Note - the word 'bloody' has been called 'the great Australian adjective'. Up to this point, I have avoided using it, but, in the interests of authenticity, the word is there in the opening lines of this part. Being unsure how people from other countries view the word, I hope no one is offended.
From Part 19 ...
Clark watched, willing his teammates to find a way to clear the ball and get it towards their goal. Bluey dove at the ball, gathered it, and shot out a handball. Banjo took it and was immediately tackled. The ball fell free, and at least six players crashed on top of it.
"Come on," Clark muttered. "Come on."
The umpire bounced again. It was pushed out of the congestion and fell at the feet of a teammate. He picked up the ball and tried to kick it forward. An opponent flew across the ball and smothered it. The ball was picked up by a player in red and blue. He ran ten metres, bounced the ball, ran another ten, and kicked it towards Clark and Number Four.
The ball was still in the air when the siren sounded.
The game was over.
They'd lost.
By four points.
Clark felt a savage, burning disappointment swell inside him.
They'd lost.
Part 20
Clark felt a tap on his shoulder and turned. Number Four was there, his hand extended. "Great game, mate," he said.
"Thanks," Clark said. "Congratulations."
"For a Yank, you're a bloody good kick."
"Thanks."
Number Four moved on, and Clark was surrounded by other opponents. He shook hands with them all. When he crossed paths with one of his teammates, they patted each others' shoulders and disconsolately swapped looks of disappointment.
With the post-game etiquette seen to, the teams gathered as two separate groups. A man Clark recognised as the sports anchor for one of the television stations took the microphone. He thanked the sponsors, thanked the crowd, announced that they had raised eighteen thousand dollars for the Royal Children's Hospital, and handed a rather battered cup to the captain of the Electronic Media.
The Print Media team then trooped into their locker rooms.
The mood was sombre. Clark looked into the faces of his teammates and saw the misery of having given everything they had, only to fall short of victory.
At least three of them sported bandages. Many were limping. The trainers circulated, handing out icepacks and helping strap them to body parts that were sore and strained. Barney, the Sports Editor of The Age newspaper, gingerly peeled off his jumper, and Clark winced when he saw the huge, angry bruise across his chest.
"You were lucky he didn't poleaxe you into next week," the trainer told him.
Barney nodded and patiently waited, in obvious pain, as the trainer strapped two huge icepacks around his chest.
"You need anything, Rubber?"
Clark turned to the trainer who had appeared at his side. "No, thanks. Nothing."
"I want to have a squiz at your shoulder."
Clark nodded, figuring it would be simpler to agree. The trainer lifted Clark's right arm and manipulated it in different directions.
"Does that hurt?" he asked.
"No."
"Not at all?"
"No. It feels fine."
The trainer moved up to Clark's shoulder and pressed his fingertips into the joint. "Feels solid enough," he said, as if that surprised him. "I was sure you'd have some damage - it was a hard hit."
"I'm fine," Clark said. "Thanks."
"What about your neck?"
"It's good," Clark said. "Thanks."
The trainer walked off to the next player.
Clark slumped onto the concrete floor, knees raised, elbows on his knees.
He wanted Lois.
He wondered how disappointed she would be by their loss.
He wished he could have won for her.
But mostly, he wanted her.
He wanted her smile.
And he wanted her touch.
He just wanted her.
Toggy was moving around the players, saying a few words of consolation. He came up to Clark. "Good game, Rubber," he said. "When're ye going home, lad?"
"September," Clark replied.
"Ye're coming back next year?"
"No."
"Pity," Toggy said. "Ye've a kick on ye like a mule." He patted Clark's shoulder. "Good game, lad."
He moved on to the next player.
Gazza joined Clark and dropped next to him. "I hate the feeling of losing," Gazza said dolefully.
"Me, too," Clark said, realising it was true.
"It feels like you're carrying a ten-ton truck on your shoulders."
"Yeah."
"And a slab of concrete in your guts."
"Yeah."
"You going in the ice bath?" Gazza asked.
"The ice bath?"
"It helps recovery," Gazza explained. "It's the absolute pits, standing in the ice, but tomorrow you'll be glad you did."
"I think I'll give it a miss," Clark said.
"How's your head?"
"My head?"
"Where that mongrel, Smiddy, lifted his elbow and got you high."
"Oh, yeah, that," Clark said. "It's OK - he didn't connect too well."
Gazza grinned. "Bet you won't be saying that tomorrow. It was a hard hit. You won't be moving your shoulder with any comfort for a couple of days."
"Gazza," Clark said. "Thanks for coming to help when I had four of them on me."
Gazza looked surprised. "You didn't think we'd just stand there and watch, did you?"
"I ... don't know ... I didn't think ..."
"You gotta fly the flag," Gazza said. "The opposition have to know that if they take on one of us, they take on all of us."
"Well ... thanks. I appreciate it."
"Forget it, mate," Gazza said. "You coming to the pub?"
"Yeah."
Gazza hauled himself to his feet. "See you there. I'm off to the torture of the ice baths. Sure you don't want to join me?"
"I'm sure."
Gazza chuckled. "Your funeral."
Across the room, Clark saw a doctor leaning over Bluey. Clark stood and went over, feeling sick. "Ah, Bluey," he said, watching as the doctor tied the second stitch.
Bluey smiled and was sharply told to stay still. Clark watched as the doctor added a third stitch.
"Keep it clean," the doctor instructed when he'd finished.
Bluey nodded and touched his fingers to his forehead.
"Bluey ... thanks," Clark said when the doctor had walked away. "I'm sorry you got hurt helping me."
"Couldn't stand by and do nothing," Bluey said simply.
"Well, thanks ... mate."
Bluey stood and gestured to his eye. "Do you reckon it looks dashing?" he said.
"Definitely," Clark said.
"Do you reckon it'll make me a hit with the ladies?"
"I hope so."
They shared a grin, and Bluey limped away.
Clark picked up his bag and headed into the showers.
||_||
Lois leant against the bonnet of her Jeep.
Clark should be out of the dressing room soon.
Her heart cavorted at the thought of seeing him again.
Which was ridiculous. She had spent all morning with him ... had eaten lunch with him ... and had watched him play a game of footy.
But now ... all she wanted was to see him again.
Every time a figure appeared at the dressing room door, her heart sprang into anticipation mode ... only to sink with disappointment when it wasn't Clark.
This was silly ... but she couldn't help it.
Despite all her efforts, she had fallen for Clark Kent. Big time.
When had she started falling?
Lois didn't know ... but seeing him try on the footy gear had certainly done nothing to slow the plunge.
But when had it started?
If she were honest, probably when he had stood between her and the West Coast Eagles supporters at the airport.
And, when asking her for a date, his sincerity had beckoned her past the point where she could get out of this with her heart undamaged.
But that was a moot point. Lois didn't want to get out.
From the doors of the dressing room, he appeared, and her heart began to prance like an unbroken colt.
Clark had walked only two steps when a group of three young women flooded over him. Lois heard them tell him how well he'd played and how they were going to the pub and were wondering if he'd like to join them.
They were young, probably early twenties - all blonde, all glamorous.
Lois saw Clark shake his head. "No, thanks," he said.
One of the women reached into her bag and offered him a piece of paper. "This is my number," she said. "If you can't come tonight, perhaps we can do it some other night."
Clark didn't take the paper she offered. "No, thanks," he said. "I'm with someone."
Lois saw the disappointment slither through the group of young women. The woman thrust the paper at him again. "Take this," she persisted. "Just in case your other thing doesn't work out."
"No, thanks," Clark said, still polite, but his tone held a conviction they couldn't fail to misinterpret.
"Are you sure?"
"Very sure."
With regret, they turned and walked away. Clark looked around.
He saw Lois and smiled.
Her heart exploded.
||_||
Clark looked around the almost-deserted car park. Then, he saw the Jeep ... with Lois leaning against it.
As soon as she saw him, she bounced off the hood and came towards him. She stopped when they were face to face, a foot apart.
She looked at him for a long moment, driving his heart faster as her brown eyes steadily bored into his. "I told you," she said quietly.
"Told me what?" he asked. His voice came out low and husky.
"I told you you could do it."
"We didn't win," he said.
"You were a winner," she said. "I don't care what the scoreboard said - you were a winner to me."
He smiled. "Thanks."
Clark expected Lois to turn and go to the Jeep, but she didn't move. "I've thought about what you said today."
His heart flipped. "About what?" he said, his throat constricting around his words.
"The date."
Clark dove into the depths of her beautiful eyes, and what he saw caused his head to spin. "H... have you made any decisions?"
"Is the offer still open?"
"Absolutely."
"Yes," Lois said.
"You'll go out with me?"
Lois nodded, Clark dropped his bag, and she slid into his arms. He lifted her and spun her around. When he returned her feet to the ground, his hands remained on her waist as he drank in the beauty of her smile. He couldn't find any words, so for a long moment he simply looked at her, hoping his obvious excitement made speech superfluous.
Lois had agreed to go out with him.
Her hand slid up his arm. "How's your shoulder?"
"It's fine."
"It was a hard bump." Her fingers gently massaged him. Her touch was exquisite. "It *is* a bit sore, isn't it?" she said.
"What you're doing feels great."
"If it's still sore later, I'll rub it again for you."
"OK, thanks."
Her hand dropped from him, and together, they ambled to the back of the Jeep.
Lois released the trunk and Clark stowed his bag before going to the driver's side and opening her door. "Are we going to the pub?" he asked.
"If you still want to."
"I'd like to," he said. "I'd like to buy Gazza and Bluey a drink. I owe them that at least."
"Let's go, then," Lois said.
"And afterwards, can we talk about our date?"
She smiled. "I'd like that," she said.
Clark closed her door and crossed to the passenger side. They drove out of the grounds of Windy Hill and headed back to the city.
"Were you disappointed that we lost?" Clark asked.
"A bit," Lois said. "But I mostly wanted a win for you."
There was no way Clark felt anything but a winner right now. "Not for you?" he asked.
She shrugged. "I put all my competitive emotional energy into Hawthorn. I don't have much left over for any other team."
"I've heard Aussies say they were gutted by something. I didn't understand that until today."
"Yeah, losing hurts," Lois said. "I was hoping you'd get to experience a win. That feels fantastic."
"I feel amazing now."
She smiled. "Did you ice your shoulder?"
"My shoulder's fine."
"It looked like a pretty hard hit to me," she persisted.
A sudden thought occurred to him and Clark couldn't refrain from asking, "Were you worried about me?"
Lois responded with a slight smile and a quick glance. "I was very relieved when it became clear that you weren't hurt," she said. Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, "I've seen plenty of bumps in footy, but none of them made me feel as crook as yours did."
That was bad ... good ... hopeful ... "Sorry," he offered, though he knew his unruly smile probably tarnished any sincerity attached to his apology.
She responded with a shy smile. "It's different when it's someone you ... care about," she said.
Clark felt a groundswell of good feeling surge through him. Lois *cared* about him. He looked sideways, and saw that she appeared a little flustered by her admission. He decided to store away that magnificent memory and, for now, not push for further amplification. "I wasn't expecting Gazza and Bluey and the others to react the way they did."
"Why? Don't people stick up for their mates in America?"
"Yes ... but ... I didn't realise I was their mate."
"I *told* you one of the best things about footy is that you're never on your own," Lois said.
Clark nodded. He didn't agree, though. The absolute best thing about footy - no question - was to come out after the game and be met by the woman he loved.
||_||
At the pub, the mood slowly brightened as the sting of defeat receded. Most of the Print Media players were there, and with the addition of friends and family, it developed into a loud and boisterous group.
They stayed well into the evening. Clark talked with a variety of people - teammates from other papers; Narelle; and Browny's wife, Sue - but all the time, he watched Lois.
He still couldn't believe that she had agreed to go on a date with him ... had admitted that she cared about him.
Just after nine, the Electronic Media team arrived, and the noisy cheerfulness escalated. Number Four, who it turned out went by the name of Bonzo, brought a drink over for Clark, and they chatted amicably for ten minutes. Smiddy joined them, and Clark was relieved to see that he seemed to carry no injury despite having run into a man of steel.
"Do you work out?" he asked Clark.
Clark nodded.
"Thought so," Smiddy said. "It was like hitting a brick dunny."
Clark didn't know how to respond, so he took a sip from the beer Bonzo had bought him and let the comment pass.
Later, Lois drove Clark home. "You seemed to be having a good time," he said.
"Yeah," Lois agreed. "It was good."
"You haven't mixed socially with them for a while, have you?"
"Not since the thing with Dan, and that was two months ago."
"Did they tell you outright that you weren't welcome?"
"No," Lois said. "But I didn't need to be told. I could see how they were all rallying around Dan. And I didn't mind ... he was in a bit of a mess." She looked across to Clark. "Was Mayson hurt when you told her you didn't want to be with her?"
"Which time?" Clark asked.
"Oh."
"I don't think 'hurt' is how I would describe it," Clark said. "Incredulous, incensed, indignant ... that probably covers it."
"Do you think she loved you?"
Clark didn't want to seem petulant ... but he also didn't want to lie to Lois. "No," he said. "I think she saw me as a nice accessory to the career she was building for herself. Having a man on her arm suited the image she wanted."
Lois grinned. "I hadn't thought of that," she teased. "Going out with you could be *exactly* what I need to climb a rung or two on the ladder."
"Only if they know," Clark said with a smile. Then he sobered. "Do you want to keep it a secret that we're going on a date?"
"Not a secret," she said. "But perhaps there's no need to advertise it."
"OK." Clark paused. "But you still want to go? On our date?"
She smiled. "Of course."
A few of his doubts eased their grip on his heart. "Good. Have you thought about which day suits you?"
Lois nodded. "It can't be tomorrow night because the teams will come in and it'll be late by the time we finish work. It can't be Saturday or Sunday night because we'll both have work commitments."
"And there is a game Friday night," Clark said, disappointed that it seemed they were going to have to wait nearly a week.
"Has Browny said you're doing the Friday night game?" Lois asked.
"No."
"I'm not either."
Clark felt a dawning of hope. "So ... would Friday night be suitable for you?"
"Yes."
"You don't mind missing the flake and chips and Milo in front of the television?"
Lois smiled. "I could probably miss it once ... if there's a good reason."
Clark smiled. "Friday night?" he said.
"Friday night," she agreed.
Less than forty-eight hours to wait! Clark could feel the excitement billow inside him ... but the flipside was that he had less than two days to plan what to do. He really wanted to make their first date special for Lois.
They arrived at the end of his driveway, and Lois stopped the Jeep.
"Thanks for a wonderful day, Lois," Clark said. There was so much more he could add - his appreciation for her taking him to the ice rink, how much her encouragement before and during the game had meant to him, and how wonderful it had felt to emerge from the locker room and find her waiting for him. And ... most of all ... his joy that she had agreed to go out with him.
"Thanks, Clark. I had a lot of fun."
Clark hesitated. He so, so wanted to lean across and place a kiss on her mouth. Or even her cheek. Or even just lean forward and see if she responded. He didn't. In two days, he would bring her home from their date ... that would be the time to test if she would be open to his kiss.
He opened his door and got out of the Jeep. "Thanks, Lois," he said.
Lois lifted her hand in farewell. "See you tomorrow, Clark."
He stepped back and watched her drive away. "Bye, honey," he said quietly. "I'm missing you already."
||_||
On the way to the Herald Sun office the next morning, Clark continued to plan his date with Lois. He'd considered at least a dozen scenarios and had yet to decide which one she would prefer. He had concluded that perhaps he should ask her. Certainly the thought of surprising her was appealing, but it carried inherent risk.
Clark arrived at the office and noticed Lois wasn't in yet. Before he had reached his desk, the shout rang out across the newsroom.
"RUBBER!'
Clark went into the editor's office, and Browny gestured for him to sit down. As Clark did, the phone rang. "Excuse me a min, Rubber," Browny said as he picked up the phone.
While Clark waited, he wondered if it were coincidence that Browny had called the moment he'd arrived in the newsroom, or if Browny had been waiting for him specifically.
Surely it couldn't have anything to do with his date with Lois? Was it something about the game yesterday? Or a story he wanted Clark to write?
Browny hung up the phone and turned to Clark. "Good game yesterday, Rubber," he said. "You did us proud."
That surprised him. "I didn't do much at all."
"You showed a clear head and never once shirked a contest. It wasn't your fault we lost."
"Thanks."
"I reckon it's about time you saw some of this country, Rubber, so I'm sending you to Brisbane for the weekend," Browny said. "You and Banjo and Gazza."
Clark's heart sank. Please let it be Saturday, he thought.
"You're leaving at lunchtime tomorrow," Browny continued. "I want a story about the reaction in Brisbane to the merger with Fitzroy. Then I want you to stay for the big game against the West Coast Eagles on Saturday night."
Clark felt his disappointment settle like a cloak around his heart.
"Then you can catch the red eye to Adelaide after the game," Browny said. "I want you at the Adelaide-Fitzroy game on Sunday. I don't just want match reports; I want comparison and contrast between the two parties in this arranged marriage of convenience. I want to know who feels like they won and who feels like they lost."
"Yes, sir," Clark said, trying to keep his frustration from showing in his tone.
Browny frowned. "I thought we'd moved passed 'sir'."
Clark forced a lifeless smile. "Sorry. Forgot."
"This is a great opportunity to see some of the country," Browny said.
"Thank you," Clark said, knowing that despite his best efforts, there wasn't a whole lot of gratitude in his tone.
Again, Browny contemplated him. "Is there a reason you don't want to go?"
"I ... I had plans for Friday night."
"Sorry, Rubber," Browny said. "I need you in Brisbane Friday afternoon. I've given Banjo all the details. After lunch tomorrow, you can take a taxi out to Tullamarine."
Figuring he was dismissed, Clark went to Browny's door, dreading having to tell Lois that their date had to be postponed.
"Rubber?"
Clark turned.
"I have a trip planned for you for next week, too." Browny's face was deadpan. Clark wasn't sure if it were his way of warning Clark not to protest or if he was deliberately trying to be inscrutable.
"OK," Clark said. He just couldn't force any sort of enthusiasm into his tone.
"I gave Thommo in Travel some tickets to the footy last week, and he gave me a couple of nights' accommodation in Port Campbell," Browny said. "There's no way I could take the missus until the season is over, so you might as well use them next week."
"Where's Port Campbell?" Clark asked summoning every ounce of interest he could muster.
"On the Great Ocean Road," Browny replied. "You can't visit Victoria without driving the Great Ocean Road. It's spectacular."
Clark nodded. It didn't matter how spectacular the road was - he had very little interest in seeing it if it meant being away from Lois.
"You can have Tuesday off," Browny continued. "Just make sure you're back here by Thursday afternoon for when the teams come in."
Clark nodded again. "Thanks, Browny," he said, trying to clamp down on the sigh that wanted to accompany his words.
Browny handed Clark a brochure. "Here's the number for the motel. Ring them today, and make the booking for next Tuesday and Wednesday nights."
"OK. Thanks."
"Tell Flinders to get herself in here. Now."
"OK."
"And Rubber?"
"Yes?"
"You step one millimetre out of line, and I'll hit you harder than Smiddy did yesterday."
Before Clark could question further, Browny had picked up his phone and punched in some numbers.
Clark exited the office and saw that Lois was at her desk. He crossed the newsroom, and she turned to him with her smile. Her smile, usually so wonderful, just made him feel worse. He hated that he was going to have to disappoint her. "Browny wants to see you," he said dejectedly.
Her smile faded. "What's wrong?" she asked.
"He's sending me to Brisbane tomorrow," Clark said.
He saw the dismay cut across her face. "Oh, no," she said. Lois rested her hand on his arm.
"I'm sorry, Lois."
She managed a smile, and Clark took some consolation from the fact that it looked like she had to force it. "It's not your fault," she said. "We can go out next week."
He nodded. "Better get to Browny."
Lois squeezed his arm and walked to Browny's office.
Ten minutes later, she emerged and came straight to Clark's desk, her face a mass of confusion.
"What's wrong?" Clark said.
Lois gestured into Browny's office. "Browny just insisted that I take Tuesday off next week. And he says not to come in until Thursday afternoon."
Clark's spirits suddenly roared to life. "Did he say why?" he asked.
Lois shook her head. "Not really. Just that I'd put in a lot of extra time during the lead-up to the merger, and that next week was the quietest week we are going to get before finals, and with the Olympics on, he didn't need to fill so many inches with football."
Clark couldn't contain his smile. "Have you said anything to Browny about ..." He was hesitant to use the word 'us'. "... about our date?"
"No. Nothing."
"Does Browny ever pick up things that no one else notices?"
"All the time. He'd known for months how Dan felt about me."
Clark's soft chuckle escaped past a mouth that couldn't stop grinning. "I get the feeling we've been set up," he said.
"How?"
"After Browny told me about having to go to Brisbane, he gave me two nights' accommodation in a place called Port Campbell and said I had to see the Ocean Road."
"When are you going?"
"He said I could have Tuesday off ... and I don't have to be in the office until Thursday afternoon." Clark watched Lois's face closely, eager for her reaction.
She pushed back her hair. "Have you thought about whether you want company?" she asked.
Clark grinned. "Of course I want company," he said. "Would you come with me?"
Lois matched his grin. "Are you sure?"
"Lois," he said, "I would love you to come with me. I have the number. I can call them now and book two rooms." He hesitated. "Please?"
Lois thought for a moment, and then her smile illuminated her face. "Yes," she said. "I'll come."
Clark wanted to leap out of his seat and throw his arms around her to give some release to the bubble of excitement that was quivering inside him. He made do with a wide smile. "Thank you," he said.
"That's a pretty impressive first date, big guy," Lois said. With a lingering smile, she walked back to her desk.
||_||
Glossary
Dunny - toilet.
Gutted - really disappointed, shattered.
Squiz - a look.
