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Chi Of Steel: Chen Chow
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“So, how do you know Clark?” the woman asked me. She was obviously intelligent, just as obviously distracted. But this, I thought, was actually something she really wanted to know, for more than just a story’s benefit. I was a reporter too, and often felt the thrill of the chase for a good story, but even so, there was always a slight difference between business pursuit and personal interest.

I hid a smile and wondered how long I could tease Clark about this. He’d been telling me about Lois Lane, his partner, his best friend--“Of course, you’re my friend too,” he always made sure to reiterate, which made me think perhaps this Lois Lane is a jealous sort, to make him think that I would be jealous of his time--ever since we’d first started meeting up for coffee, and donuts, too, since Clark seems to always be hungry. I had heard whole stories pressed up against the brief statements, the casual admissions, the way this woman’s name cropped up, always, in every conversation.

It was fun to actually get to meet her. To see the beauty that made Clark’s eyes go hazy when he mentioned seeing her at a society function before he shook his head and moved on. To feel the energy crackling around her that always made a smile spring to Clark’s lips when he talked about trying to keep up with his partner. To hear the spark of strong presence in her voice, and connect it to Clark shrugging when I’d ask him how his best friend had convinced him to do whatever it was she had gotten him into this time.

But to hear this question and know that she was interested in Clark and wanted to know more about him from me--a friend of his that might give her some insight into this man who spent almost all of his waking hours with her--ah, yes, this was good. This would fill up quite a few weeks of breakfast meetings, and for a change, I would be the one who got to know something Clark did not.

Maybe, though, I would not tease him for too long. It had been almost nine months since our first meeting, and I knew he’d been carrying a torch for Lois Lane for even longer than that. In all truthfulness, I would have to admit that I had sometimes wondered if he’d ever get anywhere with this woman he could not give up on. It was a relief to know his feelings were not completely unreciprocated.

All the same, I could not tell her the truth. Clark had sworn me to secrecy.

We’d been assigned the same story, though for different papers--a big story for my Chinatown paper, a small one for the Daily Planet, and yet Clark had asked me after the press conference to meet with him so he could make certain he was familiar enough with the context. I still wasn’t sure what had happened exactly, when we did meet that evening just a few blocks over from Grandfather’s, but I know there were three men, there was a knife on the ground, a gunshot had sounded, and Clark’s suit coat had been ripped along the right sleeve. He never did let me look at how deeply the scratch must have been, but he’d assured me it was nothing.

I wasn’t sure I believed him.

He’d said it was nothing, and when I pressed him for details--sure that this could be a story that would get me a headline and give some recognition to this ordinary hero--he admitted that he knew a bit about fighting. But he’d made me promise not to mention his name in my paper, or to tell anyone what happened.

And when I was attacked again, a few days later, Superman was there to save me. I read the Daily Planet as avidly as any reporter in Metropolis--I knew who had to have told the superhero that I might be in danger. Just a small street gang unhappy with the free publicity I had given them, but it did not escape my attention that Clark suddenly showed up at my optometrist’s, one day, and walked me home.

He was a true friend, always there until finally the last remnants of the gang had been put away or dispersed. He thanked me for it later, too, saying he was glad he met me. “Best optometrist I’ve ever had,” he’d said with that teasing gleam to his eye.

So I would be a true friend to him, too, and keep his secret for him. One story was not worth losing a friendship over.

“We go to the same optometrist,” I told Lois Lane, and smiled to see her look with away with feigned disinterest.

Yes, I would certainly enjoy my next breakfast with Clark.

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