Marvel: A Lazy-Ass Superman Chapter 854: A Return Visit to Oak Spring

Katherine Hepburn nowadays was nothing like the young, popular actresses who could collaborate with fashion designers or wear bespoke haute couture gowns from famous luxury brands.

But she had her own sense of style, and at nearly a hundred years old, she’d long since moved beyond ordinary people’s standards of taste. What mattered most was being comfortable and happy with what she wore. Why should she care what anyone else thought? The fact that she hadn’t gone running around naked with a sack over her head was already a considerable courtesy to everyone else.

Even when dealing with old money, a crowd that wouldn’t give an actress like her the time of day, Katherine Hepburn wasn’t some little girl who would burst into tears and fall apart after hearing a few spiteful remarks.

Back when she was young, if someone had treated her that way, she’d simply have punched them in return rather than let herself suffer in silence. Just ask how Howard Stark ended up with a broken nose.

So, when taking this formidable old lady, whose resistance to magic and supernatural attacks was practically off the charts, Henry only worried about whether Katherine Hepburn might end up bullying someone else. Her reputation in certain circles hadn’t exactly been pleasant when she was younger.

For his own outfit at the reception, Henry chose the handmade suit he’d worn when accompanying Gwen Stacy to her graduation dance. This time, he didn’t pull out any of his beard hairs. Instead, he carefully groomed his fake beard before heading out.

Oak Spring Farm was in Virginia. With Katherine Hepburn accompanying him, driving all the way from New York was hardly an ideal way to travel. Without a second thought, the old lady and the young man headed straight to the airport and boarded a plane.

There were many reasons why North America still wouldn’t have a single high-speed railway line twenty or thirty years from now.

But the most fundamental reason was simple: the aviation industry in North America was far too well developed. With so many aircraft being manufactured and so many people flying, the costs were extremely low when spread across the industry. Even ten or twenty years later, the skies over this region would remain the busiest in the world.

In such a unique commercial environment, plane tickets were cheap and flights frequent. Building high-speed railways that could carry passengers but not freight was simply "unprofitable." And once those four words entered the picture, no businessman would willingly invest money in such a financial sinkhole.

North America’s highly developed aviation industry also meant that journeys like this, when booked in advance, could be arranged in considerable comfort as long as the money was there.

And that wasn’t even the whole story. Once Henry replied that he would attend the reception, the Mellon family stepped in directly to arrange the trip for him and Katherine Hepburn. They weren’t traveling on a private jet, but every kind of VIP service was provided.

It almost felt as though the family thought he wasn’t capable of arranging these things himself.

But... when a top-tier old-money family got involved, the treatment was so good that no amount of money could normally buy it. Henry had to admit it: this was the good stuff. No wonder so many people spent their lives scrambling for power.

Since it was a domestic flight, there was no need for customs officers to board the plane and stamp anyone’s documents.

Yet in the United States, where airport security had become extremely strict after 9/11, Henry and the old lady were escorted straight onto the plane without going through a single security check. They were treated as though nobody would bat an eye even if they’d brought along every item on the prohibited-items list.

Although the flight was short, they’d been assigned a plane with first-class seating. When they arrived at the airport, the car waiting to collect them was a 2003 Rolls-Royce Phantom, a model that had only just been unveiled and released that year.

The service was so attentive that, while they were in the car, the old lady quietly asked Henry, "Have you hooked up with one of their young ladies? How come I never knew guests of the Mellon family got treated this well? Or am I still embarrassingly ignorant, even at my age?"

Perhaps ignorance really was bliss. Henry himself felt that his knowledge of the world was just as limited, leaving him unable to judge whether the Mellon family’s treatment of him reflected genuine importance or merely ordinary hospitality. Should he feel apprehensive, or simply take it in stride?

Ever wondered why luxury brands advertise so aggressively to people who can’t afford their products? It’s so that when wealthy people go out wearing them, everyone recognizes just how prestigious those items are.

Imagine stepping out wearing a million-dollar watch, only for some little kid to tell you it’s inferior to the cartoon Casio on their own wrist. Wouldn’t that shatter your confidence? The wealthy owner might even feel like throwing the expensive watch into the nearest body of water on the spot.

Henry was in much the same situation. He had a watch on his wrist, but no idea whether it was valuable or cheap. The Mellon family was treating him with impeccable courtesy, but he couldn’t figure out what lay behind that courtesy, or whether their intentions were good or bad.

It was a peculiar feeling, having plenty of strength but no idea where to direct it.

The drive from Washington Dulles International Airport to Oak Spring Farm took about an hour. Thankfully, there was no absurd spectacle of traffic being stopped and roads cleared for their arrival. They simply drove along like ordinary people, except that the car they were riding in was anything but ordinary.

Katherine Hepburn certainly lived up to her reputation as someone who had weathered countless storms. Unlike a young girl, she wasn’t sitting there nervously worrying that she might be sold off to some shady outfit.

Frankly, at her age, even if someone wanted to harvest her kidneys and sell them, she wouldn’t be the first choice. So the old lady could sit back comfortably and enjoy the scenery of Virginia.

Henry was even less worried. In this world, nothing capable of hurting a Kryptonian... nothing capable of physically injuring one, at least, had appeared yet. At worst, something might disrupt his peaceful life.

Instead, he watched the road they’d traveled ten years earlier. Back then, it had been winter, and the scenery had been considerably more bleak. Now, in late spring with summer approaching, everything along the way was brimming with life.

Was this also a metaphor for the people around him? Henry couldn’t help wondering.

Although Oak Spring Farm had lost its master of the house, its mistress remained, and the estate was still being meticulously maintained. Just as Henry had suspected, the scenery had changed considerably since his visit ten years earlier. Even the gardens along the driveway had been transformed.

The grounds here also differed from those of European aristocratic castles. There were no towering trees everywhere, trimmed into neat shapes to serve as natural hedges.

Mrs. Rachel Lambert Mellon loved flowers and plants rather than those tall trees. Perhaps it was because flowers and smaller plants had shorter growing cycles, whereas trees required cultivation measured in decades.

The saying "It takes ten years to grow a tree and a hundred to nurture a person" wasn’t only applicable to raising talented individuals. Even taken literally, it made perfect sense.

Of course, a garden consisting entirely of flowers and plants, all planted directly in the ground at the same level, could look rather monotonous.

Mrs. Mellon had solved this problem by installing stands at different heights and using potted plants to create layers. She also had trellises that allowed climbing plants to wind their way upward.

With these different levels, the garden acquired a striking three-dimensional quality.

Although many flowers had already faded by the end of spring, the garden’s final flourish of the season still displayed a vivid array of colors. And tucked among the flowers and foliage were exhibits of exceptional distinction.

When they arrived at the main building, it was still just as it had been ten years earlier: extravagantly sprawling across a vast area despite having only a single story.

Waiting at the entrance to welcome them was the seventy-six-year-old Hubert de Givenchy.

He, too, looked vigorous and full of energy, as though he were growing younger with every passing year.

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