“You sure you don’t need help with anything else around the farm before I leave?” Clark asked, reaching for another slice of pie.
“I’m sure,” Jonathan said. “You’ve done more than enough. Whatever I can’t handle, Rob can do. That’s why we have him.”
Clark nodded, thankful for the presence of their hired hand. The last thing he wanted was for his father to get overconfident in his ability to do it all himself and wind up rundown, or worse.
“What about you?” his mother asked. “You all ready to go?”
Clark took a deep breath, and gave a quick nod. The last few weeks of school had flown by in a haze of final exams, senior awards, graduation, and football tryouts. And now, with his classroom closed up for the summer and arrangements made for a neighbor to check his mail and water his plants, he was set to embark on his summer travels. One last dinner with his parents, and then he would be gone for over a month.
“You going to stop first in Borneo to stay with those friends of yours?” Jonathan asked. “The ones who took you on that guided tour a few years back?”
Clark hesitated. “Actually…my first stop is Metropolis.”
“Metropolis?” Martha’s fork froze halfway to her mouth, her eyes lit up with excitement. “You didn’t mention Metropolis.”
“Yeah, just for the weekend, then on to Borneo.”
“You’re going to see Lois?” His mother asked, clearly dying for more information. “Did she invite you?”
Clark hesitated. He was not thrilled with the deception he had used to bring up his visit, and he knew his parents would not be proud of him if he admitted that he had fabricated a layover.
“I asked if I could stop by on my way out of the country so we could spend the evening together,” he said, skirting the truth. “And she suggested I come for a long weekend because I wouldn’t have time to see much if I just came for one night.”
Martha looked quite pleased with that turn of events. “Are you staying with her?”
“No, Mom,” he said, trying to keep the annoyance from his voice. He knew she was just excited. “I’m staying in a hotel near her apartment. We’re just friends. This isn’t a romantic weekend getaway. It’s just one friend visiting another.”
Jonathan had remained quiet in his seat thus far, and Clark could feel the tension radiating from him. “I’m sure there will be a lot to see in Metropolis,” he said finally. “Just be careful.”
“Dad, I’m not going to do anything stupid. We spent two days together in Miami without me spontaneously blurting out all my secrets.”
“Metropolis isn’t like the outback, you know,” Jonathan replied, ignoring his sarcasm. “People in the city are always trying to make a quick buck. If they find out about you, they’ll put you in a lab-”
“And dissect me like a frog,” Clark finished, echoing back his father’s frequent refrain.
“This is nothing to joke about,” Jonathan replied. “I know you think I’m overprotective-”
“I don’t,” Clark said quietly. “I’m sorry, Dad. I understand your concern. But we’re friends. She’s…special to me. I want to see her. I want to spend time with her.”
He hadn’t realized it was possible for his mother to look even more excited, but his admission had done it.
“She’s special to you?” she asked, grinning widely.
Clark didn’t bother to deny it or avoid the question. “I’ve never felt this way about any woman before, and I keep waiting for her to get tired of me and move on….” He trailed off, unable to put into words his disbelief that she continued to talk to him every day, that she seemed to look forward to their discussions as much as he did. “I don’t know if there’s any possibility she might feel the same way about me. But I do know that I asked her to have dinner with me, and she asked me to come for a long weekend. I don’t know what that means, but I’m not stupid enough to say no to that.”
His father looked resigned, and Clark knew he wanted his son’s happiness just as much as his wife did, but that he worried in a way she didn’t.
“What kinds of things are you planning to do while you’re there?” his mother asked, ever the peacemaker.
“I’m not sure,” he replied, honestly. “Lois has a few things planned. I know we’re going to go to the natural history museum. And some sort of sightseeing tour. She’s excited about playing tourist.”
“Has she lived in Metropolis long?” Martha asked.
“She was born and raised there,” he replied. “She’s lived there her whole life.”
“It’s weird to think of someone being from Metropolis,” Jonathan said.
“She thinks it’s weird to be from Smallville,” he said with a grin, though he knew what his father meant. Metropolis seemed like the type of city people moved to as adults, not a place where children grew up.
Martha laughed. “I’m sure it does seem like a whole different world to her.”
“It should make her an excellent tour guide,” Clark said. “She can show me all her favorite spots. And then Sunday I’ll leave for Borneo.”
“You made sure to check for flights?” his father asked.
“There’s a flight from Metropolis to Kuala Lumpur on Sunday morning,” he replied. He had given Lois that flight information as well as the flight times of a direct flight from Wichita to Metropolis on Thursday afternoon. Of course he wouldn’t actually be on either of those flights, but he would make sure to time his arrival and departure with real flights just in case she looked up his flight times.
“Well,” said Martha, standing and beginning to clear the table. “I can’t wait to hear all about it.”
*****
Clark paced the tiny hotel room, checking his watch for the millionth time. His alleged flight had landed at just past five, and he had timed his arrival at the hotel with that in mind.
Lois had offered to pick him up at the airport, but since the flight landed during her working hours, and she was already taking the whole day off tomorrow, he had convinced her to let him take a cab to his hotel room and get settled. She was supposed to arrive around six thirty to take him to dinner, and now it was six thirty-two.
Since his flight had taken all of thirty seconds, he didn’t need to freshen up or change. He was dressed in dark dress pants and a white and blue pinstripe dress shirt. He had decided against a tie, leaving the top button open and rolling up his sleeves. Lois hadn’t told him where they were going for dinner, but he knew she would be coming straight from work, so he assumed business casual would be appropriate.
The knock on the hotel room door caught him off guard, and he startled. He tilted his head forward and looked over the tops of his glasses, smiling when he saw her on the other side biting her lip nervously.
He crossed the room in three strides and swung the door open. She stood in front of him in a short sleeved black sweater that hugged every curve and a gray skirt that ended well above the knee. Any part of him that had been convinced by his insistence over the last two months that their relationship was purely platonic went out of the window immediately. He inhaled sharply, his only goal at this point not to make a complete fool of himself.
“Hi,” he said softly, thankful his voice didn’t crack.
“Hi,” she said, a smile spreading across her face. And then she stepped forward and hugged him, wrapping her arms around his neck. It took him only a fraction of a second to respond, wrapping his arms around her waist. She felt so right in his arms, he didn’t ever want to let her go. He was surprised by how tiny she was. She so often seemed larger than life, and he hadn’t realized just how delicate she was.
She stepped back, and he released her, letting his arms fall to his sides. She tucked her hair behind her ear nervously, her cheeks pink, and his heart soared at the idea that she was as affected by their hug as he was. He wanted desperately to touch her, to feel his hand against her skin.
“I can’t believe you’re really here,” she said finally, and it took every ounce of his willpower not to lean forward and kiss her.
He settled instead for reaching out and cupping her cheek, his thumb tracing her cheekbone tenderly. “I can’t believe I’m really here either,” he said. He pulled his hand away, still tingling from the touch of her. The silence hung between them, full of all the things they both felt but couldn’t or wouldn’t say.
“We should go,” she said finally. “I made dinner reservations. I think you’re going to love it.”
“Where are we going?” he asked, though he would have been happy to eat anywhere if she was there with him.
“It’s a surprise,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “But we need to hurry.”
He stepped through the doorway, his key card and wallet already in his pocket, and let the door shut behind him. “Lead on,” he said. “I am at your mercy all weekend.”
She laughed and led the way through the quiet hall of the small motel, and then through the lobby, past the bored front deskman, and out onto the street. He followed her halfway down the block to where she had parallel parked her Jeep, and climbed into the passenger seat.
The ride across town was eye opening. At home, he drove to and from work daily, but he often made the seven minute drive without so much as passing another vehicle. And although he had traveled all over the world, including stays in cities with traffic congestion that made Metropolis look like child’s play, he had never been subjected to the urban traffic from the passenger seat of a vehicle. His unique abilities allowed him to avoid car travel most of the time and sidestep the stress of commuting in a large city.
He cringed as Lois whipped in and out of lanes, cutting off other drivers and yelling when they gave her the same treatment. He tried to hide his horror, but it must have showed on his face, because she glanced over and laughed at him.
“You’re not in Kansas anymore, farm boy.”
He laughed, his heart flip flopping the way it always did when she called him farm boy.
She slammed on the breaks and reversed suddenly, sliding into a newly-vacated parking spot, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
“Let’s go!” she said, unclipping her seat belt and exiting the Jeep without so much as a glance at the oncoming traffic. Clark cringed, thankful she wasn’t flattened by a passing vehicle.
By the time he exited the Jeep, she was standing on the sidewalk beside him. She was grinning with excitement, and he glanced around, trying to guess where they were going for dinner.
“This way,” she said, slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow and pulling him forward. He followed her lead, and grinned when he realized she had no intention of letting go.
When they reached the end of the block, she turned right, and he knew immediately where she was taking him. In front of them lay Dinello’s, a brand-new restaurant so famous he had heard of it all the way in Smallville. The owner, a world-famous sports trainer, had retired last year and opened a restaurant that featured classic Italian dishes with a side of sports memorabilia.
It was a popular destination for celebrities of both the sports and entertainment industries, and he had seen more than a few photospreads with the restaurant as the backdrop splashed across the front page of gossip magazines in the grocery store checkout line.
She smiled up at him, waiting for a reaction. He laughed and raised his free hand to cover hers where it still lay in the crook of his arm.
“This is amazing. How did you even get reservations?” he asked.
She raised an eyebrow and grinned. “I have my connections.”
He reached for the door and ushered her through, missing the warmth of her hand on his arm, but making up for it by allowing his hand to rest on the small of her back even after she was through the doorway.
The lobby was large, and his eye was immediately drawn to the walls, which were covered in photos of the owner with famous athletes interspersed with small shelves displaying autographed balls, pucks, gloves, hats, and every other piece of equipment he could imagine.
Lois stepped up and spoke briefly to the hostess, and he allowed himself to linger over the displays. When she returned, he was examining a pair of boxing gloves and a photograph.
“This is amazing,” he said, gesturing to them. “Do you have any idea? These gloves… That’s Billy Mason. Maybe the greatest middleweight of all time.”
“Welterweight,” she corrected automatically, and he raised an eyebrow, surprised.
“I’ll never forget it,” he said, his mind casting back to middle school, he and Pete crowded around the television in his living room. “Mason-Rodriguez. June of ‘78.”
“‘79,” Lois said. “October.”
He considered for a minute, then shook his head, unsure what she was talking about. “Mason takes Rodriguez out in the eighth round.”
“Fourth,” she said, contradicting him yet again. “TKO.”
“What?” he said, honestly baffled now.
She smiled at him, unable to hide her amusement. “You’re thinking of the Mason-Ramirez fight a year earlier – before Mason moved up in weight class.”
His brow furrowed as he searched his memory. She was right, he realized suddenly.
“How did you know that?” he asked, both surprised and charmed.
“Lucky guess,” she said offhandedly, turning her attention back to the wall of memorabilia.
“No way,” he said. “Come on. How did you know that?”
She sighed and rolled her eyes, the hint of a grin still at the corners of her mouth. “During the Mason-Rodriguez fight, Mason tears a rotator cuff…which is later operated on by…”
“Dr. Sam Lane,” he said slowly, all the pieces clicking into place.
“So you have heard of him,” she said. “I’ve been wondering how long it would take you to make the connection.”
“Anyone who reads the sports pages knows who he is,” Clark said, amazed that he hadn’t put it together before now. She had mentioned repeatedly that her workaholic father was a doctor, but she had never mentioned what kind of medicine he practiced. “He practically invented reconstructive surgery for athletes. Your dad is Dr. Sam Lane?”
She shrugged and smiled as if he had busted her. “He missed my birthday party doing that surgery.”
Every conversation they’d had about her father’s unrealistic expectations for her and her desire to prove herself to him suddenly became more clear in his eyes. No wonder she always felt like a failure, the disappointing eldest child, neither the boy nor the doctor Sam Lane had wanted.
He reached for her, resting his hand on her hip, unsure what to say to this revelation. And then the moment passed, and her head whipped around, a genuine smile gracing her face, as an avuncular man in his fifties stepped from the restaurant floor into the lobby and called her name.
“Allie!” she cried.
“Hey, pumpkin! They told me you called. You finally coming to check out the place?”
He swept her into a hug, twirling her around before sitting her back on her feet.
“Allie, I want you to meet someone. This is my friend, Clark Kent. He’s visiting from Kansas. When he said he was coming to town, this was the first place I thought to bring him.”
Allie beamed at her, then turned his attention to Clark. He extended his hand, and Clark took it, smiling at the friendly handshake. “Allie Dinello! Any friend of Lois’ is welcome here. Are you a writer like Lois?”
Clark started to protest but Lois cut him off. “He’s a writer and a teacher. And a football coach.”
“Ahh, a football coach!” Allie said, his eyes lighting up. “About time, pumpkin.”
She blushed and rolled her eyes at him, and Clark felt suddenly like a teenaged boy meeting his girlfriend’s parents for the first time.
“How’s work?” Allie asked Lois, taking pity on them both. “Perry White finally put you on the sports pages where you belong?”
Lois shook her head, and Allie turned to Clark and said conspiratorially, “She’s forgotten more about sports than I ever knew.”
“I’m beginning to see that,” Clark said, grinning at Lois. She grinned back, and he let himself take in this new version of the woman who had so thoroughly enchanted him already. She was not just brilliant and successful and unbearably beautiful with a love of literature that rivaled his own and an ability to talk for hours about symbolism. Now here she was besting him at sports trivia and unveiling a whole new side of herself that he hadn’t known existed.
Allie excused himself eventually and faded back into the crowd, and the hostess showed them to their table. And then the night flew by, just as it always did when they were together.
For hours they lingered over plates of pasta and glasses of wine and then the best tiramisu Clark had ever had, while they talked about their favorite sports memories both personal and professional.
She asked him about football tryouts, and for the first time he didn’t assume she was just asking to be polite, and he told her all about his team, his new recruits, and his strategy for the upcoming year. He couldn’t help but laugh when he realized that of course he had underestimated her previously, when he had answered her questions vaguely. She understood the plays and the positions and the strategy of the game, discussing his coaching philosophy in depth and challenging him on some of his ideas.
“Why didn’t you tell me you knew so much about football?” he asked, still laughing.
“You never asked,” she said, taking a sip of her wine.
“You never cease to amaze me,” he said quietly, too charmed by her tonight to hide his feelings.
“Good,” she said with a smile that made his heart skip a beat.
When they finally finished — the waitress insisting that their meals were on the house — Lois left a generous tip, and they slipped out into the summer night. It was late, nearly eleven, and Clark prepared to walk back to Lois’ Jeep and head back to his hotel for the night, but Lois lingered outside the restaurant. He looked at her questioningly.
“You up for one more thing tonight?” she asked.
“Anything,” he said quietly, and she reached again for his arm. She led him in the opposite direction of the Jeep, and they strolled in companionable silence, her fingers curled around his arm, his heart stuttering at her touch.
After a block and a half, they slowed to a stop, and Clark tilted his head up to survey the skyscraper in front of him.
“Met Tower,” Lois said. “Second tallest building in Metropolis. There’s a public observation area on the roof. Want to go up?”
He nodded eagerly and followed her into the building. The elevator arrived quickly, faster than he anticipated, and they began the climb up the one hundred and two stories. He imagined that the elevator was crowded earlier in the evening and on weekends, but they were alone tonight.
“Second tallest?” he asked.
Lois rolled her eyes. “Luthor Tower.”
Of course.
She hesitated, and Clark could tell she wanted to say more. He leaned against the wall and waited.
“I had dinner with him once. On the balcony of his penthouse.”
He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing more. His mind went back to their first night together, over drinks at the hotel bar in Miami, when she had brought up the rumor that she had slept with Luthor, and he had refused to take the bait. He still didn’t believe it was true, but now he wondered if that was just wishful thinking. If he didn’t want to imagine her in someone else’s arms. Anyone else’s, let alone Luthor’s.
“It was supposed to be an interview. Or, at least, I wanted it to be an interview.” She hesitated again, and he reached out and rested his hand on her arm, continuing to listen silently. She moved closer to him, almost imperceptibly.
“He told me he didn’t give interviews,” she said finally, her voice low and quiet. “I knew it wasn’t an interview. But I thought maybe I could turn it into one. He was magnetic, powerful. But I wasn’t attracted to him. I didn’t… When I agreed to have dinner with him, I was always thinking of how I could use that time to learn more about him because I wanted to write about him. It was never personal.”
She looked up at him, and Clark nodded, unsure what she wanted from him – why she was telling him this.
“Anyway, I had dinner with him on the balcony of his penthouse. He told me it was the tallest building in Metropolis. That he liked being where everyone in the city was forced to look up at him.”
“And now, because of you, he’s locked up in jail like a common criminal, and the entire city looks down on him,” Clark replied, and her face lit up.
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open, revealing a rooftop terrace. A chest-high wall surrounded them, a few coin-operated viewfinders sprinkled around. They weren’t entirely alone — he saw two other couples taking in the view — but it was a large space, and it was easy to imagine they were.
They walked together to the edge, and Lois rested her arms on the concrete ledge, looking out over the city. He leaned beside her, his body facing her, his hand resting on the small of her back.
“It’s beautiful,” he said, the lights of the city twinkling up at them. The cars below were just a blur of headlights. He looked up and saw nothing but a haze of darkness, the lights of the city obscuring the stars.
“A little different than night in Smallville?” she teased, looking up with him.
He smiled. “Just a little.”
“Luthor liked to imagine all the people below looking up at him, envying him. It made him feel powerful. When I stand here, it humbles me.”
He looked at her questioningly, waiting for her to explain.
“All those people. Just living their lives. Totally oblivious to us up here. They aren’t looking up, envying us. They’re just looking ahead, going about their lives. Going to work. Going home. Happy. Sad. Angry. Whatever they are doing, whatever they are feeling, they are completely oblivious to us up here. Their lives are busy and full, without any thought of us.”
He nodded, familiar with that humbling feeling. When he flew sometimes, hovering in the liminal space between earth and stars, he often felt set apart and lonely, as if he belonged to neither. He longed suddenly to share that space with her.
A sudden breeze ruffled her hair, and she shivered. The summer night was mild, but he took advantage of the moment and shifted closer to her, curling his arm around her shoulders. She stepped closer, into the circle of his arms and rested her head against his chest.
His heart thundered below her ear, and he hoped she couldn’t hear it. He rubbed her back gently, ostensibly to warm her, then trailed a hand down her arm, gliding over her soft skin.
“It’s a bittersweet feeling,” he said finally, and she nodded. “It’s lonely, in a world where no one sees you, no one knows you’re there.”
“But also freeing,” she finished. “Without the constant pressure to change the world, to fix things and make them better, to hold the right people responsible. Sometimes every minute seems fraught. Like I can never slow down, never take a break, because there’s always something that needs to be done, something that needs to be investigated. If I stop, even for a minute, I’m betraying these people, abandoning them. But up here… it all feels so insignificant. Those people going about their lives don’t care if I take a minute to breathe.”
He thought about all the responsibilities that weighed on him — his parents, his students, his team, his community — and about his obligation to the strangers whose lives he could save or improve and the balance of those lives against his parents’ rights to safety and privacy.
“Sometimes it feels like every decision is so critical,” he said quietly. “Up here, you get a different perspective. The small things blur together. Everything is painted in broad strokes. There’s room for mistakes.”
She lifted her head and smiled at him, and he knew that she understood. Their responsibilities to the world were different, but they both struggled under the same weight.
She rested her head back against his chest again, and his fingers stroked her back gently. He rested his cheek against the top of her head and sighed softly, content with her in his arms in a way that was both strange and new and yet somehow achingly familiar.
Last edited by AnnieM; 06/13/22 10:37 AM.
