Chapter 8
~§~
By the time the evening ended, all but Clark were fully feeling the effects of the wine. Gillian staggered slightly as she tried to gain her feet, and Clark quickly grasped her elbow to steady her.
“C’mon, Gils,” Brian mumbled, “I’ll walk you on home ‘fore I go to my room. Wouldn’t want you to wander the wrong way and end up somewhere ‘round Popayán.”
“I’ll take her,” Clark stated firmly, in a voice he hadn’t used since he’d arrived in San Pablo. Pure Superman, one that didn’t broach argument.
Thankfully Brian was too drunk to protest, but when his good-night kiss started to linger, Clark gently pulled Gillian down the road. With an exaggerated wave of his own, he bid farewell to the visitor from Bogotá.
“Sam?” The force of her word breaking through the silent night pushed her into him, and he placed an arm across her shoulders to steady her.
“Yes, Gillian?” When she made no move to leave the solid support he offered, he kept his arm draped around her.
She yawned. “Do you think my hair looks like Wonderbread?”
He chuckled. “Nope.”
“Really?” she asked.
“Leche de la abeja,” he said, glancing down at the silky head leaning against his shoulder. Milk of the bee.
“Wow, you sure speak Spanish good,” she said sleepily, another yawn slipping out. “That Brian. He’s just a great guy, isn’t he?”
“Yeah,” Clark agreed noncommittally. “Seems to be really fond of you.”
“Oh, he’s just a big flirt. Used to drive all the girls of San Pablo crazy, having them think he liked one then another. A lot of them were pretty sad when he decided to leave.” Her voice took on an almost wistful tone. “But I’ll bet all the fathers breathed a big sigh of relief when he packed up and headed out of Dodd...I mean Dodge.”
“How about you?” he asked casually. “Were you sad to see him go?”
Her lips pursed slightly as she thought about that question, finally shaking her head to send sheets of hair cascading over his arm. “I’m glad he left.”
He felt a spurt of anger toward Brian, wondering if in the string of broken hearts he’d left behind, Gillian’s was but a bead. “Why’s that?”
They’d reached her shack, and he stopped her from walking past the path that led to her door. She grinned up at him, a smile both sloppy and sweet. “Cause if he hadn’t left, you wouldn’t have stayed.”
In a display similar to that very first day, Gillian fumbled with her braided key ring. This time, Clark took the keys from her hand and easily fit the right one into the lock on her door.
Stumbling into the space, she walked to the middle of the room where she stopped. “Man, it’s dark in here.”
When it became clear that she planned to do nothing to change that fact, Clark turned on the lamp sitting on the counter. As the room filled with light, she smiled brilliantly, as if a miracle had occurred to banish the darkness.
He felt a bit awkward, not certain how much help she needed. Should he just leave her to find her way to bed? Or did he need to make sure that she didn’t end up in a heap on the floor?
Deciding maybe it was best if she had some space, he was about to tell her goodnight when she started to talk, focusing on him as if she only just realized he was in the room. “So, now you know my tragic history. That my twin brother died in a horrible car wreck. Don’t you think it’s fair for you to tell me something about you? You know, a little tit for tat kind of thing?”
Gillian paused to think a minute, her face scrunching as she contemplated her last comment. “That’s such a dumb expression. Who ever came up with that? I mean, what’s a ‘tat’? And I’m just not liking the whole implication of that first part, you know – ”
“I’m hiding from a woman,” he blurted out before she could finish her thought, a deep flush creeping over his face. With a start, he wondered what had possessed him to say that? Perhaps it was the lingering sense that she knew everything about him anyway. With her, he had no secrets at all.
“A woman?” she repeated, her expression changing to one of confusion, as if he’d just confessed he was hiding from a bumblebee. “What, is she one of those big, burly Siberian wrestler...no, wait.”
A sudden dawning lit her face, and she glanced sideways at him knowingly. Her hand lifted, the nearly empty wine bottled clutched tightly as she pointed one finger in his direction. “Don’t tell me! Why Sam, I never took you for a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind of guy. You devil! Found you a classic Fatal Attraction type and had to come all the way to – ”
“It wasn’t like that. We never...” he stopped and wiped a weary hand across his eyes. How could he ever explain about his feelings for Lois to this woman? This drunk woman. He removed his hand to see her swaying slightly, like a palm tree buffeted by a strong gale. “God, I don’t know why I’m even telling you this. You can’t even stand up straight.”
He turned to leave, the long night of stories weighing heavily. For some reason, he couldn’t get the image of Gillian’s face as she’d recounted her brother’s story out of his mind. The raw pain and emptiness in her eyes, the vulnerability that made her look so much younger than her twenty-six years.
“No. No, Sam. I’m sorry. Really. I want to know,” she called, stopping him. As if to prove her sincerity, she staggered backward, glancing over her shoulder when her knees were clipped by the upholstered chair. She lowered herself to its edge with much care. “Here, look, I’m sitting down. See? So, tell me.”
He took in her broad grin, no hints of the earlier pain in the gray eyes now focused on him. She was the picture of expectation. He sighed. Why not? They’d been through a lot together, and she’d shared her sorrows with him. And he trusted her. Completely. Besides, she probably wouldn’t remember much in the morning anyway based on the amount of wine she’d consumed.
“There’s not much to tell, really,” he said, leaning against the table and crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s pretty simple. I fell in love with this woman, and she married another guy.”
She took a moment to process this bit of information.
“Well, did you tell her?” she asked.
“Tell her what?”
She snorted and rolled her eyes dramatically. “That you...loved her and all? I mean, you guys can be so ignorant sometimes, thinking we women know everything. Which, granted, most of the time we do. But sometimes, just occasionally, it helps if you give us...you know...a ‘lil clue.”
“I told her.”
She stared at him, waiting. When he didn’t say anything, she gestured with her hand as if pulling the information from him. “An’ what she say?”
“That she didn’t love me that way. She cared about me as a friend and all of that.” He could have recited the exact words of Lois’s rejection, but they would have been lost on Gillian. “So she married the other guy.”
“Well...” She shook her head, not accepting it. “That’s just...really....stupid.”
“What, that I fell in love with a woman who married another guy?” He’d been prepared for “pathetic” or even “tragic”, so “stupid” really caught him off guard. Great. Another dimension to the story. Not only was he a heartbroken sap but an idiot as well.
“No. That she didn’t love you. I mean, jus’ look at you. You’re...” She waved her hand up and down, indicating his entire person. “Well, look at you. And you’re so damned nice it’s disgusting.”
“Gee, thanks,” he said, her tone so deprecating he had to laugh at her backhanded compliments.
“And I’m starting to think you might actually be kind of smart,” she continued. “Plus you like to help people. Hell, you can even fly. ‘Course, I’m still not too sure about your taste in clothes...”
“She didn’t know.”
“What, that you like to wear primary colors even though you’re a grown man?”
“No, that I can fly.”
Her eyebrows lowered in confusion. “Didn’t she think it was kind of strange when you floated off the ground?”
“I didn’t do that when she was around,” he clarified, sighing deeply. “She didn’t know I’m Superman”
The confusion deepened. “Well, who did she think you were?”
“It’s a long story.” A long story that he had no intention of going into now or at any time in the future. “Part of the past.”
“Hey, don’t be pulling any of that aquí y ahora stuff on me now. You don’t know the secret password.”
He sighed again. He was starting to get the feeling that he wasn’t going to be able to leave until she felt satisfied, and in her current condition, he was looking at a pretty long night. “She thought I was someone else. Someone...who wasn’t Superman.”
“I see.” She thought a minute. “No, I don’t see. Why’d she think you weren’t who you are?”
“Because I told her I was someone else.”
“Oh. Well, ok then.” She smiled, as if it made perfect sense that he would be someone else. Then she frowned. “Why in the hell would you do a crazy thing like that?”
“Because I wanted her to see me for who I really am.”
“So you told her you were someone else?”
“Yes.” He had to admit, it actually did sound kind of crazy.
“OK.” She eyed him suspiciously. “Who are you now?”
“Superman.”
“Sam?”
“OK, yes. Sam.”
She exhaled loudly. “That’s a relief. My mother told me never to let strange men into my room. You gonna tell me about her?”
Caught completely off guard by her one-hundred and eighty degree turn in direction, Clark blanched. “I don’t think – ”
“Oh, c’mon,” she chided. “I gotta know about the woman that would pass up Superman.”
“She didn’t pass up Superman. I told you she – ”
Gillian lifted a hand and waved it limply. “I know. I know. She didn’t know who you were. But that’s your own fault, so just tell me.”
“She’s...” He paused, thinking. How in the world could he describe Lois, the woman who for the past year had occupied nearly every waking moment of his life and several sleeping moments as well? “She’s a lot like you, actually. Stubborn. Tenacious. Can’t sit still for more than five minutes at a time.”
“I’m not stubborn,” she insisted with a small pout. “I’m persistent.”
“Very,” he agreed with a grin.
Gillian lifted the bottle to her lips and tipped it, frowning when nothing came out. “Empty. Does she like wine?”
“Yes.”
“How about Colombian food?”
He thought a moment. Did Mexican count? “Chinese is her favorite.”
“Classic rock or top 40?”
“News radio.”
Her eyes narrowed, then a smile broke over her face, as if she’d found one to stump him. “How about licorice? Red or black?”
“Neither. Chocolate.” Double Fudge Crunch Bars to be exact.
“Oh, well then, that explains it all.” She lifted her hands triumphantly, as if she’d discovered the root of all evil in the world.
Thinking that perhaps she was satisfied, he stretched, wondering if maybe he should go. For some reason, though, he no longer felt like leaving. He’d thought a discussion of this particular topic would be excruciatingly painful, but oddly, it wasn’t. There was something liberating about talking about this with a person who didn’t know anything about Lois or Clark. And besides, she’d never remember any of it.
“OK, since you’ve been no help at all, I’m going to guess what she was like.” She studied him for a minute, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. “Hmm. What kind of woman can I see you with?
He settled back on the table, intrigued to know what kind of woman she might imagine he would fall in love with.
Finally, she nodded, looking to have come to some momentous conclusion. “Tall.”
“Not overly, but yes. Above average.”
“Thin. She’d have to be incredibly thin.”
He thought about Lois’s trim form that contained just the right amount of curves. “Not too thin, but she’s very healthy.”
Gillian frowned, puzzled. “And she eats chocolate?”
“She works out,” he explained.
“Of course.” On a roll, she leaned forward, letting the bottle dangle in one hand. “Designer clothes. And matching shoes. Her shoes probably always match her outfit.”
That one was tricky, him not having much experience with women’s shoes. “I never noticed, but yeah, she dresses nice.”
“I use to have matching shoes, too. And my toenails used to be painted.” She slumped back in the chair, her face taking on a dreamy quality as if she remembered those glorious days. “Do you know how hard it is to keep your toenails painted in this place?”
“Pretty hard, I’m sure,” he acquiesced, knowing even less about toenail painting than he did about women’s shoes.
“So, if you fell in love with her, she must be pretty fabulous,” she guessed. “I’ll bet she’s a preschool teacher who works with orphans and volunteers at the homeless shelter where she cooks entire seven course meals for the displaced. While speaking French and writing the great American novel.”
“She can’t cook.”
“OK, she just serves them soup.”
“I can’t see her volunteering in a soup kitchen.”
“But she loves children? I got that part right, right?” she asked hopefully.
“She’s very…” He thought a minute, trying to be fair to Lois. “Career oriented.”
“Is she a superhero?”
She asked it with such seriousness he laughed out loud at the image of Lois donning a cape and suit. “No. She saves the world in a different way.”
Gillian shook her head sadly. “I'm sorry. She sounds perfect.”
“Not perfect.” He thought of Lois’s brusque manner and pure stubbornness. Of her determination to keep him at arm’s length those first few months. “She can be kind of unreasonable sometimes. And she’s always getting herself into trouble.”
Lifting a finger, Gillian pointed directly at him. “And she turned down Superman. A flaw for sure, that.”
“Actually, she didn’t turn me down.” Technically, it was true. Sort of. She’d turned Clark Kent down, not Superman.
“Oh…” She stared at him, a look of understanding widening her eyes. “Wait a minute. If she didn’t turn down Superman, and she married some guy, then she must have married…you. Unless you’re not really Superman.”
With a gasp, she lifted a hand to her mouth, horrified. “You’re married!”
“Your logic is baffling.” He shook his head, amazed and amused. “No, I’m not married.”
Her brows came down, a small frown pulling at the corners of her mouth while she processed his words. “I’m confused.”
“Lo…” He stopped, catching himself. “This woman, she told me that she loved me, but it wasn’t me that she really loved. Just the Superman part.
“Well, OK now I’m not confused at all. Why didn’t she love all of you?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“I like all of you.” She frowned again, thinking over that declaration. “At least, I think I like all of you. Is there more of you somewhere?”
Hiding a grin fairly unsuccessfully, he said, “Nope. I’m all right here.”
“Well, what part, exactly, did she love?” She hiccupped a bit and studied him thoughtfully, as if examining a statue. “I think you’ve got a really nice – ”
“Gills,” he interrupted, flushing under her scrutiny, “this conversation is way too complicated for me much less someone who’s probably consumed three bottles of wine all by herself.”
“You underestimate my ability to hold my liquor.” She shook her head and waggled her finger loosely. “I’ve got this all down pat. This woman, who doesn’t like to wear mismatched shoes and eats too much chocolate, works as a superhero in a soup kitchen. She loves some part of Superman, which I suspect might just be his great…” she paused, frowning as if she’d forgotten what she was going to say. Then a smile brightened her face and she continued. “But since she’s a bodybuilder herself, a great...you know, body part...that wasn’t enough. So she married some other guy. That wasn’t you. ‘Cause you’re Superman, the whole guy, not just part of him. And you’re not married.”
His mind tangled, he tried to make some sense of what she’d just said, all in nearly one breath. “Um…well yeah, some of it. I think.”
She lifted a finger again, nodding her head knowingly. “Maybe the problem is that you didn’t show her the right parts. I mean, I’m not suggesting trench coat flasher type stuff. But if she only knows that you have one part, then how is she supposed to like all of the stuff you didn’t show her?”
He wasn’t quite sure how to answer her, both because he wasn’t exactly sure what she’d asked, and also because some of what she said was making a bit of sense, a thought frightening in and of itself.
Thankfully, she didn’t seem to expect an answer, continuing on. “Speaking of body parts, you know, you really should be a body organ donor.”
“Huh?” he asked.
“All you have to do is sign the back of your driver’s license. You can help a lot of people if something tragic were ever to happen to you. It’s the gift of life, you know.”
Since she seemed to have lost interest in discussing Lois, something that suited him just fine now that he was all confused, he decided perhaps she should get some sleep. She was looking at one big headache the next day as it was. “Listen Gillian, maybe you’d better lie down.”
If she heard him, she didn’t show it. “God, I’d love to have a shower. A nice, long hot shower where the water steams up the mirror. And I can sing Hopelessly Devoted. Do you know that song, Sam? It’s from Grease. Olivia Newton John.”
“I’m vaguely familiar,” he said and reached out a hand, ready to pull her to her feet.
“It’s a classic,” she murmured, then took notice of the hand he’d extended.
With a slap that only made contact with his pinky finger, she missed his grip. Seeing that if left to her own devices she’d most likely remain in the chair all night, he fished for the waving hand and hauled her to her feet.
Gillian stood, rocking back and forth while she tried to balance herself. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much if I were you.”
“Worry about what?” He asked, completely mystified. He started to wonder if it was possible to become drunk just by association.
“That bodybuilder who married some guy she met at the soup kitchen.”
Guessing that she must mean Lois, he eyed her carefully. “Why shouldn’t I be worried about her?”
“Because, my Aunt Ruby, she used to say that men are like buses. If one passes you by, another one’ll be along in five minutes.” She thought a minute, then brightened. “Don’t suppose you have an interest in men?”
“Ah, no,” he said quickly.
“Well that’s OK. I think it works backwards, too. And there’s always Lourdes.”
He let that remark go. “What about you?”
“I don’t think Lourdes is my type. Too much...woman.”
“No, how many buses have you let pass by?”
She looked at him, confused. “Bus? Oh, I never take the bus. Strange people. I prefer to ride a bike. Or a motorbike. Course mine is in a bunch of pieces.”
Her gaze swung to the gears and springs and other parts of motorbike still spread over the tee-shirt rag, her voice forlorn. “Sure looks like a lot of pieces.”
He grasped her elbow gently and directed her toward her bed.
“I know what it is, Sam. Why this...thing...has you so bummed,” she said as she sat on the edge of it.
“Why’s that?” He slipped off one sandal and then the other.
“Cause you’re like me. You don’t like to take the bus.”
“I don’t like to take the bus?” he echoed, no longer trying to follow her train of thought. “Why not?”
“Well, why would you want to take the bus when you can fly?” She lay back against her pillow, throwing an arm across her eyes. “Man, those Chileans sure make a great wine. Don’t they?”
“It was very nice,” he said as he lifted her legs and swung them onto the bed.
“Can’t believe she cut off my hair...” she mumbled. “Bee milk...”
“Night Gillian.”
“Mmmph.”
Pulling the blanket over her shoulders, he smoothed a strand of hair off her forehead. In sleep, she again took on the appearance of one much younger than her years, the weight of her responsibilities and the sorrows she’d endured falling away to reveal the innocent still within. He didn’t think he’d ever met anyone as perplexing as Gillian Brooks.
The warm rasp of a wet tongue against the back of his hand shook him from his thoughts, and he looked down to see Luke waiting for his requested pat. Clark scratched the velvety fur between the dog’s ears.
“You look after her, OK?” he whispered.
As if the animal understood, Luke jumped onto the bed and turned twice before settling in the crook made by Gillian’s bent knees. He rested his chin on her calves and gave his tail a reassuring thump.
Satisfied that she was in good hands, so to speak, Clark left her house, shutting the door softly behind him.
to be continued...
