Yippee! James is changing every entry we have on our recording schedule for our DVR (it's manual, so he'll be awhile). That gives me enough time to post the next part.
Table of Contents Previously, on part 20:
“Hi, I’m Mayson Drake, Deputy District Attorney. It’s nice to meet you.” Her smile lit up her face as she shook his hand. “I’ve been going over your statement, and I have a few questions for you. Are you willing to testify against Baby Rage?”
Clark glanced back to the kid who had started the fire, the kid who now hollered angry curses and demands to the room at large. Clark couldn’t help but smile, knowing he was doing society a favor by putting the juvenile delinquent behind bars.
“Whatever I saw, I will tell in court, Miss Drake,” he promised.
The smile beamed a notch brighter than before. “Mayson,” she corrected. “Please, call my office in the morning, and I’ll arrange a deposition,” she instructed as she scribbled some notes on a business card, “and if you need to reach me after hours my home phone number’s on the back.”
Her home phone and not her work cell. Clark picked up the not-so-subtle hint. He paused a beat as he accepted the card with its tacit invitation.
It felt nice—very nice—to have a woman show interest in him, particularly after Lois’s continual rejections. But then again, Mayson probably breezed through the rich girl’s life that stereotypically preceded law school. She didn’t have Lois’s colorful and painful past.
Of course, it wouldn’t be a crime to spend an uncomplicated evening enjoying the company of a woman who clearly liked him. That wouldn’t be betraying Lois. Would it?
Yes, she’d probably see it as betrayal, despite the fact that they had never defined their relationship as anything beyond friendship. Her trust was fragile that way.
“We’ll talk soon?” Mayson asked.
“Yeah,” he answered automatically. They would talk about the deposition certainly. He could decide the rest later.
“Okay,” she agreed, leaving him with one more of her killer smiles.
And now, part 21:
_________________
Lois sighed as she stepped off the elevator and dragged her tired body to her desk. The behemoth bouquet still dominated her primary workspace even after she shoved it to the far corner. That was fine if she were to spend her morning making phone calls, but if Glen wanted her to pay penance it would never do for heavy-duty research.
Peaking out from beneath the crystal vase, she spied a stack of papers. She tilted the vase carefully and tugged the pile loose. The top few papers were notes she had made on previous projects. Underneath she discovered the Monday edition.
Between all the excitement of the photo shoot and the roller coaster of the side effects that followed, she had never found the time to bask in the glory of her first stateside article. Now more than ever, she truly needed a pick-me-up. She skimmed the headlines until she located the right article and then skipped to the end, looking for the best part. It was continued on page eight—a two pager was a bonus that made her victory all the sweeter.
But, then again, it wasn’t really her victory after all. There was no mention of her ‘special assistance’ in the final paragraph. She shouldn’t have been surprised that Clark had betrayed her, but she was disappointed nonetheless. At least he could have waited for a better story before he used her.
She sighed. Sooner or later she was going to have to face the music. It was time to tell Perry the bad news. Not getting credit for her work with Clark, only made her missed opportunity with Luthor worse. She stuffed the newspaper in her purse and moped across the bullpen.
All things considered, he took it well. “What do you mean you didn’t get the story?” he thundered.
“There was no story to get,” Lois explained. “He was inebriated. Clark had mentioned that Luthor had smelled like that stuff we were sprayed with, so he was probably just as drunk on love as the rest of us were.”
Perry rubbed a weary hand across his eyes. Perhaps he wasn’t taking it as well as she had initially thought, since his body language screamed ‘HEADACHE.’ “Is there any hope of salvaging things?” he mutter.
“You better believe I’m going to try,” she vowed.
She only hoped he wasn’t so accepting of her failure because he hadn’t expected her to succeed in the first place. It was way past time to show Perry White and everyone else just what she was made of. If only the drunken rich guy had cooperated.
~*~
“Lois!” Jimmy called out as soon as she stepped into the bullpen. He jogged to where she was standing. “I need you to run an errand for me.”
“Do I look like your girlfriend?” Lois snapped and then regretted it. It wasn’t his fault she hadn’t landed the interview. Still, Jimmy was in no position to treat her like his own personal slave.
“No way. My girl is a redhead through and through.”
Lois glared in response, but he just grinned glibly. Either she was losing her touch, or he was feeling brave. Either way, he wasn’t appropriately intimidated.
“Anyway, the errand,” he smoothly continued. “I need you to go to Star Labs and pick up a report. Perry’s in a tizzy about me fixing his ‘DeskMate’ or I’d go myself.”
“Did anyone try the fax machine?” Lois murmured.
“I’d love to, but they have a policy against sending information to unsecured faxes. Too many government contracts, if you ask me.”
She commiserated with him while he wrote out directions.
~*~
A brisk walk in the cool autumn air was just what the doctor ordered--much better than sulking at her desk.
For a company that was too security conscious to send a fax, she found it surprisingly easy to pick up the report. They didn’t even require a press pass. When she said she was from The Daily Planet, they acted as if they were expecting
her all along, instead of an excitable kid who was practically just learning how to shave.
The only problem was the large seal on the front of the package emblazoned with “Sealed for your Security.” One would have thought that kind of thing went the way of King Arthur and the Roman Empire. Essentially, it was just one more way Lois was kept out of the loop once again.
“Lois! Wait up!” She tried not to cringe as she heard Clark call out. Nothing had changed, she reminded herself. She had always suspected he would disappoint her. Knowing when and how didn’t change a thing.
She quit walking while he jogged up.
“What are you doing here?” she heard herself ask. But that was the wrong thing to say since it reminded her of a night on campus not that long ago when Clark had truly been a friend. It was all so confusing.
“’The Grand Duke of Jazz’ turns a hundred this week. I just finished taking him to brunch. Nice guy. Fascinating conversationalist. You should have been there.”
She made a point to yawn in his face. “Soft foods with an octogenarian. Sounds riveting.”
Clark grinned. It was an insider’s kind of a smile. The look that reminded her that they were friends.
It was truly awkward. She wasn’t sure how to handle it from here.
“Your turn,” he directed.
“My what?”
“I told you what I was doing. Now it’s your turn.”
Lois sighed. The time for a confrontation had been Monday—Tuesday, at the latest. But she’d been busy seducing him on Monday and Tuesday. Now that it was Thursday, if she blew up at him, her anger would seem to come out of left field.
Besides she wasn’t really angry; she was weary. She was heartsick at all the men whom she suspected had lacked character who had proven her right.
But if she wasn’t going to tell ‘Mr. I-Need-Help-on-a-Story’ that she was angry, she certainly wasn’t going to tell him that he hurt her feelings. He could specialize in all that touchy-feely stuff. She would just be the crisp, efficient professional that she was. And if she was just-the-facts with him, it would be all right since they were news professionals, for heaven’s sake.
She waved the package where he could see it. “I was just trying to figure out the best way to break in. I have some tools back at the dorm…”
“Or, since it’s addressed to me,” he reminded her, “you could just ask me to share. I’ve got a stop on the way back to the office. It should give us enough downtime to go over that.”
He touched her on the small of the back, urging her to walk with him as he led the way. She found it annoying that her body responded to his touch while she knew in her heart that she was justifiably angry.
“Fine,” she practically spat, knowing it was an overreaction. But how else was she supposed to deal with it? He was making himself at home with her body and asking her to run errands with him. (This one had better be as work-related as Jimmy’s had been.)
Clark looked at her with confusion and perhaps even a little hurt on his face. “The courthouse is just a few blocks this way,” he directed.
Courthouse. Good. That sounded professional.
Clark chatted about jazz as they walked. He dropped names she didn’t care about and reminisced about ballrooms that had been closed before he was born. Certainly the old folks would love his article, but Lois simply tuned him out.
She wondered what kind of an informant he would have at the courthouse. He was a friend of old people and nuns. Surely this was another woebegone friend on the fringe of life. That was certainly the type of person Clark normally attracted.
“Clark! Hi!” a perky voice called out. Lois glanced up the courthouse steps to try and find the ugly broad that only her soft-hearted coworker would befriend.
The woman that strolled up was neither woebegone nor ugly. She looked like a model—perfect hair, perfect teeth, perfect complexion and her shoes and purse matched her dress.
“It’s good to see you.” She practically beamed at Clark with the shiniest white teeth. “I’m sorry Janice wasn’t able to get in touch with you in time. I’m afraid a serial killer chose today to confess. I’ve been called in to get the paperwork going for some search warrants. So I’m afraid we’re going to have to postpone your deposition.”
Deposition? What kind of crime had Clark committed? Stealing credit wasn’t against the law, the last she had heard.
“Can I call you and reschedule?” The blond touched Clark on the arm as she talked to him. It lacked subtlety, but he didn’t seem to mind.
“Yeah, sure. You can call me anytime.”
Lois gaped. Was he coming on to her, in return? Maybe with Clark a call was just a call. Or maybe his subconscious was interested in more than just a phone call from the lady. Maybe that was the reason he hadn’t succumb to Lois’s charms over the last few days.
“I’ll be in touch at the earliest opportunity,” the girl promised. She patted him on the shoulder as she left.
Lois and Clark watched as she hurried down the stairs.
“It looks like I’m through here. Why don’t we go find someplace to go over these lab reports?” Clark invited.
Lois’s mind whirred as they descended the steps. Depositions weren’t for the guilty, confessions were. So Clark must be preparing to testify. And not in a civil matter, either, since the bimbo was obviously an officer of the court.
But Clark wasn’t exactly ‘Mr. Exciting.’ With a guy like him, what you saw was what you got. His life’s aspiration was probably just to follow a pleasant rut that was mundane at worst, but at least was safely predictable. Guys like that just didn’t witness crimes.
Rescuing a nun was probably the high point of his boring existence.
Scratch that. Flirting with the tramp from the court was probably the highlight. Lois saw how his eyes had followed the girl down the steps. He wasn’t looking at her face--that was for sure. Yeah, Clark was definitely interested in more than just a court case.
“Hey, Reporter Guy!” a voice called up from the street below. Lois glanced down to see the cocky kid shouting at Clark, “You got a match?”
“Who’s that?” Lois wondered aloud.
“Baby Rage,” Clark answered, his eyes fixed on the young punk as he emerged from a car below. The kid was smiling and glaring up at Clark in a manner Lois instantly recognized as a streetwise stare-down. He was clean-shaven, dressed in a fancy suit, had washed behind his ears and trimmed his hair and nails. But none of those things could cover up the grit in his attitude and actions. Gang life didn’t wash off.
She glanced uneasily at her co-worker, but he seemed unconcerned as he continued to explain. “He’s just trying to scare me off so I won’t testify.”
“About what?”
“He’s an arsonist, and I caught him in the act.” Clark continued to watch until the lawyer had whisked the punk away.
“Clark, he was threatening you. Aren’t you worried?”
He merely grinned at her. “Would you feel safer walking me home?”
She huffed a bit as she answered. “Safer for me or safer for you?”
“Well…” he waffled.
“You’re on your own.”
“Couldn’t you just give me a few private lessons? Show me a couple of moves?” he pressed.
“I’ve seen your moves, Kent. I wasn’t impressed,” she derided him, although she wasn’t exactly sure what she meant. Surely his fighting moves were enough to protect her when she had needed it most, but the moves he made on her on a daily basis were another matter.
“Touché,” he replied easily. “Let’s go check out the science report.”
She nodded her agreement.
Kent had his hand on her elbow again, as if she were an old woman too delicate to descend without his assistance. On second thought, he never treated her like an old woman—more like he treated the courthouse tramp. He glanced up just then and caught her looking at him. His smile lit up his entire face in a way that made her heart soar. He certainly hadn’t shared
that look with ‘Blondie.’
~*~
“I don’t get it,” Lois mused as the two meandered back to work. “The report says that the pheromone compound simply removes inhibitions and amplifies previous attractions.”
“Yeah?” Clark prompted. “So?”
“So what was I doing at your apartment?”
“The dance of the seven veils,” Clark reminded her.
She frowned. “Not that. I mean, why
your apartment? It’s not like I’m even remotely attracted to you.”
“Face it, Lois. You feel something for me,” he teased.
“Deep revulsion?”
“You’re attracted to me. You can’t deny it.”
“Let’s say, just for the sake of argument, that some infinitesimally tiny shred of attraction existed in some seldom-used part of my brain…”
“Okay, as long as you’re honest with yourself about it.”
“Stay with me, Kent. So this minute speck of attraction was amplified. So what? That still doesn’t explain things.”
“It explains everything,” he argued. “You think I’m hot.”
“But that’s just my point.
You're the one who thinks
I'm hot. We were together when I was sprayed. So why is it that I turned into a sexpot and you’re still chaste enough to reserve a spot at The Round Table?”
“Maybe I’m not attracted to you, Lois,” he suggested.
Her voice was too loud for a public sidewalk, but she didn’t care. “You are so attracted to me. You haven’t stopped asking me out since the day I met you.”
“Has it ever occurred to you that I might be attracted to your brain?”
“My brain? Hah! You like my legs!” she declared.
“Your legs,” he repeated dubiously. He shook his head and hesitantly continued, “I don’t know. Maybe if you showed me a little more of your leg I might find some minute attraction.”
She snorted as he waggled his eyebrows at her. “You like my legs,” she insisted.
“Sure,” he agreed. He bumped her hip as they walked, and it certainly was no accident.
“I know what it is.”
“Your breasts?” he suggested.
“You like my breasts? I mean, no. Of course, you can like my breasts. No problem, as long as you never mention it again,” she rambled, embarrassed. “But that’s not what I was talking about. I know the reason you didn’t seduce me.”
He appeared nervous as he gestured for her to continue.
“It’s your deviated septum.”
“My what?” he asked in confusion.
“Your deviated septum,” she slowly explained. “You were wearing your glasses when Miranda sprayed that death brew on us. So you weren’t affected.” She bumped him back with her hip, feeling much more jovial now that the insanity had been explained away. “So you are attracted to me.”
He stopped at the edge of an alleyway. His smile faded, overcome by an intensity she had never seen before. His voice was husky. His eyes practically smoked.
“Yes, I am attracted to you. I’m attracted to your brain. You are one of the smartest, most intuitive women I’ve ever met. I love your spirit, your fire… your spunk. I love how you’re not afraid of anything, although you scare me to death. And yes, Lois, I like your legs.”
For a moment, she wondered if he was going to kiss her. For just a moment, she wondered if she was going to kiss him. She struggled to control her breathing and slow her racing heart.
“Good,” she heard herself say in a voice too small and shaky to be her own. The pheromone must still be in her system for her to go all gaga over a guy like Kent.
The legs he liked so much felt a little weak as she continued to walk back to work, maintaining a safer distance both physically and conversationally.
