Chapter 5
She should never have done it. She should never have gone to Cat Grant of all people, and asked for her help. What had she been thinking? The two women had never been friends and had barely even been civil when they had worked together and now she was asking for fashion advice?
She’d left work early that day, unable to concentrate on anything but the evening ahead and strangely unnerved by the fact that Clark wasn’t there. If he had been, it might have felt a little more normal, but as it was, Clark’s absence only seemed to remind her that she would soon go home to get ready for her date.
A real date. Not just two friends going out after work, but an honest-to-goodness date where she didn’t see him all day and then he showed up later to take her out.
She stared at herself in the mirror, trying desperately to believe that Cat hadn’t put her in this outfit specifically to make a fool out of her. She felt nervous and completely off balance in something like this. And it wasn’t as if Cat had gone straight for the pleather.
In fact, by Cat’s standards, the outfit Lois had on was relatively tame. She wore a black thin-strapped tank top and a black mini-skirt that reached her mid-thigh, and on her feet she wore a pair of black Doc Martens that she’d borrowed from Cat, who had insisted they were a necessity.
The only colour in her entire outfit was the red and black flannel shirt tied around her waist and her make-up.
Cat had been oddly kind in offering to apply it and did so without making Lois look as if she was auditioning to be a clown in the circus. In fact, she was somewhat jealous of how expertly Cat had done her eyeshadow—using various shades of brown to achieve a smouldering effect.
Lois had worried the deep burgundy lipstick might be a little too much considering the rest of the outfit, but Cat had insisted.
“Lois, honey, trust me on this,” she’d said as she applied the lip liner and then began to fill it in with rich colour. “For an entire year I watched the way he looked at you, and whenever you wore this colour, he watched you just a little bit more.”
“He did?” Lois had found herself saying, which had irritated Cat as she struggled to fix a slight smudge.
“I’m a gossip writer,” Cat had reminded her as she put the finishing touches on. “There was very little I didn’t notice.”
And so she had trusted Cat. Trusted her in the car as she drove back to her apartment and as she waited out the remaining half hour for Clark to arrive. She trusted her until she decided to take one more look at herself in the mirror.
And then she panicked. She panicked because the outfit was too loud, too out there, too not-Lois, too...sexy?
No, that couldn’t be it. She had no problem with sexy. She didn’t even have a problem with wearing something that showed a bit of skin. When she and Clark had investigated Lenny Stoke, the manager of a rock club who she suspected of being behind a series of robberies, she’d snuck into the club wearing the most revealing outfit she could think of.
The outfit she’d worn had put some of Cat’s to shame, and Clark had been at the club that night. He’d seen her with her hair teased, her dramatic makeup and the top that showed off more cleavage than she’d cared to.
But that had been a costume—a ruse. It hadn’t been her. Not the real her anyway. And Clark had known it. When he’d seen her the first thing he’d said was ‘Why are you dressed like that’?
Would he say that now? She hated feeling this nervous. And she knew it was because this concert had thrown her completely for a loop. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been to rock concerts in the past. After all, she’d seen Bon Jovi with her roommates in college, but this was something different entirely. For one thing, Bon Jovi’s songs contained melodies. For another, she was no longer in college, and Pearl Jam’s music was more than music, from what Cat had told her. It was an entire subculture.
Getting the lowdown from Cat on Pearl Jam had been even more surprising than her agreeing to help her. Cat had seen Pearl Jam in concert before, and was apparently a fan. Lois tried to imagine her in flannel and ripped jeans, but the image wouldn’t come. Still, the fact that she’d had the Doc Martens on hand told Lois there was more to Cat Grant than she’d previously assumed, and so she’d allowed Cat to give her a crash course in Pearl Jam.
It hadn’t helped nearly enough. Lois had listened to as much of the album as she could on her way to and from work as well as at Cat’s place getting ready. Though there were one or two songs she didn’t mind, if she was honest with herself, the rest of it she really didn’t care for.
And even more shocking than the image of Cat Grant at a Pearl Jam concert was the image of Clark at one. How had he managed to hide this side of himself from her? She wondered what the appeal was for him? Could it be the social messages in the songs? It had to be. She had trouble picturing him attempting to sing along to the lyrics. In fact, every time she tried to imagine him hitting the same notes as Eddie Vedder in a song like Spin the Black Circle, her brain flat out short circuited.
She checked her watch. He would be here soon. Her nerves ramped up even further as she took yet another glance at herself in the mirror.
She was struck by a sudden, urgent desire to change. She could easily put on something less...less. Jeans and a t-shirt would be okay, right? Cat had said the culture was all about minimalism and comfort, so why not just be comfortable? After all, Clark had seen her in all sorts of clothing—dressed in a long black gown for the Kerth awards and in her frumpiest sweatpants when he had come over to watch movies. Who was she trying to impress?
Clark. She was trying to impress Clark. And she knew how to do that for dinner and a movie. For dinner and a movie, she would put on a flirty but tasteful black dress that was both elegant and flattering. She knew Clark would like something like that.
But would he like her in something like this? Would he see this as an attempt to attract him, or would he look at her the way he did the night he’d seen her in Lenny Stoke’s club? Like she was wearing a costume.
Would he think she was sexy? Did she want him to?
Yes. Yes she did. Very much. Suddenly quite a bit.
And before her brain could process that thought, she heard a knock at the door. He was here.
Oh God, he was here. Right now. Right outside that door. Waiting to take her out on a date. She was going on a date with her best friend.
Dressed in a mini-skirt and Doc Martens.
To a Pearl Jam concert.
Focus, Lois, she thought to herself. She checked her watch.
“I’ve still got thirty seconds!” she called nervously as she raced frantically around her apartment trying to decide what to bring with her. A coat? No, there wouldn’t exactly be a coat check, and so many bodies packed tightly into an arena like that would mean it would be very warm. She was only going to the cab and then the venue. It would be fine.
A purse? She didn’t want to bring anything too bulky, but she would need to have her wallet, lipstick and a few other essentials. She grabbed a small clutch that she kept for occasions like this—well, not exactly like this—and thrust everything she needed into it, still excitedly aware of the man waiting for her on the other side of her door.
At last, she reached the door and swung it open.
On the other side, Clark sood there. He was wearing a pair of blue jeans that looked as if they had been carefully pressed and cared for and a green and blue plaid flannel shirt buttoned all the way up. If she hadn’t known better, she would have sworn that they were going to spend the day on his parent’s farm, rather than a grunge concert. Farm or not, he looked good. Really good.
The only part of his outfit that gave any indication of the true purpose of the evening was the fact that he’d left his shirt untucked. She was suddenly seized with insecurity, partly because he was dressed so nicely and neatly and partly because he’d been staring at her ever since she opened the door.
Her heart hammering in her chest, she spoke.
“Right on time as usual,” she said somewhat affectionately. She smiled at him, unable to help herself as she remembered yet again, that this was a capital D date. She had no idea why that should make her so nervous and so excited, but it did. She was nervous because he was her best friend. “Clark?”
“Huh?” he said, and a rush of relief flooded her as she realised the look on his face wasn’t the same look that he’d given her at the Stoke Club. This was a look of appreciation, of attraction. Desire? Maybe. At least, she hoped it was. Her smile grew a little wider and she felt an overwhelming urge to flirt with him. Her best friend.
Her date.
“Hey,” she said, and something about her tone of voice brought him out of his thoughts. She had his full and complete attention. “Are you ready to go?”
“Definitely,” he replied, his smile becoming a grin that made her body go slightly weak. There was something in the way he was looking at her. Something different and new. Or maybe not new. Maybe he’d just been hiding it. Either way, she liked it.
She closed her door and was in the process of locking it when he spoke again.
“Is that what you’re wearing?” She felt herself freeze. Oh God, he hates the outfit after all! He must have seen her tense because he added, “I mean, don’t you need a coat?”
A coat. Right. February. She felt herself relax slightly.
“We’re only going to the cab,” she reasoned. “I’ve got my...flannel.”
They headed for the door and she felt her cheeks flush ever so slightly. How was this real? They had known each other for over a year. Why did everything feel brand new?
“Are you sure?” he said as they waited for the taxi he’d booked. He looked so sweet, so incredibly, wonderfully, Clark. “I don’t want you to get cold.”
“I won’t,” she promised him. “I’ve got you to keep me warm, remember?”
There it was. That flirty tone of voice. She couldn’t seem to control it and it certainly seemed to have an effect on him.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. And, taking his cue from her, placed his arm lightly around her shoulders. “You do.”
He smelled good. Really good. Had he always smelled this good?
She felt thrilled and scared all at once. It was official now. What was theory, had now been made real. That invisible line separating friendship from...something else, had been breached. She’d put a toe over the line and found herself wanting to put the entire foot. Maybe more. She wanted to see that look on his face again. She didn’t need to wait long.
As they stood there, waiting for the taxi to arrive, she could feel his eyes on her once more, giving her outfit a once over.
“You look...incredible,” he said softly. She felt a nervous flutter rush through her once more.
“Are you sure?” she asked, a little bit embarrassed to be letting her insecurity shine through, but unable to help it. She wouldn’t do that with anybody else, but she could be vulnerable with Clark. It was Clark. Her Clark. Her sweet, thoughtful, and suddenly extremely sexy Clark.
“Very sure,” he said, his gaze suddenly more intimate than she expected. “You look...sexy. Can I tell you that?”
“Yes,” she gasped slightly. The taxi arrived before she could say anything more, though she wanted to. And before she realised it, his hand was on the small of her back, guiding her into the taxi which would take them to the concert.
The Pearl Jam concert.
