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Part 2/5
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It's starting to grow dark when the truck pulls into a motel parking lot. After the driver comes out of the office and goes to a room I tell Clark to keep a lookout while I get us registered. The clerk at the counter gives me a weary smile. "If you're looking for a room then this is your lucky day. We only have one left."
"One?"
The clerk nods.
"What size room is it?"
"Two queen beds. Does that work for you?"
Faced with zero other choices, I guess I should just be grateful we aren't going to have to share a bed. "That's fine, thanks."
Clark wisely says nothing when I tell him about the room situation. The room is small and dingy, but at least there really are two beds. An entire day of driving has taken its toll and I head straight for the bathroom. I wash my face and wish I had a toothbrush with me. I stare at myself in the mirror. This is me after thirty-eight hours without sleep. The best I can hope for is that Clark is too tired to look at me closely.
When I come back out Clark has claimed the bed closest to the window. He's lying on the bed, his shoes off and his eyes fixed on the television bolted to the wall. He has it on LNN and apparently he finds the national weather forecast riveting. I fall onto my bed, kick my shoes off and close my eyes. I should call Perry and tell him where we are, but I think he's going to be upset. Maybe Clark called him?
"Did you call Perry?"
"Yep."
"And?" I prompt.
"And we'd better come back with a heck of a story or we're both going to be reassigned. He said something about you writing the advice column."
I sigh.
"I ordered a pizza," Clark says. He changes the station to the Weather Channel. I open one eye at the mention of a tornado in Oklahoma. Clark sits up and swings his feet over the edge of the bed. "I think I'm going to take a quick walk while we're waiting for the pizza. I need to stretch my legs after all that sitting in the car," he tells me as he puts his shoes back on.
I pick up the remote after he leaves and switch the channel back to LNN. When they come back from commercial they're live in Oklahoma to cover the search for survivors. The reporter's face becomes excited, "We've just been told that Superman is here."
I turn up the volume as the camera pans over to show a glimpse of red cape disappearing into the rubble of an office building. A few seconds later Superman emerges holding a very shaken looking woman. It's hard to believe I ate dinner with him last night. Even after all this time, I still get a little shiver of excitement when I see him in action.
Get a grip, Lois. He's already told you he can't get involved with you. Yes, my mind says, but he didn't say he didn't want to, only that he couldn't. I just need to figure out what it is that's holding him back. I look at the empty bed next to me. Better yet, I need to figure out what's holding Clark back. Why hasn't he asked me out again?
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Once the pizza is all gone, Clark folds the box in half and stuffs it into the wastebasket. He goes back to lying on the bed and starts surfing through the channels.
"Has he ever cooked for you?" I ask.
"Who?" Clark stops for a moment on a basketball game and then starts clicking through the channels again.
"Superman, it seems like he hangs out at your place a lot. Has he ever cooked for you?"
Clark sighs. "Yeah, I guess so."
"He's a good cook, isn't he?"
"Sure." Click. Click. Click. Why doesn't he just pick a channel and stick with it?
"Where do you think he learned how to cook?"
"I don't know."
"Where does he go when he's not out flying around? He stayed the night on my couch once. Did I ever tell you that? He told me that he does need to sleep. So where does he go to sleep?"
Clark doesn't answer, intent on the watching the television.
"Does he have an apartment?" I continue, talking more to myself now than to Clark. "A lair? A cardboard box in an alley? Is he like a homing pigeon and he just sleeps on the top of buildings? Do you ever wonder if maybe he has this whole other life that we know nothing about?"
"You think Superman has a secret life?" Clark pauses in his channel surfing to glance over at me.
"I don't know. It sounds silly, doesn't it, that Superman would be walking around like a normal person? I'm sure people would still recognize him."
Clark shrugs and goes back to flipping through the channels.
"What do you think he looks like in street clothes? If he did dress up like a regular guy? Have you ever seen him in anything but the suit?"
"I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted." Clark yawns and turns off the television. "Good night, Lois."
"Good night." I roll away from him and close my eyes, trying to picture Superman in regular clothes. What would he wear? I can't imagine him in anything but Spandex. Or maybe without the Spandex. I can imagine that fairly well…
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I drift in and out of awareness. It's hard to sleep with somebody else in the room. I feel self-conscious and far too sensitive to every sound either of us makes. I know that Clark would never take advantage of the situation, which is kind of a shame. I try not to think about the wasted opportunity. Why hasn't he asked me out again? On second thought, maybe that's a good thing. He's my co-worker and I'd hate to see that get complicated.
I'd also hate to see him become involved with someone else. Mayson Drake's smug face flits through my mind. Does he like her? Obviously he likes her. But does he really like her? My stomach sinks unhappily at the thought. I remember catching them in a kiss when I had come over to his apartment. My stomach drops again.
But he asked me out, didn't he? I even brought up Mayson when he asked me out the first time and he indicated that he was asking me out, not her. Still, the pressure of knowing he has someone to fall back on if we don't work out is disheartening.
I roll over and see that Clark's standing in front of the window, his back to me as he peeks out through the curtains. I sit up and ask, "Is the truck still out there?"
"Yes," he says quietly.
I glance at the clock, 12:06. Clark doesn't move from the window so I get up to go see what's holding his interest.
"What's going on?" I nudge him to move aside so I can look.
"Nothing," he says, stepping back. "I just couldn't sleep."
I look out the window. He's right. There's nothing happening outside.
"I'm sorry if I woke you," he says. His voice is low and so close that it sends a shiver through me.
"You didn't. I couldn't sleep. I… I'm not used to having someone else in the room." I turn around and the light spilling in between the curtains shows that he's smiling at me.
"Me neither." He hesitates for a few seconds and then says, "What do you hope to prove by following this guy?"
"I don't know. Maybe if I had been able to see what was in the warehouse we wouldn't have had to follow him. What if we just go out there now and take a peek?"
"There's a padlock on the trailer doors." He moves directly behind me to join me in looking outside. The memory of him carrying me from the couch to the bedroom door on our almost first date flickers through my mind. That's a memory I play over and over again in my imagination. I've always known Clark had a tender side; that night just reinforced it for me.
"Oh." It's the only sound I can make. If I turned around right now and put my arms around him, would he hold me? Or would that be too pushy? "Why haven't we gone out again? Did you decide you didn't want to date me after all?"
He takes half a step back. "Lois, I absolutely want to date you."
"Then what's the problem?" I turn around and look up at him.
"There's no problem. We've just been busy with work. I don't want our next first date to end up like our almost first date."
"So you aren't going to take me to Ralph's Pagoda?"
"No," he laughs. "Anywhere but there."
"What about when we get back from this? Can we go out?"
"I'd like that very much."
"So would I." Summoning all the courage I can, I go on tiptoe and kiss his cheek. He makes a small gasp and his hand brushes across my waist before he apparently decides better of it.
"We should try to get some sleep." His voice has become husky and it thrills me.
"Okay. Good night."
I go back to my bed and lay there, listening to Clark's soft, steady breathing. How would it feel to spend the night in his arms? I've fallen asleep on his shoulder before, but woke up alone. I think about the last time we stayed in a hotel room together. It's been over a year since the stakeout where he tossed me onto that bed and kissed me. I know he only did it to save our cover but the memory has never left me.
"Clark?"
"Yeah?"
"If I hadn't been sick, on our almost first date, would you have kissed me that night?"
There's a long silence and I think that maybe he isn't going to answer. Finally he whispers, "I wanted to."
A little shiver of delight shoots through me. "Like a peck on the cheek? Or a real kiss?"
"What would you consider a real kiss? Just on the lips? Or with a little effort put into it?" he asks.
I roll over to look at him; his face is lost in the shadows but I can see the light glinting off his glasses. "On the lips, with some effort put into it," I answer.
"Play your cards right, Lois, and maybe someday I'll kiss you for real."
My stomach makes a sudden drop at the implications of that statement. What if I kissed him now? For real? What then? I get out of bed before I can think better of it and sit on the edge of his bed. Clark scoots over a little to give me room. That's heartening. At least he hasn't asked what I think I'm doing. What am I doing?
I put my hand on his chest and I can feel his heart beating as rapidly as mine. Is he nervous, too? Because that definitely makes this easier. Clark still hasn't said a word - he's waiting to see what I'm going to do.
I lean down and brush a light kiss across his lips. His hand comes up to cup the back of my head. I kiss him again and his lips part beneath mine. A little pressure from his hand brings our mouths decisively together. His tongue darts out to taste my lower lip. I settle against his chest and open my mouth to him. My insides seem to turn to hot liquid when he deepens the kiss. I give myself over entirely to the tenderness of his kisses.
Clark sits up, pulling me partially onto his lap. One hand is still cupping my head, gently directing our kisses. The other hand slides down my back, coming to rest on my low on my spine. I break the kiss, tilting my head back to catch my breath. Clark places a kiss on my chin and then moves lower. His mouth moves slowly along my throat as he kisses and nuzzles my neck.
My limbs feel heavy and drugged and I relax into his embrace, allowing his arms to support me as he tips me further back towards the mattress. It's only when my head touches the pillow that I realize just how far this has gone. Clark is lying beside me, his lips tracing a slow and deliberate path back towards mine. Should I stop him? Am I crazy? Why would I stop?
Any thoughts of stopping evaporate when his mouth takes mine again. This time he seems to know exactly where I'm most sensitive as his tongue smoothes over mine. He makes a groan low in his throat and his body shifts, his chest pressing against mine. I wrap my arms around him, my hands trace over his shoulders as I pull him more firmly against me.
Alone, my mind whispers, you realize you're completely alone with Clark. There's no one here to stop you. It doesn't matter; I can stop anytime I want. But what if I don't want to stop? What if… we don't stop? Is that what you want? Here - in this cheap motel?
I turn my head to end the kiss. "Clark, wait…"
"Sorry." He rolls away from me and I feel absolutely bereft. I miss the warmth and weight of his body against mine. Which, actually, is all the more reason to end this.
"We should stop. I mean we should save something for our date. You know, when we go out. When we get back and you ask me out. You are going to ask me out, aren't you?"
"The minute we get back," he says in a raspy whisper that really does something for me.
I move off his bed and go back to my own. "Good night, Clark."
"G'night." His voice is still husky.
"The minute we get back." I replay that over and over in my mind as I listen to his breathing slowly return to normal. "The minute we get back."
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The next time I wake up the clock reads 4:21. I slip out of bed and go to the window. The truck is still out there. I leave the curtains partially open. I turn back and catch sight of Clark. He's lying on top of the bedding, turned slightly towards the window. He's fallen asleep with his glasses on. I pull the covers from the other side of the bed over him and then take his glasses off, setting them on the nightstand between our beds.
As I sit back down on my bed I can't take my eyes off of Clark. Have I ever seen him without glasses before? Surely I have. And yet, I don't remember ever seeing him like this. In fact, without his glasses, his profile looks a lot like Superman's. Maybe Superman would look something like Clark without the costume?
I lie down on my bed, still watching him in the faint light coming through the parted curtains. Clark mumbles and rolls over so that he's facing me. It's actually a little uncanny, the resemblance. Maybe it's just the dim lighting?
What if Clark was Superman? Not that he is, but what if?
I'm about to laugh it off and then I think about it again. What if? It would explain a few things, wouldn't it? Like where he runs off to constantly. Why I could stomp on his foot at that warehouse and he didn't flinch. Why he can eat mountains of junk food and still look so ripped.
Oh. My. God. No. It's not possible. Is it?
What if Clark is Superman? It doesn't make any sense and yet it makes perfect sense. Heaven knows I'm not the first one to think so. Diana Stride went on national television with that story. And then Superman showed up at the news conference with Clark to dispute the allegation. I almost laugh out loud. I must be really tired - thinking Clark was Superman.
Clark mumbles something indistinct in his sleep. I watch him, wondering what he's dreaming about.
"It was good sauce, huh?" he murmurs.
I smile. Somewhere in his dream I'm sure that made sense.
Wait a minute. What sauce? I sit up and reach for the light. No! Wait… don't wake him up. Let's just think this through first. I never told Clark what Superman cooked for me. So how would he know? What if… no, that can't be right. I've seen them together. At that news conference and… when else? Surely I've seen them together more than just that one time?
I think about it really hard. What about during the heat wave when I went to Clark's apartment and Superman was there? I saw Clark. He left to tell Superman I was there. I saw Superman. I saw the door close behind Clark, but… How did Clark get past me without my noticing? I never saw them at the same time that night. And then later, when Superman was going to leave Metropolis, who quit his job and suddenly decided to move back to Kansas?
Other moments come back to me. After the asteroid Superman was missing in action and Clark… had amnesia. Clark recovered his memory and Superman showed up again.
Superman was blind and Clark was… not spending the weekend with Mayson. He never did say where he was for three whole days.
Clark was feeling sick and disappeared from the newsroom. I went by his apartment to find him but found Superman instead, suffering from Kryptonite poisoning on his floor.
I run into the bathroom and lock the door. I pace for a few seconds and then sit down on the edge of the bathtrub, my entire body shaking. Clark gets a job at the Planet and then, ta da, less than a week later, Superman shows up in Metropolis.
Superman gets beat up by a cyborg and Clark is walking gingerly the next day… How many times have we been captured and tied up and Clark always manages to get free? He's a regular Houdini, my partner. How many times has Superman just happened to show up right after Clark leaves to get help or call the police?
Just tonight, in fact, he said he had to go for a walk - right after he saw the story about the tornado on television. And, hey presto, Clark is gone and Superman shows up to help with the aftermath. Superman flies off and Clark comes back through the door a couple of minutes later.
I stand up and go to the sink to splash cold water on my face. How do I prove it? Should I just go out there and lift up the hem of his shirt and see if there's anything blue underneath? Does he wear the suit under his clothes? He must, because he had it to fly to Oklahoma tonight and it's not like we packed ahead for this trip.
Why hasn't he told me? I can understand why he's hidden it from the world; he'd have to give up any kind of normal life if anyone found out. But why not tell me? His best friend and partner and Superman's number one fan? He couldn't possibly think I would expose him, could he? Do I tell him that I know? Or should I just go on pretending that I'm that blind? There's something so degrading about having him laughing about it behind my back all this time. Is he laughing about it behind my back?
That's a hard one to call. It doesn't seem like Clark, or Superman, to mock someone like that.
What about the whole dating/can't get involved issue? Why is he willing to date me as Clark but keeps his distance as Superman? How does he think he can date me and not tell me who I'm really dating? Who is he really? Is Clark really Superman? Or is Superman really Clark?
I have to believe he's really Clark. Superman came along after Clark and wasn't going to give himself a name - that was my invention. Clark, on the other hand, has a history. I've met his parents and I've seen pictures from his childhood. Are his parents super-powered too? They seem like such nice, normal people. Then again, so does Clark. Not that Superman isn't nice, he is. He's just anything but normal.
There's a knock on the door. "Lois?"
I freeze, hardly daring to breathe. If I panic, he'll hear me. "Yeah?" I manage to croak out.
"The truck has started up. Out in the parking lot? Did you still want to follow him?"
Oh hell, that's right. We were following that truck. Well, we've come this far. I have to swallow a couple of times before I can answer him.
"I'll be right out."
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End 2/5
