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Dick Grayson left the lecture hall after Professor Edgewater’s class, his head still swimming from the vagaries of Advance Macroeconomics. He was scheduled to meet a couple of his friends in the Student Union in less than an hour, but there was something he wanted to do first.
It was a sunny Thursday afternoon on the urban campus of Gotham State University. Summer stubbornly refused to give way to Fall, as the ambient air temperature hovered in the mid-nineties.
The GSU senior walked briskly, heading for the western gate of the quad. There was a new business the superhero Robin felt he needed to visit in his civilian identity: a new bar called the Round Robin.
Since turning 21 the previous March, the athlete had, to Batman’s unstated disapproval, moderately sampled the world of alcoholic beverages. He found he didn’t care for beer at all. Dick didn’t exactly like wine or champaign either, but decided he could tolerate it when necessary in his post-graduate role of junior executive at Wayne Industries.
Hard liquor tasted like cough medicine. He then tried a frozen strawberry daiquiri. It wasn’t bad, but when he discovered what alcohol did to his usually razor-sharp reflexes, he quickly came to the conclusion that the pleasure wasn’t worth the cost.
Then there was the question of any commercial activity using Batman’s or Robin’s name or images. The Dynamic Duo had often given their support to charitable or civic causes. When Batman first appeared on the Gotham City scene, Batman had ignored the situation when someone first began selling T-shirts with the Bat-symbol on them.
It wasn’t long after that, however, that a myriad of products began appearing capitalizing on the Masked Manhunter’s growing reputation. Finally, when a tobacco company came out with a line of Bat-Cigarettes, Batman decided he had to take action.
The Caped Crusader announced that his good friend, Bruce Wayne, had offered the services of the legal department of Wayne Industries to take all steps necessary to insure that any products or services using Batman’s name or image met a certain standard of quality and appropriateness. A small royalty, the size of which depended on the entrepreneur, would be paid to a mutually agreed-upon charity.
The arrangement had worked out well. The name “robin,” however, presented different problems. In addition, it was never Batman’s or Robin’s intention to stifle the spirit of free enterprise among Gotham City’s denizens.
With all this in mind, the business major turned the corner and approached the address listed in the student newspaper. It was clear the establishment was named in his crimefighting persona’s honor. That knowledge did not, though, prepare him for what he was to find.
The Round Robin stretched across two storefronts. In the large picture window was a mannequin, dressed in a reasonably good approximation of the former Boy Wonder’s costume!
Upon entering, Dick’s eyes were immediately drawn to the walls. Prominently displayed above booths were newspaper articles and pictures, highlighting Robin’s exploits. Although there was a large bar, it was obvious that the tavern also served food. In fact, from the number of tables and the chalkboard menu, Dick guessed they featured a rather extensive and elaborate bill of fare.
At this time of day, the place was practically deserted. A young man of approximately Dick’s age sitting at the bar with a bottle of beer was the only customer he could see. Another man in his early twenties was the bartender. Thankfully, unlike some of the wait staff at the Batman Hilton, he was not dressed in costume!
“Hi!” he called cheerfully. “Can I get you anything?”
Dick walked up to the bar. Unlike his mentor, he wasn’t about to order an orange juice. Still . . .
“How about a Pepsi? Or a Coke?”
“Sure.”
The barman filled a glass with semi-crushed ice and poured Dick’s beverage out of a hand-held spigot. He handed it to Dick, saying, “You can settle up when you leave.”
“Thanks.” Even though the building was well air-conditioned, the soda tasted good on the hot day. In addition, it had plenty of syrup. The cola wasn’t watered-down like at so many restaurants.
As he sipped his drink, Dick saw a large, yellow neon arrow that pointed down a dark corridor. “The Hole” glowed in bright green letters.
“What’s back there?” Dick asked.
“Go see for yourself,” the barman offered. Then he added, enigmatically, “. . . if you dare.”
Naturally, Dick’s curiosity was piqued. Carrying his drink with him, he walked down the corridor.
He was surprised how dark it was. He noticed glowing adhesive tape along the floor and then on a wall. The hall took an abrupt left turn . . .
Dick was so shocked by what he saw next, he almost dropped his drink. There in the gloom, standing in front of him, was Batgirl!
Then he realized . . . it wasn’t really Batgirl -- just another mannequin. In the low light, though, this one was very life-like and was even posed in Batgirl’s classic hands-on-hips posture.
More surprises were in store for Dick once he walked past the ersatz Batgirl. The Hole held more booths and tables, but the decor had abruptly changed. Much more dimly lit, this room held more newspaper clippings. These, however, were not just about Batgirl, but also about two other characters also immortalized with life-like statues.
Dick was astonished to come across full-size representations of the original and African-American Catwomen! Both were brandishing their cat-o-nine tails. The topper, though, was a figure, dressed in full red bondage regalia, that was unmistakably meant to be Nora Clavicle!
Two college-age girls sat across from one another in a booth. One was Goth, pale with black make-up, dressed in black with various body-piercings, while the other had blonde, long-flowing hair, sparkling blue eyes and deeply tanned skin. Neither looked up at Dick when he entered, nor when he left.
“Well, what did you think?” the young man on the barstool asked when Dick re-emerged from the corridor. The barkeep had disappeared, presumably to attend to other duties.
“Very . . . unusual,” Dick answered guardedly.
“Care to join me at a table?” the stranger offered.
“Why not?” They sat down at a table for four near the bar, in adjacent seats.
“My name’s Brian,” the man offered, extending his right hand. Brian was good-looking in a rough sort of way, with bright brown eyes and a shock of tousled black hair.
Dick took the offered hand and shook it. “Hi, I’m Dick.”
Brian stopped shaking Dick’s hand and stared at him blankly. “You’re kidding . . . right?”
Puzzled, Dick withdrew his hand and answered, “No . . . well, my name’s really Richard, but all my friends call me Dick.”
“Oh,” Brian said quietly. Then, a little louder, “So, are you a student at GSU?”
“Yep,” Dick answered. “I’m a senior majoring in business. How about you?”
“Junior,” Brian said before he took a swig of beer. “I’ve declared pre-law, but I’m thinking I might change.” There was a pause. “I’ve never seen you in here before.”
“No, this is my first time.”
“Well,” Brian prodded, “how do you like the Round Robin?”
Dick looked around once again at all the clippings recounting his adventures. “I really don’t know what to think,” he said honestly.
“How about Batman and Robin?”
“What about them?” Dick asked, a bit uncomfortably. He took a drink of his soda.
“Do you think they're lovers?”
Dick gagged. It was all he could do to keep from spitting up on the table. “What!?”
“That’s the number one topic of conversation in here when it gets crowded What do you think?”
“Absolutely not!” Dick declared, perhaps a little too certainly.
“Really? That’s interesting.”
The barman returned. “Can I get you fellas something else?”
“No, I’m fine,” Brian said.
Dick looked at his watch. “I’m afraid I’ve got to meet some friends at the Union. I’d better pay for my drink.”
As he did, Brian pulled something out of his shirt pocket. “I guess I’m practicing for when I’m a lawyer. Here’s my card. Feel free to give me a call some time.”
Dick took it without hesitation. Then, realizing it would be impolite not to reciprocate, Dick wrote his college dorm room’s phone number on a napkin. He spent most Sunday through Wednesday nights there, unless he and Batman were hot on a case.
Brian took it gratefully. Then he said earnestly, “It was nice meeting you, Dick. I hope to see you again soon.”
Dick stood up and shook Brian’s hand. “Same here,” he said with a smile.
On the walk to the Student Union, Dick was occupied with thoughts of whether the Wayne Industry lawyers should contact the Round Robin or leave it alone. To be honest, he was flattered by the tribute, but more than a little disconcerted by the inclusion of Catwoman and Nora Clavicle in the back room.
Dick’s roommate Wally West called to him as he entered the student lounge. “Hey, Dick!” the red-head called. “Where’ve you been? We’ve been waiting for you.” Wally was sitting with Susie, Dick’s friend who had gone to high school with him at Woodrow Roosevelt.
Captain of the cheerleading team in high school, Susie had fallen in with the Joker. The Clown Prince of Crime eventually tried to kill his pretty young recruit, but Batman and Robin had managed to save her. Susie had served her sentence and was now attending classes at Gotham State U, as well as working as student manager of the Union.
“Hi, Wally. Hi, Susie,” Dick said as he approached. Wally was draped over a heavily cushioned chair while the off-duty Susie was sitting on the matching couch. “I’ve just been checking out that new place just off campus – the Round Robin.”
“The Round Robin!?” Wally exclaimed. He began laughing uncontrollably.
“Oh, Dick, you are so naive!” Susie complained.
Dick was bewildered. “Why? What do you mean?” He turned to his roommate. “What’s so funny?”
“Grayson, for a smart guy you sure can be pretty dense,” Wally observed. “Don’t you know? Couldn’t you tell?”
“What?” Dick was starting to lose his patience. “What?!”
Wally started to say something, but broke up again. He turned to Susie. “You tell him.”
“Dick,” she explained, “the Round Robin is a gay bar.”
“Oh,” Dick said. “OH!” he repeated as parts of his conversation with Brian replayed in his mind. At first he felt embarrassed, but then Dick got a little annoyed at his roommate. “Well, what of it? They had a very . . . interesting collection of memorabilia . . . and I also met someone who was very nice.”
“Oh, I bet you did!” Wally teased. He then snickered.
“Now you hold it right there, Mr. West,” Dick shot back. “I can be friends with a gay guy without there being anything sexual involved – just like you can be friends with Susie–”
”Just a minute, Dick!” Susie complained.
A sometimes heated typical college discussion about tolerance and alternative lifestyles then ensued. None of them noticed a co-ed sitting across the room, intently studying the former ward of a millionaire.
The 26-year-old woman was short, but pretty -- buxom and shapely. Possessor of a fantastic singing voice, she had just recently enrolled in the music department of GSU. Although her face was that of an angel, there was something of the devil in her eyes.
‘Just you wait, Mr. Richard Grayson,’ she thought. ‘Before this school year is out, I’ll get my claws into you.
‘Then I will have you . . . in more ways than one!’
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