With my credit cards stolen, I have to rely on the wardrobe I already have for the opera tonight. Back in my room, I stare at the two evening dresses I have packed, trying to determine which I should wear tonight. I need to be stunning, but I also should wear something that I can move in freely if we end up doing some investigating backstage. I have a long burgundy dress and a flirty black one that is mid-length. Somehow the black one seems too sweet for the opera, so it will have to be the long burgundy one, even though the short train on the back will make any daring movements absolutely impossible.
As I dress and do my hair and make-up, I can’t help the flutter of excitement I feel in my stomach. I can’t wait to see Clark dressed up in a suit again, and even though I know nothing about opera, I’ve always thought it would be romantic to go to one. Clark took care of the tickets this afternoon, and I have no idea what we are even seeing, except that it is in Italian.
Since we got a late start, we decided to skip dinner together and just meet at the theater at seven-thirty, as the opera starts at eight.
I arrive just a little bit late, but Clark is there, looking even more handsome in a black and white tux that would give James Bond a run for his money. I cover a small smile as I take his arm, deciding that hanging out with Clark is far better than trudging through the jungles of the Congo would have been.
“So, what exactly are we seeing, Mr. Kent?” I ask playfully as he hands me my ticket.
“Così fan tutte, a comedy by Mozart,” he says unhelpfully, as I only recognize the name Mozart, but know nothing about his music. “The title means ‘they are all like that.”
“Who? Men?” I say, trying to bite back the bitterness in my tone.
“No, actually, women,” he says, concealing a smile at my retort.
“So, what is it about?”
Clark describes the basic plot as we walk through the lush marble lobby, and are ushered to our seats. “It starts out with two sisters who are in love with two men. They praise them and say how none can compare to them. The men, with the help of a devious ‘friend’, say they need to test the fidelity of the women.”
“Ha!” I scoff. “It’s the men who should be tested for fidelity!”
“Well, they are tested as well, but it’s not the main point of the plot. Anyway, the men pretend to go off to war and return dressed as Albanian princes. Each tries to woo the other’s love.”
“I’m sure the women are smart enough to see through that disguise! After all, it’s not the clothes that make the man! No one could fool me for a second in a disguise…” I say, confident in my ability to see through ruses—it is part of my job, after all.
“Anyway, one of the sisters resist, and the other succumbs, but by the end, both the girls have fallen in love with the other suitor.”
“That is ridiculous. And I suppose the men are blameless in this little scheme?” I ask, feeling a little smug that my suspicions about the inanity of opera are proving accurate.
“Well, that’s what makes this opera so interesting. The ending libretto is ambiguous as to who is to blame, and even who ends up with whom. It’s up to the director to decide how it ends,” Clark finishes, sitting down next to me in our little box.
I’m prepared to be bored and even annoyed by the opera after Clark’s little summary, but as the music starts, I’m completely carried away to another place. Yes, the plot is silly, but it also shows how ridiculous people can act when they are in love – or when they think they are in love. It’s not until the middle of the first act, though that I remember the opera diva, as her necklace suddenly catches the light.
“Clark!” I lean over to whisper in his ear. “Is that the necklace that was stolen?”
He pulls down his glasses and looks over them. I wonder again what he can do with his eyes… someday I hope he’ll tell me. He nods, “Yes. I can’t believe she has the audacity to wear it on stage like that. If anyone who knows about the theft is here tonight…”
“We have to get backstage at the end and try to talk to her,” I say, settling back into my seat.
Clark looks over at me and smiles. “So you like it? You don’t mind staying till the end? I mean, we could go during intermission---“
I shake my head, “No, it’s fine… I mean, I like it.” I try to tell myself that I have just discovered a passion for the opera, but honestly, I am almost more enjoying sitting next to Clark Kent.
The next act has me more intrigued by an opera than I ever thought could be possible. I find myself edging ever closer to Clark during a love duet about hearts pounding and passion. My hand slips into Clark’s, and he gives it a gentle squeeze. I glance over at him, and he offers me a sweet smile that has my insides fluttering with excitement. Is it the opera or the man that has my captured attention so completely?
I’m swept up by the music more than the story, and I definitely feel more than I’ve allowed myself to feel in months. There are moments that have me laughing—like the maid pretending to be a doctor to cure the men who have pretended to be poisoned. Who thinks up these plots?! But there are also moments that have me near tears, with the sheer passion and joy of the music. I’m so happy that Clark brought me here, even if it was just for a story. I know, that however this all turns out, going to the opera with him will be a memory that I’ll cherish forever.
When the final curtain falls, we don’t sit around to applaud for half an hour, like the rest of the audience seem prepared to do. We have to get backstage to talk to the diva in the necklace.
She played the more serious sister, and I wonder if she has a formidable offstage personality to match the intensity with which she sang tonight.
Clark leads me outside and around to the back of the opera house. The air is warm, and the full moon is just starting to come out. I still feel the vestiges of the magic created in the opera house, and I don’t want to lose this moment.
I suddenly stop and pull Clark’s arm to look at me.
“What is it, Lois?” he asks.
I look up at him, thinking of how since the moment he rescued my plane out of the air he has intrigued me. He’s one hell of a story, but he’s also an incredible guy as well. I have this feeling that it could all end any second. That he’ll see through my motives or he’ll just disappear because he can. And I can’t let him go without knowing, what it would be like—
I suddenly reach around his neck and pull him towards me. He gets the idea and pulls me closer to him. Our lips meet, and I feel the electric intensity of passion between us. My heart is beating a mile a minute, and my hands can’t help themselves from pulling him closer, feeling the long planes of his back, the strength of his arms, and the silkiness of his hair.
Moments later, we stop kissing, though both of us are breathing a bit raggedly. I feel as if I’ve just drunk a fine champagne. I almost want to dance with the joy of it, of him. I suddenly don’t care who he is or where he is from or how he got his abilities. All I can think is that Clark Kent is one hell of a kisser.
“Lois,” he says intensely, holding my hand to his chest.
I realize I have to stop him. I can feel he wants to confess his heart to me, and I don’t want him to. I don’t want to hear that the kiss affected him the way it did me. I don’t want to fall for him – I can’t! Even with this necklace story, I still need his story… Don’t I? If he’s a secret government agent or some experiment gone awry, the world needs to know about it—doesn’t it? And if it helps boost me to international renown---
I take a step back from him, terribly torn. He’s a reporter, as well. I still don’t know how much I can trust him. After all, aren’t I being just as double-crossing by trying to scoop his own personal story? Suddenly I’m nauseous, sensing this has all gone wrong. I should just let the Clark Kent story drop, yet the reporter in me tells me that would be a stupid thing to do. I need his story to save my career. A jewelry heist is one thing. But a super powered man—is a completely different ballgame.
“Lois? What is it?”
“Nothing… I’m fine. I think we need to hurry, though. Who knows how long after the applause we’ll have to talk to the diva?”
He seems hesitant, and I know he wants to talk about the kiss we just shared. But I can’t let him. I pull him along instead to the backstage entrance.
It’s much easier than I thought it would be to get inside. No one is standing guard except for a stagehand finishing a cigarette. She doesn’t give us a second glance as we walk right past her into the backstage entrance. I guess people don’t expect snoopers after an opera—maybe that’s only at rock concerts.
We spot the singer at a backstage dressing table. But just as we are about to approach her, I see Lex Luthor and three Italian police officers in tow approaching her from the other side of the stage.
“That’s her. I told you it wasn’t me who stole the necklace!” Luthor says, pointing at the singer.
Clark and I move to the shadows to watch the scene unfold behind some of the offstage scenery.
The soprano looks up in horror and then in shock as the policemen come towards her with handcuffs. She glances at Lex and starts screaming at him in Italian.
“Io non sono un ladro! Era un regalo! Lo ha dato me!” she is crying, stomping her foot, and gesturing wildly at Luthor. Lex is saying something in Italian to the officers, but in a lower voice.
I glance at Clark, and he shakes his head. “She says she’s not a thief. That it was a present from Luthor. But Luthor says she has stolen other things from him as well.”
I look back at the drama unfolding before us, and sure enough, a gold watch is found in her bag by one of the officers. She looks in shock at the police, but she has lost her case.
“She obviously has been set up!” I cry to Clark, indignant. “We have to prove that Luthor set her up!” I am almost ready to jump in and tell the police myself that the singer couldn’t possibly have stolen the necklace, that Luthor is not the most honest of men, that – But Clark’s hand on my arm stops me.
“Lois… do you really want to get further involved in this? I mean… it could be a big story, but it could also be dangerous if what you told me about Lex Luthor is true.”
“Clark! She’s innocent. The least we can do is try to help! If I send a write up about this to Perry tonight, the international press will be all over it, and they will have to start investigating Luthor. Come on, Kent! We have a story to write!”
*L**L*
On the way back to my hotel room, all I can think about is the kiss that Clark and I shared after the opera. The strains of the music still play in my mind, and the sensation of being in Clark’s arms still resonates in my body. I’m helplessly smitten, right when I can least afford to be.
At least I have the jewelry heist story to write with him. I glance over at him in the cab, wondering what it would be like to do this sort of stuff all the time with him in Metropolis. Would he ever consider working for the Daily Planet? I know he has some sort of superhero agenda tied up in his travel writer persona, but a selfish part of me would love to work side by side with him on a daily basis.
I stop myself. Am I really saying that I’d like him as a partner? That I can trust him? Maybe… yes. No. I mean, he still hasn’t even hinted at what he’s capable of to me. Maybe he still doesn’t really trust me. And why should he? I have the makings of a Pulitzer Prize winning story on my word processor about him, if only I could get him to talk to me about it.
I think about just questioning him, blatantly. But I know that would be a mistake. If he’s worked so hard to hide what he’s really capable of, then he is quite likely to take off and leave me if I press him on it. And that scares me. I’m starting to like having him around…
At last, we arrive at my hotel room. It almost feels like a date, still dressed up from the opera and just enough sexual tension from that kiss between us to make me interested in what could happen next, but we still have work to do.
“I think we could use some coffee,” Clark says, heading over to the little counter top with coffee supplies.
“That’s perfect. I’ll start writing,” I say, pulling out my word processor.
While Clark is busy with the coffee, I open up my computer and connect the cable for the internet. Clark is taking forever with the coffee—it’s an Italian press, which takes some patience to work with. I’ve just been ducking down to the nearby café in the morning, not even daring to attempt working that bizarre contraption.
I open a new file, feeling guilty about the file about Clark on my computer. I am tempted to come clean with him, but I know it wouldn’t end in him doing the same with me. If he knew I was pursuing him because of a story, I’m certain that he’d disappear out of my life forever. And while losing the story on him would be disappointing, losing his company would hurt even more.
Finally, Clark comes over with a steaming cup of coffee. I take a sip, shocked by how much stronger it is than the Daily Planet sludge I’m used to. “Now this is a cup of coffee!”I say brightly.
Clark nods, taking an appreciative sip. “Yeah, the Italians are really good at opera and coffee. Though Turkish coffee is even better in my mind…”
He starts describing to me his coffee experience in Turkey while I start on writing the story. Eventually his attention is drawn back to what I’m writing and he pulls up a chair beside me. We decide to write an editorial on whether or not an opera diva could be considered guilty of stealing the jewels or was it more likely her billionaire boyfriend set her up. Clark suggests that we don’t mention Lex Luthor by name until we have more proof. My fingers are itching to include his name in the story, but even without Luthor it still reads as an interesting piece that will definitely need a follow up.
I look over at Clark as he reads back through the story for errors, and I feel excited at the thought of writing another story with him. Oh, what am I saying? I should be doing this alone – I should be trying to figure out how Clark got his powers! I should not be fantasizing about having a partner! It’s how I got myself into this mess in the first place!
I sigh, and Clark glances at me a little defensively. “What? That comma is misplaced – I didn’t change the meaning, I only –“
“No,” I shake my head, secretly enjoying watching him squirm. “There’s one thing missing in this article.”
Clark looks seriously at the page, thinking hard. “I don’t think so. It reads pretty easily—your editor will be pleased.”
I swing the keyboard slightly over to face me and take control of the mouse. I go back to the top of the document and stop at my byline.
“It’s missing your name,” I say, typing it in next to mine. “You did say you are a freelancer, right?”
“Lois, you don’t have to,” he says, but he looks pleased.
Yes, I do, I think, wanting to appease my own conscience. If I do end up using his story in all of this, I want him to know that I am not always selfish. That I can recognize when someone is genuinely helping me.
“Perry will be pleased that I have a partner on this. He’s already relieved I didn’t go to the Congo. Besides, you wrote half of it—your name deserves to be on there with mine. And didn’t you say you hoped to write for the Daily Planet one day?”
Clark suddenly grins happily, and I feel my insides melt with pleasure. “Thanks, Lois,” he says. “ You’re a good friend.”
*L**L*
Remember this line?
"I find myself edging ever closer to Clark during a love duet about hearts pounding and passion."
Here\'s a really excellent version of of the duet (a little risque too!), with English subtitles. For those of you not used to opera, the first part is recitative, or speech singing-- wait about 2 minutes in for the duet to start.
Cosi fan tutte is one of my favorite operas! My nickname, Mozartmaid, comes from this opera's Despina--she's a little like Lois, though she's much more practical than her. Feisty, smart, and has been wounded in love. From the same company,
here\'s 'In uomini' which has Despina tell the girls how they should not trust men, but learn to use them to their advantage.
Clark gave you the short version, but
here\'s a more detailed version of the synopsis of the opera.
Feel free to post any opera questions!
