1-900-Chloe (Chapter One)

Clark was bored. He sped toward The Daily Planet through alleyways and past people who were probably wondering why the wind was so strong today. It was nearly five. Chloe would be off work soon. And it was Friday. They had a whole weekend to... hopefully not be bored.

He stopped in an alleyway near The Planet's building and walked out. Maybe they'd see a movie. That sounded good. Something action-packed and distracting. Maybe they'd get Chinese first... No. They'd had Chinese last night. And they'd seen a movie a few days ago. Bowling?

He nodded. Bowling sounded good. They could get burgers there, maybe. When he saw her at her desk, he slowed his steps. She seemed to be engrossed in whatever was on her monitor. He stopped in front of her desk.

"Hey, Chloe."

"Yeah. Hi, Clark." She typed something, then frowned.

"I was thinking about bowling tonight."

"Okay. Have fun."

His shoulders drooped. Was she mad at him? Was she... bored by him? It was possible he'd been smothering her lately. But his mother was away all the time and Lana was now seeing Lex and... Well, he was lonely. "Don't you want to come?"

"I'm busy tonight," she said, still not looking at him. She muttered something that sounded like "fetish." What the hell had her so hypnotized, anyway?

He came up between her desk and the window. She hadn't noticed him. She was still staring at the monitor where... there was a nearly naked redhead in a black corset. She was lounging on a white fur rug.

"Chloe!"

"Hmm?" She turned to him. "Clark!" She switched off her monitor and turned fully to him. "It's not what you think."

"So you... aren't looking at half-naked women on your computer during work hours?"

"Okay." She pursed her lips. "It is what you think. But it's for work."

He pulled up a chair. "How is that for work?"

She turned on the monitor and he saw the woman again. He felt a flush rising up his cheeks. "I'm creating a character profile for... myself," she finished on a sigh. She stared at the woman again. "Does she look like the kinky type to you? I can't decide if I should write that I'm the experienced type or the innocent type... I mean, I know what I'm like, but what is Lillian like?"

He cleared his throat, his gaze falling from the woman's breasts, covered with a black glove, to a text box just below the picture. Her cursor was blinking after the word "leather."

"Um... Why do you have to decide what Lillian's like?"

"It's a story. Pauline wanted someone on this phone sex line. I got hired, but now I have to flesh out this character so guys will call and..."

"Back up," Clark said quickly, resolutely keeping his eyes away from Chloe and the monitor. The sight of near-exposed breasts drew his eyes to the other breasts in his radius. They weren't that covered-up, either. Damned low-cut... "Why does Kahn have you working on a phone sex line?" he asked the ceiling, finding that a safe place to look.

"I volunteered." He dropped his eyes to her and she shrugged. "No one else would do it."

"Well, Chloe, it is... a phone sex line."

"It's not like I'm doing anything, Clark. It's just for a couple days to get a human interest story on the kind of people who call and their expectations and possible kinks. I've already done some research, even interviewed two operators... or actresses," she said, quoting with her fingers. She pointed at the woman on the screen. It said RealGirlz.com and had tiny pics of other scantily clad women surrounding the redhead. "Do you know that most guys think they're calling this porn star prototype? In reality, they're just getting a fat housewife or a plain old average girl like me." His eyes moved to her as she shook her head and started typing again. "Guys."

He tore his eyes from her and looked at the screen again. Didn't help. All this talk about... well... porn in the presence of a girl, from a girl, made him uncomfortable. He shifted in his seat. He craned his neck to look out the window. "So... You don't want to go bowling?" he asked the window and the shoes that clopped by.

"I'm on the lines, tonight, Big Guy." He heard the sound of her computer shutting down and let out a relieved sigh.

"So you have, like, a shift? Where?"

She shrugged. "Just from home. I log in from eight till two and keep my land line open. In my case, the dorm's phone."

"Does your roommate know about this?"

She rolled her eyes. "You can say her name, Clark. And yes. I gave Lana the warning. She's making herself scarce."

"With Lex," he muttered.

"Clark." She reached over and took his shoulder. "You're going to have to accept it sooner or later. Or do you plan to mope for the rest of your life?"

He shrugged her off. "I'm not moping. In fact, I wanted to get out and go bowling. But you'd rather... do that thing." He waved in the general direction of the monitor, now blank.

"It's a story and here's another thing for you to think about." She stood and folded her arms. "I can't continue to be your back-up plan."

"What? Chloe, that's not..."

"When you were with Lana, I hardly saw you. Now you're not and you're at my door... or my desk every time I turn around." She shook her head. "I'd kind of like that happy medium where you value my company even when you're not miserable."

He stood. "Why are you suddenly so mad?"

"I'm not mad, Clark. I'm resigned." She pointed at her face. "See this? This is a girl who is resigned to being a support system and... not much else."

"What do you want? We have fun?"

"We don't, Clark. We go do things that are supposed to be fun where you sit morosely and ask Lana-related questions and... It feels like I'm just there to prop you up and I wonder whether it even matters that I'm me or if I'm just some sounding board you bounce your moods off."

"Chloe, that's not true. Hanging out with you is almost the only thing I have to look forward to most days." He gave her a slow smile and tilted his head.

She smiled back. "Really?"

"Really." He handed her her bag. "Maybe you could start your story tomorrow night?"

"Maybe." She hooked her bag on her shoulder and stepped close and gazed up at him. "Or maybe I'll let you enjoy all the delightful anticipation of hanging with me, the only thing you look forward to, after the weekend."

"Huh?"

"Don't give me the lost boy look," she said, batting his shoulder. "You almost had me there. But no. My next two evenings are occupied by anonymous horny guys." She started away. "And maybe you should do a little soul-searching with your alone time." She turned back. "As to why you consistently choose misery."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She shrugged. "Soul search it."

He watched her walk away.

************************************

So fine. None of the women in his life wanted to be around him. He could always... What? Call up all those guy friends he had? Pete was five states away. His friendship with Lex was so sour, it could never exist again and... He really had no one except Chloe. If he wanted a movie or hot wings or a game of pool, there was only Chloe. He picked up a football tossing it lightly and catching it.

And she always said yes. But not tonight. Tonight she wanted him to "soul search." Apparently, he "chose misery." That was ridiculous. He didn't ask for these powers. If he didn't have them, he could be with Lana. But just knowing him put Lana in danger. Chloe should realize that. She should... He put the ball down and dialed her cell.

"Hello?" he heard. But it was drawn out and husky and not all like Chloe.

"Chloe?"

"Shit! Sorry, Clark. I forgot which phone I was answering for a second. What's up?"

"Well, I... You..."

"Yes?" he heard. She sounded impatient and it pissed him off.

"I do not choose misery."

"What?"

"You said I choose misery and that's not true. I didn't ask for these abilities and the fact that they put those close to me in danger..."

"Like Lana," she said.

"Yes. Just the fact that she met me has put her in danger and..."

"And don't forget me," she cut in.

"What?"

"I'm in danger every day... or at least every other. I even jump right into it and I don't see you cutting me loose."

He sat hard on the couch. "Do you want to be cut loose?" he asked miserably.

"No! I just..." There was a ringing in the background. "Clark, I have to go."

"But you..."

"Clark, I can't talk about this now!" There was a click and a dial tone.

"She hung up," he said aloud. "She actually hung up."

Fine! He didn't want to talk to her anyway, not when she was going to keep... telling the truth. He picked up the football he'd thrown down and leaned back against the couch. She was right. He never thought about it before. Chloe was in danger every day and she put herself there willingly. He let her, but he wouldn't let Lana. Maybe she thought she didn't matter.

Maybe Chloe deserved some time apart. Maybe she even needed it. Maybe she'd rather talk to "anonymous horny guys" than be with a sad sack like him. Maybe she'd rather have imaginary sex with some stranger than... He heard a loud pop and looked down. The football. He'd possibly squeezed it too hard. He tossed it to the floor and went down the stairs. What was wrong with him?

He entered the house. He could be alone. There were plenty of things to do alone. He could... He looked around. It was almost midnight. Had he seriously been pacing the loft all this time? There had to be better things to do. There was TV to watch, at least. He picked up the remote and settled on the couch. Infomercials... Episodes of The Brady Bunch. He hated that show. So squeaky clean and... He stopped at the next channel. A brunette woman in a bra and panties was reclining on a bed. That wasn't so squeaky clean.

"Our live girls are always waiting for your call," she whispered, caressing a phone cord. "Call me."

"Call me," a blonde insisted.

"Call me," a Latina girl moaned.

A barrage of girls echoed the sentiment. There were guys watching this. Guys that would be calling these girls, or what they thought were these girls. They'd really be calling fat housewives as Chloe said or girls like Chloe. "Plain old average girls," she'd said. Girls who were barely past eighteen and still had stuffed animals on their shelves mixed with copies of Mrs. Dalloway. Girls that lounged on their dorm beds and let some stranger... He heard a dull crunch. He looked down. The remote. It was the second item he'd squeezed to death tonight. What was wrong with him?

He put the broken remote on the coffee table and changed the channel on the TV just in time- as another phone sex commercial was coming on. He settled on a black and white film noir piece. That was a clean time, at least. He watched the woman on the screen move through a city apartment in one of those silky pajama jumpsuits they wore back then. He couldn't focus. He felt restless and tense. And why? Chloe had given him the tough love speeches before. Of course, she'd never given him tough love before going home to give easy love to strange men via the phone.

How did this work anyway? Could they find her? The thought made his insides twist. He imagined some sicko bursting into her dorm. "You're not a redhead," he'd scream before coming forward with a length of piano wire and... He got up and turned off the TV just as the silky pajama lady was about to bite it. The film noir didn't help, either. Now he'd keep thinking Chloe was being stalked or watched through her window by some perv with binoculars who somehow...

He rushed to the door. That was it. That was why he was tense. There was a definite danger. There must be. He was at her dorm in seconds. He quickly dialed the code at the front door and rushed up the stairs. He stopped at her door and listened. There was silence, then a moan. He rattled the doorknob. It didn't turn, so he pushed...

He rushed in and she turned, wide-eyed. She was at her desk, her legs up, one hand holding a phone, the other froze on the pages of a magazine. "What the..." She stood and tossed the magazine at him. "Are you trying to kill me?" she shrieked.

"No! I..."

She held up a hand and put the phone to her ear. "Yeah. You're going to kill me, Baby," she moaned in a voice that was so not her. "It's just too good. I could just die. Mmm." She picked up the magazine and swatted him again. She put her hand over the mouthpiece. "Did you seriously just break my door down?" she hissed.

"I can fix it," he whispered. "I just..."

"Just wait." She held up a finger and moved to her desk. She sat in the chair and put her legs up, crossing one leg over the other and propping her magazine in her lap. She turned a page. "Yeah. I'm stroking it. God, you make me so wet..." She suddenly turned back to him and covered the mouthpiece again. "This is a lot easier to do when I don't have an audience," she hissed.

He was shocked. There was no other way to put it. Chloe was casually flipping through magazines and moaning at strangers. "Chloe..."

She rolled her eyes and turned away, uncovering the mouthpiece. "Yes. Give it to me. I can almost feel that hard..." She broke off in moans and glanced sideways at him. Her face was bright red. She let out one final moan and suddenly stopped. "Oh, Bob. That was just so hot... Oh, you're sweet. Well, I like your voice, too... Oh, anytime baby..." She threw a glare at Clark.

He could only stare back, slack-jawed.

"Hmm?" Her attention was back on the phone. "Yes. The carpet matches." She let out a throaty laugh that belied the murderous expression on her face. "Oh, I'm all natural.... Mm-hmm... Well, thank you. You, too. Bye now." She pushed a button and tossed the phone to the bed. "What did you do to my door?" She marched past him and inspected it.

"I can fix it. Just..." He pulled her aside and held the lock's home to the metal doorjamb. He focused his heat vision, just enough to soften the metal and pushed it as closely into shape as he could. "There. All better."

"Oh, good. Now that's taken care of." He felt her hand slap the back of his head. It didn't hurt, but the fact that she'd done it irked him.

"Hey!" He straightened and stared down at her as she closed the door, giving it an experimental tug.

"How could you just stand there and watch me? I have never been so embarrassed in my life!"

"Well, it wasn't easy for me... watching you do... that."

"You could have left like I told you."

"You didn't tell me to."

"Yes I did. I clearly said it would be easier without an audience."

"Well... That's not like an order. It's more..."

"What are you doing here, Clark?" she sighed, moving back to her desk. Her computer screen had that picture again. "Lillian is with another caller," it said, before blinking and switching to "Lillian is live and waiting for your call!"

"I had to make sure you were okay," he said, tearing his eyes from the screen. "I had this vision that some guy had tracked you down and..."

"So now you're psychic and suddenly concerned for my safety?"

"I'm always concerned for your safety," he said, hurt now. "I thought you were in danger."

"You almost gave me a heart attack." She sat hard in her chair. "So, yeah. There's some danger for you. Why don't you save me from it and go home?"

"Chloe..."

"Clark, it's hard enough to get through these calls without someone else in the room. I mean, I have faked so many orgasms in the last few hours and I even had to spank myself." She rolled her eyes and stared at the monitor. "How the hell do these girls do it?"

He cleared his throat. He felt heat creeping up his neck. "Did you really... spank yourself?"

She shrugged. "Smacked my arm a couple times. Not like the guy can see. Another guy wanted me to tell him he was weak and ugly and..." She shuddered.

"Weirdos," he said, sitting on her bed.

"Yeah. But... I don't know. Most of them are just lonely and they want to feel like a girl like that..." She pointed at the screen. "Well, they want to feel like she's into them. Like they're studs. It's way easier if I imagine they're not lonely losers."

"You imagine them?"

"I have to create a fantasy scenario. I just take that voice and put another face and body to it. One I really want to..." She suddenly picked up her magazine. "Well, one that's more to my taste," she said to the pages. "Of course, it's hard to do anything with a large Kryptonian watching me," she said pointedly.

"I was just worried. I mean what if they found you?"

"They can't find me, Clark. They call a line that comes through somewhere in Kentucky and the dispatcher puts them through to me. It's not dangerous. It's just tedious."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, I read, I search the net, I've even folded my laundry. It's not even that hard. I mean, before my first call, I thought I'd throw up. But it was actually so easy. I mean, it's only words." She leaned back in her chair and placed her magazine on the desk. "Guys are actually pretty simple. I've learned that much. They just want a fantasy girl." She stared at the woman onscreen. "Not a normal girl. That won't do. Model types. I looked around. Some of the girls look like porn stars, some look like down-home girl-next-door types. You'd like them." she turned to him with a smirk. "Some were slender and willowy brunettes. There's actually a few large ladies thrown in. That made me feel better somehow."

"Why? I mean, you're not fat."

"No, but... Well, they're closer to average and the fact that some guys fantasize about a real girl just gives me hope." She shrugged and smiled. She turned back to the monitor. His eyes fell on her tank top and shorts, the giant fuzzy slippers.

"You're not..." The phone rang and the words on the screen turned red and claimed Lillian wasn't available again.

She stood and strode toward him. He nearly jumped out of his skin when she bent down. But she only took the phone that was resting near his hip. "Clark, you gotta go. Seriously. It's hard to do this with you here."

"But..."

"Clark, just go!" She pushed a button and turned away. "This is Lillian," she said in a deep voice. His eyes moved down her back to a spot between her shorts and tank. There was skin there. Not as much skin as the girls on screen showed, but...

He stood quickly. He could not stay for the rest. It was hard enough to see her doing it before. Not to mention the fact that she'd never speak to him again if he stayed. "I'm sorry," he said softly. He crept out and sped home.

It was past one. She'd be off-duty soon, but he'd bet she'd be tired. He was tired. Of course, that didn't mean he could sleep. He spent most of the night in and out of fitful dreams. They were fuzzy upon waking, but there was a strangely vivid one where Chloe moaned in his face, spanking her arm with a fuzzy slipper and calling him baby. Weird.

What was even weirder was that he woke up with a wet spot. That hadn't happened since he was fifteen. He supposed it was sensory overload. All this phone sex business. That was all. It wasn't like it was about Chloe. He would never, ever objectify his best friend, possibly only friend, that way... Or he'd try his damnedest not to.

He spent the day not doing that. He did chores instead. He thought of calling her, apologizing again, but he just couldn't. He'd tried this morning, then he'd heard her voice. It had been husky with sleep and it had made him think of her phone voice. He'd hung up. She'd know it was him from caller ID, but she hadn't called back. Maybe she was embarrassed. He was, too. He needed time to get his head straight. Once she was done with this story, he'd be fine. It was just the thoughts of Chloe and an adult-themed business that were blurring lines for him. She'd be Chloe again soon, not some husky voiced phone temptress who guys talked to while they...

His pitchfork snapped in his hands. He threw it down and moved into the house. He paced the living room, willing himself to get a grip. His eyes fell on a picture of him and Lana on the mantle. He'd never felt this stressed about Lana and sex. Maybe it was because he and Lana weren't best friends. His thoughts of her were so simple, like a fantasy. Even when they'd slept together, it had been soft and sweet, like an orange-tinged dream sequence with flowing music. Romantic, flowing, not complicated by mutual quests and the fear of losing the support he needed. He could just relax and see her sweet face, her delicate form, the full breasts that spilled from her tank top and curvy legs that disappeared into shorts and... That wasn't Lana.

He threw himself on the couch. He couldn't think of Chloe and sex. He needed her. She was the one who was always there. He was not going to objectify Chloe. He repeated it several times. He needed to. What would she think if she knew he was imagining her in a black corset on a white rug with black gloves, maybe looking over her shoulder, biting her lip...

He stood and clenched his fists.

"Stop it," he said aloud. "She's not that kind of girl." But the fact that she could calmly fake an orgasm while folding laundry... Could Lana ever manage that? Probably not. There was a side to Chloe. One he suspected he couldn't handle. His fantasies of Lana were always sweet, tame, ethereal... Those hazy, fitful dreams of Chloe were anything but tame. He knew that. She wasn't tame. He felt that. It terrified and exhilarated him and...

He was through fighting it.

Chapter Two