Nightwing: Heartache

Part 5: DV Fundraiser

May 27th, 8:41pm
Los Angeles

Willa's original plan when she started acting was just to act. Then when that became more feasible, and when she moved to LA it became a possibility that this could be her career, she planned on laying low, working when she could, and not making any waves.

Maybe it was Hollywood, the glamor, the bubble of safety that was easy to delude herself into, but it seemed wrong, it made her stomach twist with the wrongness of just sitting at home, hiding, and acting in anything she could get her hands on. Sam had made good on her promise, and now that Willa was in a place she needed a whole team, she let herself breathe. Like everything was going to be alright. She hired Lilah after a lengthy interview process that no one seemed to understand and Willa didn't feel the need to explain. If she was going to let someone in her home, someone who would be with her all the time, she needed to be absolutely sure she could trust them. Lilah had won her over.

And despite what Willa had always said, this life was intoxicating. The power of it, the feeling of choosing the projects she would do, what events she wanted to go to, and after some initial pains with a styling team, she loved choosing what to wear, what to say with clothes. She loved feeling in control of her life. She saw the opportunity of having a platform and decided to capitalize on it. She used her salaries, her days off, her social media, to divert attention and money to things that actually mattered, to supporting women and survivors of all kinds. She had been prepared to fight tooth and nail for the extra time and dedication, the waived speaker fees, to be able to do this, but apparently it was great PR. People loved supporting someone with a passion.

The first time she made a public appearance at a march or event, she was shaking so bad she thought she was going to throw up. But now she had a glow only the protection of fame could grant as she waited backstage to go on.

It was a small event, honoring Thistle Farms, an organization that helped DV survivors get back on their feet. She wore a simple white linen shirt and high rise pants, her hair in a ponytail and a fresh makeup look. She took a deep breath as Andrea, the president of the organization, waved her onstage to applause. There were a few flashes of photos but there were no video cameras, at least professional ones. Willa never allowed TV crews inside these events unless the organization called them themselves.

Willa hugged Andrea and took another breath as she looked into a crowd filled with women who had survived hell and somehow found the motivation to start new careers, learn new skills. Women who, rightfully so, looked at Willa with trepidation, a Hollywood actress trying to get some good press. A girl who couldn't possibly understand their position in life.

"Thank you for inviting me," Willa started, "I won't pretend to know all of your stories. I wouldn't condescend like that, to make myself relatable to a bunch of badasses like you all." A few chuckles filtered through the crowd. "What I will do is recognize you. Recognize Thistle Farms and the work it does. I can only recognize what it takes to get up everyday and face the cruel realities of the world we live in." A chorus of 'mmms' and 'um-hms' ran through. "Superheroes get a lot of praise, and rightfully so, but I think people like you deserve just as much. I don't think the average person understands how much strength it takes just to survive, to run, to fight. And in my opinion, it takes just as much, if not more strength to do this as to fight aliens. So here's to you."

Applause, louder, more genuine, filled the banquet hall at the conclusion of her speech. Willa quickly stepped aside and down the steps of the stage as Andrea came back on to thank Willa for her donation and to announce that the buffet was open.

"Excuse me," a woman with red hair and glasses approached Willa, "my son just loved your movie. Could you sign something for him?"

"Of course," Willa beamed and signed a custom note, "do you think he would answer if we called him?"

The woman's eyes widened and she rummaged through her purse for her phone. "Yes. Yes! Just one second. So sorry. He's going to be so excited."

The night went on like that. Lots of pictures and smiles. Willa didn't mind. She never minded. It was usually fun, talking to people, meeting new people, hopefully making good memories and saying hi to kids.

Willa was by the bar an hour later, sipping a glass of water and watching the small TV in the corner run its nightly news segment. There was a story about a dog that accidentally knocked the groomer out with its head and was stuck in the harness thing until the groomer woke up.

The next story was not as funny. Replayed footage of the local news anchor explaining the most recent Justice League drama. Apparently Batman, Green Arrow, Plastic Man, Katana, Hardware, Batwoman, and Black Lightning had all walked out of the most recent meeting, formally quitting the Justice League. The walkout was in response to increased sanctions by the United Nations that tied the League's hands.

Willa blinked, aware that the bartender had said something but didn't know what. "Sorry?" She offered a small smile and the bartender laughed.

"I said, crazy, huh? That heroes are just quitting. What are we going to do without Batman?"

"I think he just quit the Justice League, not being a hero."

The bartender shrugged, "tomato, tomahto."

Willa didn't argue but she was certain Batman hadn't thrown out the cowl. If she knew one thing about superheroes it was that they didn't quit, especially not because of bureaucracy. No, there was probably something bigger going on, but the heroes would always be heroes.