“Lois, this is a great little story you sent me—has a real human interest angle with the opera singer. Not your usual line, but it suits you,” Perry was saying to me on the phone the next day.
“Thanks, Perry. I hope to have a follow-up for you soon—“ I begin, but Perry interrupts.
“But who the hell is this Clark Kent? And why is he on your byline?”
I swallow, knowing this was coming. “Well, he’s a freelancer I met in Paris. We—were on the tail of the same story and, well, we ended up writing it together,” I say, feeling my cheeks flame.
“You? Working with a partner? I thought you learned your lesson in that department, Lois,” Perry chides. I knew he wasn’t going to buy it.
“Is there more you aren’t telling me?”
I feel embarrassed that it suddenly looks like I can’t hold my own alone. That maybe I met someone who I feel something for and am letting it interfere with my work. I can’t let Perry think that about me. He’ll never trust me to go solo again. Oh why did I put Clark’s name on the byline? Why?
Because he deserved it, and you know it.“Lois? What exactly is your interest with this Clark Kent character?” Perry persists.
The reporter in me suddenly takes over; the woman who fought through journalism school and worked her tail off for a spot on the Daily Planet’s payroll starts speaking and I can’t shut her up. “Well, actually, Clark might be a story all on his own. I can’t say much more than that, Perry, except—he’s pretty incredible. But I’m working with him to get the real scoop. I have to get him to trust me first, to confide in me. This one might be the big fish I’ve been looking for. You just got to trust me.”
“I do trust you, Lois. I just hope you know what you’re doing… Is this Kent character dangerous?” Perry suddenly asks, assuming his parental role that he does from time to time, a side to him that I find as endearing as I do aggravating.
“No, Perry. He’s not dangerous. He’s---well, I’ll tell you more when I know more. But for now, just know I’m safe with him. I’ll call soon when we have the follow-up to the jewelry thief piece, okay?”
“Okay, Lois. Just be careful.”
I hang up the phone, feeling slightly ill. I did it. I put Clark under Perry’s radar. Clark’s secret will have to come out eventually, one way or another—especially if Perry starts questioning me more about him. I only hope that Clark confides in me before I’m put in that position.
*L**L*
I meet Clark later that afternoon for a coffee at a sidewalk café.
“Perry loved our story! He’s looking forward to the follow-up,” I say cheerfully as I sip my latte and conveniently leave out the part about me mentioning
why I was willing to work with a partner.
“That’s great! I really appreciate you sharing your byline, Lois,” Clark said, beaming a heart-stopping smile in my direction. “You helped me realize a little dream of mine, to write for the Daily Planet.”
I am torn apart by guilt; he seems to trust me so implicitly, and I fear I’m walking an ever finer line between being his friend and betraying him.
I shake off the feeling and go straight to business, avoiding my conscience all together. “I think our next step should be to interview Lex Luthor,” I suggest. I’ve been dying to get an interview with him in Metropolis for months. And this could be a perfect in!
“Is that a good idea, Lois? He probably knows who you are – and if he is as suspect as you say, do you really want to get on his bad side?”
“Clark, I appreciate you looking out for me, but I don’t think we need to worry about anything. We simply go to his hotel and say we are concerned about the allegations brought against his girlfriend. He doesn’t need to know why we are there exactly. And maybe he’ll give something away – or maybe,” I say leaning in conspiratorially, “we can do some snooping while we’re there!”
“You seem to enjoy snooping,” Clark says in a teasing manner.
I shrug casually. “It goes with the territory—but it
is a lot of fun!”
*L**L*
“Venice?” I turn to Clark with annoyance. Just when I think I have Luthor in my sights…
Clark and I questioned the front desk at the luxurious Westin Excelsior for nearly an hour until we finally got it out of one of the bellhops that Luthor had left for Venice this morning. We—well, I should say
I—almost got us kicked out when I pushed the issue, but luckily Clark is a smooth talker, and very diplomatically explained that we were looking out for the billionaire, trying to keep him out of a scandal or some such nonsense.
That’s when a bellhop pulled us aside and said that Luthor was on his way to the famed City of Bridges.
“We have to go after him!” I say, thrilling as well to the thought of seeing that enchanted city. “We could be in Venice by this evening, Clark!” I say, seeing his eyes sparkle with the idea as well—but we could be there even sooner if he let me in on his little secret. I can only imagine what it would be like to fly in Clark’s arms over Italy to Venice…
“Hold your horses there, Lois… I think we should try to talk to the opera diva first. You know, get her side of the story?” he suggests reasonably.
“Absolutely,” I relent, and shake myself out the daydream. “Let’s go then.”
As we walk side by side through the cobbled streets, I get the feeling something else is weighing on Clark’s mind. I am almost afraid to ask him, thinking of all the little ways I’ve tricked him into trusting me – honestly, he has all the reason in the world to be worried.
Clark eventually seems to screw up some courage and turns to face me, his brown eyes serious and compelling. “Lois? As much as I’m enjoying pursuing this story with you---I can’t help feel that’s all this is about—a story.”
That stops me dead in my tracks. Because it is true. This is all about
his story.
“What do you mean, Clark?” I ask innocently, but inwardly my heart’s in turmoil.
“I mean, I thought we were doing this story to get to know each other—maybe even romantically?” he asks with some confusion. “I mean—that kiss the other night—was—“
“Spectacular,” I say almost unconsciously under my breath, remembering, but quickly recover. “I mean, yes it was—nice. But—what are you asking me, Clark?”
He seems to struggle to muster up some courage, but eventually looks me in the eye again, his earnest expression cutting through my heart like a knife. “I guess--- when this story is all over--- what then? Will we just go our separate ways?”
I haven’t thought of that. I have only thought of the end result – of somehow getting Clark’s story, and hopefully getting him to support me writing it. But—beyond a story?
Maybe I could turn this back on him. He’s the travel writer—the man who has to be everywhere at once--- and the only person who can pull it off more credibly than anyone else I’ve ever met before, too.
“Well, don’t you have an obligation to the Borneo Gazette?” I ask forcefully. “I mean, what if your next assignment is in South America or Australia? What then, Clark?”
“The Borneo Gazette is only a stepping stone for me, Lois…” He looks thoughtfully at me, maybe even a little hopeful. “Do you think---I mean, if it were possible--- do you think there could be a place for me in Metropolis? At the Daily Planet?”
I turn to him with a quizzical expression, wondering why a powerhouse like him, with his amazing abilities, would want to settle into working in one city as a journalist. The whole world could be his. I don’t flatter myself for one moment to believe that he would want to do it just for me, even if there is an obvious attraction between us. He had mentioned, after all, that he had always dreamed of writing for the Planet. But the look in his eyes – he seemed to be looking for more from me that just this one story.
“Clark—“ I begin, torn between wanting to let him down gently that I can’t make any such promises and wanting to give him hope that he could have exactly what he wanted. “Can we just finish this story? And see where the road takes us?”
He sighs, seeing that I am not ready to give him any sort of commitment –partner or otherwise-- and nods in acquiescence. “Sure. Maybe this story will get your editor’s attention. And maybe you could put in a good word for me?” he asks me hopefully.
I start walking again, not looking at him. Thanks to me, Perry now knows that Clark Kent is a story in and of himself. No doubt, Perry would hire him—but he’d want to know the whole truth about him first. One way or another, I have to get down to the bottom of the mystery that is Clark Kent.
*L**L*
The diva has left the building—er, prison.
Apparently, it pays to be an opera singer. They need her at the opera house tonight because some bigwig refuses to listen to a stand-in, so she was released on bail. This gives Clark and me an extra shot at interviewing the people backstage, and also hopefully the diva herself.
No fancy dress tonight, though. Clark, after a little coercion from moi, has agreed that we need to get backstage during the performance. This will require some undercover work, namely pretending to be part of the cast.
We stake out nearby the opera house, waiting for said cast to arrive. Our goal is to blend in and say we’re part of the chorus. We don’t have to wait long, as by seven o’clock, singers are arriving. I tug at Clark’s sleeve and we head towards the door.
“Is this really going to work, Lois?” he asks doubtfully.
Honestly, I’m not sure, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone manning the door. People are just going in willy-nilly.
“Sure? Why not? Let’s go!” I say, following a guy into the stage entrance.
I tap Clark on the arm purposefully, “Tell this guy we’re replacements for the chorus and ask where we can get dressed.”
Clark rolls his eyes, but breaks out his Italian and charm. The guy is friendly, though he looks at Clark a bit skeptically. He eventually accepts Clark’s explanation and points us down a hallway. Perfect! We’re in!
As we make our way, we hear a soprano warming up. I’m pretty sure it’s our diva and I gesture to Clark to follow me.
“She sounds busy, Lois. Maybe we should try during a lull in the action on stage…”
“Clark! This may be our only chance! Now, come on!”
Clark and I make our way to the dressing room and knock on the door.
“Scusi, Buena sera, Madama,” Clark begins when she opens the door. I hadn’t paid much attention the other night, but now I notice how beautiful she is in person. Her curly brown hair is piled high on her head, accenting her round brown eyes and her small up-turned nose. She’s standing in front of her mirror in an eighteenth century corset and stockings, petite and beautiful. I try not to feel a stab of jealousy as Clark talks to her sympathetically.
She gestures wildly with her hands and seems outraged as she explains something to him. I assume she’s describing the circumstances of her arrest. When Clark mentions Luthor’s name, her face scrunches up and she crosses her arms angrily. By her expression, I’m guessing she is no longer enamored of the billionaire.
A few moments later, another knock sounds on the door. I assume it’s time for the show or something, but instead a messenger pops in with a note for la diva.
“Grazie,” she says and reads the note. “Signor, cosè molto interessante! Benissimo!” she cries, gesturing for Clark to read the note.
I feel totally out of the loop and wait for Clark to clue me in.
“What’s going on?” I ask at last, seeing the diva grab onto Clark’s arm as he reads.
“It seems Madama Costini has been freed of all charges. They found the supposed thief,” he says, but then leans towards me confidingly, “But I’m guessing it’s more likely they found the scapegoat that Luthor paid to set her up.”
Clark turns to ask the singer something else and she nods, “Sì, io lo penso assai.”
Clark nods at me in return, “She agrees. She told me the reason he’s going to Venice is that there is a rare green gemstone discovered there, brighter than an emerald. She said it was brought there by some wealthy Americans twenty-odd years ago and suddenly Luthor has an interest in it.”
“Maybe we can catch him at his own game,” I say, thinking of the advantages we have on our side with Clark’s abilities.
“You seem awfully sure of that,” Clark says with surprise, making me a little uncomfortable. Had I just given something away?
“Well, why not? Lois and Clark have done well so far—now we have the follow-up story to declare Madama Costini’s innocence, and we have a lead on Luthor. What more do we need?”
Clark smiles and then turns back to the diva, “Cantano belissima questa sera! Ciao, Madama.”
She smiles in return. “Grazie mille, Signor! Ciao!”
We leave her dressing room and head back towards the backstage area. “I guess it’s pointless to get dressed up then, huh?” I say, feeling a little let down as I eye a ruffled maid’s costume that I would rather die than admit that I’d like to try on. I secretly love undercover work.
“You sound disappointed, Lois. I’m surprised. Can you actually sing opera?” he asks me with a teasing note in his voice.
“Passably, yes—maybe, I don’t know…” I say, knowing the limit of my talents probably doesn’t include opera. “But we wouldn’t have had to sing. Anyway, it’s a moot point. The diva is free of all charges, and we have a lead. Now all we need to do is head to Venice. Could you book us a hotel?”
“One room?” he asks, and I detect a hint of nervous anticipation in his tone.
“Well, why not? We’re adults. I am still out some credit cards, remember?” I say a bit more caustically than I mean to, recalling Perry harrumphing at me about being more careful.
Luckily, my Rome hotel was already paid for, but I have no way of pre-booking another hotel. And heck, I admit that being confined to a hotel room with Clark Kent has its appeal. I don’t know what is tempting me to play with fire, but I have a feeling my boy scout won’t let a lady sit out in the cold.
“Well, it is high tourist season. Will the Planet reimburse our expenses? This isn’t exactly a Gazette story so—“
I roll my eyes, knowing I’ll have to sweet talk Perry a bit. “It won’t be a problem,” I say confidently. “Let’s just hope we can get a hotel at all.”
*L**L*
I always thought that taking a train across Europe would be a highly romantic experience. I never counted on the intrinsically slow nature of Italians, which apparently extends to their train system. We literally have been stopping every half hour for at least fifteen minutes at every stop. I look longingly at Clark, wanting desperately to ask him to whoosh us out of here and up into the skies towards Venice, but I know that is impossible.
But I can’t resist saying, “Why didn’t we just fly?”
I have the pleasure of seeing him squirm at this a second, and I try to hide my smile. What must it be like for him to be able to fly – and to have to hide it at every turn?
“It would have been much quicker to just hop on a plane,” I qualify, letting him off the hook.
“I hate planes… and besides, what better way to see the countryside?” Clark says, gesturing to the lush rolling Tuscan hills around us.
“I suppose so,” I answer, though the summer heat is making it difficult to appreciate the scenery around us. Italians apparently don’t believe in air conditioning or gratuitous use of deodorant, and the train car is stuffy and full of sweaty passengers. “I just hope Luthor doesn’t skip town before we can get there.”
A strong, oily odor suddenly catches my nose, which is a difficult thing to do considering the odiferous confines of the train. I look at Clark, who wears an expression that tells me he has smelled it, too.
“That’s odd,” I say. “It smells like---“
But before I can say anything further, Clark stands up and says to me,”I—need to find the restroom.”
He says it so panicky and moves so quickly towards the back of the train, that I am certain he is checking out the smell of burning oil. In this heat, I could easily imagine a fire breaking out on the train, and I know that Clark will somehow figure out how to stop it. I am tempted to follow him and see exactly what he does, but the ticket controller appears just as I am about to stand up.
“Biglietti, per favore,” he says, barely looking at me but writing something in his semi-official looking notebook.
“Just a sec,” I murmur in frustration, trying to keep an eye on where Clark is heading as I stand in my seat to dig through my purse for my ticket. Of course, I can’t find it there, so I look in my work bag. I at last pull it out and hand it to the grumpy ticket man.
Clark reappears a moment later, looking frantic and with a smudge of soot on his face. I look behind him and see a train technician waving at Clark to come back. The man’s face is wide with astonishment and maybe just a bit of fear, and I realize that Clark has been caught doing something…super.
The man starts calling out in Italian and passengers around us suddenly take an interest in Clark and begin asking questions. The train worker is eagerly pushing towards us, and the excitement is growing in the train car as news of whatever Clark just did starts spreading.
Clark looks helplessly at me, but offers me his hand. “Do you trust me, Lois?”
I swallow, tampering down my excitement. I wonder if this is the moment I will finally learn the secrets of Clark Kent.
I eagerly reach for his hand and nod, “Of course, Clark. I trust you with my life.”
That seems to be enough for him, as he nods curtly to me and I see his jaw clench in determination.
We stand up and his arm is suddenly wrapped tight around my waist. I think I hear him whisper, “Hold on,” and we’re suddenly out of there, up and over the train and into the skies... “Lois? …Lois. Wake up, we’re here.”
Clark is standing above me, holding out his hand to help me out of my seat. I have a momentary flashback to the dream, but realize that’s all it was – a dream.
I take his hand and he smiles at me. “I can’t believe you slept most of the way.”
“Well, I am saving up energy for Venice… I didn’t say anything in my sleep, did I?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious.
“No, nothing you wouldn’t say to my face, Lois,” he answers with his charming smile. “Come on, we have our hotel to find.”
The train station Santa Lucia is right on the edge of Venice. We step out and it’s like we’re suddenly in a postcard with gondoliers and lush Italian villas all around us. The sun is warm and bright, making the lagoon waters that surround Venice look aquamarine. Clark leads me to the ferries that serve as trams around the city.
We are crammed together like sardines with other tourists and who I assume are Venetians. As an old woman bumps me with her bag, I am tossed into Clark’s chest. Finding close proximity to him more comfortable than rubbing elbows with nearby passengers, I linger there into an almost hug.
I feel his hand rest on the small of my back and feel my heart begin to palpitate at our nearness. I look over Clark’s shoulder at the view around us and can’t believe I’m standing in his arms in one of the most intriguing and beautiful cities in the world.
We get to our stop, just past the famous Rialto Bridge, a large white bridge with room for a tiny market on it. Clark pulls out a map, but looks perplexed.
“It can’t be that hard, Clark. It’s not rocket science! What street are we looking for?” I ask, snatching the map from him.
I have to admit, the map is an unhelpful tourist map, only laying out the important streets and attractions. Our hotel appears to be on a canal, which means we either have to swim, fly, or take a gondola. Since I have no inclination of getting into Venice’s murky waters, and Clark has been reluctant to share his super powers with me, the expensive gondola ride is our only option.
“Gondola, anyone?” I turn to Clark with a smile.
“Those things are too overpriced—neither one of our papers would expense it. Let me see the map again.”
He takes it back from me and I start to lose my patience. “How else can we get there?”
“Maps of Venice are notoriously inaccurate. There has never been an exact map of all of the streets in the city. Part of the charm is getting lost. Though I think we can get to our hotel this way…”
Clark takes my hand, pulling me through the labyrinth of streets, vaguely in the direction of our hotel. I’m fairly certain we’ve got turned around and are heading in the complete wrong direction, when at last we arrive at a street entrance to the hotel.
“Well, I’ll be,” I say in surprise. “Who knew you had an inner compass?”
He seems to take that as the compliment it was. “I learned how to navigate directions in boy scouts.”
I bet you did Mr. I-can-see-through-walls…We arrive at last to our humble little room. And I mean little. There’s only one queen size bed, and it takes up practically the whole space. I try not to think about sharing that bed with Clark, but move instead to look out the window. All I can see is the building across from us and hear the low swish of gondolas passing by in the canal below us from three stories below.
I turn back to Clark and he looks at me apologetically. “This was all I could find. I’ll gladly sleep on the—“ he looks around, noting that the only furniture in the room is an armoire, a small table and two chairs. “---the chairs. You can have the bed.”
As generous as this offer is, it’s totally impractical. The chairs are small and don’t even have arms on them. I give him a pat on the shoulder, admiring his chivalry, as I laugh, “Clark, it’s no big deal. I trust you. We’ll share the bed.”
I swear I see him gulp at this prospect and it makes me continue to giggle. Can Clark really be so innocent? All the more reason to understand his reluctance to share his secrets, I suppose, though I wish he would open up to me, even just a little.
“So, where do you think Luthor is hiding?” I ask, changing the subject from the awkward topic of the sleeping arrangements.
“Actually, he’s not hiding. He’s in plain sight,” says Clark cryptically so I ask him to elaborate.
“I, uh, heard that he’s hosting a masked ball this evening.”
Sure he heard, I think to myself.
Super-style probably.“A masked ball? Wasn’t Carnivale months ago?”
“Yeah, well, I guess it doesn’t matter when you’re a billionaire,” Clark grumbled.
“I suppose… and how did you, um, hear about this party? We only just got to Venice.”
“When we, you know…. Checked in. I overheard someone mention it,” he says quickly, and I swear he’s turning red.
I know he’s lying, though I nod. “Right… you overheard it…“
He looks at me oddly and I wonder if he knows I know… something about him. I put on a bland smile, covering the moment of awkward almost acknowledgement of his super skills. “Well, I guess that leaves us in need of a costume, right?” I say brightly.
Clark looks relieved and nods. “Yeah… so, let’s go explore the city.”
*L**L*
Exploring the city is not as easy as it sounds. The canals make navigating where you want to go pretty tricky, unless there is a bridge nearby. After some strange turns and false starts, we end up on the main street with all of the tourists swarming around us. Admittedly, we are tourists, but I like to try to blend in at least a little.
Clark and I have fun going in and out of various shops, trying on different masks. I try on a bright yellow one, but I feel like I looked like a canary… or a chicken. Clark tries on several different ones, including a Harlequin patterned one and a hilarious mask with a long nose. We both have a laugh over that one.
At last, Clark picks up a black Zorro type mask, and I suddenly have an idea. What if Clark had a secret identity? Maybe he’s been so reluctant to show anyone what he can do because he’s afraid he would lose his private life, sort of like that dream I had on the train... But if he had a disguise, he could maintain his private life and still help people.
I smile and tell him the mask is a good choice, but turn away from him as I contemplate this--- and my article. My article could do more damage than good if it’s not handled properly. Maybe I should tell Clark that I know about him, that I want to help him. I don’t even have to mention my article… He has so much hero potential, yet he hides it deliberately.
Clark and I purchase our masks; mine a dark blue number with silver stars and silver and black streamers and Clark, his simple black Zorro mask.
As we walk back to our little hotel room, I grab on to Clark’s arm. “So… do you like our masks? Do you think they’ll get us in to Luthor’s party?”
“If we’re careful, I suppose so...”
I roll my eyes, “We don’t need to be careful. We need to get in!”
“I have a feeling with you, that won’t be a problem,” he sighs and I can’t help but laugh because he’s right. I’m pretty good at getting in just about anywhere.
*L**L*
Only the best for Lex Luthor:
Westin Excelsior, Rome Grand Canal, Venice Take your pick--every picture is beautiful!
Rialto Bridge, Venice
