Since I missed my mid-week post, I thought I'd post two this weekend. Enjoy!
Table of Contents Previously, on part 7:
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.
And now, part 8:
“So I thought maybe it might be nice if I gave her a few little gifts every now and then, you know like…” Clark drifted off, at a loss for words. He was slumped over an empty coffee mug at the table, the remnants of lunch still not cleaned up as he lingered with Mom.
“Like a care pack?” his mother inquired.
“Exactly!” Clark snapped his fingers. “Like a care pack. She is a college student, so it’s entirely appropriate to send her a care pack. I can send it to her at school, so it looks very ‘care-packy’. I wonder if I should sign my name...” Clark picked up his empty mug and headed over to refill it.
“Why ever wouldn’t you sign your name?” Martha wondered.
“Oh, we’re still working on this trust thing …” Clark explained as he headed back to the table, “…what with me being a man and all that.” He placed his cup on the tabletop and laced his fingers over the chair back.
“Lois likes women?” Now, Martha was truly confused.
“Oh, no; it’s nothing like that,” Clark reassured her. “I’m sure Lois would have mentioned
that to me. No, it’s more like ‘you men are all alike.’ Yeah, and ‘every man has his angle.’ That’s more like it. We’re still friends and everything. We’re just working on the trust thing so we can go beyond friendship. But I’m patient and she’s still there, so it’s working.”
“And you think that by sending her anonymous gifts to her college address, she’ll see that not all men have an angle. Hmm?”
Clark missed the sarcasm in his mother’s voice. “Precisely! So will you help me? I’ve never really done this before, you know? I’ve had dates--you know that--but none of them were like Lois. They were all nice girls who were happy to go out once or twice, just for a diversion.”
“But Lois isn’t nice?” Martha was egging him on now, but Clark didn’t appear to notice. He was up and walking again, but Martha doubted he realized he had begun to slowly pace.
“Lois is so much more than just nice. She has way too much energy to be nice. Lois is… She’s… phenomenal! And dating her would be so different than anything I’ve ever done before.”
“Because you’re dating her against her will.”
“Not, yet. But, I will.”
“Clark,” Martha pointed out, “you have an angle.”
“Yes, but it’s not the angle that she thinks I have. This would be good for Lois, too. She’s so driven; she never takes any time to relax and enjoy herself. She reads, but she doesn’t really hang out around the water cooler and shoot the breeze. It’s all about school and work, with her. It works for her because she’s brilliant and charming and sharp, but imagine what she would be like if she took the time to laugh every once in a while.”
“And you could give her all that.” Martha truly was concerned. Clark wasn’t usually so pushy, particularly when it came to women.
“If she wanted it, and I think she will, then, yeah. Maybe.” Clark quit pacing long enough to catch his mother’s eye. “So will you help me?”
Martha sighed. He looked so sincere in his pleading that it was difficult to deny him. “What do you want?”
“What goes into a care pack?”
“Well, each one is a little different. Usually, you send food, and sometimes other things that might interest the person. I guess you send something that’s difficult to find on a college campus.”
“I’m not even sure what food I should send. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t like chocolate. I know she doesn’t drink soda and she can get all the coffee she wants at The Planet.”
“Cookies ship pretty well,” Martha pointed out.
“I suppose…”
“Or I could bake up some apple tortes,” she suggested. “The early apples are in, and they are sure sweet this year.”
“That’s a great idea, Mom. But that won’t fill up a nice shirt box, will it? What else should I send?”
“What else does she like?”
Clark sunk back into his chair. He took a long drink of coffee as he thought.
“She likes to read. She’s carries a book with her every day to work, although I’ve never seen her read it. Probably that’s just because we eat lunch together, and I’m much more fun to talk to. But anyway, she was reading this book, and it looked like it was in French. Maybe I could fly to Canada on the way home and pick up something for her to read. I’ll look for bilingual signs and hope I luck out enough to find an English-speaker who sells French books.”
“I don’t know, Clark. That sounds kind of dangerous,” Martha worried. She drained the last tepid drops from her own coffee mug, and then began gathering plates together.
Clark was confused. “What’s dangerous, Mom?”
“The flying,” Martha stated matter-of-factly.
“Mom, I fly here every week. What’s dangerous about that?”
“But you take security precautions when you fly here,” Mom insisted. She picked up the stack of dishes and placed them in the sink. “You have a cover story in place, and you fly pretty late in the evening when you’ll blend in better. And this is a small town. If you flew to Quebec, you would have to go earlier, you wouldn’t have a cover story, and more people would be likely to see you.”
“And since nobody knows me, I wouldn’t need a cover story to explain how I got there. And with all those people, the folks there are used to not really noticing everything. Who really looks up, anyway? Mom, it’ll be fine.”
“Clark, I know you use your powers every day to help here and there, but what you’re talking about is different. You’ve always been careful and surreptitious before. You work subtly and personally. You don’t just boldly go flying from city to city.”
Clark took a long moment to consider before he answered. “Mom, I promise I’ll be as surreptitious as I can, but this is something I need to do. I’ll be careful. It’ll be all right. You’ll see.”
~*~
With all her studying done, Lois decided to head to bed early. True, she hadn’t made a dent in her laundry pile and the sheets still smelled like sweat, perfume and beer, but Lois had been tired all day.
The only problem was that Saturday night in a co-ed dorm is not a quiet place. Somewhere in the midst of the mist of dreamland, Lois heard it all. There was a gal somewhere in the dorm, although Lois couldn’t figure out if it was the floor below or the floor above, that was either being highly entertained in a rather loud fashion or was being attacked. It sounded more like a cheap, adult movie than reality, but the floor actually shook every once in awhile to prove it was live action. Between the loud music, the even louder shrieks and all the accompanying thumps and bumps, it was all quite disturbing.
And, in the fog that was her dreams, it reminded Lois of a night two wars past when the gunshots were still but the noise of the war continued.
Whatever was going on, Lois was in no position to help.
Coming fully awake, Lois realized that she had to get out of there. She pulled on a pair of pants from the top of the laundry pile and a t-shirt from her drawer. Grabbing a jacket to ward off the autumn chill, Lois pocketed her keys, snatched up her bag and headed out.
She walked, not truly caring where she went. At the entrance to the campus, Lois was faced with a choice: a left turn would carry her toward the relative quiet of suburbia with small patches of country tucked here and there; a right turn would bring her toward Metropolis, The Daily Planet and all that the city had to offer.
She might be a little on edge but she was still Lois Lane. She turned right.
~*~
As Lois walked she began to notice the neighborhood flow from spacious houses, complete with large yards, to narrower homes with smaller spaces. After awhile the homes were built one practically atop another. Block after block she walked, noting the changes from the well-kept neighborhoods to those with fewer lights and more bars on the windows and back again. Here and there Lois would see the rise of one gang’s tags, only to see another gang take over a block or two away.
Lois saw the faces, as well: this one scared; that one determined; another gang-hardened. The drifters sprawled in alleyways. Every so often Lois would spy a girl with a woman’s body and empty eyes parading herself, looking for the nearest buyer.
Finally, Lois stopped walking. She found a spot on a low-lying stone retaining-wall and sat down to get her bearings. In the distance, she watched a master of the night hard at work. It would be hard to say what it was about him that caught her eye. Perhaps it was his lack of gang colors and paraphernalia. Maybe it was that he didn’t have his lieutenants doing his work for him. Or maybe it was the fact that she never saw a bit of merchandise change hands from seller to buyer, although Lois was convinced that something illegal was taking place. Whatever it was, she was certain that this man was the one.
She approached openly and cordially, as she had hundreds of times before. She was always careful to keep both hands where they could be easily seen, but she tried not to look as awkward or as frightened as she felt.
“I’ve heard you’re the best there is on this side of town.”
The man was thorough in his assessment of her. He was slow to answer. “And you heard this from…”
“That doesn’t matter. What does matter is that my gut tells me it’s true.” Lois finished her approach, giving the man a hair’s breath more distance than normal, out of respect for his position. “So is it true? That you know everything there is to know on this side of town? The who’s? The what’s? And, most importantly, the why’s?”
Once again, silence prevailed as he measured her with his eyes.
“It depends on who I’m talking to,” he finally decided.
“If you’ll allow me,” Lois reached in her handbag for a business card. “I’m Lois Lane, newly with The Daily Planet. You can check me out, if you like. You’ll find that I only tell the stories that need telling in a way that respects those that need to tell it. I know the rules of the street, and I can play by those rules, you understand.”
He nodded before slipping her card into his pocket. This one would take a quite a bit more careful handling before he trusted her. She had no doubt that she would be checked out very thoroughly before he passed any information her way, least of which was his name.
But taking a chance like this was what separated her from the office boys writing up doggy shows and human interest garbage.
Lois turned and sauntered away. Leaving was always the hardest part, since it left her back exposed to danger.
But, of course, he knew that. And she would have to trust him before he ever trusted her.
On her way back to the dorm, Lois smiled. She wasn’t going to be stuck in research for long.
~*~
Both his mom and dad were worried as Clark returned on Sunday night, much earlier than he normally did. But it couldn’t be helped. If he was going to get what he wanted, Clark Kent was going to have to take risks. He was going to have to do whatever it took to get Lois to trust him.
Even so, as Clark headed north toward Canada, he found himself smiling. He wasn’t going to be alone for long.
