I was reading about and thinking about the beginning scenes from the Pilot (including the theatre scene) when this story came to me and begged to be written. I hope you like my Pilot rewrite. More chapters will be entirely up to *you*. I’d like to thank Bakasi for her indirect help.
I did look at the script while writing this, but I shortened some parts, expanded others, and of course made additions. I also changed the name of Carlini’s to Bernino’s. I did that because the name Bernino’s popped in my head before I’d reached the part telling me the restaurant was named Carlini’s.
And yes, I promise you that Lois is indeed in this story.
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Twisted
Clark Kent stepped off the bus ready and hopeful for a new life. This was his dream. He had always wanted to work for The Daily Planet. This time, somehow, someway, he was going to make this work. He was going to stay in one place. He no longer wanted to live out of a suitcase. There had to be a way for him to help people and still stay in one place. There had to be! After all, he had done it in college.
He smiled and started across the street. Then wouldn’t you know. Less than five minutes in Metropolis, and he needed to use his powers to save a life. A bus with no brakes was heading straight for the crosswalk full of people. What was he to do? He put his hand out and stopped the bus. Then he hurried away. He heard a lady saying, “He… He…” He earnestly hoped no one saw him. He was joyous when no one followed him. They were all too interested in the hand print on the front of the bus.
He sighed gratefully and walked toward his intended target - the majestic Daily Planet building. He walked in and entered the elevator and pushed the button for the bull pen. That was where he was told to find the editor-in-chief, Perry White. He didn’t have a meeting with him scheduled, but he was hopeful of an interview. He had heard through the grapevine that they had an opening for a reporter. He hoped he’d be the right fit.
The door opened, and he swallowed hard. There it was. The bull pen. A man, not much younger than himself, rushed passed him carrying a huge stack of folders. The young man in the hideous cowboy boots abruptly turned and smiled.
He stuck out his hand. “Name’s Jimmy. Can I help you?”
Clark took his hand and shook it. “Clark. Clark Kent. Yes… umm… I’m looking for Perry White.” He swallowed hard once more.
“Glad to meet you. There he is.” He pointed to the bear of a man purveying the bull pen. He turned and walked back in his office.
Clark seemed to be swallowing a lot. He’d have to watch that in front of Mr. White. He headed towards the office. He said softy, “Mr. White?”
“Yeah, yeah. Set it down right there.” He motioned to his desk. “Did you manage to get that steak cooked right this time? You’d think as many times as I order from Bernino’s that you could get my order right,” he said gruffly. “How much?”
“Uhh… I… don’t have… I didn’t come from Bernino’s,” Clark stuttered.
Perry looked up, and Clark would have sworn those eyes pierced his soul. Then they softened. “No. You certainly don’t look like a delivery boy.” He hollered, “*Jimmy*! Where’s my steak?” Clark saw Jimmy shrug and pick up the phone. He then heard Jimmy talking to the folks from the restaurant on the ground floor of the Planet building.
“Well, you know who I am. Who are you?” Perry grumbled.
Clark’s eyes got a little wide. He hoped his glasses hid that fact. “My name is Clark Kent, sir. I’ve heard you have an opening for a reporter. I was hoping… Well, I was hoping you’d hire me. I’m good at what I do.”
“Hmmph… Good at what you do, you say? Well, let me see something you wrote.” Clark handed him his portfolio. “Oh, yes, yes. Professor Carlton called me about you. He spoke highly of your work.” He motioned to Clark to sit down. He began reading and grunting. As he sat and read, they occasionally shared small talk about Clark’s travels and about Perry’s blood pressure for which Clark suggested paava leaves.
He eventually looked up and said, “The Borneo Gazette? Mating rituals of the knob-tailed gecko? You’ve got to be kidding?” He blew out his breath in frustration at yet another greenhorn trying to get a job as a seasoned reporter. He’d put out word that he needed an experienced reporter. “Great shades of Elvis, Kent. I’m sure these stories are fascinating, but this is the greatest paper in the world! I just don’t have anything for you. I’m looking for a *seasoned* reporter!”
“But…” Clark interrupted. He wanted to say that his portfolio was in chronological order, and that the gecko bit had been one of his first stories. Mr. White hadn’t even looked at his Desert Storm stories. They were good and had been picked up by the AP. Clark hadn’t spent a lot of time as a war correspondent, but that experience had certainly helped to make him ‘seasoned’. He should have listened to his mother and put those articles on top of his portfolio. Now he was going to lose his chance. Before he could finish his protest, Jimmy rushed in. He was dismissed, and then Lois Lane walked in.
Lois was going on about some story about EPRAD. Clark thought he’d read some of her stuff. Not bad. Definitely not his caliber, but she wasn’t bad. And hey, if she was working here, then why couldn’t he?
Perry sighed and looked at both of them briefly. “Lois Lane, Clark Kent.”
Before the introduction, Lois hadn’t even noticed him sitting there. She turned toward him and her jaw dropped. “Clark Kent! Chief! He’s the guy I told you that you ought to try to hire. Remember? He’s good! His Desert Storm stories should have won a Kerth. The only reason they didn’t is because he was freelance.” She couldn’t stop staring at Clark Kent. He was about the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen.
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tbc?? As I said that all depends on *you*! Is it drivel? Or do you want more?
