From Part 7
Clark lifted his head and visibly relaxed.
"Lois, why don’t you go downstairs," he muttered hoarsely. "I... I've forgotten something in the room ... I'll be right back." His eyes spoke volumes, begging me to go without any further questions. As if there was anything left to ask! I knew without a doubt that he would turn and run off. Just as he always did when we were going to discuss something personal. Though he rarely had seemed this happy about getting away from me as he did now.
And then I watched him running down the hall back to our room. I did not think that it was the place where he actually went. But I could not bring myself to following him in order to find out. Instead, I turned with a sigh and for once did as I was told. I went downstairs.
** *
Only in my dreams
Part 8
The elevator was the only place that did absolutely nothing to add to the hotel’s romantic atmosphere. When I entered, I was greeted by the wide smile of a LNN newsreader on a flat screen at the far side of the elevator. Grimly I looked at her, angry that she still thought there was reason to smile in a world like this. There was nothing to be happy about!
As she soundlessly read out the news, the screen switched to a video, showing dramatic scenes. A scrolling text below the images replaced the missing sound and informed me not only about current stock prices, but also about a devastating fire in a factory. The firefighters seemed small as they battled the flames.
Flames burst from the building into the sky. The hoses of the fire department looked ridiculously tiny. In most cities, this sight would have triggered only breathless horror. In Metropolis, however, the hope was never far away. The camera zoomed in on the fireman, showing their relief, as a small blue-red figure appeared in the sky. Superman saved the day again.
With a slight tug the elevator stopped. A soft bell rang and a voice announced that I had reached the first floor. The doors opened automatically, revealing the view of the spacious hotel lobby. Wide leather armchairs were arranged in groups around a few tables. Most of them looked so unused that it was hard to imagine anyone had ever sat there. Only a few were occupied and there was an almost eerie calm that permeated the room. Perhaps it was because I was not in the best mood.
I wanted to turn on my heels and seek shelter in the safety of my hotel room. But then I remembered that this option would be even lonelier. I decided to stay where I was. Anything was better than once more being at the receiving end of Clark’s animosity. I had absolutely no idea though, what I was supposed to do in the hall. Without a particular destination in mind I took the first step. After all, I could not gracefully keep standing in front of the elevator. My efforts to capture the atmosphere of this place, as Perry would have certainly expected me to do, were in vain. And I could not even think about the conversation we had overheard, or if it might turn out to be a story.
"Excuse me, please," someone cleared his throat next to me, begging to get my attention. Surprised, I recognized the man with the bowler hat.
I stared back at him, open-mouthed. "What are you doing here?" I said with difficulty, and stared at the wrinkled face in front of me. I had seen him in the newsroom, but otherwise he did not seem familiar. What was he doing here? Had he followed us?
"I ..." He blushed. "... I am afraid it is too early to tell you that," he added apologetically. "It’s urgent that I speak with Mr. Kent. Can you tell me where he is?"
"What do you want from him?" I replied evasively, wondering why I even cared. Clark was an adult, he could deal with this on his own.
"This is a personal matter, I’m afraid," the man with the bowler hat said mysteriously. That didn’t help to ease my discomfort concerning this man. What did he want from Clark? Could he be the reason that my best friend was acting so strangely? Had he gotten himself into something and now was ashamed of whatever he might have done?
"I’m sorry, but I can’t help you," I said coldly and turned my back on the little man with the English accent. "He’ll be back at the Daily Planet in a few days. You should call him there."
I did not look back. I just walked past Mr. Wells, or whatever his name actually was. I had a hard time not turning around to look at him. Seeing the man again worried me. But I did not want to think about him, not about him and especially not about Clark.
Instead, my thoughts drifted off to the man who was busy extinguishing a large fire. Superman was always busy, even after Lex Luthor's death. Sometimes, I had the impression that the end of Luthor had done nothing to calm the city. There was more crime than ever before. Maybe that was because the enemy had gotten more heads, after the boss had come to an inglorious end.
Superman's visits to me had become rare. It had been weeks since I had seen him up close. I kept trying to convince myself that it was not because of me. That had been easy, at first. But the more Clark ignored me, the more I believed that I had something in me that was scaring off men in general. I could never forget the night I had told Superman I loved him.
"It's not your strength. If you were an ordinary man, leading an ordinary life, I would love you just the same. Superman, do you think that there is a future for us?" I had asked wistfully. With a pounding heart, I had stood there waiting for his answer.
My heart had sunk when he had looked down. His mouth had been tight and his eyes so sad that it had taken my breath away. Slowly, he had shaken his head.
"No," he had said quietly. "No, Lois. That would not work. No matter how you feel for me no matter how I ..." His voice had broken and the words that should have followed, remained unsaid. I had seen him swallow, and for a moment I had thought he would not go on. "Think of it, someone like me must not commit his life to just one human. I would only get you in danger... "Again he had paused and swallowed, as if the threat posed by him had been far greater than words could ever express. "There... there will be no future for us."
"Don’t you think that I have a say in what I am willing to risk?" I had asked him, angry that he apparently wanted to make such a decision alone.
I had tears in my eyes and a big lump in my throat. My mind had been racing, and my thoughts had been just as confused as my feelings. On the one hand, a horde of butterflies had fluttered through my stomach, stimulated by the coded declaration of love Superman had just made. On the other hand, I had felt with every fiber of my heart that he would not change his mind, no matter what I said or did to him.
"Not in this case, Lois. No," he had responded, even quieter than before.
Then he had turned on his heel to go and before I had even seen him disappear, I had felt a strong gust of wind in my face. Superman had left me. Petrified, I had stared at the open window. Only the wavering curtain had verified that the Man of Steel had ever been there.
At that time I had promised myself never to speak with him again. But finally I had realized that he was right. A relationship with him would inevitably make me a target. That did not scare me too much. But how could I expect Superman to live in constant worry? After several weeks of sulking silently, our relationship had returned to a fairly normal level. His visits became less frequent. When he came, he mostly talked about the things he had learned during the day, things we could use for our stories.
"... I offer you a massage?" a gentle, feminine voice woke me from my daydreams.
Confused, I blinked and discovered baffled that I was standing right in front of the door leading to the spa. A hotel clerk smiled at me kindly. She wore wide, white linen trousers and a dark red polo shirt with the hotel crest embroidered on her chest. Her hair was pinned up in a casual knot. But even without the proper clothing, worn by the rest of the hotel staff, she had an air of trustworthiness. Everything about her promised total relaxation: her smile, her muscular upper arms and a welcoming gesture with which she pointed toward the door. Before I really knew what I did, I felt myself slowly nodding.
"Oh, hello, Darling. There you are!" A second voice, this time male, finally returned me to the present.
Out of nowhere, Clark appeared behind me. His hair was slightly damp and he smelled like he had just showered. I had to force myself not to stare at him open-mouthed. Perhaps it was his broad smile that rendered me speechless. Of course, he was smiling at the woman in front of us, rather than at me. But lately, my expectations were easy to exceed.
Stunned, I followed the smiling woman, simply because she made such a welcoming gesture. Without any explanation of where he had actually been, Clark followed us. He put his arm around me, intensifying the dreamlike state that I absolutely did not want to wake from. Even if everything was just a beautiful illusion, why should I not enjoy it? Why should I not imagine that everything was true? Who would trade such a dream for the ugly reality? Especially if this reality meant that after this story Clark would no longer be my partner. Certainly not me!
Behind the door to the spa there was a wide corridor. Soft lights illuminated it slightly, just enough to see everything. The walls were sand-colored, and Moorish-fashioned doors led to rooms on both sides of the hallway. Close to the ceiling an elaborate ornament decorated the plain wall. The woman stopped in front of a dark blue door.
"It’s great that your husband has joined you. Massaging each other is part of our program," she said kindly. "This creates a new sense of intimacy. Enjoy your time together. This will help you to gain a new perspective on your relationship. We also offer courses," she continued, opening the door for us. "In this room you will find everything you need. For questions, please do not hesitate to contact us." With another welcoming gesture, she urged us to enter. "Have a nice afternoon." She winked at us and then closed the door behind us. Suddenly we were alone.
The spacious room was covered with a light wood floor. The walls were painted in a delicate red that gave the whole place a Mediterranean touch.
"What…” Clark gasped as if he were about to suffocate.
Horror was written across his face as it dawned on him where we had been led to. His gaze shifted restlessly from the massage table towards the cupboard in the far corner of the room. Bottles and vials were sitting on it, filling the room with the scent of different oils. Clark winced, as if those bottles were telling of his impending doom. His reaction made me incredibly angry. Did he like treating me like this? Did he like to kiss and hug and caress me, only to dump me the next moment?
"Keep up appearances, Clark," I whispered to him in the dim light.
I moved my lips rather than actually saying anything, but my voice sounded sharp. Perhaps Clark would later accuse me of setting this whole thing up in order to torment him. Or simply to punish him for ignoring me. But the truth was that I, myself, was completely taken by surprise. I had not planned to end up here, and certainly not alone with Clark. Much less had I had any intention of doing, what my hands started to do on their own volition.
They began nestling with the top button of my blouse, and opened it slowly. Clark stared at me, open-mouthed, his face becoming paler by the minute. His hands clenched into fists. It scared me to see him tremble. He stood before me, frozen to the spot, gazing at me – or seeing right through me. I was not too sure. I was already uncomfortable, but soon started to embarress myself even more as my hands went on fumbling with the second button. I protacted the process unneccessarily.
Did I want to seduce Clark? I wondered involuntarily, already knowing the answer. Of course I wanted this. But not now and not here, not when he looked so tormented. I would have liked to talk myself into believing that this was just my reporter skills keeping up the pretence. But I knew better than this. Meanwhile my fingers reached for the third button.
"Lois," Clark muttered, sounding helpless and lost.
Suddenly I could hear his breath, which had become almost imperceptibly faster. Fine beads of sweat covered his forehead, merging into larger droplets that eventually ran down towards his nose.
"Lois," he repeated breathlessly, a pleading tone to his voice.
"They would expect a couple to spend some quality time together! After all, we want to reconcile, don’t we? Don’t you blow our cover," I said threateningly. I stood there, my hands on my hips and glared at him angrily, a fury teaching a green reporter how his work was to be done. But Clark was not that newbie anymore. When I was professional enough to endure this farce, then he had to be too!
His reaction turned my anger into white hot rage. Not arousal, but fear was simmering through the room. Clark was afraid. This realization rendered me speechless. Why did I frighten him? Was Mayson waiting in his apartment? Was he afraid of being lured into cheating on her?
But then he visibly relaxed, though his movements still seemed rigid and tense. Clark made a step towards me. Suddenly my fingers worked faster, I opened the last few buttons and shrugged of my blouse before Clark had reached me. My heart was pounding against my chest and my mind raced. I wondered what had gotten into me that I deliberately undressed right in front of Clark.
’It is just a massage, just a massage,’ I tried to calm myself down, repeating the thought like a mantra, over and over again.
I felt ridiculous standing there in underwear, repeating my mantra and slowly dying from embarrassment. But I was Mad Dog Lane and had decided to get back at Clark. After all, I was known for jumping head-first into danger. Clark himself had said that more than once. Or he had used to. Gathering all my courage, I climbed onto the massage table and reached at my back to unclasp my bra. Then I folded my arms under my head, waiting for whatever Clark had in store for me. My heart beat madly, its thundering sound filling my ears.
The whole time Clark had not said a word. But now that I was less preoccupied with myself than with what he would do, I heard him sigh softly. His steps were slow and a little clumsy, as if he was carrying something heavy. But he came closer, though apparently reluctant. I lifted my head and looked at him. My expression must have been pretty grim, for he quickened his pace, grabbing a bottle of massage oil. He opened the lid with trembling hands.
Gingerly, as if he was afraid of breaking the bottle, he set it down next to me. I smelled its nice flowery scent. For a brief moment Clark disappeared from my view, but soon returned with a light brown towel that he spread over my back.
"Well, Lois," he said, his voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. "Do you like it gentle or rough?"
Although I had seen him prepare himself, I had not realized until this moment that he would actually do it. He would give me a massage, without a doubt. The mantra that I had been repeating suddenly seemed utterly pointless. There was no way this was going to be just a massage, not for me anyway. Not when I so desperately hoped for more.
"Ge .. gentle," I replied, my mouth dry.
I looked at him over my shoulder and saw his thin lips as he nodded. He took the bottle and gave a small amount of massage oil into his hands. His fingers were warm as he touched me, smoothly spreading the oil on my back. The flowery scent became more intense, making me dizzy as I felt my body relax.
Clark began massaging me slowly. His hands touched me lightly, resting on the small of my back for a moment. Then he moved them up my spine, across my shoulders and back down along my sides to resume a new cycle. A pleasant warmth spread through every fiber of my muscles and his gentle movements made me skin tingle with an increasing amount of anticipation every time he touched me.
"Mmhhh," I moaned softly as his hands wandered further down my back. Wherever he had learned this, he was great at what he did. The smooth movement made me doze off until I was barely awake anymore.
"You like this?" Clark said in a hoarse voice, sounding actually worried that I might not enjoy his ministrations.
"Yeah," I answered, stretching and savoring the warmth of his hands.
They were soft, softer than I had expected from a man. I felt their strength on my back and I knew that he was holding back. The movements were well controlled, like everything about Clark. Quietly, I wished that this would affect me no more than it apparently affected Clark. But every time his hands moved down my back, his fingers grazed the side of my breasts, though only barely so. Under different circumstances, I surely would not have even noticed. But I was desperately longing for his love, his touch and his affection. I enjoyed this moment so much, because I knew that this was most likely as close as we were ever going to get. Involuntarily, my breathing quickened and the heat began to spread through my belly.
I closed my eyes, immediately drifting off to the dream land that I kept visiting each night. It was a place where Clark bent down and ... When he started to massage the muscles along my spine, I could have screamed in frustration. Even the most erotic moment of this so-very-innocent massage had finally passed. Why could I not force him to love me, to show his affection, if not in real life then at least for this blissfull, fleeting moment? But Clark simply did what I had told him to do - he massaged me, perfectly, but without the passion that I longed to feel. Why could I not just get over him?
My back was burning. It was difficult to tell if that was due to warmth or unfulfilled desire. Clark let his hands continue to slide up and down my back. I had to admit that it felt good. The heat was pleasant and I did not know when I had ever felt this relaxed, laying on my stomach, completely at someone else’s mercy. With Clark I was safe.
The warmth of his hands spread out on my left shoulder. I tried to fathom what he was doing. What I felt was that his hands formed a kind of V, but I was not sure. Ultimately, it did not matter, I wanted to enjoy the moment, as long it lasted. The way Clark was behaving lately, it could not be long .
Then suddenly his hands stilled, resting on my back. Their slight pressure increased and I held my breath as the firm strokes of his massage turned into a gentle caress. His fingers brushed my skin, drawing slow circles. His touch was different, this was not part of the massage. I felt soft fabric on the small of my back that was definitely not the towel.
And then something warm and moist touched my shoulder. A guttural sound mingled with the moan that escaped me. For a moment I was mesmerized, paralyzed. Was Clark kissing me? My heart began to thump loudly. His being so aloof seemed like nothing but the shadowy memory of a bad dream that quickly faded. I felt his velvet tongue on my skin and the gentle play of his lips as he continued what his hands had begun.
I was lost in this completely unexpected feeling. I lay there motionless, desperately struggling with the desire to turn around and return the kiss. I longed to taste his lips. But I feared that I would scare him off. So I enjoyed this moment of pure bliss, knowing that breathing too quickly could very well burst my bubble. I did not want this dream to shatter into a million pieces, leaving me thrown back into a reality that I could hardly stand. For now, Clark slowly covered my shoulders with tender kisses. My skin tingled under his touch and I could feel Clark's warmth spreading from my shoulders, inflaming my body.
But the magic of the moment was too soon disrupted by a door that slammed shut, before I even noticed that his lips had left me. When I looked up, Clark was gone. My heart was still thumbing loud in my ears. Only a wet spot on my shoulder proved that I had not been dreaming. I slowly sat up, covering myself with the towel that had been lying on my back. My shoulder still tingled from his touch, leaving me with a faint notion of what might have been.
"Clark?" I asked, needlessly. I knew very well that he would not reply. "Damn it, Clark, why are you doing this to me?" I swore softly, but no less fervently. It was just another question that had to remain unanswered.
to be continued...
