Sorry for the delay. Life got real this week; I haven't had more than a breath of free time since Tuesday.
Table of Contents Previously, on Part 6:
Lois counted to fifty after the door closed and then added ten more for good measure. The envelope had the soft feel of linen to it, like the finer papers usually did. “Lois Lane” was written across the front in a clear, masculine script. It smelled faintly of his cologne, almost as if he had kept it stuck in a shirt pocket long enough to pick up traces of his essence. The card inside showed an old-fashioned globe with a ship sailing across the ocean. The words “Thinking of You” were emblazed across the bottom in a sepia font. The simple message inside read:
I’ll be thinking of you and rooting for you as you begin your first classes
tomorrow.
Your friend,
Clark
Lois turned it over, as if by looking at it differently she would better be able to see Clark’s angle. The heart-throbs always had an angle. Heck, even the ugly ones had an angle. She had probably foiled it when she hadn’t opened his package immediately. She supposed she would just have to wait for the other shoe to drop.
Part 7:
A mild headache knocked for attention at the back of Lois’ skull, the kind that made her suspect that someone had substituted decaf for her regular poison of choice. It was compounded by the idiocy of her day’s work. She was compiling Metropolis weather data, probably for some idiot with a theory to prove; although the theory du jour, El Niño or La Niña or global warming or some earth-hugging fluff, hadn’t been revealed to her. That was the most annoying part of her new position. She was out of the loop on every dadblasted thing she worked on.
She reached in her purse for a chocolate bar and was chagrined to find there wasn’t one. Even more maddening was the knowledge that she had looked and come up empty at least three times today alone. It killed her that she was in The States again and geographically she was finally able to indulge in the real deal Double Fudge Crunch bars that could only be found in civilized countries but, with every penny going toward her education, she couldn’t allow herself a vice.
It made her madder still to feel that slight bit of worry over today’s first class. She was an ace at what she did. The best of the best. The cream of the crop. The top banana. Lois Lane didn’t get nervous about anything, least of all a little biology class. And yet there was this insane undercurrent of concern.
For just a moment, she thought about that card that Kent had sent. A thought breezed over her that she could tell Kent about her worries and, in that moment of weakness, it seemed like her friend might understand. But in the light of day, the mist cleared and she realized how insane that was. It was like a stupid Hallmark card commercial! Men don’t send touchy-feely cards to start relationships; men do what it takes to bed a woman and move on to the next. It wasn’t like Kent was even a friend; he was an annoying tagalong colleague. Besides, Lois Lane didn’t have issues, she had headaches.
She didn’t need a heart-to-heart. She didn’t need a best friend. She needed a
HEADLINE with her byline attached.
And for four long years (three--if she was able to work out the necessary schedule of summer school), she was unlikely to have even a nibble of a story. She refused to work for the school paper any sooner than her major required. She could imagine the assignment she was most likely to receive, “Miss Clavel nominated for Top Honors for Appendicitis research.”
Maybe none of that mattered. Maybe she just needed to get her orientation.
It was silly. She had been in the city for well over a week, and she hadn’t even begun to work out a network of snitches and informants. Maybe she should stop sulking and use her time for better purposes, seizing the upper hand.
With hardly more than a backwards glance, Lois shoved aside her weather data and flipped open the phone book to the blue pages. It took a bit of rifling through the disorganized resources that the researchers shared, but she finally unearthed a Metropolis city map, only two years out-of-date. She started marking addresses on the map: city hall, the county seat, state representatives’ offices, the local offices for the United States congressmen. In a moment of brilliance, she marked out the closest offices of the FBI, the CIA, Homeland Security, and the NIA.
She assessed her results. The closest offices were only five blocks away, an easy walk even for her short lunch break.
But she still needed business cards. She found a good basic card template on her computer’s word processor and added a GIF for The Daily Planet’s logo from the company website to the top corner. It would have looked snazzier for her to include a nice title, but she couldn’t afford honesty, as of yet. She debated whether to use the Planet’s switchboard for a phone number or her room’s line at the dorm and decided upon both—her roommate seemed flaky enough that she might let Lois manage the outgoing message on the answering machine. She printed out a test copy and approved the results. She had to dig through a few years’ worth of clutter before she found an appropriate paper but eventually found a heavy-enough stock for her tastes. She ran three pages worth (twenty-four cards in total) through the copier and cut them precisely.
The clock only read 12:30, a time too perfect for her to go out. It wouldn’t do to catch others at their lunch breaks. She dug out the brown bag she had picked up for lunch. It was the same meal she had every day, but she couldn’t afford to complain. She was able to charge twenty-one meals a week to her student loan, and she would be darned if she were going to pay for a meal and not pick it up. So she went through the steps the interns and student teachers normally went through to get their meals, filling out her work schedule one week in advance and picking up the generic brown bag lunch at the preceding meal. She already had the contents memorized: one cardboard bologna sandwich on white bread, one red apple (heavy on the wax), seven carrot sticks and a pint of two percent milk in one of those cardboard containers the elementary schools use.
No dessert. No taste. It was going to be a long four--hopefully three--years.
~*~
Clark was a little bit concerned. As usual, he was keeping an eye out for when Lois ate. He could tell, even from this distance, that she was in a huff over something or other. Then, she started to eat lunch at her desk.
He hoped she wasn’t upset with him. Criminy! It was only a little card! It wasn’t a diamond ring or anything. Still, it was obvious that she didn’t want to share her lunch today.
She hadn’t seemed all that upset when he had watched her open the envelope yesterday from his vantage point behind the staircase door. Confused maybe, but upset—no.
Clark worried his fingers through his hair. He kept an eye on her from a distance and wondered what his next move should be.
~*~
These things never went totally according to plan but, all in all, it went as smooth as could be expected.
Lois did as she always did; she waltzed into City Hall and made her rounds among the support staff. She introduced herself, passing out cards as she went.
“Good afternoon. I’m Lois Lane with The Daily Planet. I’m kind of new in town, so I thought I’d better meet some of the movers and shakers.”
As always, she reassured everybody that she didn’t need an appointment. She wasn’t here to meet the mayor but the people who did the real work.
She was greeted politely, but warily. It was actually kind of pleasant to be greeted with icy smiles instead of an open display of weaponry.
As soon as she left, Lois jotted down the names of everyone she had met. Back at The Planet, she would look up public records to make note of job titles; although, it would take awhile to determine what each person actually did. She noted the date, as well. She would visit again every six weeks or so until the smiles were genuine and the trust was established.
For the first time all day, Lois smiled. It felt good to be thinking like a reporter, again.
~*~
It seemed almost natural as Clark sidled up to her desk a half an hour after she had arrived, Friday afternoon. It also seemed natural for her to ignore his presence. It was nice to have a routine like theirs.
“How were classes?”
She didn’t bother to look up as she mumbled, “Last night was the most amazing three hours of my life. I only wish it could have lasted forever. When we hit the two hour mark and my brain shut down, it was like nirvana.”
Clark chuckled. She was opening up to him, kinda’ sorta’. It was great progress.
“And this morning?” Clark pressed his luck.
It paid off when Lois looked up. “A similar experience from a different faith background. Not nirvana, but paperwork heaven. You understand the difference, don’t you?”
“I remember. ‘This is your syllabus for the course’. Followed by a full discourse on every jot and tittle contained in the syllabus, along with a stern ‘talking to’ about actually doing the work and a warning. ‘You won’t get away with plagiarism, so don’t even try.’”
“That in a nutshell.” Lois’ smile lit up her face.
“I’m heading out of here pretty soon. You need anything before I go? Cup of coffee? Maybe a little something with chocolate in it to help you make it through the night?”
“Are you trying to tempt me? First I’ll say yes to chocolate and then roses and the next thing you know, you have me wrapped around your little finger?”
“I’m just being nice,” Clark reprimanded her.
Lois snorted. “Nice with an angle isn’t the same thing as just being nice.”
“So what do you say, Lois? Can I get you anything before I go?”
“As they say in Dutch, ‘nr.’ That means ‘no’, by the way. No to the chocolate and no to you.”
“We’ll see,” Clark predicted, noting the teasing undercurrent in her tone. “I can be very patient and chocolate can be very tempting.”
“Hah!” Lois snorted again, a full grin making her a sight to behold. “The day I can’t handle a man like you is the day I hang up my hat and retire. And I assure you, I’m not the retiring kind, so bring it on, Kent.”
“Have a nice weekend,” Clark tossed over his shoulder as he left the bull pen with a spring in his step that hadn’t been there an hour before.
~*~
Clark stowed his telescope and his backpack in the rear of his black Jeep Cherokee. He had bought it used three years ago and had added only around 6,000 miles in the time he had owned the vehicle. A man of Clark’s talents didn’t really need a car, except as a cover story. So every Friday night Clark drove about ten miles out. Purportedly, he went hiking and stargazing in the wetlands; but, in reality, he parked in a commuter lot that backed up to a densely wooded state park and, under cover of darkness, flew back to Kansas.
He had an experimental aircraft stowed in an outbuilding at the farm that he hauled out to complete the show. He bought it for a little bit of nothing the first year he went fulltime at The Planet. The engine was beyond repair, but it suited Clark’s needs.
This time of year the sun set way too late for Clark to catch dinner, but Mom always saved him a piece of pie.
Dad and he took turns being quiet tonight while Mom chattered on about the stuff of life in Smallville. She had volunteered to judge an art competition for the scholarship Elmyna Simmons sponsored in her late husband’s memory, but Elmyna’s son, Pete, wanted to find someone with better credentials.
“I have enough credentials to tell you what I like and what I don’t like. If talent takes an expert to recognize, it’s probably not much to write home about,” Mom concluded before switching gears to tell Clark about the new hair stylist Dad visited after Cassie Sherman retired.
“Your dad didn’t much care for her styling techniques, did you, Jonathon? But I think it looks cute, in a George Clooney kind of way. What do you think, Clark?”
Clark mumbled some kind of an answer, but his mind was half a continent away wondering how his favorite brunette was spending her downtime.
~*~
Lois yawned, yet again. Today was supposed to be her first big day to buckle down and study, yet she was finding it difficult to keep her mind on the books.
She had started off on the wrong foot. She had overslept. The alarm was set for five thirty but her eyes hadn’t blinked open until quarter to nine. She didn’t ever remember turning the alarm off. By the time she had showered, dressed, thrown a little make-up on and hiked halfway across campus to the cafeteria, it had been closer to her normal lunchtime than breakfast.
She had planned on hitting the books for seven or eight hours today, about two hours on each of her subjects, with a little time set aside for straightening her room and laundering her clothes.
But two hours into the studying process she still hadn’t accomplished anything and her stomach was growling too much to ignore the midday meal. Even worse, she was tired. While it was true that Friday was her late night at work--it was around one this morning that she had finally plopped into bed and then was frustrated that sleep hadn’t immediately welcomed her--that was no excuse to fall into bad habits she could ill afford. She was no slacker; she was 28, for heaven’s sake.
She just needed a change of pace. It was time for some lunch. After carefully gathering her books and papers, she crept through the stacks and down the library stairs.
Five minutes later, she dumped all extraneous supplies on her desk at the dorm. The ear-splitting snores informed her that the errant roommate had finally returned--smelling of booze, wearing last night’s clothing and sprawled across the wrong bed. Lois wrinkled her nose in disgust, hoping that a little extra soap and fabric softener would get the odor out of her bedding.
She opened a window and then reviewed her supplies: the new sketchbook she had purchased along with two sharp art pencils and the largest art gum eraser available, her student I.D. and the cafeteria credit account. She had no idea how to study for Drawing I. Yesterday, Prof. Buscht had only reviewed the syllabus and lectured on the creative process. Aside from a sentence on plagiarism, Lois didn’t even jot down any notes. Still, Lois was shooting for a 4.0, so she was determined to study as best as she could.
She had never tried drawing before but the class had fit both her fine art requirement and the Monday, Wednesday, Friday twelve PM - one PM time slot she wanted to fill. Besides, how hard could drawing be? They taught it in kindergarten.
~*~
Lois raised an eyebrow as she reviewed her moth. She wanted to pick a subject that would sit still long enough to be drawn. The moth had obliged, but an hour and a half later, her drawing still didn’t look very moth-like. She couldn’t identify what was wrong with it; it just didn’t look right.
Perhaps she just needed to play. Artsy-fartsy types never took life this seriously, right? She flipped to a new page and began a quick sketch. Just a fun, five minute exercise to say she had tried.
An oval turned into an eye with a little crease above and a little shading below. She added a little extra shading to the iris; she was in the mood for a little darkness and depth in her drawing. A few scribbled lines added an eyebrow which she teased into shape with quick, clear strokes. She moved up to the hairline, drawing dark hair that waved up and back. She added an ear and then filled the hair in around. Thinking glasses might be a fun challenge, she sketched in some frames.
Lois was just slipping the ear piece onto her drawing when it occurred to her how much her artwork resembled Clark. True, it was an amateur’s hasty attempt and it was only the left side of the face, but the jaw line looked as strong as Clark’s. The eyes were dark and mysterious like Clark’s. The glasses were somewhat like Clark’s, albeit popular frames. The hair was also styled like Clark’s, the way it was windblown on their walk back from the Thai restaurant last week. And…
…And it was time to close the sketchbook for awhile and go study biology before her own biology reminded her of things her heart didn’t want to hear.
