I’ve Got This FriendBy Supermom
October 2003
Thanks to my faithful critique partners, Ann and Wanda, for their undying faith in my ability, their support and suggestions, and their belief that my muse would return. You helped make writing fun again.
All rights to these characters belong to Warner Brothers and DC Comics. No copyright infringement is intended.
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Prescott was too far from Metropolis to travel by taxi and too close to fly – at least by commercial airline. Clark could have flown there as Superman in a heartbeat. But he’d have had to explain to Perry and the accounting department at the Daily Planet why he didn’t rent a car; and with everything else going on in his life right now, he just wasn’t up to the trouble. So here he was, driving on a dark stretch of rural highway, a full moon illuminating the sky, and nothing but the radio to keep him company. And it wasn’t doing a very good job since the mountains had interfered with reception and the best station he could receive was a scratchy, static-ridden one broadcasting a high school ball game.
It was just him and his thoughts. And his thoughts weren’t very comforting tonight. His thoughts were filled with Lois. She was beautiful. Gorgeous actually in that earthy, all-woman, big eyes and curvy body sort of way that old movie stars had been. Clark had been smitten when he’d first seen her in Perry’s office. He’d fallen head over heels sometime during the following weeks as they’d worked side by side. Now he was besotted. Bewitched. Captivated. She had him by the heartstrings, and she didn’t even know it. But he loved her all the same, and it was eating at him bit by bit knowing that while he dreamed sensuous fantasies of her at night, she thought of him as a brother at best. At worst, he was a rookie, a competitor, and a threat to her standing at the Planet.
He’d never meant to fall in love with her. He’d learned long ago that under the circumstances, attachments could be complicated. Thorny. Dangerous. His secret had required a certain degree of detachment from society, and through the years this detachment had taken its toll on his emotional well-being. Sure, Clark Kent was probably as well adjusted as anyone, but deep inside he harbored the same basic need as everyone else – to be cared for and about. To be needed. To be appreciated. To be loved. His parents cared for him. And they needed him and loved him. And though the world didn’t know that he was Superman, it appreciated him for the good he did. But he needed to be loved for who he was inside -- the man who loved his mom’s brownies, watched the stars in a dark sky at night, and listened to the frogs after a rain. And now after months of denying it both to himself and his parents, Clark realized that he wanted Lois to love him too. He needed her to love him so that he could return all the love he had inside.
After the Nightfall incident, she had made it pretty clear that her feelings were purely platonic. Yes, they’d shared a few kisses that were pretty terrific for him. But they were under the guise of work – to throw Trask off, to fool a maid. Yet to him they were very real. He could still feel the sensation of her lips next to his, soft and velvety like morning dew on a rose. He could recall the scent of her soap and shampoo. It was clean and fresh and natural and all Lois. And if he taxed his memory, he could summon up the texture of her skin, smooth and warm and supple. And if he remembered any more he might drive himself mad. Or at the very least he’d spend the rest of his nights in a state of heightened arousal followed by a cooling dip in the upper Atlantic.
He sighed and wondered why the fates had tossed him into this situation. He was the Man of Steel. He could outrace a bullet and lift rockets into orbit with one hand. In his superhero persona, he was admired worldwide. But one woman had the ability to quadruple his normal production of stomach acid and leave him tongue-tied whenever he was in her presence. What a deal.
He jabbed the radio’s scan button again, hoping that the last fifty miles traveled had brought him into range of a decent radio station and something to take his mind off Lois. The numbers on the digital readout whizzed through the FM range, pausing briefly on several weak signals and then…
“Hello and good evening. Do you have a story to tell? Is something heavy on your heart? Are you in the throes of true love or the depths of despair? I’d love to hear from you tonight. If you’re in listening range of this station pick up the phone and call me at 1-800-RAMONAH. I’ll play a song for you. We’ll laugh together. Or I’ll lend you my shoulder to cry on – proverbially speaking, of course. This is Ramonah. And I’m here til midnight.”
The smooth sounds of a pop ballad filled the car as the wheels covered more highway and edged its passenger closer to home.
Maybe I’ll hear some poor sap who has it worse than me, and I can feel better by comparison.The song ended and the honeyed voice of the disk jockey filled the air again. “This is Ramonah. Who’s this?”
“Ramonah, this is Jim.”
“And what’s on your heart tonight, Jim?”
Clark listened as a young man recounted his struggle with alcohol and the detrimental effects it had on his family. He told of the embarrassment he had caused his parents and the emotional turmoil he’d created for his wife and children. His story had a happy ending though. He’d conquered his addiction, his parents had forgiven him, and his wife and children had welcomed him back with open arms. And Ramonah segued straight into Journey’s “Open Arms.”
Clark quickly picked up on the format of Ramonah’s show. Whatever the situation, Ramonah had a song to play. A musical balm for whatever ailed you. A lyric to match your mood or situation. A melody to lift your spirits. A caller. A story. Commiseration, congratulations, or sometimes chastisement. A song. Pop or country, fast or slow, the songs were a welcome solace.
As he traveled closer and closer to Metropolis, he shared in the joys and sorrows of Ramonah’s listeners, finding himself drawn into each story, wondering what had caused their situations, how they’d found strength to carry on, or why they’d tolerated as much as they had. And with each story, Ramonah’s soothing voice, empathy, wit, and concern healed another soul out there somewhere.
“Is your heart heavy tonight? Does the one you love not love you back?”
Ramonah’s words pulled Clark from his ruminations.
No, she doesn’t love me back.“The lines are open. Call me at 1-800-RAMONAH and let’s talk.”
He never knew what made him reach for the cell phone. Perhaps it was an unconscious desire to admit that his heart was breaking. Or maybe it was a knee-jerk reaction to the happiness he’d heard from the other listeners. But he found himself pulling the phone from its clip on his belt and punching the appropriate numbers. Before he could chicken out and hit the “End” button, the voice on the other end said “Hello, this is Ramonah.”
What now? Hang up in a fit of embarrassment? Or tell the audience his pitiful tale. Ramonah couldn’t have that many listeners, could she? What were the chances that anyone he knew would hear him?
“This is Ramonah.”
“Uh… hello Ramonah.”
“Who’s calling tonight?”
Real name? Fake name? Think quickly Kent.“This is CJ.”
“How are you CJ?”
“I’m… look, I’ve made a mistake. Sorry to have bothered you.”
* * * *She had missed him at work today. In some totally out of character fashion she missed not having him to tease and badger. When you got right down to it, Kent really wasn’t that bad. Sure he had an annoying habit of editing her copy. And there was the “we” thing. Almost daily she repeated her mantra: There is you. There is I. There is no we. Or was there? The memory of the kiss at the Lexor still troubled her. Why did she remember it so vividly? And why, when Clark leaned over her shoulder at her desk, did she automatically close her eyes and breathe in the scent of him? He smelled like something spicy and sexy with a dash of outdoors mixed in, and it made her toes curl when she got a whiff. Why did his smile make her want to smile back? And why had she missed him so much today?
She pulled the plug on her bubble bath and watched the soapy water swirl down the drain. That’s what her life had felt like lately – murky water spiraling down to who knew where. Was she losing her edge? Had she been in the newspaper game so long that its appeal had vanished? Or had a certain man from Kansas insinuated himself into her life in such a way that the paper no longer held the top spot on her “life’s most important things” list?
She stepped from the tub and dried herself with a fluffy towel. Grabbing her clean nightshirt from the wicker stand by the tub, she spied a dog-eared novel she’d been trying to read for… how long had it been? She tugged the garment over her head, padded barefoot to the vanity, and removed the clip holding her hair off her neck, fluffing the silken strands with her fingers. In the bright light of the bathroom, her reflection stared back at her from the mirror over the sink. What would he say if he saw her like this?
Remember? He’s seen you like this. At the Lexor.And he didn’t run screaming from the room either.
She’d seen him at his worst during their stay at the Luxor too. And if that was his worst, what on earth could his best be? Those couple of days cohabitating had been awkward, sharing quasi-intimacies and banter. Yet there had been a warm familiarity too that had left Lois longing for more.
Especially after that kiss – a kiss that still left her aroused when she allowed herself to think about it. She could close her eyes and picture his face above hers, his dark eyes focused on just her. His hair was the color of bold, rich coffee, and an unruly lock often fell across his forehead. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, she battled daily with the desire to reach out and brush it back, hoping he’d bend his head and kiss her again.
Get a grip, Lane!The likelihood of being on the receiving end of a kiss from Clark was about as good as… as… Well, about as good as Elvis returning from the dead.
Lois straightened up the bathroom and made her way to the kitchen for a cup of something hot. She needed something to help her unwind, but given her mother’s history with alcohol, Lois didn’t want to start depending on that for relaxation. After preparing a cup of her favorite imported Swiss cocoa, she retrieved the novel she had spied earlier and propped up in bed.
“Stop! Don’t!” she cried out as his mouth slanted over hers. He held her face between his hands, her pouty, ruby lips quivering between his thumbs. He kissed her gently at first, waiting for her to return his passion.
When she felt her soul beginning to merge with his, she broke the embrace, sure that if she gave in to him, she would lose herself. But when his dark eyes darkened more, and his breathing turned to panting, she knew that her destiny was set.
He gazed into the depths of her eyes – the entry to her soul. Then dipping his head he nibbled her neck. He worked down the column of her throat, down, down to where the V of her silken chemise ended. Her skin was flushed and enticing. Reaching underneath, he stroked her delicate skin with his callous-roughened fingers and heard her whimper in response. Her body reacted and he grinned at the power he held over her. Grabbing the garment, he pulled until it ripped; and he bent to trail kisses down her ample bosom.
Though she wanted to scream “No!” she heard herself moan instead, fueling both the fire in herself and the inferno in him.
He pulled her against him and she felt his swollen…”“Oh please,” Lois groaned and arced the book across the room toward the wastebasket. Reading purple prose was NOT the way to unwind after she’d been fantasizing about her hunk of a partner.
Hunk? Was that how she viewed him?She turned off her bedside lamp, set the alarm button on the clock, and then pressed the “sleep” button to turn on the radio. Maybe music would help her drift off and stop these infernal thoughts of Clark.
The last few bars of a ballad played and then Lois heard a woman’s sultry voice.
“Who’s calling tonight?”
“This is CJ.”
“How are you CJ?”
“I’m… look, I’ve made a mistake. Sorry to have bothered you.”
* * * *“CJ, I don’t believe that there are any mistakes in this world. Everything happens for a reason. There’s a reason you are listening tonight. And a reason you picked up the phone to call. What’s on your heart tonight?”
“Can you give me a second to pull off the road? It’s kinda hard to drive and talk on this cell phone at the same time?”
“Sure. Take your time. I’ll play another song while you find a safe place.”
Another tune played as Clark searched for a place to pull off the road. He finally found the deserted parking lot of a country store and parked under the sole light that had attracted not only him but a variety of insects and even a couple of stray cats.
“I’ve stopped.”
“Okay, let me put you back on the air.”
Clark heard a soft click and his next words echoed back at him from the dimly lit dashboard.
“No. Wait. I’m still not sure about this”
“Sure about what?”
“Calling you. My thoughts. My feelings. Her.”
Ramonah chuckled. “A woman, huh? Has she got you wrapped around her little finger?”
“Yes,” he admitted, reluctant to voice his situation.
“No!” he recanted quickly. “Maybe…”
“And this is what you aren’t sure about? Whether there’s anything between the two of you?”
“Yeah. Actually, I know how I feel but it’s her that I’m not sure about. The whole deal is kinda one-sided.”
* * * *The voice sounded familiar. Too familiar. But who? Lois listened as the man spoke with the disk jockey, wondering what kind of dope would spill his guts like this for the world to hear.
“How do you know this woman, CJ?”
“We work together.”
“So you’re with her every day?”
“Uh huh. Long days too. Our work doesn’t always lend itself to a nine-to-five day. Or a five-day workweek. There are times when we’re together almost constantly.”
“So you’re spending hours and hours with a woman you care for and she doesn’t have a clue?”
…to be continued
