It was not a problem to change my ticket, but it will be harder explaining it to Perry. I can tell him I’m on a lead, but I don’t know when I’ll have enough information to give him the full story. I don’t want to blow this. I kind of liked Clark. I don’t want to hurt him, but he has certainly gotten this reporter’s attention!
I made sure my ticket was for a little later in the day than Clark’s. I don’t want him to know I’m following him—okay, stalking him. But I am. My plan is to observe him for the next few days… I know I really want to interview him, but I have a feeling he would deny any claims I have. He’s too mild-mannered to admit to openly saving the day. I start wondering if maybe I can help him. I could do an exposé on him to give him some confidence—and boost my career in the process.
But I need details, and the only way to get them is to watch him.
As I board the plane to Rome, I suddenly wonder if I was overly cautious in booking a later flight. Did Clark actually just fly to Rome, under his own power? I can’t help imagining being in those strong arms of his, flying over the Mediterranean… I stop myself. I can’t believe I’m even thinking about a man who can
fly!
I look up at the flight board for my gate. I notice the gate for Casablanca, which would have been the first leg of my journey towards the Congo. Am I being ridiculous? Maybe I imagined more than I actually saw… and now I’m giving up a big story in the hopes of pursuing an even better story. I take a deep breath, accepting my decision—something tells me that Clark Kent is worth the effort.
Despite my adventurous flight over the Atlantic, I have no trepidation about getting back on a plane. I’ve traveled quite a lot in the States, when I was the cub reporter willing to hunt down any story. It got me some respect in the news business, but I haven’t won any awards yet that would make my name well-known by all.
I have knots in my stomach as we fly towards Rome, though it has nothing to do with the flight itself. I want to learn more about Clark Kent, and I do want his story, but I know I have to ask myself how far am I willing to go to chase it down. What if he really wants to be left alone? He is a nice guy – yet, with his abilities, I know he could be so much more. Maybe, he just needs a little push. And I could be the one to give it to him.
When we land in Rome, I head to the hotel I booked from Paris. It’s a little more rustic than the Paris one, but it suits me. The colors are more muted, stronger, earthier. I have never been this close to the Mediterranean before, but I have to say, it’s a nice change from Metropolis. My parents never traveled to Europe when I was a kid, and I only spent one semester abroad in Ireland with an exchange program. This is my first real taste of continental Europe—and so far, it hasn’t been disappointing.
After I unpack, I head out into the city, to strategize how I will investigate Clark Kent—and maybe even get him to admit his secrets. How did he get his powers? And would he ever consider giving Lois Lane an exclusive interview?
As I sit outside at a café, it occurs to me that hunting down Clark Kent is not going to be easy. It was a chance meeting in Paris – and unless he has to rescue me—Wait. That’s it! I almost spill coffee as I sit up straighter in my chair. I have to contrive an incident where I am in just enough danger that Clark will have to step out of the shadows and rescue me! Then, confronted with seeing me again and the fact that I know his secret, he will have to give me the exclusive!
I start formulating a plan in my head… maybe I could wander into a dangerous neighborhood late at night… or hire some goons to pretend to rob me. That would be safer and guarantee that I would need a rescue. I pay for my coffee and start wandering the cobbled streets of Rome, ruminating on my idea. I have to get his attention without him suspecting that I am on to him. And if he rescues me--- would he stop long enough for me to see his face and call him out on his superhero feat?
As I ponder this, I step into the street, just as a speeding Miata is heading my way. I swear it seems as if time stops for a second, as I see my whole life flash before my eyes. But then, I feel sort of a rush of wind, and am suddenly standing back on the sidewalk, the Miata honking furiously that it had nearly missed me. It was
him. I know it was—yet he is already gone! I’m tempted to call out his name, but I don’t want him to know I’ve made the connection yet. Though I realize, he may already know that I am suspicious of him since I was supposed to be on a plane to Africa this afternoon.
I realize too that a set-up isn’t likely to help me catch him in action. He just proved to me that he moves faster than a speeding bullet, and he won’t sit still long enough for anyone to notice him.
This is going to be tougher than I thought.
*L**L*
I wander the city for the rest of the afternoon, half taking in the sights, but really thinking about my superhero dilemma. Part of me regrets trying to chase him at all—he obviously doesn’t want recognition. Would I have been better off salvaging my reputation by going after the story in the Congo? I could still go—but I am also intrigued by the challenge Clark Kent has presented to me.
I wonder how he got his powers… Was it a freak accident in a lab? Was he a soldier suped up by the government that went rogue, with his own agenda? I laugh at that thought. Somehow Clark Kent didn’t seem like the soldier type—he is more… boy scout material, I think.
He knows I’m here in the city. I wonder if he will seek me out at all, if he knows I’m on his trail. I don’t plan on telling Perry anything until I can speak to Clark Kent in person again. I hope he will open up to me… I mean, to be able to fly? Again I wonder what else can he do—and more importantly—
how.
I head back to my hotel, my head full of theories about Clark Kent. I decide to toy with the idea of writing a story, just to see how it would read. Could I deliver his story and not use his name, thereby solidifying my place in journalistic history yet still keeping his secret? I know Perry will be able to read between the lines, though. He’ll know I know, and he may demand that I reveal the identity of this amazing man – er, super man?
I definitely need to write out the story --just to see it all in print and clarify things in my own mind. How much do I really know? How believable would the story be?
I sit at my desk and open my word processor. I start writing a follow-up piece about the near plane crash, and being rescued by a man who can fly… Then I write about the Métro car incident… I realize halfway through that it’s obvious I’ve seen who the mystery rescuer is. I can’t write the story without giving him an identity.
I put in a short paragraph about him being an international journalist, which is vague enough. I can’t bring myself to write his full name, so I just substitute C.K. Can I make this article work with so little detail about his identity? People are also going to want to know how he got his powers – and I haven’t a clue!
I hear a knock at my door, remembering I had ordered some laundry to be dry-cleaned earlier. What quick service!
I open it, still half-distracted by my article. I just don’t know how I can write it without revealing more of the identity of—
I’m looking at the floor, but my eyes slowly wander upwards when I see the leather dress shoes… and grey dress pants… and a light blue dress shirt—with an oddly loud blue and gold tie—and then, him. The guy that has me distracted from my original mission and has me questioning my own sanity.
“It’s you,” I say breathlessly. I stare at him a moment. He shifts his glasses up his nose in an adorable gesture and clears his throat.
“May I come in? I’d rather not have this conversation in the hallway,” he says, and I gesture for him to enter. I secure the door, and look over at my word processor. It’s facing away from him, but all it would take is a little walk around the room and he’d know I was writing a story about him—or thinking about writing a story about him. But if I rush over and slam it down, he’ll know something’s up. So instead, I edge casually over to the desk, in the hopes of distracting him from it entirely. He looks pensive, and I feel terribly embarrassed. I think about the story I was writing about him, and though it portrays him in the best light possible, there is still a part of me that was thinking of sending it to Perry without a word to Clark about it. After all, he is halfway around the world—maybe no one would notice it here in Europe…
“Lois, I thought you were going to Africa,” he says at last.
“Um, well, I was. I just—decided to take a detour,” I say, realizing that though I know who he is, he doesn’t necessarily know that I know… He could think… oh God, that I followed him here because –
I was attracted to him!
I feel my cheeks flush scarlet. I can’t decide what is worse. The thought that he would kill me if he knew I was chasing his secret or the fact that he thinks I am so lovesick over him after our little dinner that I gave up a story to chase him down in Rome! I feel nauseous. This is worse than embarrassing. This is humiliating.
“Lois, I – I don’t know what to say. I’m surprised to see you here—“
“How did you know I was here?” I challenge, daring him to admit the truth.
“Actually, I – spotted you at the airport. But I couldn’t catch up to you. I asked around and found out you were staying here.”
I eye him skeptically. I just bet he did exactly that – except I know I booked a later flight than his, so he couldn’t possibly still have been at the airport. And—he saved me from a Miata this afternoon. But I can’t say that yet – because, actually, this gives me the perfect in with him. Why not pretend to be enamored of him? I can learn all of his secrets and then—we can see about that article being written.
I manage to reach behind me and close the word processor. I then look over at Clark and start walking towards him with purpose. I grab his hideously loud tie and pull him close to me. Even though I’m laying it on thick a bit, I do feel a rush in my veins. I am attracted to this man – or super man, or whatever he is.
“Lois?” he asks in puzzlement, his voice cracking just a bit.
“I—I guess I’m just sorry that we only got that one dinner… and we didn’t even share a good-night kiss.”
I can’t believe my own boldness. But it’s working. He’s not asking me about my word processor or the photo – he believes that I followed him here because I wanted to carry our tryst a bit further.
“What about—Africa?” he chokes out, partly because I’m holding his tie hostage.
“Africa will still be there,” I say, leaning closer into him. I look into his chocolate brown eyes—he is so handsome. And maybe playing him a bit will be good for me. I will do my best not to break his heart—but it couldn’t hurt to repair my own ego, could it?
We stand there, practically nose to nose, and I wait. Why won’t he kiss me? I can tell he’s attracted to me as well…
Come on, Kent. We’re both adults, I urge with my eyes.
“Clark? What are you waiting for?” I whisper.
He leans in, his breath on my cheek, smelling slightly of peppermint and fresh air. I realize he has been flying recently as I put my hand on his shoulder; the fabric is cool to the touch.
“I—“ he hesitates, but begins to lean in.
Our lips are about to meet, when I hear a buzzing noise coming from my table. It’s my beeper. I pull abruptly away, suddenly remembering that Clark Kent is just a story, and I have to tell Perry something about why I skipped Africa to come to Rome.
The spell is broken. “It’s work,” I say, looking around helplessly. “I have to tell Perry White, my editor, why I’m here,” I reach for my pager, stepping away from him. I realize I was more affected by his nearness than I had any right to be, trying to focus as I reach for my pager.
Thank goodness we didn’t actually kiss!
He appears to be searching for a reason for me to give Perry why I’m here, and I bless him for it. Why does he have to be such a good guy – and be the story of the century?
“I heard there was a jewelry heist in one of the palazzos… It’s not normally my thing, but you could certainly use that. I heard this isn’t the first time they struck. There was another theft about a week ago in Milan… It could be a big story,” he offers.
I want to kiss him in earnest now. A series of jewelry heists would be the perfect excuse to give Perry!
“Since you seem to know about it – how about working with me on the story?” I offer, before I can even think it through. He is a travel writer – and a secret superhero. Would he buy the bait so I can get close to him?
“I’d love to help you… But the byline should be all yours,” he answers, surprising me.
A selfless superhero? Careful Lane, or you might just fall for Clark Kent in earnest.
*L**L*
After Clark leaves, with a promise that I will meet him at the scene of the latest jewelry heist in a few hours, I call Perry. He is surprised to hear I have decided to skip out on Africa, but he trusts my instincts. I feel my belly flop with nerves, knowing I’m gambling with Kent. Either he will open up to me and let me write a story about him in full disclosure, or he will realize I’m playing a double game with him and disappear. I still plan on writing the story either way, but it would be so much better if my reluctant hero backs me up.
I head out into the city after my call with Perry, intent on finding out what the papers in Italy have already said about this jewelry heist. I know I‘m being ambitious, hoping to understand the Italian, but I am confident that with a dictionary in my hand I can at least find out the basic facts as a starting point for my own investigation.
When I go to the newsstand, I’m relieved to find a paper in English, written by the Italian press called ‘Corrieri della Sera.’ I pay a few lire and settle down at a café near the Spanish Steps to get as much background as I can from the local press.
Unfortunately, there is little said about the heists… I know from experience with the Daily Planet that our international versions of top stories aren’t as detailed as the originals, and I have a sinking suspicion this may be true for this paper. All the paper says is that a diamond necklace was stolen, worth a lot of lire—I can’t make the exact conversion, but my estimate is that it’s over 2 million US dollars. No suspects were named, but police believe it was either someone highly skilled or at least someone who worked at the palace.
I sigh and glance at my watch—I have about forty-five minutes before meeting Clark at the Palazzo Barberini. I hope to beat Clark to the Palazzo to do some snooping of my own and find out if anyone has been recently hired or has left since the jewelry theft.
I consult my map and plan my route to the Palazzo. I would try and take a tram, but the maps for those are tiny and confusing, and the metro in Rome is nothing to speak of. So, I’m off by foot… A true city girl, I’m attracted to the busyness and bustling feeling of Rome. What unsettles me a bit—and not necessarily in a bad way—is how everything feels so old and foreign.
The streets are uneven, and the colors of the buildings in the sunlight often distract me, making me lose my footing now and then when I look up. Everything looks like a movie set, and I can’t help but feel like I’ve stepped into another world.
In a moment of me admiring the dramatic statues in the Piazza Navona, I feel a tug on my arm. I turn, and see a small boy scamper off with my bag. I shout ‘Hey!’ and run after him, my impractical heels having difficulty finding an even footing on the cobblestones. I tumble head first into the stone pavement, humiliated on two counts. I can’t believe a smart city girl like me allowed herself to be robbed—by a kid, no less!-- and that I didn’t have the grace to catch myself before I fell. I get up, my wrap floral dress a little worse for the wear, and my pride bruised a bit more than my elbow.
One man comes over to help me up, saying something incomprehensible in Italian. The best I could understand was ‘normale’ with a shrug of his shoulders, which I best interpret as ‘this happens all the time.’
I say ‘grazie’ and brush off his offer for further assistance. I am grateful that at least my passport is safe in my hotel room—but my credit cards, my pager—everything else has been taken.
I hear the bells chime across the city, and I realize I only have fifteen minutes to meet Clark, leaving me no time to investigate on my own. I really don’t want to face him like this. I want to appear capable and alluring—not bruised and in need of rescuing.
As I limp away towards the rendezvous point, I realize I could use the situation to my advantage and appear the helpless damsel in distress. But I resist wanting to play on Clark’s sympathies. I want to get him to open up to me because he trusts me, not because I manipulate him into trusting me. I hate women who manipulate – like Cat Grant. I refuse to be
that girl.
At last, I make it to the Palazzo Barberini. Clark is waiting on the steps, looking more handsome than I remember. He sees I’m a little worse for the wear and comes over to me immediately.
“Are you all right? What happened?” he asks solicitously.
For just a moment, I think of tossing myself into his arms and playing up the drama. But it’s just not me. So instead, the armor comes up, and I push him away.
“Fine. Nothing a little investigating won’t cure. So, what’s the story?” I say brightly.
His concerned gaze meets mine, and I look away. I don’t want his sympathy – I want his trust. And if I become the simpering damsel, there’s no way he will tell me the secret that he keeps so close to his chest. He needs to see I’m strong, capable, and can be counted on.
I look back up at him, willing him to see I’m fine. After a moment, he nods. “I read the paper and talked to one of the security guys. This palazzo is mainly a painting gallery. The jewelry stolen was from the private collection in the main house. It sounds like an inside job.”
I nod. “Are they letting people back into the museum?”
“Yes, that is still open. But I don’t see what good it will do to go poking around there. What we need—“
“—is to know who works there,” I finish for him, and he looks at me with happy surprise.
I stop a moment too, pleased that we are on the same wavelength.
“Yeah, exactly. So I found out that there was a crop of new hires about two weeks ago, shortly after the heist in Milan. Three men and two women were hired from an agency that supposedly does a thorough vetting job for important clients. The agency has an English name though; it’s called Personnel Matters.”
I look at him with stunned admiration and maybe just a bit of jealousy. “You did your homework, Kent. I’m impressed. Are you sure you’re not an investigative journalist?” I tease only slightly.
He has the grace to look humble and shakes his head. “No, but I somehow find myself investigating stories more than I mean to.”
I’ll just bet he does. Having superpowers has to make one curious, I would think. And a superhero with an altruistic streak would certainly be loath to let unsolved crimes go by the wayside.
“So, do you think there is anyone we should talk to here? I can check the Daily Planet database later for the company name… that could be our next lead.”
“How far are you willing to go to pursue it?” he asks, and I suddenly wonder by the soft tone of his voice if he’s talking about more than this jewel heist story.
I self-consciously push my hair back behind my ear. “Well, um… I don’t know, Clark. How—how far are you willing to go?” I ask, hearing a shaking in my voice that I didn’t expect. He steps up closer to me and gently rubs his thumb over the side of my jaw.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asks, making my insides melt, his eyes looking me over for damage. I’ve seen how strong he is, yet he keeps it all in check. His touch is feather light on my face, yet I know it will leave a mark—on my heart.
I step away from him, trying to focus. “I’m fine, Clark. Really, I am,” I say, feeling far from it.
“Um, so… what do you think we should do?”
Some misguided ideas cross my mind that makes me blush, but I quickly shake myself out of it. I want to see the extent of Clark’s abilities, and one way to test him is to get him to do some investigating with me.
“Well, I was thinking of getting inside the palazzo. You know, see what we can see. Maybe talk to some of the people that work there.”
“I don’t think we’ll find much in the museum,” he says with uncertainty.
I roll my eyes at him, glad that he still has something to learn from me. “We only start with the museum—the goal is to get inside the palazzo itself. Now come on! And try to keep up!” I say, tugging him towards the ticket window to the museum.
*L**L*
We enter the museum, and I tell Clark to leave his jacket and tie at coat check. I want him to look more casual in case we have to blend in. He seems skeptical at the idea, but suddenly notices I am not carrying a purse.
“I—er, lost it,” I mumble, hoping he’ll drop the subject.
He touches my arm, gently coaxing me to look at him. “Lois, were you robbed? Is that what happened on your way to meet me?”
I nod, but shrug it off. “It’s no biggie. I’ll call my credit card companies when I get back to the hotel. It happens all the time in Metropolis.”
His thumb gently strokes my forearm and my heart starts doing flip-flops at his touch. “Let me know if you need anything, okay? Anything. Just ask.”
I nod and regretfully pull my arm away from his grip. I’m still astonished at how such a powerful man can also have the capacity to be so gentle. Just another little mystery to solve about Clark Kent.
We head into the museum, pretending to care about the Caravaggios and the Raphaels the museum has on display. I immediately start looking for closed off areas that might lead into the main house.
It’s late in the afternoon, and lucky for us, there doesn’t seem to be many of the obligatory museum workers whose job it is to make sure you don’t touch anything. I also note that there are not many security cameras around—only near the valuable pieces. This will help our chances of slipping into the lived-in part of the palazzo without being seen.
At last I see a corded off stairway. I wave to Clark who seems genuinely interested in some painting with a woman draped in some diaphanous gown. In annoyance, I call to him and eventually he comes over.
“What did you find?”
“This!” I say triumphantly, ducking under the rope. “Come on!”
He hesitates for just a second, but then quickly follows me. We find ourselves in a marble stairway. There are several doors, and the ones I try are locked. I glance at Clark, and he semi-inconspicuously pulls down his glasses and shakes his head.
He turns to me, “I think we should try further upstairs.”
I try not to let my jaw drop, but I think he may have just literally looked
through those solidly closed doors! It’s just a theory, but I will definitely keep an eye on him using that particular trick again.
He beats me up the stairs and suggests we try the door in the middle. I don’t have my handy credit cards to try and swipe through the lock, but I do have a bobby pin. I pull one out of my hair and start jimmying the lock. But these are old European locks, and I think they work differently than the standard issue ones I’ve often come across in Metropolis.
I glance at Clark. “I can’t get it open.”
“Here, let me try,” he offers. “Look down the stairwell and make sure no one’s followed us.”
I give him a wry smile, betting he’s about to do something only he can and wants to have me out of the way to do it, but I do as I’m told. When I turn back, he has the door open—imagine that.
“Well, guess you’re useful for something after all,” I tease, trying to see if there was any damage done to the lock, but Clark’s hand is covering the handle.
He smiles bashfully and gestures that I should enter first.
We are suddenly in a plush, carpeted hallway. It’s a little narrow, and I wonder if we got lucky and found ourselves in the servants quarters.
I gesture for Clark to follow me as if I know where I’m going, which I do not. But I can’t help smirk at the idea that this powerhouse of a guy is willing to follow little old me around. Could he really be doing it because he’s falling for me? I feel flattered and a little guilty if it’s true. I’m only using him for a story after all. Lois Lane cannot have another love debacle on her hands. Right now, it’s time to focus on the career, and hopefully I’ll manage to get Kent to help me get back to being top banana at the Planet.
I hear some girls chatting in Italian. Great. I forgot that little detail. How are we supposed to find out what they know when we can’t speak the language?
Clark suddenly steps ahead of me and begins talking to the two maids –
in Italian. Is there no end to the man’s talents?
“Scusiamo, io sono Clark Kent, uno reporter americano e io cerco informazione della collana rubata?” he says in a lilting voice. I wonder just how many sides there are to Clark Kent… the flying superhero, the European linguist, the Houdini who sees through doors and gets through locked ones…
The girls giggle and answer him. Obviously, they are swept up in his handsome good looks, which irritates me irrationally. I cross my arms and pretend to understand something of what is being said.
My ears perk up when I hear the name Lex Luthor.
“What’s he doing here?” I ask, though Clark motions for me to wait a moment as the girls finish telling him their story. Lex Luthor is a famous philanthropist in Metropolis and someone who I’ve suspected for a while has been in less than savory dealings. In fact, he was one of my ‘out there’ suspects for who might be behind the gunrunning in the Congo. Suddenly, this jewel heist story just got very interesting.
We leave a few minutes later, with the girls still smiling and giggling. Clark doesn’t say a word until we are back wandering in the museum.
“What was that all about? And when did you learn to speak Italian?” I ask, still surprised by his skill. Are languages another one of his powers?
“One question at a time. I learn languages easily,” he answers casually. “And yes, they did mention Lex Luthor. Do you know who he is?”
“Unless you’ve been hiding under a bushel, you should know who he is, too! He’s an important and very rich philanthropist in Metropolis. But—“I hesitate. This is my story after all, and the more I tell him, the more likely he could do the whole story himself. I just don’t want to be in that position again…
He seems to notice my dilemma and looks directly into my eyes. “Lois, it’s okay. I won’t steal your story. Scout’s honor,” he says, raising his three fingers in a scout salute that is so adorable I relent.
“Okay, okay. I know…” I say, knowing that I have way more dirt on him that if he does double-cross me, I could have his story printed before you can say, ‘stop the presses!’ “Lex Luthor is known for a lot of charity work. But he also is a billionaire. His company makes ordinary household products like paper towels and plastic cups. But I recently discovered he also has a whole other hush-hush branch of LexCorp that is called LL Industries, and they do all this secret technology work… I also think he has his hand in a few other pies around the city, including some mob dealings—which is where my lead in Africa came from—“
“Lois—you’re babbling. Get to the point,” Clark says, shaking me out of my Mad Dog Lane babble mode.
“Oh, sorry. Anyway, it would be great for my—um, our story if I can tie Lex to these thefts,” I correct myself, hoping he doesn’t focus on me calling the story my own. “So what did Mopsy and Flopsy upstairs have to say to you?”
“Well, they are not the new hires from Personnel Matters, but they do know the gossip around the palazzo. It seems Mr. Luthor was here for dinner about a week ago with an opera singer. And the opera singer was admiring the necklace Mr. Brandini, the owner, had on display. Apparently, Lex offered to buy it from him, but Mr. Brandini refused, saying it had sentimental value or something. And get this. It is the sister stone to the Hope Diamond.” He pauses to let that sink in a minute. I feel my eyes grow wide as saucers as the story seems to grow bigger by the minute. “Legend has it that the Hope Diamond was stolen from a statue of Sita, a goddess in India. The diamonds were the eyes. It was always assumed that the second diamond was lost… but here it has resurfaced.”
I am intrigued by his story. This will make a heck of an article and I feel my reporter juices pumping.
“Did you learn anything else?” I ask, still reeling from the fact that Lex Luthor is somehow tied up in this.
“Yes, in fact. Apparently the opera diva Lex Luthor is seeing is performing tonight at the Teatro Costanzi.” He suddenly gives me a megawatt grin as he offers me his arm. “Lois? How do you feel about seeing an opera tonight?”
*L**L*
ROME!
All the places I mention are real
Some you may know already, some you may not...
Spanish Steps Palazzo Barberini Piazza Navona 1 Piazza Navona 2 Teatro Costanzi
