Motormouth Bonnie had been taken aback. “No. I only make one. I even destroy the negatives. One’s a dream; more than one would be cheating. But this is your dream. I saw it in your face when you looked at it.”
Now the picture hung in Selina’s room—very nearly the only thing not stolen, scrounged, scavenged, or purchased secondhand—and Catwoman had a partner. She descended the fire-escape ladder that went past Bonnie’s apartment and scratched the glass with her claws. Bonnie came running out of the chipboard enclosure that united her kitchen and bathroom into a single, well-equipped darkroom. She was dressed in baggy, dark clothing with an army-surplus web belt slung low around her hips and well-used hiking boots.
Both women were surprised. Catwoman had expected to find Bonnie in L.L. Bean pastels. When Catwoman was surprised, she was quiet, but Bonnie started talking before she got the window unlocked and opened.
“The fire escape. I should have known. I mean, I shouldn’t’ve expected Catwoman to ring the bell. That was silly. Standing there, listening for the doorbell and nearly jumping out of my skin when I heard scratching at the window. I’m almost ready. Do I look all right?” She retreated from the window and spun around like a little girl at her first ballet recital.
Catwoman nodded.
“I thought: surveillance, urban guerilla spy versus spy stuff—I’d better dress appropriately. I’ve got real camouflage for photography, but it’s all orange blaze. Great in the outback, but silly here in the big city. So I just went dark, and matte, on account of light. Do you have any idea how much ambient light there is at night in this city, Selina? It’s never really dark—well, maybe in the back of alleys and places like that, but on the sidewalks, you don’t even need to use flash. I’ve got my flash guns, though. No telling what sort of light we’re going to find, right? Two cameras, extra film, extra flash, extra batteries. It’s all right there.” She pointed at a dark nylon backpack on the sofa. “Check it out—tell me if you think there’s anything I’ve forgotten. Like a tripod. You’ve been there. Do you think I’ll need a tripod?” She reentered the jury-rigged darkroom. “I’m almost ready.”