Writer's note: There's a snippet of dialogue "borrowed" from the pilot ep, but it's a little bent. A no-prize to the first person to spot it.
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Chapter Seventeen
>>>Tuesday, 12:48 PM
Rebecca guided Clark past the cafeteria checkout register. “I hope this is good material for your story, Clark. I doubt that most reporters would care very much about what the worker bees at LexCorp eat.”
He smiled warmly at her as he sat across the table from her. “I do. And I think the Planet’s readers will appreciate knowing that LexCorp Industries has some of the best-smelling cafeteria food I’ve ever eaten anywhere.”
She laughed lightly. “Then I’m sorry you’ve been in so many crummy cafeterias. I wouldn’t rate this as great food.”
“Ah, but will it poison you?”
“Of course not, silly. Go ahead, try it and tell me what you think.”
He stabbed a forkful of salad and tasted it. “Not bad, actually. The dressing is a little less tangy than I’d prefer, but overall it’s pretty good.”
“I’m glad.” She picked up her fork and played with her own salad for a moment, then put it down. “Clark, I’m afraid I have a confession to make.”
“Oh? Does it involve tasting more food?”
She didn’t smile. “No. It – it involves me.”
He realized that she was serious. “Okay. I assume this is off the record?”
“Huh? Oh, oh, yeah, I sure hope it is.”
He nodded. “Off the record it is, then.” His voice dropped a register and he leaned forward on his elbows. “Tell me.”
She wouldn’t make eye contact with him. “Well – I did some snooping. About you.” Clark didn’t respond, so she continued. “Lois told me that you were single, but that’s about all she said. I guess she didn’t want to give me any preconceived ideas about you.” She lifted a stern visage to him. “Do you understand?”
He took a deep breath and let it out. “No, not really.”
She frowned. “I didn’t know that your wife – that you were a widower.”
He straightened in his chair. “I don’t understand why that would make a difference to you.”
He’d spoken softly, but he could see that his words still stung her. Before he could apologize, she blurted out, “Because I like you.”
“Oh.” He hesitated. “Thank you. I like you, too, Rebecca. You’re a nice person.”
She shook her head. “I’m making this harder than it should be.” She leaned forward and reached for his hands, but stopped before she touched them. “I meant that I like you, like, you know, really, really like you.”
“Oh.” Clark suppressed a smile. On the one hand, he was flattered by the attention, but on the other he was cautious about forming a relationship with any woman, given his situation with both Lana’s recent death, still vivid in his mind and heart, and his link with Lois. His suppressed smile became a frown of concentration.
He watched Rebecca as she saw his emotions play out on his face. Her expression fell and she put her head in her hands. “Oh, great, now I’ve really blown it.” She looked up at him again. “Look, Clark, I did some digging in the Planet’s online archives and read the stories about you and Lana and the Superman Foundation and how Lois was involved with the ship blowing up and – and I’m really sorry if I’ve upset you. It’s just that you’re a nice guy, and Lois didn’t give me any personal background on you. I’m not hunting a man, honest, I just like guys and I was hoping we could be friends and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable around me or make you feel like I was backing you into a corner.”
He smiled at her. “I hope we could be friends, too. I don’t think anyone could have too many friends.”
“Neither do I.” She sighed in apparent relief. “Real friends are rare as six-ounce diamonds and more valuable. At least, I think so. And I hate fake friends.”
He lifted one eyebrow. “Does that mean you wouldn’t want your friends to hide things from you?”
She looked at the table for a moment, then met his gaze again. “I wouldn’t want them to lie to me out of malice or simply to protect their own feelings, or to deceive me into doing something I wouldn’t ordinarily do. But I also wouldn’t expect my friends to tell me absolutely everything about themselves, especially not right away. That’s expecting a whole lot of someone.”
“I agree. So, if you and I were to become close friends, you wouldn’t mind if I kept a few secrets from you?”
She tilted her head to one side. “Not as long as you didn’t mind if I kept a few secrets from you, too.”
“Sounds equitable to me.” Clark suddenly chuckled. “This conversation about secrets reminds me of a movie plot. Have you ever seen Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn in ‘Charade?’ It was released in theaters in the early 60’s. I’ve seen it on TV several times.”
She frowned in confusion. “No, I don’t think I have, but what does that have to do with this conversation?”
“At the very beginning, Cary Grant’s character introduces himself to Audrey Hepburn’s character and she thinks he’s trying to hit on her, so she tells him that her list of friends is full and she couldn’t possibly meet anyone else until someone who’s already on her list dies.”
Rebecca made a face. “Eww. That’s a pretty morbid thing to say.”
“She was trying to discourage him, but what she doesn’t know is that her husband – whom she is about to divorce anyway because he’s not the person she thought he was when they got married, and she doesn’t know half of what’s really going on with him – was thrown off a train outside Paris and killed the night before. Audrey’s character starts to fall in love with Cary’s character and then she finds out he’s not who she thinks he is. It sets up a very complex and intense game of death and romance and comedy, because she has something very valuable that some people are willing to kill to get, and she has absolutely no idea where it might be or even what it actually is. And after that, things move so fast that she can hardly keep track of what’s happening to her.”
“Mystery and murder and romance and comedy, all in the same movie? What a strange combination.” Her face cleared. “I’m pretty sure I’d remember that one if I’d seen it.”
“I can rent it for you if you’d like to watch it.” Clark suddenly realized what his suggestion might have conveyed to her and he tried to backtrack. “I mean, assuming you even want to, and you don’t even have to watch it with me, and – “
“Clark! It’s okay. It’s just two friends watching a movie, right?”
He held her gaze. “Two friends with a few secrets between them?”
“A few, yes.”
He relaxed. “Right. So, would you like to see it?”
She laughed and touched his wrist. “I think I’d enjoy watching it with you, Clark. We can do it at my place. What day and what time?”
He returned the chuckle. “How about Thursday night at seven-thirty?”
“What about dinner?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “I can bring it to your place if you’d like. Or I could cook it there.”
Her eyes widened. “You can cook?”
“Most of the farm boys from my neck of the prairie can cook. What would you prefer?”
She wrinkled her nose mischievously. “Why don’t you surprise me and make your specialty, whatever that might be?”
He nodded. “Okay. I hope you like chicken.”
“I’m sure I’ll like whatever you make, Clark.”
He felt himself warming to her smile. To his surprise, he found himself hoping she really, really liked whatever he might cook.
*****
Lois patted her mouth with the most expensive napkin she’d ever seen, much less had actually used, and smiled at Lex. “Thank you for a most delicious meal. And please send my compliments to the chef.”
Lex returned the smile and stood to offer her his hand. “I will do so. Now, would you care to have coffee on the balcony? I believe it is warm enough today to enjoy the experience without risking hypothermia.”
“That sounds – nice.” She stopped herself from saying ‘wonderful’ just in time. She didn’t want to encourage him too much. He didn’t seem to need much encouragement.
If Lex noticed her hesitation, he didn’t react to it. He merely nodded to Nigel, who glided silently to the coffee service, poured two cups of coffee which exuded an absolutely delectable aroma, and placed them on the small balcony table. Then he withdrew from the room and closed the doors behind him.
Lois leaned on the railing and shielded her eyes from the sun’s glare. The building was huge, towering over every other skyscraper in Metropolis. From her perch, she could see the south shore of Hobb’s Bay and the industrial park on the other side. If she turned her gaze to the northwest, she could see the beginning of the rolling dairy farm complex and fish farms that had halted the city’s urban sprawl.
“This is quite a view, Lex,” she said without looking at him. “How do you feel about being way up here where everyone can look up to you?”
He leaned on the railing beside her. “I try not to think about it. Asabi tells me not to allow my head to enlarge to the point that I topple over.”
She chuckled. “No, seriously. This is the tallest building in the city. Don’t you ever feel like you’re above everyone else?”
He leaned on his elbows and clasped his hands. He looked out over the city as he spoke. “If I ever start to feel like that, Asabi helps bring me down to earth. And if he’s not around, all I have to do is to think about my father.”
That was a leading comment just begging for a follow-up question. She tried to appear casual as she turned to face him. “How does that help?”
He still didn’t meet her gaze. “My mother – a wonderful woman, by the way – died of kidney failure when I was ten. It wasn’t all that much of a surprise, she’d been ill for over a year, but losing a parent at that age was – somewhat traumatic, as one might expect. My father brought me up by himself, working hard all the time, but he made all my athletic events and all my graduations and ceremonies. And he never complained. He almost always had a smile on his face, even if he wasn’t feeling well. He sacrificed a lot, but when I’d whine about how poor we were, he’d say that money was nice, but it couldn’t buy anything worth having.”
She shook her head. “That’s something my father would never have said.”
He hesitated for a moment to acknowledge her comment, then continued his story. “When he came to my high school commencement exercises, I could tell he wasn’t feeling well, but he insisted that he was just worn out from carrying me all those years.”
“Ouch. Now that sounds like something my father would say. And he wouldn’t have been trying to be funny.”
He finally looked into her eyes. “It was a running joke between us. Whenever I’d have to wake him up so he could go to work, I’d tell him I was getting tired of carrying him. He’d say the same thing back to me when he had to take me to school or to work or wake me up in the morning or loan me a few dollars when things got tight for me.”
“Still, he probably resented it, even if just a little.”
He smiled and straightened. “Not my father. He often told me that he’d promised my mother that he’d take care of me until I was old enough to take care of him. He also said that he would have done that even without my mother extracting that promise from him.”
He reached out and gently caressed Lois’s upper arm for a moment, then seemed to remember something and dropped his hand. “My father loved me and took care of me until the summer after I graduated. I was scheduled to enter the service in December of that year, and we spent that time together.”
Lois took a breath. She understood that his story didn’t have a happy ending. “Where is he now?”
He turned away and leaned on the railing again. “He died that November. He had terminal pancreatic cancer and didn’t want to ruin my last semester in high school, so he didn’t tell me about it until the end of July. We had some good times, but I’ll always miss him.”
She reached out and touched his forearm. “I’m sorry. I wish I could have met him.”
Lex rubbed his nose once, then turned back to the table. “I think he would have liked you. He always admired my mother’s spirit and fire and determination, and you are similar to her in many respects.” He held out a chair for her and smiled warmly.
Lois accepted the gesture, understanding that he felt he’d revealed as much of the inner Lex as he was willing to. She sipped her coffee and smiled. “This is really good. Where did you get it?”
He picked up his cup and inhaled the aroma. “It’s a special blend I have shipped in from Paraguay. Being rich should have some perks, shouldn’t it?”
She nodded. “I guess so. Although I would’ve thought that this view would be a great perk.”
He glanced out over the city and sighed. “My father knew I could accomplish great things. He told me so often enough.” He put his cup down. “But he also said he’d be proud of me if, at the end of my life, I could stand up straight and tell him that I’d been a good man. Not a rich man, not a successful man, not a famous man, not a powerful man, but a good man. That’s why I do some of the things I do with my money and my influence. I’m trying to be the good man my father can be proud of.”
Lois dropped her gaze to the table and spoke softly. “That’s why you made the financial arrangements with Clark.”
He snapped his head around and frowned at her. “You mean Clark Kent?” She nodded without looking up. “He was not supposed to divulge those arrangements to anyone.”
“Oh! No, he hasn’t, Lex! The only reason I know about them is because I went with him to pick up his wife’s personal effects. We haven’t discussed them since that day. I haven’t told anyone, and if I know that Kansas farm boy, he hasn’t breathed a word to anyone either.”
Lex nodded. “I hope not. I prefer not to splash that kind of news about myself across the front page.”
“We’ll honor the agreement, of course, but I would think that you’d enjoy some positive publicity. It might help your public image.”
His expression relaxed. “Perhaps, but improving my public image is not my central goal. Taking care of people in trouble is.” He shifted to a more relaxed position. “Besides, if you want to improve someone’s public image, you can always write a series of articles about Superman.”
His slightly off-handed tone surprised Lois. “Why do you say that?”
“About Superman?” She nodded, and he frowned. “Is this for publication?”
“Not if you want it to be off the record.”
He nodded back. “I would prefer that this part of our conversation remain confidential.”
“If that’s what you want, no problem.”
He sighed. “I have no reason to mistrust Superman. As far as I have been able to discover, he has done nothing but good ever since he came onto the scene several years ago. In fact, I have seen him zipping by this building on at least three different occasions.”
“Do you wave to him?”
He glanced at her, then chuckled low in his chest. “No, I don’t wave. As I said I don’t mistrust him, but neither do I completely trust him.”
Intrigued but not offended, Lois asked, “Why is that?”
“Because he seems to have the power to do anything, and I do mean anything. If one nation started a war with a neighbor, no matter what the excuse or provocation, Superman could stop it with a minimal loss of life. He could force the leaders of the warring nations to sign a peace treaty, and then enforce it himself.”
“He hasn’t done anything like that. And you’re saying that as though it would be a bad thing.”
He picked up his cup and drank. “As far as I am aware, the opportunity to either intervene or refrain from intervening in such a conflict as I have just described has not presented itself to him. Still, I wonder what he would do if he were faced with that choice. He seems to be motivated by a deep respect for life and justice, or ‘truth and justice,’ to use the commonly accepted phrase, but if he were given a choice where his allowing a single death would save many lives, what would he do? Would he take that life and consider it a sacrifice for the common good, or would he refuse to allow one person to die and perhaps condemn others?”
Lex surely didn’t mean for the conversation to be threatening, but Lois was feeling threatened nonetheless. She picked up her cup and drank, knowing that she was doing so to keep from telling him that Clark would never deliberately take a life, even in order to save other lives.
By the time she got her tongue under her firm control again, Lex had turned to face her. “Please don’t think I believe that Superman is a front for an alien invasion or that he’s planning to set himself up as some super-dictator. I occasionally read the trash tabloids, but I do not believe them. I accept his actions at face value, and I believe he wants to do good. I simply wonder how strong that commitment would be if he were presented with a no-win situation.”
Cautiously, Lois asked, “Are you saying that you believe that Superman is somehow a danger to us?”
“No. I suppose it is my innate reluctance to believe that someone who isn’t my father would be completely selfless and altruistic, as Superman is so often described as being. And since there are no physical checks on him, there would be no way to stop him if he were to decide not to be so selfless and altruistic.”
“I see. At least, I think I do.”
“Good,” he softly responded. “And I believe I see Nigel standing unobtrusively at the doorway, waiting to tell me that I have a one-fifteen telephone meeting with several of my European associates.” He stood and again offered his hand to her. “I hope you have enjoyed yourself half as much as I have, Lois.”
She smiled and took his hand. “I think I have. Thank you for the interview, and for the lunch.”
“You’re quite welcome. Perhaps we can do this again sometime soon.”
“The interview or the lunch?”
He chuckled lightly. “We could do either, but I would prefer to repeat the lunch portion of our time together.”
She cocked her head to one side as if thinking about the idea, then said, “I think I’d like that. The lunch part, I mean.”
The warmth of his smile drove away the slight chill of the breeze. “Excellent! Please expect my call soon.”
He led her back into the dining room. “Nigel will escort you to the ground floor, Lois.” He lifted both of her hands to his lips and bussed them gently. “Good afternoon.”
She smiled again and nodded. Nigel bowed slightly and gestured with one hand. “This way, please, Miss Lane.”
“Thank you.”
She walked to the elevator without looking back, but when she turned around in the car, she saw that he had watched her all the way down the hall. The doors closed on her view of his warm smile, and she barely felt the elevator begin its long descent.
Nigel’s cultured English baritone broke into her thoughts. “I assume you will be returning to the garage level, Miss Lane?”
“The garage? Oh, no, we have to meet Clark Kent on the lobby floor. He’s probably waiting for me there.”
“Of course. My error.”
Lois watched him press the lobby button, then thought, That wasn’t an error, it was a test of some kind. Maybe Nigel was checking to see if she was completely befuddled by two hours with the very impressive Lex Luthor.
She was impressed, of course, but she wasn’t befuddled, bewitched, bothered, or bewildered. And Nigel’s sneaky little test took some of the edge off the warm fuzzies she was feeling.
She wondered if Nigel had performed his test on his own, or if Lex had asked him to check her reactions.
Be careful, Lois, she told herself, be very careful.
And this time, her self didn’t argue with her.
