Part Ten
The first week after her arrival in Zurich, Lana spent tracking down various antique collectors who lived in the ‘Old Town’ section of the city. They claimed to have camp chairs which closely resembled the chair Napoleon Bonaparte had used during his ill-fated campaign against Russia. Her hunting up the antique led to long walks around the enchanting old segment of Zurich. The exploration became something of an education; the old-world Swiss culture was unique; hinting at the city’s beautiful past and yet buzzing with present day energy.
Between appointments she wandered the quiet narrow streets, studied her city guide, sat at a small table in a local café, called simply Kaffee and indulged in some delightfully different coffees from the usual fare served up at home. Her favorite drink was almond mocha with soy milk, plump dollops of whipped cream topped with pinches of cinnamon and generous swirls of chocolate syrup. Afterwards, she poked around some of the different tiny shops and trendy boutiques. Despite having an expense account for meals, it was irritating to be on such a tight budget and not purchase any of the superb jewelry or couture apparel that caught her eye. Again, she wondered if marriage to Clark could allow them money enough to afford the first-class luxuries life had to offer.
At the close of the week all her efforts to track down the antique had been in vain. Either the chair a collector offered was the wrong style or the owners feared it was so delicate it could not possibly survive overseas transportation to Metropolis, despite her assurances otherwise.
It was a beautiful afternoon, one perfect for indulging in the delights of Zurich, yet Lana sat on the bed in her tiny hotel room looking out the window, dreading the phone call to her father. Prof. Lang was depending on her acquiring the piece; otherwise all the designs for that segment of the exhibit would have to be revamped. The expense and schedule delay would be considerable, not to mention the cost of sending her to Europe in the first place. To be sure, Gregory, had provided a ride over in his private plane, but there was still numerous other expenses to consider; such as this chintzy second-class hotel room and meals.
Gregory had mentioned having associates here in Zurich and Paris - associates who might procure the chair or at least have access to persons who could point her in the right direction. Before leaving the airport, Daae had even given her a beautiful card with his personal number, but the idea of asking for assistance from anyone was irritating. She wanted to find the item. Now after spending all this time looking for the chair and not having anything to show for it meant putting pride on the wayside and thinking about the effects of what that pride would have on her career. Eager to put her plan into motion she located the card, reached for the phone and with trembling fingers punched in the number. The phone rang three times and then she heard his deep, cultured voice. {Bon jour? Daae here.}
“Gregory … I am so glad to have caught you! This is Lana.”
The smile in his voice came over the line, {Ah! Bon après-midi Mlle. Lang! How goes your search for the Napoleon chair?}
With him there was no reason to dance around the question; she knew not to waste his time. “Rather badly Gregory, every avenue of inquiry has been unsuccessful. I was hoping perhaps you might know someone…”
***
A mere day after their conversation, Daae had asked her to meet him for a business luncheon – one where she could be introduced to several antique collectors, some of whom had a number of the smaller items on her list. As a member of Zurich’s elite society he wielded considerable influence and often invited people who he felt could advance his agenda. At this luncheon he hoped to help Lana make the kinds of connections she would need to succeed in her profession.
Perhaps through these contacts she might be able to procure the chair.
Later that evening, Lana received a phone call from a Monsieur Garen Aymond, a dealer in antique furnishings. {Mlle Lang, I have only recently returned from travels in Eastern Europe and heard through my associates you are looking for a very specific chair?}
“Yes! Could you assist me in locating it?”
{“Mademoiselle, s'il vous plait, permit me to do much more than that. The camp chair of Napoleon is in my possession. If your museum wishes to borrow it for a definite period of time, it is available immediately.}
Lana was overjoyed and proceeded to do a tiny victory dance around the room. “Thank you! But Monsieur Aymond, how did you hear about this?”
She heard the voice on the other end take in a sharp breath and then say, {As you can imagine in our closed community we hear a great many things. Once I knew of your quest, it was a simple matter to locate your hotel and contact you. This sort of thing is how do you say, ‘good for business’? Besides, it would be an honor to have my name on the display plaque. Is that at all possible?}
Puzzled, Lana said, “Of course… but….”
{Excellent! We have a pact. Quickly, take down my address and phone number. We can set up the contract and the chair will be ready for transport in a few days.} Hastily, he rattled off his information and after saying farewell, rang off.
Lana looked at the phone. Surprised and a little dazed by the conversation that had just taken place, she put down the receiver and punched out Daae’s number. The phone after a few rings switched over to voice mail. Disappointed, she left him a brief message telling him what happened and then hung up.
***
“I trust Monsieur Aymond, the young lady will never know about our little ‘arrangement’?”
The dapper antique collector wiped his sweating brow and nodded in the affirmative. “No, she will hear nothing from me. If … if I had known previously she was an associate of yours I would never have hidden the chair.”
“Ah, just so, Garen. Make sure the contract is fair and in agreement with all international laws. It would be a pity if there was a delay…”
“Mon Dieu! That will not happen! I shall type up the papers of transit myself!”
Gregory nodded and gestured for the dealer to see himself out. Once the door was closed, he took a sip of aged cognac, allowed the smoky liquid to play over his taste buds and smiled to himself. Lana would be most grateful. He was pleasantly enchanted by the vibrancy and intelligence of her personality. She was a significant change from the previous woman in his life, comparisons to Arianna were inevitable. However time erases all wounds and he was certain the younger woman would assist him in moving past the pain.
***
The next three days were spent negotiating contracts for most of the other items to be lent to the Metropolis Museum. Once the contracts were settled and arrangements had been made by the museum and the owners’ respective insurance companies, all that remained was to hire a security firm to oversee the transfer of the items from Zurich to Metropolis.
There were no such problems with Monsieur Aymond’s paperwork. By the time Lana had arrived at his office the next day everything had been completed to her satisfaction. She was ecstatic about the change of events, so much so that she wanted to tell her father, but Daae had invited her to be his guest at the Versace Fall fashion event.
Now that her main purpose for being in Switzerland was settled, she thought spending a few days with him before returning to the States was the best reward possible. The idea appealed to her and she deliberately phoned her father’s work number during the wee hours of the morning and left a message informing him that she was in negotiations with a collector for the chair. The call was certain to put him at ease and allow her more time in Switzerland and getting to know Daae.
***
It was well past midnight when they returned from the exclusive showing of Versace’s Fall collection at the magnificent Chateau Claire just outside of the city. The event had been dazzling and crowded with European and American fashion and film celebrities, all of whom were vying to have their pictures taken by the very best high-fashion print photographers. The party was just getting into full swing, but Daae and Lana needed to return to their respective homes as they both had pressing business appointments the next day.
The simple act of driving about Zurich didn't get much more stately, opulent and luxurious than riding in a Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow, she thought as the vehicle moved smoothly up to the front entrance of her hotel and came to a stop. Daae helped her out, being careful not to soil her gown. That gown, a gift from Gregory, was a beautiful pink creation made of the finest satin; that felt rich and wickedly sumptuous next to her skin.
He held her hand and they walked through the quiet lobby, insipidly decorated in late 80’s chic, to the elevator. Lana was extremely aware of her escort’s masculine presence, as well as the fact that he did not care for this particular hotel. He was never comfortable being here, feeling it was too coarse for her. They rode upstairs in silence, exited the car and still holding hands walked towards her room. When they reached the door she turned to speak, but before she could utter a syllable; a muscular arm swiftly wrapped itself around her waist, pulled her to him and leaned them both against the wall.
Gregory could have been forceful and practiced, but he was surprisingly gentle and tenderly passionate. The kiss was not impersonal; he gave totally of himself and she responded fervently in kind. She liked – no, loved the dangerous emotions racing through her as his lips pressed to hers. They leaned against the wall, mere inches from her door. She felt hot, sultry and thoroughly engaged with his body all at the same time. His lips explored her throat, traveled back up to her left ear and then to her throat again. Her breathing stopped, halted between heartbeats as his lips explored even further. She trembled, gasped in pleasure and overwhelmed by sensations and was surprised to hear her voice, as if far away, begging him to stop.
He pulled back and studied her, “Are you quite sure Liebling?” He whispered in German. Those eyes which were usually so cool and detached seemed to darken and flicker with something indefinable.
“Y … yes.” Was her awkward reply, one that sounded weak and uncertain.
He seemed to pick up her cue, nodded and separated from her, once again in complete control. “Very well. Shall my car pick you up tomorrow evening? We can have dinner at the Restaurant Lindenhofkeller. After a long day at our respective work, it will give us a chance to relax and simply be together. It’s situated high above the Limmat River and has an excellent view that only compliments the mood created inside. A mood I have no doubt shall be pleasing indeed.” He raised her hand and gently kissed it.
She closed her eyes, absorbing and cherishing the feel of his lips against her skin, her mind wandered in dangerous thoughts, but she forced herself back to the here and now. “I … yes, dinner would be very good.”
“Liebling.” He whispered into her ear, “Until then, gute Nacht.” He brushed his lips against hers with a feather’s touch and then walked briskly down the corridor. Within two heartbeats he was gone.
Her hands were trembling so badly it took two attempts to get the key into the lock and gain entry to her room. Gregory had that effect on her; the tantalizing ability to amaze and disturb all at once. What had happened in the corridor was exquisitely decadent and she wanted more. Clark’s kisses were warm and loving, like a cup of herbal tea, by a glowing fire in midwinter, whereas Daae with his cool blue eyes and guarded persona was someone, something else entirely singular.
She yearned for time to explore that difference. There was much more here than merely gaining financing for an archeological dig in Burgundy.
***
After that evening at the restaurant by the river, the tenor of her trip to Europe changed; it was no longer a business trip, but one of pleasure. She continued to hunt down some of the more obscure items on the museum’s list, but she also indulged in all the finer things Zurich, Gstaad and Paris had to offer with Gregory as her guide. Lana had no qualms about cheating on her boyfriend, Clark was financially incapable of providing the kinds of luxuries and experiences Gregory could, so she saw no conflict in her behavior. As long as he did not know, what was the harm? She and Daae spent as much time together as their busy work schedules allowed.
From the moment Gregory had presented her with an incredibly expensive haute couture dress to wear to the Versace event, Lana had been plunged into a world that heretofore she could only have dreamt about. She enjoyed being spoiled by such an attractive and wealthy man, the twenty year age disparity made little difference to her and being in his company was easy and natural. One night he surprised her with an invitation to attend a dinner party at his home where there would be numerous guests of intercontinental stature. The most familiar to her was international financier, Arthur Chow.
Daae treated her to a day spa in order for her to prepare for the event; hair, full-body massage, make-up, manicure and pedicure. When he collected Lana that evening, she noted his quiet smile of approval at her appearance; again wearing a fabulous designer azure colored gown with elegant sapphire jewelry to match. He kissed her hand and the heat once more flared between them; they stepped into the Rolls Royce and were driven into the night.
***
Catherine sat drinking a rich Kona coffee, especially flown in that morning from the island nation of Hawaii with Arthur Chow in his penthouse. Since her career altering interview with him two years before, they had developed a steady friendship. They always had either lunch or dinner together whenever he visited Metropolis. This evening they enjoyed a pleasant meal of bowtie pasta, seafood and spinach swimming in a delightfully tantalizing cream sauce.
Now they sat in his dining room, enjoying each other’s company, leisurely sipping coffee. She loved eating in this particular room, the vibrant red paint on the walls always stimulated her appetite; while the lush English ivy plants with sharp variegated leaves spilling from the over sized planters hanging from the walls gave an unusual dash of interesting color.
“A penny for your thoughts Arthur, you’ve been quiet all evening,” she said teasingly.
He looked up, his face working hard to suppress a grimace.
“International flights are always difficult, as I grow older it’s becoming harder to physically adjust and then readjust to the time zone changes. The point is approaching for me to let the younger men in my company have all the fun of international commerce and settle down.”
Catherine immediately thought of Eduardo giving up his life as a journalist and she spoke without thinking. “Arthur, how can you consider ‘settling down’ that’s unimaginable! You’ll go nuts from boredom within a month.” She said while taking a thoughtful sip of the coffee.
His voice grew wistful as he said, “Oh, I am sure to find something to occupy my life. Change, is inevitable. Even that cold-hearted snake, Gregory Daae seems to be heading in that direction.”
She almost choked on the liquid and fixed her dinner companion with a curious stare, “Daae enjoys playing the game too much, and he wouldn’t let anyone else run his empire!”
“One never knows. While in Zurich wrapping up some business matters I received an invitation to dine with him. As we are ‘friendly’ adversaries I saw no harm in accepting. A goodly number of Swiss bankers and the like were present. Some were correspondents, such as your associate Anna from the Daily Planet’s Athens office.”
Catherine nodded her head almost imperceptibly; trust Anna to be wherever the movers and shakers of world finance gathered. She listened intently as her companion continued.
“… charming young woman, petite blonde with intense blue eyes. He mentioned something about her being either an archeologist or French historian. She was in Europe collecting a quantity of pieces of authentic furniture and suchlike for an extensive exhibit that will be taking place at the Metropolis Museum in a few months. They seem to be quite taken with each other.”
Catherine took another sip of her coffee and asked, dreading the response, “Wh …what was the woman’s name?”
“La … Lara Ah! Lana Lang! Just a moment, there might be a picture in my bag.”
While Arthur went into his office, Catherine strived not to squirm in her chair. This bit of information that had fallen into her lap was bad, very bad indeed.
“Yes, Anna took this group picture; Daae had copies made for all the guests as a gift commemorating the evening.”
Catherine studied the photo, her green eyes gleamed catlike when she spotted a very chic Lana among the elegantly turned out guests. Gone was the Midwestern small town girl. Now she had transformed into a sophisticated woman. But the American city dweller had departed as well; she wore a blue gown and her blonde hair was pinned into a very pleasing-to-the-eye, sleek chignon – very European. Clark’s so-called girlfriend smiled prettily at Daae, but that was not what caught her attention; the two were holding hands like lovers.
<Oh no! Should I tell Clark?> She thought in a panic.
Seeing the bitter expression on Catherine’s face her companion asked,
“Do you know the young lady?”
“Yes,” Catherine responded, her tone corrosive. “But she is no lady.”
***
Catherine was furiously typing up her notes from an interview with Senator Braxton, who was planning on making a bid for the Oval office. Personally she thought the politician’s chances were nil and almost typed that in unflattering terms. The man had little charisma and according to rumors his war chest wasn’t enough to sustain another senatorial campaign much less a presidential one.
She blew out an exasperated breath, unfortunately, for two days, the picture of a very happy Gregory Daae and Lana Lang refused to vacate her brain and intruded on her concentration once more. The same wearisome thoughts were still tumbling over in her mind like a load of colorful laundry in an overactive washing machine. She sighed, stopped and started typing again. <Clark Kent is a standup guy; he doesn’t deserve someone stabbing him in the back like this. He deserves someone better, someone like …>
Abruptly, a familiar voice broke through her dismal thoughts.
“Kansas! Stop putting your grubby fingerprints on my monitor!” Lois noisily opened her desk drawer and removed a small bottle of window cleaner and a soft wipe cloth. Vigorously, she sprayed the monitor and wiped it down.
“… he did perpetrate the crime not, he didn’t. That’s altering the meaning of the sentence and the entire story!” Her partner said in a calm voice
“That’s because Eugene Latimer is innocent and I intend to prove it.” Lois fired back.
Catherine couldn’t help but listen to their bantering conversation, since Lana’s departure from Metropolis, the partnership of Lane and Kent had improved tenfold. Clark seemed liberated, almost as if he were dragged out from under some tremendous weight, while Lois talked to him without the snide, cutting tone that had marked the early days of their association. When they did argue, as they did now, it was more like brother and sister. But underneath the bluster, there was genuine admiration … and more importantly respect, on both sides.
<That man should be with Lois, not that blonde Benedict Arnold! She was obliviously playing Daae along, although by the man’s reputation, Catherine was positive no one played Gregory Daae.>
Catherine’s thoughts were so distracted she accidently typed the word ‘tramp’ instead of ‘stamp’. She grimaced, corrected the error and resumed typing. Lana Lang was not her concern, if she had not been with Arthur, none of this information would have reached her. Still, if Lana breezed back into the newsroom and proceeded to act as if she had just returned from a business trip, then and only then would Catherine have an important chat with Clark.
She had no doubt he wouldn’t believe her. Which was why she had the picture Daae had given Arthur. The most important part of any good story was having the proof to back it up.
She glanced over to Peggy’s desk and wondered if any news of the Swiss media magnate’s new relationship had reached her. <Oh I hope not,> she thought. Peggy was not as discreet as she had been during her tenure writing the gossip column. It was a common practice for Peggy to include the names of Daily Planet co-workers, friends and significant others into her column, a practice Catherine frowned upon.
Her society stories were second rate, poorly written and sometimes key facts were excluded, nothing to get them into trouble with Constance Hunter and the Legal Department; but nonetheless something to keep an eye on. Over all Perry was not pleased with her performance. If she didn’t improve soon, the Managing Editor could terminate her contract, but breaking a juicy gossip story like this might hold him off.>
The monitor flickered, a mute reminder she was worrying about this situation on the Daily Planet’s time. This article needed her complete attention, not the personal lives of her co-workers. With a deep sigh, Catherine put the unfortunate triangle aside and finished her work.
***
In the offices of DMG, Daae’s assistant was been subjected to the daily harangue of Jasper Templar.
“Mrs. Aronnax, our mutual employer has not returned any of my calls. Isn’t he interested in the doings of this office in general and my reports in particular?” He said with an ugly, sarcastic edge.
“Mr. Templar,” she said in a patient voice, “there’s a six hour difference between Zurich and Metropolis. He is probably engaged in a business dinner.”
Jasper smirked, “Oh by all means, let us not interrupt his evening meal. Here, take this and make sure he reads it. Otherwise it’ll be on your head!” With that Templar dropped the file on her desk and departed.
Mrs. Aronnax looked askance at the closed door and shook her head. Mr. Templar’s behavior grew more intolerable with each day. His arrogant treatment of everyone on the staff from office boy to executive was becoming the stuff of corporate legend. He behaved like the owner of DMG, not an employee.
“Green folder,” she said aloud, “according to my agreement with Mr. Daae, I can look through it, if I so choose.” She opened the file, thumbed through the neatly typed pages and thought, <What was so significant about his weekly reports that he wanted Mr. Daae to read them …almost to the point of obsession?> She checked her leather bound desk calendar and since nothing pressing was taking place, decided to ignore all calls for the next hour.
After carefully reading the file twice, she put it down, but not without suppressing a shudder. In her fifteen years as Gregory Daae’s assistant in this country, she had witnessed a great deal and wisely never voiced an opinion. That did not mean she was incapable of taking action and on occasion, she did. Sometimes the information she gleaned helped her decide which stocks to purchase and which ones to sell. She had no desire to be accused of insider trading so, the transactions amounts were so small, they did not draw undue attention.
It was time to consult her backchannels and get a better understanding of just who and what Jasper Templar was.
***
“Bonesteel!” Templar shouted when he reached his office.
“Yes sir.” Bonesteel stood in the doorway and replied in a bland voice.
“Do you have the number for Preston Carpenter?”
“Yes sir. Shall I contact him?”
“No,” Jasper sneered, “Keep the number in your rolodex. Of course I want you to call him! Tell him I work for Daae and we need to talk.”
Bonesteel nodded stiffly and without another word returned to his cubicle.
***
An hour later found Jasper Templar at the Metropolis Star office of Preston Carpenter sitting on a rather uncomfortable black leather chair.
Templar studied the publisher as he sat tensely behind his desk, trying unsuccessfully to hide his discomfort at having a high ranking executive from DMG requesting a meeting. He was pleased to see the other man so obviously on the defensive. Defensive people were sensitive and prone to making errors. <This conversation,> Templar thought wickedly, <is going to be fun.>
“Mr. Carpenter, our mutual employer has spoken a great deal about you.”
Nonplussed, the other man said haltingly, “Excuse me … did you say mutual ‘employer’? What are you talking about? Mr. Daae and I are business acquaintances. I most certainly don’t work for him.”
Templar studied his fingernails as if they were the most important item in the room; he looked up at Preston and smirked in an annoyingly condescending manner. “Come, come surely you didn’t think that Mr. Daae would stop at a measly thirty percent of your stock? Ever heard of RoyalPoint Financials?”
Settling back in his leather chair, Preston responded, “I can’t say as I have.”
“Oh … well, more the pity for you. RoyalPoint is a holding company which has shares in many different businesses. Currently is owns thirty-five percent of not just the Metropolis Star, but of several of your other interests.”
The tension in the room ratcheted upwards as Preston reached into his humidor and removed a cigar; his eyes never leaving Templar’s face. He was trying to remain composed, but the mere stalling action of taking the cigar spoke volumes. After lighting the cigar, he leaned back in his chair, fairly sucked in the aromatic vapors and spoke.
“Did your employer send you over here to test me out? Because it’s a waste of my time and his, it won’t work. We have a deal. I’ve stuck to my part of the bargain; providing hard-to-come-by information whenever he requests it. He needs to do the same.”
“Oh you’re good Pres … mind if I call you that?” Templar smiled condescendingly and answered for him. “Of course you don’t.” He sat back and attempted to get comfortable in the cheap black leather chair, but it creaked noisily under his six-foot frame. “This is not a test. RoyalPoint does own most of your companies and guess who owns RoyalPoint?”
The other man narrowed his eyes and said, “I’m sure you are dying to tell me.”
Disappointed, that the thunder had been stolen, Templar said peevishly. “Gregory Daae, but since he is in Switzerland most of the time and cannot possibly keep an eye on all of his concerns I basically run RoyalPoint, which means I control how those stocks are manipulated on the open market. With one, maybe two phone calls the pitiful newspaper known as the Metropolis Star will cease to belong to you.”
The cigar between Preston’s thumb and index finger nearly collapsed from the pressure he exerted on it. But, the man had not risen to his current station in life without dealing with a few bullies. This Jasper Templar, despite his hand-tailored suit and sophisticated air was nothing more than that. He would play his game, for the moment.
He placed the cigar in an ashtray and looked into Templar’s eyes. “Stop wasting time Templar and tell me what your endgame is?”
The thin lips smiled, but any merriment did not meet Templar’s eyes. “Ah good. So glad to know you are not at all like that fictional newsman Charles Lester Kane, but a reasonable businessman. We are about to become ‘silent partners’ in RoyalPoint Financials.”
Thirty minutes later, Templar exited Carpenter’s office whistling to himself. “Step three of my plan is in place. Time to get Bonesteel started on step four. He needs to get in contact with Mr. Lombard of the Daily Planet and Ms. Nygaard of TresAx.”
***
It had been a busy week since the Jeep incident and Lois finally had a chance to study the material Eduardo had mailed over. There were several handwritten names on the back of one typewritten sheet, one of them fairly jumped out at her: Rita Gaskell – FBI operative - UBS – 1970.
Lois’ eyes widened in surprise that was Aunt Rita’s maiden name. What was it doing on Eduardo’s list of contacts? The conversation they had had when she first presented the Daae investigation to Constance came to mind. Maybe now was the time to have a long overdue talk with her Aunt. She looked over at Clark’s desk and from the stormy expression on his face either one of his contacts was giving him a hard time or Lana was making demands. She shook her head and wondered how anyone could exert such a strong influence thousands of miles away?
Deciding it would be best not to disturb him, she took off for Café Americana hoping to receive a few answers.
***
“It’s a simple thing to ask Lana. I miss you. Why can’t I ‘come over’ for a few hours just to catch up with each other?”
Over thousands of miles of ocean and land, Clark could clearly hear the annoyance – and possibly a little strain in Lana’s voice. “My work is pretty intense; it’s reached the crucial stages….”
“That sounds like a line from a bad spy novel. Come on, what’s really wrong? Every since your Dad gave you this assignment you’ve been ducking me.”
“Really?” Lana fired back. “Weren’t you the one who insisted we pursue our careers before we got engaged? Now you’re acting like a caveman demanding I drop everything and spend time with you! My job is important and notwithstanding your ‘advantages’ that job requires one hundred percent concentration. Remember how many times a ‘big story’ came before a date?” She took a breath and Clark could hear her heart pounding excitedly over the phone. “We won’t even go into the ‘other side’ of yourself. I may be in Europe, but the Swiss edition of the Daily Planet tells about how ‘safe’ it is to live in Metropolis. I wonder what or who the Haze might be?”
Perfectly understanding the verbal shorthand she was using, Clark felt properly chastised and said, “Lana … sweetheart … don’t take it that way. Look you’re right; tracking down the Napoleon camp chair is a big, stressful assignment. Your Dad is depending on this trip being a success. I won’t ask to ‘come over’ again.”
His girlfriend’s voice calmed down slightly when she responded.
“Thanks Clark, I really appreciate your understanding. We can talk when I get back. It shouldn’t be too much longer. Gotta run … my, antique collector wants to meet.”
“Okay. Call when you get a chance.”
“Of course, as soon as this meeting is completed … maybe tomorrow. Look, I really have to go. Good-bye Clark.”
Clark put down the phone and sighed deeply. News of his ‘extracurricular’ activities had apparently spread overseas. No doubt Lana would have a great deal to say about that when she returned. Still there was something about her voice, the tones were wrong. He had known Lana Lang almost all his life. Could she be hiding something? Maybe Lana felt a degree of uncertainty about their relationship. He couldn’t blame her on that score. Since coming to Metropolis they seemed to be steadily moving in opposite directions rather than drawing closer together.
He sat quietly at his desk, thinking matters over, the background noise and activity of the newsroom faded into a dull rattle and hum. Perhaps it was time to be mature and take steps in a different direction. They had been seeing each other for a long time. After all, his new apartment did have plenty of space for her things in the loft.
He pulled out a phone book to look up the number for Mazik’s Jeweler’s
***
“Uncle Mike!” Lois said, loud enough for her favorite uncle to hear, but not so loud as to disturb the mid-morning brunch crowd.
“Hey! Good morning shortcake!” Her uncle advanced upon her with rapid steps and gave her a hug. “What brings you around today? Got an important interview? There’s a quiet booth in the back that just emptied out. One of the busboys will have it cleaned up in a jiffy!”
“Oh no, nothing like that, is Aunt Rita here?”
“She’s probably in the kitchen. Can this wait a few minutes or do you need to see her now?”
The cashier was ringing up customers and waiters laden with fresh food swiftly moved back and forth throughout the space. Lois bit her lower lip; she didn’t want to put her uncle and aunt in a tight spot especially during a busy time at the restaurant.
“How about I come back after the mid-morning rush?” she said.
A familiar voice was heard behind her, “Did someone need to see me?”
Lois told Rita she would come back later. But her aunt must have noticed the tense expression on the younger woman’s face. Rita turned to her husband and said, “Mike, she needs to discuss something important. Can you ask one of the guys to cover for me? Promise, we’ll be back in five...no fifteen minutes.”
Mike agreed, not without some reservation, after all Rita was one of the cooks. He seated the two women in the empty booth, and then walked to the back of the restaurant.
“What can I do for you?” Rita asked crisply.
“Sorry, I should have come later.” Lois said looking around the busy restaurant.
“Ah, don’t worry about Mike. For you to stop by at this particular hour means it’s important.”
Lois quickly explained about Eduardo and his list of names. She produced the sheet of paper and pointed to her aunt’s name.
“Is this … you?” She asked without preamble.
Rita studied the name, date and location. Her countenance flushed slightly than speaking softly, she said, “My, my, the chickens have come home to roost.”
