Almost Lovers (Chapter Two)

CHAPTER TWO

He had to give Sawyer credit. She didn't exaggerate. When she said this was deep cover, she meant it. Clark was going to live, for as long as it took, as Irving Clemp. From what he could tell, Clemp was seedy, rotting, and not quite fit to be standing. Or maybe that was just this motel. It was a dump... almost literally. At least, it bordered one. The way the wind blew half that dump's leavings into the parking lot, the two places might as well be one.

It was just past noon and, after a speech from Sawyer that put his role in perspective, he and Turpin had hopped on a train and a bus to this heaven-on-earth.

You follow Turpin's lead. Any deviation? You're out. You check in with him, he checks in with me. If I hear you're going rogue for some story? You're out. I'm confiscating your cell and giving you a new one. It is monitored by my team. I hear you making any suspicious calls to Perry White? You're out.

He suspected that Maggie Sawyer just plain wanted him out. He even understood it. The Metropolis Vista incident had him and Lois pegged as rogues, and not in the loveable scamp way. But as civilians interfering in business best left to those trained to handle it. He was a liability more than an asset, in her eyes. He hoped to prove her wrong. He was, for the most part, in this for himself -- or the part of himself that was Superman. That lead box taken from Luthor's vault was either hiding something from him or protecting him from what was inside. As he'd mused before, he could never tell which with Lionel. He needed to find out what it was and what to do about it. That was the first priority. But that didn't mean he didn't want to get something solid on Intergang that the police could use to subdue them. Clark might be an annoyance to Sawyer, but she'd been very up front with Superman and even appreciative. If he could, he wanted to help her out.

And Sawyer, whether she said it outright or not, needed help. He just hoped he could give her that while still keeping whatever it was they had from the police. It felt dirty, almost. Since Superman had appeared on the scene, he'd been in full cooperation with the police. He wanted to stay that way. But this... it was just bigger than that. Besides, it wasn't like Superman was working against the police, just with them... maybe with an agenda of his own. Also, it wasn't Superman, more like Clark Kent... as Irving Clemp.

He sighed as he continued unpacking, wincing at the sound of scurrying as he opened the closet to hang up his clothes. Maybe Irving Clemp wasn't the kind of guy to hang up his clothes, but it was surely safer then leaving them on any surface in this place. He moved back to his duffel bag and grabbed his socks, unearthing a spiral notebook, nearly full from last night's furious scribblings. Irving Clemp certainly wouldn't have that lying around. He shouldn't have written it in the first place. She said she didn't want to know. She wanted to move on.

He had to at least try, too. It was hard, seeing her that morning, hard looking at her without that idea that someday... But he really had to let that go. Not just because she wanted it, but because he was never going to get through this investigation if his mind was constantly on her. Them together... she seemed to think it was a kid's mistake now. She had thought of it as poisonous before. But it was neither of those things to him.

To him, it was just... all consuming. And he supposed it was because it was something he was powerless about. Them. Her. Even at full power, it was something he couldn't fix. It seemed that, even as his power grew, this was the one thing that he couldn't do a thing to save and it consumed him. Time apart was probably a good thing.

He dropped the socks and picked up the notebook. It wasn't finished. But maybe it shouldn't be. Maybe he should burn it. It was no use to anyone. But maybe writing it was not just about her knowing. Sure, every word was written to her, but maybe it he just needed to write it, even if it was never read.

Therapy. There were ways to get it besides sitting in a room with a spectacled man or woman asking "And how does that make you feel?"

Mostly, it was found at his mother's kitchen table. But sometimes, it was in an empty warehouse with well-meant harsh words from a doctor, a marine-life enthusiast, or a half-robot. Once, he found it in a terrible pirate-themed restaurant with a mad pregnant woman he'd come to think of as family. And now? A dog-eared notebook filled with things he wanted to say, but never would.

He wouldn't destroy it. He suspected he needed it, just as he needed every other bit of therapy he'd had this last month. It would be easier to need nothing, to say that the fortress had healed, and healed him in turn. It would be the easiest answer... but a lie.

I may have been weakened, Jor-el had said last night, but I sensed no real weakness in you. He had to accept it was true, though it felt so ridiculous, the idea that he was constantly getting in his own way.

The fact is, none of this is just me pulling these powers out of you like I'm some magician. I mean, it seems to take someone else to knock them out of you, but it's there. It's all there. You just gotta let em out. Victor had said it and he hadn't listened at the time. You are at full strength. You can do everything you ever could. You just have to stop thinking you can't. He'd been so full of worry and doubt and self-loathing at the time, he hadn't heard a word of it.

But something about writing everything, remembering everything, living through it again in a way, had opened his eyes. Yes, he'd screwed up in countless ways over many years in most areas of his life. Beating himself up over it wasn't the answer. It didn't work through his entire adolescence and it was even more useless now. He just had to stop screwing up... or try really hard to screw up as little as possible.

"Hey! Clemp!"

"Huh?" He turned to the door, looking through to find Turpin, then realizing Clemp meant him from now on. He touched his face, checking that his ridiculous facial hair was still in place. "Uh, just a sec, Tu... Jack."

He hastily looked around and checked himself, making sure nothing red and blue was visible before shoving the notebook in his bag. "It's unlocked."

Turpin let himself in. "Bad move in this dump. You looking to get beat up?"

Not much of a chance of that. Still, he should at least make it look like he was vulnerable. Maybe hanging with the gang so much had made him less vigilant about his secret. That would have to stop now. "You know, I was just about to come find you, so..."

"So nothing," Turpin said firmly. "Don't take chances. This is what we call the bad neighborhood's bad neighborhood. Makes your part of Suicide Slums.look like a suburb."

Clark nodded. "Understood."

"Good." Turpin gestured to him. "You wired?"

Clark patted his chest. "I haven't turned anything on yet, but..."

"Good, get em off. Bobby Big Mouth tipped us off on the interview process," he said with a snort. "Turns out they're strip searching."

Clark clutched at the neck of his sweat shirt. "What?"

"Calm down. He exaggerates. But there are pat-downs, at least. we'll have to figure out another way."

"For wires? Do they suspect..."

"For weapons. Nobody gets near Mannheim with a piece. You get this many lowlifes together, they start getting paranoid."

"So honor among thieves is..."

"A myth." Turpin moved toward him. "So come on. Let me get those wires..."

"No. I can do it. I needed to use the bathroom before, anyway, so..."

Turpin rolled his eyes. "What? You're shy?"

"Something like that," Clark said, shutting himself into the bathroom. "Damn," he hissed. throwing off his clothes, then his pulling at the suit. It was just as well about the wires. He was constantly worried about displacing them in flight or, worse, forgetting to turn them off when Superman was on duty. But no suit? Was he supposed to fly back here and change anytime Superman was needed? He sighed and shucked it off, shoving it under the sink and ignoring another rush of scurrying.

He'd have to figure something out. Clark Kent might be a non-entity right now, but Superman couldn't afford to be.

He hastily pulled off the wires and put his clothes back on, moving out to find Turpin pacing on the phone. "Mags, we can still get something... I don't know how... Yes. I'll keep him in check," he said, glancing at Clark. "We'll check in after... Yeah. Bye." He snapped his phone shut. "Irving, old pal? We got a bus to catch."

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

Lois tapped her foot impatiently as the elevator seemed to crawl up to the Clocktower. She only had an hour for lunch and she'd, with Martha's voice ringing in her ear, ended up wasting for twenty-five of them waiting in line for "something with actual nutritional value." It used to be, she could power through on coffee, maybe a quick hot dog. But no. She just had to call Martha Kent and, at the end, promise to eat, of all things.

Truthfully, it wasn't all wasted time and she had to grow up enough to see that. Lunch hours should actually mean lunch. She supposed she wasn't that annoyed, just pressed for time. She missed Martha, missed having long talks, missed being taken care of and fussed over. She supposed she'd have to start`fussing over herself. Maybe that meant using some of her lunch to actually eat or her night to actually sleep... starting tonight, at least. Anyway, it was nice to hear her voice. She wondered if it would be too weird if she called her every day. To an outsider, it might look strange, daily calls to the mother of the guy she... Well, she still couldn't find a word for it. But this was Martha.

It might look even weirder, her angling to spend time with this same guy's ex girlfriend. Martha had seemed surprised.

"Well, sure. If Lana calls, I'll tell you'd like to see her, but... Really?"

"I figure, with the both of us being there for Christmas, it might be best to clear the air." She had a feeling it was all going to be murky no matter what, but she might as well try. She couldn't help feeling she owed Lana something. Lana had, after all, been wronged by her, though the actions weren't her own on a technicality, she felt an obligation to... something. Maybe just an apology for how rude she'd been before.

She put Lana out of her mind as the doors opened on the Penthouse. It was strangely quiet and she hit on why as she moved through to find Victor. "No Bart?" she said, moving into the computer room.

"I sent him on patrol... in Keystone City," Victor said, not taking his eyes off the monitor. "He kept whining he was bored, so I gave him something to do."

She chuckled. "Bet he wished he hadn't complained."

"He's fine. It's his hometown, anyway. He should be keeping it safe instead of constantly bugging me to play Call of Duty." He smiled as he turned to her. "Besides, I wanted a little time alone with your little project."

"So you figured it out?"

He scoffed. "In a few hours? I might need years. Where did you get this? I've seen you wearing it. You said it wouldn't come off and..."

"Not something I can divulge," she said carefully. It's not that she didn't trust Victor... just not in every way. If he were to know this was from Clark, then he might tell Clark and she'd had enough half-truths from him. She had a right to know what had been clamped to her left wrist.

"Fine, then." He turned back to his monitor, touching it as the digitized image of a bracelet spun, turning red here and there. "First of all, this is not turquoise, not underneath, at least. There's some kind of substance that I can't figure out. At first, I thought it possessed properties similar to kryptonite, but..."

"You mean as in from Krypton?" Clark said it was Kawatche.

"Maybe, but... it's like no kryptonite I've seen. Granted, I've only studied four kinds, so it might be unrelated except..." He tapped his screen and the bracelet spun again, enlarged. "Cool, isn't it?"

She shook herself, trying to pull herself out of remembering everything Clark ever said about the bracelet. "Huh?"

He gestured at the monitors and other machinery around him. "Oliver just upgraded. I mean, these won't stay here once we get the new headquarters situated, but it's nice to give them a real spin."

"Yeah, they're really great," she mumbled. Roadside stand, Kawatche, gift for his mother... He didn't seem to care one way or another about the bracelet, which was strange considering it seemed to be made of a metal he couldn't bend. You'd think he'd at least be curious.

"The craziest part are the markings. They're not Kawatche. They actually did look Kryptonian to me at first, but nothing I could translate. See, I've been compiling a database of known kryptonian symbols. I probably need Clark on this, but he's got his own little side projects."

"Don't remind me," she muttered, still mad about that. It wasn't like she had a right to be. He was perfectly free to pursue his own stories. But it still annoyed her, especially after spending the morning typing up gossip from the illegible notes Rachel Rogers had left behind before pursuing a career as a weather girl in a short skirt.

"I've been telling him forever that studying Kryptonian energy would help everybody. It constantly renews itself and doesn't burn fossil fuels and..." He shook his head. "Anyway, he's always got too much going on. But I found this Virgil Swann guy's research. Really wish he were still around. Might be more consistent than Clark."

"He certainly would be." Anyone would be. How much more was Clark hiding from her? Then again, it wasn't clear there was anything Kryptonian.

"Anyway, these symbols are crude and old and could even be hieroglyphics or... You know what? Maybe I should get Takamoto on this. That guy can unravel anyth..."

"No," Lois cut in. "Victor, I came to you with this in confidence. I really don't want anyone else to know."

"But how am I supposed to figure this out? I'll need a year to..."

"How about three days?"

"Three days?"

"I don't need you to figure out everything. I just want to know what you can get out of it between now and Christmas." That would have to be enough to confront Clark with when she next saw him... if she saw him. She still wasn't sure of that. And if she wasn't already mad about his continued mysterious side project, him letting her wear some possibly cursed Kryptonian artifact was more fuel.

"But what if I want to figure out everything about it?" Victor sounded slightly whiny. "I mean, this thing is giving off energy."

She moved to him. "Victor..."

"See? It just spiked. Maybe it's taking solar energy like kryptonite does or..."

Her phone beeped. "Oh, great." She pulled it out, thinking it was her alarm, telling her lunch was over. It was worse. "Jimmy says Perry's on a rampage. Nothing to put in the evening edition."

Victor nudged her. "Thought you had an interview with Superman today."

"It was a stranger danger speech at a grade school which is human interest at best," she said thoughfully, "and I need something front page..."

"Wait a second." Victor gestured to his monitors. "Is this is a story?

"No. It's not a story." Even if every word was true, Possibly Cursed Bracelet wasn't headline news, except of the Weekly World variety. "This has nothing to do with that. It's just... a good mystery. Didn't you ever just hate that there are things you can't understand?" She leaned over him and stared at the monitors. "I need to know why. I always need to know why."

He put a hand over hers, resting on the back of his chair. "Good to know you haven't changed. So we're agreed. You leave this with me for six months..."

"Three days," she said firmly.

"Three days," he grumbled.

"Three days for what?"

Lois jumped to see Bart in the doorway.

"Three days till Christmas," she said loudly. "Can you believe it?"

Bart groaned and threw himself into a swiveling chair. "Don't remind me."

"Shopping?"

"No. I'm good. But ham," he sighed. "And turkey. I heard Mrs. K's going to have both and I have to wait. This is sooooo boring."

"Then you should go back to Keystone and patrol," Victor said, turning to him. "One hour is not enough to..."

"Dude, nothing happens there. It's a coal town. We got bar brawls after eleven, maybe. And the only thing to do then is place bets."

"Very heroic," Victor said with a roll of his eyes.

"Hey, it ain't my fault I come from a slow town. The irony." Bart shrugged. "I've never even been in the papers like Clark and Oliver." He lifted his chin. "Too awesomely fast to be caught, I guess."

Lois perked up. "Would you like to be?"

"Me? Nah!" Bart leaned forward. "Why? You want to do a profile? Because I have many quotable..."

"I'm just saying that, if you keep an ear out for police dispatching, you might make a save."

"Like choose to work? Without Victor telling me to?"

"Not gonna happen," Victor almost sung.

"Says you." Bart stood, then deflated. "But this is Superman's turf. I can't just go around saving people."

Victor rolled his eyes. "Because Clark loves being over-worked."

"I'm just saying, Bart," Lois began. "If a flash of crimson is spotted doing something heroic, I'll be sure to make a note of it."

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

"You just keep your eyes and ears open," Turpin said as they got off the bus. Considering their supposed financial situation, Turpin said they'd be taking the bus to and from work regularly. "You check in with me or Sawyer whenever you think you hear something. This isn't just about Luthor. You're an extra set of eyes and ears here and I want whatever you got."

"Got it."

"And no breaking cover for anything. Whatever happens, we don't want them to know we were ever anything other than Jack Drake and Irving Clemp."

"I'm not stupid, you know."

"I'm serious. No mess-ups. These guys find out who you are, they'll dog you till you're dead. And Jesus, you must have a death wish. Look at you."

Clark looked down at himself. "What?"

"What's the point of you getting hired when you're gonna end up taking sick leave right away?"

"I feel f..."

"Coat. You forgot your coat."

"Oh, I must've... you know, I'm fine."

"It's 10 degrees out, here, Irving." Turpin blew into his hands and Clark took note of his scarf and hat. Lois had been bugging him about coats.

"You know, I grew up on a farm, so I'm usually fine with cold. I mean, I used to just go around in a light jacket most winters."

Turpin gave him a strange look.

"But yeah. I mean, ten degrees is fine, but once it hits nine... I mean, I'll feel that, so I'll definitely not forget tomorrow."

Turpin rolled his eyes and walked away. "Whatever. I'm not your mom. And fine. Get sick. As long as you eat, sleep and breathe Irving..."

"I like the eating part," a voice said as they passed an alleyway.

Turpin stopped and Clark stopped with him as a rake-thin man with greasy, dark hair gestured them in.

"Bobby?"

"Well, hey there, Jack." He nodded to Clark. "Guess you're Irving."

"Well, he wouldn't let me be Jack..."

"Yeah, yeah." He gestured at Turpin. "You got the stuff?"

Turpin rolled his eyes and dug in his bag. "Oatmeal chocolate chip," he said, handing Bobby a greasy bag. Clark had wondered about the bakery stop.

He opened the bag and took a whiff. "This it?"

"Sawyer's taking care of lunch. But only after we're hired," Turpin added.

"What? You don't trust me?"

"Hey, you could be doing this for free, it being your civic duty. We don't have to compensate."

"Fine, fine." Bobby pulled out a cookie and inspected it. "Well, you got Stitches."

"Huh?"

"Johnny Denetto. They call him Johnny Stitches, though. You'll see why when you meet him, but don't look too long, He don't like that. Anyway, the guy had a bad fall, not unconnected to him stealing from his former boss. Seems pretty loyal to Mannheim since he got him fixed up."

"How heartwarming." Turpin nudged Clark, who shrugged.

"And you said there wasn't honor among thieves."

"He's interviewing all the new hires for Mannheim," Bobby said around a mouthful. "Just want to warn you guys, though... somethin's up... or under or somethin."

Turpin leaned closer. "Mind being clearer?"

"I can't. I mean, I got my ear to the ground and I see what I see, but... I dunno. I just feel like there's somethin creepy underneath all this."

"Like a bunch of thugs pretending to be respectable nightclub owners?"

"No. There's more. There's somethin more here, something spooky. I feel it in my gut."

"Take a Tums." Turpin patted him on the back. "But we'll keep alert."

Clark followed Turpin down Pierce Street. "What was that about?"

"Knowing Bobby, probably indigestion. Come on."

Clark couldn't help feeling Bobby was right, when he saw Johnny Stitiches... or tried not to. It wasn't just that his face was patched together, there was an air about him. something not quite human, made worse by the fact that he just stared at them while a large, bald man they called Tiny leaned on the desk, doing most of the talking. A short, pug of a man with long, greasy waves that fell to his chin, called Rocco, chimed in.

"See, you wouldn't just be working at our fine establishment," Tiny grunted, looking them over. "You would be providing a certain amount of... protection."

"Protection," the little guy echoed.

"You are, of course, expected to work up to the standards of a quality nightclub. But also our Boss needs a certain amount of... preservation."

"Preservation," Rocco piped up again.

Tiny nodded. "Also, we expect loyalty and uh... clean-cut look you'd expect in a club of this quality. But also a certain kind of..."

"Protection?" Turpin put in, after what felt like minutes. "I think we got it."

Clark hoped that got across that they understood. Between not looking at Stitches and hearing the same two things said a dozen different ways, his eyes were glazing over.

"What are you, a smart ass?" Tiny turned to Turpin, whose eyes widened.

"Me? No one's ever accused me of being smart, but I think my colleague and I can handle it."

Rocco moved to him. "He is a smart-ass. Short, too."

Clark wondered that Turpin didn't balk at that, considering Rocco had to look up to say it.

Turpin shrugged. "I got what they call a stocky build. But don't let that fool you. I'd've played college ball, 'cept I couldn't pass ninth grade."

Tiny chuckled and turned to Clark. "What about you, big guy?"

"He don't talk much, Irving," Turpin grunted. "But he's good to have around. Most punks take a look at him and don't bother. Farm raised, outta Michigan. Right, Irving?"

Clark just nodded and gave a grunt, considering Turpin had already pegged him as strong and silent.

"Irving," Rocco cackled. "Anyone ever give you a hard time about that name there, Four-eyes?" He slapped Clark on the back. "Motherf..."

"Not for long," Clark said, keeping his eyes front as Rocco danced around, shaking his hand out.

"So..." Tiny glanced around. "What do we think?"

"They'll do," Rocco said on a squeak.

"I wasn't talking to you," Tiny said, turning back to Johnny Stitches.

Clark risked a glance, too, a short one, as Johnny nodded and stood, moving out.

Tiny clapped his hands. "Okay. So either of you a religious man?" He held up a thick, faded book. The Bartender's Bible.

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

"It's not like I'm a sentimental guy or anything, but... I mean this is her nail file. You can't just toss it out. She needs it."

And she can't buy ten more in a one-dollar package? "Understood," Lois finally sighed. "I must have thought it was mine, so much of Rachel's stuff having migrated to my desk while I was gone."

"Gone." Jimmy leaned on Rachel's desk, sort of petting the nail file. "I thought it was great, at first. But who am I kidding? It's just not the same. I mean she's gone."

"Yes. But to be a hot weather girl," she reminded him, "who you're dating. All the other guys are probably so jealous."

"All the guys will stare at her, you mean. Who wouldn't? And some chiseled sports anchor type will ask her out for coffee one night. And she'll say she has a boyfriend, but he'll say it's just coffee." He stared at the nail file darkly. "But it's never just coffee."

"Coffee sounds great," Lois said quickly, standing. "You want some, too."

"No," he moaned. "I want a faithful girlfriend."

"Jimmy, she's not cheating on you."

"Yet," he said, shuffling off.

Lois shook her head and moved to the coffee maker. She kind of forgot about this, being away. But Jimmy sure needed constant bolstering and she supposed she was in for two weeks worth of insecurities to mollify to make up for lost time. Still, she couldn't help but feel good. She was back to her life, her apartment, her... old self if it could be called that. Here she was. Home. Same old Jimmy with his constant whining, same old Perry with his constant panic attacks, same old Doris with her fuzzy sweaters and tea.

She smiled as she saw Doris staring into a pink box at the table. "So... any good donuts left?"

"Just the plain ones," Doris said, shoving the box toward her. "Perry took all the cream filled. He really needs to... watch his... cholesterol," Doris finished, sniffling. "Promise me you'll keep an eye on that."

"Doris?"

"I'm fine." She picked up a napkin and swiped at her nose. "I just... put in for retirement today."

"Already? I thought you were only thinking about it."

"Well, cuts are coming. They're starting with archives with everything going digital, but they're working their way to administration, then the old are the first they get rid of," she said, glaring into her tea. "They give you a severance package, see. about half what you get for retiring. But I cut them off before they could shove me out the door."

"Then... good for you?" Lois tried, her good mood dissipating.

"But now I have to leave," she wailed.

"I thought you wanted to go."

"Well, sure, but now I'm getting that means actually going. Oh, just... Don't mind me."

Lois stared after her as she rushed off to the ladies room, feeling less homey as she looked around. Doris was leaving. Rachel had gone to TV, so had Harrison. Both of those could be construed as good things as Rachel was a pain in her ass and Harrison was the same -- or he'd pinched it a few times. but she was used to seeing them. Her eyes slid to Clark's desk. She'd gotten used to seeing him, too. There was something safe about seeing Clark here, not so complicated. Outside of work, it was all a mess, so she had no good reason to miss him, but it felt strange, looking at his desk without him in it.

She moved to Perry's office, letting herself in, wanting to count on at least one thing to always be there. But he wasn't. "Perry?"

"Ow!"

"Oh, good." She peeked over his desk as he got out from under it. "What are you doing down there?"

"Looking for some matches. I've promised Doris I'd smoke myself into an early grave if she left and I'm making good."

"Perry, come on..."

"Well, she has to learn there are consequences when you abandon people." He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and shook one out. "Got a light?"

"No." She pulled the cigarette from his mouth and broke it in two. "And no."

"What? Are you gonna threaten to call my wife?"

"Well..."

"I mean, because this could work. Also, you're gonna have to get to the donuts before I do. And inspect Olsen before he enters my office and..."

"Perry..."

"I'm serious. I don't have any willpower."

"Well, get some. Things are changing." She thought of Martha and Linda and Clark, too. As much as the constant supervision had suffocated her, she'd gotten used to it. "We're... we're going to have to take care of ourselves now."

"Eh." He tossed the pack of cigarettes into the wastebasket. "Why does anything have to change?"

"Then there wouldn't be news."

"Well, there won't be. Not today."

"You never know." She glanced at Perry's clock. Already two o'clock and no word of a red flash zooming to the rescue of the citizens of Metropolis. She knew crime hadn't taken a day off, so it must be Bart's work ethic that was off today... or most days. Might have been nice to profile a new hero about town. But, oh well... "I've been saving a piece about the tryptophan and turkey myth. We can educate people if we can't shock them."

"No, thanks."

"Well, we could bump my Superman piece up."

"I hear The Star's going with him for front page. Fashion Don'ts. Ridiculous, but it'll probably sell. We need something awful, terrible, catastrophic, here."

She rubbed his shoulder. "There's the Christmas spirit."

"Oh, leave me alone. I'm moping today."

Lois moved back to her desk. She did have more than the tryptophan piece. She'd swung by Lacey's on her way back and got a few sound bytes about sales dropping. If nothing else, she could dress that up before four. Maybe take a walk and get some man-on-the-street thoughts on Christmas. But usually, the schmaltzy stuff was held till Christmas Eve. Still, it wouldn't hurt to...

She jumped as something buzzed in her hand, then realized she'd been toying with her cell phone. It was a blocked number. The last time she'd had a call like that, it had been Luthor. She wasn't sure if she should... Then again, anyone could have a blocked number. And she could always hang up.

"Hello?"

"Lois? Um... It's Lana."

She almost did hang up. She'd been waiting for this. Also dreading this.

"Lana, I was... You know, I wanted to call you. I just didn't have your info. I mean, I wasn't sure how to..."

"Well, Mrs. Kent told me you were trying to..."

"I was. So... here we are." She stayed silent for a moment. "Martha's great," she said, having nothing else.

"She is."

Lois sat up straighter, realizing she should probably say something, considering she'd been tracking her down. "You know, I was just... I feel like we got off on the wrong... something, so... I was thinking if we..."

"Maybe we should meet for dinner," Lana said suddenly.

"Tonight? I mean I wasn't planning that so much as... um..." She actually wasn't planning on meeting at all, maybe just talking on the phone. But that wasn't going so well right now. And now, since Lana suggested it, maybe she had no choice or it would seem like she didn't want to see her.

"If you're busy tonight, that's fine. I know you're working."

"Yes," Lois agreed eagerly, glad to put it off. "I mean, it's just my first day back and all that." But she should buy the woman a meal, at least. Considering, she was starting a new life, she should get old one all paid off and clear. "But I'd love to buy you lunch or dinner." She winced. That might seem like nothing, considering she heard Lana... or Lorna Leery was loaded. But just a gesture...

"Well, I'm free for lunch tomorrow. We could meet at your place and..."

"Oh, you know. Tomorrow... See, I'm doing some Christmas shopping with my cousin on my lunch."

"That sounds nice." There was a long pause. Then a longer one.

She squeezed her eyes shut, then just said it. "Would you like to come with us?" She knew Linda would have a bird, but what was she supposed to do?

"Oh, that would be great. You know, I could meet you at your place. I'd love to see where you..."

"Well. I'd be coming from work. But I could meet you at The Grand. That's where you're staying, right?"

"It is... But, you know, I'd rather just meet you at The Planet. I'm sure all the best places are in New Troy. I mean, Lacey's and..."

"Metro Square Jewelry."

That wasn't Lana, but a voice panting in her ear. "Excuse me, L... Lorna. Jimmy? You okay?"

"Someone just stopped a robbery there," he said, leaning hard on her desk. "And it wasn't Superman."

Lois smiled. "You don't say."

PREVIOUS CHAPTER
CHAPTER THREE