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Reflections

Part 8

Clark stuck his head into the conference room looking for Lois. He found her there, looking mildly discouraged, studying a mound of papers, which were spread in a seemingly random order across the large conference room table. He shook his head and smiled, looking at the intense scrutiny on her face.

"Need help with anything?" he asked from the doorway.

Without looking up, she pointed to the smaller table in the corner of the room and replied, "Yes, look over that write-up I did on Platt's murder, and see if I left anything out."

Again without taking her eyes off of the papers in front on her, she reached up and touched her right ear, apparently looking for something. Not finding it there, her hand went searching on the desk in front of her, without the benefit of actually using her eyes to aid in her search. Clark looked around where she was sitting to see exactly what she was looking for. Spying a pencil by her right foot, he walked over and picked it up for her.

She was still studying the papers, her head moving back and forth between two particular sheets, as Clark held the pencil up in front of her. Deciding that she wasn't going to see the pencil without some kind of hint, he said softly to her, "It must be fascinating reading."

Lois nearly jumped out of her skin, and stared at him in surprise. "What did you do that for?"

"What?" he asked, a look of confusion on his face.

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack? When did you get here?"

"About 5 seconds before you told me to check your write-up." Clark was still holding up the pencil for her, which Lois obviously hadn't noticed yet. Lois's attention wandered away from Clark for a moment, as she seemed to review the events of the past few moments in her head.

"Oh, yeah, I guess I did. Well, how is it?"

"I'll let you know in a moment," he said as he moved the pencil directly into her line of vision. She scowled at it for a moment, then slowly took it from his hand with a sheepish grin.

"I guess I must have dropped this."

"I guess so." Clark chuckled, earning him a good natured 'dirty look' from Lois. "I assume that this mound of paperwork is Dr. Platt's notes."

"It is. I've been studying this mess for over an hour, and my brain is starting to hurt. This guy had no sense of organization whatsoever. But there must be something in here that was important enough to kill him over. I need to find it, but I can't even understand half of the technical terms he uses. And don't get me started on the acronyms... MFR, Max Q, NIP, SDR, ACS, CADH, PL, --

Clark calmly replied, "Maximum Fuel Rate, Maximum Dynamic Pressure, Nozzle Inlet Pressure, System Design Review, Attitude Control System, Command and Data Handling, and Payload."

"You're making that up!"

"I am not."

"Are too."

"Am n... This is silly, I am not making it up. Those are the real terms"

Lois eyed him suspiciously, then said, “Fine, then help me make sense of all this." She then dropped her pencil on the desk, and began to rub her eyes.

"Sure. Why don't you grab a cup of coffee and splash some water in your face. I'll look over your article, and then we can begin to piece this all together."

Lois peeked at him through her hands. "Sounds like a plan. I'll be right back." She pushed herself out of the chair and walked out of the conference room. Clark noted that she was in her stocking feet, but her shoes were nowhere to be seen in the conference room. Grinning once again, he made his way over to Lois's article, picked it up, and sat on the edge of the small table, reading over what she had written. He took out a pen, and started to scribble a few notes in the margins.

Suddenly he heard a loud yell from Lois in the newsroom. He dropped her article and ran out of the conference room at near super speed. He spotted her standing next to the coffee table, an empty pot in her hand. Seeing no imminent danger in the newsroom, he slowed downed and walked up to Lois at normal speed.

"Lois, are you OK?" he asked tentatively.

She whirled and stuck out the coffee pot at him, missing his nose be mere inches. "No I'm not OK! Why is it so difficult for the person who gets the last cup of coffee around here to make a fresh pot? Is it really that hard to remember? I think not. I know it's not the greatest coffee in the world, and nobody here seems to actually know how to make a pot of coffee, since it either too watery or you need to use a knife to cut it from the pot. But it is all I have, so when I grab the pot, I expect it to be filled with whatever vile, black liquid we use around here to inject caffeine into our bloodstream. Is that too much to ask?"

Clark gently took the empty pot from her outreached hand. She bowed her head, and rubbed face with one hand, sighing audibly. He sympathetically placed his other hand on her shoulder. "I know... it's been a long day Lois, but we'll find out who did this to him."

"Damn," she muttered under her breath. She then looked at him "I hate when I let things like this get to me. How do you do it Clark? You seem so calm."

Clark shrugged. "I'm a guy. I just internalize my feelings until I have an ulcer the size of New York. It's probably healthier to let it out occasionally... even if it means venting at the innocent new hire."

She looked at him through her lashes, a tear glistening in her eye. She timidly smiled, and raised her head to look at him fully. "Thanks Clark. You may have noticed that I occasionally have trouble holding back my feelings and opinions."

"I may have picked up on that." Clark placed the coffee pot back down on the table.

She snorted. "I bet you have. Listen Clark, I..."

He held up his hand to stop her from going further. "It's OK, Lois really. Like I said, it's been a long day. You can go freshen up, and I'll start the next pot of coffee for us. Looks like we're going to be here a while."

She smiled back at him in appreciation. "Sure, that sounds fine. I'll be back in a few minutes."

She looked at Clark for a moment more, like she was trying to figure out something about him, then turned and left the newsroom. Clark was amazed at the contradictions that seemed to make up the person of Lois Lane. One moment she was this unstoppable, seemingly indestructible force. Then the next moment she was this vulnerable woman, who was devastated at the death of a person she had been trying to help.

'Then again,' he thought, 'those two extremes are really just different ways she expresses her passion for what she does. No wonder she's such a great reporter.'

He turned his attention to the coffee table, and began to measure out a scoop of coffee for the machine. He stopped before dumping the coffee in, and took a sniff of the coffee. He wrinkled his nose, and deposited the unused grounds back into the can. He took a look at the label. Making a face of mock disgust, he set the can down, and began to walk over to the stairwell door.

Verifying that no one was on the stairs, he flew up to the roof at super speed, changing into his superhero suit on the way. He burst through the roof door a blur, and turned toward Kansas, taking a high ballistic trajectory in order to miss any air traffic. A minute later he was standing in his parents' kitchen scooping some of his mom's special coffee blend into a ziplock bag. He left her a quick note, and took back to the air, coffee in hand. Within a couple of minutes of leaving, he was back in the newsroom adjusting his tie.

~~~~~~~~~~~
Lois stared at herself in the mirror, wondering where 'Mad Dog Lane' had gone. She had worked so long and so hard to build up her tough exterior shell, in an effort not to appear weak in front of her peers, especially the male ones. Her father had taught her the value of appearing strong to the world, so that she would be afforded the respect she deserved. But she had lost it right in front of Clark, and now she was embarrassed. Would he think any less of her now? Would it undermine her leading of the investigation?

Now that she had a moment to reflect, she realized how long it had been since she had shown anybody, particularly a man, her vulnerable side. She almost never revealed the side of herself that cared so much about the people she wrote about. in truth, she went to great lengths to hide the fact that she would go overboard empathizing with their troubles, and try to solve them all. And when she failed to 'fix' everything, she would beat herself up over it. Then to combat her perceived failure and vulnerability, she would cover it up with her 'Mad Dog Lane" act.

An act, she was sure, that Clark had seen through today. How could she have let her guard down like that? Then again, for some reason, Clark didn't seem like the kind of guy... person... who would try to exploit her vulnerable spots. He was very supportive in the newsroom when she went on her little tirade... sweet, in fact. Suddenly her eyes snapped open wide, as she caught her wistful expression reflected back at her in the mirror.

'Wow, I've got to stop this. It's not like Clark is the first man I've ever been attracted to, is he?' A few moments contemplation made her realize that he was indeed the first man that ever evoked such a reaction out of her. She had liked Paul, and Claude had been interesting, but Clark... there was something about him that touched her deep down. Her hard shell was not so impenetrable that she could totally ignore the attraction. Even her father, whom she considered hard as nails, treated her mom like a princess.

But she hardly knew Clark, and she needed to get to know him better before she could decide to act on any attraction. Plus, she got the feeling that he was somewhat skittish around her sometimes. Especially the couple of times they exchanged a brief 'moment' between them. It was embarrassing and exciting at the same time to her, but to Clark... well he looked almost terrified. She thought that maybe he needed a friend more than anything else. Maybe later he would open up to her. Maybe.

‘Not that Lois Lane would wait forever for man,’ she thought to herself as she turned on the cold water. After splashing her face a couple of times, she dried off, then ran her comb through her hair for good measure.

She looked at her reflection again in the mirror. She was no Cat Grant, but enough men had complimented her on her looks for her to know that she was easy enough on the eyes. She even had to admit, guiltily, that she had used her feminine assets to get information out of some less sophisticated men. 'I wonder how Clark sees me?’

She shook her head, breaking herself out of her reverie, and headed back to the newsroom. As she headed back, she reflected that even though the newsroom would be empty at this hour, how pleasant it would be to get back there with Clark waiting for her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Clark returned to the coffee table with his mom's coffee, measured the correct amount into the machine, and started it brewing. He took a moment to look around the newsroom and note that it was beginning to empty out as the dinner hour was approaching. Of course Perry was still in his office editing last minutes stories. Speaking of which...

He returned to the conference room, and retrieved Lois's story. He quickly finished his edits, and sat down in front of the lone computer in the conference. Again checking that no one was looking, he typed in the article at super speed, noting the places where he had made comments and corrections so that Lois could review them. He added a few extra lines at the end concerning Dr. Platt's life, and saved the work.

Lois was just returning to the conference room at that moment. She looked a little fresher, as Clark watched her enter the room. He noted how good she looked without using a lot of makeup, as was the habit of some women. She had such a natural beauty, that makeup would just hide it from the world.

"So what are you working on over there, Clark?" Lois asked, coming up to him from behind.

Still lost in his thoughts, he was momentarily confused by her question. "Working? Oh, yeah, I um... typed in your article with some of my comments and corrections." He stood up quickly and pointed toward the screen nervously. "You want to see?"

Lois raised her eyebrows at him in scrutiny, as she walked over to the computer. Sitting down she started to read over what Clark had typed. Without looking away from the screen she said, "You know, Perry is the only man ever to survive after trying to correct something I wrote."

Clark stammered out, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to presume. I just was trying to be helpful"

She turned her head toward, an amused grin on her face. "Oh lighten up Clark, I'm just teasing. Go take a look at Platt's notes, while I look this over." She swatted him good-naturally on the arm, and went back to reading.

Clark relaxed at her comment. "Um, sure, I knew that. Hey, would you like a cup of coffee?"

She grunted a “yes” at him, still concentrating on what was on the screen.

"OK, be back in a jiff." He looked at her concentration with amusement, amazed that she could remain so focused. "So you like yours with orange marmalade in it, right?"

She waved a hand at him, still focused on the screen, and replied, "Yeah, Clark that would be great."

He shook his head and laughed, then headed for the coffee table in the newsroom. He grabbed a couple of cups and filled them with coffee. After loading his up with cream and sugar, he fixed Lois's for her with the same amount of non-fat creamer and 'pink' sugar that he had observed her using earlier this morning. He then used his cooling breath to bring her coffee down to a comfortable sipping temperature.

He carried the cups back into conference room and placed one down next to Lois. She finished reading what he did, and noticed the coffee by her arm. She picked it up and turned to Clark. "You know, your comments weren't half bad. I included them in the article. Since you helped out so much, I put your byline on the article with mine."

"Really? Gee, thanks Lois, I appreciate that."

"Fair is fair..." She stopped midway to taking her first sip of her coffee, and stared into the cup. "What did you put in this?"

"Non-fat creamer, a pack of 'pink' sugar."

"How did you know how I liked my coffee?"

"I saw you fixing a cup earlier today."

"Oh. Well, thanks Clark. Too bad the creamer can't fully disguise the taste of this swill." She took her first sip, and a look of shock came across her face.

"Oh my... Clark this coffee is fantastic! Where did you get this from?"

"I made it."

Lois looked at him skeptically. "With our coffee machine? And our coffee?"

"I did use the newsroom machine, but I had some of my Mom's coffee that I got... um, in the mail, from home. It's my mom's special blend."

"You used your mom's good coffee for the newsroom?" she asked, clearly surprised.

"There's no one here but us, and I thought you would like something better than the 'vile, black liquid' you mentioned out there. No big deal." He shrugged his shoulders at his last statement.

He really didn't see the big deal, he just wanted to make a decent cup for them. He just had to make a quick trip to Kansas... it was only 1200 miles away. He was perplexed why Lois thought he had done something special.

"So, should we get the article to Perry, and get started on Platt's notes?" he asked her.

Her face was still unreadable to Clark, like she was expecting him to say something else. Finally she replied, "Yeah, sure. I'll send it to the printer, and get it to Perry, you can start by trying to figure out at least what the page order is for that mess." She nodded her head in the general direction of the conference table.

"Sure, I'll see what I can do."

Lois saved the file and sent it to the printer. On her way out she stopped for a moment at the table and said to Clark, "Oh, by the way, tell your mom I want her recipe for this coffee, so I can make Perry buy it for the newsroom. It'll improve morale in the newsroom by at least 300%."

Clark smiled at her comment. "I'll let her know." He then turned his attention to the mound of papers on the table, searching for some kind of order in the chaos.

Lois paused once more at the doorway, and turned back to him to ask him one more question. "You know, I forgot to ask. I'm not keeping you from anything am I? This may become a late night. Do you need to let anybody know?"

Without taking his eyes or attention off the pile of notes Clark replied, "Naw, I didn't have any plans, and my family is back in Kansas. So I'm all yours tonight."

"Oh, OK. Good. I mean, I'm glad... that I'm not keeping you from anything. Um, I'll be right back."

Clark barely heard her response, lost in trying to figure out Dr. Platt's logic in his notes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lois soaked in the smile Clark gave her as he responded to her request for his mom's recipe. Clark really was a nice guy. She could see that he had no hidden agenda making that special coffee for her, he was just trying to be nice. And that smile... for all her tough exterior, his smile still got to her. It was so genuine and open.

She, on the other hand, was devious and now felt the need to know if he had anybody who was special to him. She didn't know why, but she thought that he didn't have anybody. She got the feeling that he held back that part of him that would allow a woman to become close to him. So she paused at the doorway, and asked her question, to see if there was anybody waiting for him.

When he said 'I'm all yours', her heart skipped a beat. She knew he didn’t realize what he had said to her, his focus somewhere else. But the words warmed her somehow. Right now, at this moment, working here with her, he was 'all hers'. It made her think how much nicer it was to have someone to work with... to bounce ideas off of... to support her. To have, dare she say it, a partner. She worked so hard to prove to the world that she could make it on her own, that she forgot that making it on her own could be very lonely.

After she stammered out her response, she fled the room, embarrassed by her reaction. She got to the printer and retrieved the article. She then made her way over to Perry office, and went inside without knocking. She dropped the article in his inbox without a word and turned to leave.

"Um, Lois. You mind letting me know what you just gave me? That is if you can fit it in your busy schedule."

She stopped, turned back to him, and in her best nonchalant voice replied, "Oh, that's the write up on Dr. Platt's murder. Were not revealing too much now, so we don't compromise our investigation."

"Our investigation?"

"Yeah, Clark and I are looking into the accusation he made that someone is trying to sabotage the space program. We're going through Dr. Platt's notes right now."

"I see. So Kent is working out OK for you?"

"He's great. I mean he's been great... good... helpful. Sure, he's working out, fine. Why do you ask Chief?"

Perry gave her a strange look, and slowly took the article out of his inbox, without taking his eyes off of Lois. "Just wanted to know how things were going, that's all."

"Fine," she replied nonchalantly again. "No complaints."

"Good. How *is* the investigation coming along?"

"We're trying to make sense out of Dr. Platt's notes right now. They're a mess, so it looks like a late night for us. We'll probably be at it all night." Then after a beat, "Trying to decipher the notes that is."

"Good, good. Well keep at it then, and give me an update in the morning."

"Sure, Chief."

She turned and left the office. Just as she was closing the door, Perry shouted after her, "And don't call me... oh never mind."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three hours later the random mounds of papers had been assembled into organized stacks, and now formed a chain of reports detailing the problems ignored on the space transport system.

Clark had just reentered the room, two cups of coffee in his hand. He handed one to Lois, who was sitting at the conference room table, her chin resting on one hand. "So, explain this to me again, this time in English, and without the acronyms."

"I'll try." He sat down, took a sip of his coffee, and then plunged into his explanation. "OK, a rocket engine is basically a mass ejector. It produces thrust by shooting out hot gases out the back of the engine nozzle. The faster it can push out the hot gas, the more acceleration it produces."

"OK, I got that part."

"Good, now the engine gets the gas moving at high speed by combusting the gases here, in this part of engine." He pointed his pencil to the combustion chamber area on the drawing he had made of a rocket engine. "This accelerates the gases, and forces them out the end, here."

"Got it."

"Now the electric propulsion engine..." He pause a moment to pull out a second drawing he had done. "This needs to do the same thing, but without combustion. It ionizes the fuel..." He paused when she raised her eyebrows and gave him one of those 'you're not using plain English' looks.

"Sorry, ionizing means adding extra electrons to the fuel atoms. That way they can be affected by magnetic fields. The ionized fuel passes through the series of magnetic fields, which shoot the fuel out of the back at high speed. You get more thrust per pound of fuel, but because the system needs so much power, it can only move a small amount of fuel at a time, so the acceleration is low, and it takes a lot longer to move something. Almost a 1000 times longer. Plus there’s not enough force to lift something off the ground.

Lois sighed, her brain clearly overloading from an evening of too much physics.

"So... the new engines combine the technologies, ionizing the fuel and accelerating it into the combustion chamber, then igniting it. They can still get the big thrust they need to lift off, and also use less fuel to get into orbit. With me so far?"

"Sure... fine... go on." She put down her coffee and rubbed her eyes. She then placed her chin on both of her hands, her elbows resting on the table. Clark could clearly see that she was very tired. He felt a little guilty since he didn't feel the same fatigue after a long day.

"OK, here's the punch line. To get the fuel ready for combustion, it has to be heated after passing through magnetic fields, here." He pointed to an area on his drawing again. "To do that, they were supposed to install heating devices in that area. But, according to Dr. Platt's report, he found cooling devices. The cooled fuel would clog the fuel injectors, causing the engine to shut down, or worse, to explode."

Lois quickly became animated once again. "Oh my God, Clark, how could they miss something like that?"

"That's another strange thing. According to this report..." He picked up one of the stacks of papers. "... the devices had outer casings that made them look like a heating device, but when he opened one up to do a routine check, he found a cooling mechanism."

Lois's eyes were now wide with excitement. "Deliberate sabotage."

"Looks like it."

"Does the report have the name of who he sent it to?"

Clark looked at the top page of the report, and found the addressee. "Someone named Dr. A. Baines."

Lois sat silently for a moment thinking, then asked, “But why would anybody want to sabotage a new Space Shuttle? It makes no sense, unless someone was angry at the Space Program for some reason.”

“I can’t see any reason either. There is no one who would obviously gain from the failure of the Shuttle. And if they were going for revenge, there would be easier ways to destroy the Shuttle then this.”

"Alright then, I'll type up our findings, and get them ready to brief Perry. You call this Baines person at NASA and get us an interview. Maybe Jimmy can help us get all these notes in a single binder. Oh, and we better call Henderson, he may be interested in all this, it's definitely a motive for killing Dr. Platt. And I'm starving, can you grab me a sandwich out of the vending machine. Anything but the cheese."

Clark had to suppress an amused grin, and made an effort to sound serious when he replied to her demands. "Lois there's a small problem with all of that."

"What? You want me to call Baines?"

"No, it's not that. It's just that... it's after 10 o'clock, and I think NASA is closed, and even Perry went home a few hours ago."

She looked at her watch in surprise. "Oh no, it's 10 o'clock!"

"I think I mentioned that."

"We've been here almost five hours. And I completely forgot about dinner for us... you. I'm sorry Clark."

"I'll be fine. How about you, are you hungry?"

"Yeah, I guess I am. Now that I think about, I'm starved. I'd kill for some good Chinese food right now. But I guess vending machine sandwiches will have to do."

Clark stood up, and grabbed his coat. "Actually, I know a place. I'll grab us something, and you find us some soft drinks. I'll be right back."

"Wait! Don't you want to know what I want?"

"I bring a selection. Do you like mild or spicy."

"I'm kind of like it a little spicy... um, that is my food."

Clark scowled at her. 'She must be tired,' he thought. "OK, I'll be right back."

He made his way to the elevator, hopped in, and pushed the button for the top floor. After he got off, he made his way to the roof by the stairs, and was airborne after quickly changing into his superhero suit. Once he was safety above commercial air traffic, he headed for Shanghai to pick up their dinner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lois shook her head as she watched Clark head for the elevator. 'I must be tired,' she thought to herself. She got up, walked out of the conference room, and headed to the copy room, where the newsroom's refrigerator was kept. She reached into the refrigerator, and retrieved a bag marked 'Touch these and die' on the outside. She pulled out a couple of cream sodas, and replaced the bag back inside the fridge. She then grabbed a couple of cans of cola, and returned to the conference room.

Just as she sat down, Marty, from down in the printing press, came out of the elevator, a stack of newspapers in his arms. He spied Lois, and made his way over to her. He took the top paper off the pile in his arms and tossed on the table for her.

"Hot of the press, Ms. Lane. You made it above the fold again."

"Thanks Marty." She picked up the paper, and looked over her article on Superman. She still got that thrill every time she saw her name on the front page. She still wished she had gotten a picture, but a front page story was always good. She saw that Marty had dumped the rest of the papers in the usual spot in the newsroom, and had left to get back to the printing press.

After finishing with the front page, and she opened the paper to the editorial section. She always liked to see what Perry had come up with for the editor's page. He rarely ever pulled any punches, and his editorials always were interesting and entertaining at the same time.

She was about to put the paper down, when something caught her eye. Could it be? There in the bottom corner, was an article with the byline 'Clark Kent'. Curious, she folded the paper, and settled in to read the article.

********
'Bittersweet Memories'

by Clark Kent

If you walk the streets of downtown Budapest, in many places you will find yourself traversing the same cobblestone pathways built hundreds of years ago. In England, Stonehenge still stands, mute testimony to the people that once inhabited the area. In Rome, the Coliseum gives witness to the ancient culture that once lived in that region.

But here in the United States, everything is new and fresh. Our history, barely over a couple of hundred years in the making, is like an infant, compared to the ancient histories of Rome or Greece. Our culture values the new, embraces change, and always looks to what is over the next horizon.

But sometimes we may rush too fast in our desire to move on... to improve. How much do we tear down without a thought to the history of a place? Nowadays, a demolition crew can wipe out in seconds a building that has housed several lifetimes’ worth of memories and traditions.

One such place is, or by the time you read this, was, the Sarah Bernhardt Theater. It was home to many a night of drama, romance, intrigue, and laughter. It stood firmly amongst the glittering lights of the local movie houses, as a place where people of little means could still see live actors perform on stage. In its heyday, the Bernhardt saw the likes of Katherine Hepburn, Judy Holiday, Laurence Olivier, Kim Novak, Al Pacino, and James Cromwell gracing its stage.

But in the last few years the famous names stopped coming to the Bernhardt, and only local community groups hosted their productions there. Without the high revenues, the theater became the target of local developers who saw not the history of the theater, but the potential for profit. They closed the theater, and brought in the wreaking ball.

I was there, on what was suppose to be the last day in the life of the Bernhardt. A mechanical failure, not the hundred or so protesters outside, silenced the wrecking ball that day. It gave me the chance to visit the Bernhardt, and view the history lining the walls of this venerable lady. It was there that I meet Beatrice.

There she was on stage, a woman in a long gown and feathered hat, performing to a nonexistent audience. I caught her in mid-soliloquy, reciting from the play 'The Cherry Orchard', by Anton Chekhov, a personal favorite of mine. I can still hear her heart felt voice in my head:

"oh, for the days of my childhood!
Back when my soul was pure!
I slept right here in this nursery,
looking out at the orchard from this very room,
and every morning I awoke with such joy in my heart!
My orchard is just the same as it was then.
Nothing different."
(she laughs with joy)
"All of it, all of it dressed in white!
My lovely orchard!"

Unable to hold back, I applauded her from the darkness of the torn out seats. She stopped, surprised, and asked me who I was. After listening to her I could honestly reply, 'A fan.'

She looked at me, such sadness in her eyes as she spoke. "They want to tear it down. They think it will die when that ball hits, but they don't understand. A theatre is more than bricks and mortar. It's drama and passion and mystery and comedy and... life. And this..." She sweeps her majestically at the room. "... this is the place where dreams came true. Where life was put on display. So much of me is still here. Don't make me go, just yet. I'm not ready."

She looked around at the grand old theater, seeing not the torn wreckage, but the glory of what was. "You understand," she spoke to me softly, "I just wanted to say... goodbye." I watched as she finished her one woman show, and afterward I listened to her life story.

Beatrice was eighteen when she made her debut at the Bernhardt. Warren G. Harding was President, the Unknown Soldier was interred at Arlington, and Babe Ruth was sold to the Yankees.

It was a different era, a time of promise and renewal. Beatrice was filled with all those emotions and more when she stepped onto the Sarah Bernhardt stage for the first time.

But now the emotions, and the times, were different. This time she came to say goodbye. Goodbye to a young girl in a gossamer dress, goodbye to the players, long dead. To the spirit of this old theatre, so strong that nothing, not even the wrecking ball, could destroy it.

She came to say goodbye, as we all must, to the past... and to a life and a place that soon would exist only in a bittersweet memory.

************

Lois wiped the tears that had fallen on her cheeks, glad that Clark was not here when she had read his article. The article had been short, but had captured the powerful emotions felt by Beatrice at the passing of something that had been so core to her life. Lois even imagined herself in the same position, thinking how she would feel, if years from now, she watched the wreaking ball demolish the Daily Planet.

Clark hadn't said anything about his article making it into the paper on his first day. He must have written it before the interview. She knew that if it were her, she would have made sure that everyone knew that she had gotten an article printed. But not Clark. 'He probably won't even mention it if I don’t asked him about it.

Again her preconceptions of Clark changed again. Whoever he was, he certainly more than just a Kansas farm boy.

End Part 8