The Matchman“So what makes you think that your niece Azusa would be suitable for employment as my sidekick, Suzanne?” asked Matchman, as he leaned back in his chair behind his desk.
“Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said?” exploded Suzanne Grace, the Chief Astrological Projectionist at VALentine Complex. She was a wiry, still-attractive woman in her early forties with short blonde hair and big glasses. She tended to favor slacks and blouses covered with astrological symbols when it came to her professional attire. She was the mainstay of VALCom’s less technology-oriented methods of keeping one jump ahead of the competition. Time and again her mystical talents had foiled the purely rational plans utilized by Doctor Dejection and his B.L.A.H. Corporation in their ongoing efforts to take over the world -- or, at least, New York City. Right now she was hopping mad. “I’ve been trying to tell you that my niece Azusa is clinically deluded. She wants to try out for the position of your official sidekick, and I’ve been using every ounce of sheer persuasion that I possess to dissuade her from this idiotic goal of hers\! I mean, for one thing, it’s too dangerous for a teenage girl, and for another thing - well, for another thing it’s still too dangerous for a teenage girl\! If her parents were still alive they’d never forgive me\!”
“Well, don’t you think we should at least be fair about this, Suzanne? I mean, after all, I do need a sidekick, and if she has the necessary abilities and can handle the job, it would be convenient to keep everything “in-house,” so to speak. Nothing like a little nepotism to make the world go ‘round,” Matchman said, chuckling inwardly at his co-worker’s discomfiture.
“Oh, for - fine, she’s right outside the door to your office,” Suzanne griped. “If you want to interview her anyway, go right ahead. She’s been on pins and needles all morning.” She waved her hand in a gesture of apparent dismissal.
Matchman called for her, and a moment later the door opened and Azusa Zeitzler walked into the office. She sat down pertly in a chair facing Matchman behind his desk. Matchman leaned forward and steepled his fingers, preparatory to the interview. Suzanne Grace sulked in her seat in the corner of the room, arms folded.
Azusa was a decidedly pretty young girl, just turned eighteen, with shoulder-length blonde hair and blue eyes. Her teeth may have been a touch too prominent in her wide and generous mouth, but otherwise she was teeming with the classic beauty of a “girl next door.” She radiated an aura of freshness and eagerness for good deeds that would have turned any prospective employer’s head instantaneously.
Matchman’s head was not turned. “So, Miss Zeitzler,” he said, “your aunt here tells me that you want to join our VALCom Team.”
“You bet, Matchman\!” Azusa gushed. “I’m just the person you need for your sidekick\! When do I start?”
“Oh, well, first there are a few things we have to -“
“I know\! The costume, right? No problem\! I already had one made up\! I left it in the lounge\! Hold on just one sec\! I’ll be right back\!”
As quick as light Azusa had skipped from her seat and gone bolting out of the office. The sound of her steps receding down the corridor to the employee’s lounge could be heard dimly in the distance.
Matchman turned wryly to Suzanne Grace. “Well, at least we know that she has the power of super speed,” he joked lamely.
Suzanne was more prosaic. “Too bad she doesn’t have the power of rational thought,” she groused. “Why anyone would want to be a super-hero, who didn’t have to be one, beats the heck out of me.”
Azusa was back in no time, beaming smiles in every direction. She was newly dressed in a one-piece bodysuit, white, with red hearts and blue stars on it, and with a red cape and blue boots to top it off. She looked disconcertingly like the front cover of a box of children’s breakfast cereal, but no one said anything, out of politeness.
“Ta-daah\!” she sparkled. “See? I’m all set to go. I’ve even already picked out a name for myself. “Z-Girl\!” Whaddaya think? It’s based partly upon my last initial, and partly on the word “zodiac” because that’s sort of the family profession.” She shot an uneasy glance over towards the corner in which her aunt sat. Her aunt’s reciprocal scowl did nothing to encourage her.
“Well, that’s just fine, Azusa,” said Matchman. “But being the sidekick of a super-hero isn’t really about the pseudonyms and the fancy costumes. The real criterion of being the sidekick of a super-hero is being able to keep up with the pace. After all, if the super-hero in question can, say, fly, or has other unique skills for travel, and his sidekick is forced to take regular commuter traffic, whether in the air or elsewhere - you get the idea, right?”
She nodded her head solemnly, smile gone.
“What I’m trying to say, Azusa, is that super-heroes - and heroines - are born, not made. That is, unless they acquire their powers in some sort of bizarre lab accident, or through some chemical foul-up, or bombardment with cosmic rays - whatever. What I’m trying to say is, do you have any paranormal abilities whatsoever, Azusa? Can you, for instance, fly? Under your own power?”
Suzanne Grace’s snicker from the corner was audible.
Azusa turned her head and looked from one member of her small audience to the other. Then she leapt out of her seat and ran straight for the inch-thick plate safety glass that formed one of the many windows of Matchman’s corner office. She cannonballed through it as though it had been made of spun sugar, like the stunt glass that they use in movies. She smashed through it head-first without suffering a single wound or mark on her body. And once she was in the freedom of the open air, she described a series of concentric circles. She swooped in a holding pattern, laughing her young head off.
“Does this answer your question?” she shouted gleefully at her two amazed interviewers.
Suzanne Grace’s jaw gaped open for a long minute. “Where the devil did she learn how to do that?” she mused wonderingly to herself.
Matchman laughed out loud. “Suzanne, you’d better cancel the rest of the interviews. I think we’ve found our ideal candidate for the position.” He called out the window to Azusa. “O.K.\! You’ve proved your point\! Now get back in here before somebody sees you\!”
Azusa flew back into the office and alighted gracefully on the floor once more. “Sorry about the glass on your carpet,” she said.
“That’s all right,” Matchman said. “So. If you want the job - it’s yours.”
“I’ve been waiting for this my entire life,” she breathed softly.
“Then welcome to the VALCom Team… Z-Girl,” Matchman said. He put his arm around her, gently, by way of congratulations.