>>>Friday, 6:54 PM
Lois frowned at the card in her hand, then scowled at the doorway of the church. She didn’t like preachers in general, she didn’t like sitting still in church and listening to a speech from some man she’d never met about how she ought to live, and she especially didn’t like seeing the collection plate slide past her face.
Then she flashed on an almost forgotten memory, left over from her early childhood. The whole Lane family had attended morning services the weekend before some major holiday. Her father had dropped a five-dollar bill in the collection plate, then afterward had complained loudly about how money-hungry churches were. He’d ignored the fact that they were hurrying to make their reservations at an exclusive and very expensive restaurant for Sunday dinner. The memory bothered her and she wasn’t sure why.
She sighed and pushed through the door. There were three women standing around a folding table, pouring coffee and talking in low tones. Two older men were putting away a checkerboard. One was congratulating the other on winning the last game. A young couple sat in the far corner, looking around nervously and holding hands.
Lois decided to sit next to them. They looked safe. She stopped a long stride from them and said, “Excuse me, is that seat taken?”
The woman smiled. “No. Please, go ahead.”
“Thanks.” Lois sat and put her purse under her chair. “This is my first time here.”
The man put his hand out. “Our second. I’m Steve and this is my wife Cynthia.”
Lois took his hand. “First names only?”
Cynthia put her hand on theirs. “Whatever you’re comfortable with. Steve and I talked about it and agreed to keep our last name private for now.”
“Fair enough. I’m Lois.”
They clasped hands again and resumed their seats. Lois leaned over and stage whispered, “What do we do now?”
Cynthia pointed across the room to a man Lois hadn’t noticed. “See that guy in the rocker?”
“The one in the flannel shirt and jeans and work boots?”
Cynthia nodded. “That’s Gary. He’s the pastor here. He kind of guides these meetings.”
Lois’s eyebrows jumped. “He’s the pastor of the church? You’re kidding!”
Steve grinned slightly. “Nope. He says he’s just a person like the rest of us, and since this is after work for everyone else he’s not dressing up either. He also said last week that trying to impress people with how you look is a waste of time.”
Still surprised, Lois nodded. As she did, Gary roused himself from his rocker and came forward.
“Okay, everyone, it’s time to start, so let’s – uh-oh, here’s another wayward lamb just now getting here.”
The door opened and Dr. Friskin walked in. She waved her hand and smiled. “Sorry I’m late, but I had a slight emergency. The call came in just before I left work today.” She waited a moment. “My daughter is getting married!”
The group members competed in congratulating her. “Thank you, thank you all. I assure you that her father and I are thrilled with our prospective son-in-law. Giselle also thanks you, and I’ll make sure I send along all of your messages. And I’ll let you know the details as soon as she tells me what they are. Now, Gary, it’s really your turn.”
“Thanks, Doc. Those of you who’ve been here before know how this works. You give us your first name so we’ll have a handle for you. If you want us to know your last name, you can tell us, but you’re under no obligation to do so. Just introduce yourself like this: Hi, I’m Gary. I’m a widower. Been one for about nine months now.
“That’s all. If you want to say something else, you can, but you don’t have to. If someone wants to say something to you from the floor, you’ll have to raise your hand, just like in grade school. If you want to ask Doc something, she’ll answer, otherwise she doesn’t say anything unless we get way off base or we need her help. Right, Doc?”
Dr. Friskin smiled and nodded. “That’s right. Just remember, I’m not driving this train.”
Gary smiled. “In that case, let’s make sure we don’t run off the tracks.”
He waited until the laughter died out. It sounded to Lois that it was more than just polite laughter, that the people in the room felt comfortable with each other. She felt a little left out.
Gary looked around the room again. “Any questions?”
There were none. “Okay, let’s get going. I think I should start tonight.”
He took a deep breath and looked at the floor for a moment, then spoke again. “Most of you know who I am and why I’m here. My wife, Marian, died of kidney failure just before Christmas. It was nobody’s fault, especially not hers, but she left me alone with our thirteen-year-old daughter Annie, and I’m having a hard time with her.”
Gary shifted in his chair. “I’ve tried to get Annie to come here with me, but she just won’t. I kinda understand why, she doesn’t want to risk letting out something that she’s afraid will be inappropriate for Daddy the preacher to hear, but it’s still pretty hard for me, and it’s starting to wear on our relationship. I hope we can work our way to talking openly again soon.”
He shifted again and rubbed his hands together. “I sleep pretty well most nights, but I had a bad night a couple of weeks ago. I had a bad dream I don’t remember and woke up about two and I reached over for Marian and of course she – she wasn’t there. I went into the kitchen and fixed a cup of hot chocolate and watched some old movie until I was sleepy again. That was close to four-thirty. Been okay since then, though.”
He sat down. One of the women across the room from him raised her hand. Gary smiled warmly and nodded to her. “Ronnette? Go ahead.”
She stood cautiously. “Gary, I – I wonder if you’re really done with the grieving process like you said you were a couple of weeks ago. Maybe – please don’t be upset – maybe you’re just not emotionally ready to be alone. Or to be with someone else. Not yet, anyway.” She looked at her feet. “I know we said we’d take it slow but – well, I don’t think you’re ready.” She glanced up and sniffed. “I’m sorry – really sorry – if I let this out before you wanted to, but I don’t want to hide anything from anyone. Not here.”
She sat down and perched on the edge of her chair. Gary looked at the floor and sighed deeply. “Two lunch dates and one kiss isn’t all that much, Ronnette, but I’m willing to go public if you are. As to whether or not I’m through grieving, maybe I’m not, but I don’t know what to do about it except wait. Doc, what do you think?”
Dr. Friskin swept the room with her gaze. “First of all, I should remind everyone that whatever is said in this room stays in this room. No exceptions. Everyone clear on that?”
She glanced around at the gathering again and everyone nodded back to her. “Good. As for you two, I think you’re both right, Gary, but you have to remember that Marian was part of your life for over nineteen years. Grief isn’t an illness, and there’s no quick cure, no vaccination or pill that will get you through it faster. It’s a process, and everyone goes through it at his or her own pace. Don’t over-analyze your feelings, just deal with them from a position of strength, knowing that your feelings are perfectly valid but that they are also temporary. You may or may not believe it now, but there will almost certainly come a time when you will want a romantic relationship with some other woman. You may feel at times that you’re betraying Marian’s memory, but you won’t be, I promise.”
She turned to the woman who’d spoken to Gary. “Ronnette, you’re right when you point out that Gary’s probably not finished grieving. Make sure you give him the room he needs to recover. You don’t want to become part of the healing that he needs.”
Ronnette shifted nervously. “I don't understand. What do you mean?”
“Think of Gary’s heart as having an open wound caused by his loss. If you facilitate his healing – change the bandage, bring him his medicine, make sure he’s comfortable – that’s okay. That’s even a very good thing. But if you become an integral part of his recovery – like someone who holds a wound closed but gets her hand wrapped up in the new skin – you won’t be able to move from the position you’ve taken without causing more pain.”
Ronnette frowned in concentration, then shook her head. “Sorry, I still don’t quite get it.”
Dr. Friskin smiled and stood. “May I use two people as a visual aid?” Several hands went up. “Steve? Come up here, please. No, I don’t want Cynthia to come with you. Someone else. How about you, Lois?”
Lois tried not to look like a squirrel caught in the headlights on a dark night. She stepped up beside Steve and crossed her arms.
Dr. Friskin turned Steve until everyone could see him from the front. “Let’s pretend that Steve is bleeding from a knife wound in his chest.” She pointed to his right rib cage. “Someone needs to put a bandage on it to keep him from bleeding out, right?” Everyone in the group nodded. “Let’s say that person is Lois. Lois, put your hand on Steve’s chest, just at the bottom of his ribs.”
Lois put her hand on Steve’s chest and quipped nervously, “I hope Cynthia knows this isn’t personal.”
Cynthia called out, “It’s okay, I know where he sleeps.”
The entire group laughed, including Dr. Friskin. “Now, here comes me, the doctor, and I repair the wound, but Lois’s hand gets caught in my stitches.” She mimed sewing the pretend wound. “This is what I meant by someone being caught up in the healing. Lois, your hand is now part of the scar tissue covering Steve’s old wound. You can’t move it from that spot on Steve’s chest. You have become the healing, part of the repair of the wound. Steve is dependent on you to keep that wound closed, because you’re caught up in the new tissue and the stitches. He’s physically – and emotionally – dependent on you to keep the wound closed.”
Lois looked around. It seemed that she wasn’t the only one not quite getting it yet. Dr. Friskin continued, “Now, wherever Steve goes, Lois has to go, or she risks re-injuring him again in the very same place. For the moment, Lois, keep your hand on Steve’s chest, no matter what he does.” Lois nodded. “Steve, walk slowly across the room.”
He did, with Lois stumbling along beside him. A couple of people snickered at the spectacle they made. “Now turn around and come back.”
This time the entire group laughed as Lois and Steve fought to stay in contact. “Okay, that’s enough. You guys are enjoying this way too much. Steve, Lois, thanks for helping me.” They sat down.
“What you’ve just seen is an illustration of what happens all too often in our society. If you become part of the repair – meaning, the person with the injury is completely dependent on you to keep the wound closed – you’ll never be able to live independently from that person without hurting that person all over again. Everything you do has to be a reaction to the person whose wound you’re holding shut. If you’re part of the repair, you can’t pull away without ripping the stitches loose and reopening that old wound. The wounded person becomes emotionally dependent on someone else to keep that wound closed instead of healing on his or her own. This is one of the ways co-dependency can grow without our seeing it happen.
“It’s important to know that this doesn’t mean you can’t help someone heal, but you must be careful not to become the healing. If you do that, you’ll forever be tied to that person, unless you want to break free, in which case you’ll open that same wound again.”
Ronnette nodded. “I think I see what you mean, Doc.”
“Don’t think I’m telling you what to do, either of you. You have to make your own choices. Besides, Ronnette, Gary has to look out for your wounds, too.” Dr. Friskin cocked her head to one side and slowly turned. “It works both ways, folks. We all need to watch out for each other. We should help each other heal without becoming the healing for each other.”
She strolled back to her chair and sat down. “You have the floor again, Gary.”
Gary nodded. “Thanks. Is there someone who wants to go next?”
Lois looked around at all the others looking in her direction. Suddenly she realized that Gary was pointing to her. “Yes, young lady? You, the brunette with her hand up? Your name’s Lois, isn’t it?”
She looked, and sure enough, her hand was up. She opened her mouth to say that she’d made a mistake, that someone else should go next, but something different came out instead.
“Hi, I’m Lois, and I’m having trouble with – I caused someone’s death and I’m – not dealing with being a survivor very well.”
Cynthia reached over and patted her hand. “You’ll get through it, Lois. We’ll help you find your way.”
>>>Saturday, 8:57 AM
Lois slept more easily Friday night than she had for quite a while. She’d released quite a bit of self-anger and no one had condemned her for it. In fact, they’d repeated many of the things Dr. Friskin had been telling her, and this time Lois had really listened. Maybe meeting with those folks was a good idea after all. Maybe there really was something positive about this encounter group stuff.
She woke up the next morning just before nine, refreshed and relaxed. Lunch was not far off, and the prospect of getting some information out of LuthorCorp excited her. She rushed to the newsroom to await Rebecca’s call, and when she got the confirmation for their lunch date, she almost bounced in her chair.
Sitting at one of her uncle’s outdoor tables, Lois searched anxiously for a short redhead with a perky smile, wearing a green print blouse and light blue skirt. The color combination sounded horrid to Lois, but she wasn’t doing a fashion review. She wanted an ‘in’ with Lex Luthor, and the receptionist was the only lever she had at the moment.
She saw Rebecca Connors as the young woman turned the corner. Lois’s left eyebrow canted upwards; it seemed that Rebecca’s outfit worked for her. Her shoulder-length flame-red curly hair fluttered around her head and outlined her smiling, magazine-cover quality face. She looked younger than she’d sounded on the phone. Lois guessed Rebecca was shorter than she was by at least three inches. She looked like an oversized leprechaun out for a morning jaunt.
Lois stood and waved, and Rebecca spotted her right away. She quickened her step and almost hopped to the other chair at the table.
“Lois? I’m Rebecca. I’m sorry I’m a little late. I got held up by some slimy tabloid reporter trying to get photos of one of LexCorp’s executives.” She blanched slightly. “Oh, I don’t mean that I don’t like reporters, but some of them are – I mean, I’m sure you don’t – “
Lois laughed. “I know exactly what you mean, Rebecca. Drat those nosy reporters anyway!”
Lois’s joke dispelled Rebecca’s trepidation and broke the ice between them. The other girl’s smile lit up the street. “So, what’s good here?”
“Practically everything. My Uncle Mike runs the place, and he’s one of the best chefs on the Eastern seaboard. The menu’s a little spare, but you’re welcome to ask him for anything.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t presume to ask!”
Lois grinned and shook her head. “Uncle Mike likes pretty girls. He says they make him feel like an old man who wishes he were young again. I think he’d fix you whatever you wanted, however you wanted it, even if he had to go hunt it down himself.”
The wattage on her smile doubled. “Great! Does he have any venison?”
“Venison?” Lois echoed. “That’s an unusual request.”
Rebecca shrugged. “I picked up a taste for it when I spent some time out West a couple of years ago. Some people don’t like it, but I think it’s great either grilled or broiled.”
“We can ask him. He’ll either say ‘no’ or cook you some.” Lois stood and waved at the window. “Uncle Mike! Hey, Mike! We’re ready! Uncle Mike!” She frowned, then put two fingers in her mouth and blasted an ear-splitting whistle.
Two cabs stopped on the street, eleven pedestrians passing by flinched and turned towards her, a startled grackle flew into the building across the street, and every diner at Mike’s place stopped in mid-bite and looked in her direction. Mike looked out the front window and spotted Lois, then shook his head ruefully and picked up two menus with fresh silverware.
The street returned to normal as Lois resumed her seat. She glanced at Rebecca, who looked impressed and muttered, “Wow.”
“What wow?”
“That whistle.”
“The whistle? Uncle Mike taught me. My mother always said it wasn’t very ladylike, but I guess I didn’t listen to my mother very well.”
“Whoa.” The girl was still wide-eyed. “You think he could teach me to whistle like that?”
“I don’t know. Here he is, so why don’t you ask him?”
Lois watched as Rebecca charmed her “uncle” and finagled an impromptu whistling lesson from him. He even invited her to call him Uncle Mike, which made her bounce in her seat like a happy cheerleader.
Lois didn’t like wasting time, but the happier Rebecca was, the more likely it was that she’d tell Lois something usable about Lex Luthor. So she smiled as Uncle Mike gave Rebecca tips and pointers on whistling, helped her adjust her fingers in her mouth, and gave a slight bow when Rebecca produced a sharp tone that got the attention of the diners nearest to them.
Rebecca laughed, clapped her hands, and thanked Mike profusely. He replied, “You’re more than welcome, but if you don’t order lunch, I’ll have to charge you for the lesson.”
They shared an easy laugh. Lois ordered a broiled chicken salad, Rebecca asked for and received her venison steak, and Mike offered them dessert on the house, simply for “classin’ up da joint.”
“I like your uncle. He’s neat. Is he on your father’s side or your mother’s?”
Lois smiled. “Neither one, really. He’s just a good family friend who’s been more parent to me than my own folks have been. He cooked for some general when he was in the Army, and he liked it so much he kept it up when he got out of the service.”
Rebecca giggled. “Too bad he’s old enough to be my dad. He seems to be a really nice guy, and there aren’t too many of those around anymore.”
“If there ever were!”
“Ain’t that the truth!”
Clark suddenly popped up in Lois’s mental projection screen and she smiled to herself. “Oh, come to think of it, there are a few good ones.”
She decided she’d consider later why she’d envisioned him as Clark and not as Superman.
Rebecca smiled and said, “I’ll have to take your word for it. So, what did you want to ask me about?”
Lois took out a notebook and pencil. “I want to get a feel for the public face of LexCorp. What kind of security do you have, how hard is it to get in to interview someone – “
“Like Mr. Luthor?”
Lois quirked one side of her mouth upwards. “Besides him. I want to know if you’ve had any interesting experiences there, how you guys handle your problems, that sort of thing. Oh, I also want to get some background on you personally, so is it okay if we start there?”
“Sure! I graduated from high school at sixteen. I was senior class salutatorian; missed valedictorian by a quarter-point. I just turned twenty-four last month. I’ve earned my bachelor’s degree in biology, I’ve completed twenty-four of the thirty-six required hours of study for my master’s degree, and I plan to have a double doctorate in marine biology and molecular biology in four more years. I’ve worked for LexCorp for the last five years, and I’m fully vested in both my 401(k) personal retirement program and the company retirement program. My last employee review rated me in the ninety-fifth percentile of secretarial and receptionist personnel in the entire company.” She folded her hands in front of her and set her chin on the backs, then fluttered her eyelashes at Lois and smiled sweetly. “Not bad for a dumb phone jockey, is it?”
Lois lifted her eyebrows. Slightly flustered, she muttered, “No, it’s not.” She shook herself and regained some of her poise. “So, are all the receptionists at LexCorp over-achieving geniuses, or are you the poster girl?”
Rebecca straightened as Mike brought their drinks. “No, I’m something of an anomaly. I’m working on my master’s degree in marine biology at night, and they let me schedule my vacation and personal time around finals and such, and I even got a leave of absence last summer for two weeks in Bermuda for a study on tuna migration.”
“Wow. They really did want you for your brain, didn’t they?”
She shrugged. “I thought at first that I was hired purely as eye candy, but after a couple of months of training out at the Nebraska office, Mr. St. John himself interviewed me.”
“Who?”
“Nigel St. John. He’s Mr. Luthor’s personal assistant.” Rebecca stirred her tea with her knife. “He’s just a little creepy, if you ask me.”
“Oh?” This might be good. “Does he like to look at the girls? Does he make sexist jokes and fondle the women at the company?”
Rebecca frowned. “No, just the opposite. To my knowledge, he’s never made a negative personal comment to anyone, male or female. He’s never acted like a typical man around me or around any of the other girls I’ve talked to. He just seems – dangerous.”
This might be better than good. “Dangerous how?”
She thought for a moment. “Kind of like a tiger, always watching, always ready to react. One day he – “
Mike chose that moment to bring their plates. “Here you are, ladies, eat up and enjoy! And Lois, don’t be such a stranger! Bring all your pretty friends over, and see if you can find a nice guy to eat with.”
“What, you don’t like Claude?”
Mike’s smile flipped over. “That guy would be a creep no matter where he was from. Being smug and superior and French is just a bonus.”
Lois laughed. “I don’t think I’ll bring him back, then.”
“Good! You two ladies enjoy! Remember, if you want dessert, it’s on me!”
He turned and motioned to a waiter to check the drinks and coffee cups of a large group of students near the entrance. Rebecca smiled at Lois. “You have problems finding good ones too, huh?”
Lois sneered in disgust. “Claude is a co-worker who thinks he’s France’s gift to the world in general and American women specifically and me most specifically, and if I was a betting woman I’d bet he had to leave France because his former employer ran him out. I think he’s a louse who’d seduce a woman colleague and steal her story. He followed me here one day, thinking I was staking out the place. Uncle Mike spotted him bugging me and kind of ran him off.” She canted her head to one side. “Come to think of it, Mike looked pretty dangerous himself that day. He just stared at Claude with no expression and Claude started stuttering and then walked away as fast as he could. Is that what you meant about Nigel St. Cloud?”
“Name’s St. John, and yeah, that’s what I meant. He’s like a bomb with a hair-trigger. Get too close or do the wrong thing and all of a sudden – boom!”
Lois jumped. Rebecca’s illustration of St. John reminded her of Lana’s fate, and she forced herself to behave calmly. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Anyway, back to you and your job. Anything exciting happen recently?”
As Lois asked her question, Rebecca cut a piece of steak and put it in her mouth. Her eyes bulged and she grabbed her water glass and gulped it down. “That’s hot!”
“What, too spicy?”
“No! Thermal – cough-cough – thermal hot!”
“Oh, I’m sorry! I should have warned you that Mike always serves steak straight from the stove. You okay?”
Rebecca sat back and wheezed for a moment. “Yeah. It just caught me by surprise. I’m all right now.”
“Well, I guess that’s about as exciting as your life has been lately.”
“No, actually, let me tell you! The week before last, Peter Burton came in to have lunch with Mr. Luthor! I think they were talking about some big movie project. And this past Tuesday, Jackie Michaelson walked right in the front door!”
Lois matched the other girl’s enthusiasm. “No! Jackie Michaelson? Really?”
“Yes! And she only had two bodyguards with her! They stayed downstairs in the lounge just off my office area, and Jackie went up to the penthouse to meet with Mr. Luthor and she was up there for almost an hour! And Mr. Luthor brought her down himself and kissed her hand when she left and said something about sponsoring her tour next spring! Isn’t that great?”
“Yes, it is! Is Jackie playing in Metropolis?”
“Oh, I don’t know the schedule yet, nothing’s been announced. But I’m pretty sure it’s going to happen. Mr. Luthor doesn’t involve himself in projects that don’t pay off for him.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t.” It didn’t help Lois’s investigation, not directly, but maybe one of the gossip columnists could use that tidbit. She’d give that new girl a heads-up. What was her name? Cathy? Kitty? Karen? Lois would find her.
She dug up a forkful of salad and chewed it, considering her next question. She watched the younger woman relishing her venison steak and wondered if there was more to her job description than she was telling.
“What kind of security do you have at your workstation, Rebecca?”
“Oh, the best! Nobody gets in the building unless I buzz them in, and then I have to open the inside door or they’re stuck in the man trap. There’s no way to open the inside door and the outside door at the same time. We have scanners inside there that will pick up any weapon, gun, knife, grenade, anti-aircraft missile, whatever. They make airport security scanners look like toys! The four layers of glass are bulletproof up to fifty caliber machine-gun slugs, and the door and window frames are reinforced titanium alloy. You could shoot through it with a tank, but I don’t think you could just drive one through.”
“What if someone were to get past all that somehow?”
“There are at least a dozen armed security people on the first floor, plus the main security office is in the upper basement, and there are people patrolling the floors all the time, twenty-four-seven-three-sixty-five, overlapping nine-hour shifts. That place is at least as secure as the White House.”
“Wow. I guess you’re safe.”
“That’s what we figure, too. Besides, the police – “
Rebecca suddenly broke off. Lois looked up from her notebook to see a suddenly fear-stricken young girl. A tall, older man with white hair and a neat Van Dyke beard glided silently into Lois’s field of vision and slid smoothly an empty chair.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Connors. Would you be so kind as to introduce me to your friend?”
“Sh – um – th – this – “
Lois extended her hand and grinned disarmingly. “Hi, I’m Lois Lane. I think Rebecca must have swallowed a French fry sideways or something.”
She watched the man take her measure, then slowly grasp her hand and hold it European fashion. “I am most pleased to meet you, Ms. Lane. My name is Nigel St. John.”
Rebecca’s face paled even further, so Lois played dumb. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. St. John. Are you related to Rebecca in some way?”
His eyes didn’t reflect his smile. “Nothing so familial, I’m afraid. I am simply an employee of LexCorp, just as Ms. Connors is. I recognized her and decided to join you. I do hope I’m not intruding.”
“Not at all. We were just gossiping about men. One of the young, single woman’s favorite subjects.”
He smiled slightly and nodded. “While I am certain the subject is worthy of exhaustive debate, I believe I would be out of place in such a discussion.” He stood. “I apologize for disturbing you both. Please, enjoy your meal. Ms. Connors, I am certain I will see you at work.”
He stepped away. Rebecca fumbled with her purse. “Lois, I’m sorry, I gotta go now. Thanks for lunch.”
“You’re welcome. I hope we can see each other again soon.”
Rebecca glanced at St. John’s retreating back and shuddered. “I don’t know, maybe – “ Her voice trailed off and she stood. “Don’t call me at work, okay?”
“Okay. Will you call me?”
“I – I don’t – “
“Rebecca, it’s okay. We’ll see each other later.”
Lois grabbed Rebecca’s hand and slipped her business card into the other girl’s palm. Rebecca’s eyes bulged, but she said nothing. She slid the card under the waistband of her skirt, next to her skin, and left in the same direction St. John had gone.
Lois watched her go, then picked up her purse and went inside to pay for their meal. Before she reached the register, Mike yanked her to one side. “What was Nigel doing here and how do you know him?”
“Easy, Mike! He recognized – wait, you know Nigel St. John?”
“St. John, eh? So that’s what he’s calling himself now?” He nodded and released her. “Yeah, I know him. Know of him, actually. Met him in Vietnam. General Kramer went to a hush-hush meeting in-country with a bunch of British black ops people. He was easily the scariest guy there. The Brit cook told me Nigel was with MI-6, the British counterpart of our CIA, and they were afraid he was going to blow something real important. Even the other MI-6 people were scared of him. Now how do you know the guy?”
She looked at Mike. Despite his own description of himself, he had obviously been far more than just a cook in the military. He was more serious than she’d ever seen him, and maybe a little scared – no, definitely scared – of Nigel St. John. “This guy is that bad?”
“Doll, he makes Jack the Ripper look like a deli meat-cutter. They said he skinned three Viet Cong officers alive and made shoe covers out of the remains.” Mike ran his hand through his hair. “And that was after they’d told him what he wanted to know. He’s so bad, MI-6 tried to have him killed. Twice.”
She looked down the street but didn’t see him. “They obviously missed.”
“The guys who went after him didn’t come back. He deserted and they lost track of him.”
Now she was impressed. “Wow. I guess he’s really dangerous.” She turned back to Mike. “That was the first time I’d ever seen him. He recognized Rebecca from work and sat down with us. She’s terrified of him.”
He shook his head. “Lois, you stay away from that guy! You hear me? As good as you are, you’re no match for him. He’ll take you down in two seconds and you’ll never feel the blade across your throat.”
She paled slightly and swallowed. “Uh, Mike, you’re starting to scare me.”
“Good! Maybe you’ll be sensible for once.”
*****
Nigel was waiting around the first corner as Rebecca skidded by. He called to her quietly. “Ms. Connors? Are you looking for me?”
The effect on her was electric. She jerked to a stop and sidled towards him like a puppy afraid of being beaten. “M-Mr. St. John? Sir? It – it wasn’t what it looked like, honest! I cleared it with my – “
He held up his hand and smiled. “My dear young lady, you misjudge the situation. We really did meet accidentally today. I was not following you or checking up on you. If you say you have clearance, of course I accept your word on the subject. At any rate, such things are not my direct responsibility. I apologize once again for interrupting your meal.”
She smiled slightly. “Oh – that’s okay, sir, I need to get back to the office anyway.”
“In that case, may I offer you a lift?” He turned and gestured for a cab.
“Uh – sure, yeah, it’ll save my feet.”
“Of course.” He waved at two empty cabs, both of which drove past as if he didn’t exist. “Oh, drat these American taxicab drivers!”
She never knew what possessed her to do what she did next. “Here, let me try.”
She put her index fingers in her mouth as Mike had shown her and blew. She let out a piercing tone that scattered pigeons across the street, gained the attention of two stray dogs, and stopped a cab beside the curb.
Nigel opened the door for her. “Most impressive, Ms. Connors. Where did you learn that?”
Rebecca smiled more easily. “Lois showed me. I just learned it.”
“A useful talent, that. Driver, please take us to the LexCorp main office on Dyer Avenue.”
“Sure, Mac.” The driver started the meter and shoved them into the flow of traffic.
~~~~~
Hey, J! Haven’t written in you lately, and they tell me that a lonely journal is a neglected journal. Sorry! My therapist told me that journaling would be a good way to bring my problems down to the proper scale. Guess nothing important has happened recently to make me want to write it down.
But that changed today. I met a girl who’s going to be a good friend. At least, I think she’s going to be a friend. She interviewed me!
I know, I’m not telling the story very well. Look, Lois called me yesterday and said she wanted to interview Mr. Luthor. I told her that he doesn’t give personal interviews, not ever, period, end of discussion. So she asked if she could interview me!
I know, why me? It threw me for a loop too, but as it turns out she’s really pretty cool. She even got her uncle to teach me how to whistle with two fingers in my mouth! I never could do that before. It’s fun. And we had lunch together and talked for a while and I think I’m going to like her. I’m pretty sure she likes me. I know she was impressed with my academics.
The only bad part was when Mr. St. John showed up and sat down at the table. He makes me very nervous, and he reminds me of a tiger sizing up his next meal. But I shared a cab with him going back to the office and he was okay. Maybe I just don’t understand him well enough.
And maybe I don’t want to get eaten.
But I’ve decided to give Lois a call on Monday. She seemed so nice, and I think we could be good friends. But I’ll be sure and take it slow. No sense scaring her away the first week.
Bye, J! I’ll write some more next week.
