A/N: Well, it's been so long since I've posted anything that I almost feel guilty sneaking back on here to drop something off. But I've been watching through the episodes again and falling in love all over again, which means lots of story ideas. Which means I really need to get back into the spirit of things and the hearts and minds of these characters. So, if anyone remembers (and I almost didn't myself, so no hard feelings if they were completely forgotten!), I had started a writing exercise where I took a line of dialogue from each episode and tried to delve into the meaning behind it. And now, years later, here's the next installment.
Quotable Table Of Contents ***
I'm Looking Through You: Cat Grant
***
Her eyes are rolling, her mouth is tucked to the side in that thoroughly irritating way she has of showing her disgust with her entire face, and her barb rolls off of me without hurting in the least.
It’s easy to smirk, easy to give her a once-over out of the corner of my eye. Easy to snicker at her and make the tiniest hint of insecurity enter her expression.
“Less is more, darling,” I say, and then I pause (this part is easy, too, so practiced it’s become second-nature), and snicker again, and add, “Sometimes.”
And it is. Usually.
But Lois Lane has something I’ll never have. I’ve been working with her for several years now, always throwing put-downs and come-backs her way, ignoring the taunts she sends out in reply, and yet, I still don’t understand what it is she has that the rest of us don’t.
She stands here, so forlorn and awkward as Superman walks past us. Her disappointment is written all across her, like lipstick applied too liberally and mascara running down pale cheeks. She thinks Superman doesn’t care at all about her, but the truth is, I know he does. He came to *her*, after all, gave her his first interview. The fact that he’s ignoring her here doesn’t change anything--men like to play their games, to divert attention and distract the eye and play their emotional sleight-of-hand. They accuse women of being the ones to play games and use the art of manipulation, but if the society pages have taught me anything, it’s that everyone, no matter their gender, wears their masks and dangles their shiny jewelry and dark secrets to distract from the vulnerability they all feel.
And I’m no different.
Lois may think I look down on her, but the truth is a bit nastier than that. You see, I’m *jealous* of her. I’ve worked just as hard as her, for longer than her, but she’s the star reporter, and I’m…well, I’m second-best. Or an afterthought. Invisible whenever she’s around, like a switch that gets flicked.
She’s younger and she’s pretty and she’s ambitious, and she’s chock-full of personality quirks that should send men running for the hills. But there’s that *something*. That *something* none of the rest of us have.
And everyone knows it.
Superman does. He’s working the room (not as skillfully as Lex Luthor or the other more consummate showmen), always turned toward the woman who won his date--and always, *always*, where he can see Lois out of the corner of his eye.
Lex Luthor’s seen it. For months, Lois has been hounding his office, trying to get the first one-on-one interview with him (really, sometimes she just sets herself up for failure), but now, one White Orchid Ball and one dance later, *he’s* the one calling *her* for meetings and appointments and lunches.
And Clark sees it. One good man--a nice guy, finally, come to work at the Daily Planet--and even before I saw him, he was already Lois’s. He follows her around, watches her constantly, and another, less-*somethinged* woman can’t even try to change his mind without receiving dirty looks from him and worried glances toward Lois (and okay, so maybe pretending our few hours together hadn’t all been on the up-and-up wasn’t my best idea, but a girl can get frustrated, you know). He’s cute and he’s nice and he smiles and tells me good morning even though I know he’s still upset with me…and none of it matters at all.
Because Lois has more, and less is sometimes just less, and no one will ever see me when she’s around.
So yeah, sometimes I really hate her. But most of the time? Most of the time I just hate being invisible.
***
