Okay, red alert, red alert! You’re letting him get away! Stop him! You’re not finished with him yet!
“Can I get you a coffee or something?” I suggested, trying not to sound too desperate to hang on to a hunky man in my apartment. I mean, hunky men dropped by all the time to see me. I was not at all the predatory single woman on the lookout for available men. No way. I was not desperate. Just friendly. “As a thank you?”
“No, that’s okay,” he said. “I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”
“No trouble!” I said. “Really. In fact,” I added in a rare moment of daring Lois-like cool, “I insist.”
He hesitated.
Oh, yes, he hesitated!
“Take a seat,” I said, pressing home my advantage before it fizzled out again. “I’ll just be a minute. You can test the sofa in its new position for me – tell me if it feels right.”
Or if you’d rather try the bed...
Get a grip.
I hustled into the kitchen and flung myself around grabbing mugs, coffee, coffee-maker and milk. Two minutes later I emerged with two steaming mugs of coffee, wishing I’d used a tray because my hand was shaking so much that I was in danger of slopping coffee all over the nice clean carpet.
Not to mention the nice clean Clark Kent still sitting on my sofa.
“Thanks,” he said, taking the mug carefully from me. Very smooth, I thought. You’d never have known he could just grab the mug in his fist and not feel a thing.
I settled in my armchair opposite him. “So how’s the sofa? Did we get it right?”
He smiled. “Just perfect. In fact, I may rearrange my own place along these lines. I like it.”
Yikes! What would the prop people make of that on the set of Lois and Clark?
I beamed. “Thanks.” I sipped some coffee. “So you said you like her,” I said.
“Who?”
“Ms Lane. You said you like her.” I shrugged. “Because my relatives...they wondered. If there was any more to it than that. You know, romance-wise. I think they’d like it if there was more.” I sipped coffee again. “They’re very romantic, my relatives.”
Boy, where was all this stuff coming from? I had no idea I was so inventive. Amazing what a desperate...no, friendly...woman will do.
He shook his head. “No, we’re just good friends. Sorry to disappoint your relatives.”
“That’s a shame. Because you really seem to like her,” I said. “Your face lights up when you talk about her.”
“Does it?” It was his turn to sip coffee.
I resisted the temptation to yell at him to gulp down his coffee manfully like the superhero he was instead of sipping wimpishly like a normal, run-of-the-mill human being. I didn’t think that sort of thing would go down too well with him.
“Oh, yes. It’s obvious you l...like her. A lot.”
He shrugged. “Well, maybe once I thought she felt something for me, but things happened, and...well, now we’re just good friends. Plus there’s this other woman that seems to like me quite a lot.”
Uh, oh... Mayson Drake. Surely he didn’t think she was the right woman for him?
“Oh?” I said. “And do you like her?”
He frowned. “I’m not sure.”
“Whereas you do like Lois.”
He smiled ruefully. “Yes. Confusing, isn’t it?” He sipped his coffee again. “Anyway, I can’t believe I’m telling you all this stuff when we’ve only just met. What about you? What do you do for a living?”
“Oh, never mind me,” I said hastily. “I’ll bore you with my life history later. Yours sounds much more interesting. So tell me, does Lois know?”
“Know what?”
“That-“
A crash from the kitchen interrupted me just at the critical moment. Argh! Where was that understanding cushion when I needed it? I could have done with a therapeutic scream into soft fabric at that point.
“What was that?” asked Clark.
“I’m not sure,” I replied, getting up to investigate.
There were coffee granules and glass all over the floor in the kitchen. In my haste to make the coffee, I must have left the jar teetering on the edge of the counter.
There was a soft exclamation from behind me and I realised Clark had followed me to the kitchen.
“I don’t suppose I could borrow a dustpan and brush from you, by any chance?” I asked. “Mine’s still in a box somewhere.”
“Sure. Hold on – I’ll get it.”
So there I was, standing at the threshold of my new kitchen, waiting for Clark Kent (popular twentieth century icon) to fetch his dustpan so I could clean up. Was there time to fetch the understanding cushion for a quick scream of hysterical incredulity? Or would he use superspeed to get the dustpan? And would it talk to me, like his door and his doorbell had done earlier?
I wasn’t sure I could cope with a talking dustpan. Would it be perky? Doleful? “All I get to do all day long is shovel sh-“
“Here.”
Okay, so if he hadn’t just used a touch of superspeed to go up to his apartment and back, then I was a banana.
I smiled. “Thanks,” I said. A couple of minutes later, the mess was dealt with and we were heading back to our coffees. “I wish I’d unpacked the microwave,” I said. “These will be cold.”
“Um...” he said, turning away from me to pick up one of the mugs. “No, they’re still hot,” he said. He turned back and handed me the mug. “See?”
Oh.
My.
God.
Clark Kent just heated up my coffee with his vision thingy.
Cool. Be cool. Lois-cool.
In fact, use it to your advantage. That would be a really Lois-cool thing to do.
“Thanks,” I said, accepting the mug. “So, coming back to Lois – have you told her? Told her your secret, I mean.”
Oh, yes!
The classic deer-in-headlights look. This was fun.
“My...secret?” he replied cautiously. “Which secret?”
I shrugged nonchalantly. “You know...that you like her. A lot.”
His face cleared in obvious relief, while I had to sip coffee to prevent myself from laughing. “Oh, that,” he said. “Well, no. Or rather, yes, but she thought I didn’t mean it at the time.”
“But you did?”
“Yes. Absolutely.” He shrugged. “It was bad timing.”
“So maybe you should try telling her again.”
He pulled a face. “It’s difficult. She’s taken a few knocks recently, so I wouldn’t want to put her under any pressure. Plus, I’m not even sure if she likes me.” He paused. “I mean, likes me as more than just a partner at work.”
“Okay, but one of you has to take the risk of telling the other how they really feel. I mean, for all you know, she’s thinking the exact same way you are,” I said. “If neither of you tells the other, then you could be stuck in this awful stalemate for ever.”
And I’d be stuck screaming all kinds of frustrated things at the TV screen while they prevaricated through episode after episode. Not that I hadn’t done that in any case.
He laughed. “Now, that truly would be a nightmare. But it’s still complicated. There’s this other thing...”
“Oh, your other secret, you mean?” I said.
He stared at me. The deer-in-the-headlights look wasn’t so far away, although he was obviously keeping his cool pretty well. “Other secret? What do you mean?”
“Well, earlier you said ‘which secret’, not ‘what secret’, so I assume you have more than one to tell,” I replied. “Trust me, Clark, you don’t want to keep any big secrets from the person you love.”
“Oh, I know that. You know, you seem very intent on giving me advice about my love life,” he said. “Do you offer this service to everyone who moves furniture for you?”
Eek, he’d found me out. I felt myself blushing. “Sorry, am I being too nosy? Maybe we should change the subject...how about Superman? Now that I’m here in his home town, so to speak, how likely is it that I’ll get a chance to meet him, do you think?”
He grinned. “Something tells me you’ll meet him pretty soon.”
“Really? You think I’m going to need rescuing?” I said.
“If you keep asking strange men about their love lives, then yes, I’d say you’ll need rescuing. People in a big city like Metropolis value their privacy.”
Oh, boy. Now would be a good time for the floor to open up and swallow me. He was good-natured enough in his manner, but his words screamed ‘back off!!!’ Unless he really was just trying to warn me off conversations like this with other people less easy-going than himself...
The only way to find that out was to test the theory. “I don’t make a habit of this,” I said with a smile. “Honestly. You just seemed like a person in need of some neutral advice. And we’re neighbours, not strangers.”
“True.” He shrugged. “And I don’t mind, I guess. You were just a little intense there for a second or two.”
“Sorry. Look, all I’m saying is that if all you want is a closer relationship with Ms Lane than you have now, you really do have to start trusting her. No-one likes to be kept in the dark by a friend they think they know well. They’ll find out your secret sooner or later, and then they’ll be hurt. Believe me.”
“I know,” he said with a heavy sigh. “But it really is complicated,” he insisted. “Believe *me*,” he added.
“Nothing’s that complicated,” I said. “And it seems to me that you need to become a little more proactive in this relationship if you want it to go anywhere.”
He pulled another face. “I tried that. She rejected me.”
“Try again. What have you got to lose?”
“My pride?” he suggested.
“What would you rather do? Salvage your pride or find true love?”
He cocked his head to one side and gave me a quizzical look. “You don’t know my Mom, do you? She says stuff like that.”
Martha?! He thought I sounded like Martha? Wow.
Or not so wow. He wasn’t likely to ravish a mother-figure, now was he?
“No, but hey, we women just know about this stuff, you know?” I replied. Even us young, available, ravish-able women, Clark. “It’s in our genes.”
“I guess it must be,” he replied. He downed the last of his coffee in one gulp. “I really should get back to my ironing,” he said. “Thanks for the coffee and the free advice.”
I grinned. “Thanks for the muscle power.”
He laughed as he stood. “Any time.”
I walked him to the door, frantically trying to invent excuses in my head that would make him stay just a little longer.
“Hey, I’m making lasagne for dinner. Care to join me? Pasta is so, so ravishing, don’t you think?”
“Oops, I just fell out of the window.”
“Is that a touch of blue spandex I can see under your t-shirt?”
But no. We reached my front door and I remained star-struck and dumb. I opened the door, glaring firmly at it just in case it, too, got the urge to give me sage advice on how to interact with a popular twentieth century icon.
“Talk to him, you dummy!” it said, ignoring my assertive glare.
“Um...”
“No, talk,” it said. “Preferably in English.”
“So will you tell her?” I blurted as he was walking out the door. “That you like her, I mean? And about that secret, of course.”
He paused on the threshold and appeared to give the question some thought. “If I can find the right moment,” he said eventually.
Okay, this was progress. Nothing dramatic, but definitely progress.
“Okay!” I said. “Make sure you find that right moment soon. And can I give you another bit of advice?” I asked, giddy and feeling rather reckless after my minor success. “It’s going to sound really crazy, but trust me, you’ll thank me one day.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I’ve heard some pretty crazy things that turned out to be serious enough in the end, so I guess you can try me.”
“Okay.” I drew in a long, deep breath, looked him straight in the eye, and told him the stupidest-sounding thing I’d ever uttered to another intelligent being. “Don’t ever let your prospective girlfriend think you’re dead when you’re not really dead. You might think you got away with it at the time, but believe me, there’s a huge body of carefully researched data out there that says it’s generally not a good idea. In fact, it’s almost certain to put your relationship back months, if not wreck it completely.”
There. I’d said it. In one fell swoop, I’d wrecked pages and pages of fanfic and made the scriptwriters rewrite half the stories in the second season. Such power! Such craziness!
“Oh, and please tell her that secret,” I added, just to make sure he thought I was completely nuts. “You know, that really big one you’re keeping from her. Whatever it is.”
I smiled. Probably made me look even more like a lunatic.
“O-kay,” he said, edging away from me. “Thanks for the advice. I think. Um...did anyone ever tell you you’re a little...unusual? I mean, not in a negative way,” he added hastily. “It’s kinda cute, I guess, in a weird...um, nice...sort of a way.”
Yes, that’s me – the weird but cute lunatic offering dating advice to Clark Kent (popular twentieth century icon).
“I’m no more unusual than you are,” I said.
He raised his eyebrows. “Unusual can be good, you know,” he said.
“Oh, absolutely,” I agreed. “Look at Superman. He’s pretty unusual, but he’s also very good.”
“Yeah, he is.” He smiled. “Okay, nice to meet you. I’ll see you around, I guess.”
“And nice to meet you. Thanks for the furniture moving - perhaps you could skip straight to the ravishing part next time around?”
No, too forward. Perhaps a lesser approach.
“And nice to meet you. By the way, if your apartment ever catches fire or floods, you can always sleep with me.”
No, still too much.
“And nice to meet you. Thanks again for all your help. If I can ever do anything in return, just say the word.” Especially if you’re lonely one night and Lois is out of town...I do a very good line in friendly hugs. Honest.
“Thanks.” And he was gone.
Very reluctantly, I closed the door (“why didn’t you invite him here for dinner next week?” it asked), and collapsed onto my sofa (“where, oh, where did that nice young man go?”) clutching one of the cushions (“you could be hugging him instead of me if you’d handled that better”).
“Shut up!” I yelled into the cushion. “I did my best, okay?”
“Yes, but was your best good enough?” the cushion sneered back.
Okay, enough was enough. Not only did I have his door furniture ganging up against me, I now had my own soft furnishings yelling at me. I leapt up and dove into the pile of boxes, hunting for the one which contained my videos.
Two minutes later, I had the correct tape. I shoved it in the player and pressed play.
Blank.
Now, I knew it hadn’t been blank yesterday, because I’d watched it. Clark Kent being shot by gangsters, Lois being devastated by his death, Clark Kent coming miraculously back to life...That Old Gang Of Mine, one of the fandom’s favourite episodes. I pulled out it out and inserted the next tape. Also blank.
In fact, after trying five more tapes, I discovered that they were all blank.
A slow grin spread across my face. He’d listened. He’d decided to act. And the result was that every single episode from That Old Gang Of Mine onwards had disappeared off my tapes.
And I was going to be the only Lois and Clark fan in the world who would get to find out what happened instead. Because Clark Kent was my neighbour and I was going to make darned sure that I became a very friendly, confidante-type neighbour...
Oh, bliss.
Forget the ravishing, this was even better...
THE END
