[Making this post longer by popular demand, so don't know what the final post count will be...]
Somehow she made it through the rest of the afternoon without giving herself away. Perry spent most of his time on the phone with the Planet’s Washington correspondents, following up on the Metro collapse that was all over the TV news channels, and with Kent away from his desk all afternoon there wasn’t anyone she had to get into any detailed work conversations with. She was surprised by how many friendly greetings and good wishes she got from her coworkers. Lois was used to being a bit of a lone wolf (or a mad dog, if you listened to the rumor mill), but no one except Ralph and that new guy—Guthrie?—seemed to be making the usual effort to steer clear of her.
Left alone at her desk, Lois spent the afternoon poring over her own most recent clippings. There were a few articles with her individual byline, but most were by Lane and Kent. After perusing a handful, she had to admit that the joint pieces were even better than the ones she wrote alone. They had her trademark hard-hitting, take-no-prisoners aggressiveness, but combined with insights into the human lives affected by the various stories. She remembered the first article that Clark Kent had ever written for the Planet, a mood piece about an old theater, and recognized his touch. She even saw a bit of it in her individual pieces as well; something of his style had obviously rubbed off on her over the years.
From what she could tell from her notebooks and computer files, her current investigation involved Metro General Hospital cutting corners on patient care and possible insider deals between its Board of Directors and that of a certain HMO. And it was definitely a joint project with Clark Kent, if all the references like “CK to follow up with Granger” And “Clark thinks Lewis is lying” were any indication.
She had fielded two phone calls from sources. One was from a Stacey Cooper, saying sorry, she couldn’t give her anything right now; her boss was getting suspicious and please don’t call her at work again. The other was Bobby Bigmouth, calling to say that, yes, he had also heard rumors about Lewis giving kickbacks to Anderson, and please tell Clark thanks for the Indian food; the samosas were the best he’d ever tasted. And to have a good time this weekend. This weekend? What was that about?
By 6:00 Lois was beginning to doubt that Superman would make it “back to the office” by 6:30. The TV monitors showed no easing up of his rescue work in DC. She was surprised at her own mixed feelings about seeing him tonight. All afternoon she had been focused on reacquainting herself with her work life. She had barely paused to consider her personal life. Now, as the work day was drawing to a close, she found herself more and more anxious about what came next. She had only had one brief conversation with Superman, and she had been stunned by the revelation of their apparent marriage. He had spoken to her with tenderness and concern, even with love, but simultaneously with such…casualness. For her, such intimacy with her hero was astounding, earth-shaking, mind-blowing. But for him, it was obviously the stuff of every-day life. Now, as the time drew near for her to see him again, she realized that she had no idea how to behave around him.
Things were winding up earlier than usual in the newsroom as many of the staff were going home to change for the Kerth ceremony. Apparently the rule about only nominees attending had been dropped somewhere along the way. She should start getting ready herself. Should she go home to change? It might be helpful to check out that house on Hyperion Avenue. But Superman had said to wait for him until 6:30. Surely he didn’t expect her to get home, change, and be at the hotel in 30 minutes? On a hunch, she headed down to the locker room. Sure enough, there was an evening gown and a bag of make-up, jewelry, and other accessories hanging near her locker. Obviously her working hours hadn’t gotten any more predictable over the years; even if she didn’t remember doing it, she’d obviously come prepared to go straight from the office to the ceremony.
It was 6:40 by the time she was ready to go, and Superman was still winding things up in Washington, so Lois took a cab and headed for the Lexor. Clark Kent’s jacket was still hanging on his chair. Whatever he was up to, he hadn’t made it back all day.
Lois meandered into the ballroom and looked around for a familiar face. Alice White waved at her from a table near the dance floor. As Lois approached, Alice stood and leaned over for a friendly embrace.
“Perry told me your other half might be late. I hope he’ll make it in time for the announcement.” Superman was going to make an announcement? She knew he made occasional public appearances. She had been planning to make a bid for a date with him at a charity auction this week. <You mean ten years ago this week.> She picked up her program and scanned it, but didn’t see any mention of Superman; only the normal dinner speech and the announcements of the winners after dinner. Alice gestured toward a seat with Lois’s name card in front of it. She was seated between James Olsen <James?> and Clark Kent, neither of whom appeared to have arrived yet. Oh, wait, there was Jimmy (James?) heading her way with two glasses of wine from the bar. To her surprise he held one out to her.
Seeing her puzzled expression, he explained, “I heard CK was running late; white wine okay?”
“Sure—thanks,” was all she could manage. What did Clark running late have to do with Jimmy bringing her wine? The longer she stayed here (or now?), the less she seemed to have figured out.
The table filled up with Planet employees, some familiar faces and others new to Lois. She chatted amiably, feeling incredibly awkward but trying not to show it. She wasn’t used to being so warmly included in casual social conversation, but she put on her best smile and kept her responses vague enough to cover her ignorance—she hoped. Perry was among the last to arrive, having finally handed off the paper to the night editor. As the soup was served, only Kent’s place was still empty. The band was playing old jazz standards and the dance floor was starting to fill up.
Lois was making her way back from the ladies’ room after the soup course when an obviously drunk Guthrie (she hadn’t even heard his first name) swooped her into his arms and stumbled her onto the hardwood.
“Let’s dance, Lois; you could use a little loosening up.” She grabbed his hands in hers and attempted to remove them from her hips.
“Beat it, Guthrie, I’m not interested.”
“Oh, come on—your husband’s not even here.”
Suddenly she found the two of them neatly flanked by Jimmy and Perry. Jimmy smoothly disentangled her from Guthrie’s grasp and steered the jerk toward the terrace as Perry swept Lois into his own arms.
“I’m sure you won’t mind if I cut in,” she heard Perry say, and, simultaneously from Jimmy, “Yeah, Guthrie, it’s a good thing for you her husband isn’t here. He may seem like a boyscout, but he’ll bite your head off if you mess with his wife. Come on, buddy, you need some fresh air.”
She gave Perry a grateful smile and was just beginning to relax into the dance when they were interrupted by Clark Kent trotting in from the lobby.
“Sorry I’m late, Chief—mind if I steal my partner?” he said with a grin.
“Hey, far be it from me to come between Lane and Kent!” Perry replied with a twinkle in his eye. “I’m glad you could make it.”
Lois was speechless. She was in the arms of the third man in the course of one dance, and she was still trying to get her bearings. As she finally focused on Kent’s face, she was taken aback by the light in his eyes and in his smile. “You, my love, are a sight for sore eyes!” he announced as he steered her into a turn and then pulled her close before planting a kiss on the side of her neck.
This was nothing like Guthrie! Kent was a graceful and talented dancer, and the feelings he was stirring in her just by the touch of his hand on her bare back were…they were…
”Mr. Kent! I’ll have you know that I am a married woman!” At the moment, Lois was reminding herself as much as him, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Thank goodness for that! I’d hate to think what trouble Guthrie would get himself into if he didn’t know you were already taken,” Kent replied with an easy grin. He showed no signs of loosening his embrace and kept steering them smoothly around the floor.
“You saw that?” was all she could manage in response.
“I heard; I got in here as fast as I could, but it sounded like you and Jim and Perry had things under control. Jim’s right; your husband doesn’t like people messing with his wife. But, personally, I’d be more worried about the wife if I were Guthrie.” And, with that, he actually winked at her and dipped her as the music drew to a close.
The dance floor was emptying as the main course was being served, and Kent guided Lois to their table, one hand resting softly at the small of her back. She was completely nonplussed by his reaction—or lack thereof—to her protest.
This was making no sense whatsoever. Perry and Jimmy were all over Guthrie as soon as he approached her, with dire warnings about the wrath of Superman (although they didn’t actually use his name). But here was Clark Kent touching her in a very familiar, almost possessive way, and all Perry did was to look up with a warm smile as they approached the table.
“Busy afternoon, hey Clark? How’d it go with those sources?”
“Pretty well, thanks, Chief. This could pan out into a major story, but it’s too early to tell yet. I hear Manendez got the interview on the Metro cave-in from Superman.” As he spoke, Clark pulled Lois’ chair out and held it for her as she sat.
“Yeah; it’ll be Page One tomorrow. Too bad it couldn’t have been an exclusive, but I suppose he did have to talk to the Post, it being their town and all.”
Lois was just lifting her first bite of salmon to her mouth when Alice White turned toward her. “I hear you’re foot-loose and fancy-free for a long weekend; who’s got the children?”
Children? There are children? As in my children? As in my plural children? Who was supposed to have them? Who did have them?
Just as Lois was about to hit true panic mode, she heard Clark answer smoothly, “The boys are ‘camping’ with Grandpa; which, in this case, means burning hot dogs and marshmallows over the grill in the backyard, staying up too late in sleeping bags on the deck, and begging for a warm kitchen and Grandma’s French toast in the morning.”
Then, just as smoothly, Jimmy chimed in, “And Aunt Lucy is having girl’s night in with Lara and Cousin Tina, which, as far as I can tell, involves several sparkly pink hair doo-dads, a manicure, and a stack of Disney Princess movies.”
“Well, I know you’ll enjoy the respite from mommy-dom, Lois; and I also know you’ll be itching to get them all back home by Sunday evening.”
Lois flashed Alice what she hoped looked like a knowing smile. Now she was really starting to panic. Lois Lane, reporter she could be. She already was. Lois Lane, Mrs. Superman she thought she could quickly get used to. But Lois Lane, Mommy?! This was a nightmare. She didn’t even like kids, and now it sounded like she was expected to play mommy—no, to be mommy—to three of them.
Just as she was concentrating on breathing at a normal rate and keeping her face relaxed, Lois felt a warm, gentle hand reach under her hair to caress the back of her neck. Clark Kent shot her one brief glance—how could he pack so much concern and tenderness into one glance?—and quickly changed the subject. “Alice, I hear you’re spearheading the fundraising drive for the new family services center. How’s it going?”
She didn’t hear Alice’s answer. All she was aware of was that hand still massaging her neck and shoulders in slow, lazy circles. All the tension seemed to flow right out of her muscles and into that hand, only to disappear somewhere in the ether. Wow, that was some partner she had if he could calm her jangled nerves with one touch.
Wait a minute! The hand stopped its neck massage and moved under the table to give her knee a gentle squeeze. This was not how a work partner was supposed to touch his colleague. This was the touch of a lover; and delivered so familiarly, so almost casually, that he didn’t even make eye contact with her. He just kept chatting with Alice and the other people at the table, all the while sending her unmistakable messages with his touch.
What the heck was going on?! Lois was married to Superman—and having an affair with Clark Kent?! That made no sense! Why would any woman cheat on Superman? On the other hand, how could any woman resist a man who touched her like Clark Kent was touching her now? What? How could she be thinking of Clark Kent that way? The man was a nobody; a hick; a hack; all of the above!
Well, to be honest, those pieces she’d read that afternoon were not written by a hack. And he certainly no longer looked or acted like a hick, either. His hair was short and his glasses much more subtle than the horn rims she was used to seeing on him, giving him a more mature, sophisticated look. Like every other man in the room, he was wearing a tuxedo, so she couldn’t judge his fashion sense. But, boy, did he make that tuxedo look good. And he held himself with an air of easy grace that was new to her. He was no longer the wide-eyed country boy in awe of the big city. He was more like a man who was confident in his abilities and his place in the world; a man who felt at home in his own skin. And, as for being a nobody…
“Clark! Lois! Congratulations on yet another nomination. When are you two going to flee those Metropolis winters and come join us in sunny California? You know you can write your own ticket.” The speaker was Greg Hanson, Editor in Chief of the L.A. Times, who had sauntered over from a nearby table as the dinner dishes were being cleared.
Perry quickly countered, “Greg, you old hound dog, you’ve been trying to steal my best reporters for years, but give it up. You know Lane and Kent are the hottest team in *this* town, and the Planet will match any offer to keep them here.”
Clark’s voice chimed in, “Greg, you know we’re flattered, but Metropolis is our home. Keep those offers coming, though; it makes Perry much more generous at bonus time,” he finished with a grin.
“Well, you can’t blame a man for trying. Meanwhile, I see that the M.C. is getting ready to start the announcements, so I’d better get back to my table. Good luck, you two!”
Lois was only half listening as the winners for the other awards were announced and made their speeches. She recognized several of the names and faces. Others were new to her. Mostly, she was trying to organize her thoughts, to make sense of this brave new world and where she fit into it. Some of the players were reassuringly familiar. Perry was still Perry, and that was a comfort since he was the centerpiece of her working life. Jimmy was still bright-eyed and friendly, although he had matured over the years. He was a self-assured man of thirty, no longer an over-eager boy of twenty. He had spent half the evening answering questions from the man on the other side of him about the Planet’s “cyberspace presence,” whatever that was. And she spotted a gold band on his left hand. (And one on Clark Kent’s as well. Not surprising, come to think of it; didn’t 90% of all people eventually marry?) Jimmy had been like a younger brother to Lois, one of the few people at the Planet who might have considered her a friend. And they were obviously still close if he knew where her daughter was for the weekend. (Daughter?! Boys?! Don’t go there, Lane.) The big question mark was Clark Kent. She had barely known the man before, but it was abundantly clear that Clark considered them on intimate terms.
And where was her husband? There was so much to adjust to that she was starting to question her own memory, but she could have sworn that Superman had said he would meet her at the ceremony. Hadn’t Alice even said that he was running late? “Late” implied that she expected him to show up at some point, didn’t it? Yet here they were, well into the announcements, and there was still no sign of the hero in blue. She was suddenly struck with the ridiculous mental picture of Superman, resplendent in blue, red, and yellow, amid the sea of black-and-white tuxedos. He wouldn’t wear a tux, himself, would he? She’d never heard of him ever wearing anything other than the famous costume.
Her musings were interrupted by the sound of her own name being called by the M.C. What was he saying? Oh, yes: “The award for best investigative journalist goes to….Lois Lane and Clark Kent of The Daily Planet.” The table erupted in applause and “Congratulations!” as Clark rose and held his hand out to her. Numbly, she took his hand and followed as he led her to the podium. In a daze, she shook hands with the M.C. and held the award that he handed her as Clark kept one hand on the small of her back and addressed the crowd:
“Thank you very much.” He paused as the applause died down, and when the room was still, he continued, “Ten years ago, I was sitting in Perry White’s office trying my damnedest to land my dream job when this whirlwind of energy burst in, talking a mile a minute about the story she was working on and not even noticing that I was in the room. Perry introduced us, and within seconds she was rushing out again, onto a hot lead and without a second glance in my direction. I know she was as surprised as I was when Perry offered me that job, and shocked---actually more like offended,” he amended with a self-deprecating smile, “when he assigned me to work with her on that same story. I believe the word she used was ‘hack,’ and she wasn’t far from the truth. But Perry had seen something in me, and something in Lois, and he had the wisdom to see how much she could teach me—how much we both could learn from him and from each other. Lois had three Kerths of her own before I ever knew her, and she taught me so much so quickly that I won my first Kerth that next year, but I know that none of those awards mean as much to either of us as the--now—three that we have won together. So, on behalf of my partner and myself, I want to thank all of you for your kind recognition, but especially Perry White for having the foresight and the courage to pair up one naïve country boy and one cynical city girl to make a team that is better together than either of us ever could have been alone. Thank you.”
The crowd erupted in applause again, and Lois gave a gracious smile and a wave as Clark gently steered her back to their table. Dessert had been served as the announcements wound down, and a slice of chocolate torte greeted her as she took her seat, along with a cup of black coffee. After holding her chair for her and then taking his own seat, Clark reached for a yellow packet of sweetener and a miniature pitcher of milk and passed them to her before pouring two spoons of sugar and two packets of cream into his own coffee. With one half of her brain she smiled and modestly thanked her friends and colleagues who were showering them with “Congratulations!” With the other half, she was still trying to figure out Clark Kent. His speech had not been what she would have expected—if she had had time to think of what to expect. There was none of the overweening male ego she had encountered in every other reporter she had ever tried to work with. She would have expected him to take most of the credit, maybe thanking her for her “assistance.” Instead, he had made it clear that theirs was a partnership of equals. If anything, he had made her sound like the more experienced partner. Which she was, but, she could tell from the way everyone around her treated him, Clark Kent was also admired and respected in his own right.
The band was warming up again, and Clark leaned over to whisper in her ear, “May I have one whole dance with the six-time Kerth winner before the night is through?” She turned to answer him and found her eyes mere inches away from a gaze full of admiration and…pride? Yes, he was proud of her, and of himself. He was proud of them. She nodded her head and he stood and led her onto the dance floor. “They’re playing our song,” he smiled as the opening strains of “Fly Me to the Moon” wafted over the room.
And she was in his arms. And the universe contracted to this single point: Lois and Clark, touching, gliding, turning, the music filling her ears and his touch, his movement, his presence filling her awareness, and the fear, the anxiety, the frantic thinking was gone. She was at peace. She was safe. She was home.
The spell lasted as long as the dance. As the last phrase of music faded away, Clark drew her into his embrace and kissed the top of her head. She lifted her face to him, he lowered his head toward hers…and she panicked. He was going to kiss her, right there in the middle of the dance floor. And he was married. And she was married—to Superman! She bolted. She mumbled something incoherent, made a vague gesture in the direction of the ladies’ room, and made a run for it.
