The Inconveniences of Doing Superman's Laundry: 3/?
by Nan Smith
Previously:
"Mr. Clark Kent?" The voice sounded smoothly professional.
"Yes," Clark said.
"This is Walter Brigham, managing supervisor of the E-Z Fit Tailoring Service. Since you are the man who launders Superman's uniforms, we have a special offer that we'd like to present to you ...."
**********
And now, Part 3:
Clark listened to the persuasive voice and its sales pitch with a sense of resignation. Yesterday, the press conference that he had arranged to reveal that he did Superman's laundry had seemed like the perfect solution to Diana Stride's expose of the Superman suits hanging in his closet. But, in retrospect, this whole scenario had been completely predictable. He rested his face in his palm and closed his eyes in mild exasperation. He shouldn't, he thought, have been surprised in the slightest that everybody with any kind of link -- or none -- to the laundering of clothing, would be after him with some kind of marketing scheme. Once the world knew that he did Superman's laundry it was bound to make him the target of every ingenious opportunist in Metropolis. How could he have possibly been so incredibly naïve?
"I'll mention it to Superman," he said, when the man paused to take a breath. "I really can't give you an answer, since the clothing is his, you know."
"Of course," the voice on the other end of the line said. "We'll give you a call some time tomorrow, after you've had an opportunity to explain our once-in-a-lifetime offer to him."
"Fine." Clark hung up abruptly, closed his eyes again for a second and blew out his breath. Okay, that gave him twenty-four hours to think of something. But what on Earth was he going to do about the larger situation? How the dickens was he going to get his privacy back? This was as bad as the time he'd made that twenty-five dollar donation to a children's charity, and for months afterward every charitable organization between Metropolis and Mars had bombarded him with requests for enough money to have bankrupted Lex Corp, let alone a mere reporter. It had been heart-wrenching to refuse the pitches, but at last he'd been forced to change his phone number and pick only two charities for his private donations -- organizations that promised not to sell his private information to other ones. That solution was unlikely to work this time, though.
A glance at the clock told him he had another two hours before his shift was over. He'd have to think about the problem later. Right now, there was work to do. Speaking of which....
He picked up the note that Lois had laid prominently on his desk.
It was a phone number for Jason Hinklemayer, the representative of the Modern Man's Fashion and Style Makeover Emporium, along with a request to call at any time. Clark made a faint growling noise in his throat, crumpled it up and threw it into the trash can.
"What's the matter?" Lois asked. "You look upset."
Clark gestured at the bag of laundry products. "Do you know what that is?"
She regarded the bag. "Laundry products?" she guessed. "But why did you bring them back to the office?"
"I was over at that apartment fire that Superman helped put out," he explained, and went on to describe the meeting with the sales rep who had thrust the sample products onto him. "Then that guy on the phone wanted to tailor Superman's Suit to give it more zing. And that note was from some company that wants to redesign the whole outfit and give me a complementary style makeover in return for recommending them to Superman --"
"I know. I took the message," Lois said. "I guess I hadn't really thought of it before, but you probably should have expected it."
"Yeah, I should have. But --"
"And," Lois added, "even if it's kind of a pain, at least you'll get a lot of free stuff."
"I don't *want* a lot of free stuff! I just want them to leave me alone!"
"Somehow," Perry's voice said from behind them, "I sense this conversation isn't work related. And why are you bringing your groceries back to the office, Clark?"
"They're not groceries," Clark said. "I can explain."
Perry regarded the bag. "New Troy General Products Ltd? Why in Memphis did you buy that stuff?"
"I didn't," Clark said, unhappily. "Their rep sort of shoved it on me to do Superman's laundry with. They want my opinion of the way it cleans Superman's clothes."
"Ah; I get it," Perry said. "I take it you weren't exactly thrilled."
"Not exactly," Clark said.
"They're gonna keep after you, you know," his boss said wisely, "unless you can give them a reason to decide you aren't gonna make 'em money."
"I figured that out," Clark said. "But how am I supposed to convince them that bothering me is a dead end?"
"You'll think of something. In the meantime, the mayor's giving a press conference over at City Hall. There's some question about preferences in city contracts and possible collusion. You two get on over there and bring me back the details."
"We're on it." Lois scooped up her shoulder bag and she and Clark headed for the elevator.
**********
The Jeep wouldn't start. Naturally, Clark thought. Lois turned the key again and growled as the starter cranked, but the engine refused to turn over. She yanked the key out of the ignition with a muttered cussword.
"I guess we'd better get a taxi," Clark ventured. "We'll have to call a mechanic when we get back."
Lois said a bad word under her breath and nodded. She shoved the door open with unnecessary force. "Come on. We'll have to flag a taxi."
The weather had worsened in the short interval since they had returned to the office, Clark observed, as they stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of the Planet.
"It always seems to rain or snow or something when I haven't got a car," Lois grumbled, pulling her coat more tightly around her body. "Brr!"
"Murphy's Law," Clark said.
"Yeah, I know. But why does he concentrate on me?" Lois asked. "Why did my car have to quit *now* of all times, and for that matter, how about a couple of weeks ago? What other woman's ex-fiance comes back from the dead and kidnaps her so she'll marry him after the wedding fell apart the first time? Murphy just has it in for me."
Clark figured it would probably be tempting Fate to point out to her that she gave Murphy a lot of help. He waved futilely as a taxi cruised past, the driver oblivious to the two of them. The light drizzle of a couple of hours earlier had turned into a steady sprinkling of snow flakes. They drifted gently downwards and coated Lois's dark hair with a dusting of frost that melted quickly, leaving her with a tiny beading of water in its place.
Lois put two fingers into her mouth and gave an ear-cracking whistle that made Clark wince. A taxi slid smartly to a stop by the curb in front of them.
"Well, at least you can get the taxis to come when called," he observed, reaching out to open the rear door for her.
Lois smiled. "It's a gift," she said, sliding into the seat. Clark took his place beside her and closed the door.
"Where to?" the driver inquired.
"City Hall," Lois said. She leaned back against the seat back and blotted water from her face with the wisp of a handkerchief. "Darn it!" She stuffed the handkerchief back in her purse.
"What?" Clark asked.
"Oh, my mother sent this thing to me from Paris for my birthday last year. It's a lace handkerchief from some French boutique. Only it doesn't absorb water very well."
"Oh. Here." Clark produced his own handkerchief.
Lois took it and blotted the water from her face. "Did I smear my makeup?"
"Looks okay to me." Clark forbore to mention that she would look beautiful to him even if she had rolled in the mud. Still, the damage was minor, and people would presumably be paying more attention to the mayor than Lois's lipstick.
"Good." Lois glanced out the window at the passing wet sidewalks and dirty street. "Great. Just enough rain to stir up the dirt but not wash it away."
Clark didn't answer. His mind had returned once more to the problem of what to do to get the various persons determined to profit from his relationship to Superman's laundry off his neck. And he'd gone to bed so relieved last night!
"Hey!" Lois said suddenly.
"What?" he asked, turning his head, startled by the distinct note of outrage in her voice. The word almost caught in his throat.
There was a passenger in the front seat beside the driver. He had apparently been hiding, positioned on the floor where potential passengers would not be likely to see him, but now he had risen from his position and was facing them. Clark found himself staring down the muzzle of a .357 Magnum. The man smiled sardonically.
"Just sit still, laundry boy," he said. "If you try to be a hero, the lady might be awful sorry."
"Is this a robbery?" Lois demanded. "Because if it is, you picked the wrong people! I've got about five dollars on me, and Clark has less. He paid for brunch this morning!"
"Shut your yap," the man said, mildly. "Drive, Joe. Get us out of here before Superman shows up to save his buddy, Kent."
"Are you out of your minds?" Lois demanded.
"I said shut up," the man repeated, more forcefully. He pushed the muzzle against Lois's nose. "I figure if we get hold of Superman's best friend, he'll have to do what we say. You two just sit still and play nice until we get where we're going."
It figured, Clark thought. It just figured. Apparently the opportunists in Metropolis were not limited to sales representatives and companies eager to profit off of the Man Who Did Superman's Laundry. He should have known that there were also others even less respectable who might be interested as well. *Now* what was he going to do?
**********
tbc
