Beefcake

By Phil Atcliffe

Hobbs Peninsula is a long, narrow strip of land that juts out
into the Atlantic Ocean. It forms one side of Hobbs Bay, a
well-known feature of the city of Metropolis. Less well-known is
the other side of the peninsula from Hobbs Bay, but it is where
some of the best surf beaches along the Metropolis coast are
found. To one such beach, Tiger Point by name, came Lois Lane and
Clark Kent on a hot summer's day.

Lane and Kent had known each other for several months now and
had, after a few (or maybe more than a few) rough patches, and
somewhat to their own surprise (although neither of them would
ever admit it), become the top reporting team on the Daily Planet
staff.

Perry White, their editor, had encouraged them to work together,
seeing their potential as partners. This weekend, in his own way,
he was continuing that process by ordering them to get out of the
office and relax. He had been the one who had suggested that they
go to the beach, and Clark, after thinking it over for all of two
seconds, had thought it a great idea. Lois, who didn't like
mixing work and recreation, had been harder to convince, but she
had given in when Perry offered to get them tickets for the Metro
Opera as an alternative.

So here they were, strolling along the water's edge, looking for
a suitable patch of beach to set up camp on. Lois was wearing a
light sun-dress over her swimsuit and was carrying a pair of
sunglasses and a beach bag. Clark, in a pair of shorts and an
open shirt, was more heavily laden, but he had insisted on
carrying the wind-break and the lunch basket as well as his own
bag, and looked to be doing so effortlessly.

They eventually found a spot away from the crowds, although it
looked as though the entire beach would fill up as the day wore
on. Clark set up the wind-break and they laid out the rug and sat
down.

Lois was rather surprised that Clark was so... comfortable about
being at the beach. Before her parents split up, they had
occasionally taken their daughters to one or other of the local
beaches -- often enough for her to feel at home there -- but that
was just a little more difficult for a Kansas farm boy. And some
of the stuff he'd brought! She'd never heard of a wind-break
before Clark had loaded his into the Jeep, but once she had seen
him put it up, she had to admit that it was quite a good idea.
Then there was all the food and the drinks that he'd packed, the
sun-tan cream, the rug they were lying on -- and who knew what
else might be in that huge bag of his?

Well, if a reporter wanted to know something, there was a
tried-and-true method for finding out... "Have you been to the
beach much, Clark?" Lois asked, genuinely interested and sounding
it.

"Oh, yeah. Well, not lately, but a few years ago, I developed a
taste for body-surfing -- you know, without a board -- and I
spent quite a lot of time on beaches. Hey, those waves look good;
me for the water in a while. How about you?"

"Yeah, me too. So, you like to... body-surf? How does a... kid
from Kansas get a taste for surfing?"

"The usual way -- by going and trying it. There aren't many
beaches in Kansas, as I'm sure you know, but it's hard to get
away from them in places like Hawaii, Fiji, Australia... That's
where I got the wind-break, by the way."

Lois blushed slightly, both at his little dig at her usual
dismissive attitude towards his home state and at her own
forgetfulness. Clark was so... naive? No. Innocent? Well, yes,
but that wasn't what she meant. Uncosmopolitan, that was it! At
least, that was the way he came over; it was always hard for her
to remember that he had been all over the world for years before
he finally settled down in Metropolis. Sometimes she wondered why
he had decided to stay here, in the biggest city in the world,
after all his wanderings, but she had never managed to think of a
way to ask him. It probably didn't matter, anyway. After all, if
Metropolis was good enough for Superman...

She had missed some of Clark's chatter while musing over this,
and tuned back in to what he was saying: "I met a family once
who'd moved to the east coast of Australia from right in the
centre of Canada, and they'd never *seen* a beach, ever. I
remember them asking me what you needed to take to the beach;
they were quite surprised when I gave them a long list."

She looked at him. "A long list? Just what was on this long list,
farm... *surfer* boy? All *I* ever take to the beach is a towel,
some suntan lotion and a book."

"Oh, really? What about clothes? You didn't come here only
wearing a swimsuit, did you? And I seem to remember you have a
sweater in your bag, in case it gets cold later. And a hat. Not
to mention your sunglasses."

"Well, yes... but everybody knows that you need those..."

"These people didn't. I told you, they'd never been within a
thousand miles of a beach. And they had two kids, which adds a
whole lot more stuff to any trip. Plus, a lot of the best
Australian beaches are further away from the nearest city than
here, so you can't just pop into a nearby store if you forget
something. It all adds up..."

"Okay, okay, I take your point... Is that why you brought so much
with you? Force of habit, I mean?"

"I guess so. I backpacked around a lot of those places -- there
was no way to *get* to some of them other than walking -- so I
got used to being self-sufficient on a beach..."

Clark's words were cut off by a shower of sand. He sputtered a
little as he spat out the grains that had landed in his mouth,
then called out, "Hey! Watch it, willya?" to the beach in
general. Only then did he look around to see what had caused the
spray; all he saw was the back of a heavily-muscled man in a
loose shirt and swimming trunks, running down the beach; it
seemed likely that this was the perpetrator because, as he
watched, the man trod on another bather and didn't so much as
look round, much less apologise.

Clark turned back to Lois. "Did he..?" he began. Lois nodded.

"Good grief," said Clark in disgust. "Some people have *no*
manners..." He stood up and shook the sand off his towel, then
folded it and put it down again. He was about to drop back onto
the rug when he realised that some of the sand had gone inside
his shirt. He took it off and shook it out, went to put it back
on, and stopped. After a second or two, he decided that he might
as well not bother -- he planned to go swimming soon, anyway. He
sat down and glared at the retreating figure, muttering, "This is
like something out of one of those old body-building ads..."

He said that very quietly, but Lois, who had been admiring his
bare torso unobtrusively but as thoroughly as possible, heard it
and laughed gently. "You're right, Clark -- he is your classic
annoying muscleman type. How did those old ads go: 'That man is
the worst nuisance on the beach...' Well, I think we just met the
worst nuisance on *this* beach!"

She looked at him more obviously and went on, "I must say,
though, you certainly don't look like you need to send off the
coupon. You're not the body-builder type, but there's nothing
wrong with your muscles at all..."

Clark blushed at the compliment and thanked her. Then, to cover
his embarrassment, he asked, "How come you can remember those old
ads so well, Lois? I mean, I used to see them all the time in
comics and science fiction magazines; I wouldn't have expected
you to read that sort of thing..."

Now it was Lois' turn to (almost) blush, although she covered it
well -- there was no trace of embarrassment in her voice as she
replied, "Oh, I read *all* sorts of things as a girl..."
'Especially with a father who'd have much preferred a boy,' she
thought to herself, quickly assuming her reporter's poker face so
as not to show any of the emotions that thoughts of Sam Lane
produced in her, even now. She took refuge in the no-nonsense
tone that usually served her so well at work, continuing, "But
then I grew up and developed some taste."

Clark just looked at her. He'd caught her change in tone, *and*
the careful blanking of her face that preceded it. He knew
something was wrong, so he stayed quiet and turned to gaze out
over the sea, not even picking up on what could have been
construed as a dig at his wider tastes in reading matter.
Ordinarily, he might have replied to that and turned it into one
of their frequent bantering bouts, but not this time; Lois seemed
to need some time to herself to recover from whatever was
troubling her. He'd like to help, but he didn't think the offer
would be welcome. One day, maybe...

For her part, Lois was glad of the lapse in the conversation. She
was very grateful to Clark for leaving her in peace -- or as much
of that as one can have on a beach rapidly filling with families,
teenagers, kids and seagulls -- while she sorted herself out
inside. Some time passed, the two of them sitting together in a
companionable silence, until Lois finally decided that some
physical exertion would help her settle down; she was enjoying
the day so far, and certainly didn't want her father to wreck it
as he had so much else. She caught Clark's eye and said, "Well,
how about that swim?" Then she stood up and pulled her dress over
her head, revealing a dark blue one-piece swimsuit -- *and* what
was in it.

Clark's eyebrows shot up. Lois' swimsuit wasn't a bikini, wasn't
a cutaway -- in fact, he rather thought it was a racing suit,
designed for speed, not display -- but it clung to her skin and
showed off the fantastic curves of her body in an incredibly
disturbing fashion. "Hey, *nice*," he said; this bland statement
bore no resemblance to his internal reaction, which began with
*Wow!* and moved on into near-incoherence. Then, greatly daring,
and hoping that she wouldn't be horribly offended, he asked in a
teasing tone, intended to lighten the mood, "Am I allowed to
whistle?"

"You'd better not..." growled Lois in reply, although she was
secretly very pleased with his reaction. She'd spent rather a lot
of time since Perry arranged this beach trip, debating with
herself as whether or not to buy a new swimsuit, to no real
decision. In the end, she hadn't been able to get one, being tied
up with work, and had had to settle for the old training suit in
which she did laps as part of her regular work-out at her gym.
Judging by Clark's comments, however, the work-outs had done
their job, old swimsuit or no.

However, although Clark took the hint, other men on the beach
were less polite. The loudest such noise came from behind them.
Clark turned his head to see the muscle-bound sand-sprayer from
earlier on, ogling Lois in a manner that had him wondering, just
for a second, if the idiot might like to try kicking up some dust
on the shores of the Sea of Tranquillity -- Clark could arrange a
real quick trip.

Lois was no more happy about the unwelcome attention than Clark
was. Not only did she hate being wolf-whistled at, but that clown
had completely ruined the mood between herself and Clark just
when she was starting to feel content again -- and, maybe, though
she hardly dared admit it to herself, perhaps even a little bit
playful. She sat back down, a disgusted frown on her face,
muttering under her breath about morons who thought with their
gonads...

Clark heard that and grinned internally but said nothing at all,
resuming his earlier silence while she calmed down. Eventually,
Lois raised her head, an apologetic look on her face. He was
looking back with a sympathetic expression, a slight half-smile
on his lips. She would have said something, but he got in first.
"Steam pressure dropped a bit?"

She laughed in surprise. That was *exactly* how she felt -- like
steam had been coming out of her ears! How had he known?

He grinned back. Again, he seemed to know what she was thinking.
"Hey, he bugged me, too," he said quietly. "Talk about
Neanderthals... actually, that's probably a horrendous insult to
our distant ancestors."

Lois smiled. Having come to an unspoken agreement about their
opinion of the muscular imbecile, comparative anthropology
notwithstanding, they were about to finally head for the water
when a shadow fell across them. Their heads turned in unison to
behold the subject of their discussion looming over them with a
lecherous expression on his face.

Clark and Lois had moved apart slightly as they prepared to get
up, leaving a gap on the rug into which the unwelcome visitor
dropped, saying as he did so, "Hiya, babe. Hey, you look great in
that swimsuit. Shame it's not a bikini. Maybe you could get one
from the store over there..."

His attention was entirely on a stunned and instantly-furious
Lois; he seemed unaware of Clark's existence, and probably
wouldn't have acknowledged him at all had he not attempted to
roll onto his back on the rug. Clark hadn't moved and, hardly
being able to miss the attempt to crowd him off his own rug,
stuck out a elbow, poking the interloper in the back.

The man winced when he bumped into what felt like a steel bar,
and sat up and looked around. Naturally, he saw Clark, wearing
glasses, and that is where he made his big mistake. Had he
bothered to keep looking, he might have noticed that Clark had,
as Lois had put it, no need to send off the coupon, but, in his
lexicon, glasses = weakling, so he forgot all about the poke in
the back and said, in a manner both contemptuous and threatening,
"Hey, buddy, d'you mind moving over a bit? I'm tryin' to talk to
the babe here..."

*That* did it. Clark had had enough. It had taken him weeks to
manage to get some time with Lois away from work, and the day had
been close to perfect until now. There was no way that he was
going to let a... a refugee from a Charles Atlas ad ruin it!

He stood up, then reached over and grabbed the pest by the shirt,
hauling him bodily off the rug and dragging him onto his feet.
"Yes, I mind, *buddy!*" he hissed into the invader's face from a
distance of about two inches. "I mind a *lot*, buddy! 'The babe'
happens to be my girl, buddy... and she doesn't want you around,
buddy... and neither do *I*, buddy... so I suggest you get your
tail outta here, buddy... before I break you in half and throw
the pieces to the sharks... *Buddy!*"

With each repetition of the fatal word "buddy", Clark shook the
intruder by the shirt like a terrier with a rat. The shakes began
as relatively mild ones, or as mild as one can expect with
super-muscles behind them, but, as he went on, they became more
powerful and were practically rattling the poor guy's teeth in
his head by the time Clark came to the end of his tirade. The
final, exasperated "Buddy!" was the cue for Clark to turn the
dazed muscleman around and shove him away; the luckless
interloper half-ran, half-reeled for several yards down the beach
before falling flat on his face.

Clark stood there, hands on hips, glaring at the unfortunate
victim of his anger, who eventually managed to get to his feet
and stagger off. Then he realised that *he* was being looked at,
too, by a lot of nearby people on the sand; they seemed
impressed. Many of these people were female, and quite a few of
them were young, and *they* seemed *more* than impressed; if the
looks on their faces were anything to go by, he was the subject
of not a little open admiration.

He blushed and looked down at Lois, who was also staring at him,
her eyes just a little wider than usual. That made him blush even
more, and he dropped back onto the rug.

"Uh, Lois..." he said, shamefacedly, "I'm sorry about that. And,
er... about the 'my girl' bit, too. I, er... I thought... well,
you know, that kind of guy doesn't understand anything else..."

"That's all right, Clark," she replied, very quietly. "You're
probably right. Don't do it again -- unless I ask you to, of
course -- but it's good to know that I can count on you for
some... physical back-up."

Neither of them said anything for a while. Clark was embarrassed
and mentally castigated himself for losing control like that. One
look at Lois' thoughtful face was enough to make him certain that
he hadn't heard the last of this, and he was right -- although,
to be fair, she didn't bring it up again until some time later,
while they were eating lunch after a belated but leisurely swim.
Just when Clark was hoping that the incident had been forgotten,
his victim could be seen walking back along the beach, and it was
obvious that he was keeping a sizable distance and several rows
of people between himself and the couple. Lois noticed him, and
said in an amused manner, "Oh, look who's here... or, rather,
over *there*. You know, Clark, you made quite an impression round
here with that little show of force -- and not just on him."

Clark wasn't sure what to make of that. He hoped that she meant
that he'd impressed *her*, but she could equally have been
referring to the continued looks of interest that he'd been
getting from the female inhabitants of the beach. Not knowing
quite how to reply, he settled for a non-committal grunt, but
Lois wouldn't leave the episode alone. "So... what got into you
with that guy?"

"Hmm? Oh, um... I'm not sure," Clark blushed yet again. "I
suppose I just didn't like him barging in; I mean, there we were,
relaxing, talking, enjoying ourselves peacefully, and this clown
comes along, thinks he's God's gift to women, and decides he'll
horn in. I guess I lost my temper -- I do have one, you know."

"So I found out. So did *he*. It's just a little unusual, that's
all. You're usually the calm type, the peacemaker..."

"Yeah, I suppose I am." He gazed out to sea thoughtfully for a
while. Behind the relaxed mask that he was currently presenting
to the world, he was again kicking himself mentally. 'But what
was I supposed to do?' he asked himself, 'Let that creep bug
Lois, wreck our day and make me look like a wimp in front of her?
No way!' In an attempt to deflect her probing, he tried to turn
it off with a joke. "Maybe it was the Beef Bourguignon I had for
dinner last night -- you know, red meat, red wine..?"

"Really? I'll have to remember that..." she said lazily. Then,
realising how that statement could be interpreted, she blushed.
"For when we go out on assignment, I mean," she amended
hurriedly. "In Case of Danger, Feed Red Meat." She then changed
the subject, much to the relief of both of them.

The rest of the afternoon was uneventful, and very, very pleasant
for Clark. Lois seemed to be enjoying herself, too. They swam; as
he had in the morning, Clark managed, by skillful use of a diving
mask and his towel, to prevent Lois from getting much of a look
at his face without his glasses, and also gave her a few pointers
on the fine art of body-surfing. They sun-bathed -- or Lois did;
Clark had said emphatically that it was a waste of time in his
case, and meant it, so he read a book, every now and then
sneaking a look at her excellent figure as she lay on her towel.
They strolled along the beach, talking about anything and
everything, and enjoying the waves washing their feet. They had
an impromptu dinner at an enterprising seafood restaurant which
had some outdoor tables set up actually on the beach. They
watched the sun set and the first few stars come out over the
bay, and then it was time to head home.

Lois drove back into the city, reflecting that it had been quite
a while since she'd had such a relaxing day. She was tired, but
only physically; her mind felt clear and alert, and more rested
that it had for a very long time. She wondered why this day had
turned out to be so special, but the only reason that came to
mind was that she'd spent it with Clark. He was a... comfortable
person to be with: he was attentive, or not, if that was what she
wanted -- like when she'd thought of her father that morning --
which, she realised, was a special kind of attentiveness; he
didn't demand attention himself, although she was sure that he
wouldn't say no to some; he didn't try to run the show ('like I
do,' she mused wryly), but went along with her whims; he also
wasn't afraid to say that he didn't like something, but he
wouldn't stop her from doing it or trying it without an excellent
reason; he talked to her as though he wanted to hear what she had
to say, even when she babbled; above all, he seemed to want to
enjoy himself with her, and also wanted her to enjoy herself with
him.

'How about that,' she thought. 'I got a genuinely nice guy here.'
And, on top of that, there was the guy with the muscles, who
threw body-builders around when he got annoyed. She was intrigued
by *that* guy...

She offered to drop him at his apartment, but he said no, it was
a nice evening and he'd like to stroll home from her place. She
was a little disappointed by that; she wanted to make an effort,
however small, to do something for him, but she thought that she
could find another way to do that. Which gave her an idea.

She parked the Jeep and he walked her to her door, still
chatting. She'd managed to convince him to leave all the beach
gear in the car until she could drop it round sometime during the
week. This left his hands free, but he didn't touch her, didn't
cast meaningful glances at her, didn't even try to come in when
she opened the door, just was there, relaxed and happy, simply
taking pleasure from being in her company.

"Thanks for a lovely day, Clark. See you in the morning."

"Yep. Back to the salt mines. As opposed to the salt air."

They grinned together at that, and Clark went to leave, but
stopped when she called after him, "Clark? Would you like to have
dinner -- here, I mean. Say, Wednesday night?"

"Sure, Lois," he replied, pleased and surprised. "That'd be
great."

"Okay. I'll let you know what time -- if, of course, we don't
have to work."

"If..." he murmured wistfully. They both knew what could happen
to plans like these...

Clark made his way towards the elevators, smiling. Half-way
there, he heard a call for help. 'Back to the salt mines is
right,' he thought, changing into the suit and zipping out the
hall window at super-speed.

Inside her apartment, Lois stood by the closed door for a long
moment, looking thoughtful. She went to get changed and emerged
from her bedroom in a light summer robe. She went over to the
phone and dialled. "Lucy? Hi. Look, I need to know: where can I
get a foolproof recipe -- one that even *I* can't mess up -- for
Beef Bourguignon?"

THE END (for now...)