Clark was the first one awake the next morning. This wasn’t unusual since he didn’t need as much sleep as Pete and Lana. He had long since trained himself to turn his super hearing off whenever his parents were in their bedroom together, and the habit transferred to his friends for the few weeks of every year when the three of them were on tour. This particular morning he had his nose buried in the front page of the Daily Planet. Somehow, he never had gotten around to previewing the interview on Thursday evening. His eyes were on the words, but, since he had read the entire article in thirty seconds, his mind was free to wander back to the night before. He hadn’t been kissed like that in…well, ever. He’d liked it. A lot. He planned to do it as often as he could for the foreseeable future.
He was absentmindedly downing his second bowl of apple-spice oatmeal when Lana appeared, dressed in blue jeans and a mock turtleneck sweater, and headed for the coffee machine. “Well?” she said as she dropped into the seat next to his.
“Well what?” Clark answered automatically, not lifting his eyes from the article.
“Well, I take it from your remarkable concentration that the captivating Ms. Lane actually printed your interview this time. How’d she do?”
“You tell me,” Clark said, handing the paper to Lana. The headline screamed “Superman Confirms Intelligent Life on Alien Planet,” with the subhead, “’I’m Here to Help’ says Flying Hero.” Lana scanned the article, searching for any hint that Superman might be hiding a secret identity. She found none. What she did find was a sympathetic portrayal of the hero as a refugee from a distant world who had used his unique talents to earn a warm welcome from the inhabitants of his adopted homeland. In addition to Lois’s conversation with Superman, there were several quotes from people he had rescued, and official statements of welcome from the Mayor of Metropolis and the Governor of New Troy. A sidebar by Eduardo Friaz provided an analysis of the probabilities of life existing on other planets besides Earth and Krypton and a brief discussion of the implications of Einstein’s theory of relativity for faster than light travel.
She handed the paper back to Clark with a noncommittal, “Not bad. If you like that sort of thing.” Clark figured that was as good as he was going to get until at least a few weeks had passed without the appearance of a “Superman’s Secret Identity” expose.
“Well, Clark,” Lana said in the tone of one changing the subject, “time’s up. You’ve got two interviews this afternoon, your last book signing tonight, and then the tour is officially over. We’ve got the suite booked through the weekend, but Arthur Chow has it starting Monday, so I need a decision. Are you going back undercover, or do I need to find us something more long term in Metropolis?”
Clark put the paper down with a soft swish. He took a sip of coffee, noticed it had gone cold, zapped it with his heat vision, took a second, more satisfactory sip, then finally replied, “Undercover, but not in Nepal.”
“Where, then?” was the obvious next question.
“Right here.”
“Come again?”
Clark set his coffee mug down and leaned back in his chair, feet crossed at the ankles and arms crossed over his chest. Lana recognized this as his ‘talking business’ pose. “You and Pete head back to Smallville. Put the word out that Clark Kent has left Metropolis for a short sabbatical before beginning the research for his next book. But before you go, I’ll need a house. Nothing fancy or too big. Something an average Joe could afford. Maybe one of those brownstones in the Hyperion Avenue neighborhood.”
“Let me get this straight: you want to *pretend* to leave Metropolis? Won’t people get suspicious when Clark Kent’s name shows up on the property rolls?”
“No, they won’t, because Clark Kent is not buying this house. Caleb Knight is. Or rather, Clark’s new Limited Liability Corporation is buying it on Caleb’s behalf. Give Lloyd a call and have him set it up. Call it…Norbert Enterprises.”
“Norbert?” Her voice and her eyebrows rose in tandem.
“You had to be there,” he grinned.
“So, just to clarify, you want your lawyer to set up a shell company to buy a house for a fictional man.”
“Caleb Knight,” Clark supplied.
“Yes, Caleb. Who’s going to live in Metropolis,” Lana confirmed.
“You got it,” Clark replied cheerfully. “Oh, and I’m going to need a cell phone.”
“Sure. A cell phone for Caleb Knight. Whatever you say.” Lana just shook her head.
*****
Lois felt like the queen of the world as she strode into the newsroom late Friday morning. She’d already fielded four phone calls at home from reporters at other papers wanting to know how she’d contacted Superman—as if she’d ever tell. Ha!—and one from Lucy wanting to know if he was really as “yummy” in person as he seemed on T.V. She could still hear her sister’s voice complaining, “I can’t believe I let Amanda talk me into moving a month early. I’m missing all the excitement.”
Jimmy greeted her cheerfully as she set her shoulder bag down on one corner of her desk. He picked up a small stack of phone messages from the other corner and leaned casually against the half-wall which separated her desk from Eduardo’s.
“You’re Miss Popularity this morning, Lois. You’ve got three messages from Lex Luthor’s personal assistant. I guess if you’re good enough for Superman, then you’re good enough for Luthor.” Jimmy rifled through the messages one by one before placing them dramatically in front of her. “Oh, yeah,” he said when he was down to the last message, “some guy named Caleb called. He was real insistent that I write his number down. Said you didn’t have it yet. He made me read it back to him twice.”
“Give me that!” Lois grabbed for the last message. “Caleb Knight,” she read silently, “555-8057 Dinner tomorrow?” She was reaching for the phone when she noticed Jimmy still standing there, watching her every move with ill-disguised curiosity. She gave him a pointed stare until he shrugged his shoulders and scampered off in the general direction of the records room. When she was sure he was out of earshot, she picked up her phone and dialed.
“This is Caleb,” came a cheerful and heartwarmingly familiar voice on the other end of the line.
Something strange about the background noise made her ask, “Where are you?”
“10,000 feet over Hobb’s Bay. Where are you?” She could hear his amusement even over the phone.
“I’m at work, of course. Are you telling me that you’re answering this phone while you’re…” she paused briefly to come up with the right wording for a public setting…”in uniform?”
“Why not? There’s no one around to hear me. And the whole point of even having this number is so you can reach me whenever you need to. I’m glad it works up here, though; I was a little worried about the coverage.”
Lois shook her head in bemusement. “It works fine. I got your message. Obviously.”
“So? What do you say? Can I buy you dinner tomorrow? I’m sorry I can’t do it tonight. I’ve got another engagement I can’t get out of easily.”
“Tomorrow’s fine.” She only paused a beat before daring to ask, “What kind of engagement does…our mutual acquaintance have?”
“That’s not who has the engagement. It’s the Other Guy. And it’s a work thing. But after that my schedule’s pretty clear. I loved the article by the way.”
“You read it?” That was a silly question, she realized as soon as the words were out of her mouth.
He didn’t tease her about it, though. His voice was utterly sincere as he replied, “I always read your work.” Then, seemingly apropos of nothing, he asked, “Do you have a passport?”
“Of course. Every reporter does. Why do you ask?”
“Bring it with you tomorrow. I’m taking you out for pasta. Of course I plan to bring you back again, but it would be a good idea to have it along just in case. If there were some huge disaster in China or something and I had to leave suddenly, I wouldn’t want you stranded in Florence.”
“Florence. Gotcha.” She rolled her eyes, but a smile played at her lips.
“Hey, we have to check out the goods for Bobby, don’t we? Just to make sure it’s up to his exacting standards.”
“Sure we do. What time should I expect you?”
“Is three too early? The restaurants in Europe are open pretty late, but there is a six hour time difference.”
“No problem. I’ll eat a light lunch. What should I wear?”
“It’s a family restaurant. And I don’t think I can completely avoid the wind on the way, so slacks are probably best. Something along the lines of what you had on last night would be perfect.”
“Okay. It’s a date.”
“Great. I’ll see you then. And call this number any time. I’ll always answer if I possibly can. If it’s a real emergency, just scream loud,” he teased.
“Sure. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See you.” There was a small pause. “Bye.”
“Bye.” As she hung up the phone, Lois was struck by a sudden and overwhelming realization.
Oh my God, she thought, I’m Superman’s girlfriend!
She didn’t have long to ponder this new state of affairs before she was accosted by a familiar bellow. “Lois! My office! Now!” Grabbing a fresh notepad and pencil, she headed off to answer the summons.
“What’s up, Chief?” she asked in a fair imitation of her normal voice.
Perry put down the paper he’d been perusing and motioned for Lois to take a seat in his guest chair. “Darlin’, you’ve outdone yourself,” he beamed. “This is first rate journalism. You should be proud.”
“Thanks.” Lois couldn’t suppress a smile at her editor’s praise.
“What’s more, the suits upstairs are pleased as punch—circulation is up 12% at newsstands this morning.”
“That’s great.” Why did she get the feeling there was a ‘but’ coming?
“But,”—yep, there it was—“we’ve got a problem.”
“How so?”
Perry picked up a stack of phone messages at least as big as the one Jimmy had been waving around earlier that morning. “These all came in since 8:00 this morning, and poor Gloria at the switchboard is fielding more every hour.” He picked the messages off the stack one by one and laid each one down on his desk with a flourish. “This one is from the Luthor Center for the Blind; they want Superman to appear at their celebrity bachelor auction. This one is from the Muscular Dystrophy Foundation. They want him for their telethon next month.” The list went on, degenerating into an unintelligible mumble until Perry waved the last message in the air and proclaimed, “And this one is from the Mayor’s office. He wants to give Superman the Keys to the City. Lois, it’s got to stop. This is a newspaper, not a public relations firm. I don’t know how you contacted Superman for your interview, and I don’t want to know. Just get him on the line—or whatever it is you do—and tell him he’s got to handle his own phone calls from now on. Capiche?”
“Sure, Chief. I’ll do my best.” What else could she have said? She turned to head back to the bullpen, but Perry called her back.
“Here.” He held the pile of messages out to her. “Take these with you. You might as well pass them on.” Reluctantly, Lois took the stack and headed back to her desk. Somehow, she didn’t think Caleb had anticipated this when he’d invented Superman.
***
When she got back to her desk her phone was ringing. It was Benny Bonebreak , her second best snitch, who insisted he had to talk to her *right now* in the alley behind the Fudge Castle. So, by the time she got around to calling Caleb about the problem with the phone messages, it was almost lunch time. Perry had met her at the elevator door with half a dozen more messages and a scowl that said, “Get on this pronto, young lady.”
With a touch of fear and trembling, she dialed Caleb’s number. At first she thought she’d misdialed, the voice which answered was so different from his earlier breezy tone. “Hello,” came the very businesslike answer to her ring.
“Uh, hello, this is Lois Lane from the Daily Planet. I was trying to reach Caleb Knight.” Who else could possibly be picking up Caleb’s phone?
“Yes, Ms. Johnson, thank you for returning my call,” the voice said, causing Lois even more confusion. “Can you hold for just a moment?” Without waiting for a reply, the voice lost several decibels and said faintly, “Excuse me, Liz. Are we just about finished here? I really should take this call.”
A second voice, even fainter, could barely be made out replying, “No problem, Mr.…” before it was cut off abruptly by what Lois imagined was a hand placed over the phone’s mouthpiece.
Just when she was about to hang up and try again, Caleb’s familiar voice came on the line at last. “I’m sorry about that. I was in the middle of a meeting, but I’m done now. What’s up?”
“It’s about you-know-who.” Lois was still trying to get her head around the idea that Caleb was somewhere in Metropolis, dressed as his Other Self, talking to her in a room that he had apparently cleared for that express purpose .
“Our friend in blue? What about him?” he asked easily.
“Well, apparently every charity and P.R. agent on the East Coast has decided that, since the Planet published his first official interview, we must know how to reach him. I’ve got a stack of messages for him on my desk, and my editor’s breathing down my neck to get them to stop.”
“Oh, my. I should have thought of that. I’m sorry. Tell your editor that he—and every other major newspaper in the country—will have a press release naming Superman’s PR firm on his desk within the hour. Do you want me to send a messenger for the pile?”
“No. They can call back once the press release is out. If it gets here by 3:00 it will make the evening edition.”
“I’ll make sure of it. Meanwhile, if anyone else calls, you can tell them that Superman has his own secretary, and you’re not it. They can read about it in the Daily Planet.” The smile was definitely back in his voice. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m really looking forward to it.”
“Me too. See you then.”
“Well,” Lois thought as she hung up the phone, “He handled that better than I would have expected.” It wasn’t the first time she’d had that thought, she mused.
