she walked up.

"You didn't hear?" the first model blinked in surprise. "Kingsley Cosmetics just ran Forrester Fashions out of business. They filed for bankruptcy last week. Apparently Kinsgley undercut them so much that they couldn't pay their bills, and then Kingsley came in and bought all their best designs and patents."

"A lot of the competition can't stand Kingsley Cosmetics," the second model chimed in, "and they've accused it of all kinds of dirty tricks. Theft, sabotage, insider trading, crooked regulators, all kinds of things…at least that's what they say, anyway."

"Is that true?" Gwen asked in surprise.

"Who knows?" the first model shrugged. "Nothing's ever been proven. And really, who cares? Kingsley's got the best designs anyway."

Gwen was about to say something else, but she was interrupted by a voice booming from the loudspeakers.

Roderick Kingsley, known among his detractors as the 'sneering lizard of the fashion world', airily walked onto the stage followed by his brother Daniel, who doubled as his official bodyguard. Well-known for employing every dirty trick in the book against his competition, Kingsley might have been hated by his peers but was beloved by his clients and independent observers, easily giving established giants like Chanel and Calvin Klein a run for their money when it came to influence and sales. His snobbish attitude and his annual spring collections were the talk of Paris every year, and his arrogant, self-centered smirk showed his awareness of his status.

Behind him stalked his brother Daniel, four years older and almost two feet taller, who also doubled as his bodyguard. The two brothers could not have been more different-Roderick's puny frame, outgoing manner and tanned complexion were a dramatic contrast to Daniel's powerfully muscled body, silent and morose attitude and pale skin. Always to be found wherever Roderick went, Daniel typically kept silent and let his fists or his gun do the talking for him.

"Look Osborn, I don't care what he told you!...Oh, am I supposed to be impressed?...Give me one good reason why I should keep the arrangement!...Forget it! Oh, and one more thing, tell your wife thanks from all the guys at the country club!" Roderick finished, before he snapped his cell phone shut and began addressing the models, looking over them and admiring their curves, their eyes, or their hair. He was a happily married man, of course, but one of the advantages of being in the fashion industry was being able to ogle your employees and get away with it.

Gwen joined in the pacing and posing the competition required of its applicants, skillfully displaying her wonderful curves, long flowing hair and angelic face, even as one contestant after another was eliminated. She took particular pleasure in seeing Felicia cut from the competition, and the ugly look that crossed the blonde-haired woman shot at Gwen as she stomped offstage.

As the final stages of the competition set in, however, Gwen began to notice just how much Roderick Kingsley seemed to be staring at her, his eyes gleaming brightly. Her temper rose at first, and she was briefly tempted to tell Kingsley off and simply quit the competition, until she forced herself to calm down and pointedly reminded herself that her family needed the money. Apparently she couldn't fully contain her emotion, as her strides became more pronounced, her eyes flared, and her hair swept around her as she spun around the stage, to the point where Kingsley seemed about ready to fall off his chair and other passersby had begun staring at her as well.

Finally, Kingsley ended the proceedings, declaring Gwen and two other models to be the winners. As the crowd began to disperse, the fashion magnate came up and congratulated the winners, before handing them the schedules and other forms they needed.

"Next Thursday afternoon, ladies," Kingsley grinned at them. "My new Red Lavender scents are coming out in March-with the help of lovelies like you, I'm sure to make a killing!"

In spite of herself, Gwen couldn't help but scowl.

"What's wrong, kid?" Kingsley asked her, a look of concern crossing his face. "Am I not offering enough money?" he smiled winningly.

"You don't need to stare at me the way you do," Gwen said icily, unable to stop herself. "I'm sure the customers will be doing more than enough of that," she continued, her voice taking on an acid edge.

Gwen's heart sank as the Kingsley brothers and the other two models stared askance at her, realizing she'd probably just gotten herself fired before she could even begin working.

Then, Roderick suddenly burst out laughing.

"Oh, that's perfect!" he chuckled. "That, that is what I'm looking for!"

"What?" Gwen was flummoxed.

"That's what Red Lavender is all about," Roderick enthused, "the fire, the passion and the temper! To let your inner flames out, to show them to the world! Yes, my dear, that's what I'm going for in this new ad campaign!"

Still laughing to himself, Kingsley spun around and walked off the stage, Daniel in tow, as Gwen and the models looked at each other in confusion.

Still somewhat surprised that she had gotten the job, Gwen returned to her apartment that afternoon to catch up on some homework. Booting up her laptop, she opened her e-mail, expecting an attachment she had been expecting from Liz for an English assignment. Instead, she found an e-mail from her father:

Gwen:

The initial divorce hearing between my mother and yourself will take place next Tuesday, as I understand it. We will be meeting at the Third District Courthouse at 10 AM. I am sending you this e-mail as a courtesy to you, your mother and your attorney, and also a reminder that it is best that all three of you attend, so that we may gain a full understanding of the situation.

Sincerely Yours,

George Stacy.

He wanted Helen to attend the trial, she realized.

Taking several deep breaths and rubbing her temples, Gwen sat in silence for several minutes, before she finally sat up and took out her cell phone.

"Kitty?...Yeah, it went great…The first rehearsal is on Thursday…Listen, about your cousin's party, is it still on?...Oh, it's tomorrow night?...Yeah, yeah I'm going to come…Thanks a lot for the invitation, you don't know how much it means to me…yeah, bye."

(Next Issue: Seeking a distraction from her problems, Gwen attends the birthday party of Kitty's cousin, and finds herself sharing the company of friends old and new, offering some much-needed relief. The festivities are rudely interrupted, however, when the festivities are interrupted by the villainous Boomerang and Bullseye, who are competing to kill Spider-Man to win a bar bet! And how will Gwen handle the initial divorce proceedings between her parents? All this and more in Spider-Woman #12: Target Practice!)