From Part 10:
“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.
*****Now, Part 11*****
By approximately 5:45 that evening, Caleb Knight—or rather Norbert Enterprises, LLC—was the proud new owner of a townhouse on Hyperion Avenue. It even had a secret compartment for Superman’s suits. He shook his head in wonder as he brought his mother in for a quick landing in the fenced and tree-lined back yard.
“I can’t believe how quickly you got this done, Cla…Caleb,” she frowned in obvious disapproval of his new name .
“Yeah, me either. Lloyd is pretty amazing. With enough manpower to shepherd the paperwork, he can set up a company in an hour. It was sheer luck that the right house was on the market, though, and that the owners were willing to turn over the keys right away.” Clark unlocked the back door as he spoke and ushered his mother inside.
“I’m sure that paying the asking price by cashier’s check helped.” If Martha’s tone was a little sardonic, it was at least subtle.
“You don’t approve,” Clark stated the obvious while leading his mom into the large, airy kitchen whose built-in breakfast nook provided the only available seating.
Martha gave him a searching look, then replied, “It’s not a matter of approval, honey. You’re a grown man, and I know you have your reasons. But I worry about you. You’ve spent years creating identity after identity so you can get the background material for your books. That always made perfect sense to me. Then you developed this rich playboy persona, which made less sense, but I gave you and Lana the benefit of the doubt. What do I know about marketing books and movies? Maybe it really is necessary. But if it makes you so miserable, it seems there ought to be another way. Superman makes a lot of sense to me; he’s obviously been a huge hit, and he lets you use your talents openly, which is of great benefit to the world, as well as being good for you. But this third person—Caleb Knight? I’m not sure I understand why he’s necessary. If you want to stay in Metropolis, why can’t you just do it as you?”
Clark handed his mom a paper cup of milk and a couple of store-bought cookies on a napkin. He took a seat across from her and tried to find an explanation that wouldn’t hurt her feelings. “I love who I am, Mom—who you and Dad raised me to be. You two are the best parents any boy could dream of. But, like you said, the Clark Kent that most people know isn’t the same man you raised. He’s an image, almost a cartoon. The guy I am when I’m at home with you and Dad is not who most people think of when they hear that name. And now I’ve met this amazing woman, who’s way too smart to fall for a lightweight like Clark Kent , and I desperately want to be myself with her—all of myself, including the part that can fly and light fires with his eyes. Miracle of miracles, she already knows about the strange things I can do, and she likes me anyway. But I can’t be Superman when I’m alone with her—he’s just as one-dimensional as the playboy. I want her to know all of me, the way you and Dad do, or Pete and Lana. But the name you gave me, that I’ll always be proud to carry, leads to certain preconceptions. So I figured that if I could be the real me, but with a new name, she’d have a chance to really know me before she has to overcome the baggage that comes with my name.” He reached to cover her hand with his own. “Does that make sense? Is it okay if I set Clark aside for a little while, just until Lois can hear that name and still see the man under the façade ?”
“Alright,” she agreed thoughtfully. “I guess I can understand that reasoning. Just be sure not to take too long. No woman likes to feel like she’s had the wool pulled over her eyes.”
“I won’t, Mom. And it’s not like I’m lying to her. She knows I have another identity. Heck, she’s the one who named me—twice.”
“Well, I named you first,” his mom countered. He thought she was only half joking.
“So you did. And I wouldn’t trade that name for the world,” he assured her. “I just need to make a few adjustments to it before I can take it back again . And I think you and Lois are just the two brilliant women to help me do it.”
“So, when do I get to meet this bewitching young lady? I’m only here for a week, you know. Your dad couldn’t survive on frozen meatloaf and Bruno’s pizza much longer than that.”
Clark’s eyebrows climbed into his hairline and his eyes opened wide. “Meet her?” he squeaked. Then, lowering his voice back into its normal range, he managed, “Who said anything about meeting her?”
Martha simply fixed him with a steady gaze. “I’m your mother, Clark. If I’m going to abandon your poor father to come all the way back East and help you furnish this house that you bought on the spur of the moment, the least you can do is introduce me to the young lady who inspired this sudden burst of domesticity.”
“I’ll think about it,” was all he was willing to concede for now.
“You do that,” Martha replied with a satisfied nod.
*****
Lois picked at her tuna salad and tried to focus on the movie she’d rented, but Mel Gibson just wasn’t doing it for her tonight. What was wrong with her? She was used to eating dinner alone. She’d done it every night since Lucy moved out, and most weekend nights before that. Just because she’d had one admittedly terrific dinner with Su…Caleb didn’t mean she had to see him every night. She’d be with him again in less than twenty-four hours. And it wasn’t his fault he had to work tonight.
Speaking of work…what kind of job did Caleb have that kept him working late on a Friday night? He could be a policeman or fireman or some other job with an evening shift, but she didn’t think so. He’d phrased it differently. Not, ‘I have to work that night,’ but ‘It’s a work thing.’ That implied a special event of some kind, like a party or a reception. Or dinner with a client? Was he a lawyer—she certainly hoped not— or an investment advisor or some other kind of service job where he had to entertain clients after hours?
He definitely had experience talking to reporters. Now that she knew he’d been raised on Earth, she could read his interview responses through new eyes. He hadn’t lied, but he’d certainly been selective about the truth. He’d deliberately given the impression that he’d been raised on another planet and just recently come to Earth. Of course Lois was as guilty as he was as far as that deception went. She’d known that someone from Krypton had been around for years. She just hadn’t focused on the precise implications of that idea. So what kind of job required regular contact with the press? He could be a spokesman for just about anyone—a government agency, law enforcement, any large business—they all had press officers. That would make a lot of sense. How else would he have been so familiar with PR firms and press releases?
It was so tempting. He’d already given her enough clues to get started. She knew his age, and therefore the year he’d landed on earth. That would almost certainly be the year his parents reported on his birth certificate. She could start with a search for UFO sightings in that year. She knew that he’d been to college—okay, so had a lot of people, but not everyone. He’d almost certainly been raised in the U.S., judging by the way he spoke. Now that she thought of it, he had a slight Midwestern accent. She had a phone number. He wouldn’t have actually registered the phone in his own name, would he?
Lois stopped. What kind of a friend was she? Caleb had trusted her with so much, she was ashamed of herself for even considering investigating him behind his back. Besides, she had the impression that if she really wanted to know his other name, she could just ask him. She didn’t think he’d refuse to tell her if she asked him point blank. And she did want to know, but not as much as she wanted Caleb to get over whatever hang-ups he obviously had about that name. He’d said he wanted a clean slate. At least for now, she was willing to give him one.
Giving up on the movie, Lois turned the TV off and idly flipped through the pages of her Daily Planet evening edition. Sure enough, there was a small article on page 6 and a larger advertisement on page 2 naming the Metropolis office of Temple, Baker, and Lodge as Superman’s official public relations contact. Perry should be happy.
Across from the TB&L ad was one from The Inkwell reminding the Planet’s readers that Clark Kent’s book signing that evening was his final scheduled public event. Seven to nine p.m.…Lois checked her watch. In all the hubbub of the Messenger investigation and then the excitement over Superman, she’d almost forgotten about Clark Kent. This could be her golden opportunity to talk to him without his personal assistant in the way. She needed to time it just right so that it would be almost closing time when she got to the front of the line. Then, a casual invitation for coffee when he was finished…it was a long shot, but it was worth a try. Grabbing her copy of ‘Little David’ from her nightstand, she did a quick makeup check and headed for The Inkwell.
*****
Clark was well into the second hour of the book signing. Lana had just handed him the twelfth Sharpie pen of the evening, but, luckily for him, his hand never really got tired. And he had the idle chit-chat game down to a science. He’d been letting his mind wander a bit when he saw something that sent him into panic mode. Lois had just walked into the store with a copy of his latest book under one arm. She glanced briefly at the display tables at the front of the store then took her place at the end of the line. Good thing for him there were still a couple of dozen people waiting. She was still several yards away, and, since the line snaked sideways away from his table, she wasn’t looking directly at his face.
He couldn’t let her get close to him! It was one thing for her to have seen Clark Kent up close during their interview when she had no one else to compare him to, but now that she’d spent so much time with both Superman and Caleb, there was no way she wouldn’t recognize him. How she had failed to make the connection just from the blow-up of his face on the publicity poster, he’d never know. Must be the glasses; they really did change the shape of his face. Quickly, he leaned over and whispered in Lana’s ear. She listened carefully, then, suppressing a smile at his expense, he was sure, she smoothly rose and walked to the end of the line, bringing one of the store’s employees along with her.
Lois was certain that Clark had noticed her when she’d entered the store. He had looked up suddenly, locked eyes with her from across the room, and then hurriedly lowered his face back to the book he was signing for a balding forty-ish nerd in a button-down shirt and horn rims. He leaned over and whispered something to Lana Ross, who sat next to him at the signing table. So much for catching him alone. Then Ms. Ross got up and, motioning one of the store’s clerks to follow her, approached Lois with what was obviously her best PR smile.
“Ms. Lane! It’s so nice to see you again!” Oh, yeah, Lois was sure that Ms. Ross was just delighted to see the reporter who had wasted an entire evening of her employer’s time as well as hers and her husband’s.
“How have you been?” Lois asked in automatic schmooze mode. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your stay in Metropolis.”
“It’s been lovely, thank you. My husband even got to take in the Tigers/Browns game last week.”
“That’s great. The offensive line held for a change and Kowalski had a pretty good game. I still think Garvy’s going to be shopping for a new quarterback in the spring draft, though .”
“So Pete tells me. But what are you doing standing way back here in line? Let me have your book and Eric here will take it right up front for you.” Before Lois had time to react, her book was in possession of the aforementioned Eric and being carried directly to Clark Kent.
“That really wasn’t necessary. I don’t mind waiting,” she protested.
“It’s no trouble at all. It will only take a moment; it won’t really hold up the line. It’s the least we can do after wasting your time with the interview. I’m sorry you weren’t able to get a workable story out of it.”
“Well, like I told you all at the time, no harm, no foul. Actually, I’d been hoping to take Clark out for coffee after the signing if he’s not too busy. Just to show there’s no hurt feelings.” She wished she didn’t have to make the request through the indomitable Ms. Ross, but it didn’t look like she had any other option at this point.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Somehow Lois doubted that. “Clark has another commitment right after this, and we’ve got an early flight out tomorrow morning. I’m afraid he’s just not available. Maybe the next time he’s in town. Or if you’re ever in Wichita, give us a ring. Here’s my card. It’s not too far from Smallville, and I’m sure he’d love to see you. I hope it works out. Oh, look, here’s Eric back with your book.”
Automatically, Lois opened the proffered book. There on the frontispiece in a firm, remarkably legible script she read, “For Lois, with fond memories of a delightful dinner. Best wishes, Clark Kent.”
When she looked up, she saw that the line had disappeared, all the waiting fans having had their thirty seconds with the dashing Mr. Kent, and he was standing up and pocketing his pen. With one brief friendly wave in her direction, he disappeared into a back room .
“Well, it looks like we’re done here. I’d better go meet Clark and get him off to his next engagement. It was nice seeing you. Good night!” And with that, the red head followed her employer into the back room. Lois had the distinct impression that she’d just been headed off at the pass.
*****
Lex Luthor looked up from his eggs Benedict as Nigel approached and stood quietly a respectful distance away. “Yes?” he acknowledged his underling’s presence, “What is it, Nigel?”
“You wished to be kept informed of Mr. Kent’s movements, sir. I am pleased to report that he and his associates left this morning on United Flight 2360 for Wichita. I personally watched them board the plane and remained vigilant until takeoff.”
Lex waved a dismissive hand. “Fine, Nigel, fine. I don’t think we need worry ourselves any further with Mr. Kent. Has Mrs. Cox had a reply from Lois Lane? Will she be joining me for luncheon?”
“I beg your pardon, but Ms. Lane is apparently otherwise engaged for both luncheon and dinner today. She inquired as to your availability for a formal interview on Monday .”
“I see.” A brief frown crossed Luthor’s face as he contemplated this unwarranted turn of events. It was not every day that a woman turned down an invitation from Lex Luthor. Especially one who had been so obviously eager to make his acquaintance only weeks before. He knew she had dined with Clark Kent only days after they’d met at the White Orchid Ball. But the charming Mr. Kent had left town. That left only Superman as a potential rival for the striking reporter’s attention. Lex knew that she’d been chasing down an interview with the flying Boy Scout for weeks. He’d assumed that, now that her article had been published to wide acclaim, she’d finally be free to turn her attention back to Metropolis’s favorite philanthropist. Apparently not. He put his newspaper down with a decisive thump.
“Nigel, I’m curious,” he announced casually. “What could possibly be taking up so much of the lovely Ms. Lane’s time on a beautiful Saturday afternoon?”
“Shall I have her watched?”
“Yes, Nigel. Please do.” Lex wiped his mouth and placed his fine linen napkin next to his plate. “Let us find out what has Ms. Lane so preoccupied that she has no time for Lex Luthor.”
