Episode 19: Charity Begins At Home
"Episode 19"
by Sandy McDermin
edited by Laurie
{{text within brackets denotes super hearing}}
THUD!
The newspaper hit the front door and bounced to the stoop
of the fashionable, old town house at 348 Hyperion Avenue, still
in shadow and slightly chilled from the previous night's gentle
cooling. The delivery boy had already cycled halfway down the
block before the force of the impact unravelled the paper's
folds....
NEW CEO NAMED TO HEAD SUPERMAN FOUNDATION
The words jumped from the lead, left-hand column of the
Daily Planet, pushing aside all other news by virtue of position
if not topic.
by Clark Kent
Daily Planet Staff Writer
METROPOLIS, June 10 -- At a press conference held
late today, the Board of Directors of the Superman
Foundation announced that Marigold Smythe, formerly of New
York's Burnston-Hughes Securities, has been tapped to head
the Metropolis-based philanthropic organization's daily
operations. The Superman Foundation, a charity established
by the Super Hero to distribute donations as well as the
proceeds of sales of Superman merchandise, benefits worthy
projects and causes with grants and contributions amounting
to $4.2 million, in fiscal year 1997....
******
"So, Lois, what do you think?" Clark asked his wife.
Cereal bowl in hand, he leaned over her shoulder and briefly
glanced at the article she was perusing before sitting down
beside her.
"Slow news day?" she answered, picking up her morning juice.
She stared down at the vitamins arrayed before her on their
kitchen table, thinking that, until "junior" was born, she was
going to be the healthiest woman alive. After that, watch out
world!
"Loi-s-s."
She took up the paper again, glancing below the fold while
spreading it out across the tabletop. "Oh! Now, here's some
news.... 'economists estimate that it takes over $1.2 million to
raise a child in today's dollars'," Lois read.
"I thought it took a village to raise a child," Clark
quipped between spoonfuls of cereal.
"Actually ... it takes their collective bank accounts," she
bandied back.
Clark reached across and pointed to the lead story at the
top of the page. "This, Lois. What about *this* story?"
"We-l-l, Clark, when *Superman* set up this Foundation, we
promised ourselves we would stay out of it. Remember? What
possible interest could Lois Lane and Clark Kent have in its
management? *Unless*.... Ah, Clark ... Superman's not planning
on bilking the public now, is he? If so, I want first dibs on
the story."
Clark cocked an eyebrow at his wife, as she dug into her
breakfast with a self-satisfied smirk. "Nice change of subject,"
he observed, "however, I'm still detecting a little hesitancy
*and* a little censure. You're not happy with the Board's
selection nor *my* involvement in it, are you?"
"How could I find fault with it?" Lois asked, peering down
at the color photograph accompanying the article. Beaming
proudly, Superman was shaking hands with an attractive woman,
fashionably attired in a tailored business suit. "Marigold Smythe
is a Wall Street Wizard, a smart money manager, and a
rising star at one of the top trading firms in New York....
She's also a tall, leggy, curvaceous, redhead with a tiny, *tiny*
waist."
Clark tried to hold back a smile at the obvious comparison
between his wife's words and the expanding bulge she had neatly
tucked in a maternity pantsuit. "But," he prompted.
Lois glanced up in question.
"I heard a 'but' there."
"But nothing!" she insisted, a spoon sweeping the air in
emphasis. "It's just that ... I don't know.... Don't you find
it *odd* that the high-flying Marigold Smythe should suddenly be
willing and eager to take the reins of a much less dynamic
organization than she's used to?"
"No, I don't -- frankly. Lois, she explained her reasons
to the Board. Marigold wanted to get away from the rat-race --
from money-making for its own sake. Start doing something more
worthwhile with her talents. I admire her for wanting to give
something back. Besides, she said she'd been looking for
an opportunity to settle in Metropolis for quite some time.
That's why she looked me up and asked if I would speak to
Superman."
"And, why would *that* be? Why does she want to be *here*
all of a sudden? I thought she was born and raised in New York!"
"Ah-h-h, so that's it," Clark answered, thinking he had
finally stumbled upon what was really bothering his wife. "Honey
... Marigold and I were college friends. That's all. When she
won a scholarship to Midwest State, she was like a fish out of
water, a street-smart kid in the middle of nowheresville," he
said, remembering Marigold's long-ago words and how much they now
reminded him of another woman who had come into his life....
"Anyway, I kind of identified with her not fitting in," Clark
added with a shrug.
"So, Clark Kent -- serial do-gooder -- took her under his
wing."
"I wouldn't put it that way."
"I would. I've seen the pictures, Clark. When your
mother and father thought they might sell the farm, Martha began
clearing out the attic. Last Christmas, she showed me *all* the
photo albums she dug out."
Clark rolled his eyes in response. "Lois, Marigold was a
big girl then, and she's a big girl now. Smart too. Beyond
introductions, she doesn't need anyone's help. I don't think I
did a disservice to Superman *or to the Board* in suggesting that
they consider Marigold for the job. I think she's going to
be an asset."
Lois gave a slight snort. Although she knew Clark had
been faithful to her even before he was aware that there was a
her, she also was pretty sure that he had had some romantic
experiences before she came along, and she couldn't help but feel
that this woman was one of them.
"We were just friends," Clark repeated, as if he could
read her mind.
"I know what friends are, Clark. I've had a few," she
quickly replied, a little annoyed that he had picked up on her
insecurities so readily.
"Yes, I know. I've met *your* friends," he teased,
smiling at her to underscore his playful meaning. She wasn't
going to be so easily assuaged, however.
"I don't think I like how you put that," Lois retorted.
She swiftly laid down the newspaper in challenge. "What about my
high school reunion?! Those people were normal ... at least, the
ones that *weren't* trying to shrink the rest of us into living,
breathing Barbie dol--"
The phone rang, daring to interrupt where Clark would not.
'Saved by the bell!' a relieved Lois thought, waving her
husband back to his seat. She was so happy to be out of her
no-win debate, she forgot to make her usual comment about early
morning phone calls being unwelcome irritants.
"*Hel*lo," Lois managed to chirp in a singsong voice.
"Oh, hi!" Lois mouthed the words "your mom" to Clark before
returning her attention to her mother-in-law. "Fine, fine. We're
fine. All three of us," she answered, patting her tummy. "If you
want to speak to Clark, he's right he- Oh. Okay...."
Silence followed Lois' assurances. Clark looked over
curiously, wondering if everything was all right with his parents
and whether he dared tempt "the Lois wrath" by allowing his
super hearing to just-so-happen to kick-in a little.
"Baby shower!? Nope. No one.... No, not at work. I
haven't heard a thing. I--"
Another silence followed as if Lois' last statement called
for a moment of intense listening. "Oh!... Martha, I can't let
you do that! But, from Kansas! I don't think that you need--
Well, no, I wouldn't *mind*.... No, I'd love-- All right.
That's ... that's great ... just great."
As she hung up the phone, Clark's eyes were riveted to his
wife. If she hadn't have indicated otherwise, he would've sworn
that Lois had just finished speaking to her own mother rather
than to his. The choppy responses and pained facial expressions
had always tipped him off in the past to one of Ellen Lane's
phone calls.
"What's the matter?" he asked, trying to sound casual.
Lois' lower lip trembled at his question. Her eyes
growing misty, she walked slowly towards him.
"Honey? What's the matter? What did my mother say?" he
asked again, a little more anxiously. Her mood hadn't changed
this swiftly since her run-in with an estrogen-enhanced,
mind-bending drug.
"You're right," she answered softly, reassuring Clark that
his wife *wasn't* suffering from any anger-laden mood swings
artificially induced by crazed maniacs or mad scientists.
"Whew! My mom called to say *that*?! Talk about a mother's
intuition!" Clark reached out for his wife, pulling her down onto
his lap in an embrace which encompassed his family. "This is
definitely *not* a slow news day," he whispered into her ear.
"Imagine, Lois Lane admitting her husband is right about
something.... Stop the presses."
Despite the promise of a good wallow in a deep funk, Lois
gave a reluctant smile. "I don't have any friends," she said at
last, "at least none who aren't back stabbing harpies or insane
or--"
"Whatta ya talking about? Is *that* what I'm suppose to
be right about? Lois, I was joking!" Clark said as he began to
count on his fingers, praying he'd get passed one hand. "There's
Perry," he said, with a jiggle of his knee. "There's Jimmy....
*There's me*."
"None of you are women."
"That's very true, although Jimmy in a burgundy dress
might be considered fetching by some...."
Lois grimaced. The memory of their young co-worker
foolishly attired in her finely-knit frock still pained her.
'Neither of us will ever be in quite the same shape,' she
thought, rubbing her abdomen and thinking regretfully of one of
her favorite outfits -- a dress she could never quite get herself
to wear again. "Your mother wanted to know if any of 'my
friends' were throwing a baby shower for me. When I said no,
*she* offered to plan one," Lois finally explained with a deep
sigh.
"That's it? Is *that* all? Well, that's wonderful, isn't
it?"
"Clark! She's in Kansas! Do you know what that means?"
He thought for a moment, wondering if there was a correct
answer. "No?"
"*It means* that there is no woman, east of the
Mississippi, who likes your wife well enough to throw her a baby
shower," Lois answered, almost accusedly, as if her popularity,
or lack thereof, was somehow *his* fault.
"That's ridiculous! Sweetheart! What about *your*
mother? She loves you, and she's right here in Metropolis."
Abruptly, his chair swiveled with the full force of Lois'
body pushing away from his.
'Uh oh,' Clark thought, 'I have a feeling that wasn't the
correct answer.'
******
"I've done it!" the woman exclaimed, twirling in her
high-back, cushioned executive chair and canvassing her new
office with a gleeful eye. It wasn't quite up to her previous
standards. In fact, the movers had had quite a hard time getting
the beautiful, antique, oak desk she had brought with her through
the office door. 'But, what the hell!' she thought. 'It's better
than an 8' by 10' cell!'
With a THWACK, the spinning suddenly stopped.
"You mean the boss has done it," a low masculine voice
sounded. The body connected to it leaned in, each of his hands
holding the arm rests steady. There was no escaping his stare
which fastened her to her seat like a straight pin. In fact, she
felt a little bit like one of those insects boys collected and
mounted: mercifully, the ones off of which they *didn't* pull
the wings.
"Yeah, I know. I know. But, my contribution wasn't exactly
insignificant," Marigold replied with her own steely coldness.
She got up, forcing him backward. "If I hadn't been such an old
friend of Clark Kent's--"
"That was the easy part," he interrupted, although she
doubted that he believed it. He lit up a cigarette and gazed
intently at the red-headed women through a veil of blue-gray
smoke. "Now comes the part where you *really* earn your
nickel.... There's a project the boss has had his eye on -- the
renovation of the warehouse district down by Hobbs Bay."
"Yes ... the Kingston Venture," she responded, remembering
the plans, the spreadsheets, the delivery schedules, the
timetables -- all laid out for her careful inspection. "That's
one of the Foundation's top priorities. Before I was offered the
position, Superman took me on the grand tour. He seemed
particularly proud of the work they were doing on the new
community center and day care facilities. His Foundation is
really committed to seeing the Hobbs Bay/Kingston neighborhood
improve."
"That's right. Well, he's not the only one who's been ...
*interested* in it. In fact, *we* believe we can supply the
Kingston project with whatever material it needs at a *much*
lower cost than it's currently running," he said.
"Really.... Aren't you a little late to be lobbying for
business? The contracts have already been signed, subcontractors
have been hired, the work has started. The day care center,
itself, is well on its way to being completed." She looked up at
him with a sardonic lift to her brow, but it was lost to him. All
she could see were his dark good looks in profile, staring out of
the large windows which wrapped the corner office, lost in the
multifarious mix of sights and muted sounds that was Metropolis.
"Why am I questioning this?" she muttered. She squared her
shoulders. "So, what do I have to do?"
"Simple. You're to accept the supplies that are currently
in the pipeline and resell them. *We'll* provide whatever
additional material is needed."
She frowned, not immediately seeing how anyone could
benefit from such an elaborate shell game. He looked
disappointed. Perhaps he was wondering whether an MBA was
nothing more than a designer suit with a fancy salary.
"You understand?" he said, in emphasis. "We'll provide
all the building materials needed, but *at the original
estimate.*"
"Ah-h-h. And, I assume the difference between the actual
cost to ... your boss and the quotes originally received by the
Superman Foundation shall be pocketed at a substantial profit,"
she said, wanting to prove that her recent fall from grace hadn't
quite dulled *all* her wits.
"Yes. Plus, whatever monies we make on the resale of the
material the project's already received."
"But, what about the foremen on the site?... Somebody
there is bound to catch on."
"We've taken care of them."
"You have? Well, if that's the case, why do you need me?"
"We're no longer interested in just being a nuisance
factor, Ms. Smythe. The boss wants control. You'll give us
control -- not only of the Kingston Venture, but of the Superman
Foundation, itself. It's not high finance, but it's not chopped
liver either."
She nodded her head slowly, before looking up to catch his
eyes wandering over her curves. Clearing her throat, Marigold
drew his attention back to the fact that she was more than just a
well-endowed body in an Armani suit. "The boss ... hmmm. Harry
-- may I call you Harry?" At the lack of an objection, she
continued. "You're not holding back on me, are you? *You're*
not this mysterious boss?"
He gave a half smile. "No, I'm not the person who saved
you from three years in a country club prison."
Her own smile faded just as swiftly as she had pasted it
on. The recent memory of her confrontation with the Board at
Burnston-Hughes Securities played across her mind -- the threat
of charges being pressed, the promise of professional disgrace,
the demands for reimbursement. She swallowed the lump settling
in her throat. Bucking herself up into the strong woman she had
long since become, she asked the one question left which still
rang alarm bells.
"What about Superman?"
"What about him?"
"He went into great depth with me regarding the Kingston
project. I think he's going to be very hands-on," she said, not
finding the thought to be particularly unpleasant. And then, her
mind drifted. She wondered if the Superman Foundation held
"company" picnics and executive retreats, perhaps up in the
remote mountains of New Troy. 'All very hands-on.... Nice,
strong hands with long fingers. And, *those eyes*! With those
eyes, you never really noticed the form-fitting,
muscle-accentuating, tush-molding tights caressed by the flowing
cape. No. Never. Not at all. Rather, it was his eyes which
grabbed your attention. They were so friendly and warm, so ...
familiar somehow.'
"You needn't concern yourself with him," Harry's voice
intruded. "He should be otherwise occupied."
"Occupied? You're not going to hurt him, are you?"
He laughed. "Hurt Superman! How could we do that? In
actual fact, Ms. Smythe, no one has any idea how our plans will
effect him. That's what makes this whole thing interesting.
It's literally a crapshoot -- in more ways than one."
"Hmm." Marigold hadn't a clue to what he was referring,
but she wasn't going to admit ignorance again. "A crapshoot,
huh," she said, relaxing behind her desk. "Well, just as long as
I don't get sprayed in the cross fire."
******
"Alice and Penny!" he blurted out.
"What?" Lois shook herself out of her daydream and glanced
quickly around the Daily Planet elevator.... Nope, they were
still riding it alone. "Clark, most people usually don't get on
elevators *between* floors."
"No," he said in mild exasperation. "Alice and Penny are
your friends. I'm sure they're planning something."
"Oh ... the baby shower. I'm over that Clark," Lois said.
She sounded anything but. In fact, she had been grouchy from the
moment they had left the house, taking her temper out on
whichever unsuspecting motorist happened to be in their path.
Clark briefly closed his eyes in remembered pain. The vision
of Lois' jeep almost rear-ending another car flashed before him.
'How could she not see it?' he asked himself. 'It clearly had the
words, "Metropolis PD," stenciled across the trunk, not to
mention a big red light sitting on the hood.' He sighed, reliving
the argument which had led to him taking the wheel *after* the
police officer had so kindly issued the griping, peevish,
pregnant lady a ticket.
"Well, I *could* ask Alice if--"
"Clark ... no! You'll sound like a mother begging the
other kids to play with her poor, unpopular offspring."
"Okay. Okay."
The doors sprung open at the sound of the ding, revealing
an awakening giant -- the city room of The Planet. It rolled
over from night shift to day, stretching and grumbling.
"Lois! Clark! Staff meeting at 9:00," Jimmy yelled out
to them.
"Lois," Claudia groused, as she passed them by and hauled
herself onto the now vacant elevator, "pour your decaf into
someone else's fern today, will ya! You're killin' mine."
"Yo, Kent! Marigold Smythe called," Ralph said, bouncing
up the ramp with a wink and a leer. "Just confirming lunch," he
read aloud before the pink, "while-you-were-out" slip was
unceremoniously jerked from his hand. "Now, don't get any
ideas.... I'm not making a habit of picking up your phone
messages."
"That's good to know," Clark deadpanned.
"Lunch?" He heard his wife ask, her tone tinged with
innocence.
"*Lois,* we're just going to do a little catching up."
Quickly looking from one Kent to the other, Ralph let out
a low whistle and began to slink backward.
"*Clark,* haven't you been rehashing enough old memories
over the past two weeks, besides--"
"Honey." Clark quickly checked around them to ensure that
"their colleague" had, indeed, crawled back under his rock and
that no one else had come by to take his place. "That was time
spent with Superman," he whispered, "not me."
"Well, you -- *not Superman* -- and I -- *not Marigold
Smythe* -- have to go over to the hospital and get all the
information for the next round of childbirth classes."
"During lunch?"
"Ah-h ... *yes,* that's what we decided," Lois answered,
raising her eyebrows in emphasis.
Clark frowned, clearly remembering "the plan" differently,
but he wasn't about to argue the matter. "I tell you what. Why
don't *you* come to lunch with Marigold and me, and then,
afterwards, we'll go and choose which classes we want to take."
For the first time that day, Lois looked like the cat who
had swallowed the canary. "All right, if that's what you want,"
she purred.
Clark tried to hold back his own half smile, knowing that
no matter how he felt about it, attending this lunch with him was
definitely what *she* wanted. In any case, it certainly didn't
bother him, and, if it reassured Lois and put her in a happier
frame of mind, he was more than willing to include her. He had
only thought that reminisces about life at Midwest State might be
a bore for--
"Lois! Clark! Are you planning on joining us today, or
are you just sightseeing!?"
"We're coming, Chief!" Clark called back. He took Lois'
hand, already reaching out for his. Frankly, he wished they
*were* sightseeing, perhaps on a tropical island where he could
forget this whole cockeyed morning.
******
As the Planet reporting staff gathered for its daily
debriefing, the yellow sun arced further into the sky, peering
sideways at them through large, slightly dusty windows. At the
same time, discriminating against no one, the sun's rays shot
across the veneer of other office buildings in Metropolis,
pouring a golden shaft of light into each.
A dark man advanced into the speckled warmth, walking
towards a huge mahogany desk with a confidence few people, under
similar circumstances, would have been able to summon.
"Have you given her her instructions?" a cultured voice
smoothly intoned, as if he were simply asking the time of day
rather than whether his plans to thwart Superman, and, in the
process, go one-up against his newest arch-rival, were proceeding
apace.
"Yes, everything is in hand.... Do we have the
kryptonite?"
"Yes, Harry. Thank you. It was exactly where you said it
would be. You've been invaluable," Lex answered
Harry's eyes narrowed. 'Been invaluable?' Lex Luthor's
verb tenses were always carefully chosen. There were very few
slips of the tongue. And yet, Harry saw no noticeable change in
the man. Luthor fluttered not an eyelid. His face remained
impassive. Even his cigar ash stayed precariously balanced on
the tip of his Fuente, daring to be flicked. Harry tried to
shrug off his uneasiness, but it still hovered about him. 'As it
should,' he thought. 'After all, when you crawl into a jar with
two circling scorpions, you don't let your guard down.'
"Mr. Luthor, as long as we have the kryptonite, why bother
with the Superman Foundation?"
"Harry," Lex responded after a pause, "the idea is not just
to defeat one's enemy but to defeat him soundly -- with style,
panache, and in a way which most matters to him. Frankly, I have
discovered something very important."
The other man closed in to catch the nugget Lex Luthor was
offering.
"Superman is not just a very capable nemesis, he is an idea,
a belief, a hope.... That is his greatest strength, *and* that
is where his greatest weakness lies. As such, we have to attack
the myth as well as the man."
Harry's brows lifted at Luthor's flamboyant explanation. He
never guessed, when he had decided to go to Luthor with
information about Mindy Church's recent, unearthly discovery in
the bowels of Cost Mart, that he had also enlisted in an "epic
struggle between good and evil".
"When do we begin?" Harry asked, a dash of mockery escaping
him.
Lex chose to ignore it.
"Immediately. Now that we've ensured Ms. Smythe's
cooperation, the only thing remaining is to see that there is
nothing -- or should I say no one -- standing in her way.... Ah,
Mr. Van Horton, come in."
Harry quickly made a half turn. He hadn't heard a sound
behind him and yet here was someone who had seemed to materialize
out of thin air -- a small, wiry man with salt and pepper hair
and a handlebar mustache. To Harry's eyes, a human ferret. The
man moved forward on the balls of his feet, gingerly carrying a
miniature chest in front of him like a nervous ring bearer.
Something about the guy seemed very familiar. 'Van Horton ...
Van Horton, I've heard that name ... somewhere.'
"Gentlemen, we worked very hard to liberate this little gem.
Let's take a look at it, shall we?" Lex waved towards Harry,
still wrapped in his own thoughts.
The trio -- three unlikely conspirators -- drew together as
Van Horton placed the chest on Lex's large desk. "Maybe we
should have a tympani," Lex joked as he stood up. Placing his
cigar between his teeth, he dramatically snapped his wrists in
the air in a gesture reminiscent of an orchestra conductor just
before the downbeat. With that bit of flourish, he leaned over,
unlocked the clasp and slowly lifted the lid. All at once, a red
glow bathed them, seeming greater than the sun beaming in on them
in an odd, intergalactic competition.
"Magnifico! Like uncut corundum!" Lex pronounced, as they
stared down at the small slab of red rock. "Here, before us, is
a stone more precious than the Hope Diamond, the Star of Asia,
the Rosser Reeves Star Ruby, itself." He looked up, cocking his
brow sardonically....
"It's amazing what one can pick up wholesale."
******
"Check!"
The waitress, rushing by on the way to the kitchen, stopped
to scribble down the "bad news" and plopped it right in front of
the only male at the table -- Clark Kent.
"Oh, I'll take that," Marigold said, reaching out for the
bill.
"No, no, Marigold. You've just moved into town. I'll get
this."
"Yes, Clark, I just moved to Metropolis ... into a terrific
job -- thanks to *your* recommendation. It's *my* treat."
"Marigold! Exactly! You're new in town. It's *my*
treat."
"Clark...."
"Alright, already!" Lois snapped, slapping her hand down
over the check. "*I'll* pay for it," she followed, more sweetly.
Opening her purse in a no-more-nonsense manner, she pulled out
her credit card. After figuring the tip, she sat back, massaging
her abdomen and relaxing into the booth. "So, Marigold ... I
hear tell that Clark, here, rescued you from the big, bad natives
of the American heartland."
"Well, I wouldn't say that exactly," Marigold responded,
moving to affectionately pat Clark's hand. "In truth, he rescued
me from myself."
"Really!" Lois snorted and then tried to appear as earnest
as possible to cover-up.
"*Marigold*, that's not how I would--" Clark began, before
feeling another hand reach out to touch him. He froze and his
eyes widened. Quickly, Clark looked down, staring intently
through the tabletop with little care as to how odd his actions
might appear. Slim fingers with shell pink nails, and -- he was
relieved to find -- a familiar wedding ring were squeezing his
thigh. Clark sighed, putting his own hand over the adventurous
one that was causing tingles in places he tried to ignore....
'Whose stupid idea was it to have lunch with an old ... *friend*
and a wife!' he thought for the hundredth time that hour.
"I don't mean to sound so melodramatic," Marigold continued
with a coy smile, "but I grew up on the mean streets of New York
and dragged myself out of the gutter through a combination of
stubbornness and smarts. Midwest State University was like
another world to me, and, I must admit, I both resented the
people I found there *and* the life they lived. At the root of
it, I suppose, was a certain amount of jealousy." Marigold's
eyes, which had been primarily focused on Clark swept over Lois.
"You see, most of the people I met there had something I wanted."
Lois raised a brow, fancying that she could guess just what
that something might be ... *or who*. "Such as," she innocently
prompted.
"*Oh*, stable families, a sense of community, a safety net
of love and caring."
"Marigold, you would never have become the dynamic,
successful person you have without the obstacles you faced
growing up. Adversity isn't *all* bad," Clark reminded her.
"Yes ... I know that now, but it took *you* to drum it into
me all those years ago. By the time we graduated, I was like a
new woman."
'A new woman,' Lois thought. She glanced over Marigold's
polished persona, her expensive clothes, her well-coiffed auburn
hair. 'Hmm ... new. I'm sure she's been dyed and resurrected --
many times,' Lois couldn't help but muse, and then kicked herself
for her less than charitable thoughts. She hated to think she
was having these feelings strictly based on the fact that
Marigold had shared a past with Clark -- a past he clearly
valued. Still, there was something about the woman that set Lois
on edge, and Clark was such a trusting soul, especially in the
face of a person he considered an old friend.
'Well,' Lois thought, as she watched Marigold flutter her
eyelashes at Clark, 'the big galoot needs *someone* to protect
him!'
{{Help!... Superman, Help!}}
Clark looked around anxiously. No matter how often he
heard the words, a rush of adrenaline pulsed through him each
time, almost causing paralysis as his thoughts and movements
stumbled over one another, each trying to act first. Desperately,
he shot a glance at Lois who immediately picked up on her
husband's meaning.
"Uh ... Clark," she quickly said, pointing to her watch and
wondering why they didn't just sit down and make up a list of
'adequate-excuses-to-use-in-order-to-run-off-and-be-a-super
-hero.'
"Aren't you going to miss that ... that meeting if you
don't get moving?"
"Meeting! Yeah!... Marigold, I'm sorry," he said, as she
returned his imploring look with surprise. "I'll phone you
later. Lois and I would love to have you over for dinner.
Right, Lois?"
{{Superman! Help!}}
Out the revolving doors Clark ran, and, within seconds,
Superman streaked up into the sky.
"Right," Lois responded, in a weak, knee-jerk fashion.
Her lack of enthusiasm barely registered, however. Taken
aback by Clark's rapid departure, Marigold's attention was fully
focused on the restaurant doors, spinning and spinning, left to
propel nothing but the warm breeze.
"O-o-o-h!" Lois suddenly jumped, touching her abdomen and
drawing Marigold's eyes back to her unlikely companion.
"Is anything the matter?"
"No.... no," she quickly reassured with a laugh. "I just
think that junior might be wanting to fly off as well ... so to
speak."
Lois smiled as artlessly as possible.
*****
SWOOSH!
With explosive force, like the entrance of a great predator
bird swooping in on its prey, a blue-suited figure with red
plumage landed. It peered about, trying to spot the armed
assailant depriving innocent citizens of their property or
person; the injured passengers trapped amidst the angry, jagged
metal of a mangled vehicle; the collapsed work site, like a huge,
lumbering animal, still alive and emitting groans and pleas from
within....
There was nothing.
Nothing but a curious little man, who, despite the
unusually warm June day, was dressed in a brown tweed jacket. To
Clark, strangely enough, he bore a slight resemblance to a
marmoset, twitching his nose impatiently as he stood next to a
bank of vending machines stationed outside a convenience store.
Quickly, attracted by Superman's arrival, a small crowd began to
gather, obviously hoping for a morsel of excitement to parcel out
at the dinner table that evening.
"Superman!... Finally," the marmoset said in exasperation
before purposefully reaching out to clasp the Super Hero's hand
in a firm shake.
"What ... uh." Superman tried to mask his puzzled look.
Pulling back, he crossed his arms defensively. "What seems to be
the problem here?"
"Superman, I put 60 cents into that ... *that
contraption*." The man gestured toward a soda machine with
contempt. "I pushed that button, there." He leaned forward,
offering a re-enactment of the crime. "*And then*, what do
you think happened? Not one measly item deigned to come out.
Zilch! Nada!" he ended, indignantly.
Clark blinked behind the Superman facade. "You called for
my help, because you couldn't get a ... a beverage out of a
vending machine?"
"*Well!*... I don't see how the nature of my distress
should matter one way or the other!" he replied, huffily. "For
two years, I've been patronizing this poor excuse for a
convenience with minimal satisfaction. I cannot tolerate its
inconsistent performance *any* longer."
Clark blinked again and leaned forward to examine the
machine himself. "Okay.... *Well,* the address and phone number
of the company that owns it is displayed right here on the
front."
"Ah-h, that's a crock of bull, Superman!" someone from the
gathering crowd yelled out.
"Yeah! The guy'll be lucky to get a sympathy kiss-off, let
alone a refund," a second person offered.
"Be a nice Superman, and shake the machine for the
gentleman," an old lady suggested.
The last comment caught the Super Hero's attention. He
looked over into the woman's unwavering, clear blue eyes.
Although he had no reason to doubt the little man's veracity --
and it certainly was a minor enough sin if the guy was lying --
still, knocking a soda can out of a machine by brute force
wasn't exactly something he wanted to encourage. And yet....
"You said you were here on Earth to help," a bystander
reminded him.
"*Yes*, Superman -- exactly. I just need your help getting
what I paid for from this infernal machine. I'm only asking for
what I deserve," the marmoset-like man added, as he reached out
and caressed the Super Hero's arm, entreating him.
Clark shook his head, trying to sweep away a strange fog
that had instantly arisen and seemed to be overcoming him. He
looked again at the older woman's steady gaze, and at the
encouraging crowd surrounding them.
Frowning, Clark suddenly felt a strong desire to have a ...
to have a beverage. Yes. He wanted a soda, too, and that was
that. No longer hesitant, Clark moved forward, reached with both
hands, and tilted the huge metal box towards him. Jiggling it,
as only a Superman can, clunks and rattles were heard, causing
not one but dozens of cans to shoot out into the chrome gully of
the machine, hopping madly to the pavement below.
Immediately, a cheer burst from the crowd in happy
celebration of the little guy's triumph -- not only literally but
figuratively -- over a big, faceless conglomerate represented by
the mechanistic stonewaller in front of them. Carried away by
exuberance and with no concern for the difference in their size,
the smaller man grabbed Superman in as much of an embrace as he
could manage. As he did so, his hand opened fully, and out from
his palm fell a sprinkling of red dust. Ruby specks began to
nestle among the folds of the Super Hero's cape, clinging to his
body. The joyful man compounded the effect by rubbing his hand
vigorously over Superman's back, embedding more of the powder.
Once again, Clark felt a sudden surge of want, of need ...
of pure and unmitigated avarice hit him.
"Thank you, Superman," the marmoset said as he turned
around and passed out cans of soda to the widening crowd.
Superman flashed a wide grin. Pleased by everyone's eager
acquisitiveness, he began assessing the other vending machines,
thinking that maybe they should have a snack as well. He walked
over to one of them, shaking it just as thoroughly. Out popped
Twinkies and Sno-balls and Ding Dongs. The crowd sent up a cheer
in response, immediately beginning to help themselves. Superman,
not wanting to be left in the lurch, shook a third machine,
quickly picking up as much of the booty for himself as he
possibly could.
"Gee, thanks Superman!" a young boy exclaimed.
"No problem," he happily answered with a nod of his head.
His arms far too full, Superman was unable to wave as he walked
off.
The little man's eyes mirrored his delight. Following
Clark's alter ego carefully, he smirked at the unexpected outcome
he had induced in him.
"Superman! Wait!" the boy yelled, racing after the Hero at
a good clip. "Superman, before you go, can I have your
autograph?" he asked.
"Sure," Superman replied. Carefully placing his loot
behind him on the sidewalk, he took the pen and paper the kid
produced from a bulging backpack and signed his famous name with
a flourish.
"Let's see," Superman said, holding the paper in front of
him. He took in the boy's fresh, freckled, Norman Rockwellian
face. "Hmm. That'll be...." The Super Hero smiled, gently.
Considering the matter for a moment, a slight twinge of
generosity pricked him. "For *you*, let's just call it a buck
fifty."
*******
Surveying the city room's elevator traffic for the tenth
time in the last twenty minutes, Lois wondered what Clark could
be up to. She had seen nothing on the wires about any kind of a
Superman-type crisis and had received no messages from Clark of
any sort. 'He couldn't possibly have wandered over to the
Foundation ... could he?' she asked herself, before instantly
dismissing the thought. She couldn't imagine him ditching an
appointment involving their baby's birth just to see Marigold
Smythe. If it were possible, Clark seemed even more keen on
every last detail of his wife's pregnancy than she was.
"Hey, Lois, how was lunch?" she heard a voice say in
passing.
"Jimmy! Just the man I've been looking for."
"Oh."
"Yes ... um. I want you to do something for me," she said,
drawing him in with a tone that suggested confidentiality.
Jimmy looked over his shoulder at Clark's vacant desk.
Almost reluctantly, he sat down on the chair next to hers. "Why
do I feel as if this isn't something I'm going to like."
"Nonsense! You're *not* going to like being a integral
part of an important story? An investigative story?"
"What? You mean like that investigative story we did on
pregnancy test kits?" he facetiously offered.
"Well ... if you don't want to help...." Lois pointedly
glanced over to the newly-hired, and ever-so-eager, sweet young
thing who was not so sweetly riding Jimmy's heels.
"No, no," he quickly answered, "after all, what other
function do I have here?"
Lois grinned. "That's the old spirit!" She leaned in,
conspiratorially. "I want you to get me everything you can on
Marigold Smythe."
"Marigold Smythe!" he loudly chimed back.
"Shhh! Yes ... Smith," Lois repeated. She picked up that
day's Daily Planet from her desk and sarcastically spelled out
the name. "That's S-M-*Y*-T-H-*E* ... Smith. *And*," she
continued, pausing for dramatic effect, "anything you can dig up
on Burnston-Hughes Securities."
He shook his head, taking the paper from her. "But, I
don't understand. Isn't Marigold Smythe an old friend of CK's?
Doesn't *he* know everything about her already?"
"That's what we're going to check out. And, Jimmy...."
As her voice became even lower, he thought he would have to
learn to read lips. However, as soon as Lois uttered the words,
he realized he could have picked up her next thoughts by
telepathy.
"I don't have to tell you not to let Clark know about
this," she said.
"You don't," he replied, getting up to leave. "*Well* ...
I guess I'm on my way to Research."
On that note, Lois' phone began to ring, bringing her
thoughts full-circle to her husband's absence. "Jimmy," she
called again, as he headed towards the elevators. "Thanks," she
mouthed, before turning away. Lifting the receiver, she
expectantly looked forward to her husband's very good
explanation.
*****
"Hello."
"Lex Luthor -- master crime boss! You're a rat!"
"Ah-h-h ... Mrs. Church," he answered, smiling broadly,
"what a pleasure to hear from you. *And,* I do mean pleasure."
At her breathy groan, he continued. "So, how is Metropolis' most
famous felon's better half today?"
"I wouldn't know, Luthor. How is *your wife*?"
He laughed. "Touche!... Now, to what do I owe this call?
Are you missing me?"
"I'm missing something, and I *don't* particularly like
it."
"Oh?"
"Yes. *You* went shopping at one of my Cost Marts last
night -- the corporate headquarters as a matter of fact -- and
*you* left without paying. That's *not* store policy," she ended
in an accusatory pout.
"I hardly think I'd do that," Lex smoothly replied, almost
before she could finish. "With all due respect, Mrs. Church,
Cost Mart doesn't exactly carry my vintage of wine."
"No? Not even the *red* variety?"
Although she obviously couldn't see it, he smiled again,
enjoying their verbal joust only a little less fully than he had
once enjoyed her.
"Luthor ... *you* bribed someone to steal the kryptonite
that my men found in *Cost Mart's* underground offices, and I'm
going to get it back -- *without* a refund."
"Mrs. Church -- really -- I don't know what you're talking
about. I could never pay your men in quite the ... well, quite
the *unique* and thorough way you do.... Hmm, now, there's a kind
of a thought," Lex concluded with a chuckle. "Perhaps one of
your men took the kryptonite in a lovesick attempt to gain your
attentions."
"You mean, like the lovesick attempts you've made in the
past towards Clark Kent's wife?" Mindy asked, shooting back a
strategic dart.
*****
"Lois! Why didn't you let me know?"
Another voice of recrimination flashed across Metropolis'
phone lines, seeking a target.
"Mother?... Let you know what?" Lois asked. Uninvited, a
vision of her husband decked out in a skin tight leotard and a
flowing red cape popped into Lois' mind. She quickly shook it
off. No matter how rusty *her* mother's intuitive powers might
be, Lois wasn't about to tempt them by offering any mental
assistance.
"You *know* what," Ellen answered.
"No-- No, I don't," her daughter quickly countered,
desperately trying to think of an elephant -- a big fat elephant.
Unfortunately, the whimsical pachyderm kept insisting upon
wearing that darn, red cape!
"The baby shower, Lois."
"Oh!"
"Yes, oh!... I had no idea you wanted to have one. You
were always so contrary. Even as a child, I--"
"Mother, I *am* at work. Is there a point?" Lois
interrupted.
"Why did you ever agree to allow Martha Kent to organize a
shower? She's in Kansas for pete's sake! That wasn't very
thoughtful. She's not a young woman--"
"Really! And, I suppose we just celebrated *your* 39th."
"Lois--"
"I take it Martha phoned you this morning," Lois quickly
inserted before another monologue ensued.
"Yes. At least *she* had the good sense to know I could be
of help. As a matter of fact, since I'm right here in
Metropolis, I told her that I would take care of everything.
I've just phoned the Lexor, and they have a lovely room that I
think would be ideal. Now, I do want to check with you on the
invitations. The Mayor is available on the Saturday after...."
With each word that passed through her mother's lips, Lois
sat ever straighter, every muscle in her body stiffening.
"The Lexor! The Mayor! Where are the 300 white doves?
Hatching eggs? Mother, a baby shower is something that happens
in somebody's *living room*, not in the ballroom of a luxury
hotel with representatives from the city government!"
"Who said anything about the ballroom?" Ellen asked in
dismay. "The Lexor has perfectly wonderful rooms for private parties.
And, we wouldn't be inviting the Mayor as a mayor, but as a woman.
You *do* know her."
"Oh God," Lois said with a sigh, noticing a backache she
hadn't had a few seconds ago. "And, who do you propose pay for
this extravaganza -- as if I have to ask?"
"Well, as you may recall, your father *didn't* have to pay
for the wedding I worked so hard to plan. It's only fair he
should end up paying for *something* after all the years of
neglect and indifference he has to atone--"
"Ugh!" Lois closed her eyes, realizing that her parents'
reconciliation meant nothing when it came to her mother's
tireless routine. She just slipped it on like an old shoe, more
comfortable and durable than any of the latest models. "Can we
talk about this later, Mother?"
"All right," Ellen readily agreed, now having better
activities to occupy her time than arguing with a stubborn
daughter. "Goodbye, darling. I'm off with Beverly to see Chef
Antoine."
"Chef Who?! What?!.. Mother?"
A click halted all further protests, and Lois frowned into
the dial tone in frustration. Hanging up, she looked down at her
stomach with a wry expression. "If I were you, I would *never*
come out," she muttered.
******
"I'm going up to Research," Lois announced to the busy
newsroom.
She glanced at her watch once more and made her way to the
elevator. Tapping her foot impatiently, she finally heard the
ding, which signalled its arrival, and prepared to enter the car
no matter who or how many wanted to exit. Barely making the
effort to look up as the doors slid open, Lois spotted a familiar
patch of bright red. Her eyes quickly scanned further upward and
was immediately rewarded with her husband's smiling face. Before
him, quite innocently, he carried a bulging red bundle -- a
makeshift sack drawn together by its tips. Although he was
dressed in the lightweight business suit she had seen on him
earlier, it was clear to her that this red cloth belonged to
another suit altogether, and it shocked her to see the
juxtaposition of the two so blatantly and casually displayed. If
she could make the connection so easily, couldn't everyone else?!
"Clark!" Lois rushed into the elevator. "What are you
doing?!" she frantically whispered. Stabbing a button -- any
button -- the doors closed and they shot up into the stratosphere
of the Planet.
"What do you mean, what am I doing?" he asked in
puzzlement. "I'm coming back to the office to work. What are you
doing?"
"Clark!" she hissed through her teeth. "This is Superman's
cape." Lois tugged at the cloth he held before him in emphasis,
briefly capturing its bulk with her fingertips. "What do you have
in here?"
Before he could answer, the panels sprung open again,
exposing the top floor of the Daily Planet building. Unlike the
city room, a hushed, cathedral-like atmosphere greeted them
assisted by the deep-piled, blue-gray carpeting which tempered
any noise that dared to make itself a bother. Heavy, brown doors
lined the hallways, disinviting both the curious and the
disgruntled. In the very center of it all, was a large-boned
woman of an indeterminate age, sitting behind an intimidating
command post which, like a magnet, compelled visitors forward for
inspection.
Lois, however, was *not* the typical visitor. Ignoring the
surprised woman, she dragged Clark out of the elevator and down a
side corridor.
"Ms. Lane! Mr. Kent!" the woman called after them,
bustling from behind her desk in hot pursuit. "Ms. Lane, can I
help you?"
Lois opened one of the many doors she found along the
hallway and pushed Clark through. Whirling to confront the
anxious woman, Lois smiled sweetly, lowering her voice to a
respectful whisper. "*Mrs. Cavanaugh* ... would you mind?"
"Could my husband and I use the conference room? Just for a few
minutes?"
"*Well*, I don't think it's quite appropriate--" she
huffily answered, before her eyes travelled to the obvious
evidence of Lois' fertilized state. "Well ... all right," she
reluctantly agreed. "I suppose whatever could happen already
has," Mrs. Cavanaugh commented as she examined her watch. "*But*,
Mr. Stern is scheduled to hold a meeting in there within the half
hour."
"Just a few minutes, I promise. Thanks."
Lois backed into the room, making sure the Planet's
formidable sentry backed away as well. Slowly, both of them did,
each eyeing the other more than a little suspiciously until the
door shut between them.
Finally, Lois turned to face him. "Okay, spill it. What's
so important that you're carrying it around in your cape for all
to see?" she demanded.
Bewildered, Clark stood in stark relief against the huge
windows framing the fading afternoon sun. Shrugging his
shoulders, he walked over to the large table dominating the room
and emptied the contents of his makeshift sack upon it.
Immediately, cans of soda began rolling down its length,
cellophane packages of Twinkies and Yodels bounced after them,
and candy bars slid on its polished surface.
"I ... I don't understand. What did you do, shakedown Sara
Lee?"
"No, a vending machine."
"Clark, be serious. What's going on here?"
"Honey." Clark reached out for her hands, drawing her
near. "There was a defective vending machine. I shook it to get
a can of soda out for a man who had lost his money, and all of
these other cans just fell out--"
"*All* of this came from one defective machine," she said
in disbelief, backing away from him and spreading her arms to
encompass the entire scope of Clark's plunder.
"Well ... I--" About to explain further, Clark was
mercifully cut-off by a sound only he could hear, communicated to
her by an expression only she could recognize. He looked out
over the city and the skyscrapers that surrounded them and
pointed to a column of smoke rising on the outskirts.
"It's a fire ... in the woods behind the mall. It looks
like it's spreading quickly."
Lois squinted out to the horizon. "Can they-- ?"
"I don't think they can handle it alone," Clark promptly
answered. He glanced over at the table with its pile of goodies.
"Go, Clark."
"But...."
"But what? This stuff?" She frowned at him in
bewilderment before lowering her voice in mock exaggeration. "I
won't let anybody near it. It'll be safe with me."
Still appearing reluctant, he, nonetheless, ran towards the
door, grabbing his cape along the way and loosening his tie.
"Oh." He stopped in his tracks, suddenly remembering
something. Turning on a dime, he came back to her, and with
anticipation of why he must be returning, she readied herself for
a goodbye kiss. However, instead of the brush of his lips
against hers, all at once, she felt a wad of paper being pressed
into her hand.
"For the baby," he whispered before finally sprinting off.
Lois opened her eyes and, with knitted brow, peered into
her opening fist. A dollar bill slowly unravelled, revealing
various coins tucked within.
"Twenty-five ... thirty-five ... forty-five ... fifty. *A
dollar, fifty*?" she mumbled to herself, more confused than ever.
"Ms. Lane?"
So wrapped up in Clark's strange behavior, Lois failed to
notice the door opening yet again. Mrs. Cavanaugh cautiously
peered from behind it, expecting to catch God knows what kind of
shenanigans. Finding Lois alone, she took courage and walked in.
Immediately, her eyes widened as she gaped at her
highly-polished, heavy wood conference table strewn with what
seemed to be the snack aisle of the local Super Saveway.
"U-h-h." With a low whimper of dismay, she looked
helplessly at the mess before her and then down at the stack of
carefully prepared, neatly collated, laminated financial reports
she was toting, all ready to be fastidiously aligned about the
table.
Giving the distressed woman an apologetic shrug, Lois
reached out and picked up one of the sugary delicacies.
"Twinkie?"
******
"They're all going nuts ... everyone," Lois mumbled, as she
drove her jeep down Hyperion and hunted for a parking spot that
never seemed to be there when she needed it. The evening shadows
had gotten longer and she could feel her stomach grumbling at the
prospect of dinner. Finally finding a space into which she could
quickly shoe-horn herself, Lois patted her abdomen reassuringly.
"Spicy.... Definitely something spicy."
Peering out of the window as she locked up, she spied Clark
strolling along the pavement towards their house. Bags, clearly
labelled "Shanghai Gardens: Chinese Gourmet," hung from each
hand.
"That's my boy," she said, grinning at his remarkable
"hunting" instincts. "Clark!" she called. She climbed out of the
jeep and met him at their stoop.
"Hi, sweetheart," he greeted her, leaning into her kiss.
"I got home after the fire and thought that maybe we could just
relax and have take-out tonight."
"Good thinking.... Are you okay? I understand you saved
the shopping mall from a pretty bad scorching. My mother should
be pleased," she added with a laugh. At his questioning look,
she continued. "Ralph phoned-in the story. Did you see him?"
Lois reached out for the handrail that ran beside their front
steps and lowered herself slowly onto the warm stone.
"Oh ... oh yeah, I think I did," Clark answered. He sat
down beside her, taking in her deep yawn. "What about you? You
seem tired," he said, brushing his wife's cheek with his
fingertips.
"Well...." Lois glanced around at their neighbors arriving
home from their own long, work day; at pet owners walking their
dogs; at Mrs. Pierpont meticulously sweeping her steps, as she
did every evening, before the pitch black of night made such
chores a tiny bit too eccentric. "It's my mother," Lois finally
answered. "She's impossible, Clark. It's hardly been a day, and
she's already taken over the baby shower from *your* mother. She
wants to host some catered spectacle at the Lexor. She's
planning to invite all these women I barely know -- including the
Mayor--"
"Really? How many women?" he unexpectedly asked.
"I don't know, exactly ... a lot."
"The more people she invites, the more gifts we'll get,"
Clark observed.
Lois chuckled, patting his knee, affectionately. "Well,
you have a point there, honey.... I'm hungry. Let's go inside."
******
For the first time that day, Lois was beginning to relax as
she followed her husband into their comfortable nest. Snuggling
close to him, she waited for him to flick the light switch before
proceeding.
"What the..!?"
Lois closed her eyes and then opened them again, hoping she
was hallucinating. She wasn't. Surveying their living room,
Lois turned to Clark expecting to see an equally stupefied
expression crossing his features. To her surprise, he wasn't
batting an eyelash. Instead, he was nonchalantly removing his
suit jacket, only giving the room a cursory, but fully satisfied,
glance. Obviously, the condition of their home wasn't as
astonishing to him as it was to her.
"Clark! What is this?!" Like Vanna White, Lois flung her
arm in an arc capturing the varied array of items within it.
"Well," he said, excitedly, practically skipping into the
center of the chaos that was once their tastefully decorated
living room. "*This* is a barcalounger -- the latest kind -- it
vibrates!" he reported with delight. "This is a pinball machine,
featuring the conquests of Superman. *This* is an 80" big-screen
TV. The latest and largest on the market. In this box," he
continued, alighting from one item to the next, "is a
build-it-yourself hot tub kit. Here's a power saw and a full set
of tools. After all, you can't enjoy a hot tub without power
tools," he offered with a suggestive wink. "This is a garage door
opener.... Oh! Oh no! *This* is the garage door opener. And,
*this* is the TV remote," Clark added, holding one gadget in his
left hand and the other in his right with a look that suggested
that he wasn't quite sure. "Over here," Clark added walking, to
another huge, brightly colored box, "is a pitching machine *with*
a batting cage -- for the baby."
"For the baby?"
"Yes ... and Lois, look at the definition on this
television set. It's incredible!"
While Lois stared at him incredulously, Clark flicked the
buttons on one of the gadgets he held.
'I hope that's the right one,' she found herself surreally
thinking, 'or *somebody's* garage is going to be opening and
closing mysteriously. Heaven knows, we don't have one -- *I
think*.' Lois frowned, tempted to check outside in case there
was an addition to their home she hadn't noticed. Before she
could make a move, however, all the extraneous, uncontrollable
thoughts that were bouncing about her instantly took flight as a
seven foot picture of Lex Luthor's head and shoulders suddenly
jumped out to replace them.
"A-H-H!" Lois yelled, hopping behind Clark's body.
"*I'm* sorry, sweetheart," he said apologetically, quickly
minimizing the TV picture and lowering the sound on an LNN
interview Lex had recently granted discussing the importance of
corporate giving. "It's great, though, isn't it."
"Great?! Cl-a-r-k! *Where, O' where,* in the world did
you get all of these ... these ... *things*!? And, *don't* tell
me you shook them out of a vending machine!"
"Honey ... sit down. Relax," he soothed. Placing his
hands on her shoulders, Clark escorted her to the huge, cushiony
lounge chair. Gently sitting her down upon it, he pulled out the
foot stool and pushed a button that started a mini-vibrator.
Immediately, tiny tingles ran pleasurably up and down her spine.
"I think we should get one of these for our bed, don't you?" he
said with a wiggle of his brow.
"That would be very nice ... but why do we have all of
this?" she pointedly asked.
"Well ... when I put the fire out this afternoon, the owner
of Levin's was so relieved, he graciously offered me the choice
of any of the merchandize I wanted from his department store --
up to $25,000. The baby's things are coming tomorrow."
"The baby's things? I thought the pitching machine was for
the baby."
"It is," Clark insisted, a little self-defensively.
"Clark!" Lois sat up, all at once hit with the
implications of his last words. "You picked out *baby things* as
Superman? How did you explain that one?" Lois shuddered at the
thought, knowing how pathetic Clark's excuses had always been.
"Simple. I said I had friends who were having a baby."
Lois emitted a sigh of relief. 'I guess that's all right,
then,' she thought, her adrenaline rush subsiding as swiftly as
it had risen. Lois threw herself back against the chair and
tried to come up with some reason -- any reason -- why Clark
would have suddenly turned into ... into a modern-day Monty Hall.
"Earth to Superman," she finally said, as she looked up to him
with a cocked brow. "We *can't* accept all of these things.
Clark ... Superman never accepts payment for what he does. You
know that!"
"Well, *now,* maybe he should," he answered. Clearly
unhappy with Lois' level of enthusiasm, Clark picked up the
abandoned bags of Chinese food and headed towards the kitchen in
a sulk.
"Maybe everyone's *not* going nuts. Maybe *I'm* the one
who's crazy," Lois muttered, as she glanced over at their new,
one thousand inch TV set. Unable to help herself, Lois picked up
the remote control from where Clark had left it on the arm of her
chair and enlarged the picture, increasing the volume in the
process. Mercifully, the news had moved away from Lex Luthor's
latest exploits and onto other topics.
"Thank you, Maribeth, for that ground-breaking report on
the devastating impact of high fiber in our diet." With a swivel
of his chair, Dan Sooner, the anchor, turned his ten foot,
smiling face away from his LNN colleague and began earnestly
addressing the camera.
"Tomorrow night, in this continuing, exclusive series,
we'll look at the hidden effects on our bodies of our leafy
compadres in a report entitled, 'Broccoli, We Hardly Knew Ye'."
"Now, on a lighter note," he continued, his voice becoming
noticeably cheerier, "earlier today, police were called in on the
report of a disturbance at the corner of Market and Albemarle.
When they arrived, they were surprised to find a large group of
Metropolis' citizens chasing after and fighting over a bevy of
sugar-filled baked goods and candies that had mysteriously poured
out of several vending machines outside of Joe and Judy's Food
Mart. After questioning witnesses, the police reported that some
in the crowd claimed that ... *Superman* had allegedly shaken the
snacks out of the machines and had walked off just moments before
with more than his fair share.... Hmm."
"Well, Maribeth," the anchor said, swiveling back, his
voice lowering an octave, "hard to believe *that* one."
"I don't know, Dan," the woman perkily responded, every
single one of her twelve inch pores gloriously displayed for
Lois' inspection. "It could be an example of the devastating
impact of my exclusive series."
"Maribeth ... You might be right."
"Clark!..." Lois shouted, her legs flapping as she
desperately tried to free her rotund shape from the tight grasp
of the deceptively inanimate recliner.
"Yes, Honey!" he called back from the kitchen. "Honey ...
where are my Ding Dongs and Sno-balls?"
******
Lex Luthor looked out over the glittering lights of
Metropolis which hung like a diamond necklace about the pitch
black sky. From this high vantage point, he could almost imagine
that he could see into the very depths of all of those -- both
friend and foe alike -- who filled his every thought: into the
mind of a cold and calculating, killer-siren who played the fool
so well and tweaked him at every turn; into the heart of a
seemingly guileless waif who claimed to love him, although he
could sense the caution in her love; into the soul of a
beautiful, fiery crusader who haunted his every dream and drove
him mad with her pity. And, finally, into the inner core of his
arch-nemesis, a demigod who had managed to wrench away from him
both the world he had dominated and the woman he had desired....
"Oh, well," he sighed with a shrug, never one to let minor
set-backs dissuade him.
"Mr. Luthor ... he's here," a voice said from the shadows.
"A-h-h." Lex moved from his contemplation of the city
night scape, which had inched open a window to his own dark
depths, and turned to greet the man he had patiently awaited.
"Mr. Van Horton ... please have a seat. I understand from Harry,
here, that you've had some very promising results."
"Yes, I think you can say that our enterprise has been an
unqualified success. From what I can tell, Superman is going to
be a rather busy bee in the future, certainly not paying much
attention to anything you may have planned, Mr. Luthor," the
little man reported, his smile suggesting that *he* had never had
any doubts.
"Excellent.... But, in what way was it a success? What
was the outcome?"
"Well ... I watched him very carefully, following his
exploits for the remainder of the day, and the kryptonite appears
to have affected him in a most ironic manner. Instead of
performing his usual selfless acts without any reward, he seems
to have gotten quite ... well, quite greedy -- going from one
crisis to the next collecting gifts-in-kind and selling
autographs."
"Amazing!" Lex observed, both fascinated and astounded by
the deliciousness of the results.
"But, couldn't that work against us?" Harry interrupted,
raining upon the other mens' celebratory mood. "What if Superman
suddenly sets his sights on the Foundation? He could suck it dry
himself!"
"Yes. He could do that," Lex countered, a wide grin
arresting his features, his mind clicking with the possibilities.
"Yes, he could, *and* wouldn't you say that it's been rather
thoughtful of us to have gotten the ball rolling for him?... In
truth, we couldn't have come up with a better result if we had
planned it. Here we have the spectacle of Superman flying about
the world like the 'Great Acquisitor'. Considering this, who
will have any doubts that Superman is behind it when the
Foundation's duplicity is finally discovered? He'll be ruined --
pure and simple.... Well," Lex added, with a snort, "no longer so
pure, but, without a doubt, still simple."
"You're right ... that *would be* convenient," Harry
conceded, shaking his head over the remarkable coincidence.
Lex turned to Mr. Van Horton, leaning closer. "But, how
did you accomplish the feat, *exactly*?" he asked -- one master
to another.
"Well ... I took the leftover shards of kryptonite and
ground them down to a fine powder," the man replied, obviously
taking pride in his ingenious method of application.
"You did what?" Harry asked in disbelief.
Van Horton frowned at the man without answering, not
appreciating his unending interruptions. "I, then, placed a bit
of the powder within my hand and deftly applied it to Superman's
own hand. After all, a happy, satisfied citizen would surely
want to congratulate his hero with a handshake. I also made sure
to rub the powder vigorously into his suit. Presto! He
literally carried it around with him all day."
"Wait a minute here," Harry interjected. "You ground the
kryptonite into a fine powder? Do you realize that that stuff is
priceless, and it can't be replaced!"
"I didn't use it all," the little man answered,
indignantly.
"I don't care if you're parceling it out one grain at a
time. Kryptonite's not exactly renewable."
"Harry, Harry ... calm yourself," Lex said. "Do you think
*I* would place such a valuable resource in the hands of an
amateur? Our Mr. Van Horton is a virtuoso lapidary--"
"A what?"
"A gem cutter," Lex enunciated carefully. "In fact, he is
fashioning an extraordinary red pendant out of the piece."
"For your lovely wife?" Van Horton suggested.
"Hmm ... perhaps," Lex replied, noncommittally.
"As well as cufflinks?"
"Now, *that* sounds promising."
"You're making jewelry out of it?" Harry repeated. Taken
aback, his thoughts spun with the novelty. And then, all of a
sudden, the pieces of the puzzle began to align. "You're Van
Horton!" Harry finally asserted, despite his usual good manners,
pointing his finger at the man. "Yes, I know who you are. You're
Wendell "The Weasel" Van Horton -- the European jewel thief."
"Jewel *aficionado*, if you please," the little man swiftly
corrected, affronted by the reminder of his unwelcome moniker.
"You see, Harry," Lex offered, "you can rest assured that
your efforts on my behalf have not gone in vain. Mr. Van Horton
is the premiere ... acquirer and appraiser of gems on both
continents. However -- gentlemen -- I do have one concern. We
cannot be sure that this one exposure to the kryptonite will
suffice."
"Mr. Luthor, I rubbed the powder quite thoroughly into
Superman's cape. It's inescapable."
"But, the man *can* take his suit off and put on another."
"Has it been proven that he does, indeed, take it off?" Van
Horton asked.
"Most definitely," Lex answered, with a cocked brow,
thinking of the last time he had seen Lois Lane, obviously
enceinte, and unfortunately, glowing. "Yes ... I'd say he most
definitely takes it off."
"Well, I don't think I'd have any problem repeating the
procedure if necessary."
"Good. Until we think of a more permanent solu-- tion.
Hmm ... solution. Now, there's a possibility," Lex softly
reiterated, addressing himself more than the two men standing
before him. "Yes. Well," he continued, filing his thoughts away
for later examination, "as they say on the shampoo bottles ...
repeat."
******
"And, then what happened?" Clark asked. Almost afraid of
the answer, he buried his face in his hands before running them
through his hair.
Lois tossed him a concerned look as she carried their
morning coffee into the living room. Carefully navigating around
their newly acquired wealth, she sat down beside him on the couch
and placed the steaming mugs on the table in front of them.
"*Well*, when I finally managed to hoist myself out of that
... that so-called chair over there," Lois said, waving her hand
towards "the enemy" in disgust, "I went to the kitchen and there
*you* were, literally leaning up against the refrigerator, out
like a light.... I'd never seen anything like it."
"I'm sorry, honey," he said, for the tenth time that
morning.
"It's all right," she assured him, with a pat to the knee.
"You were highly ... *suggestible*. I towed you along upstairs,
sat you down on the bed, and got you undressed.... Actually,"
Lois added with a grin, "it wasn't half bad. Before we were
married, I used to have dreams of peeling off your tights while
you were ... um ... let's just say 'out of it'."
"Oh, r-e-a-lly. You want to try it again?"
"Not so fast, Superman. We do have a little problem here,"
she said, gesturing about the room.
"Oh, yeah. Is this ... the extent of it?" Clark asked,
shamefacedly.
"All of this, plus two bags of junk food in the back of the
jeep.... Oh! I almost forgot. *And,* a buck fifty," she said,
picking up the loose change she had thrown on the coffee table.
"A buck fifty?"
"I think you meant it to be the start of our child's
college fund," she answered.
Once again, he buried his face in his hands. "Oh no."
"Clark ... are you all right?"
He quickly looked up and half turned towards her. Taking
Lois' hands from her mug of decaf, he cradled them in his own.
"Honey, I'm fine now. Whatever was going on with me yesterday is
definitely over. *And,* just as soon as I get dressed, I plan on
taking all of this ... *stuff* back to where it came from."
"I know you will, but that's not my concern." She looked
into Clark's eyes, studying him carefully, trying to dig below
the surface. "I mean, are you all right? Are you *worried*
about anything?"
"Like what?" he asked.
"Well ... perhaps about whether the two of us have the
wherewithal to provide for a child? Maybe that article I was
reading the other day got to you -- you know, about the cost of
raising children?"
"What?!"
"Because *if you are worried about it*, you know we can
discuss it."
"Lois! Of course I know we can take care of the baby.
God, there are so many people, much less fortunate than we are,
who've done marvelous jobs raising families. In any case,
raising a child isn't *just* about money or material things," he
said, feeling a touch ironic voicing such words in the midst of
what looked like a furniture store showroom. "It's mostly about
love, and I know we've hit the jackpot in that department."
Lois smiled. "Okay. It's just that.... I don't know.
You were giving a very good impression yesterday of a papa bird
preparing his nest."
"With a big-screen TV and a pinball machine?"
"Well ... you *are* a man after all," Lois joked.
"Granted, a super one, but a man nevertheless. And you obviously
had your priorities straight," she said, glancing about herself.
"Don't remind me," Clark said, ruefully. He listened to
her gentle laughter, which drew out his own, until both slowly
faded and silence surrounded them.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, breaking the quiet moment. "Actually,
I *do* have to remind you of something. I've signed us up for
the childbirth classes. The orientation is this Monday night.
Now, I've jotted it down in both your "Clark Kent" day planner
*and* your "Superman" day planner. *So*, there's no excuse,
buster," Lois said, jabbing her finger into his ribs for
emphasis.
"Ah-h, sweetheart," he said, feeling guilty all over again,
"I should have gone over to the hospital with you like we
planned."
"That's okay. It wasn't necessary," Lois assured him,
matter-of-factly.
"*Oh*. So, you admit that that whole thing about my going
along with you to get the information was really just a ruse so
that you could have lunch with Marigold and me," he teased.
"Ha! Too bad you didn't pick up a polygraph machine on
your world wind shopping tour," Lois teased back, glad things
were returning to normal, "cause I ain't admittin' nuthin'."
"Okay. This Monday ... I'll remember," he whispered.
Giving her a tender kiss, Clark hopped up to head for the stairs.
"Speaking of Marigold," he said, looking over his shoulder,
"I'd better phone her and let her know I can't drop by the
Foundation today. I wanted to check on the progress at Kingston,
but, between taking these things back and catching up at the
Planet, I don't think I'm going to have time. Good thing she's
such a tremendous manager," Clark added, as he sprinted up the
steps to their bedroom.
"Yeah, good thing," he heard Lois answer, although he
missed her lack of inflection. Instead, he was fully focused on
getting dressed and getting back to his old self. Clark picked
up his used suit from the previous day, soiled by the fire.
Wrinkling his sensitive nose at the clingy odor of smoke, he
tossed it aside with a sneeze. '*That's* odd,' Clark thought
with a shrug. 'Oh, well! A new day, a new suit.'
Although his niggling doubts persisted, Clark managed to
brush those away as well.
******
Marigold glanced about the confines of the trailer, noting
the half empty coffee cups, the blueprints, the schedules and the
piles of reports haphazardly lying across the table in front of
her and atop the rusted gray filing cabinets on the side. Despite
the veritable hodgepodge, however, like a bad piece of art work
you couldn't quite ignore, her eyes were consistently drawn to a
much less important item. It was a girlie calendar which held
pride of place on the far wall. She had discovered, while alone
and waiting, that if you lifted the top layer of transparent film
attached to the calendar, the bikini on the overly endowed woman
magically disappeared. When you lowered it, the bikini
reappeared. Somehow, at some elemental level, the simple action
of lifting and lowering the transparency appealed to her long ago
childhood attraction to playing dress up, to unclothing and
clothing a doll, a stuffed animal, an action figure....
'An action figure, hmm.... I wonder if anyone has ever
thought of creating one of these of Superman,' she mused, almost
managing to envision it before her attention was drawn to the
jiggling of the trailer door, and to Ed Reeves, the Kingston
Venture's foreman, climbing in to join her. Marigold was quite
sure that, to the man now facing her in the crowded compartment,
the calendar was just fine as it was.
"Um ... has Superman been here lately?" she asked, forcing
her attention away from the buxom body and pouty lips of Miss
June.
"Uh ... not lately," Ed answered.
"I mean, has he been to the site?" she asked again, to
clarify.
Ed, trying unsuccessfully to station his large bulk in
front of the calendar without being obvious about it, cleared his
throat with a hint of embarrassment. "No, not since the new men
and the sub-- stitute materials arrived," he said, catching
himself before he uttered the taboo word, "substandard".
"You mean they're already here?"
"They arrived two weeks before you did."
"Before I did!" Although she recognized that she had no
right to be indignant, she felt stunned by the news all the same.
"Hmm ... so sure I would fall into line without an argument," she
muttered.
"Excuse me, Ma'am?"
"Nothing. *So*, you've already started using the new
materials?"
"Well, yes, Ma'am. If we were going to keep on schedule,
we had to. In fact, I've ordered the men to speed things up."
'Ah ... shoddy workmanship *and* shoddy materials,' she
couldn't help but think. "Have the 'old' supplies been resold?"
"I believe so. I can call in the project's 'accountant',
if you'd like to know the balance," Ed offered, reaching for the
phone.
"No, that's all right. I'll talk to him later," Marigold
roughly answered. She wasn't sure why, but suddenly she felt the
need to breathe fresh air. Clumsily, she pushed on the door of
the trailer, but it stubbornly resisted until Ed, giving up his
efforts to shield her from the ambiguous morals of men, moved
forward and gave the door a more familiar "thump" of his fist.
In one graceless maneuver, Marigold spilled out onto the gravel
parking lot and took two deep breaths of sawdust and cement
before pulling out her cell phone and walking swiftly towards her
car.
"Joyce?" she yelled, over the din of the construction work
piling higher and higher about her. "Has anyone called?"
"Superman phoned," she heard a tinny voice reply, causing
her heart to take an erratic leap.
"He did!... What did he want?" Marigold asked anxiously.
"He said he was so sorry, but he wouldn't be able to meet
with you today. That he would come by on Monday."
"Monday? I can't let him do that," she muttered, her one
hand cupping the receiver. "Joyce, put me in touch with Harry
... Harry de Silva. Quick."
******
A foot was tapping impatiently. At least, that's what she
could see from the corner of her eye.
"Lois, the last time I checked, I had someone on the
payroll by the name of Clark Kent. Does that name ring a bell
with you?" the man who owned the foot asked.
"Yes," she said, looking sideways at a tie imprinted with
tiny, reproductions of Graceland.
"Well ... I'm so glad to hear that, because I was beginning
to think he was just a figment of my imagination. After all,
according to the National Whisper, there've been more sightings
of Elvis this week, then we've seen of your husband. Where is he
*now*, for instance? It's almost noon."
Lois straightened up and glared at the clock labelled
"Metropolis" as if she could will it to change its mind and say
9:00 a.m. "I'm sorry Perry. Clark and I should have told you.
He's ... He's been ... out on a story," she finally finished,
finding no other inspiration in the comings and goings of
their busy office.
"Really." Perry pulled up a chair, parking himself next to
his discomforted employee's desk. "And what exactly might that
be -- the untold story of pregnancy test kits?"
Lois smiled painfully, recognizing that she was *never*
going to live that one down. Neither, it seems, would she easily
escape Perry's questions. Not this time. Desperate to get him
off her tail, Lois bit her lip, deciding to unveil a new addition
to her "bag of tricks".
"O-o-o-h!" she moaned, clutching her belly with the
dramatic flair of a Sarah Bernhardt.
"What? What?" Perry asked. Swiftly standing, he nervously
shuffled about her. "What's the matter?!" Frantically, he
grabbed the arm of a passing delivery boy, pulling him roughly
towards him. "Where's Clark?" Perry gruffly demanded.
"I don't know, man," the boy said, backing away with a
disgruntled frown. "Who's Clark?"
"Who's Clark!" Perry bellowed.
"No! No, Perry." Quickly, Lois put her hand out to stop
the Chief from going into a deep nosedive. "It's just that ...
the baby's putting a bit of pressure on my ... on my bladder, and
I've-- I've got to go," she ended in a rush. With that, she
pushed him out of her way, scooted up the ramp and tried with all
her might to wipe the smile of relief off her face once she got
away.
******
At the violent swing of the rest room door, Penny Barnes
jumped, did an acrobatic twirl, and landed in a position
resembling an Egyptian hieroglyphic, only to find herself facing
a panting Lois Lane, holding her abdomen and breathing heavily.
"Lois! Are you all right?!" she immediately asked. She
broke out of what -- under this or any other circumstance -- was
a ridiculous pose and ran forward.
"Yes, yes. I'm fine. *Really*," Lois said, tiring of the
question. "But, now that I'm here." She signalled to a stall
and hopped into it.
"Whew! You really scared me," Penny said loudly with a
laugh. "I don't think my instructor would approve -- using
karate on a pregnant woman."
"That's reassuring," a voice yelled back.
"Actually, I'm glad I ran into you. I wanted to tell you
that I'm looking forward to the baby shower. I'm really honored
that your mother would invite me, and if there's anything
particular you need.... Anything at all I can do--"
"The baby shower?!" A rush of water forestalled the rest
of Lois' words, and she was feebly left to listen to Penny's
shouted response.
"Yes. You did know about it, didn't you?" the younger
woman suddenly asked in a worried tone, wondering if she had let
loose on more than just her self-defense skills. "Your mother
called me this morning with the invitation.... I really hope you
knew about this."
"Yes ... I knew about this," a tired voice responded.
"Oh-h, good. Frankly, I'm very impressed -- a luncheon at
the Lexor. I've never eaten there. But, I've heard marvelous
things about their high tea."
At those words, the lock on the cubicle was pulled back with
an aggressive jerk. "High tea?!" Lois repeated, joining Penny at
the sink. "My mother's not planning a high tea, is she?"
"No! No, I wasn't suggesting that," Penny assured her.
"Well ... *truthfully*, I don't know."
"High tea," Lois muttered, heading out the door under a
head of steam. "That's it, Mother. Forget high tea! Try high
noon!"
******
"Lois! Is Penny still in the res--"
At the less-than-welcoming expression on his colleague's
face, Jimmy took the wisest course of action and decided the
better part of valor was to keep his mouth perfectly shut --
especially as Penny was following close behind.
"Oh. Oh Jimmy." Immediately upon seeing the young man,
Lois stopped and mentally juggled the various annoyances and
problems -- both personal and professional -- vying for her
attention. In light of Jimmy's fortuitous presence, however, the
problem *he* was helping her with suddenly won her mental
tug-of-war. "How's it going on that ... you know, that
research?" she asked, glancing over to Penny with an imploring
look. Happily, the younger woman sized up the situation nicely
and signalled her intention to give them some privacy.
"I'll ... I'll just wait at the elevator, honey," Penny
said to Jimmy, making small, pantomime movements that he
instantly understood. "I'll see you later, Lois."
"Yes, um ... bye Penny. I'll-- I'll talk to you later.
Thanks," she called after her. "Well?" Lois prompted the young
man, turning back to him with a lift of her brow.
"I think ... I *only* think that I've come across something
pretty interesting," Jimmy said, lowering his voice to a whisper.
Appreciating his caution, Lois pulled him back with her into the
bathroom. "After digging through boxes of old files -- *and, I
mean boxes* -- I found some documentation linking Burnston-Hughes
Securities to LexCorp."
Lois' eyes widened at his last words. "Are you saying that
LexCorp *owns* Burnston-Hughes?!"
"No. I'm saying that LexCorp *owned* Burnston-Hughes
before Lex's clone -- or *Lex*," Jimmy quickly added upon seeing
Lois' frown, "took his 'great leap forward' off his penthouse
balcony. Then, its ownership went into adjudication."
"Uh, huh.... *But*, he could still have control of it."
"I don't know. When it comes to Lex Luthor, anything is
possible."
"That's for sure. Was there anything in the files about
Marigold Smythe?" she anxiously asked.
"Not back that far."
"Well then, move forward in them, Jimmy," she said,
insistently, "and I'll--"
"Lois," he interrupted all at once.
"Yes?"
"Am I ... Am I in the *ladies* room?"
Her eyes followed his as they scanned the walls, devoid of
unsubtle, in-your-face urinals, and lined instead, with discreet
machines coyly demanding coins in exchange for intimate products,
tastefully sketched in outline, and promising that certain
"feeling of confidence". Scanning further, as if in slow motion,
they also watched as the door gradually swung open to reveal a
clearly startled senior member of the Planet's administrative
staff. All three froze, each trying to chase away the worst
thoughts that came to mind, only to find it a losing battle.
"What the?! What's *he* doing in here?!" the older woman
indignantly inquired, finding her voice before the others could
even find a breath.
"Don't you watch television?!" a flustered Lois demanded.
"Unisex bathrooms are in!" she firmly added. Upon that
declaration, she tugged the hapless Jimmy through the door yet
again.
******
"Superman, I don't understand."
In bewilderment, George Levin surveyed the large boxes
amassed on the loading dock of his department store. Glancing
over his shoulder, he shrugged at his equally dismayed employees,
hovering at a discreet distance.
"Yesterday, you were more than happy to accept these small
tokens of my gratitude," Levin observed. "You saved my business!
I *wanted* you to have them!"
"I ... I thought I could accept them," Clark answered,
attempting to think of one credible reason why he could have
accepted the gifts yesterday but not today. "But-- but the
homeless shelter I was going to give them to already had a
big-screen TV."
"A *homeless shelter* has a big-screen TV? And, a pitching
machine? And, a hot tub?" At Superman's brief, but
uncomfortably affirmative nod, George Levin shook his own head in
increasing bemusement. "Where *is* this shelter? I want to know
where to go, just in case."
For five painful seconds, Superman looked like the
proverbial deer caught facing his proverbial traffic dilemma,
until the other man, sensing the Super Hero's growing discomfort,
ceased any further questioning. "It's all right; it's all
right," he assured him. "But, what about the baby items -- the
clothes, the books, the toys? Do you want to cancel those too?"
"No." Clark instinctively reached for his reporter's
notebook before quickly remembering himself. "Um, Mr. Levin ...
Do you have a paper and pencil I can borrow?"
Seeing Levin patting his pockets without result, an employee
stepped forward and nervously handed Superman a small pad and pen
from her own jacket. "Thanks," the Super Hero responded with his
patented smile. "Mr. Levin, if you could, I want you to call
this number. It's a battered woman's shelter. They'll have
somebody come by and pick up the baby things. I'm sure they
could make good use of them, and *I* would be *very* grateful,"
he added, hoping that *that* would suffice to satisfy the man.
After a pause, wherein Superman faced an assessment he wasn't
quite used to, Levin finally reached out a hand to him.
"It would be a pleasure," the store owner said, as the Hero
sighed in relief. "After all," Levin added, "it's better to give
than to receive."
"Yes," Clark muttered, "I'll have to try and remember that
one.... Thank you, Mr. Levin," the Super Hero said, more
clearly. "If you'll excuse me, Sir, I have to go." With that,
Superman took off, feeling renewed by the transaction. 'At least
*something* good has come of this,' he thought.
******
"Harry de Silva, I know what you've been doing," the blonde
woman declared as she sidled around her desk and let loose the
full affect of her considerable sex appeal.
"You do?" he choked, trying to hide his disconcertion
behind a gruff cough.
"You've been avoiding me."
"No. No, I haven't. I've just been doing my job -- you
know, staking out illegal opportunities, shaking down businesses,
threatening competitors -- just my job, Mrs. Church," he said,
wondering which was worse, dealing with a power hungry,
man-eating she-boss or a high-strung, overeducated broad who
demanded that he "do something" about Superman, as promised, or
else!
"Or else what?" Mindy Church asked, closing in on her prey.
Harry hadn't realized he had spoken his last words aloud,
but, then again, Mindy had moved in on him with such stealth,
that she was next to him, running her hands up his arms before he
could utter the phrase, "sexual harassment".
"Or else ... I could do whatever *you* needed me to do ...
of course," he quickly added.
"Well -- Harry -- as it so happens, I do need your help,"
she said, pressing her body against his. "You've heard what's
happened, haven't you?" At the questioning lift of his brow, she
proceeded to enlighten him. "Someone who works for me, someone
who I -- a poor, defenseless woman left all alone to find her way
in the world -- trusted, has betrayed my trust, and *I* think
that's rude."
Harry tensed. The only movement he dared show was the
slightest narrowing of his eyes -- a narrowing which attempted to
hide as much as he knew, while trying to discover just how much
*she* might have managed to uncover.
"I can understand why you'd feel that way," he carefully
responded.
"I knew you would," she said, breathily, "I knew you would
understand which side of your bread has butter on it."
Harry blinked, waiting for her to continue.
"I suspect that Lex Luthor -- that sorry excuse for a clone
-- has gotten someone -- perhaps someone in Intergang -- to steal
the kryptonite *I* found in *my husband's* store. The kryptonite
which *my husband* commissioned Newt Gingrich to unearth in order
to kill Superman fair and square. The kryptonite *my stepson*
finally told me about after I informed him that, if he were
feeling *really* lonely in the Big House, I could certainly
arrange to have him bunk with Bad Burt, a poor, unfortunate soul
who lost his *very* special, best friend, Fang, to an untimely
execution."
"Really?" Harry said after a pause.
"Yes, and I want *you* to get the kryptonite back for me,"
she said.
"That won't exactly be easy, Mrs. Church."
"Oh, I know, Harry. But, I trust you. I'm *sure* you can
get your hands on it, *and*," she added, kissing him lightly on
the corner of his mouth, "you'll be very handsomely compensated."
Harry's lids lowered again as he tried to measure her
honesty, recognizing the incredible irony of the act. 'It's
certainly important to be cautious,' he thought as he smiled at
the woman, more dangerous than any intergalactic rock, and
accepted another invitation from her generous lips. 'But, it's
even more important to be handsomely compensated.'
******
Unlike most of his colleagues at the Daily Planet, Clark
Kent entered the office, late on a Friday afternoon while the sun
still hung lazily in the hazy sky, with a big smile on his face
and eager to work. It was an attitude most at the paper couldn't
quite fathom, but neither did they know that Clark Kent was also
Superman, the life-affirming, all powerful hero. And, as such,
for his own mental health, Clark needed to be there; he needed to
be the Kansas farm boy turned top-flight, investigative reporter.
To him, it was a constant struggle -- a struggle between what he
was capable of doing as the alien Super Hero and what he wanted
to do as Clark Kent: husband, expectant father, award-winning
reporter.
Clark looked down towards Lois, his co-conspirator in
balancing his two personas, and wondered, once again how they
were going to juggle all these demands. He watched as she
*literally* juggled the receiver of her ringing phone, only half
paying attention to it as she dug through the files in front of
her with one hand and flipped through her rolodex with the other.
He smiled at how she dove in to one difficult situation after
another without checking the water line. *She* saw this trait as
a character fault, *he* -- at times -- saw it as a saving grace
for a man who needed such a woman in his life.
All at once, wanting very much to hear Lois' voice, he
found himself surreptitiously, and against his better judgment,
listening in on her phone conversation.
"Lois Lane."
"Mrs. Lane?"
"*Ms.* Lane," she politely corrected.
"I apologize. This is the office of Congresswoman Moreno."
"Yes?" Lois perked up, dropping the file she held in
mid-dig.
"Ms. Lane, the Congresswoman regrets that she cannot attend
your baby shower next Saturday."
"Next Saturday?" Lois repeated, amazed at her mother's
blitzkrieg-like organizational skills.
"The Congresswoman!" Clark echoed, amazed at Ellen's
audacity.
"Yes. I'm afraid she has a prior speaking engagement in
Washington, but she does wish you and your baby all the best."
"Oh. Oh, yes. Thank you, and thank Ms. Moreno," Lois
replied on autopilot, finally realizing why she hadn't been able
to get her mother on the phone all day long. "She must be
calling every female citizen of New Troy -- inside the borders,
outside the borders, and in all the U.S. territories and
protectorates," Lois grumbled, causing Clark to grin from his
distant perch.
Perhaps sensing his presence *and* his sympathies, Lois
looked up, caught Clark's eye, and threw him a relieved smile. A
moment later, however, gazing down again, she realized just which
files and papers she had lying across her desk. They were a
small portion of those Jimmy had pulled out of the Planet's
archives on the relationship between LexCorp and Burnston-Hughes,
and, although she knew she had to at some point, she wasn't quite
ready yet to bring Clark into the loop. Swiftly, Lois stood up,
grabbed her purse, and walked determinedly up the ramp to the
city room's mini-mezzanine.
"Let's kick it," she said to Clark with a wink.
"Lois!" he exclaimed, pulling away. "I haven't been at my
desk in over a day and a half."
"Yes ... I know. And, Perry's pretty unhappy about that.
Believe me."
"Well?..." he answered, indicating that she had clearly
made his point for him.
"Clark, it's late on a Friday afternoon. What are you
going to get done? Besides, it's turning into a lovely evening."
"Lois, they're predicting a downpour."
"Weather forecasting is an art, not a science. *I* could
do better reading the entrails of a sheep," she countered,
pulling him into the elevator.
He frowned, not sure what bee she had in her bonnet, but
pretty sure she wasn't in the mood for sharing. They stood in
the elevator, in silence, each to their own thoughts. Clark
perused a couple of flyers and memos that had been posted,
thinking this was the only opportunity he was going to have to
get reacquainted with the office:
FOR IMMEDIATE DISTRIBUTION
TO: ALL STAFF
FROM: THE OFFICE OF THE DIRECTOR OF PERSONNEL
Please be advised. The rest room facilities at the
Daily Planet clearly designated for women and for men must
be utilized ONLY by members of that gender, exclusively.
(See Employee Relations Policy No. VI.H3.d-6).
Thank you.
Clark laughed. He hadn't a clue how he had managed to miss
this little gem on the way up. "What's this all about?" he
asked, pointing at the memo with its unfortunate coporat-ese.
"Who knows?" Lois said. "Those people in Human Resources
have *way* too much time on their hands."
******
A crack of thunder snapped the air jarring her awake by its
intensity. Automatically, still immersed in a fog of sleep, Lois
reached out for him, wanting her security blanket. He was gone.
Coming more fully awake, she searched quickly about the room.
She would have guessed that he was off somewhere saving the
world, but there he was standing in front of the bedroom window,
staring out into the night.
"Clark, what are you doing?" her sleep-filled voice asked.
"Just checking.... I think I'm going to have to go," he
concluded, his built-in, police-like radar scanning the air
waves.
"I knew you were going to say that.... What time is it?"
"About 9:00."
"9:00 a.m. or *p.m.*?" Once more, she looked passed him
into the dark purple-gray sky.
"A.M. The, um ... fortune-tellers at the weather service
came through on this one. They're predicting a pretty lousy day.
Last night's storm caused a lot of flooding. Roads are washed
out. Many are blocked from fallen trees and power lines. *And,*
there's been some accidents," he reported. Walking over to her,
he bent down and lightly placed a hand on the protruding mound
still covered by the thin blanket. "I'll be back with the both
of you as soon as I can," he whispered. Catching her lips in a
solid kiss, Clark gazed back at her with regret. "I promise."
Before she could say anything more, he left.
Lois threw herself back, groaning over another weekend
morning without a husband, 'and *what* a morning,' she thought,
as a hard rain hit the glass of the window. It was certainly the
type that most women spent cuddling in someone's arms. Lois
shrugged, knowing that she was never going to be "most women".
On a lark, she reached across his side of the bed to the
telephone and pushed the speed dial button for her mother's
number. As was the case each time she had tried to call the
number the day before, a busy signal instantly followed.
"*Un*-believable," Lois muttered. "Maybe she's bought a
phone with a headset!" Frustrated, slightly irritated, and
feeling the need to work it off, she opened the nightstand
drawer, pulled out her personal address book and looked up
another number.
"Jimmy? Are you up yet?"
"Ma-a-a?!" a raspy voice answered.
"No, Jimmy ... this is Lois."
"Lois! What's-- What's wrong? What time is it?"
"Nothing's wrong, and it's nine ... fifteen," she said,
leaning over to see the clock face.
"In the morning?! Lois, it's *Saturday* -- my day off.
What do you want?"
"Would you be able to go over to the office with me and
pick up all the LexCorp/Burnston-Hughes files?"
"Today?!"
"Yes."
"But--"
"I'd *really* appreciate it. It would be a lot easier for
me to work on this from home," she said, pulling out the "I'm
pregnant" card she had learned to use when it suited her....
"O-kay," he answered, sighing heavily, "but what about CK?
Won't he notice all those boxes in your house and ask questions
about them?"
"He's-- He's out this morning. Besides, if what I'm
beginning to suspect actually turns out to be true, then I think
he's going to have to start noticing more than a few boxes. He's
going to have to start facing some facts as well."
******
It had seemed strange to him. He had been up and down the
East coast all day long, saving stranded people, repairing
bridges, clearing blocked roads for police and emergency crews,
and yet, when he had phoned home with an apology all memorized,
his wife was unfazed. In fact, she had sounded preoccupied and
not overly concerned about the length of his absence. Taking her
at her word that "all was okay," Superman continued to devote
himself to following the path of the storm as it made its way to
the sea, giving a helping hand to rescuers in the most ravaged
areas.
Now, with only a light rain falling as he turned South from
New England and headed towards home, he finally permitted himself
to wonder why Lois hadn't seemed all that anxious about his
return. She certainly had always been supportive of his "other
job," but, considering the last few days, could she be *this*
supportive without an underlying reason?
The thought barely entered his consciousness when he heard
a familiar call and felt himself go rigid in response. Oddly, it
sounded very far away ... and almost conversational. As he sped
up, breaking the sound barrier in his rush to get to it, he
realized it was coming from Metropolis International Airport....
{{"Well, I think they *should* get Superman, don't you?
Help! Superman!" he heard.
"Please! You're yelling in my ear," a woman's voice
responded with what sounded like irritation. "Besides, bomb
detection and detonation units have certainly been able to handle
these kind of things before Superman arrived. In any case, he
can't be everywhere."
"Yeah! Haven't you heard?!" a third person chimed in.
"Superman's been helping out with all of that storm damage up
North."
"Still," the first person seemed to be insisting,
"Metropolis *is* his home. We need him here ... and I have a
plane to catch in a half hour. Help! Superman!"}}
With his trademark entrance, Superman appeared on the
horizon. As he swooped in, he focused on the crowd of people
congregating to the far side of the airport terminal. He knew
the call for help came from that group, but saw no one in any
identifiable trouble. His eyes scanned away from the crowd to
the fire trucks, the rescue vehicles, the police cars, all parked
at jagged angles near the terminal entrance. Captain Parks, the
senior officer on the scene, was shouting orders into a hand-held
radio, only noticing the Super Hero's arrival after he had landed
next to him.
"Finally!" the man in the crowd who had called Superman
exclaimed. "It's about time!" He smiled in delight at the
Hero's rapid response to the "crisis" -- no matter how fictitious
it was -- and twitched his pointed nose like a skunk sensing its
target.
"Well, I'm glad *you're* happy!" the woman said. They
watched Superman enter the building after conferring with the
officers. "Ever since Superman came to town, those so-called
public servants have been virtually *loafing* on my tax dollars!"
she added in disgust.
"Perhaps we should pay *him* instead!" the little man
countered, cackling at what must have been a private joke.
"Not Superman. He's far too principled to take it!" she
declared.
The man laughed even harder.
Moments later the Super Hero emerged from the terminal with
various members of the bomb squad following him in full gear and
looking slightly disappointed. Cautiously, he carried a brown,
unmarked package before him as he headed towards Captain Parks.
Reaching the officer's side, he just as carefully placed it into
the surprised man's unsteady hands.
"What's this?!"
"It's a clock," Superman said.
"Not a bomb?"
The Super Hero shook his head, "Not a bomb."
Captain Parks sighed heavily, rolling his eyes in relief.
"A clock! Jesus! All right, people!" he yelled, his glance
sweeping across all his police units. "Let's get this place
functioning again!"
"Superman! Superman! Remember me?"
As the Super Hero turned in response, his cape swirling
gracefully outward, a smallish man charged towards him from the
barricaded crowd. Since the emergency appeared to be over and
many were returning to their earlier activities, no one bothered
to chase him down.
"Uh ... yes?" Clark frowned, trying to place the man. He
had met *so many* people as Superman -- people who remembered him
far more easily than he could recall them -- that he spent a
great deal of time attempting to put names to faces.
"The gentleman who had trouble with the vending machine the
other day?" the man said in clarification.
"Oh! Oh, yes." Clark didn't *want* to remember *that*
exchange.
"It's such a coincidence that I should run into you. I was
hoping I would."
"Yes?"
"You see, I had *such* trouble with that machine over the
years, that I really wanted to reward you for your help," he
explained. Pulling out his wallet, he flipped through it quickly
before selecting a one hundred dollar bill.
Clark backed up as if the man were offering poison. "No,
no. You keep that," he said, waving his hands in front of him.
"But, Superman, you *deserve* it," the little man insisted,
thinking that he would try just one more time.
"No, please. If you want to show your appreciation, then I
would like it if you would make a donation to your favorite
charity, or-- or to the *Superman Foundation*. They're doing a
lot of worthwhile things for Metropolis -- especially its
neediest citizens," Clark quickly replied.
'Luthor was right,' Van Horton thought, 'the suit *does*
come off.' He returned his wallet to his jacket and briefly ran
his fingers through an inner pocket coated with a certain red
powder. "All right, Superman. But, at least, let me shake your
hand once again." He reached out and grabbed one of the Super
Hero hand's in both of his. "By the way, my name is Alfred ...
Alfred Morton."
"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Morton."
"Nice to meet you, as well," he said, patting the Super
Hero's muscled arm. "*My* you're a big boy," Morton/Van Horton
commented, reaching up and squeezing the powerful shoulders. He
danced spritely around the larger man, making a full circle as
Superman followed, putting one in mind of a dog chasing his tail.
It was dizzying.
"What-- What are you doing?"
"Superman, you don't *really* want some bureaucratic
charity that spends more money on paper clips than on good works
to get this hundred dollar bill, do you?" Morton/Van Horton
asked, pulling out his wallet once more.
"Yes, I do."
"Oh, surely not," Morton/Van Horton threw back, watching
carefully as the Super Hero's gaze remained glued to the waving
greenback.
"Surely not," Superman slowly repeated. He reached over
with the utmost tentativeness, took the bill from the
self-satisfied man, and stuffed it quickly into the belt of his
suit.
"Now, doesn't that feel better?"
"It feels great, actually," Superman agreed, letting loose
a big sigh.
"Oh, my!" the little man suddenly exclaimed as he glanced
at his wristwatch. "I've missed my flight." He looked about
them, noticing more than a few people stopping to stare in
curiosity, having given up on the dull pastime of watching the
police and firemen pack up their gear.
"You know, Superman, all these good people pay the airlines
hundreds and thousands of dollars to fly them all over the world.
The airlines, in turn, must pay for fuel, maintenance,
salaries...." He ticked off each expense on his fingers. "*And*,
they don't have half the speed, or the, uh--" Morton/Van Horton
quickly took in Superman's muscular body. "*Or*, the undeniable
appeal to the customer that *you* have."
"So?"
"So?! My good man! Haven't you ever thought of captaining
your own airline?"
"You mean, fly people around for money?" Superman asked,
feeling slightly uncomfortable with the idea but not *completely*
averse.
"Superman!... What a brilliant plan?! Why couldn't *I*
have come up with it! I suppose that's why you're so ... so
*super*. Well Sir," he said regretfully, "must go. Have to book
another flight." Giving his luggage a tug, Morton/Van Horton
began to slowly -- very slowly -- walk off.
"Mr. Morton!" he heard, all at once, just as he had hoped.
"Mr. Morton!"
"Yes, Superman?" Morton/Van Horton innocently replied,
smiling over his shoulder.
"Ah ... where are you going, and just how much did the
airline charge you?"
******
Lois tried to stretch the kinks out of her body but felt
herself bumping up against something immovable. Opening her
eyes, she realized it was the back of the couch. Peering over
the side, she saw the boxes and files still lying on the living
room floor next to the folding table with the remains of her
dinner from the previous night.
'God,' she thought sarcastically, 'nothing stimulates the
mind more than reading old financial statements!' Looking around
once again, reality finally hit her, and she struggled, as she
did most days now, to get up.
"Clark! Clark, are you home?!" she shouted before
searching the room for a note or for some sign of where he might
be. "Clark!" she yelled again. She climbed the first few steps
of their staircase, until she noticed the answering machine light
blinking at her impatiently.
"Ah, ha!" she exclaimed, homing in on the "play" button.
BE-E-P.
"Lois ... Lois?... Are you there? I've been trying to get
you all evening."
"Mother ... how ironic," Lois muttered to the machine,
almost forgetting how much she had wanted to be reached by the
elusive Mrs. Lane.
"Do you have the volume turned down on the phone again?!"
"Ye-es...."
"Lois, please call me. It's about the guest list for the
baby shower."
"Baby shower? What baby shower?" she snidely responded.
"Do you know the Dean of Women at Metropolis University?"
"No-o."
"I thought you knew her through your Women's Lib group?"
"No-o."
"Well ... call me."
BE-E-P.
"Lois? Clark? It's Bobby. I think I've got something
interesting for you two, and I think you'll want to pay for it.
It involves some new construction hires that were brought in to
work on Superman's Kingston Project. Looks like things are
getting mighty fishy down there. If you're interested, meet me
on Monday. You know where and when. *And* you know what to
bring."
BE-E-P....
Silence followed.
"Is that *it*?"
She pushed the rewind button. The only answer was the
whirring of the machine, making its way back to the beginning of
the tape.
The messages she had received, which under normal
conditions would have piqued Lois' curiosity and been given a
thorough mental work over, were shoved aside testily. She
grabbed the TV remote, pushed on the power button, and flipped
swiftly to LNN. Perhaps *they* could tell her of her husband's
whereabouts.
".... Recapping our top story, an earthquake measuring 6.3
on the Richter Scale hit the northern section of Kansu Province
in China early this morning. The quake, causing only limited
damage in heavily populated areas, devastated several remote
villages. We'll be updating this story as soon as further
details are known.... In other news, the Weather Center
reports...."
"Damn!" she muttered cursing the fact that, for once, the
twenty-four hour news channel wasn't milking every last detail
out of a developing crisis. "What a time to get responsible,"
Lois grumbled. Now, she could only wonder about him and hope
that he *was* in China. As if seconding her irritation, Lois
felt the baby kick and her stomach rumble in unison, making her
realize just how late in the morning it was. She grabbed the
leftovers from the night before and headed for the kitchen.
Stashing the dishes in the sink, she gazed out of the window in
thought.
"Might as well," she muttered.
Opening the back door, Lois checked around for signs of
movement from her neighbors, and, finding none, let out the
loudest yell she could.
"Superman!... Superman!"
She listened, hoping to hear a familiar SWOOSH, but nothing
answered her call -- nothing but morning traffic, birds chirping
in a fury, the bells of a nearby church pealing at the end of its
Sunday service.... Disappointed, she roughly closed the door.
Lois walked over to the refrigerator desperately needing
... something. Pulling on the handle and leaning against the
side, she scanned the eggs, the fruit, the milk, the juice, and
headed straight for the piles upon piles of Yodels, Twinkies, and
Ding Dongs.
"Someone's been at these," she smirked, knowing it was
Clark. Lois plucked out a Yodel from the stack, wanting a
chocolate fix more than she ever could remember and not caring
one whit about the caffeine, the sugar, or the pre-processed,
unnatural ingredients. "Baby," she said, patting her abdomen,
"fasten your seat belt."
"... police were called in to Metropolis International
Airport at the report of a suspicious package. While
investigating, Superman arrived..."
'Superman!' Lois made a quick exit to the living room and
parked herself in front of the television, a cellophane wrapper
floating to the floor in her wake.
"... to discover that the package contained only a simple
clock! Superman has not been available for comment. He was last
seen flying off North by Northeast, carrying a man and his
luggage."
"Carrying a man and his luggage?!" Lois repeated in a
muffle, her mouth filled with chocolate cake and cream. "When?!
When was this?!" she called out to the television, her arms
swinging upward in exasperation as the news reader turned,
instead, to the "Hollywood Minute" and a picture of the
"Titanic's" modesty-challenged director flashed across the
screen.
"Make another movie, already!" she groused at him.
Beginning to pace, Lois returned to the kitchen and, once
again, looked out the back door. 'Perhaps, I'll see a spot of
blue and red in the distance, growing bigger and bigger,' she
thought, 'eventually turning into my husband, carrying a person
under one arm and a full set of American Tourister under the
other.
"That's ridiculous ... a man and his luggage," she grumbled
under her breath.... "Superman!"
Just as she was about to give up and concentrate on her
next move, Lois thought she heard a noise that usually heralded
the entrance of a well-dressed man, surreptitiously checking both
ways, while straightening his tie. She peered upward, praying
for it to be so, when a red and blue streak blazed across the
sky.
"Superman!" she cried out.
THUMP!
Lois jumped back in alarm. Tearing her eyes away from the
heavens, she found herself staring at a large, light-colored
sack, lying in the middle of the patio.
"This better not be his laundry," Lois muttered as she
dragged it inside and tentatively tugged on the drawstrings.
Spreading apart the material, she gasped in surprise at the
sight. Before her, in a loose pile of many denominations, was
what she could only guess to be thousands of dollars. She
frowned, trying to find a note -- something that would tell her
what this was all about. But there was nothing, and, for the
life of her, she couldn't stop humming that old time tune....
"Every time it rains, it rains ... pennies from heaven."
******
As the day wore on and night approached, Lois went from
staring at the piles of money in front of her to staring at news
reports; from trying to tempt her mind with work in light of
Bobby's message to wondering if she should place a call to Martha
and Jonathan and see if their son was dropping bags of money on
top of *their* house. Worried, and yet also angry with herself
for not pursuing Clark's unusual behavior when he first displayed
it, she was reluctant to drag anyone else into something so
damnably mysterious. After all, she just didn't know how
dangerous it might become, and no one else needed to know -- yet.
Her thoughts spiralled further downward. Feeling all alone
amidst them, Lois was jarred alert by the slam of a door and a
loud thump coming from the kitchen. Seconds later, Clark, still
attired in full Superman regalia, stumbled into the dining room
and headed for the stairs.
"Clark," Lois called out from the shadows.
He stopped and squinted in her direction. "Oh. Hi, Lois."
"*Hi, Lois?*... Honey!" she exclaimed, standing and
walking quickly towards him. "Where have you been since
yesterday? What's going on? *And*, why did you drop $35,000 on
our patio?"
Clark looked confused for a moment, as if he were facing a
barrage of bullets that -- for once -- he couldn't easily catch
and crumble into dust.
"I'm tired," he simply said, turning to go upstairs.
"Where have you been?!" she demanded.
"Flying."
"Well, I didn't think you were walking."
"Lois, I can't deal with this now. I'm *so* tired," he
said, climbing up to the middle landing.
"Clark ... does all of this money belong to that man you
flew off with?" she asked, gesturing to the mountain of cash.
"Which man?"
"The man from the airport!"
"Which airport?"
"Which?! *Metropolis* International."
"Oh. No ... no, not really."
"Well then--"
Before she could utter another word, with the last of his
energy, he dashed the rest of the way up, gratefully escaping her
questions.
"Clark! Just because I'm pregnant, doesn't mean I can't
walk upstairs!" she yelled, proceeding to do just that.
Arriving at their bedroom, she found the door ajar, and,
pushing it fully open, was presented with a sight she hadn't
counted on. On their bed, lying undoubtedly as unabashed as the
day he was born, was Clark Kent, completely naked and snoring
soundly.
"Clark ..." she repeated softly, fighting her anger. She
walked over to the rocking chair in the corner that Jonathan had
sent all the way from Kansas and lifted the afghan that had been
tossed across it. She snapped it into the air and watched it
fall like a cover of snow on her husband's body. He barely
moved an inch. Bending over as far as she could she picked up
his sullied hero's suit and took it into the bathroom, tossing it
into the hamper on top of the one from the previous day.
"If I've told him once, I've told him a thousand times,"
she mumbled in self-mockery.
******
"Ahhh!" He splashed the cold water into his tired eyes,
but it was no use. They still wanted to close and take him back
to dreamland.
"Clark," Lois said, running her hand down his arm. "You
have to see Dr. Klein. No more, 'Honey, I'm just fine'. You're
*not* just fine."
"I know. I know. I have an appointment at the Foundation
with Marigold, but after that...."
"Clark, I think you should just go!" Lois insisted.
"Lois, I haven't been to the construction site in a week.
Even then, I only flew over it, and it wasn't exactly leisurely."
"Okay, but right after that."
"God! I think I have a headache," he said, leaning his
forehead against the bathroom mirror.
She poured him a glass of cold water, feeling enormously
ineffectual. "Tell me again what happened. Perhaps we can
figure it out.... Both times you met this man?"
"Yes ... he was a strange little guy. The first time I met
him he was upset because he couldn't get a soda out of a vending
machine."
"And so, *you* helped him get it ... *and more,*" Lois
reminded, unable to stop herself.
Clark nodded, looking disgustedly at his reflection. "The
second time, he was at the airport during that bomb scare. He
came up to me and thanked me for helping him on the previous day,
and then he started talking about how often people fly and how
much money the airlines are making. *And*, before you know it, I
was ... *flying him somewhere*."
"Where?"
"I *can't* remember! I wish I could!"
"Do you remember his name. You said he introduced
himself."
"It was ... Mort ... Morton, I think."
"First or last?"
"Last. The first name was the same as that guy who was the
butler on 'Batman'."
"Batman?!" Lois looked at Clark in dismay, amazed that he
could remember the name of a TV character's butler, and yet *not*
remember where he went or what he had done for almost thirty-six
hours.
"Yes ... Alfred! That's it. It was Alfred!" he exclaimed,
cringing in pain at his own enthusiasm.
"Why don't you lie down?" she suggested as she led him out
of the bathroom and back to their bed. "I'll tell Perry you're
not feeling well. It'll be a real novelty saying it and knowing
it's actually the truth," Lois added with a laugh before
preparing herself to broach a topic she wasn't too eager to
discuss.... "Clark, I got a call from Bobby. He claims that
there's suspicious activity going on at the Kingston construction
site. That it has something to do with some new men who were
hired."
"What kind of activity?" Clark asked, shooting up like a
punching bag and groaning at the result.
"He didn't say," Lois said, wincing with him. "You know
Bobby, you have to feed him like a slot machine to get any kind
of a payback. I'll ask him about this Alfred Morton person, too.
Maybe he's heard of him."
"I should go with you," Clark said, moving to get up.
"No! *You* should go to see Dr. Klein -- as soon as
possible! Pronto! Faster than a speeding bullet!
He frowned. "*No*, I should go to see Marigold, just as I
had planned. She might know something about all of this."
'Yeah,' Lois mused to herself, gathering up her keys, her
lipstick, her comb and everything else she needed to throw into
her purse. 'That's what I'm afraid of....'
"I hate to do this to you, Honey," she said aloud, "but, I
thought I'd take that junk food you confiscated and use it to pay
off Bobby." Lois had to laugh at Clark's crestfallen face.
"Don't worry. I'll leave you a couple of Twinkies."
"Thanks," he said, smiling.
"Seriously, though. Yodels and Ding Dongs are one thing,
but what are we going to do with the $35,000 which obviously
doesn't belong to us -- at least, not technically?"
"It's not just $35,000," he confessed, his voice lowering
in shame. "I went out for a second go round, remember?"
"Clark, what are we going to do with it all, especially
since somebody's bound to mention that Superman took them on a
joyride for cash."
Clark physically flinched at the thought. "I ... I think
Superman needs to have a very public press conference announcing
that any money he received while flying people hither and yon
will be going directly to his Foundation. Beyond that, Superman
Airlines is definitely grounded."
"Not so fast, Captain," Lois quipped, flipping through her
day planner. "Don't ground yourself before this evening."
Clark looked up to her in puzzlement.
"The childbirth classes?... They start tonight," she
reminded him, leaning over for a kiss.
"Gotcha. Don't worry; I won't forget."
"Better not," she said, swatting the side of his cheek
affectionately.
"Ow!" he responded, rubbing his backside in mock pain and
flashing ... a charming grin.
******
"Are you sure he'll be here today?" Harry asked.
"Yes!" Marigold assured him, puffing nervously on a
cigarette while pacing back and forth in front of her ornate
desk, cleverly decorated with a bouquet of woodcut marigolds.
"That's what he said, and Superman *always* keeps his word."
Harry leaned back in one of the soft-cushioned chairs
provided for visitors and propped his feet up on a coffee table
arrayed with the latest public interest magazines.
"What are we going to do?" she asked. "I've managed to
cover up the paper trail, but what if he asks to visit the site
and notices something suspicious, or what if he starts to talk to
the new men? Can we even rely on them? Oh God! *You* said that
you and your boss were going to keep him occupied!"
"We *did* keep him occupied," Harry said, appearing to
examine his manicure while actually taking in her attractive
figure. "But we discovered -- and it was proven this weekend --
that the fix is only temporary.... It seems he can be ...
're-engaged'."
"Well, what am I supposed to do, then?! The deal was that
I would oversee the milking of the Foundation's resources, *not*
distract Superman as well."
"I'm afraid you're going to have to distract him."
"What?!" Marigold took a swipe at his feet, knocking them
off the coffee table. She sat down in their place, leaning
towards him close enough so that the smell of her perfume wafted
under his nose along with the smoke of her cigarette.
"Don't get excited," he said in calming tones. "We've come
upon something that promises to be a permanent distraction. All
*you* have to do when Superman arrives is to offer him a drink --
ice tea, juice, liquor ... sarsaparilla -- it doesn't matter."
"Offer him a drink! In all the times that I've been with
him I've never seen him drink or eat one thing. How do we know
he even *does* drink?"
"The boss assures me that he does," Harry answered, not
certain where all this information was coming from, but on the
basis of Luthor's previous knowledge, Harry was willing to bet
that he was right.
"I don't understand, Harry. What will a drink do?"
Her polished, nattily dressed companion pulled a small,
clear, cylindrical container out of his pocket partially filled
with a red powder. "Normally nothing, *but* if you mix this into
it...."
"What is it? What does it do?"
"Never mind," Harry quickly said, frankly, not too happy
that he had been instructed to trust such a precious commodity to
a virtual neophyte. "Just be careful with it. Use it
judiciously."
"But, what if he won't take it and things get dicey?"
"Well, if he won't drink it...." Harry took a deep breath,
barely able to get his next words out. "*Then* ... just take this
powder into your hand and apply it."
"Pardon?"
"Sprinkle it on him. Put some on your hand and shake his,"
Harry said. He bent towards her, taking in Marigold's long legs
exposed by the slit of her skirt and the cleavage just peeking
over her blouse. "You're a woman. Use your charms."
"This isn't what I expected," Marigold said, rising from
her seat in disgust.
"It isn't what I expected either," Harry countered, his
mind drifting far away from Marigold and *her* problems. He
studied the cylinder he held in his hand, half tempted to take
the powder back to Mindy Church and tell her that *this* was all
that was left of the stolen kryptonite. 'I could do that,' he
thought, 'collect her reward, and call it a draw.'
'A draw, nothing!' an inner voice immediately chimed back.
'You do *that*, Harry, and you're dead. Undoubtedly, Luthor
would find out that you double-crossed him. And Mindy Church,
who, it appears, is not as easily manipulated as you thought,
would find out that her arch-rival still had a few, lovely --
extremely choice -- jewelry pieces made, strangely enough,
from another planet. Ipso facto, *both of them* would be after
you....
'Harry -- my man -- you're in a tight spot; a very tight
spot, indeed.'
******
"What's this?" Bobby Bigmouth asked, crawling into the back
of the waiting jeep and immediately spying the large, brown
grocery bag sitting beside Lois.
"Nuh, uh!" she said, with a slap of her hand. "You don't
get the goods until *I* get the goods.... Whatta ya have?"
"What do *you* have?" he insisted, leaning over to peek
into the top of the sack before shrinking back in horror. "Yodels
*and* Twinkies! Lady, please! My body's a temple!"
"Look ... if what you have to tell me is *truly*
interesting, I'll take you to Mario's Steakhouse and you can be
ordained."
Slightly discombobulated, Bobby sat back for a moment,
considering. "All right," he finally agreed, "but *I* get to
choose the sacraments."
"Deal."
"Okay ... The other day, I was at Murphy's Pub. You
know," he said conversationally, "they serve a ham and cabbage
there that would make a leprechaun immigrate--"
"Bobby!"
"Okay! okay! Keep your skirt on! *So,* a guy's sitting
next to me at the bar slobbering into his Guinness, which is very
annoying cause *I* have an extremely delicate stomach."
Lois waved her hand in the air, encouraging him to "please
get it moving".
"Well ... he says he's just been laid off from the Kingston
Project. Says they brought in a whole, new bunch of guys from
K.O. Construction with reputations that would curl your hair."
"K.O. Construction ... the outfit that's been suspected of
having mob connections? The outfit Lex once controlled?" she
added, speaking to herself more than to him.
"Ah-h ... so, you've been keeping up with the "society
pages" too, huh?" he said.
"Yeah. *So,* how far up the food chain do you think this
goes?"
"What? Do you mean, do I think Superman's involved?!"
Bobby asked in astonishment.
"No! Of course, he's not!" Lois blurted out defensively.
"I mean," she added quickly, "that's just not possible. He's not
the type. What I meant was, do you think-- do you think the new
CEO is involved?"
"Well, it would be pretty quick work if she was."
******
Marigold nervously glanced out of her office window for
what seemed like the hundredth time, wondering if -- for once --
Superman just might be standing her up. Frankly, she almost
wished he would. She hadn't the taste for what she was about to
do to him, and yet, she knew, that when you make a pact with the
devil you had to see it through. Marigold closed her eyes,
feeling a tear trickle down her cheek. 'Why, oh why did I let
myself get in over my head? Did I *really* think Burnston-Hughes
wasn't going to figure out how much cash I managed to pocket in
all those funny-money stock transactions? If it wasn't for
this--' She flung her arms wide, encompassing her new office.
'this "opportunity" they gave me to show my gratitude at their
"forgiveness", I'd run--'
A jarring buzzer hit the air, halting her escalating alarm.
Quickly, she hit back, stabbing the button on her intercom.
"Yes?" Marigold responded, running the back of her hand
across her face and sniffling like a lost little girl.
"Superman's here," a voice chattered back through the
staticky machine.
Pulling her compact out to make sure her face wasn't
streaky, Marigold dabbed at her eyes with a tissue and cleared
her throat.
"Yes ... thank you, Joyce. Send him in."
Within seconds, the door opened and in walked a figure she
never thought she would get used to seeing -- a good-looking,
muscular man in electric-blue tights coming forward with his hand
outstretched in greeting. 'Sprinkle it on him,' she heard an
inner voice instructing her. 'Put some on your hand and shake
his.' Quickly, she looked down at her pocket, almost pulling out
the red powder. 'Please, Superman,' a second voice intoned, 'I
can't do this.... Please throw this stuff on yourself so you
won't find out what a rat I am.' Of course, he didn't hear her
brief bit of panic. Instead, he stood there expectantly, waiting
for her handshake. Following his lead, she put out her own hand
devoid of anything but goodwill.
"Shall we take a seat on the sofa?" Marigold suggested.
He nodded, stepping aside and allowing her to lead the way.
"I briefly flew over the construction site," Superman informed
her.
"Oh?" she nervously answered.
"Yes, and I understand some new men have been hired."
"That's right," her voice shakily responded. "And, as a
result, things have really sped along, although -- of course --
we can't open the day care center until the building inspectors
have been through it. Nonetheless, I think we can safely go on
with the dedication scheduled for this Thursday."
"*This* Thursday?! I *never* thought we'd make that
deadline, especially after all the storms we've had this
season.... Congratulations, Ms. Smythe," Superman said with a
warm smile, thinking that Bobby Bigmouth *must* have gotten his
news wrong. Granted, on his latest flyby as Superman, Clark
hadn't taken a very close look at the site, but he hadn't spotted
a thing out of place either. Besides, Marigold looked perfectly
comfortable and confident.
"Well, shall we go down to the site and see how you managed
to pull off this miracle?" he suggested.
"Ahh ... Superman.... Actually, I thought we could take
this time to talk -- to get to know one another better," Marigold
glanced around, as if searching for something. "I'm feeling a
tad thirsty. Let's have a drink."
******
Sitting in a booth of a busy steakhouse watching Bobby down
a baked potato in three perfect bites, Lois forced her eyes away
from his expert performance and yelled over the din and clatter
of the lunchtime crowd.
"Bobby! Have you ever heard of a guy called Morton?
*Alfred* Morton?" she asked as she leaned in to chase an errant
cherry tomato across her plate. Bobby reached over and steadied
it with his knife, allowing her to stab it with one thrust.
"Thank you."
"Hey! I honor motherhood."
Lois smiled weakly. "Morton?"
"Morton," he repeated, swallowing a large helping of
coleslaw. "The name's not familiar in this neck of the woods."
"Well, in which neck of the woods would it be familiar?"
"Europe, primarily," he quickly answered after carefully
choosing which topping he would like on his third potato. "If
he's the guy I'm thinking of, he did some time in the French
penal system for stealing jewels. Used to be a very well-known
gem cutter and dealer. Has various aliases."
"Did he ever have any connections to Metropolis under *any*
name?" Lois asked.
"We-l-l." Bobby hesitated, taking the time to dissect his
steak in several expert strokes. "A few years back he had some
connection to Luthor."
'Lex, again.... First K.O. Construction and now this,' she
said to herself.... "*Lex* Luthor?" she asked aloud.
"No, *Martin* Luther," Bobby sarcastically volleyed. "Lex
used to do all his "jewelry shopping" by way of Morton, or
Norton, or Van Horton, or Phalstengraft."
"Phalstengraft?"
Bobby shrugged.
Lois glanced down at her own simple engagement ring -- the
ring she loved more than anything she had ever worn or ever
would. And then, she thought of the huge diamond Lex had given
her all those years ago. Could *that* ring have come by way of
Morton? Could it've been stolen goods?"
All at once Lois felt sick, wanting very much to get out of
the closed-in confines of the booth. "I've gotta go, Bobby.
Thanks."
"Hey, what about the Yodels and the Twinkies?!"
"I thought your body was a temple."
"Temples *do* accept charitable donations. Consider it a
tax write-off."
******
"I don't need a drink, but, please go ahead and have one
yourself," Superman insisted.
"You *do* know I mean a soft drink," Marigold said.
"Nothing alcoholic."
"It wouldn't matter anyway. Please, go ahead."
Marigold took a deep breath, realizing that he was leaving
her no choice. "Okay." She walked over to the door and called
out to her secretary. "Joyce, can you get a couple of sodas out
of the fridge?... Oh, and bring some glasses as well," she said
before turning back to him. "Just in case you change your mind
and want to join me," she added.
Once the soft drinks were delivered, Marigold nervously
turned her back on the Super Hero, pulled open the tab on a can,
and poured out a small sampling for herself. '*Now* what do I
do?' she wondered. Frowning at the obvious answer -- an answer
she could no longer put off -- Marigold reached down into her
pocket full of kryptonite, snapped the top off the cylinder, and
ran her fingers through the loose red sand. Walking slowly and
purposefully back towards the sofa, "quite unexpectedly," she
tripped.
Within an eye blink, Superman was at Marigold's side,
catching her before any damage could be done ... to her.
She grabbed his shoulder with one hand, gripping the
material before moving her hand downward. "I'm sorry," she said
softly, meaning it sincerely.
"That's okay. No harm done, except to your carpet." She
looked down. The soda had spilled on the Oriental promising a
nasty stain. He grabbed a tissue from a box on the table and
began blotting at it.
"Here. Here's a napkin," she said, snatching one from her
desk and leaning over him to sprinkle a little more of the sand.
"I guess I *really* deserve a drink after that," she said
jokingly.
"Actually, you've read my mind," he answered, as though he
*hadn't* spent the last ten minutes refusing all offers. Before
he could reconsider, Marigold rushed to her desk and poured out
two more helpings, surreptitiously dousing one with a light
coating of the red powder and shaking it as vigorously as she
could.
"I'm so glad you changed your mind," she said, handing him
the glass and watching him down the liquid. She had no idea what
this red stuff did to him, but one thing she noticed, suddenly,
he seemed very agreeable.
No sooner had that thought crossed her mind, when Superman
wrinkled his nose like a small boy after a dose of castor oil.
"It has a slight metallic taste," he muttered, pushing the glass
aside.
"Well ... let me get you something else," she quickly
offered. "My treat."
My treat.... Those two little words appeared to work
magic. All at once, Superman perked up and his eyes sparkled.
"Your treat? Well! If you *really* mean that ... have you ever
been to Paris?!"
"Paris!" Marigold couldn't believe her ears. She had
wanted to get out of town, as far away as she could from the
Foundation, from the construction site, from anything that could
implicate her. *But,* to go to Paris with *Superman,* that
topped any employee benefit a company could possibly offer!
"Superman ... I'd *love* to go to Paris with you!" Marigold
exclaimed, melting towards him.
******
Lois returned to the office, expecting to find a message
from Clark. She was surprised, therefore, upon punching the code
for her voicemail, to find nothing from her husband at all.
Instead, she was greeted with a most unlikely message from an
equally unlikely caller.
"Lois ... this is Marigold-- Marigold Smythe?... I'm just
phoning to let you know I received an invitation from your mother
to attend your baby shower. She must have heard about me through
Martha -- or perhaps Clark? I hope this is okay. I know we
don't know each other very well. Anyway, it would be a pleasure
to attend, and if there is anything I can do...."
"Anything you can do?" Lois countered. "Yeah, there is one
thing you can do. Stop taking my husband for a ride," she
mumbled, before glancing up and finding her eyes immediately
drawn to the bank of ubiquitous television sets which monitored
the news.
"Or, maybe I should tell *him* to stop taking *you* for
one," she added, as she sat down with a graceless thump and
stared at the screen.
"Hey, Lois! Take a gander at this!" she heard someone
shout. Immediately, the volume on one of the TV sets was turned
up, followed by wolf whistles and catcalls erupting across the
newsroom.
"... the grand opening of Chef Robert's highly anticipated
'bistro', 'Deux Cheminees' was attended by some of Europe's most
sought after members of the jet-set as well as more than a few
Hollywood notables," the reporter opined, her diamond drop
earrings and simple black cocktail dress stating that *she*
belonged.... "And, surprisingly, *Superman* also arrived
escorting a lovely redhead, who we have yet to identify," the
woman continued, as a shot of the Super Hero climbing the wide
stone steps and entering the ornate doors flashed across the
screen. "Well," the reporter added, a self-satisfied smile
settling on her face, "don't they make an attractive pair?...
This is Mona Strumpet with all the news you just *have* to know."
Lois quickly glanced over at the many clocks lined up
across the city room wall and noted that the time in Paris was
now 8:35 p.m, obviously the dinner hour in Europe. 'But, what
was Clark doing in Paris, having dinner with Marigold Smythe?!'
her mind shouted. 'Why wasn't he at home, resting?! Why wasn't
he at STAR Labs getting the check-up he undoubtedly needed?! Why
wasn't he here, at the office, waiting to take *his* wife to
*his* baby's birth classes?! Why?!'
"Hey ... chin-up sweetheart," she heard a purring voice
intone, "Superman is yesterday's news. *You've* got the real man
of the moment."
Lois' watery eyes listlessly searched about her, settling
on Cat Grant, two desks over. Smiling weakly, Lois swiftly
looked down so that no one could catch just how much this was
affecting her. "I know," she replied, swallowing back her tears
and reaching for a tissue. "I-- I just have a ... a thing in my
eye. Just this ... this little thing."
******
Lois laid as close to the edge of the bed as she could, her
mind drifting in and out of a restless, unwelcome slumber. Each
time sleep tried to entice her, her conscious mind chased it
away, demanding answers to a hundred questions about him. 'Where
was he? What was he doing?' And, on and on. She wasn't sure
just what time she abandoned the questions. She wasn't quite
sure when he arrived home.
******
"What time did you get in last night?"
"I can't--"
"Where did you go?"
"I don't--"
"How could you do this to me?!"
"I didn't--"
"*Just* tell me this.... Did you run into that little man,
Alfred Morton, yesterday?"
"I'm not--" he halted, looking up at her in anticipation.
"Well! Aren't you going to answer me?!" she demanded,
pacing in front of their bed.
"I was waiting for you to interrupt me again."
"Don't be funny, Clark! What did you do with Marigold
Smythe in Paris?!"
"I didn't do anything *with* her. Leave me alone," he
said, tiredly, turning away.
"Clark!" she yelled, pulling on his arm, roughly, to get
him to roll over again. "Don't you *dare* turn your back on me!
Do you know where I was last night! *Well* ... I *wasn't* at our
baby's birth class, I'll tell you *that* much! Why?! Because
the baby's father was in Paris with his college girlfriend until
God knows when, doing God knows what!"
"Lois, leave me alone ... *please*."
"Clark ... did you meet that man, Morton, again yesterday?"
The silence in the room was palpable as he watched her,
watching him ... expectantly.
"No."
"I-- I don't understand what's happening here," she said,
walking away from him before moving back with determination.
"But, I know one thing. It's gotta stop, and it's stopping
now!... Clark. Get up. We're going to see Dr. Klein."
"I don't want to."
"Clark."
"When I get up, I'm going to the airport."
"The airport! Why?!"
"Because I can make thousands of dollars there. Double, if
the traveller doesn't stay over a Saturday!"
"Is that what this is all about?! Money?! Is that why you
went with her?!" Lois asked, completely baffled and trying
desperately to find an answer that didn't involve an attraction
to tall, shapely, ex-college girlfriends.
"I went because she said it was her treat. That I could
have whatever I wanted. I wanted to have dinner in Paris."
Lois rushed over to her purse, pulling out her wallet and
flipping through the money. "I have twenty ... thirty ...
forty-three dollars here. Forty-three dollars, Clark. For
forty-three dollars, will you go with me to STAR Labs?"
He looked at her doubtfully.
"No deal? How about this? You can't beat this offer!...
You know how much I have in my checking account. Well, we got
paid last Friday, right?" Lois said, striding quickly over to the
bed with her check book. "Look, Clark -- *everything*. I sign
over everything -- my *entire* checking account -- to you, if you
come with me to see Dr. Klein."
He sat back thinking, as she watched him in hope.
"Everything," she repeated.
Minutes passed and she began to wonder if her child was
doomed to have a father who, unlike the Beatles, thought he
"*could* buy him love".
"Okay," he finally agreed.
'Yes!'
******
Clark sat in his Superman outfit on a STAR Labs examining
table looking distinctly unhappy.
"I take it he doesn't want to be here," Bernard Klein
observed, turning back to Lois.
"You'd take it right.... Dr. Klein, I don't know what to
make of this. There've been three separate episodes, and this
one's lasted the longest and seems the worst."
"What've been the symptoms?" he asked, trying out a bedside
manner he had never successfully mastered.
"Well ... I don't know how to explain it exactly, but
during each, successive ... *bout* he's become increasingly ...
acquisitive."
"Acquisitive?" Klein repeated, wondering if he had heard
right.
"Yes, acquisitive. As Superman, over the last couple of
days, Clark's accepted anything and everything people have wanted
to give him -- money, material objects ... services. Not only
that, but afterwards, when he appears to have returned to normal,
he seems to forget all the details of what he's done. He gets
very tired and unwilling to-- to explain himself."
Dr. Klein waited for Lois to continue but she seemed to be
reluctant to go on. She shook her head as if relegating some
thought or problem to the back of her mind for later examination.
"I had to bribe him to come here," she said at last.
"Bribe him?!" Not able to help himself, Klein choked back a
laugh.... "Ahem-- *hmmm*. In my opinion, this sounds
psychological rather than physical; however, it *has* been
persuasively argued by many in the field that the mind and the
body are intricately linked in a symbiosis that's a bit like
the tango...."
"The *tango*," Lois repeated in disbelief.
"I read a paper just recently that was quite interesting on
the topic of mind over matter--"
"Doctor," Lois interrupted.
"Yes ... *well*, I suppose this isn't exactly the right time
to go into all of that."
"No, it isn't."
"Look ... this might take some time. Why don't you go to
your office, and I'll call you just as soon as I've finished
examining him."
"You won't let him out of your sight?" she said anxiously,
very reluctant to leave and have him fly the coop again. "If you
do, he could end up ... *anywhere* doing *anything*, as long as
there's a price attached to it!"
"No, I won't. I promise."
******
As the hours passed, Lois sat by her phone, both staring at
it imploringly and shying away from it in fear.
Strictly as a reporter -- just as one of the Fourth Estate
-- she was sorely tempted to call Marigold Smythe, and get the
... "the scoop", as Cat had so delightfully put it, on her
*date*. After all, Marigold *was* the one woman in the world who
had actually been on a certifiable, public date with Superman.
Yes, indeedy, no other woman could claim that honor. *No one* --
not even Lois Lane.
Feeling an inward growl rising to the surface, Lois reached
out and tore the receiver out of its cradle, but then immediately
threw it back as if an electric shock had bolted out of the line
in warning.
"Argh! Jimmy!" she yelled instead.
"Yeah!"
Lois jumped, swiveling in her chair as the young man
unexpectedly came up behind her.
"Jimmy," she repeated, taking deep breaths. "Would it be
possible for you to break into Burnston-Hughes' personnel files?"
"What? With my computer?" he tentatively asked. With
Lois, one could never be sure.
"No, with a sledgehammer! Of course, with a computer!
Well?"
"It would be very difficult. The NIA is one thing, but
personnel departments--"
Lois was not to know how the nation's foremost secret
agency rated against the security of personnel departments, for
her phone rang abruptly, cutting Jimmy off.
"Lois Lane!" she exclaimed, gripping the receiver like a
lifeline. "Yes.... Yes. You have?! Oh, thank God, Dr. Klein!
W-*one*-derful! I'll be right there." Lois grabbed her purse,
pushing Jimmy aside like a discarded thought.
"Lois, what about your question? The personnel files?" he
called after her with a tilt of his brow.
"Later! Never mind!... Oh-- oh, I don't know!" she tossed
back.
"Got it," he muttered, shaking his head. "I'll get right
on that."
******
Lois Lane burst into Bernard Klein's elaborate, high-tech
laboratory with more than her usual impatience.
"Where is he?!" she demanded of one assistant only to get a
shrug. "Where is he?!" she asked again, rushing towards another.
"Down there, Ms. Lane," a young man answered, obviously
figuring out who "he" must be. The young researcher pointed
towards a hallway, and Lois ran down it as quickly as a
seventh-month pregnancy would allow her, ducking from one door to
the next until she was finally alerted to the sound of a machine.
Thinking it might be one of Dr. Klein's sophisticated pieces of
arcane lab equipment whirring away and solving all kinds of
important problems, Lois threw open the door.
"Oh, Hi Lois," Dr. Klein said, pleasantly acknowledging the
interruption. Turning back, he leaned casually against a long
table, and with chin in hand, stared into the round window of a
commercial-style washing machine, the suds working up a healthy
lather. Frowning, Lois slowly entered the room.
"What's this?"
"A washing machine."
"I see that," she responded, wondering if Klein always did
his laundry at work and writing it off as one of those eccentric
scientist-type things. Shrugging her shoulders, she walked over
to him and waved her hand in front of his face. "H-e-l-*lo*!"
"I'm sorry," he replied, with a grin. "Isn't it
fascinating how one can be hypnotized by watching clothes in the
wash cycle?"
"Fascinating," she agreed, "and I'd love to hear more about
it some day *real* soon. *But, what about Clark?!*" she
demanded. "Where is he? How did you cure him? What did you
do?"
"Simple. It cost me $80.00, but he let me do his laundry,"
Klein said happily, pointing to the machine.
"*What?*" Lois looked more closely at the suds-filled
window, finally noting the unmistakable bright red and blue
material.
"Well, you see, as I was examining Superman -- I mean,
Clark -- I began sneezing. And then it occurred to me, my
allergies were acting up."
"Uh-h huh.... I'm *really* not following this," Lois said,
shaking her head. "Are you telling me you're allergic to my
husband, and if you are, what's that got to do with *his*
problem?"
"No, No," he assured her. "I'm allergic to dust!"
"*O*-kay," she said, gesturing for him to continue, trying
to will some logical connection.
"*Well,* as I was saying, when I began sneezing, I got
very suspicious. After all, we try to keep this place pretty
pristine. It's very important not to have dust--."
"Yes?"
"And, *so*, I looked more closely at Clark's costume *and*
at my hands. Both had tiny, red dust particles all over them."
"Tiny red dust particles?"
"Kryptonite."
Lois' eyes widened, and then, slowly -- ever so slowly -- a
tiny smile snuck onto her face. "So ... my husband *isn't*
subconsciously trying to turn Superman into a cash cow?! He
*isn't* interested in igniting an old college flame?! He's just
been exposed to kryptonite! Thank God!"
"Huh?"
"I mean," Lois said, catching herself, "so, what did you
do? Just wash his suit? Where *is* he?"
"Not exactly. After I quizzed him further -- and it wasn't
easy, I might add -- he said he had a very vague recollection of
drinking something that had an odd, metallic taste. Sure enough,
after we took some tests, it was clear that he had *also*
ingested the substance in some sort of powder form -- kind of
like Metamucil."
"Ingested kryptonite?!" From the upswing of sheer
happiness over the fact that her husband was neither cheating on
her nor going crazy, which would have been one and the same thing
as far as she was concerned, Lois experienced the downswing of
worry that he was physically harmed. "Where *is* he?"
"He's fine. He's resting," Dr. Klein assured her.
"But, I don't understand.... How can he be fine?"
"Well, the atomic weight and structure of red kryptonite is
slightly different from green making it less than deadly. When I
discovered he swallowed red kryptonite, I thought about using
green to combat the effects. The mixture of the one with the
other seemed to help the last time--"
"But, you *didn't* do that, right?!" she interrupted,
willing him to agree with her.
"No, I didn't," he said with a smile. "I pumped his
stomach."
"Pumped his stomach? I didn't know that that was even
possible."
"Neither did I, but it worked. He's drained, a bit weak,
but definitely okay."
"Doctor...." Lois reached out to him gratefully, putting
her arms around him in a tight hug as he awkwardly returned it.
"That's all right. Everything's going to be okay," he
said, patting her back with short, stiff movements.
"I want to see him."
"No problem. He's lying on a bed I sometimes use in a room
next to my office-- for sleeping," he quickly added as if other
uses might have conceivably popped into her head. Gesturing
towards the door, he began to lead the way.
"Dr. Klein." Lois halted in her tracks, pulling on the
sleeve of his lab jacket to draw his attention. "Usually red
kryptonite causes a particular effect on Clark: the first time
he was apathetic, the last time he couldn't control his powers,
and the time in between he ... well, never mind that. The point
is, this time he was -- for lack of a better word -- acquisitive.
*But*, he was also very forgetful and tired. Why do you think he
suffered these other side effects as well?"
"Oh, gosh.... I'm not a psychiatrist, but if I were to
hypothesize, I would say that he was attempting to fight it.
Perhaps, this *particular* effect was so subconsciously
disagreeable to him that his mind was trying to wipe it out,"
Klein posited. "That's only a guess, of course."
"Hmm." Lois frowned, beginning to open the door herself.
This time Dr. Klein stopped them from leaving.
"Actually, I have a question for you, if you'll allow me?"
"Yes?"
"Do you have a lot of pre-processed, chemical-filled,
artificially-flavored foods at home?"
"Why-- Why do you ask?" Lois nervously replied, briefly
wondering if this was some sort of test of her wifely worthiness.
"It's just that during the-- um ... during Clark's
treatment, I noticed that he had the remains in his stomach of
what looked like the ingredients of a ... a *lot* of Twinkies."
"Really."
"In fact, it's quite interesting. Twinkies have enormous
staying power. You know, they can survive a nuclear explosion....
Anyway, the Twinkies Clark ate managed to coat his stomach and
diminished the effects of the kryptonite."
"You mean, it-- it helped him?" she asked, astounded.
"Yes, I think it did."
"Jeez! I can hear the jingles now.... Kryptonite
poisoning got you down; try Twinkies the dessert that stays
around."
"That's quite good," Dr. Klein said, finally maneuvering
them out the door.
******
The light in the room was a grayish blue. Not happy with
that, Lois walked over to the blinds and opened them so that the
sun's warm rays could bathe and rejuvenate her husband's body.
"Dr. Klein," she heard him call out.
"No, Clark -- sweetheart -- it's Lois."
"Lois." He reached out for her and she walked over,
allowing herself to be pulled down to the side of the bed.
Immediately, he wrapped his arms about her waist and laid his
head on what was left of her lap.
"I'm sorry," she heard the voice say, muffled against her
stomach. "So sorry."
She ran her fingers lightly through his mussed hair, trying
to comb it into some sort of order. "Clark, you have nothing to
be sorry for," she said, gently, over and over, until -- all at
once -- a slight chill began to run through her, despite the
sun's influence. "I'm right, aren't I Clark? You don't have
anything to be sorry for, do you?"
Her hand had stopped moving against his hair, and he looked
up at the worried frown growing on her face.
"You said you can't remember what happened last night with
Marigold. I thought -- maybe -- you might have begun to remember
... something," she said.
Rather than reflecting her worry, his own face gazed at
hers sorrowfully, unhappy at what he had put her through.
"Honey, *no amount* of kryptonite of *any* color could make me do
something like that to you."
"But, how do you know?" her sad voice asked.
"*I know*. Believe me, I know.... I'm just sorry that I
haven't been here for you these past few days. I'm sorry that I
wasn't here to go with you to our first birth class. Did you--
Did you take your mother with you?"
"You don't think I'd go without *you*, do you? No amount
of kryptonite of *any* color...."
He smiled in relief, reaching up to caress her cheek. "I'm
just sorry, that's all."
"Well," Lois said, trying to put the best light on the
situation, "the most important thing is that you're fine now, and
we *know* what's happening."
"Yeah," he agreed, lying back upon the small bed, his head
sinking into the pillow. "But, we don't know exactly *how* it's
happening or *who's doing it* or *why*."
"That's not true, Clark. Alfred Morton has got to be
involved. He was with you on at least two occasions when you got
sick, right?"
"Right, but *not* the last time -- at least, not that I can
remember," he added in disgust.
"Well -- get this -- Bobby's heard of him." Clark turned
towards her, thinking, once again, how lucky he was to have her.
"It seems that Morton's an infamous European jewel thief."
"European jewel thief?! I'm sorry -- jewel thief or not --
how would he find red kryptonite and why would he go after
Superman? I don't get it," Clark said, shaking his head in
exasperation. "The only thing I *do* get," he added, embarrassed
to admit it, "is that I'm the fool who flew Morton *back* to
Europe -- I think.... Or, was it Africa?"
Lois shook her head. "Never mind that. In any case, we
know even more."
"What?"
"Bobby also said that Lex Luthor has done business with
Morton in the past."
"Are you saying *Luthor* is behind this?!"
"Who else would have the wherewithal to track down red
kryptonite?" Lois posed.
"And, Morton stole it?" Clark continued.
"It's the only thing that makes sense," Lois said. "Except,
I don't know whether he stole it for Lex or from Lex."
"Definitely *for*."
"But, from where and ... why?" Lois asked, wondering if she
dare draw a connection to the Foundation.
"I don't know," Clark answered, rubbing his aching head and
feeling his stomach roll over in general dissatisfaction. "Does
there *have* to be a reason why when it comes to Lex Luthor?"
"Well ... sometimes," she offered, squirming slightly.
Lois hated to broach her next topic but knew she could no longer
put it off. "Remember those new men who Bobby mentioned were
hired for the Kingston Project?..."
"Yeah. I asked Marigold about that, and she said that they
were needed to keep the Project on its original schedule, and
they've done it. It appears they're doing wonderfully."
"That's not exactly what *I've* heard. Bobby said that the
new men had been hired as replacements, not as additions. He met
one of the laid off workers in a pub. He also said that the new
workers came from the K.O. Construction Company."
"That's not possible," Clark declared, immediately
recognizing the name of the shady company and its
once-upon-a-time connection to Lex Luthor.
"Honey ..." she began.
Clark sat up slowly but determinedly. "No, Lois. I know
Marigold. She would never do business with those type of
people."
"Maybe she doesn't know about it," Lois offered, although
she certainly didn't believe it.
"Even if the men are from K.O. -- and I'm not saying that
they are -- Lex doesn't control K.O. anymore, does he? And, what
does all of this have to do with Alfred Morton and red
kryptonite?"
"I don't know *exactly*, but I know one thing for sure."
Lois paused, gathering her courage. "Clark ... Lex owns
Burnston-Hughes Securities. Therefore, Marigold was employed by
Lex Luthor, and for all we know, she may *still* be employed by
Lex Luthor."
"That's it!" Clark angrily replied. "Lois, you've gone too
far. Marigold is an old friend. That's all. Nothing happened
the other night between us, beyond dinner and dancing and flying.
Nothing!"
Lois stood up, glaring down at him.
"Are you implying that I'm saying all of this about
Marigold because I'm *jealous* of her?! Clark! I have proof
that Burnston-Hughes is a subsidiary of LexCorp."
"And, *I* know that, when Lex "died" the *first* time,
LexCorp was divested of all of its Wall Street holdings, along
with most of its other holdings," Clark countered, folding his
arms stubbornly in his "I know I'm right," Superman pose.
"I don't think so.... *Clark*, just stop and begin adding
everything up," Lois threw back. "And, just think about one
other thing as well.... The only person you remember being with
yesterday, before you went loopy on kryptonite, is Marigold
Smythe."
******
Clark stood before their bedroom mirror, adjusting his
Superman costume, tucking and pulling it here and there.
"Does it still fit?" Lois asked, watching him from the
sidelines as she applied her make-up.
"I think so," he said, making a face as he tugged at a
particularly sensitive area.
"Frankly, I'm surprised that you can get into it at all,"
she observed. "I must have washed all your suits ten times over
and disinfected them within an inch of their life."
He said nothing. Lois knew he was still angry over her
allegations against Marigold, but he couldn't deny that she was
at least partially right. Upon his return from STAR Labs on
Wednesday night, she had shown him all the boxes of files in
their living room and had made him face the fact that, indeed,
LexCorp still had a healthy -- or, perhaps one should say
unhealthy -- grip on Burnston-Hughes. If the company had once
been divested, it was now completely re-invested.
"Clark ... maybe Superman shouldn't go to the dedication
ceremony this afternoon. Dr. Klein did mention that you should
take it easy for a few days."
"He said I shouldn't use my super powers, *not* that I
shouldn't speak in public. Besides, I want to be there. After
having my picture bounced all over the world hobnobbing with the
jet set, my absence wouldn't exactly go without comment."
"I suppose you're right," she answered, knowing their
colleagues in the press and what they were likely to report if
Superman failed to make an appearance.
"In any case, this will be the best opportunity I know of
to announce that I'm donating to the Foundation the money I
picked up during 'Superman Airlines' brief tenure," he added.
Lois sighed, knowing *that* to be true as well. Even so, a
part of her *was* concerned about Clark's physical well-being.
And, more importantly, she was concerned about his mental state
-- about the psychological toll this whole episode had taken on
him. Facing Marigold was going to be hard for him, no matter
what he claimed. And, it would be hard for Lois as well.
******
A carnival atmosphere played about the street facing the
newly minted Kingston Community Day Care Center. In front,
draped with colorful bunting, a temporary dais had been
constructed, supporting city officials, various members of
Metropolis' philanthropic world, Superman Foundation Board
Members, and other notable private citizens -- including both
Superman, and, oddly enough, Lex and Beth Luthor.
As the Super Hero looked down from his perch, today no
higher than anyone else's sitting on the stage, he could see a
local high school band settling before the audience, emitting a
cacophony of notes as they tuned their instruments. To his left
side, an enthusiastic children's chorus was assembling in a
tumbling and haphazard manner. On his right, and in direct
contradiction, the media took *its* place, looking bored and
jaded as they adjusted their equipment and periodically checked
their watches. Scanning this side more carefully, Superman
immediately found Lois Lane, who, it seems, had successfully
convinced Perry White that, as a "working mother", *she* should
be the one to attend a day care center dedication.
Happily, unlike earlier in the week, the sun was streaming
down upon the celebratory group. However, in conjunction with
the ceremony, a light wind had also gained strength, causing odd
creaking noises to sound from the wood bleachers and the
surrounding buildings in competition with the flapping of
pennants and banners.
Once the music, the invocation, and the initial welcomes
were finished, the Mayor was the first of the major speakers to
make her remarks. Immediately, she apologized for having to run
off as she was, as most politicians were, "severely overbooked
and behind schedule". Through all of this, Clark watched
Marigold Smythe carefully, and for the life of him, he
couldn't see the act. But, then again, he wondered if he wasn't
allowing himself to see it. In irritation, his eyesight slid
sideways, and he nonchalantly peered at the seemingly
unimpeachable Luthor, trying to detect some sort of
surreptitious communication with Marigold -- some body language,
an eye blink, mental telepathy. The thought repelled him.
Abruptly, he looked away, angry that Lois had planted it in his
mind on an occasion he wanted unblemished and exasperated with
himself that he couldn't quite dismiss it.
The wind whipped up further. In response, Clark felt a
slight swaying of the dais. 'Marigold better get this show
moving faster,' he joked to himself, 'or the wind's going to blow
this whole event straight to Kansas.' Fortunately, in light of
this growing blot on an otherwise stellar day, Superman was the
next and final speaker on the list. He watched as Marigold
charmingly recounted how she had been given her current job by a
great man, how she was very new to the Kingston effort, as well
as to Metropolis, and that *he* really deserved the lion's share
of the credit for today's success.
At the round of applause which ended her introduction,
Superman stood up. As he did so, in the near distance, he heard
that odd creaking noise again. Quickly, he scanned the dais with
his better-than-average vision and breathed a sigh of relief at
finding nothing. Still, the rumbling he heard disturbed him and
he wondered if it could be far off thunder, giving them warning
of a coming storm. 'Yes, that must be it,' he reassured himself,
until suddenly, as he began to speak, thanking everyone for
attending the dedication and for supporting this important
community effort, the bottom fell out. It didn't fall out
gently, but swiftly and dramatically. For all at once, the
building behind them gave a big, gaping groan before instantly
imploding, causing debris and dust and small, jagged metal and
glass to shoot outward where once a structure stood.
It was a tremendous shock that froze everyone to the spot
as if snapped by a camera. And then, they all moved, running and
screaming. All Superman could do was watch in horror, as it
became immediately clear that the front end of the day care
center was rapidly becoming a growing heap of rubble. However,
he hoped -- *he prayed* -- that it still wasn't too late to save
the people who were in the path of the flying wreckage and would
undoubtedly be showered by it.
With a swift turn, he spun about and blew as much of the
debris as he could backward, away from the crowd. Quickly, his
eyes searched the side where the press had been positioned. It
was the least affected, and mercifully, Lois had escaped
unscathed. Letting out a huge sigh of relief, he spotted her
carefully leaning over a battered and disoriented colleague,
tending to the woman's minor wounds.
Glancing to the opposite side, all his best hopes suddenly
fled him. This side -- the side which had held the rambunctious
children -- appeared to have been the worst affected, leaving
many small bodies with gashes and deep cuts from rubble that had
hit them before he could act. With a growing dread, he saw a
woman kneeling next to a young boy who looked to be the worst
hurt of the group. Superman sped towards them in a flash and
focused on the boy's body, scanning him like a human x-ray
machine.
"Ma'am, I can't be certain," Superman said, trying to sound
both soothing and reassuring, "but I-- I think he's suffering a
concussion."
She glanced up at the Super Hero, tears streaming down her
face. "What's-- What's happened here?!" she cried mournfully,
cradling the child. "My little boy...."
"Please, let me help," he pleaded, leaning over to pick up
the boy and take him from her arms. "Please, let me," he
repeated, as he heard the blaring horns and sirens of rescue
vehicles speeding towards them.
"No!" the woman suddenly screamed, lashing out. "Get away!
This is *your* doing! What do you *really* care about us down
here in Kingston. We ain't fancy movie stars or foreign
millionaires!"
"Ma'am, please!"
"No! Stay away from my baby! What could you know about
it?!" she spat, pushing against him. He stumbled away. Superman
-- the Man of Steel -- physically knocked aside by a frightened,
angry mother.
"Cla-- Superman!"
He felt someone grip his arms from behind. They pulled him
away as the paramedics rushed to the little boy, examining the
child quickly before carefully placing him on a stretcher. Clark
looked around at the other children who had been hurt, trying to
reassure himself that all of them were alive and being cared for.
Still, the shock hit him, perhaps more slowly than it had hit the
others but, in any case, not any less forcefully.
"Superman," he heard someone say again. He turned with a
vacant, lost look. It was Lois. Behind her, in the distance, he
saw Marigold standing in horror amidst the rubble. And further
yet, like the visage behind the mask, Clark saw Luthor and his
wife holding each other, apparently in comfort.
Separated by a wide chasm, the Luthors watched them, as
Superman and Lois stared back.
******
SUPERMAN'S FOUNDATION COLLAPSES
"Lex Luthor," she said, addressing the newspaper article
she was perusing, "you're not exactly my dream date, and you
*don't* play fair, *but*...." Mindy Church giggled, snuggling
down into her disheveled bed and pushing the paper aside.
"Ha-r-ry ... are you going to be long?"
"Are you lonely for me, sweetheart?" she heard him call
from the bathroom.
"Totally."
"I'll be right there in a few minutes."
"Okay ... take your time."
With a secret, little grin, Mindy sat up again and leaned
over to her bed table. On it was a glass decanter filled with a
warm golden liquid. Lifting the stopper, she splashed a generous
amount of the brandy into two snifters just as she had the night
before. Looking sidelong at the bathroom door, however, she did
something more. Quickly, she opened the drawer under the table
top and retrieved a packet. Seconds later, she dropped a powder
into one of the glasses, shaking it ever so slightly so that it
nicely dissolved.
"Hmm ... it's not exactly red kryptonite, *but*," she said
with a smile, "in Harry's case, it doesn't have to be."
"Did you say something, sweetheart?"
"Yes, Harry. I'm *really* lonely now."
He came out of the bathroom wearing a short, silk robe that
complemented his dark good looks. Pulling open the robe, he
threw it to the side, leaving only a half smile as his adornment.
She reached out for him, her eyes sweeping his taunt, lean form.
'Nobody can say that Mindy Church doesn't appreciate a man
... before she kills him,' she mused to herself, as he hopped
back into bed beside her.
"You know, Harry," she said, rubbing her soft, shapely body
against his, "I think Luthor did me a big favor by stealing that
kryptonite. Before, it was just an ugly, old hunk of rock, but
now ..." she lifted the large, red, glittery pendant well-set
between her breasts. "Now, I've got something that not only
gives Superman a very, bad day, but also goes with lots of lovely
outfits."
"Well," he said, bending over to examine it as well as its
setting, "it certainly looks better on you than it would have on
Beth Luthor."
"He would have never given it to her," Mindy said, speaking
a home truth. She fingered the stone's multi-faceted, marquis
shape. "Did you say Wendell Van Horton -- the infamous
international jewel thief and dealer -- cut this stone?"
"Yep ... like I said, one of Luthor's men told me that
Luthor hired Van Horton to steal the kryptonite from you and to
create that pendant. Then, he had Van Horton grind the chips and
shavings down into a fine powder so that he could go after
Superman with it."
"Hmm. Luthor's a bright boy ... but not bright enough,
cause I had *my* man steal it right back," Mindy chirped. She
ran her hand lightly across his cheek, moving in for a kiss.
"It wasn't easy," he continued, when their lips parted. "I
had to wait until that day care center ceremony started before I
made my move. I knew that Luthor would want to be there,
especially after he had put so much effort into seeing that it
failed."
"Hmm," she moaned, pulling his lips down to meet hers
again....
******
With a smile on her face, having thoroughly enjoyed him one
last time, Mindy reached over for the two sparkling goblets which
were patiently awaiting the next act.
"Harry, darling," she said, offering him a brandy as he
leaned back for a smoke " ... to us and to the return of my poor,
unfortunate husband's red kryptonite."
"To us," he agreed, clinking his glass with hers. Reveling
in the good brandy, he savored it in several long, satisfying
swallows. She, on the other hand, sipped daintily, watching him
with a devilish glint in her eye as he finished up the last drop
and placed his empty glass on his own bedside table.
All at once, feeling tired, he stubbed out his cigarette
and turned to stretch and yawn, contentedly. He wasn't in the
least surprised at his sudden lack of energy. 'After all, it had
been a very long night,' he thought, remembering it all with
pleasure. He shimmied down under the satin top sheet and rolled
away from her.
"Goodnight, Mrs. Church," he said automatically, although
the sun had been moving ever upward, cycling through a new day.
"Goodnight, Harry," she replied, admiring the red stone
once more. It glittered and glowed.... "Goodnight," it seemed to
say.
******
Looking as forlorn as he had immediately after the event
had occurred, Clark Kent sat in the Daily Planet's conference
room, surrounded by the files, papers, and records that made up
their investigation of the day care center collapse. Worriedly,
his wife studied him as she approached the room, spying at him
through the glass windows. Although Dr. Klein had earlier
informed her that Clark's recovery from kryptonite ingestion
might not be as rapid as it might have been if he had simply been
exposed to it, she knew that Clark's current condition was far
more psychological than physical. To her mind, he was in
mourning -- not only over the temporary setback of Superman's
Kingston Project but over the possible involvement of his friend
in the whole debacle.
During the previous night, he had tossed and turned until
she had sat up, put on the light, and forced him to talk. They
had gone over everything that had happened after the tragic end
to the ceremony: The interview with the police, firemen,
building inspectors and other city officials who had arrived to
do a preliminary sweep of the scene; the examination of the
documents which Marigold had produced, showing all the proper
signatures on all the proper forms; the trip to the hospital to
assure themselves that all who were hurt -- especially the
children -- were going to be fine. They had gotten very little
sleep that night.
Trying to overcome an uncontrollable yawn, Lois took a deep
breath and painted a smile on her face.
"She's amazing," Lois chirped, finally entering the room.
"She is?" he answered automatically, having no idea to whom
she was referring.
"Yes ... in a week and a half, she's managed to book a
meeting room at one of the most prestigious hotels in the city,
have it decorated to her specifications, gotten one of the best
chefs to prepare an elaborate lunch, invited and received
acceptances from over fifty women...." Lois shook her head,
sitting down to take in all of their work spread across the
table. "Clark?" she called. "Clark?"
"What?"
"My mother.... I was talking to you about my mother. I was
just on the phone with her."
"So," he said, returning his attention to her, "you've
agreed to go through with the baby shower of the century?"
"Yeah," Lois said, with a grin and a shrug. "I figure, if I
cooperate, she might not insist that we have the baby's
christening at the basilica."
He smiled, just as she had hoped, but it didn't last.
"Clark?"
"I ... I can't do this anymore, Lois."
"What?" Lois replied, looking about the table.
"Investigate this story? If you're tired, we can stop, and you
can come with me to pick up your mom at the airport. We can go
to dinner at Roma's."
"No, it's not that," he said.
"Then what?" She stared at him, afraid of what she was
hearing. "You don't mean you can't *be Superman* anymore? Not
help people? Especially those people who need you in Hobbs Bay
and Kingston? Clark, I don't believe this! Are you going to let
them beat you?"
"Who?
"Lex Luthor! Alfred Morton!... *Marigold Smythe*. Look,
I'm not going to kid you, what happened yesterday wasn't a good
thing, but it could have been a lot worse. *Everyone's fine*.
The children are *all* fine. Now, let's concentrate on getting
some answers."
"You mean about Marigold."
"Wherever the chips fall, they fall," Lois said, with
feeling.
"What if they fall on me? I was part of the problem here,"
he said, once again picking up that day's Daily Planet and
pointing at the headline he had barely been able to face. "I
wasn't paying enough attention even before I hired Marigold. And
then, after that, with the help of red kryptonite, I was
completely gone. For all intents and purposes, I was no better
than William Wallace Webster Waldecker on speed."
Lois moved around to his side of the table. Sitting down
beside him, she took the paper away from him and grasped his
hands in hers. "Yes, *those* are the operative words ... *with*
the help of red kryptonite and the people who've wanted to see
Superman fail -- who've wanted to see the Foundation fail. I
suppose, even I contributed to it, inadvertently, by insisting
that we not get too involved."
"That's not true," he quickly responded, halting her words.
She pat the hand she held in hers. "Never mind. You can't
give up, Clark. *We* can't give up. We've been through too
much."
He looked away from her steady gaze, glancing up at the
clock. "You'd better go. Mom's plane...."
"Are you sure you don't want to go with me?"
"No, I ... I think I have some investigating to do....
That is, if we're going to find the answers."
Lois reached up to caress his cheek, spotting a spark of
determination ignite in his eyes. "Good," she whispered.
"I'll bring home dessert," he said, kissing her lips, which
tasted sweeter than anything he could possibly find in a bakery.
"Leave room."
"For you *and* fattening pastries? Ha! Always!"
He followed Lois out of the conference room and to her
desk, watching as she gathered her purse and briefcase before
hopping into the elevator. Only then did Clark head back to
their work. What he had to do next, he wanted to do without her.
******
"Jimmy ... You know the Wall Street securities firm,
Burnston-Hughes?" The younger man looked up from his computer to
find Clark hovering over him and nodded his head "yes" in reply.
"Would it be-- Would it be possible to break into their
personnel files?" Clark said, finishing his request all at once
with a bite of his lip.
"I take it you don't mean with a sledgehammer," Jimmy
quipped, wondering if Lois and Clark ever *spoke* to each other.
"No, uh ... with a computer," Clark replied, frowning.
Without a further word, Jimmy dug through a large pile of
folders which were threatening to take a tumble at the edge of
his desk. Through what appeared to be random selection, he
pulled out one of the thicker ones and handed it to Clark.
"What's this?"
"Burnston-Hughes' personnel records, specifically
information on Marigold Smythe. It was pretty difficult. I
couldn't get into everything, but I--"
"How did you know I was going to ask-- ?" Clark shook his
head, indicating that no answer was needed. Lois Lane,
investigative reporter extraordinaire, must have gotten the ball
rolling after all. Should he have expected otherwise,
considering all that was at stake?
"CK," Jimmy called, after Clark had turned away and was
heading back to the conference room.
"Yeah?"
Jimmy nodded towards the file tucked under Clark's arm --
the file on his old friend, Marigold Smythe, which revealed much
more than her salary level and benefits package. "I'm sorry," he
said, his eyes showing his concern.
"That's all right, Jimmy.... It couldn't be helped."
******
Despite Lois' prayers for a tornado or a typhoon or even a
heat-induced thunderstorm, Saturday dawned as brightly as the
weather forecaster had predicted, leaving all activities for the
day annoyingly on schedule. In fact, the *only* shower still in
the offing was being produced and directed by Hurricane Ellen,
featuring Lois Lane, in a make or break performance as Ellen's
gracious daughter.
The night before, in anticipation of this turn of events,
Martha Kent had brought up something that had been at the back of
Lois' mind. Namely, should Lois request that her mother
*un*-invite Marigold from the baby shower, considering all that
Lois and Clark suspected of her. Surprisingly, however, as they
sat around the kitchen table sharing a cherry cheesecake, Clark,
who had heretofore been as silent as a mouse, interrupted the
women's conversation.
"If you don't mind, I would prefer that you keep things as
they are," he said, offering no explanation.
"Why, honey?" his mother asked, anxious over Clark's morose
manner. 'Maybe I *should* have encouraged his father to come
with me to Metropolis as he had wanted,' she thought. Martha
reached out to lift a curl from her son's forehead as she had a
thousand times in the past.
"I want to know that people who *I* can trust are occupying
Marigold's time tomorrow," Clark finally answered. "I want to
make sure that she won't show up at the Foundation unexpectedly."
"You're going over there to snoop around, aren't you?" Lois
interjected, the excitement she always felt at such a proposition
beginning to take hold.
"Superman is going to look through *all* the records, as he
should have been doing all along," Clark corrected. "Can I rely
on you to keep her busy?"
"What a question."
******
As Martha and Lois walked quickly down the street towards
the Lexor, Lois checked her watch every few steps, certain they
were going to be late.
"Are you sure we can park in that spot?" Martha asked,
looking back at the jeep in concern. "I think that was a loading
zone."
"Martha ... trust me. I've been driving and, um ...
parking in Metropolis ever since I was sixteen. I *know* this
city. Besides, we don't have any time to find a legal spot."
"But the Lexor has valet park--," Martha began to say
before catching her daughter-in-law's distracted expression.
"Okay," she said, questioning no further. Still, she checked
behind them once again to see if the jeep had, as yet, attracted
any unwanted meter maids.
Upon arriving at the Lexor, a man in livery opened one of
the large glass and gold-trimmed doors, welcoming the two women
in a courtly manner to the hotel's unquestioned elegance.
Immediately, the huge lobby enwrapped them in an odd combination
of warm coziness and open grandeur. The interesting contrast,
which Lois had admired in the past, appeared to be fostered by
large, oriental area rugs, thick-cushioned couches and low slung
tables carefully arranged about smooth columns which rushed
upward into the heights of an atrium lined with balconies trimmed
by lush hanging plants.
Within moments they were greeted by a concierge.
"The Lane party," Lois said.
"Bayne? That's the blue room," the concierge answered,
pointing towards a set of doors.
"No ... *L*ane," Lois emphasized.
"*Not* Bayne?" She frowned for a moment in thought. "Oh
... excuse me, Madam. The Lane party's right next door to that.
In the rose room," the woman replied, directing them to a wide,
carpeted corridor off the main hall, interspersed with double
white doors, either closed, opened, or slightly ajar. It was a
busy Saturday at the Lexor and there seemed to be a multitude of
uses being made of the hotel, both celebratory and business in
nature. Each room offered a separate glimpse into the whirl of
life in Metropolis.
"Just in time," Martha said, noting Ellen standing near the
doors of the rose room.
"Get ready," the younger woman whispered, "I can only
imagine what she's come up with."
As they moved closer, Lois prepared herself for the worst
in ostentation. However, as her mother took her arm, leading her
into the medium-sized meeting room, Lois couldn't help herself.
She gasped in delight.
There were seven round tables -- one centered and three to
each side -- tastefully draped in white linen with centerpieces
of white roses gathered by the thinnest of light blue and pink
ribbon. Crystal sparkled from each place setting, dancing off of
the delicately lit chandeliers which created a restive atmosphere
in contrast to the brilliant June sun they had just left outside.
In fact, the curtains to the side windows were attractively
draped to allow only a subtle glow to filter in and play about
the very thinly striped, pale rose and white walls. To top off
the delicate feeling, a light string accompaniment was piped in
over the sound system, tickling the ear. Granted, to Lois it did
seem like high tea in a ladies salon, but for some reason it
pleased her and she wondered if a little of her mother wasn't
peeking through the layers of the hardened, practical newswoman
she had become.
"Oh, Mother," Lois said softly.
"This is lovely," Martha intoned.
All the women seated about the tables turned and smiled,
greeting her warmly. Some she recognized as friends: Alice
White, Penny Barnes, Cat Grant, Molly Flynn, Michele Sipkowicz,
Star ... 'Star!' Lois' head whipped about, wondering if the
psychic counselor had found her mother or her mother had found
Star. Either way, Lois wished she had been in on *that*
conversation.
Dragging her eyes away, Lois continued to gaze about the
room. Other guests she recognized as colleagues and
acquaintances, professional and otherwise: the President of the
local chapter of NOW, Detective Reed from Police Headquarters,
Carolyn, a researcher from STAR Labs, Dr. Friskin-- 'Dr.
Friskin!' The woman reassuringly smiled back at Lois' startled
look....
Topping off the melange of guests were a few friends of her
mother's, and the Mayor of Metropolis, who, Lois would bet, was
"severely overbooked and behind schedule." To the side, Lois
noted Beverly Lipman, her mother's partner in crime, looking
about the room with a certain air of satisfaction. And, to the
other side, bringing Lois up short, was Marigold Smythe.
Although she, too, was smiling at the guest of honor, unlike
everyone else in the room, Marigold had a tightness around her
mouth, a heaviness to her eyes, and a chalkiness to her skin,
suggesting more than one sleepless night. Lois took a deep
breath and turned away, allowing her mother to escort her to
their table and away from the sudden sourness enveloping her.
Within minutes, a side door opened and in walked the waiters
with the start of what promised to be a five course lunch
complete with a liberal supply of wines in accompaniment.
"Take my word for it," Cat Grant whispered to her
colleague, comparing Lois' most appropriate, if dull, Perrier and
lime with the chardonnay *she* was being served, "*this* is
superb." And, with that, Cat took the flute glass she was
studying and thoroughly enjoyed its contents.
Lois grimaced. 'This is one thing I *can* fault Mother
on,' she thought, glowering at Ellen through her glass of
nonalcoholic bubbly. 'How could she serve this, considering her
background with liquor?!" However, Lois could also hear, without
missing a beat, her mother and Beverly caroling back in
response....
"Lois! French?! *Without* wine?!"
******
True to Lois' expectations, the Mayor, encouraged by an
insistent, eager-beaver staffer, began making her apologies
shortly before dessert, leaving the guest of honor no choice but
to begin the heart of the celebration -- the opening of gifts.
With that beginning and the Mayor's leave-taking, the women all
turned their chairs towards Lois. Filled with good feeling and
countless glasses of wine, they "Ooohed" and "Ahhhed", and some
reminisced, over small booties, delicate nighties, practical tote
bags with multiple pockets, a baby car seat, a folding stroller.
Then, suddenly it hit Lois.
'These things are for a *real* baby! For *my* real baby!'
she mused, sporting a stupefied grin. With that, Ellen quickly
took up her camera and captured her daughter's "charming"
expression for all posterity.
Slowly but surely, Lois made her way through the pile of
prettily wrapped packages, until, all that was left was a
glittery gold one with a crazy, hot pink ribbon tied about it and
blue sparkling stars poking out in all directions. "Let me
guess," she deadpanned, sending a sidelong glance to her Mother.
"If this isn't from Star," Lois said, nodding her head at the
smiling psychic who had given her a diaphanous baby shawl along
with a certificate for a free natal chart and astral portrait for
the exact moment the baby was born. Lois picked up the box and
shook it. "Then, it must be from Lucy."
"Who's Lucy?" Penny asked.
"My sister."
"Ellen ... you have another daughter?" a second woman
chimed in.
"Yes ... she lives in some state out west," Ellen offered.
"It's called California," Lois interjected, rolling her
eyes over the fact that Lucy would never be forgiven for living
so far away, with those "Hollywood people".
Lois smiled at the Day-Glo wrapping once again. Ripping
into it, she slowed down once she reached the box in case the
contents proved fragile. Cautiously she removed the lid and with
the utmost delicacy pulled out a funnel like contraption she
couldn't quite put a name to. "What is this?" she asked her
mother, a frown teasing her features and growing bigger.
Martha leaned over to whisper in her ear. "It's a breast
pump."
"What?"
"It's a breast pump," Martha tried again.
"I'm sorry?"
"Will somebody tell her it's a sex aid?!" Detective Reed
called out to shrieks of laughter followed by several more
off-color jokes, leading to additional loud guffaws.
******
In the midst of the merriment, very few of the women
noticed a man enter the room. In fact, most took him for a
waiter until they focused more clearly on his dark uniform.
Martha's eyes grew wider as he strode directly over to Lois, put
down a bag he was carrying, and took Lois' wrist in his hand.
"Ms. Bayne ... I"m Officer Lance, and you're under arrest,"
he said, softly and simply, "for having a hot time on your
birthday without me."
"What? Who? What-- What are you doing?!" Lois demanded.
Attempting to tug her hand back, she looked up at the policeman's
deep blue eyes and sandy blond hair only to be rewarded with a
wink.
"Officer ... what is this? What did she do?" Ellen
anxiously asked, not at all surprised that Lois was being
arrested in the middle of her baby shower. After all, pregnant
or not, her daughter wasn't above doing things slightly shy of
the law in pursuit of her work.... 'Even so,' Ellen inwardly
cried, 'how could she do this to *me*!?'
"For God sake," Martha declared to the policeman, "she only
parked in a loading zone!"
The officer -- the quite good-looking officer if one were
honest -- paid attention to none of the women, neither the ones
who were fretfully questioning him, nor those who could only
stare in appalled fascination. Instead, he focused his full
attention on the bemused, pregnant woman in front of him.
Unhooking a set of handcuffs from his belt, he clamped one end
onto Lois' wrist and the other onto her chair.
"Hey!" Detective Reed shouted, as she ran forward. "What's
your name? Which precinct are you from?"
"The precinct of love," he said, smiling suggestively at
her. With that, he pulled a boombox out of his bag and pushed a
button which signalled the start of a deep, seductive beat.
Seconds later, he began to slowly sway his hips, in time to the
pulsating rhythm as over fifty mouths dropped open in
astonishment.
"I don't know about the rest of you," Alice White muttered
to no one in particular, "but, this is quickly becoming the best
baby shower I've ever attended.
"It sure beats trying to guess the sex of the baby with a
string and a ring," Cat replied. A big smile broke out on her
face and she quickly stood up and clapped to the music.
Encouraged by even this minor show of support, the young
officer whipped off his hat, dancing with it, like a fan dancer,
before setting it jauntily on Lois' head. With a wiggle of his
hips, he then began to slowly snap open the buttons of his
jacket, each inch displaying a bit of muscled chest.
"Young man!" Ellen bellowed, "This is outrageous! Who sent
you--"
"Ellen ... did you ask this man to come?!" Beverly asked,
speaking at the same time. Her eyes widened as the last button
was popped on the officer's coat, exposing a broad, hairy chest
for all to see.
Ellen twirled around, glaring at Beverly. "Don't be
ridiculous," she answered before turning back to find the
Policeman's jacket draped across her pregnant daughter's stomach,
with the bare-chested man, who belonged to it, undulating and
gyrating in front of her.
"Whoa!" Cat cried out in enthusiasm, drawing a few women to
give a round of applause along with her.
"Stop this!" Ellen demanded, looking towards Detective Reed
almost accusingly.
"Mrs. Lane," the Detective said with a laugh, "normally, I
wouldn't touch this with a ten foot pole.... After all, why would
I need a ten foot pole--"
The pants were the next to go. The young man picking up
his actions as the beat became faster, moved his hands to his
sides, and, with one sweeping movement, ripped his pants off and
swung them in the air. His hips, supporting a black, sequined
G-string, swung wildly along with them.
"That's it!" Ellen cried out, while Beverly leapt up to
join her. "Stop it!" Moving forward, Ellen grabbed a pair of
sugar tongs and advanced towards "the officer." He promptly
backed away in time to the rhythm of the music.
"Mrs. Lane, I'll handle him-- I mean, I'll take care of
this," Detective Reed said. But, it was too late. Even though
Lois had also jumped up to try and stop her mother, forgetting
that she was shackled to her chair by a pair of intractable
handcuffs, Ellen had already reached the hapless, young man.
"Lois!" Martha and Alice exclaimed in unison, each
stumbling over the other to get to Lois before *she* began
stumbling over the chair she dragged behind her in her pursuit.
Ellen, completely engrossed in her semi-naked target, was
oblivious. She picked up a napkin and began to sling it sharply
against the young man in a G-string.
"Hey, Lady ... get away from my livelihood!" he shouted
back as Ellen's napkin hit a sensitive spot.
She hit him again, snapping the tongs at him in tandem, and
avoiding all attempts by Detective Reed to intervene.
"Lady! I don't get paid enough for *this*!" he shouted at
her. Taking a handful of cake, he slung it in her direction.
"Duck!" Beverly Lipman exhorted, joining in by throwing a
petit four, which promptly hit a waiter.
"Madre de Dios! Senoras! Senoras ... por favor!" the
waiter began to plead.
"Incoming!" a second waiter shouted.
SPLAT!
It was hopeless. Both men dove behind a dessert cart, each,
in his own language, cursing the emotional natures of women.
******
Racing out of the rose room, the second waiter, who had
managed to make his escape, sped down the sedate and elegant
corridor towards the Lexor's concierge who was conferring with a
bellman.
"I-- I think we're going to have-- to have a riot in
there," he reported, out of breath and trying to clean cake off
of his glasses.
"A riot! Where?!" the appalled woman asked. She looked
towards the large ballroom, thinking immediately of the Shriner's
Bi-Annual Initiation and Awards ceremony.
"At the-- at the baby shower-- in the rose room," he
continued, squinting through his icing-smeared lens. "They've
already hit Jose Ramirez with at least five or six of those
little pink and blue cakes! And, one lady is attacking some
naked guy with a set of tongs," he added, cringing at the painful
memory.
"A *naked man*?! At a baby shower?!" she repeated in
disbelief. Muttering that it took all kinds and you can never
tell by looking at people, the concierge ordered the bellman to
get help, and then headed towards the front desk.
"Charlie," she said to the reservationist, "call the
police."
The bellman, hearing her words to Charlie at the desk and
wanting to prove *his* worth, walked swiftly through the lobby.
He tried to maintain the decorum the dignity of the Lexor
demanded; however, hoping he was out sight of their guests, he
burst through the impressive front entrance, knocked over the
doorman, and scanned the street. For once, he wasn't helping to
look for a taxi.
"Ah, ha!" he said, brimming with efficiency.
A block away, a policeman was diligently giving a ticket to
a jeep, brazenly parked in a loading zone.
"Officer! Officer!"
******
Superman flew off in the direction of the 37th Police
Precinct, wondering *why* he was flying off to the 37th Police
Precinct. Moments earlier, he had arrived at the Lexor Hotel to
find a very discomforted management still upset over having to
have a group of women from a baby shower, along with a half-naked
man, hauled off in police wagons. Completely nonplussed, but
trying not to show it, Superman questioned whether it had,
indeed, been the *Lane* baby shower which had been so
unceremoniously dispatched. "Yes," said the Manager,
"definitively," although one or two of the Lexor staff thought it
might have been the *Bayne* birthday party which had been the
cause of the ruckus.
Clark shook his head in confusion. Before he had decided
to go to the Lexor to find Marigold, he had been at the quiet,
darkened offices of the Superman Foundation scanning the entire
place for files, papers, records, computer traffic -- anything
that would indicate whether the Foundation had been the victim of
sabotage, especially anything that would implicate his old
friend, Marigold. Fortunately -- or unfortunately -- depending
on one's point of view he supposed, all of the papers he went
through seemed perfectly, boringly legitimate.
'Maybe she's *not* involved,' Clark thought in relief, 'but
*who* has the access and the kind of power necessary to hinder
such a large project as the Kingston Venture? Could it be a
Board Member?'
Just as Clark was about to give up, he swept the room one
last time with his x-ray vision, and suddenly found his feeling
of relief vanishing, only to be replaced by an odd curiosity.
'What is that old phrase?' he asked himself, 'if one wants
to hide something, they should "hide it in plain sight".'
Clark focused, once again, on Marigold's lovely, ornate oak
desk. He remembered how she had insisted upon bringing it with
her, despite the fact that it could barely get through her new
office's door. In fact, she seemed especially attached to it as
it had a personalized front panel -- a carving of a bouquet of
marigolds. When he scanned the entire desk, he could see through
the wood and into the drawers filled with files, office supplies,
personal items. However, when he scanned the front carving, he
couldn't see through it at all. Lead?
'The front of the desk is lead-lined?'
Clark squatted down, pushing his cape back to get it out of
his way. Carefully, he ran his fingers along the sides of the
panel, and then, just as he was expecting, he found a small
catch. Flicking it upward, the panel -- a false front obviously
built for stealth -- magically sprung loose, revealing a shallow
cabinet. So many of these old pieces of furniture sported such
odd compartments that he shouldn't have been surprised. However,
what did surprise him was the lead sheet riveted to the back side
of the front panel. 'Undoubtedly a recent "improvement" to the
piece,' Clark thought, before turning to what was truly of
interest.
With resignation, he reached in and pulled out a leather
book. Opening it, he found dates, with their corresponding
entries of sales and purchases -- all in contradiction to the
dates of delivery for materials to the Kingston Project which
were reported in the public books he had previously seen.
Furthermore, a computer disk was slid into the sleeve of the
front cover. 'I wonder what I'll find here -- that is if I can
access the files,' he mused. He didn't have to ponder the
question long.
Sticking the disk into the nearest computer, the "paper
trail" Lois had earlier guessed at and he had been unwilling to
accept was painfully revealed: all the memos and records sent to
the accountant for the Kingston Project from the CEO's office
discussing the profitable sales of the high-quality materials
which had been purchased earlier; the statements acknowledging
the receipt of second-rate supplies from K.O. Construction's
contacts in the underworld; the shifting of men so that only
those who were "trustworthy" would be working on the site.
Combined with the hard-copy files Lois had earlier
collected on the connection between Burnston-Hughes and LexCorp,
Clark was finally prepared to believe that Marigold had been
planted to help destroy the Kingston Venture, if not the
Foundation itself. By hiding the evidence in plain sight behind
a bouquet of marigolds, Clark wondered if, perhaps, his old
friend were emitting a subconscious cry for help. "Or, am I just
reaching for staws," he murmured, disconsolately. Superman shook
his head, trying to push aside his emotional turmoil.
"But, who's been giving the orders?" he asked, wrapping
himself in the business at hand. There was no sign of Lex in any
of the documents. Of course, Luthor would never permit such
laxity....
"The communications had to be person to person," Clark
continued aloud, realizing he could delay it no longer. He had
to speak to Marigold, to try and convince her to give herself up,
as well as to implicate Luthor's name -- if she could.
******
Superman determinedly entered the doors of the police
building, unsure what he was going to find. Passing a phalanx of
people -- the lawyers, the bail bondsmen, the accused, the family
members -- all those who seemed to be permanently attached to the
benches lining the dirty, green walls, he made his way to the
huge front desk, which was elevated to an exalted level.
"Superman! What are you doing here?" the Desk Sergeant
asked, putting down his phone in surprise as Superman floated
upward to get an eye-to-eye view. They didn't often get the big
guy at the smaller precinct buildings, and the Sergeant was
dutifully impressed.
"I understand there was a ... a disturbance at a baby
shower at the Lexor Hotel," Superman said, crossing his arms
authoritatively. He refused to christen his wife's baby shower a
"riot".
"Yes ... funny you should ask about that. I was just on
the phone with the hotel. It seems there was a mix-up between a
40th birthday party and a baby shower. Lance, a male strip--
exotic dancer, showed up at the wrong party and caused a bit of a
commotion among the ladies," Sergeant Major reported. "Frankly,
Superman, when they dragged them all in here, I felt sorrier for
Lance."
"Really ... Lance the exotic dancer.... Are Lois Lane,
Martha Kent, and Ellen Lane here?" he asked in a whisper, not
wanting the names to get too much of an airing.
"Lois Lane, Martha Kent, and Ellen Lane," the Sergeant
repeated. "Hey Frankie!" Clark winced as the officer yelled to
a man sitting only a couple of feet away. "Are Lois Lane, Martha
Kent, and Ellen Lane in custody?!"
Officer ... Frankie lifted his eyeglasses and perused the
record of arrivals. "Hmm ... yes. *Oh, yes!*" he suddenly said
with emphasis. "*They're* here." Curious, he moved down toward
Superman and the Sergeant. "What's your interest in them,
Superman?"
"Uh ... a friend of mine -- Clark Kent -- asked me to pick
them up. I assume they can be released," Superman whispered
again, although the volume of the previous exchange made the
whole effort beside the point.
"Released? Definitely. But, if you don't mind me asking,"
the Sergeant said, leaning in, "who are they? One of them looks
familiar."
Superman didn't want to reveal much, fearing that someone
might get wind of it, and, once again, his and Lois' life would
be headline news. "They're Clark Kent's wife, mother, and
mother-in-law."
"A wife, mother, *and* mother-in-law, huh?" He chuckled,
poking Officer Frankie in the ribs and giving him a dramatic,
conspiratorial wink. "Hmm. *So*, does your friend want one of
them, two of them, or all three? If you wouldn't mind some
advice, Superman, I'd think long and hard about this one. Two of
them came in armed."
"Armed?!" Clark's eyes widened at the news.
"Yeah." The Sergeant reached behind his desk and pulled out
a large box, riffling through it slowly.... "One of them had a
pair of sugar tongs," he said, cracking a smile as he laid it on
the desk in front of them, "and the other one had-- Now, what
was it that the pregnant lady had, Frankie?"
The second officer reached over into the box and pulled out
a small contraption that looked a tiny bit like an old time, RCA
Victor phonograph. "Oh," Officer Frankie said loudly, "she had a
breast pump!" He laid it next to the tongs, and the two of them
burst out with laughter, drawing the titters and chuckles of
others about the room.
The laughter was so infectious, in fact, that Superman,
himself, felt the corners of his own mouth betray him by lifting
up slightly in a smile. "Um ... could you please release them,"
he said, gingerly picking up the breast pump to get it out of
public view.
"Sure, Superman." The Sergeant leaned over to direct an
order to one of his subordinates. "Rosa ... can you bring out
these three women?" he asked giving her a small sheet of paper
with the names written on it.
"Sergeant ... Major," Superman said slowly, giving the
officer's badge a double-take, "is there also a Marigold Smythe
in custody?"
"Let's see," the Sergeant, said, running his finger down
the list. Superman held his breath and prayed that she hadn't
yet gotten out. "Most have already left. That Detective Reed
wasn't too happy, I'll tell you.... A-h-h, here she is. Yes,
she's here. Do you want her released too?"
"No, um ... actually, I was wondering if you could *keep*
her in custody. She's the CEO of the Superman Foundation, and I
have reason to believe -- and the evidence to prove it -- that
she bears some responsibility for the collapse of the Kingston
Project's day care center last Thursday."
Sergeant Major's mouth dropped open. "What?! Really?"
All kidding pushed quickly aside, he grabbed his colleague's
attention once again. "Frank! Call Henderson up at HQ. I think
we have something here he's going to be *very* interested in."
"Can I see her, Sergeant?"
"Marigold Smythe? Sure, but I think she's going to need an
attorney before we talk to her."
"I understand.... Just a couple of minutes."
The doors to the holding area swung open and a gust of hot
air escaped. "Superman!" Ellen exclaimed. "What are you doing
here? God! First, we get arrested at the Lexor at high noon and
now Superman bails us out. Can things get any more perfect than
this?!" she asked with a grimace, quickly darting her eyes about
before shoving on her huge sunglasses.
"*Moth*-er," Lois groaned, following in the older woman's
wake, barely able to look at Clark once she had spotted him.
"Honey," Ellen continued, "I just wanted things to be so
perfect for you -- so beautiful. Instead, it turned out to be
one big, unnatural disaster."
"No it didn't.... Everything was fine," Martha insisted,
pulling up the rear. She smiled over at Clark, shaking her head
in secret amusement.
"Mother ... I have to admit, I had my doubts about the baby
shower. But, you did an incredible job with it, you're a
terrific organizer, and I was having a really lovely time until
we got arrested."
"Arrested! Arrested at a baby shower. My life is one
endless screwball comedy," Ellen cried. She sat down on a nearby
bench as Martha tried to comfort her.
"Lois," Superman called, motioning her to come with him out
of the others' earshot.
She, in turn, gestured toward the front desk. "I want to
make sure the police lets everyone go. They're still holding a
few people."
"I'll take care of it," Superman assured her, pulling her
to the side. "Sweetheart," he said in lowered tones, "when I
asked you to keep Marigold busy I didn't expect you to take it
quite this far."
"Cute."
"How are you?" he asked, pointedly looking downward.
"Fine, fine," Lois answered still embarrassed by the whole
affair. "This is the second time you've had to break me out of
jail. The last time, you were a hot-to-trot newlywed," she
joked, "but, this time--"
"This time I had a different incentive," he interjected,
smiling into her eyes. "After all, I can't bail out the kid
without taking the mom too."
"Very funny," she countered. "How did you find out we were
here?"
"I flew to the Lexor after I left the Foundation."
She watched him closely, noting the clouds crossing his
features. "You've found the proof on Marigold, haven't you?"
"In black and white."
"I'm sorry, Sweetheart.... *Really*," Lois said in low
tones, "What are you going to do?"
"Turn her in ... *after* I talk to her. Did you see her
back there?"
"Yeah ... she looked kind of sad. I almost felt sorry for
her," Lois said. "Should we wait for you?"
"No ... why don't you all go home and try to get over this
... this incident," he suggested, giving the busy, disheveled
room a sweeping glance.
"Okay," Lois agreed. "My mother will certainly need a
recovery period, and rightly so. *But*, first, I want to stop by
the Lexor and pick up my shower gifts."
"Ahh. *Now,* whose being acquisitive?" Clark asked with a
smile.
"Hey! I got those gifts fair and square. No super powers.
And, besides, they're for the baby."
"What about this?" he asked, holding out the breast pump.
"I understand it makes a pretty good weapon."
She snatched it from him, tossing him a withering look.
"Yeah, it was great.... I'll send off a recommendation to the
Pentagon."
******
Officer Rosa Lopez, who had earlier escorted Clark's family
out of their jail cell, led Superman back to the area where
Marigold was being held. Most of the cells were filled with
women who had been arrested for "activities" other than
disturbing the peace or assaulting an exotic dancer with a pair
of sugar tongs, a breast pump, and an assortment of petit fours.
But, Clark doubted that their reasons for being arrested were any
more colorful than his wife's.
As they walked by, Clark noticed a few women who had
undoubtedly been guests at his wife's baby shower. However,
before he could ask the police officer if she could release them,
the officer began pointing to them one at a time....
"You, and you, and you, over there. You can go now," she
said to the relieved women, as she unlocked the doors of the
large cell.
Marigold, sitting off by herself, looked anxiously over to
Superman, but something about the way he returned her gaze seemed
less than promising. Getting up quickly, she walked over to
where he stood.
"I'm guessing you're not here to get me out."
"No ... I'm sorry. I'm not. As a matter of fact, I was
doing a little digging around at the Foundation this morning, and
I found something interesting.... You know, I never realized how
beautiful and ... *unique* your desk is."
Marigold sucked in her breath quickly and looked away,
beginning to feel the onslaught of tears pricking her eyes.
"My-- my desk...."
"Yes, it's very unusual -- especially the front panel."
"You ... you found the compartment."
"I found the compartment ... *and* its contents," he said
sadly, attempting to hide his pain behind a steel mask. Little
could she know how difficult it was. "Mari-- Ms. Smythe, I don't
... understand. How-- How could you be a part of something that
might have ended up killing people. In four days time, that day
care center would have been *filled* with children. Frankly, it's
a blessing the roof collapsed when it did."
She turned back to him, the tears pooling and threatening
to fall. "Superman, you've got to believe that I didn't expect
*anything* like that to happen."
"What *did* you expect to happen?" Superman asked in
exasperation.
"I don't know.... I expected paint to peel, a roof to leak,
pipes to burst.... Nothing compared to the collapse of a
building."
"But, *why?* Either way, you're robbing a worthy cause of
the funds it needs. Clark told me of your past -- of the rough
times your family had while you were growing up, the handouts
they had to take. I thought you *of all people* would understand
the need these people have."
"I understand it, and when I was growing up, I resented it.
I resented always having to ask for things, always having to be
grateful. The government, the rich, even your so-called "do
gooders", they talk about the importance of charity, and then
they turn around and condemn the very same people they claim to
want to help -- condemn them for being lazy, shiftless, morally
bankrupt, you name it," she said, her bitterness fighting with
her tears. "When I finally clawed my way out of poverty, I
promised I would never look back. *And*, I guess I overdid it,"
she continued with a laugh. "When I got to Wall Street, I was so
hungry for security, I overcompensated. I took a little bit more
than I should have. They *all* do it, but I got caught. *So*, it
was either prosecution or "prostitution" -- in so many words."
"*Who* caught you? *Who* made the deal with you? Was it
Lex Luthor?" Superman anxiously pressed.
"Lex Luthor? Why ... no."
Superman frowned in frustration. "You *never* dealt with
Lex Luthor? *Never*? You *do* know that he owns
Burnston-Hughes."
"Owns Burnston-Hughes? LexCorp *owned* Burnston-Hughes,
but then it went into litigation. No. I dealt with someone by
the name of Harry ... Harry de Silva."
"Harry de Silva? Oh-h-h, Marigold," he said, no longer
holding back. He couldn't believe that such a smart woman....
"How could you be *so*-- How could *I* be so-- Oh, I don't know.
Ms. Smythe, I trusted you with something very important to me,"
he concluded, an edge to his voice.
She looked away. The tears, which had threatened her
earlier, were falling freely now, and all he could do was clear
his throat and avoid focusing too closely on her. Finding it too
difficult, Clark looked around instead. He took in the large,
dirty cells filled with prostitutes, panhandlers and drunks. He
took in the noises and smells of government officialdom in all of
its destitute glory. It was quite a contrast to his and
Marigold's earlier days on a sun-speckled, tree-lined campus made
up of red-brick, ivy-covered buildings and young dreams.
Superman finally returned to her and tried to make sense of his
conflicting emotions.
"Look, Ms. Smythe ... you're obviously going to have to
face what you've done, *but* I'll get you an attorney -- someone
who will see to it that all of this blackmail business comes out,
who will make it clear that you were *not* the one ultimately
responsible for targeting the Foundation.... Someone who will
see to it that you get treated fairly."
"You would do that, after all I tried to do to you?" she
asked in disbelief, offering him a shaky smile that barely made
it through her tears. "You know ... you remind me a lot of Clark
Kent -- intelligent, caring, filled with integrity, innate
goodness," she said, staring into his eyes as if seeking his
soul. "It's going to be hard to face him."
"I'm sure he'll be ... as supportive as he can be."
"I hope so, although I certainly don't deserve it....
And-- And, what about you?" Marigold tentatively asked.
"I can't promise you more than I have," he said. He
reached out and impulsively squeezed the hand which gripped one
of the bars.
Marigold smiled at Superman's words and watched as he
strode away, his cape billowing behind him like an errant knight
of old. He couldn't know what that pledge meant to her. How
could he? He didn't know the depth of her regard.
******
"Mindy Church."
"Hello, Mrs. Church," she heard a smooth, male voice
intone.
Straightening like an arrow, she gripped the phone as if it
were someone's neck. "*Well,*" she haughtily answered, "if it
isn't the pooper at Superman's last party--"
"Mrs. Church!" Lex interrupted, grinning into his receiver,
"are you attempting to imply something?"
"I'm not attempting to imply anything, Luthor. I'm
*saying* that you've been a very naughty Metropolian lately.
*But*, in spite of that, I'm glad that you've called."
"Really? And, why is that?"
"Ohhh, for one extra-special -- precious -- priceless
reason," she said, fingering the glinting red gem which adorned
her.
Lex Luthor chuckled. He knew exactly to what she was
referring. It was part of the game.
"I hope you appreciate it," he said, an edge to his tone.
"Oh, I do," she answered, lounging back in her chair. "In
fact, right now, it's lying tucked in my cleavage, caressing my
bosoms. I like it. You would like it too. Do you want me to
tell you what I was doing the last time I wore it?"
"Ahem.... Maybe the next time I see you, you can show me.
Um, speaking of ... *that*, how is Harry de Silva? Still ...
going strong?"
"Harry? I'm not happy with Harry. He had to go away --
*far away* -- and it's such a shame because he was *so* good at
what he did," she said in a pout.
"Well, maybe he was and maybe he wasn't," Lex said,
sounding more assured than he should. He turned his free hand
one way, and then the other, admiring the bright red stone of one
of his extra-special -- precious -- priceless cufflinks, as it
glimmered.
"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice laced with
suspicion.
"O-h-h, nothing in particular. It's just that ... *well*,
Mrs. Church, kryptonite's not only a *girl's* best friend."
******
Lois sat at her dresser, brushing her hair and watching
Clark's reflection in the mirror. Although he appeared to be
relaxing, lying back in his boxers, reading one of the many baby
books he had come across during his latest flight to the other
side of the world, Lois knew his thoughts were elsewhere.
"So ... Marigold never had any contact with Lex Luthor,"
Lois repeated for the fifth time that night.
"That's right," Clark answered, closing his book and
putting it aside. "I spoke with Constance, after her first
interview with Marigold, and she confirmed that the only time
Marigold had ever met Luthor was at the day care center
dedication."
"And, what did the police say?"
"They can't find any connections to Luthor either," he
said, as he shook his head in disgust. "There's one saving
grace, though."
"*Oh*, do tell. I could use some good news."
"Well, the police also said that part of the reason the day
care center's roof collapsed so easily was because of rain
damage. Those storms we've been having recently really weakened
the structure. *However*, what would have been a simple leak, or
a small hole, under the best of conditions turned into a major
catastrophe with the substandard materials and shoddy workmanship
they were using."
"How is that good news?"
"Constance thinks it might help Marigold's case -- sort of
like mitigating circumstances which factored into the accident."
"Oh," Lois said simply. She looked over to him and tried
to dig up a few sympathetic words -- not because *she* felt
Marigold deserved them, but because she loved her husband and, in
the midst of his pain, *he* deserved her support. Lois bit her
lip in frustration....
"But, *still,*" she finally said in disgust, whirling her
chair around, "it makes my blood boil that Lex is going to get
away, scot free, when I just know he's involved. I can feel it."
"I know, Honey," Clark said, reaching for her hand as she
came over and sat on the edge of the bed. He ran his hand over
the silky sleeve of her robe, feeling her warmth under it. "The
whole thing's making me crazy too, but I just have to get past it
and promise myself it'll never happen again. I'll never again be
so ... *gullible*," he said, after searching for an appropriate
word.
"Clark! You're not gullible -- not really," she added with
a smile. "You just trust people. You're open to them. You're
loyal. You think the best rather than the worst."
"*Yeah*," he replied, "like I said, gullible."
Lois let out a deep breath, knowing she wasn't going to
assuage his guilt overnight. The restoration of his spirit was
going to be a gradual process just as will the restoration of the
public's confidence in the Foundation he had built.
"I'm going to take my shower," she said. "Talk to me?"
He got up without a moment's hesitation and followed her
into their bathroom.
As she took off her robe and climbed into the tub, she took
his hand to steady her way. "Have you stopped by to see
Marigold?" Lois asked, as nonchalantly as she could. She
watched him carefully, noting the battle going on behind his
features and knowing he had to come to terms with his twin
desires -- the need to help someone who he had always considered
a friend, and yet, the equally compelling desire to avoid her out
of anger and disappointment.
"Well, Superman went--"
"*No, Clark*," she interrupted, before closing the shower
curtain, turning on the spray of water, and continuing to speak
to him over it. "Have *you* visited Marigold?"
"No."
"Clark." Lois pulled the shower curtain open again,
revealing a beautiful glistening body heavy with child. "Why
haven't you tried to see her?"
"I don't know ... I-- I got Constance Hunter to represent
her."
"Superman did that. Why haven't *you* gone to see her?"
she repeated, poking him in the chest before returning to her
shower.
"I don't understand you," he called back. "Why would *you*
want me to see Marigold. You're the one who had all the
suspicions. You're the one who wasn't so gung ho about her in
the first place."
'Maybe my maternal hormones are softening me up,' Lois
sarcastically thought, but didn't say. She pulled back the
curtain again to face him, revealing a body which was not only
shimmering but soapy as well.
"Honey ... this isn't about my feelings. I didn't have a
relationship with Marigold and neither did Superman; you did.
And, I don't think you're going to be able to put this whole
thing behind you until you face her. Besides, when I said that
you were a trusting and open person, I meant for you to take that
as a compliment. They're qualities I never managed to cultivate,
and which I love in you so much. Why is it that you have friends
back in Smallville who write you and old college classmates who
keep in touch? Why is it that people at work approach you with
their problems before they'll approach me? Why is it that I
couldn't believe that anyone would actually plan a baby shower
for me? Because -- despite the Superman guise -- there's no
artifice about you, at least, where it counts," Lois said, poking
him in the chest again in the general direction of his very big
heart.
He looked down at his smooth, muscled skin, inexplicably
watching the soapy water she had left there drip off.
"You know," he said, slowly lifting his head to return her
gaze, "you're right. I *have* put off facing Marigold -- as
Clark. Although I know she wants to talk to me, I didn't think I
could get through it. Each time I've shown up as Superman, she's
asked about Clark. For both our sakes, and in spite of
everything, I've got to show her that *I'm* willing to help her
make amends ... to me, to everyone. It's certainly how I feel,"
Clark said, turning away, determinedly, and walking back into
their bedroom.
"Clark ... where are you going?" Lois asked in concern.
"I've got to go and see Marigold."
"But ... Honey, it's nine o'clock at night," she said,
hoping she hadn't "created a monster".
He looked about him, focusing on the digital clock by the
bed just flipping to 9:20. "Oh ... yeah," he answered, a little
embarrassed. As Superman, he was used to having no limits, but
even Superman was limited by time.
She smiled at him, reaching out her hand. "Come here."
He walked slowly back to her, a glistening woman beckoning
him; her smooth, blemishless skin rivalling the painted porcelain
for perfection but completely surpassing it in terms of beauty
and warmth. Sometimes, she could make him forget -- not in a bad
way -- but in a way that comforted and healed.
'I'll go tomorrow,' Clark thought, 'first thing in the morning.'
He reached her, and she pulled him so close that standing
on the bathroom floor was no longer an option. Dressed or
undressed, he didn't care. He floated in.
"Sweetheart," she whispered against his lips, as the spray
hit them both, "when it comes to showing people that you care
about them, charity -- most definitely -- begins at home."
******
THUD!
The newspaper hit the front door and bounced to the stoop
of the fashionable, old town house at 348 Hyperion Avenue, still
in shadow and slightly chilled from the previous night's gentle
cooling. The delivery boy had already cycled halfway down the
block, before the force of the impact unravelled the paper's
folds....
******
Clark came up behind Lois and leaned over her shoulder as
she began to peruse the morning news. Following the Planet's
lead, left-hand column downward, she spread out the front page
across the breakfast table.
"Slow news day?" he asked, reading along with her.
FOUNDATION BUTTRESSED: SUPERMAN PLEDGES
NEW SUPPORT
by Clark Kent
Daily Planet Staff Writer
METROPOLIS, June 26 -- At a late afternoon press
conference, Superman announced a clean sweep of his recently
embattled Foundation. Promising a renewed funding effort for
one of its centerpiece projects, the Kingston Venture, he
personally donated over $35,000 given to him from various
unnamed sources.
In further news, Superman announced the start of a new
search for a Chief Executive Officer, after former Director,
Marigold Smythe, was indicted for alleged misappropriation
of funds. In the interim, he stated, the day-to-day work of
the Foundation would be overseen by the Members of its Board
of Directors, including newly installed Member, Mrs. Ellen
Lane, former nurse and wife of well-known physician, Dr.
Samuel Lane. Superman called Mrs. Lane's unique
organizational abilities "a welcome addition to the Superman
Foundation family...."
BODY FISHED OUT OF HOBBS BAY IDENTIFIED
by Lois Lane
Daily Planet Staff Writer
Police reported yesterday that the body found
floating Monday in Hobbs Bay has been identified as Harry de
Silva, 36, little known member of the Intergang crime
organization. Detective Henderson, lead investigator on the
case, suggested that the alleged murder might have been a
hit, resulting from a rivalry between Intergang and other
underworld forces attempting to gain control of Metropolis'
criminal activities....
THIEF STOLEN: "WEASEL" KIDNAPPED BY GUERRILLAS
WHILE IN SEARCH OF LOST MINE
by Michael Landes
Associate Press Writer
JOHANNESBURG, June 26 -- Authorities at the British
Embassy have received a ransom note for the return of noted
jeweler, lapidary, explorer, and former international jewel
thief Wendell "the Weasel" Van Horton aka Alfred Morton aka
Wendell Norton aka Morton Phalstengraft, sources say. Van
Horton, who was reported missing by one of his party last
Tuesday, had only just joined a team of fellow adventurers
in search of the lost diamond mine of Nimoy Falls. The
guerrillas claim that they will hold Van Horton until
British government officials....
LEX PROPOSES "HOUSE OF LUTHOR"
by Cat Grant
Daily Planet Staff Writer
In a surprise announcement at a luncheon of
Metropolis' top business leaders, Lex Luthor, Chairman of
LexCorp, proposed the start of his own charitable
foundation. Luthor, responding to a reporter's question on
his thoughts about the Superman Foundation's recent
troubles, said, "Reports of 'charity's death' in the United
States are greatly exaggerated. There's plenty of room and
plenty of need for those who have the necessary management
skills and business savvy to help others, especially in
light of the Superman Foundation's unfortunate shaky
status...."
Lois' eyes widened, not from one story or two, but from the
combination of all they found -- like the pieces of a puzzle
falling into place. She looked up to find Clark staring back at
her, equally dumbfounded.
"Slow news day," she repeated, shaking her head....
"Sweetheart, it's just the same old, same old."
~~THE END~~
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