George's Big Day Out
A Fundraiser story by Yvonne Connell
This story features the characters from Addicted and Damaged, but even if you haven't read those two stories, you'll probably pick things up fairly quickly. One clue that will help: George is a shrink who treated first altClark and then altLois.
Metropolis in the snow. How very pretty. Snow on the sidewalk, snow on the roads, snow on the street lights, snow on the trees, snow like a smooth white blanket on the vast emptiness of Centennial Park, snow on...
From his position at the edge of the park, George shifted his gaze downwards.
Snow on bloody everything, including the brand new shoes he'd bought especially for today.
Why anyone would want to get married in the middle of winter, in a poorly-heated pavilion in the centre of a snow-bound park, was beyond this frozen, wind-swept psychologist. Couldn't they have chosen a nice warm church in the centre of town, or, even better, the hotel right next door to his clinic? It had a function room. It had a bar. It had a carpet...well, okay, patches of carpet. He was pretty sure it had curtains. And heck, it definitely had rest rooms - both male and female. What more did you need for a wedding?
Of course, this couple had never followed convention, so why should he expect anything less on this, the most important day of their lives?
Because he was about to ruin a perfectly good pair of shoes, that's why.
Gritting his teeth, George struck out across the white ribbon of flatter snow which was the only visible clue he was actually walking on a path and not on the grass.
God, how he hated this stuff. Wet, slippery and cold. Conventional psychological wisdom had it that increased suicide rates during the winter months were due to the stresses and strains of the Christmas season, but George was convinced it was just the darned snow. The bloody stuff was just so damned relentless – a person could go crazy just thinking about it.
A woman in a thick parka was suddenly blocking his way. “May I see your invitation, sir?” she said.
Oh, yeah. He’d been warned about the security guards. Off-duty cops and fire fighters, apparently, here to ensure that their honorary colleague’s wedding day was trouble-free. He dug in his pocket, pulled out the dog-eared piece of cardboard and handed it over. “How’s it going?” he asked as she studied his credentials.
“Pretty quiet. Couple of TV people who didn’t get the security briefing, but no trouble otherwise.” She handed the invitation back. “Enjoy the wedding, sir.”
He grimaced. “If I ever get there.”
She grinned. “I hear this is where they used to walk together a lot. I think it’s romantic.”
“I think it’s his way of punishing me for all those times I yelled at him.”
She laughed. “Have a nice day, sir.”
“Yeah, right.”
He plodded onward, trudging grimly through the ever-increasing depths of white, cold, wet sh-
Stuff. He grunted. Apparently he swore too much and was to cut down. A memo had been passed down from on high at the clinic.
Well, b***s to that. If ever there was a day for swearing...
Looking up from the path, he saw in the distance that the other wedding guests had already disappeared inside the pavilion. Yeah, just as he thought. He was late. Any minute now the muted strains of the Wedding March would be drifting across the park.
And despite the snow and the ice and the crazy location, he really didn't want to miss this wedding. He'd worked too bl... darned hard for this day.
Although, if anyone had told him that the broken young man who'd walked into his office two years ago with a chronic drug habit and about as much self-esteem as an anthill would be getting married - and that he, George Stefanopolous, would be attending the ceremony - he would have dispatched them straight over to the crazies wing for intensive therapy. Clark Kent, for all his screen idol good looks, just hadn't seemed capable of sustaining a long-term relationship with any of the women he'd dated.
That was, of course, before the clinic had admitted a frightened, damaged mute named Lois Lane. Then everything had changed. The two had met and talked, and love had crept stealthily into their lives. Nevertheless, the healing process had been slow, and often painful, but eventually, Romeo and Juliet - as George had dubbed them - had fallen head-over-heels in love and become, to his surprise, one of the best matched couples he’d ever had the pleasure to know.
Not that their taste in wedding venues was giving him much pleasure. He swore under his breath when his real leather soles - $200 plus tax from Nordstrom's; what had he been thinking? - slipped yet again on the glassy slush. Next time he attended one of these events he was wearing climbing boots and crampons. An ice axe would be a handy accessory, too.
"Bride or groom?"
"Huh?" George tore his gaze away from his feet to discover a dapper young usher regarding him with a polite smile. So he'd finally made it across the Arctic waste, had he? Hoo-bloody-ray.
"Bride or groom, sir?"
"Neither. I'm one of the guests."
The polite smile cracked a little. "I mean, are you with the bride or the groom, sir?"
"Oh. Both."
The smile cracked some more. "Perhaps you should just step inside, sir, and choose any seat you like."
"That's exactly what I intend to do." George stamped his feet to jettison the clumps of snow which had glued themselves to his $200 soles and went inside to find the seat nearest to the large fan heaters arranged around the edges of the room.
White plastic chairs. Oh, well, this was just great. Gingerly, he parked his ample behind on the small white circle of plastic and prayed that the chair wouldn't topple over, despite a strong suspicion that it was balanced on two tussocks of extremely uneven grass. No expense spared, huh, Clark? Although George suspected Perry would have helped out with the finances. Neither Clark nor Lois had been working long enough to build up much in the way of savings, and Perry was the nearest either of them had to a father. Still, someone could have ensured their guests wouldn’t end up in an ungainly heap on the floor.
Anyway, who else was here? He glanced around from his vantage point near the back of the room.
It was a small gathering. Perry and Alice were right at the front, Perry no doubt wearing a proud grin and Alice smiling that "I knew before anyone else that they were right for each other" smile. Doris, George's secretary, was resplendent in a big spotty dress and a wide-brimmed hat which was too large for her. Next to her was Francine, Lois’s therapist. He raised an eyebrow. Francine had eschewed her usual tweed suit and brogues for a stylish linen suit in sage green. Shit, the woman actually had curves, and...he craned forward...legs. Okay, so he’d seen them before, but today they looked so much....leggier.
Well, well. Francine the Frump had legs and curves. Who’d have thought it?
He shoved crazy visions of him and Francine together on a dance floor to one side and continued his survey. A couple of the clinic nurses were sitting in a chatty huddle near the middle. There were a few people scattered around whom George didn't recognise; he assumed they were Planet colleagues. And then there was Mayson Drake, sitting quietly near the back, elegant and...well, yeah, darned attractive.
Mayson was a classy lady, in George's not-so-humble opinion. Not many women would have been as patient as she'd been. When she’d hooked up with Clark, he hadn't been ready for a serious relationship, and she’d ended up struggling bravely but hopelessly to shift the relationship from the purely platonic to anything approaching real romance. Things could have turned extremely bitter, especially after a very messy incident that had left Clark in shreds and Mayson devastated, but her patience and understanding had allowed the relationship to end without recrimination or bitterness. George really hoped she'd since found a man to give her the kind of love Clark hadn't been able to provide. Her presence here at his wedding spoke volumes about her character, and she deserved to be happy.
"Excuse me."
George turned to find the polite usher with the cracked smile bending down towards him. "Yes?"
"Are you George?"
"Yeah, that's me. Who wants to know?"
"The groom would like a word with you."
"Oh? Lost the ring in the snow, has he?" George grimaced. "You know, contrary to appearances, I am not a St Bernard."
Cracked Smile laughed politely. "If you'd just come with me, sir."
"Only if you can promise me a real chair and proper heating."
"I believe Mr Kent is in the bar, sir."
George stood. "That'll do, I guess."
He followed the usher back through the entrance to a small ante-room, and thence outside into the cold again. George wrapped his arms around himself. "Please don't tell me the bar is in the Metropolis Hilton."
"It's just around this corner, sir."
They trudged around the corner of the pavilion to a marquee. Inside, standing in front of a small bar area, was a nervously smiling Clark. Charcoal suit, crisp white shirt, pale lilac tie and...shiny new black shoes. Nordstrom's, $200 plus tax? Nah, Clark had more sense.
"Hey, buddy. How's it going?"
"Fine.” Clark’s nervous smile expanded. “Everything is just fine."
Yeah, right. George gestured at Clark's shoes. "They comfortable?"
Clark blinked. "Yes, they're fine. Um...yours?"
"If you like cold wet feet. Remind me never to wear leather soles in the snow.” He thrust his hands – his half-frozen hands – deep into his trouser pockets. “Nice tie, by the way."
"Thanks. Lois bought it for me."
"She has great taste."
"Yeah." Clark nodded vigorously. “Um...let me dry your shoes for you-“
“No!” Toes fried to a crisp, courtesy of a nervous Superman? “I mean...” What did he mean, exactly? “The leather probably needs to dry out naturally to prevent it cracking.”
Clark frowned. “You think?”
He nodded firmly. “I read it on the label.”
“Well, if you’re sure...”
“Positive.” He coughed. “Security’s working well. I got stopped by a woman in a parka who called me ‘sir’.”
Clark immediately tensed. “Yes, we’re having an official press call immediately after the ceremony, but that’s it. No press allowed in otherwise.”
George nodded. “The press call will be tough, but you’ll do just fine. Just remember that they’re all the scum of the earth and don’t deserve your respect. Present company excepted, of course.”
The smile relaxed. “Thanks.”
"So...marriage, huh?" said George. "You nervous?"
"No." Clark shook his head. Glanced at his watch. Shrugged. "I'm fine."
"Sure," agreed George. "You're Superman."
"Exactly."
"And all the arrangements are in place, so no worries there, either."
"Nope, no worries at all."
"Got the ring?"
"Yes, got it right here." Clark dipped into his pocket and held up the small band of gold.
"No ring for you?"
"Lois has it."
"You're all set to go, then."
"Yes."
George eyed Clark as he turned the ring around in his fingers and studied it intently. Boy, had a ring ever held such a fascination as this one. "So why am I here?"
"Hmmm?"
"Well, I’m hazarding a guess that you don’t need the ‘birds and the bees’ lecture, and you look like you’ve figured out how to tie your tie, so I'm guessing I'm here for something else. How about we take another run at that 'are you nervous' question?"
Clark grimaced at the ring. "Maybe just a little. It’s a big step, you know? I mean, I know she loves me, and of course I love her, but this is for life. What if it doesn’t work out?”
“Buddy, you make it work. That’s the marriage deal.”
“I know. I just...it’s a big commitment for her. Especially the media thing. She says she’s okay with it, but she doesn’t know how relentless they can be. She might decide she can’t stand it in six months’ time.”
“So you’re thinking it might be safer not to take the risk? Call off the wedding, is that what you’re saying?”
“No!” Clark looked up at him in alarm. “God, no, George.”
George clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Relax, buddy. I was only kidding. Look, we’ve talked about this, right? One day at a time, that’s what we said. If you start worrying about what she’ll feel like in six months’ time, you’ll forget to enjoy the here and now. Enjoy the days as they come, Clark.” He glared suspiciously at Clark. “You do remember that conversation, don’t you? Please tell me you weren’t planning the honeymoon in your head while I was giving you the benefits of my considerable expertise in this area.”
Clark smiled. “No, I was listening. And you’re right. I’m just...I’m nervous, that’s all.”
“Nervous is good. Keeps you on your toes.” He grinned. “And don’t worry, I’ll let you know if you overstep nervous and go headlong into screaming lunacy.”
“Okay.” George felt Clark’s shoulder relax under his hand. “Which leads me to say....you know we agreed on no best man or bridesmaid?"
"Yeah. You said you'd keep things simple. No fuss, you said. Just you and Lois, as it was always meant to be, you said." He eyed the small bar over Clark’s left shoulder. Yes, there were bar stools. Places where a guy could take the weight of his sodden, wet, sore feet. He ambled over and hitched himself up onto one. There was an ominous creak from beneath him but the thing seemed solid enough.
Clark nodded. "I did. We did. But that was back when I wasn’t nervous. And this..." He held up the ring again. "is important. I might fumble it; might even drop it. You know Lois would never let me forget it if I did. In fact, she'd dine out on the story for years. It would become one of those family legend things."
George laughed. "Yep, it probably would."
"It could taint our marriage."
"I doubt it, but if you want to believe that, then sure." George regarded his nervous friend and decided to make things easy for him. "So what you're saying is that it's my responsibility as a qualified shrink to ensure your marriage isn't put in jeopardy by a mishandled wedding ring."
"Well...yes."
George chuckled. "Clark, would you like me to be your best man?"
Clark's face cleared. "Yes, George."
"I'd consider it an honour, buddy. But will Lois be okay with it?"
"Oh, sure. She likes spontaneity."
She did? "Okay, then-"
"Excuse me, sir."
George hadn’t noticed Cracked Smile sidling back into the small tent. He swivelled around on his stool. "Yeah?"
"Um...the bride sends her regards, and could she have a word?"
“Shit, can’t a guy get five minutes’ peace? I’m just thawing my feet out.”
Cracked Smile arranged his features into the politest non-smile George had ever seen. “She said it’s quite urgent, sir.”
“Buddy, everything is urgent to that woman.”
Clark winced. “Maybe you should go. You never know with Lois.”
“Yeah.” George sighed. “You want me to tell her about the new arrangements? Or are we still being spontaneous?”
“May as well tell her.” Clark shrugged. “As you’re seeing her anyway.”
“Okay. What time is this thing supposed to kick off, anyway?”
“We’re already running behind schedule,” said the usher. “If I could hurry you along just a little...”
“Yeah, yeah.” George slid off the bar stool and winced at the cold squelch of soggy sock and leather. “Lead on, Sherpa Tensing.”
Five minutes later, George was standing in the snow on the other side of the pavilion in front of a plain blue door adorned with an unmistakable symbol. “You have got to be kidding me. No way am I going in there.”
“Um...the bride was most insistent, sir.”
George eyed the usher. “So you’ve already been in? What’s it like? Do they have flowers and such like? Do they have dispensers for...you know - those feminine things?”
The usher’s face turned pink. “I really wouldn’t know, sir. I spoke to the bride out here.”
“Okay, then I’ll talk to her here, too,” replied George. “You can get-“
The blue door swung open and a vision of white silk and lace filled the doorway. “George, get in here. Now.”
tbc...
