Since I've been so occupied with real life recently, I'm going to have to go back and review all of Smallville thoroughly to get back into the swing of the story. Until then, in deference to Labrat's request that we submit more stories for the Archive, I've decided to finish a much shorter one, that has been sitting on my hard drive for nearly a year, in order to get it to her quickly.
Please give feedback on this one. It will determine how I actually finish it. Although I know pretty much how I want it to go, I've noticed that fdk generally makes the end product better. There will be only a couple more parts, but I'd appreciate the comments.
Nan
Disclaimer: The recognizable characters and settings in this story are the property of D.C. Comics, Warner Bros., December 3rd Productions, and anyone else with a legal right to them, and I have no claim on them whatsoever, nor am I profiting by their use, but any of the new characters and situations are mine, and the story belongs to me.
The Inconveniences of Doing Superman's Laundry: 1/?
By Nan Smith
"Mr. Kent!"
Clark turned at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. The speaker was female, and after a moment he placed her. This was Janeane Schumer, that new member of the Dirt Digger who had printed that nasty little piece last week inferring that Superman picked and chose when he made rescues and citing, among others, the death of Lex Luthor to back it up. Even Perry had been annoyed, and his editor would never, in the ordinary way, even admit that he read the publication.
He turned back and continued his progress, but Ms. Schumer apparently was not the easily discouraged type. He guessed she couldn't be, considering who employed her. He heard her footsteps speed up and resisted the urge to break into a run. It was tempting, but probably undignified for a member of The Hottest Team in Town.
She pulled even with him and reached out to grab his elbow. "Mr. Kent!"
He slowed his pace slightly. "Is there a problem, Miss?"
"Don't you know me?" she inquired, jogging along to keep up with him.
Since Clark Kent had never met the woman, he could safely reply. "I'm afraid not. Have we met?"
"Janeane Schumer, Dirt Digger," she introduced herself.
"Oh yes, I recognize the name." He speeded up again. "You wrote the hit piece on Superman last week."
"You read my work?" she inquired.
"A friend brought it to my attention," he said. "Can I help you, Miss Schumer?"
"As a matter of fact, yes. You and Superman are friends, I gather."
"If you expect me to give you some dirt on Superman, you're barking up the wrong tree," he told her.
"Oh no, not at all. The press conference you gave yesterday -- about Diana Stride's accusation that you were Superman. Superman said you do his laundry."
"What's your point?"
"I was wondering if I could get an interview."
"No," Clark said. "Now, if you'll excuse me, my partner is waiting for me. We have a deadline."
"Perhaps we could meet for brunch, later."
"I don't think so," Clark said. "Nice to meet you."
**********
"Who was that?" Lois asked, as he slid into the seat across from her at Lulu's Diner. He noted that sheets of paper were spread across half the table, and in dire danger of acquiring both ketchup and mustard stains. Carefully, he moved several pages away from the mustard bottle, lifted the container and mopped up the little ring of mustard it left behind with a napkin.
"I don't think you should use this for a paperweight," he remarked.
His partner made a face. "I wasn't. It was there when I got here. And don't dodge my question."
Clark picked up his menu. "That was the Dirt Digger's new hire -- the one that wrote that piece about Superman picking and choosing who to save," he answered, noncommittally.
"Oh, her." Lois wrinkled her nose. "What did she want?"
"An interview about Superman's laundry, I think. Or maybe an interview with Superman's laundry, for all I know. They seem to have some pretty weird notions about Superman." Clark glanced up as the waitress approached. "I'll have coffee and the steak sandwich."
The waitress -- she couldn't be over eighteen, he thought, smiled at him in a friendly way. "You want the soup or salad with it?" she inquired.
"Uh -- the salad, I guess. With Ranch."
She wrote that down. "Does Superman ever get food on his clothes?" she asked with apparent irrelevance.
"Not that I've ever noticed," Clark said, after a startled pause.
"Oh. I just wondered. Getting salad oil out of Spandex is harder than it looks."
Clark didn't answer, and the waitress went on to Lois, who ordered salad with a low fat dressing. When she had gone, Lois raised an eyebrow at him. "Wow," she said. "All of a sudden, you're famous."
"Great," Clark said. "I'm famous for doing laundry. I'd rather be famous for my writing."
"Well," Lois persisted, "it isn't just anybody's laundry, you know. I never even thought of Superman having to do laundry before that press conference."
"Why not?" Clark asked. "I mean, he gets more dirt on his clothes than most of us. When was the last time you had to dig out a bunch of trapped miners, or diverted a mudflow headed for a town or something?"
"Oh, I know," Lois said. "I just never thought about it before. Just like you don't think of Brad Pitt or somebody having to go to the doctor for a prostate exam or ...."
Clark could feel his face growing warm. "Uh -- I don't think that's a good subject at lunch."
"Huh?"
"Never mind. So what have you got here?"
"Oh," Lois said, allowing herself to be diverted from her subject. "I interviewed the labor officials and the company officials separately, and then I talked to some of the actual employees. The whole thing is causing a lot of anger. I don't see any meeting points, but maybe they'll work something out. If they don't, it's going to mean another strike."
"Great. I can't wait to see the streets lined with garbage bags and overflowing dumpsters," Clark said. "The real losers are the ordinary people of the city."
"Yeah," Lois agreed. "During the one last year, I got pretty desperate, myself. I finally boxed up my garbage, wrapped it up in birthday paper with a big red bow and left it in the back of my car -- with the window rolled down. When I got back, it was gone."
"But that didn't solve the problem," Clark objected. "It just made it somebody else's."
"So?" Lois said. "It solved *my* problem, and if somebody was willing to steal something from my car, they deserved whatever they got."
Put that way, she was probably right, he thought. "I see your point, but it isn't very useful in the bigger picture."
"That isn't our business," Lois said, stacking her notes carefully to make room for the plate of salad that the waitress was presenting. "Thank you."
Clark waited until the waitress deposited his sandwich and salad and refilled his coffee cup. He thanked the woman and turned back to his partner. "Of course it's our business!" he said, returning to the previous conversation.
"I meant," Lois said, swallowing a chunk of salad, "that *our* business is to report on the situation fairly so people can make up their own minds. Then they'll have a few things to say about it."
Clark thought about that. "I guess you're right."
"Of course I'm right." Lois, as usual, brooked no contradiction. "We play an important part in it. How come you never told me you do Superman's laundry, anyway?
"Huh?"
"I'm your partner. Why didn't you ever tell me you do Superman's laundry?"
"I guess it never occurred to me that you'd be interested," Clark said, a little uneasily.
"Why not?"
Clark regarded his sandwich intently. "I didn't think anyone's laundry was that interesting," he said. "Besides, I don't think Superman was really that anxious for anyone to know about it."
Lois was silent for several seconds. "I guess," she said at last. "But you knew I wanted to find out if the outfit came off!"
Clark felt heat flood his face. "Lois!"
She laughed. "You know, you're just too easy," she said.
**********
Clark finished his steak sandwich while Lois was scraping up every tiny morsel of salad. Could that be the reason she was short-tempered much of the time? he wondered idly. He knew Lois worked hard to keep her figure, but it was a little dismaying to think that maybe her combative nature might arise simply from the fact that she was always a little hungry. One of these days, when he worked up the nerve, he was going to take her to one of the best Italian restaurants in town and ply her with all her favorite dishes and chocolate desserts. That might settle the question -- or not.
He downed the last of his coffee and looked around for the waitress. She was two tables down and when she saw that he had finished his coffee, she approached at once. "More coffee?" she asked.
"No, thanks," Clark said. "Just the tab, please."
She produced it from a pocket of her uniform. "Here you go." She hesitated, and Clark could swear that she was blushing. "I probably shouldn't ask," she said, "but I'll probably never have another chance to find out. I've always wondered -- does Superman's costume really come off?"
Clark resolutely did not look at his partner's expression. "He's got six of them hanging in my closet. I can't wash them while he's wearing them, you know."
"Yeah, I suppose so," the waitress said, wistfully. "Have you ever actually seen Superman -- you know -- I mean, you're both guys ...." Clark could feel his face growing warm again. "Have you ever seen him ... you know, change clothes?"
"He changes at super speed," Clark said. "I didn't really try to look."
"But, does he ever wear anything besides the suit?" she asked.
Clark figured he'd better end this conversation before it gave Lois ideas. "I've never seen Superman in anything but his Suit," he said firmly. He studied the tab for an instant, produced the payment and a modest tip, and got to his feet. "We need to get back to the office now, or we're going to be late," he said. "Come on, Lois."
**********
"You know," Lois said, "she had a point. Do you suppose Superman ever wears other clothes besides his Superman outfit?"
Clark didn't answer. This was getting far too close to reality for his comfort. Lois turned to look at him. "I mean," she continued, "you say you've never seen Superman in anything but his suit, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have any other clothes."
"I guess not," Clark agreed.
"And how about underwear?" Lois asked. "Does he ever ask you to wash his underwear?"
"Lois!"
"Well, does he?"
"Could we talk about something else?" Clark asked. "I really don't want to describe Superman's laundry in detail."
"Why not? Is there something funny about it?"
"No, of course not."
"Then you *have* seen it!"
"It's just ordinary underwear," Clark said desperately. "I really don't want to discuss the subject."
Lois glanced at him and laughed. "Clark, don't be so prudish! Good grief! They even advertise feminine products on television! Nobody gets embarrassed about things like that anymore. Why does telling me about Superman's underwear embarrass you?"
"Can we just drop this?" Clark asked. His face felt as if it were on fire. "I'd really rather not talk about it."
She laughed. "Oh, all right. Could you at least tell me if he wears boxers or briefs?"
"No!"
She patted his arm. "You're the last Boy Scout, you know?"
Clark grunted. The idea of presenting himself yesterday as The Man Who Does Superman's Laundry had seemed like a good solution to his problem, at least at the time, but he was beginning to have second thoughts. Somehow the thought that a good portion of the population of Metropolis seemed to have an unhealthy obsession with Superman's dirty clothing was a little disturbing. And, besides, the questions that the waitress had raised in Lois's mind were probably hazardous to his other identity. She was bound to continue to think about the possibility that Superman might wear something besides his uniform, and that could lead to other complications that he didn't want to deal with. He would never wish for Lois to be less than brilliant and tenacious, of course, but that particular quality was bound to make things uncomfortable for him, at least for a while.
**********
Clark glanced up from the police report that he had been reading concerning the robbery the previous night at Mazik's Jewelers. Lois was leaning forward, examining her computer screen intently. As he watched, their editor approached from behind her and leaned over her shoulder. "What in Elvis's name is *that*?" he inquired. "I thought you were workin' on that piece about Intergang."
"Uh --" Lois's hand moved as she quickly minimized her screen. "I'm waiting for a call from my contact."
"So you're looking at men's fashions to kill the time?" Perry inquired dryly.
"Uh -- I'm trying to find my dad a sports jacket for his birthday," Lois said weakly.
"Hmph! Well, gift shop on your own time," Perry told her.
Lois nodded. "It was only for a few minutes," she pointed out. "Bobby said he'd call by three."
"Uh huh," Perry said. "He'd better." He turned his head. "Ralph! Where's that piece on the dog show?"
Ralph nearly dropped his paper cup of water as he straightened quickly. The water cooler rocked sharply and Eduardo grabbed the huge plastic bottle, narrowly preventing it from upsetting onto the floor. "Hey! Watch it!"
Lois was watching Perry walk away and Clark saw her surreptitiously enlarge her screen again. Clark lowered his glasses a quarter of an inch and glanced at the window across the room, directly behind his partner. The reflection of the computer screen again showed the image of a man in a business suit. But the model wasn't a professional. It was him.
Superman, rather. As he watched, Lois did something and the outfit changed to that of a T-shirt and jeans. Belatedly, he saw that the website advertised the advantage of seeing how an outfit would look on "that special person in your life."
Clark swallowed. "Uh -- Lois? Maybe you'd better give Bobby a call. It's only a couple of minutes to three."
His partner looked at the wall clock. "He's got five minutes."
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"I wondered what Superman would look like in regular clothes," she said.
"Oh?"
"Yeah. Come see."
He got to his feet and came to lean over her shoulder. His own picture looked back at him and he wondered how Lois could look at it and not see the resemblance.
Lois was pointing at the picture. "I got a photo of Superman from the files and I've tried some different outfits on him," she explained. "You know, I guess he'd stand out no matter what he wore."
Clark opened his mouth, not sure what to say, but he was saved by the ringing of the phone. Lois closed the screen and reached to pick up the receiver. "Lois Lane."
Trying not to look nervous, he retreated to his own desk while Lois talked to her snitch. It was obvious that Lois's normal level of curiosity wasn't going to allow her to let go of the laundry thing any time in the next day or so. Even if he managed to distract her, her normal tenaciousness made it unlikely that she would forget about it for long, and sooner or later it was quite possible that she would put two and two together. What the dickens was he going to do?
He was jerked out of his worried thoughts by his partner's voice. "Don't sit there dreaming, Clark! Let's go!"
**********
tbc
