Lois's attention dropped away from him and she pulled on her socks without another word. He saw her smile of pleasure as his warmth blanketed her cold feet.
"Better?" Clark asked.
"Much," she said. "Thanks."
Knowing she was still observing him, Clark carefully rolled his own socks and rubbed them the way he had done with hers.
"Why didn't your feet go blue?" Lois asked.
"Because in Kansas, cold water has lumps of ice in it."
She grinned. "So you think you're tougher than Aussies?" she said.
Clark figured this conversation had gone far enough. "No comment," he said. He tied his shoelaces and then reclined backwards and - leaning on his bended elbow - perused the bay.
Lois wrapped her arms around her knees and also stared ahead. A comfortable silence fell. Below them, a few mothers had brought their children to the playground. Others were walking along the sand.
Clark couldn't remember the last time he had felt this good. This relaxed. This content.
And the reason was sitting right next to him.
Part 6
Clark scanned the beauty of the bay but it couldn't hold his attention - not with Lois sitting next to him. "This is beautiful," he mused, breaking the silence that had settled upon them like a soft blanket.
Lois uncurled and lay back. She turned onto her side and faced him. "Despite my crack about 'Sleepy Hollow', I like Geelong," she said. "The place - not the footy team."
Clark smiled. "You seem to know it quite well."
"I studied Journalism at Deakin Uni," Lois said. "The main campus is on the south-western edge of the town."
"Where did you grow up?" Clark asked.
She chuckled. "Where do you think?"
"I don't know," he said, wondering how he would know.
"Hawthorn," Lois said proudly. "It's a suburb over in the east."
"Ahh. So you *do* barrack for your local team?"
"You bet I do." She pointed ahead. "Those hills you can see on the other side of the bay are the You Yangs," she said.
"The You Yangs?" Clark said.
"It's adapted from the Aboriginal language that means 'big mountain in the middle of a plain'." She smiled across to him. "The first European to see the You Yangs was Matthew Flinders."
"Flinders?" Clark said, grinning. "You know, I much prefer Lois to Flinders."
"And you prefer Clark to Rubber, right?"
"Well, yes," he admitted. "I like you calling me Clark. Do you mind being called Flinders?"
"Not really. It could be worse."
"Is it difficult being the only woman in a world so dominated by men?"
Lois nodded. "Sometimes. But I knew it would be like this. When I applied for the position, there had never been a female football journalist in Melbourne. Some people told me I was wasting my time even applying. They said I might get work reporting on the small country leagues but not the big city stuff. Browny took a lot of flak for hiring me."
"You've done really well," Clark said. "It's never easy being different from everyone else." He stared out to the horizon. "Do you sometimes feel like you just don't fit in? And you never will?"
Lois didn't answer at first and Clark turned to her. She was absently picking at the grass. "Things can be difficult."
Clark wasn't sure what she meant but he sensed she was hoping he wouldn't continue this line of questioning. "Have you always been in Sport?"
Lois smiled at him, as if she realised that he had backed away and was grateful. "Yes," she said. "I've done all sport, any sport. But it was always footy that had my heart."
Clark wasn't sure how it was possible to feel envious of a sport, but he did. "Why is Gazza called Gazza?" he asked.
"Because his name is Gary."
"OK," Clark said, unable to see the connection.
"It's very common," Lois said. "You take the first two sounds of a name and add 'zza'. Sharons are called Shazza. Warrens are called Wozza. Darrens are Dazza."
"Were you ever called Lozza?"
"At the very beginning, but then Banjo started calling me Flinders and Lozza was instantly forgotten."
"Why is Banjo called Banjo?"
"Because his name is Andrew Barton."
"So?"
"AB Paterson was a famous Australian poet," Lois said. "He wrote classic ballads like 'Waltzing Matilda' and 'The Man from Snowy River'. He was always known as Banjo, but the AB stands for Andrew Barton."
"Did Banjo's parents name him Andrew deliberately?"
"No. They're English. They had no idea - until they got here and everyone started calling their kid Banjo."
"And Bluey?" Clark asked.
"Because he has red hair."
"OK," Clark said doubtfully.
"Redheads are always called 'Bluey'," Lois told him. "It's like tall blokes being called 'Shorty'."
"It seems everyone has a nickname."
"Mostly. Even if it's fairly unimaginative like Browny, most people go by a different moniker from the one their parents bestowed upon them."
"What are some of the more imaginative ones?" Clark asked.
"Football history is littered with them," Lois said. "There's Bruce Doull - he was always known as 'The Flying Doormat' and Mick Nolan was 'The Galloping Gasometer'. Leigh Matthews was 'Lethal' and Graham Farmer was 'Polly' and Kevin Bartlett was 'Hungry' and Greg Williams is 'Diesel' and Dean Laidley is the 'Junk Yard Dog' and Stephen Silvagni is 'Sos' and -." She stopped, grinning widely at herself. "Sorry," she said. "Sometimes I get carried away."
From amidst the whirlwind, Clark latched onto one of the last things she'd said. "Sos," he said. "I think I've read about him."
Lois nodded. "He's Carlton's full back. Sos stands for 'Son of Serge' because his dad, Sergio Silvagni played for Carlton in the sixties."
"Is it common for a son to play for his father's team?"
"It doesn't always happen, but there's a father-son drafting rule that makes it possible." With no warning, Lois stretched and jumped fluidly to her feet. She looked down at him. "If I stay there any longer, I'll fall asleep," she said. "And we should be getting get back to Kardinia Park."
Clark stood, and together they returned to the Jeep and headed for the Geelong ground.
||_||
The drive back to Kardinia Park was quiet. Lois didn't seem inclined to talk, and Clark had plenty to occupy his mind. The memory of holding Lois's hand as they had strolled around the boardwalk was still potent in his mind. He wasn't expecting it to be a memory that faded quickly ... if ever.
When they reached the football ground, about thirty players were on the field. Clark stood next to Lois as they watched the players run laps and then move to kicking and handball drills. The regular thud of the ball being kicked was interspersed with laughing comments thrown around by the players and coaches. About thirty fans - most dressed in jerseys of blue and white horizontal stripes - were huddled behind the fence.
"Kendall is training," Clark noted as he recognised one of the players as the person from the hospital entrance.
"Yeah," Lois said. "They're not doing any contact work, so we can't tell whether he's up for that or not. And they've been very careful *not* to strap either of his shoulders."
After less than an hour, the players came off the ground. They stopped long enough to sign some autographs for the assembled kids before trickling into the change rooms. Clark turned to Lois. "That didn't seem too intense," he said.
"No," she agreed. "It's Round 15 this week. Only eight more games until the finals. By this stage of the season, it's mostly about maintenance of fitness levels and injury management."
"This was a lighter session than normal?"
"Absolutely. If you are scheduled to play on Saturday, the two big sessions will be Tuesday and Thursday."
They turned from Kardinia Park and crossed the grassy stretch as darkness began to overcome the last dregs of daylight. "Are you hungry, Lois?" Clark asked.
"A bit," she said.
"Could I buy you dinner?" he asked.
She unlocked the Jeep and climbed in. "Sure, if you want to," she said. "What sort of food do you like?" She grinned. "There's a Macca's just down the road."
"Macca's?"
"McDonald's."
"I am *not* taking you to McDonald's," Clark said emphatically.
She grinned. "Chinese?"
"OK." That sounded a lot better than McDonald's. "Do you have somewhere in mind?"
"Yep. It's on the way back to Melbourne. We'll be there in a tick."
Clark nodded, wondering if there was any possible way to make this seem more like a date, and less like two colleagues catching a meal of convenience while working. He was still grappling with his uncooperative mind when Lois stopped the Jeep outside a small Chinese restaurant. When they arrived at the door, Clark's heart sank.
The tables were cheap, the seats were plastic, the prices were low, and a television blared from high in the corner. It was about as incompatible with 'romantic date' as a place could get.
Lois and Clark took two plates. He paid, and then they went to the heated buffet and helped themselves to the food.
Lois led him to a table where they could watch the television. Clark took an orange twenty dollar note from his wallet and held it towards her. "Thanks for the loan," he said, hoping his tone didn't betray his disappointment with her choice of restaurant.
She put the note in her purse. "No worries," she said. "Did you see the reaction of the bloke when you paid?"
Clark hadn't noticed much except for the soulless functionality. "No."
"He was excited because you tipped him."
"I always tip," Clark said. Although if ever a tip wasn't merited ...
"We don't," Lois said.
Clark took his first mouthful of food. It was hot and fresh and, he had to admit, delicious. "You don't tip?"
"It's not expected," she said. "You can if you want to, but it's OK if you don't."
Clark couldn't imagine not tipping. "Do you eat here often?" he asked.
"I used to when I was a student," Lois said. "This place supplied plentiful food at low cost."
He wasn't sure how to phrase the next question. "Does Geelong have ... more upmarket restaurants?"
"Yes," Lois said. "But I don't know how good they are. I've never eaten at any of them. Better to go with what you know."
Clark felt his spirits drop further. Did that apply to men, too? Lois knew Dan Scardino ... had worked with him for years. Next to Dan, Clark was an unknown entity.
Today had been so wonderfully good ... being with Lois, laughing with her, dunking their feet into the salty water, warming her socks. But now this place ... its stark atmosphere had dragged him back to reality. To Lois, he was nothing more than a temporary colleague who needed some help settling into a new country and a new job.
The presence of the television stifled any need for conversation. Lois seemed interested in the news bulletin, and Clark's fallen spirits were not conducive to chat.
They finished eating and returned to the Jeep. As they drove back to Melbourne, Clark mourned the light-hearted closeness of the boardwalk, and pondered how it could have dissolved so quickly and so completely.
In his heart, he knew why. It was because that closeness wasn't real.
Not in the way he wanted it to be real.
Clark tried to achieve some perspective. He'd known Lois for less than three days. He'd accepted Perry's offer to come to Melbourne because he'd thought it would be good to experience another country, another sport, another culture ... And because it gave him the chance to get away from Mayson while he decided what to do with Superman. He could still do all of that. He should enjoy doing exactly what he had come here to do.
Except ... that was before Lois Lane.
Before Lois Lane had turned his world upside down.
Before Lois Lane had captured his heart with her smile.
Before Lois Lane had reduced any moment without her to a moment of poverty.
And she'd done it seemingly without any effort. Without any intent. Without any comprehension of the power she had over him.
Again, Clark tried to realign his attitude. He was a visitor to this country, this city. He had come to learn and to experience - not to pine over the first girl he saw. And in just three short months, he was going home.
But no amount of mental acrobatics was going to change one certain fact.
When he did go home, he would leave his heart in Melbourne, Australia.
||_||
An hour later, Lois pulled into the driveway of her unit. "Coming in to watch the replay?" she said.
"Do you still want to?" Clark questioned.
"I'm pretty tired," she admitted. "How about you?"
"I'm OK," he said.
"How about we watch the first quarter and see how we feel then?" Lois suggested.
"OK," Clark agreed, trying to muster some enthusiasm. He really didn't want Lois to think his subdued frame of mind was due to a lack of appreciation for all she had done for him.
As Lois unlocked her door, a woman emerged from the shadows. "Hi, Lois," she said in a singsong voice.
Clark turned to her, and saw immediately that she was a tall and glamorous woman, adorned with long, sweeping waves of blonde hair. She stepped right up to them, and he realised she was probably less than an inch shorter than him.
Lois pushed her door open and then turned, rather unwillingly, Clark thought, to the woman. "Hi, Esmeralda," she said tonelessly.
Esmeralda edged closed to Clark, and he caught a whiff of sweet perfume. She held out her left hand, as if she expected him to take it and kiss it. "I'm Esmeralda," she gushed.
"Clark Kent," Clark said. He ignored her hand.
"Clark," Esmeralda said, her voice vibrating to a throaty tone and her eyelids flickering. "It is *so* nice to meet you. You're American, aren't you? I can tell from that sexy accent."
Clark wasn't sure he believed that she'd detected his accent from two words, but he *was* sure that he had no desire to further their acquaintance. "Excuse us," he said pointedly and stepped closer to Lois's door.
Esmeralda put her crimson-tipped fingers on his arm and halted his progress. "If you get bored," she said with an almost imperceptible toss of her head towards Lois, "I'm in number five."
In her unit, Lois had switched on the light and put her bag on her table. Clark followed her and firmly closed the door behind him, hoping Esmeralda would take that as an unmistakable rejection of her invitation.
Lois's unit was small and uncluttered. There was a tiny kitchen in the corner, and the space in the living room was filled with a couch, a table almost completely hidden under a computer and three piles of books, a set of shelves, and a television on a small stand.
"Have a seat," Lois said as she removed the video tape from her bag and pushed it into the player. If she'd been in any way affected by Esmeralda's appearance, there was nothing evident in her face or her actions. Clark sat on one end of the couch. Lois picked up the remote control and looked at him. "Would you like anything?" she said. "A drink?"
"No, thanks," he said. For the first time, they felt like people who barely knew each other. Was Lois backing away? Had she felt the closeness at the beach and now regretted it?
She settled into the couch next to him. It was small for a two seater, and although they sat on the extremities, they were easily within touching distance.
"Lois?" Clark said. "Are you all right?"
She turned to him with a small smile. "I'm fine," she said. "Just really tired. I got caught up in some research for my story last night and didn't get to bed until after two." Her smile lifted fractionally. "My fault - but it's catching up with me now."
"I can go if you'd prefer," Clark said. "We can watch the replay some other time."
A flicker of reaction crossed Lois's face, but she closed it down quickly. "I'm going to watch the footy," she said flatly.
"Then I'd like to stay and watch it with you," he said.
She took a second to scrutinise his face.
"I'm not interested in Esmeralda or anything she might be offering," Clark assured her quietly.
Lois turned to the television. "We played Collingwood," she said. "This is last weekend's game." She started the tape.
From the first moment when the umpire flung the ball so hard into the ground that it bounced twenty feet straight up into the air, Clark was engrossed. His first impression was that these men did not wear enough protection. His second was that rules were minimal. His third was that the combination of the two previous conditions made it highly unlikely that surviving this game was a given.
The athleticism of the players was stunning. They could jump - very high and seemingly with no consideration for a safe landing. Clark gasped the first time he saw a 'specky'. Lois turned and smiled at his reaction.
"High marks are pretty impressive, hey?" she said.
Clark nodded. "I don't know how they do it without someone getting seriously injured."
Their attention returned to the game. The players pursued the ball with single-minded brutality. More than once, Clark winced at the thought of the pain they must inflict on each other in their bone-crunching crashes.
He had questions but he didn't want to interrupt the flow of the game. It never stopped. After a goal had been scored, the telecast went to a commercial break, but Lois fast-forwarded through it, which further emphasised the breakneck pace of the game.
After about twenty minutes, Clark noticed that Lois's breathing pattern had changed. He turned and saw that her eyes were closed. As he watched, her head slanted sideways. With a deft movement, Clark managed to position his shoulder under her head. She sighed and settled against him.
He smiled with satisfaction and forced his eyes back to the television.
The game was even better now - now that he had the warm weight of Lois's head resting on his shoulder.
Clark continued watching the game, but he didn't take the remote from her hand. He was quite content to use the commercial breaks as the perfect opportunity to gaze at the gorgeous woman leaning into his side.
||_||
"Lois. Lois."
Lois could hear him saying her name. She could feel his gentle touch on her arm.
But she couldn't determine if her perceptions were dream or reality.
"Lois, honey. Wake up."
It was definitely Clark's voice.
"Lois?"
Her head jolted up, and her eyes sprang open. Clark was looking down at her, his brown eyes softly gazing into hers.
"Clark?" she mumbled.
He smiled. "You fell asleep," he said. "You must have been tired."
Lois lurched away from where she had been leaning far too intimately into his side, and she gaped at the television. Someone ... Clark evidently ... had paused the tape. "What happened?" she asked, trying to muster her scattered brain cells into a workable whole. "We were watching the replay."
"We were," Clark said.
She looked into his eyes and saw gentle amusement. There was no sting to it - nothing to intensify her embarrassment. "Sorry," she said.
"No need to be sorry at all," Clark said.
"How much of the game did you watch?"
"To the first break ... the first quarter they were calling it."
"Ah ... any questions?"
"A couple ... but you don't have to answer them now. Tomorrow will be soon enough."
"Sorry," she repeated. "I was supposed to be introducing you to the intricacies of footy."
Clark lightly slid his hand down the outside of her upper arm. "You're tired," he said. "I should be getting home." He stood from the couch.
Lois had a feeling he was going to offer his hand to help her up so quickly leapt from the couch. Right now, she definitely didn't need physical contact with this tall, good-looking American.
Clark crossed her unit to the door and opened it. "Thanks for today, Lois," he said sincerely. "I really enjoyed being with you."
Lois gave him an auto-pilot smile. "Are you right to get home?" she asked. "And to get to work tomorrow morning?"
He nodded. "Yes. Thanks to you."
"Expect a late night tomorrow," Lois warned. "It's Thursday, so most of the clubs have a big training session and then the teams are announced about six o'clock, so there's plenty to do after that for Friday's edition."
"The teams?"
"Every club announces their team for the weekend game. Most teams will have 'outs' - either through injury or suspension or players dropped for poor form. They will be replaced with the 'ins' - players coming back from injury or who've played really well in the second team."
Clark seemed to find something funny.
"What?" Lois asked, wondering exactly what she had said that was so amusing.
"Well," Clark said, trying - with limited success - to pull his smile into line. "From what I saw on the replay, I have to wonder exactly what a player could do to get a suspension. I'm thinking first degree murder might just do it."
Lois chuckled. "A punch to the head or face will do it," she said. "Incidents behind play are particularly frowned upon."
"I see," Clark said, still smiling. "Thanks, Lois. Thanks for everything."
"Thanks for dinner," she responded. "Good night, Clark."
"Good night, Lois." Did she imagine he hesitated? And if he did, why? Or was it just that her brain hadn't fully emerged from dream mode, and it was playing tricks on her?
Clark stepped outside, and Lois firmly shut the door. She slumped against it and closed her eyes. Immediately, the dream flooded her mind - with just as much clarity and breath-strangling detail as when she had been asleep.
She had been with Clark.
They were walking together, their hands joined.
Clark had stopped and turned to her, positioning his body close against hers. Then he'd looked down at her with a hundred heart-exploding messages, and his mouth had curled to the smile that had become so familiar. But this one was different. It was definitely not the smile of someone who was merely a friend. This was packed with a whole lot more. Lois had stared back at him, wanting him to speak yet perfectly content to simply bask in his attention.
Then he had said her name.
And she'd waited ... waited for what he wanted to say to her.
He'd said her name again.
And wakefulness had come, seamlessly sliding her from the world of her dream to the world of reality.
Lois pushed back her head and stared at the ceiling as she let loose a long, deep sigh.
Her heart was still cavorting around her chest.
Her blood was racing around her body - leaving trails of tingling warmth in its wake.
She had to get a grip.
She had to get a grip now.
She could *not* fall for Clark Kent.
He was here for three short months.
Three months.
Then he'd be gone, and if she wanted to still have her heart intact, she needed to take control of this now.
Rigid control.
Right now.
She could not fall for someone who could only offer her three months.
She would not.
But ... oh boy, did he have a heart-stopper of a smile.
And those eyes ...
And that was precisely the other reason why she couldn't fall for him.
This had to end.
Right now.
Lois jerked away from the door, stood straight, and pushed out another deep breath. She even managed a small laugh on the very tail of the breath. This is what she got for staying up so late. She'd embarrassed herself by falling asleep in front of a colleague and had been subjected to a dream that, in the cold face of reality, was clearly beyond fanciful.
Lois settled back on the couch and rewound the tape. She was going to watch at least the first quarter. Maybe more. Because if she went to bed now, if she tried to sleep ... no amount of willpower was going to be able to drive those amazing eyes from her mind.
So, she would fill her mind with football. And there would be plenty to fill it with - Hawthorn had beaten Collingwood by thirty-three points.
The tape reached the beginning, and Lois waited for the magic of football to drive all else from her mind.
An hour later, she stopped the tape, having watched half of the game.
It was a great game, bursting with highlights. And her Hawks had been magnificent.
But even they hadn't managed to totally drive the memory of that smile from her mind.
||_||
Glossary
Gasometer - large container for holding gas.
Uni - university.
RL Notes
Deakin University - The university based in Geelong, named after Alfred Deakin - Australia's second Prime Minister.
List of footballers - Bruce Doull, Mick Nolan, Leigh Matthews, Graham Farmer, Kevin Bartlett, Greg Williams, Dean Laidley, Stephen Silvagni and Sergio Silvagni are all footballers who did indeed have the nicknames listed. All can be found on Wikipedia.
