______________ SwapMeet: Burbank by Debby Stark Rated PG Originally written in 1997 Uploaded to the Archive in January 2000 _______________ This is the mirror half of a story called "SwapMeet: Metropolis," subtitled "We're Not in Kansas Anymore..." by Margaret Brignell, which is available in its entirety from Margaret at and on the L&C Fanfic Archive The original idea for this story was by Dory Weiss, who could not participate due to a heavy schedule. Disclaimer for Swapmeet: Burbank - I have only ever shaken Mr. Cain's hand and he wouldn't know me from Eve. I was in the same room with K (three times), and Teri and Justin (once each), and recently (August, 1996) Eddie Jones patted me on the back. However, just about every verifiable "fact" I use to base my writing on has been gleaned or extrapolated from a variety of probably trustworthy interviews. I hope I have not done any harm to any current or past inhabitants of Burbank or environs. Note: in my parts, there are some purposeful typos While this was originally finished on February 20, 1997, it was looked at again and fixed up a bit on November 5-8, 1997, and reloaded to my site as well - Debby, Debby@swcp.com Swap Meet: Burbank or We're Not in Kansas Anymore... An Alternate Burbank Warner Brothers Studio Wednesday, Day One Approximately 6:30 a.m. 43 EXT. METROPOLIS SUNSET MEMORIAL CEMETERY - NIGHT - DARK AND STORMY Lois hides behind a gravestone. She's lost Clark somewhere but she's not worried; she is intrepid and after a killer story. 44 GRAVE As LIGHTNING FLASHES, mound of moldy dirt STIRS. 45 SUPERMAN LANDS, looks sternly at Lois, frowns at GRAVE and then smiles like he can't believe how ridiculous this is. 46 GRAVE Out of GRAVE RISES KRYPTONITE-COVERED DRACULA. 46 SUPERMAN SCREAMS, WETS PANTS, HIDES behind Lois. Lois whips out CRUCIFIX and courageously approaches Dracula, demanding a QUOTE. 46 DRACULA CRINGES and promises FIRST RIGHTS. Dean Cain sat back and shook his head. "I don't *think* so..." Teri Hatcher smiled hopefully. "What? Did I... misspell 'intrepid'?" "No..." "'Courageously'?" "No, it's not that either." She pointed at her screen. "The special effects should be easy on that one part, huh?" Dean rolled his eyes, which gave Teri a chance to grin like he hoped she would; she'd been kidding. Unfortunately, it *was* funny. It would shed a new light on a different aspect of Superman as he... shed. "Look, don't mind *me*, go ahead and submit it. I liked the Vibro Whammy mention in the bit you showed me yesterday, the continuity is good, the fans will love it, and they'll probably... love this, too. It will give me a chance to really stretch my... talents." "Well, maybe..." as though to ease the pressure on him, "Superman is a clone in this one." "Argh--no! We did that out the..." he waved at the screen and by extension the history of his show, "the *kazoo* already!" "Okay... victim of Carbon Copy Man? Power transfer to a hapless nerd who just *looks* like Superman but parts his hair on the other side and walks with a gimp?" "Please... Those critics on the internet will hate it." "No, they hate meaningless, unromantic arcs, just like we do. Not that this scene *romantic,* exactly, but they're working together, see?" Dean looked to the heavens again and sighed dramatically, then couldn't help but smile a little. "Yeah... I guess I better warn you: spending yesterday afternoon in that damned harness getting nine minutes of useable stock footage did *not* make me a happy camper." She squeezed his shoulder. "You'll recover, you always do, you already have," she said blithely, pitiless, but she could; she'd only had one bad scene in the episode they were wrapping up. She had been up to her knees in and then pushed by the villainess face first into simulated chocolate (two takes)--and Superman hadn't rescued her. He'd jumped into the scene, on dry land, a few moments "too late," after she had rescued herself. He had then withstood a tongue lashing and taken her home to clean up. He bet the fans on the List would speculate on how frisky, creative Clark did *that*. Teri had said something about fearing that after all her work, the scene would end up on the cutting room floor (when Clark's apparent tasteful follow up, for example, hadn't even been alluded to, another missed opportunity). However, Dean knew she wouldn't let anyone see her disappointment if she was right. She had only hinted at how disappointed she had felt when the "real" writers had torn into her last script and the network's meddling had caused it to be slotted totally out of place in the show's already-too-tampered-with timeline. That was probably the reason she was sharing bits and pieces of what she had so far with him. It was a nice act of trust--and it made him an accomplice; he'd be bound to support her if she wrote in any of his ideas. Before he could make any concrete suggestions about this scene, though, she promptly changed the subject. "Did your family decide yet? Are they coming back early for the holiday after all?" There was a real downer. "No, they can't make it this weekend. I guess there's something more fascinating about New Hampshire in the fall than LA in the... whatever season we're in now, what with the extra rain." It had made shooting outside difficult at best; a muddy Superman was not a sight for sore eyes. "And Jon?" Talk about sore eyes, and red sometimes, too... Teri smiled bravely. "He's *sure* he'll be done shooting by the *next* weekend. I *know* Caracas is more fascinating than LA, but it's also too far away and complicated for me to just... drop in for a visit. But you, you won't be alone, there's that girl... what was her name? Ah..." "My latest 'luv interest'?" She cringed a little. "I wouldn't have put it *that* way." "I know, I'm just being.... When we had to shoot late Monday, that blew the date we'd planned to some club opening somewhere, and she called and..." He shrugged, trying to feel like he could shrug the whole thing off. "I'm between love interests again." "Oh, I'm sorry..." She patted his shoulder in sympathy. "Well, I'm sure you'll find something to do this weekend, some sport or something. You can wear yourself out having fun." "Yep, probably," he smiled, though he hadn't the faintest idea what he'd do since he had kept his schedule clear in the hopes his family would be back from the film his dad was shooting. Five long days, from Thursday through Monday... Well, it might not be *that* bad; something could come up if he relaxed and let it happen. It wasn't often these days that he had so much unplanned-for free time all in one lump. It was almost scary, as scary as Dracula's unexpected appearance in Teri's script... which maybe she had written just to make him laugh. She was thoughtful that way. Maybe she'd already heard about his getting dumped; things like that got around pretty quickly. He saw her glance at her watch. "Oops, 6:55, time to go." She saved her work, got out of her script-writing program, powered down her computer, and grabbed the last of the three heavy, whole-wheat honey donuts she had been munching. They left her trailer, Dean holding the door for her, then closing it firmly, making sure it locked this time. She'd come back between shots two days earlier to see a fan just beginning to open it. The distracted tour guide had yelled, rushed to the rescue and dragged the screaming girl away. Teri had been unnerved for a while after that. But she looked in charge now. He admired how she was able to quickly transform herself from would-be writer to excellent actress. She could easily go from being light and funny, like in this latest installment of her script, to a consummate, hard- driven, narrow-eyed professional approaching a shoot. Her walk alone was almost enough to convey all that. She liked the smoothly fitting red dress and high heels she was wearing, and her hair and makeup already looked good and in little need of touch up on the set. He felt more casual about his own appearance, particularly after having survived the day before without losing his lunch. He hadn't eaten much anyhow, making up for it with a big dinner, the last of the skinless roast chicken his mom had prepared and frozen for him. Then he had worked on his idea file and a script treatment and turned in around ten, getting plenty of rest for this early-morning call. He was now in a typical CK-blue shirt, dark jacket, and, earlier on his swing by Wardrobe, he'd requested the eggplant tie (they called it that on the List). They walked down Avenue C towards Sound Stage 14C where the "Daily Planet" set was. Dean glanced up, barely making out through the lights that the cool sky was still as dark and uncertain looking as it had been during his drive in almost two hours earlier. He wondered if it would rain or just be foggy or clear up or what. It rarely rained much this time of year and hardly ever in the morning, but this was shaping up to be an unusual year in many ways. Hey, what if it rained all weekend, just *stormed,* and he had to stay inside and... sleep? Ah, sleep! Catch up over Thanksgiving Day and then start having fun on Friday. The beach--or the mountains. Take the bike, maybe look up some friends, speaking of which, it would be fun to sneak onto the Batman set again and make faces at George and Chris while they were trying to look stoic-heroic in those awful rubber suits. They had sure changed their tunes about *his* suit...! Well, something interesting was bound to happen. He sighed and, in the interest of keeping his Supermanish figure, unwrapped a piece of gum for breakfast. They entered the set just east of the elevators and looking over the main floor. The place was a typical riot. Teri plunged into it and was converged upon by makeup people and assistants with script changes since besides the final scene with him, she still had a wrap-up scene with Lane to shoot. Dean's scene with her was scheduled and would fall naturally right after that. Waiting gave him the opportunity to stand back and watch, to drink it in and learn, he hoped, more about how to direct television shows. He folded his arms across his chest, leaned back against a file cabinet, chewed thoughtfully, and blocked out the scene. In an hour or so, he, as Clark Kent, would emerge from the elevator and bounce down the ramp, flush with success in another Superman job well done, a hero again in the eyes of his beloved wife (who had entertained some doubts in this episode). He would approach Teri with just the right amount of elan, deliver his brief lines, kiss her passionately, and, then, five days of vacation. An assistant director holding a notepad rushed by, stopped, came back, frowned at him, uncertain, then had it and said: "Gum, Dean." He smiled at the fellow, tongued the wad into his cheek and said, "I know, thanks!" The AD nodded and resumed his rush away. Dean ignored the instructions and moved to an out-of-the-way place behind the camera to watch the scene play out. After twenty minutes of lighting and set fixes, everyone was ready to rehearse, which took about ten minutes. The two shots of the few opening seconds of the scene from Teri's POV (the director didn't like the first take) and then a wide angle encompassing the newsroom and some extras took another ten minutes, typical. The camera was moved, and for five minutes they shot the same scene from Lane's POV. At last, after more lighting changes, everyone was ready for the final, extended version of this scene: Lane came out of Perry's office, copy in hand, and congratulated Lois (Teri *was* Lois now). Her and Clark's latest story would put the Pasta Pirate, Al Dente, and his arch rival in the Metropolis snack food wars, the Praline Princess, in prison for eternity. "I *knew* he was a crook," Lois said, "as soon as we purloined a portion of that over-cooked pasta he was trying to pawn off on the public." "But Clark was right about her, too," Perry reminded her. "She was just too saccharin to be believed." Dean was glad Lois and Clark were getting in some newspaper work: the List was always demanding that and they were right, too. Everyone would be surprised in a few weeks because this detail was unlikely to be mentioned in the spoilers. Lois smiled and said she'd pass the good news on to Clark, and then she and Perry laughed over her strong hint/in joke that both of the Planet's best investigative reporters could use a raise to pay for newlywed expenses, like that new terrarium in which she wanted to raise frogs... The Director yelled, "Cut!" and said they'd go with this shot, "Good work, you two, etc., etc..." Dean noted the man's upbeat attitude was a little too hyper. Too much coffee too early in the morning probably, and probably not quality brew from Priscilla's, from which Dean special ordered when the going got tough. The camera dollied around and the lights were readjusted for the next scene, Clark's triumphant return. This was the last scene either he, Teri, or in this case, Justin were scheduled in, barring reshoots. Dean hadn't heard of any for himself or Teri yet, and he knew he should have by now. Maybe that was the director's problem. Was he debating sending an AD or going himself to reshoot those laboratory/test kitchen scenes for the touchy guest stars? They were demanding more *angst* and more *cringing* from their respective sidekicks, Manicotti and Jellie Beane, and better lighting for themselves. Dean decided he didn't need to sneak in to watch all that. He wound his way through the fast-moving crew. He smiled at the extras, actors playing newsroom staff people who never seemed to talk to Lois or Clark, though during these last four years they had thrilled at Superman's intrepid appearances and dutifully gawked at Lois's dazzling outfits and her show-stopping outbursts. They had also studiously looked elsewhere when the Daily Planet's two top reporters practically made out on one or the other's desk. Now that Lois and Clark were married to each other and rarely did that kind of thing any more, the "newsroom crew" could be directed to look like they were actually working. Dean spotted and high-fived Justin, who was searching for his mark, apparently moved from the day before. "Hey, man," Justin smiled, "I want to talk to you after we wrap up, okay?" "Gotcha, no problem." Just as he hit the bottom of the ramp to head up toward the elevator, Dean heard his name called and he turned back to walk over and consult with the script girl, who was standing at the Clark Kent Desk and who claimed to have a "minor" change in the script. He read it over quickly, agreed it was minor but fantastic, and committed it to memory. It was best to ignore the fact that the dialogue still didn't make much sense given the overall story line and Lois nearly being killed again, but yet another mile on the rocky road of married life had been traveled successfully. The fans would think it was Truly Wonderful and even Steamy. He nodded. "Thanks." "Dean!" He looked up. "Yo?" The Director, who was up on the landing ahead of him, pointed. "Gum." "Oh, yeah, thanks." This was one warning he couldn't "overlook." Only having to be told twice today wasn't much fun; his record was six times. He looked around for someplace to stick the well-chewed wad and chose his usual spot, the missing "L" in the Clark Kent Keyboard. Would they never get the hint and buy some real computers for the set? The fans noticed when they toured the lot. Hey, the studio got the cars at a discount rate, surely they could work a deal for some decent-looking computers. Then again, the fans might be responsible for cleaning up after him, for he had yet to return the next day to find his gum where he had "stored" it. "Places, people..." He walked back up to the elevator, only to be attacked as Teri had been earlier by makeup and clothing experts and even more assistant directors. At this time the eggplant tie was fit around his neck and he was given Clark Kent glasses. He frowned at them. "I was wearing the hornrims earlier." "No, you weren't." "Yes, I was, yesterday, around two, for the change-in-the- alley scene, which takes place about two hours before this scene is supposed to. I distinctly remember it." This was mainly because the hornrims were light plastic and pinched less than these frameless-looking ones which actually had metal frames and heavy glass lenses. Also, the hornrims made him look less like either himself or Superman, integral to a subplot of this episode, and, besides, fans noticed such bloopers. "It says here you weren't." A continuity sheet was waved before his face too fast for him to read it. The Director shouted something about hurrying things along. Makeup wouldn't be dissuaded by the truth about the glasses, so Dean sighed and put on the ones he'd been given and stepped into the "elevator." The door closed. All alone, he felt his gut tighten and ordered himself to relax. This was going to be all right, it always was, he was a pro now, or played one on TV. "Action..." Dean squared his shoulders, looked around for the feeling of Clark, and as the elevator doors open and the bright set lights hit him he transitioned into the role. He grinned to himself, practically dancing out of the elevator and down the ramp--and with every right: Al Dente, Manicotti, the Praline Princess and Jellie Beane had been dissuaded from inundating Metropolis with millions of gallons of marinara sauce on the east side of town and caramel sauce on the west; Superman had survived the masticating jaws of a giant, Kryptonite-powered taffy puller; Jimmy had been rescued from the roving, predatory noodle extruder; and Lois had rescued herself from spending the rest of her life as a chocolate-covered cherry. All was well with the world again, until next week. As she had been when Lane had left her, Teri was concentrating on her fake computer screen, fingers dueling with the glued-down, fan-proof keys of her keyboard. Justin, as Jimmy, was sitting on the edge of the desk trying to get her attention without actually interrupting her. Dean snuck up. "I can hear you..." Teri said. Jimmy rolled his eyes, gave up, grinned, and left quickly. "I can't pull one over on you, *sugar*," he smiled. He was glad now they'd added that word to the script. She turned slightly and gave him a loving smile. "Oh, you're so *sweet,* lover." "Candy jokes, ha-ha, just what we need..." and he leaned forward to meet her face to face, lip to-- "Cut, hold it, stop, freeze. Dean. Those glasses..." Dean straightened and looked at the man in charge. "Hey, I *told* them..." The Director frowned at the Assistant Director, who translated the frown and wailed to the crew at large, "Where are the other frames!?" Makeup scrambled. Dean shrugged at Teri, who, as always, looked annoyed at the interruption. It wasn't just that this one had been awkwardly placed, any interruptions annoyed her. Try being suspended 30 feet in the air, he thought at her, facing a broken camera everyone says they can't fix... The right frames were found within two minutes. Dean traded for them and went back up to the elevator to begin the reshoot. The doors closed on him. His gut tightened all over again but less so this time. "Action..." The doors opened. The lights would be up again for the scene, but the light that hit him was a little brighter than expected, blinding him for a second, making him hesitate, probably causing a restart, damn. The cast and crew, every last one of them, took the opportunity of his pause to yell: "Dean! Gum!" Dean staggered back into the elevator, grabbed on to the fake walls to steady himself, then timidly stuck his head around the right-hand edge of the door, opened his mouth wide and pointed into it. "Nah-gua..." he throated. "All right, all right!" the Director screamed. Everyone laughed, even Teri. My god, he thought, and they think *I'm* the joker around here... He wondered if she had thought this up. The laughter died down and the shoot resumed. As the door closed again, it occurred to Dean that anyone watching him could see that he had broken out in a grin despite himself. This lasted until he heard something crash outside and, following on that, several people cursing. He wondered if another of the small spot lights had fallen; he'd heard there had been a near disaster on Monday when Props had been in here cleaning up the fake marinara sauce. He'd heard maintenance men blaming the excessive rain they'd had lately. A Warner exec had been looking over the four L&C sound stages just yesterday, but he hadn't heard her say anything. They were pretty careful about what they said anyhow. She had stopped to gaze at him up in the harness and he'd had to fake enjoying it. Maybe they were going to put some money into upgrades since the show was committed to a fifth season now. Up? he thought. I wish they'd upgrade me to virtual reality so I wouldn't have to fly... He sighed at himself for dwelling on that again and licked his lips--and then pulled his tongue back in quickly, reminding himself that Clark Kent didn't do that unless he was under stress and he was under no stress whatsoever now since Lois had forgiven him for her being duped under the cover of feminism by the wily Praline Princess. The air felt full of electricity. "Action! This is the Real Thing, people..." The elevator door opened and Dean glided down the steps much as he had ten minutes earlier, knowing he was just almost *smokin'* as he snuck up on Teri, who was typing away madly again. "I can *hear* you..." she sang. "I can't pull one over on you, sugar," he smiled, having decided this time to let it flow as part of the sentence, as though Clark had been saying it for ages. The Director didn't contradict the delivery method. Justin "the Emmy Winner" Whalin threw up his hands in surrender to the inevitable, muttered "Oh, boy," grabbed a stack of folders and made a big production of getting out of the way and out of the scene. Teri turned a little more this time, and gave him a loving smile. This further indicated her having forgiven Clark for "siding with the men" in his support of Pasta Pirate; after all, he'd been wrong--and just as gullible as she was in her support of the Praline Princess. Where did they get such awful villain names? But the little kids in the audience would love it. "Oh, you're so sweet, lover." She almost breathed it this time. "Candy jokes, ha-ha, just what we need..." He rested his hands on the arms of her chair, trapping her, and began to lean forward suggestively. "I've gotta million of 'em, my big cheese..." she claimed. The camera eased in closer. "Pasta jokes now?" He smiled. "Honey?" "You or chocolate," she whispered but the strategically placed mikes hovering overhead would pick it up just fine, "must I choose?" "Yes." She chose, taking control and grabbing his tie, which he himself had remembered to leave loose. "Because of you," she continued tersely, "I was almost a hundred and five pound box of--" "The best candy *I've* ever tasted," he finished. Then he leaned further forward to kiss her upper lip, an action that the cameras would translate into the real thing--what did they call it on the List? Tonsil hockey? Absolutely! A light somewhere blew out, he could hear it. Someone cursed but the Director didn't yell cut. The air seemed more than electric suddenly and it wasn't due to cucumber oil lotion this time. The earth moved. *** An Alternate Burbank Warner Brothers Studio Day One, Morning Approximately 8:10 (Continued) Clark Kent was of the opinion that one of the most wonderful things about being married was the teasing that lead up to locking lips with his wife. The locking lips was wonderful, too, and, if they were in the right place and had the time, what that could turn into was even more than wonderful. Hey, he could face it: everything about being married was as wonderful as he had dreamed, except the occasional argument, but even Mom and Dad had them from time to time, so that meant things were normal, he was living a normal life, and that was wonderful, too. However, the teasing and the locking was all they had time to do now. Lois was right, they had to attend Perry's meeting so the Chief could give them more details about the next assignment he wanted them to tackle. The outline hadn't sounded interesting yesterday afternoon and a night to sleep on it hadn't helped Clark to come up with any exciting possibilities. But their editor was in such a mercurial mood, what with his nervous, tentative reunion with Alice, that arguing with him would be tantamount to committing professional suicide and being late without a good excuse could merit some unpleasant verbal abuse. So stealing the kiss here and now was all the more delicious. Tension did that, he found, as long as it was good tension. Seeing Lois tied to Kryptonite-coated railroad tracks (or her seeing him in such a situation), for example, was not good tension. That kind of thing still happened just often enough for Clark to feel he had to seek out every opportunity and make these daring moves. Also, despite her protestations, he was sure his doing this kind of thing turned Lois on, or at least it helped her feel better, which was even more important. Her kiss tingled. He liked that about being married, too, each kiss felt different and exciting. A male voice he couldn't identify shouted "Cut and wrap! Another good one! That's it for you two, go home, enjoy your holiday, see you... no, I won't see you, who is it Tuesday? Do I know him? Her? *Her?* Where's my hat?" Something was wrong. Clark retreated mentally to being immediately aware of his own body, perhaps due to the tingle of Lois's kiss wearing off. The taste of... spearmint? was rapidly disappearing from his mouth. Of all things to next be aware of, his clothing felt strange. His jacket seemed to fit tighter across his shoulders while his long-sleeved shirt fit loosely--ohmigosh, *the suit is gone!* He felt like he was settling into something, and then, in an instant, the "settle" was done and wrapped up. It seemed to pat him on the back and say "Here you are!" Otherwise, one-tenth of a second into thinking there was something wrong and barring these external oddities, he did not feel different. He flexed the muscles across his shoulders and they felt exactly like they should. Then he levitated one-quarter inch from the floor with no difficulty whatsoever. He had been holding Lois, easing her back over the conference table. It was a move that would go no further, a tease that she'd grasp quickly. She'd wind up punching his shoulder and giving him a dirty look that would probably turn into a grin despite herself, proving she did feel better after all. Now he was leaning over her, *not* holding her. His hands were on the padded arms of a chair. He was definitely kissing her and she was still reciprocating, except the kiss was off target. Why am I kissing her upper lip? he wondered. Not that it wasn't... interesting, but it wasn't as exciting, either. The word "kinky" came to mind, but he doubted this fell into that as-yet rarely explored territory. Lois smelled different than she had a moment earlier. Cucumbers? Where was the hint of warm tropical rose perfume they had bought during that afternoon fling in Tangier last month? His superior hearing reported in next. The junior conference room's teak-paneled walls should have muted the sounds of the newsroom. But there was no rusty sound from the copy machine as it tossed out faded, uneven copies; no one grumbling about the mid-morning coffee and the only donuts left being unglazed blueberry cake; and no one yelling at Jimmy about pictures that hadn't been delivered yet, and Jimmy not yelling back that it wasn't his fault this time but the new guy's, that he, Jimmy, had more important things to do these days. Instead, in this first three-quarters of a second spent surveying his surroundings, he heard the sounds of movement, like equipment being pushed about, and people walking around where he stood over Lois. They were apparently ignoring what he and Lois were doing-- a good thing. Perry had asked them twice now to cut out the lovey-dovey stuff in the newsroom proper, which included simply gazing appreciatively at each other while pausing between crafting Kerth-calibre paragraphs. It was distracting to the staff who had better things to do with their time than moon over their spouses, who had no *idea* of the problems *some* people in *charge* of the whole shebang were having just trying to *survive,* so Lois and Clark better think twice before indulging in such gawl-derned silliness again! Yeah, Alice problems, Clark and Lois had agreed. They'd also agreed not to press the issue until Perry's life was more settled. Yet here they were, pressing it. Clark opened his eyes. His glasses had changed. They were lighter weight and plastic, he could tell that immediately. He preferred glass because it looked more real, more human somehow, and they reminded him of his bucolic childhood even though it meant having to look over them from time to time if he needed to see x-ray or heat something. Through these ones now he could see Lois's right ear. She was wearing what he thought were different earrings, little spot things, emeralds maybe. Her hair looked somewhat different, too, but it could have been the unexpected angle, unless he had simply failed to notice earlier how she was wearing it today. He tried to keep up with her fashionable apparel and hair styles so he wouldn't sound like a normal, clueless husband who didn't care about such things. It was true that he didn't care that much, but he felt he should try since she still had trouble accepting the fact that he thought she looked great in and out of just about everything. In a glance beyond her ear and hair, he saw her desk. It was not cluttered with the notes, phone books, scraps of papers with doodles, and barely hidden candy wrappers he had noted when he had invited her to speak it him in the conference room. The desk had a simple half-desk-sized calendar pad, a newspaper opened to a generic page 4, and a stenopad with short-hand-like scribbles on the top page. Lois's personal version of shorthand looked nothing like that. This had to be a joke, and a bad one at that. Then he had it. This was one of Kyle Griffin's pranks! ...except the fellow was securely locked up in New Troy Penitentiary. Just the other day Clark had read a report of the villain having fended off the advances of two large, hungry felons. They had retaliated by destroying something he was working on secretly and the authorities had confiscated the remains of it. No pranks for him for a while. Tempus? No, he was still in high security, too, though in the wing for the reality challenged. Clark and Lois made it a point to check his condition every day if they could. Lois had sources who confirmed that Tempus hated watching television and had turned his nose up at the simple personal computers offered to the inmates as training tools. It looked like the nearest he wanted to get to technology was pipecleaners, construction paper and white paste. He was making no friends, either: most of the more stable-minded prison population was busy dealing drugs or getting GEDs and had no time for the snarling self-proclaimed time traveler who promised to tell Superman's secrets to anyone who would help him escape. He was being roundly ignored. Which left no explanation at all for what Clark had sensed in the last four seconds. He pulled an inch way from Lois, licked his lips briefly, and decided he better try to prepare her. He whispered, "Act your *heart* out." "Hmm...?" she murmured, as she often did when she had decided to enjoy the moment as much as he wanted to. He should have expected this, he told himself, but at least it further confirmed that she was feeling better and in the mood to listen. "Pretend we're *exactly* where we should be." As he straightened and watched her open her eyes, he recalled all the times she had taken on a different persona, either after a few minutes' careful thought or on the spot by force of misadventure. She was a good actress, particularly under pressure, he felt confident about that. This was, of course, assuming that this woman was indeed Lois, and the tight red dress she wore--he could have sworn she been wearing navy blue--did make him wonder. Then again, he had a different suit on, one he'd never seen before and by the looks of it a new one, one more expensive than he would normally have indulged in, particularly in light of the big mortgage eating the big hole in their tight monthly budget. But this woman... *felt* like Lois, and he had to pin his hopes on it *being* her as well, for if it wasn't her, he knew he was in even bigger trouble. He was of two minds suddenly: he didn't want her to be at any risk. After all, it seemed likely the perpetrator of this scheme was observing them even now and might take advantage of his confusion to attack her. But Clark didn't want to meet this perplexing situation alone, either, not when there was always the grim chance that the experience might prove to be the last one he ever had. Whatever was happening, he was not about to start running around in circles screaming his head off even if it sounded like a marvelous idea at the moment. The room, a somehow inadequate word for the overall immense space, was decorated to look like the Daily Planet newsroom. "Decorated" did describe it: the area did not have a lived-in, used or even real appearance. It was things like old, mismatched chairs and desks, and stacks of the LA Times (of all newspapers!) in corners. On unused desks there were heaps of papers that had nothing to do with newsroom business ("flea spray Lois's apartment" and dated a year earlier, what did that mean?). Family snapshots were spread out over Jimmy's desk when Jimmy had no family. Lois's plant dead when she had been trying a sure-fire, nearly-impossible-to-kill philodendron. At Clark's enlarged first glance this all looked solid and yet because this was clearly not a newsroom, let alone *his* newsroom, it was insubstantial, a set up, just adequate enough to pass a cursory inspection, and all inundated by strong lighting from several different angles. Then, off to his right where it was darker, was what looked for all the world like a hulking big television camera. It was being rolled backward to join more equipment, furnishings, a half dozen people, and other totally unfamiliar sights. This might be a good time, a little voice told him, to reconsider your decision not to high tail it to the North Pole for a dizzyingly good scream... I haven't ruled out that idea entirely, he replied--then shoved the voice away, certain that it was the warped advice of his own conscious and not some new villain with a bug in his ear. He did not recognize any of the people milling around the camera or moving quickly to get out of its way or otherwise rushing here and there carrying papers and looking busy. They didn't seem to be watching him or Lois, either. That small thing was comforting somehow. There were echoing clicks as some of the lights began to dim. Lois's foot touched his ankle, by accident, he thought, because when he immediately looked back down at her she was blinking as though waking, but his kisses sometimes had that effect on her. Things appeared to come into focus for her and her eyes widened as she looked at him. "Your glasses...!" she mouthed out. It was her! He nodded slightly, not daring to say anything to influence her estimation of the situation, which unfortunately had to mean not grabbing her up to hug her, either. She returned the nod, her beautiful brown eyes (made up too much, weren't they?) full of a similar physical desire but more so a look of "If something is wrong, don't worry, *I'll* figure it out." *We* will, he almost said but didn't because it usually helped if she thought she was in charge. She sat back carefully and she began to look around--then sat up again, clearly in restrained shock. He noticed her clutch the arms of the chair, her knuckles white. Possibly thinking to restart with something a little easier, she aimed her face downward. She looked from her right to her left slowly, no doubt at the strange red dress and jewelry. That wasn't her watch and those weren't the rings he had given her--he realized suddenly that his own rings were missing, simply gone. *That* was distressing... Lois raised her head a little, frowning at the scuffed up, blue- and black-squared tile floor. Rehalia would be very upset; when she tackled the newsroom with her mop she frequently muttered in Ecuadorenyo-accented Spanish, "*My* clean newsroom, *my* clean newspaper!" A few seconds later, Lois unobtrusively scanned the room at eye level. She was good at hiding this maneuver; he wouldn't have suspected it had he not known her. Next her gaze traveled up his body, taking in this new suit. She glanced at his face, her thoughts about all this unclear to him, and then she looked up past him and squinted. Up, oh, of course, he hadn't looked *up* yet. He did so. The high, fluorescent-bulb-fixture and acoustic-tile-covered ceiling of the newsroom they knew was now replaced by a jungle of bright, focused lights of all sizes (only a few of them on now), metal catwalks, ropes, booms and pulleys, curtains of some kind that were painted with cityscapes (Chicago? San Francisco?), entire false walls and corners that looked a little like parts of the newsroom but they were now hanging up out of the way, and a distant ceiling and walls padded with what couldn't be mattress, could it? She touched his ankle for real this time. He looked back down at her, and there was a question in her eyes now: Do *you* know...? He gave her what he hoped she would understand as a barely panic-contained "I'm a little lost, too..." look. "Tempus," she whispered, as much a statement as a question. Well, if she thought so, the man might have visited from some future and broken himself out, this morning maybe, and now he was (would be? might have been?) attacking them by putting them here, wherever or whenever this was, and confusing them terribly... Except his modus operandi was to use complicated machinery he barely understood *and* to let them (usually Lois) know he was in charge of their fates again so that he could gloat all the more. She might have picked up some clues this morning--but she would have warned him immediately, cutting off his suggestion of the visit to the board room. Besides, this didn't feel like a Tempus trick. "But no," she muttered. He noted it was noisy enough around here they could almost have talked in normal voices and not been heard. "This doesn't feel like him." Her conclusion was both good and not good. Clark didn't want it to be Tempus because that man was so clever. On the other hand, Lois needed someone to blame; it usually helped to calm her. A calm Lois was a thinking Lois, the best thing they had going for them. Clark supposed he could suggest Baron Sunday, but several months earlier they had heard from reliable sources that the man had been killed in an ambush in Belize. Not that a little thing like death would stop him, but manipulating two minds at once from beyond the grave was probably beyond even Sunday's abilities from what Clark had studied of voodoo since that encounter. Whoever was to blame, once Lois got her mitts on him, and she clearly needed someone to grab and yell at, they'd both feel better and get to the bottom of this in no time. He hoped. Her target would probably not turn out to be the young woman in her early 20s who they spotted seconds later heading for them among the seething mass of people inhabiting this... this, well, funny, but it did look a lot like sound stage. Clark had been in several at various times following story leads or visiting friends. But why a sound stage? The young woman carried a clipboard and wore knee-length purple shorts and a T-shirt decorated with an array of cartoon figures playing basketball with a big Black man. The words "Space Jam" were emblazoned across her bosom and the shirt moved provocatively as she walked. Clark tried not to notice. Perry certainly would have; he disapproved of such attire and would have advised her gently not to dress this way in the office. He would do so only once. If she repeated the performance, she'd be transferred, period, all shook up and singing the jailhouse rock. Apparently unaware of this possibility, she came right up without hesitation, stopped, and held out her hand to Clark, as though expecting him to give her something. Ah, "Hi," he said and smiled. Lois had recently informed him that his smile was "disarming." He didn't need a gun or a pit bull as long as he pulled out that friendly grin of his. She was trying to get his goat, he'd thought, but she had looked sincere. After all, they had been approaching that interview with the notorious Duchess of Mondellini. Lois had elbowed him at what she thought was the right time, he'd tried a "disarming smile," and, by gosh, *some*thing had encouraged the aloof woman to warm up... He hadn't known what to do with this bit of personal information other than be overconscious about it for a while. He'd eventually decided to try to forget it--but now it seemed like the perfect weapon. The young woman grinned in return and snapped gum. "Glasses?" "Huh?" "Well, I know we goofed up about them, but since we're wrapping up the shoot and you don't need them and since you're not supposed to have them unless you *do* need them... I'll take them." "Ah..." "And I'll take really good care of them, believe me." He glanced at Lois. Lois shrugged microscopically: it was up to him, though she was ready to run with him if he decided to do that instead. If it came to it, she could scream more piercingly than he could, too, though he could race circles around her as well as keep her warm at the North Pole. The young woman added, "I even have this." She held up a glasses case. That did sort of clinch her argument. He noticed that the young woman had a name tag ID (neither he nor Lois had one). "Ah, well, Dory, I trust you with them..." for she certainly looked sincere and sounded as though her proposal was no less than natural and reasonable. He reached up and began to take them off with care. Even though they weren't his (he felt no attachment to them), they were still cover. He glanced at Lois again; she was watching but unable to offer help. Well, she could have provided a distraction, like shouting and pointing into the distance--she'd spotted an escaped felon!--but then what? He wanted even less for any attention to be directed at her. He took the glasses completely off. The world did not stop. No one stumbled to a screeching halt, clutched at their hearts or pointed at him and gasped "You're...!" Top reporters from the Metropolis Star didn't jump out from behind the fake walls and flash pictures; women didn't faint *or* lunge at him; and babies didn't gurgle knowingly. No one seemed to notice at all. This was... good. He folded them carefully and handed them over. Dory stuck them in their case, chirped "Thanks!" and bounced away. Lois stood up now and stretched, but to him it looked more like she was trying to adjust the dress; it did look a little tight. She checked her nails, okayed them, ruffled both her hands through her hair (which looked like her normal hair) and then folded her arms under her breasts (those looked normal, too), as though trying to decide what to do next as she glanced around casually. She said in a quiet, almost indifferent manner, "Just where are we, anyhow?" "I think we're in a sound stage at a place called Warner Brothers Studios." "I've heard of them," she frowned. "A little outfit in..." "Southern California." "Southern... California." She raised her right hand as though to scratch her cheek but actually hide behind as she said, "I think I'm going to scream." "Oh, good. You know how I hate to scream alone..." She glanced at him and narrowed her eyes to keep from smiling despite herself, as though she didn't appreciate any attempt to lighten things up. He wondered about that; he hadn't meant it to sound amusing. Then she happened to notice her fingers and her eyes widened a bit. "Makeup?" Huh? She had been in hurry this morning and, what with the headache attack, she hadn't put on much at all. Anyway, she only "got all dolled up," as she occasionally put it, when she was after the interview of a lifetime, or about twice a month. She touched her face again. "I'm wearing a *ton* of makeup!" "Shh..." "Don't 'shh' me," she told him in her most secret hiss, "*You're* wearing almost as much as I am!" "Huh?" He began to reach for his face but she touched his wrist en route, stopping him. "Don't worry, you look fine. Really." "How *can* I look 'fine'?!" She tried to sound comforting; she almost pulled it off. "I don't know, but it works. Shh..." Makeup? Good grief... his face did feel a little... stiff maybe, and there seemed to be something in oily his hair, too. What next? "You know what?" she said, her attitude returning to casually bored, "I think we should get out of here, fast." Admittedly that was a great "what next" and better to think about than superficial appearances. "I think you're right." "We just need to find a door. How about you looking around for one?" "Okay, should be easy," particularly without his glasses. He began to x-ray discretely, but it was no easy task after all because it meant looking through people without seeing anything he shouldn't but figuring out when to stop to see the right things. "Cla... ah, turn around. A lot of people seem to be moving off that way." He pulled back his vision in time to see Lois nodding. He turned a bit and saw an opening in the walls between an elevator landing and ramp up to it and a bookshelf-lined wall with a staircase up to a door that said "Morgue." "There's a breeze coming from that direction," he muttered to her, "I can just feel it." "Open air, good. Let's go for it--ohmigosh, it's..." Perry walked through that opening! He was here, this was great! No, wait, it wasn't great, not quite, in case Clark needed to use his hidden talents, which, sans glasses (the bulk of his disguise sometimes), wouldn't remain hidden for long from their sharp-eyed editor. Before this became a bigger worry, that Dory woman stopped Perry a good twenty paces away. They chatted briefly. Clark listened in and breathed a tentative sigh of relief. "It's not Perry, it's someone named Lane. His last name may be Smith--" "Well, *that's* obviously fake. What he's up to?" "Maybe nothing. She called him 'Lane,' and 'Lane Smith' is on her call sheet, that's what she's showing him." "Call what?" "It's sort of a list of actors and sets and props used for scenes in TV shows and movies." "At Warner Brothers." "Looks like. She's telling him when he's expected to be back here. Tuesday." "And today is...?" "I don't know. Friday maybe? People are talking about the weekend like they're wrapping up here." "Okay, Friday, that's good," she said calmly. "Smith is an actor, everyone here but us is actors. Okay. That makes sense." "It does?" "This is an elaborate trick to get us to crack, so of course it make sense. Do you see *us* in any form on that call sheet?" Dory and Smith parted, each going in different directions, neither toward Lois and Clark or in the direction the two were planning to go. "No," Clark almost pursed his lips. "I didn't think to look and now she's moving too fast." "I have the feeling we'll find out soon enough, but for now, let's *go*." They made it just through the opening, where they noted that the backdrop of the "newsroom" was made of plywood and wooden beams. Clark noted that the main walls of the building really were lined with what looked like mattresses and there were even more signs of this being a sound stage. Electronic and carpentry equipment, cables, and, high above and easier to see now, were those giant curtains that looked like giant, flexible slides of San Francisco at night and Chicago by day. Both would have been visible through the big window back on the set of the newsroom, over the array of world time clocks and the stairs up to the Morgue. Clark had to admit that both cities did rather resemble Metropolis, but wouldn't it have been easier to take pictures of the real thing since someone was already going to the trouble of faking it here? And faking people they knew, for here another startling sight almost stopped them in their tracks. It was someone who looked incredibly like Jimmy Olsen. This "Jimmy," though, didn't have the two cameras around his neck that he had this morning, reflecting his recent desire to get every assignment possible. He was desperate to earn extra money to fix his motorcycle after he and it had been tied to the railroad tracks on the east end of Suicide Slum. Superman had saved him in the nick of time and the bike, too, but the villains had manhandled it, so it was out of commission at the moment. Their Jimmy also rarely wore that old plaid shirt anymore, either. Jimmy had to dress better so the Chief would agree to assign him to take pictures at important events, increasing the photographer's chances of getting published and being given bonuses. Clark doubted the change to wearing more business-like apparel would become a habit, but there was always hope. Lois and Clark glanced at each other and shook their heads simultaneously, agreeing it wasn't Jimmy, and not breaking stride for more than a few seconds. They were heading for a heavy door, the kind of door that typically led to a staircase or, with luck, outside and away from this place. Actually, they had their choices of doors, for there was a little room in the corner that Clark saw contained a water fountain and another door. The second door was outside, to the left and in line with the one in the little room. But for the little room (an air trap of some kind?), the doors were side by side. That didn't make sense, but nothing else did, either, despite Lois's assurances that the very senselessness of the situation made incredible sense for the simple purpose that it was meant to confuse them. It was working. A man wearing dusty blue jeans, a white shirt, a "WB" baseball cap and an ID that identified him as an employee opened the more direct door and entered. He almost ran into Lois. They both jumped back, and without a thought Clark stepped up behind her to offer support and protection. The man smiled at her, not noticing Clark's somewhat faster-than-human move probably because Lois was prettier to look at. The man immediately reached back and pushed the door open to the left. It was bright out there; it was "outside," good. The man said, "Sorry, Ms. Hatcher, I didn't see you." Lois blinked, nodded, smiled, and said, "Oh, that's all right." She looked back at Clark. "Are you coming? I need to show you something." "Sure." Clark smiled (but not disarmingly) at the employee and took over holding the door as they passed through it. Outside. The temperature, the amount of daylight, the partly cloudy sky and general awake attitude of the people they had observed led Clark to think it was morning, sometime between eight and nine maybe. The moist-smelling air (wasn't that unusual for Southern California? What time of year was it?) was cool and fresher than inside the.... He went down a short flight of steps, reached a asphalt-paved road, turned and looked up and back toward where they had been. He saw they were at the corner of a very wide, very tall, buff-colored building. It displayed a sign to his left, near the corner: Avenue C, 14C. There was another building beyond that looked virtually identical, and another beyond that, and similar buildings across the road and heading off in the opposite direction as well. Yep, he thought, sound stages. This Warner Brothers place was bigger than he had imagined. "Whoa..." Lois said as she walked out into the street, too, wobbling a bit in the high heels she wore (she preferred flats for work), turning carefully and looking around. She stepped back toward him as a golf cart-type vehicle carrying two men dressed in business suits slowed and then zipped round her after she moved. One of the men starred--no, leered at her, but they didn't stop. "Yeah, I think 'whoa' about describes it..." He noticed other passersby glancing at them in mild interest, so he said a bit louder, "You were going to show me something?" She also noticed the casually-dressed people, who were no doubt simply employees, and she whispered though they were now probably out of earshot, "I just said that because of what that man said. Did you hear him? 'Ms. Hatcher'? Ms? Does that tell you something?" "Other than they don't know who you really are..." "Whoever 'I' am supposed to be now, I'm not married, that's what it tells *me*." "Well, it could be the other person's stage name. At least it doesn't sound fake." "It's better than 'Smith,' true, If it turns out that whoever they think *you* are is married, we're getting you a quickie divorce if you aren't married to *me*." "Heh..." He didn't even want to think about that possibility. In an effort to return to the basic idea of escape, he chose a direction--to his left seemed safe for no particular reason-- and began to stroll that way. Not arguing, she walked along side him. He said, "What do you say we find a some place where I can take off from unnoticed and fly over this area to try to make some sense of it." "Somewhere *we* can take off from." "Yeah, sorry, we." There was no question, she had to go along. It wasn't like he could tackle one part of the mystery and her the other since they had no idea how big it was and what parts were tackle-able. "Besides," she admitted, "I don't want to let you out of my sight." He shook his head. "Me, neither." "And I don't mind bringing..." she couldn't say it here; she used their secret signal "...in on this case." "I agree, except I don't have the suit." She stopped. "What?" He stopped, too, facing her closely to whisper. "I put it on this morning, just like always, but I'm not wearing it now. One moment everything is normal and I'm kissing you, and the next moment everything has changed." She folded her arms under her breasts again, a typical move which he knew helped her to repress a cool shudder. Then she covered this with a quip: "I didn't think I was *that* good a kisser..." "You're the best, but even your kisses can't put makeup on me," he sighed, wishing he could find some water with which to scrub his face clean. "Or give us both new wardrobes." At this point Lois grimaced slightly. Though the red dress and brown sash were a bit tight, he thought they looked okay on her. "Who could possibly wear these clothes... and wasn't that the tie got chewed up by that Doberman on the Church's estate?" "*That* one was." The poor dog had gone after his hand next, but letting the animal gnaw on him for a minute or two had given Lois time to scramble over the wall since she had been in a snit that evening and hadn't wanted to leap over it with him. Fortunately, the dog had not broken any teeth in simply doing its duty. "So no suit and no..." "No appearances by yours truly unless I can find a substitute suit before we get home." "And if somehow we've misplaced home like everything else?" "I don't know, I just know Warner Brothers is in Southern California and they aren't a very big studio. Or weren't. This place..." he looked around again, "is big." "Well, it's not *that* big, nothing is, and wherever we are, we don't really need him." She loosened up a little, sniffing the challenge more distinctly. "We have *us*." He nodded, withholding another sigh. "Yep," though the two of them all alone suddenly didn't seem adequate. "Hey, guys, wait up!" When they turned back to glance at who was calling, that not-Jimmy person waved at them from the door of the sound stage holding the imitation Daily Planet newsroom. The impostor hopped down the steps and began striding toward them. "We should have walked faster," Lois muttered. That could have looked strange, Clark thought, and it could look stranger if they ignored whoever this was because he obviously knew whoever he thought them to be. Maybe the fellow could be distracted; Clark decided to try his secret weapon. "Hi!" "Hiya!" Not-Jimmy grinned, undaunted and friendly. Other than the clothing and the makeup and the well groomed, somewhat shorter hair, this fellow did look, and at the moment act, incredibly like Jimmy. As he approached, he stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans, then, arriving and stopping, he immediately pulled a hand out to gesture with. He looked at Clark. "Hey, man, I'm sorry your folks couldn't make it back." He shrugged in sympathy, these things happen, and then he looked at Lois. "And what with John out of town, well..." But he brightened, "My mom told me to ask you to come over for Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow and I think it's a *great* idea. She bakes the *best* turkeys, and she always fixes a really big one." He pulled his other hand out to indicate at least a twenty pounder. "And her stuffing...! *Out* of this world!" He looked at Clark. "You and I can watch football, and you," to Lois, "can... well, do whatever you want! Go shopping with Mom or something." He smiled eagerly and looked at them back and forth as though hoping for immediate acceptance. Not getting it continued quickly, "So consider yourselves invited, okay? *Both* of you!" He looked at Lois again, "After all, you need to, ah, bulk up for the aideswalk on Saturday, right? Though with these tight dresses you're wearing now, you already look bulkier." Lois's eyes widened. "I'll have you know *I'm* fit! It's these *clothes* that don't fit!" The young man blinked in surprise. "That's what I meant--you look *ready*!" Clark realized he better jump in quickly. He asked, "Aideswalk?" The young man nodded. "Yeah, you know about it." He looked at Lois. "You're still going, aren't you? *I* am. I don't get invited to many of those things." "Oh, *you* know," she elbowed Clark, "*that* aideswalk." "Ah, that one, yes. The one," he pointedly surveyed her, "you have to bulk up for." "Ha... I suppose I'm going--if my foot feels up to it..." "You hurt your foot?" The young man looked down at Lois's shapely ankles. She lifted her right foot slightly. "Just a strain, I can hardly feel it, ohh..." "I saw her wince a little," Clark said. He consider adding that she had strained it while chasing down and thrashing a bandit, but maybe Hatcher didn't do that kind of thing. "Oh, gosh... Do you think it will be all right by Saturday? I don't want to go alone--Hey, maybe you can crash the event, Dean! I'm *sure* I can get you in," he said proudly, apparently reveling in beating "Dean" out on something. "Yes, maybe..." Clark tried to smile along with the joke on Dean. So he was a "Dean" and today was Wednesday, in the morning some time--I'm wearing a watch, he realized, I should have checked that! He moved his left arm slightly and glanced down and through the sleeve of the tailored jacket to see the time piece. Like everything else, it wasn't his own and it looked expensive. 8:44, Wednesday morning the 27th. Tomorrow was Thanksgiving. This was something to go on. Okay, let's say that "Dean" and "Ms. Hatcher" had Thursday and possibly Friday off work (which consisted of them being actors). Maybe this Jimmy-like fellow could be tricked into confirming it. Saturday, Ms. Hatcher was expected to participate in an aideswalk, or was that aides walking? Walking aides or assistants? Maybe aides was AIDES or even AYDS, an acronym for something local? Maybe a charity group, Actresses Yearning to/Innocently Distribut(e/ing) Engaging Smiles?. Whatever it was, Ms. Hatcher would be participating as planned because he and Lois would have resolved this problem fairly for everyone *long* before Saturday. Probably in an hour or two at the most. Oh, nice conclusion, Kent, but does having figured out "when" you are come anywhere close to offering a solution to the overall problem? Clark realized that he was in desperate need of a quiet corner and a few extra seconds to give the situation a little more hard thought, preferably with Lois's creative input. He started the delaying move by saying, "So, Thanksgiving dinner. That's a interesting idea. We'll consider it." "Yes, we'll get back to you on it," Lois chimed in, smiling again, covering better than he was. What an actress! "Great!" The young man returned the smile, then glanced past Lois and looked like he had spotted someone trying to sneak up on them. "Oh, there's Kay, and," confidentially, "I bet she'll ask you the same thing. She's a pretty good cook--but *I've* got first dibs on you two!" Kay? They turned and looked. Clark nearly dropped his jaw. *Mom*? But the didn't quite look like Mom once he recovered his wits half a second later and telescopic-looked at her. Whoever it was wore a cozy beige sweater, light blue slacks and a matching blouse. Mom's hair was a little grayer and she needed glasses because she was myopic, but this woman was a strawberry blond and she wasn't wearing any glasses. She was strolling in their direction. She waved, picked up her pace, and called, "I hoped I'd find you all here!" Just then a large flat-bed truck carrying a variety of potted plants rounded the far corner of the Building 14C and began bearing down on the woman. Clark nearly launched into a rush to grab her out of the way, but a slight brush of his sleeve, a hold-it message from Lois, made him hesitate. Apparently hearing the danger, Kay looked back and then stepped over to the side to let the truck pass. Her facial expression didn't change; maybe such traffic was commonplace. As the truck passed them, Clark checked on the driver. The man looked competent and appeared to be paying attention to surroundings as he slowed, approached the next sound studio, and pulled into a big, square opening there. No villainy here. Maybe a set was being decorated with the live plants. Interesting. But that woman... Clark looked back at her. Her cheerful manner, the bounce in her step, the twinkle in her eyes... she looked so much like Mom... "Did you finish up, too?" she asked as she came closer than shouting distance. "Yeah, just now," the young man replied. "Did Vincent get to chase you around the lab again or did they rewrite that like you hoped?" She rolled her eyes. "Oh, he got to chase me around the lab like mad again, but this time I got to bop Manicotti before my escape and Vincent applauded--*after* we cut, thank goodness!--I couldn't stand any more rehearsals or takes with that octopus!" She passed them, not stopping. "Of course, Eddie's still grappling with Tina and her angst!" She grinned about that. "But he wanted more to do! Come on, let's go to your trailers, it's too noisy out here. Besides, Vincent might decide he wants to 'talk' to me again, so I need a place to hide out, and someone big," she glanced at Clark and winked, "to defend me. The Pirate role has gone right to his head, but I may have distracted him by mentioning that Eugenie loves Italian food." Huh? Pirate? "Good thing he's not gay," now not-Jimmy winked at Clark. "Since you like Italian, too." Clark nodded, smiled a little, and shunted this bit of information about "Dean" off to a mental side street with all the other material that would surely coalesce to make sense eventually. "Trailers, good idea," Lois smiled at the woman's back. Trailers? Oh, of course. Actors on movie and TV sets had trailers to change and rest in. I need a rest, Clark thought. They headed back to the right (Clark couldn't determine compass directions yet) and then angled left, not-Mom talking about more of Vincent's antics, and she and not-Jimmy both laughing. They must have shared a scene together. They were actors, Lois was right, everyone here was actors. Nothing was real except this street out here and the world beyond, a world through which they had no idea how to navigate. There was way too much happening, too much detail for this to be just an elaborate trick, despite what Lois hoped. In a few moments a huddle of white trailers came into view. They were each about 25 feet long, they lined the sides of yet another sound stage, and they would provide a place in which to hide. Clark wondered if the doors would have their counterparts' names on them. Maybe "Dean" shared one with "Ms. Hatcher." Then hoped that the doors weren't locked and, chiding himself for not thinking of this earlier, he began to search his pockets for identification and quickly came up with a ring full of keys. Some appeared to be house keys, and two were keys to a Ford automobile of some kind. The others were a mystery. The first trailer they came to had a wide piece of masking tape on the door on which was hand-printed "T. Hatcher" and, under it and slightly slipshod in attachment, was a sticker with a logo: the Superman S shield, and on it "Lois and Clark" smartly stylized, and, beneath that in an arching yellow spray, smaller letters spelled out "The New Adventures of Superman." What? "New Adventures"? That's an understatement, Clark thought dully... Lois spotted it, too, and then glanced at him for his reaction; he knew she would not give her own away until she had gauged his. Stunned would be a good way to describe it. How could this be? How could any of this be? He noticed Lois now glancing down at his hand and the keys he held limply. She smiled apologetically, probably for the benefit of the two watching them, and touched Clark's shoulder. "Wait, let's talk in *your* trailer, *Dean,* mine's a *real mess*!" Oh? He looked beyond the sign, through the door and then off to his left and into the rest of the trailer. It was sparsely furnished, but that included a laptop computer on a desk and one piece of clothing thrown over the back of a chair. T. Hatcher did not impress as being a messy woman, wherever she was now, if she were alive still... The overwhelming nature of all this began to reassert itself on Clark's consciousness and the idea of running about in tight little circles, screaming gibberish at the top of his lungs, was more tempting than ever before... "Ah," he didn't think he could call her Ms. Hatcher, not considering he, or rather whoever he was standing in for, had been in the midst of kissing her 15 minutes ago. He just looked at her. "I think you and I do need to talk a moment." The two strangers didn't look particularly surprised; maybe talking privately wasn't an unusual occurrence for Hatcher and Dean. "Talk?" Lois repeated helpfully. "*You and I* don't need to talk." He eye-reminded her that they were on the same side, and he didn't want an argument. "Yes, we do, over... over there." He nodded at what looked like a free space between the trailers. She wanted to balk at this. She no doubt had a plan brewing and he was sure it consisted mainly of waiting for him to discover the right place to use the keys he'd found so she'd have more to work with. This might include locking these two people into Dean's trailer, so a delaying time-out couldn't be part of her plan. He put the keys back in their pocket, took her closer arm gently and coaxed her away from the strangers, who now did look a little surprised. Well, Clark sighed to himself, they weren't a fraction as surprised as they were going to be. Some 20 feet away and between Hatcher's and the next trailer, he cornered Lois. He whispered, "I know this won't be easy for you to consider because it's hard for *me* to consider, and I know you're going to argue with me, but... we have to tell them the truth." "What?! What truth?" "About who we really--" "Brilliant, Clark, and if whoever's behind is *hoping* that's what we'll do? Admit to the world who you are?" Oh, he thought, that hadn't occurred to him. But it didn't sound right. "Wait a minute, whoever did this, if it wasn't some freak accident--" "Ha!" "Lois, please..." She moderated her skeptical look somewhat. "Sorry, I'm just..." she didn't want to say any word that sounded remotely like "frightened." He knew he was the only one she ever allowed to see this weakness. "I know. I am, too, but whoever did this, they have to already know--" "Or they're using us as bait for you-know-who to come rescue us." Another angle that hadn't occurred to him. It sounded logical, too. He searched for an equally logical rejoinder. "But... But I'm already standing right here, out in the open, and have been for the last fifteen minutes, and no one has recognized me or him." She frowned. "True... but they could be stunned with surprise and waiting for you to do something to prove it. They *could* be watching us" she leaned a bit closer and mouthed it out, "with hidden cameras." This guess could be right: this place had lots of cameras. He looked up and scanned the area quickly but thoroughly, paying particular attention to every visible edge of the high roofs of the buildings surrounding them. Then he closed his eyes and concentrated on simply listening... but he heard none of the slightly echoey sounds that even long-distance eavesdropping devices always seemed to make. This could also rule out hallucination-producing devices. He smelled no noxious gases, just the normal by-products of gasoline combustion in cool, humid air. He recalled the fleeting taste of the chewing gum but other than that, he hadn't eaten since breakfast. Even though she had claimed to feel better, Lois had only been picking at her granola bar when they had parted upon arriving at work. The evidence on her desk of the poorly hidden candy wrapper meant she had indulged in her usual midmorning snack after the press conference at S.T.A.R. Labs. While neither of them were starving, it was unlikely they had been poisoned. His clothes being a little tight and the stupid makeup caking his face were the only wrong things he could detect about himself physically. If there were a drug in the makeup, odds were it wouldn't have effected him. He x-rayed her quickly and saw nothing amiss except the tight clothing that made her look uncomfortable. He shook his head a few seconds after starting his search. "Nothing." "All right, nothing *now*, but we can't just *tell* them-- we're gathering clues right and left! We'll figure this out!" "Under other circumstances--like being back in Metropolis or anywhere else that we could make sense of, I'd agree with you. It could even be fun. But it looks to me that the clues we're gathering are only confirming how critical the situation is." "Clark..." "And you know I'm *not* usually a pessimist." She softened her frown. "I know..." She touched his chest comfortingly; the gesture felt good. Maybe it gave her strength, too. "But it's... it's because we don't have enough if the *right* clues yet. When we have enough and we've wrestled them into submission, it'll be clear sailing and we'll charge down the field and hit a home run out of the ring, I just know it!" "Lois," he said as gently as possible, "we're really in trouble when you start mixing sports metaphors." She retrieved her hand, folded her arms and frowned again, "Don't try to sand-trap *me*, farmboy!" That sporting near-expletive, said in a deceptively soft tone of voice, told him that she agreed with him and that she could be on the verge of conceding to it, not a happy prospect. Worse still, next she'd probably dream up some way to blame herself for all this. An attempt to distract and appeal to her altruistic nature was called for. "Let's say for the sake of my argument that we're here by accident." She just looked at him, letting her expression say "Ha!" for her since she'd already used up her quota of that verbal challenge. "Okay, I agree, it's unlikely--but, whatever, however this was done to us, we seem to be standing in for two totally innocent people. If we just bumble along trying to figure out what's happening, we could very well ruin their lives while we're trying to save our own necks." "If there *are* two such people." "I think there are," he said quietly. "And I think they're only actors, and I think that if somehow they're taking *our* places then they're definitely in worse trouble than we are." She looked at him, her lips pursing in a fair imitation of his at the moment, their eyes dueling... but she blinked first and looked away. "All right, maybe there are two such people and they are in trouble because they're not as smart as we are, they're probably scared stiff, and we should protect them if we can." He smiled but kept it small as not to provoke her. He wanted to hug her and withheld that, too. This was the soft-hearted Lois he knew and loved, the one who had to feel she'd come to important conclusions on her own. She continued, "And if this John person comes home, what if he's her brother? I'll never fool him, and *you* could never fool that guy's parents." "Right. I'm already having trouble thinking of things to say to these two people. Complications like that just keep building up." "Yes... I still don't think we should do it..." He refrained from saying "Lois..." as he had used up his quota, too. Besides, she didn't disappoint him. "...but I won't stop you if you want to go ahead and try it--but ask them some questions first. *Test* them." A compromise he could live with. "Okay, that's a good idea." "Of course it is!" Clark let himself smile now. He glanced around to check that they still weren't being observed, confirmed it, and leaned forward and kissed her forehead briefly. She looked exasperated and whispered "Hey!" tersely. She grabbed the tie he was wearing, pulled him toward her, and got a real kiss out of him, one that lasted several seconds. It made him feel better about this plan. Being this close, it occurred to him to ask, "Does your head still hurt?" for that could be behind some of her testiness. "Huh? Ah..." She looked away, reflecting on it. She had to think about it? Didn't one just... know? She said, "No, it doesn't... that's good." "There, see? There's *something* good about this." She rolled her eyes at the optimist in him trying desperately to resurface. She looked cute when she did that, and her ensuing frown probably meant she suspected he was thinking that very thing. "Well, it might be a *clue*!" "Okay, we'll work on it when we find some time to breathe." He glanced through the corner of the trailer. The two look- alikes were still waiting patiently, testimony to their friendship to be willing to humor Ms. Hatcher and Dean like this. As Clark could also see that the street that they had been on was busy and passersby threatened to take this side road frequently, he decided not to approach the Jimmy look-alike and Kay but to presume on their kindness once more. He stepped out and motioned. "Could you both come here for a moment?" They looked at each other. The young man shrugged and indicated that Kay could go first if she wished. She did. "Are you two all right? Justin was warning me that he's already invited you for Thanksgiving dinner and I think that's wonderful, but if you'd like to come to my place for lunch today, I can make some nice chicken and leek soup." "That sounds good, I am hungry," Lois said, her stomach overruling her head as it sometimes did. There was the chance, Clark thought, that it could be an invitation they would be able to accept. He wondered if this woman's cooking would taste like his Mom's. He then wondered if he'd even see his Mom again. "With the girls away," she said, "my house is almost too quiet, so it would be nice to get together to visit without worrying about work." Did she have no one to share the holiday with? Clark felt for her, glad his real Mom had Dad to keep her company. But he knew he couldn't dwell on any of this. The two strangers were close enough now. "Well, Kay and Justin, ah," He motioned at Lois, "...and I have been having a little argument and we want your opinions." "Argument? You two, argue?" Justin shook his head and smiled. "Since when? Unless it's over some lines or something and it can't be that right now. Good thing they don't allow cameras back here, huh?" Cameras--*hidden* cameras? Was the young man trying to clue them into something? "Pardon?" "The tabloids, you know..." Tabloids? The Metropolis Star? Other than in friendly rivalry, why would that paper be interested in him and Lois? But if this young man suspected that some other hungry newspaper and not a villain bent on revenge would be interested in them--they might be responsible somehow for this mess, and they weren't allowed "back here" anyway... except it wasn't him and Lois but Dean and Ms. Hatcher... Clark pulled himself away from the unlikely and confusing scenario and said simply, "Oh, yeah." "The tabloids," Lois said, elbowing him. She looked at the two next. "We need you to help us settle this argument. Go ahead, tell them, *Dean*," she poked him again, "but *don't* give your opinion away." He frowned at her. For someone who wasn't going to stop him, she was exercising a little bit too much editorial discretion here. "I won't," he told her clearly, hoping he also implied that he didn't want her to poke him any more. Her expression became a touch skeptical. He recognized it as a goad attempt to get him to do it her way, even if she probably couldn't tell him what that was. He wouldn't allow her to succeed though; this had to be done carefully. He addressed the two strangers again. "We were just arguing about..." It suddenly occurred to him that he had no idea what to say that would prompt the two to give him and Lois what they needed to make the right choice about a revelation. Interviewing ax murders was easier than this. "...about something important to us." "Actually, it was about the tabloids," Lois said. Good start. "Exactly." "And about Superman." "Right, Superman." Superman? "Does Dean look at all like Superman? The tabloids, well, you know *them.* *I* think..." She paused, shrugged and smiled guiltily, "it doesn't matter what I think, does it? I've been fooled in the past, so what do *I* know?" What kind of test question was that from an award-winning journalist? "Hey, I wasn't supposed to give them *my* opinion..." or give away any secrets, not that he had an opinion or she had given one exactly, and not that these people might not know certain things, given the strangeness of seeing the Daily Planet on a sound stage... but fair was fair. "You were arguing about *that*?" Kay asked. "Well, sort of," Clark said quickly. "I mean, after all..." After all what? "I can't remember that we've talked about it since... oh, since we did the pilot. Most critics seemed to think you did a good job and still do a good job." "And I wasn't even part of that," Justin said. "But I thought you did okay." "You've been at it for three and half years now," Kay said, "and most fans accept your interpretation." "It's true you don't have muscles on muscles on muscles like the guy in the comics," Justin added, "but he's unreal--two dimensional, ha-ha..." Comics? "I like how your Superman looks, too, like he could be from almost any part of the world. American, European, Asian, Indian. And most people prefer your Clark anyhow. To be honest, last summer the List discussed it and seemed to think Chris Reeve was a better Superman, but *I* like how you pull it off. You look more real as Superman, less... daunting." Less what? He agreed with the multiracial assessment because he'd heard it numerous times before, but "List," "Chris Reeve" and "daunting"? "Ah, thanks..." He glanced at Lois, who didn't appear to understand it any better than he did. "You see?" She frowned, unwilling to "see" anything yet, and dragged her eyes off him to pin them on Kay. "And me, is my... Lois Lane like the Lois you... imagine?" "Well, of course, dear! I think the fans like your Lois the best of all of them." Lois smiled briefly, taken by surprise by the honest and totally unexpected opinion. "Oh, good, the fans like *my* Lois." "She's--*you're* certainly the *prettiest* Lois," Justin chimed in, grinning. While Clark could agree whole heartedly with this sentiment, whatever it actually meant, he knew Lois hardly ever believed anything positive said about either her physical or intellectual attributes, even if he were the one telling her... though in those very tender, very private, very close moments she was inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt and permit herself to revel in his admiration of her many sterling qualities. However, at the moment, Kay and Justin's admiration for someone who only looked like Lois had little chance of making a long-term, positive impact on the real woman. This was good because in a way it reinforced the reality of the situation. Lois looked at him, her smile lapsing already, traded for an expression of begrudging acknowledgment. "But you're not stereotyped as a ditzy reporter, I don't think," Kay said innocently, "if that's what you're worried about." That was like a slap across the face. "'Ditzy'?!" "It's one of Lois's endearing qualities that you have down pat." "Ditzy..." Lois grumbled under her breath. "But with your movies," Kay continued, "and your... other activities like the photo shoots, fans see other sides of your... talents--and yours, too, Dean. So just relax about all that." She glanced at Justin. "I think they *do* need this vacation." "Yeah. Hey, maybe you two'd like to..." he suggested this gently, "get some rest tomorrow instead of getting together...?" "No," Clark said, the course they had to take clear now even if he had no idea of the outcome. "We have something to investigate. I don't think we'll be getting much rest." Kay, concerned before, now looked confused, too. Clark wondered if actors Dean and Hatcher were likely to do any investigating. He then began to wonder what if anything the two did together when they weren't here working. Ms. Hatcher, who had to be a beauty if she looked so much like Lois, must have been constantly busy doing charity work and fashion layouts wearing the finest clothing. "We'll be tracking down something," Lois explained. Clark was glad she kept most of the sarcasm she must have been feeling out of her voice. "Something 'ditzy' people don't do, I'll have you know. We'll be solving a *genuine mystery*." "But we've already found out one thing," Clark tried to assure Kay, not wanting to see this woman flustered and not just because she reminded him of Mom. For that matter, he didn't want to see Justin worried, either, and he hoped Lois would get over the "ditzy" comment soon. "We found out we need some help." "Yes," Lois said. She then got over being ditzy by mounting an undisguised coup d'etat on his plan: "We've found out that you have *no* idea who we really are." *** An Alternate Burbank Warner Brothers Studio Day One, Morning Approximately 8:40 "So much for *me* telling them," Clark muttered. "Well, *you* were beating around the bush, what was I supposed to do, take up *knitting*?" "Hold it, hold it, you two," Kay said, waving her hands for attention. "This argument of yours must have been a lot worse than you're letting on. What do you mean we don't know who you really are?" Justin leaned close to her. "Maybe it's a script idea," he suggested. "Remember when she asked us if we wanted to play leetle teeny people," he held up his thumb and forefinger, indicating half an inch, "and only Dean volunteered?" "I think she was joking on that one," Kay told him, also aside, "and that he was just as surprised as everyone else, especially by that shower scene." "Well, it was still fun, the big pencils and pictures and everything, so maybe this will be, too, whatever it is." Justin looked at them. "So, what is this, research? Who are you *really*?--maybe you're *spies!* From NBC? CBS? I know!" and he winked, "Paramount?" Clark squared his shoulders, not easy since the suit jacket was at least a size too small, glanced at Lois to warn her to keep her "help" to herself for a minute, please, and said as simply as he could, "I am really Clark Kent and this is really Lois Lane, my wife." "And he's my husband," Lois threw in as an equalizer. The two look-alikes gave them long consideration. Finally Kay said "Uh-huh..." "I don't think five days of vacation is gonna be *nearly* enough nap time for them..." "They need proof, Clark," Lois diagnosed, as though she had expected this all along. "But taking off my glasses didn't help and they weren't mine anyway, and I don't have them so I can't try that again." She blinked at him. He looked back over it and realized he had been babbling there for a moment. Things were even worse than he thought. "Maybe shoring up Hoover Dam and then carrying that ocean liner into port yesterday were a bigger strains than I realized..." "Yes, maybe," she said calmly. "I think they need *other* proof." Other proof... "Show-off proof," she clarified. Oh. The kind she had been afraid bad guys were watching for. "Yeah, show off," Justin said, a play-along tone in his voice, "If you're Clark Kent, then do something that Superman would do." Ohmigosh, they weren't joking along with Lois (Ms. Hatcher) before, they really did know about him... and they treated the secret like it was common knowledge. This did seem to confirm the "this is all a freak accident that has thrown us into an alternate universe" theory lurking in the back of his mind. That brought Tempus back into the picture, though, if only at the extreme periphery since he should have made himself known long before this. Please don't let Tempus be involved... Retrieving himself yet again, Clark felt compelled to clear up something. "I'd like to ask just one question first: I think we're in Southern California. If so, where is Metropolis?" "Good one," Lois whispered, which strengthened his resolve. "Why?" Justin asked, deadpan, "gonna fly there?" "Maybe..." What would it take? Sixty seconds minimum, with Lois protected from windburn by this stylish if somewhat small jacket and his perfectly fitting aura. Kay put her hand on her friend's shoulder, as though advising him against making any more sarcastic remarks. She proceeded carefully. "It's thought that Metropolis is a stand in for New York, though we've mentioned New York in the show a few times already. It's one of the continuity bloopers the fans like to point out. Wherever it is, when we have shown it on maps, it's in the general area of New York City, in a state called New Troy." "And there is no such state in the United States," Justin said. "But there *is* a Kansas, which is where Superman's ship crashed except he wasn't Superman but a little baby and the Kents found him and adopted him, but everyone knows *that*." "I see..." Clark glanced at Lois. Subdued for the moment, she clearly didn't see, which actually matched his entire understanding of this. How could these two people--how could "everyone" know so much? "There is no Metropolis here," Lois whispered, "on this world." She moved closer to him and took his hand, intertwining her fingers with his. "In this... this universe." She was thinking the same thing, so it must be true. "Looks like." The two strangers noticed her gesture and his acceptance of it and looked surprised. Clark tried to ignore the implications (Hatcher and Dean weren't this close). What was important was that it felt like she was surrendering to the inevitable at last, and she confirmed this by saying quietly, "Give them some proof." Yes, he told himself, let's get on with it, both of us. He squeezed her hand lightly, then broke contact and rubbed his hands together, licking his lips briefly. He checked the street; it was clear in the immediate area, good. "I have to show you something. It could be startling. I'd appreciate it if you didn't start screaming or running in circles or anything like that." "Don't worry," Kay said kindly. "No problemo," Justin agreed. He sunk his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. When seeking this out-of-the-way place in which to talk to Lois, Clark had noticed the Hatcher trailer's heavy-duty hitch. He held up one finger to show the onlookers, hooked that one finger under the closest edge of the hitch, and lifted the trailer about two feet, as far as he dared here in public. Justin's jaw dropped. Kay covered her mouth with three fingers. No tabloid reporters jumped out with cameras blazing. No Tempus, no Kyle Griffin, no Baron Sunday, no Lex laughing... "Show off," Lois whispered, but her eyes twinkled. Clark dared a small smile. "Well, ah," Justin began. "Dean's a very strong young man," Kay told them in defense of sanity. "He works out every day, he..." Clark looked around the immediate area again and spotted possible witnesses in a black car headed their way, but he figured he had about half a minute. This was enough time to pull his legs up and sit Indian style about three feet in the air. This better be enough proof because he disliked showing off for anyone except Lois and his folks. "...but he can't do that." Justin, shaken, looked skyward. "No scaffolding, no ropes, no wires..." Clark unfolded his legs and regained the ground. "I don't need those things." In a few seconds, the black car passed by slowly. It was carrying men in business suits. Their heads turned and someone in the car said, "Actors, on some show made here," but the car didn't stop. Justin and Kay watched the car pass. Clark noticed that these two utter strangers took several protective steps back, closer to him and Lois. This impressed him. He glanced at Lois; she had noticed it, too, and she smiled a little, hopefully. When the coast was clear again, the young man turned back and looked at Clark. "You saw the car coming..." "Yes." "You looked right through the trailer and saw it coming." "Yes." His eyes widened with excitement. Clark could see this coming, too. Justin whispered, "Wow... You *are* Superman..." "No, I'm Clark." "Superman is what he can do," Lois added. The young man and the older woman looked at each other. She said, "That's just what *he* said in Tempus Fugitive!" "Yeah! I only had a few lines in that one, but it sure was fun to watch!" The woman nodded and breathed a little more deeply, patting her chest in a self comforting manner that worried Clark. She said, "I think I need to sit down for a minute..." "Good idea," Lois said, "you can sit, we can talk." Clark pulled out the keys he had found and handed them to Justin. "If your friend Dean's trailer is here, too, maybe one of these keys opens it." "I'm sure one does. I have one--a key to his, I mean, *and* my own trailer, of course. It's not a real big one, but we're buds, you know? I can get you in, it's right here, it's the next one..." He turned, a sense of purpose overcoming his stuck-in- gee-whiz gear. They followed him. Walking next to Lois, Kay advised, "Terry often pins her key to whatever dress she's wearing, she's very conscientious about that." "'Terry'? That's her name?" "Yeah," Justin smiled back at her. "Terry, T-E-R-I, Teri Hatcher." "Oh, figures..." which to Clark meant Lois thought that all Hollywood types spelled their names in an unusual manner. She continued more politely, "We hadn't heard it yet..." She began feeling about the brown sash wrapped around her waist. "This is so tight..." She it took off and shook it. "Ah-ha! Here's a key!" "Your clothes do look tighter," Kay said carefully, "you are a little more... substantial than Teri." "I'm a size six usually, depending on the store, up to a ten sometimes, and this dress is about to squeeze me to death. Doesn't she care about what she wears? I mean, *this* to the newsroom? It's too short--and these heels! They're too high to do *any*thing useful in, let alone track down a breaking story. What size is she, anyway?" "A two, the last I heard." "Huh? What does she do, starve herself?" "No, not at all." "Then what does she eat--plankton?" "Lois..." She looked at Clark as though this was one of those things men would *never* understand. "I'm serious!" She looked back at Kay, who by now appeared astounded and speechless. "Does this Teri person work out?" "Oh, yes, she's in great shape and always on the go, she's just... slender." "Even though she eats constantly," Justin looked back and said. "She enjoys eating," Kay interpreted. "She just shovels it in sometimes. I've seen her do that myself. It's almost scary. We have to hide our own lunches." "Justin..." Lois looked down at the tight but stylish dress. "If you say so..." which meant she didn't put any stock in what the young man said at all. She looked up. "Speaking of which, Kay, does that chicken-and-leek soup offer still stand? I'm starving. Doing whatever we did to get here just takes it right out of a person, *believe* me." Justin caught Clark's eye. "She really does babble, doesn't she?" Lois reached forward to pinch him so Clark moderated the response he had considered ("You haven't heard anything yet!") to a "No, not always." "The offer still stands. This must mean you don't know how you got here..." "That's exactly what it means," Clark confirmed. "And we don't know where your friends are, either, but we'll find them." "We can't talk about this out here," Lois warned. "Whoever caused it might be watching us." Kay blinked as though she found that surprising to consider. Justin said, "Wow, yeah..." They could talk about it in Dean Cain's trailer (the man's name was on the door). The trailer was as sparsely furnished as Hatcher's, but Clark noticed right away that it offered a small bathroom with a shower and a bottle of liquid soap, and, out in the main room, a selection of looser-looking clothing. "I want to take a shower." "And *I* want to change clothes. I'm sure there's time. We can talk more easily if we're comfortable." Clark agreed and the necessary course became clear: they had to split up briefly. Clark assured Lois with a look that he would hear her if she so much as breathed the word "Trouble." Her look naturally replied, "Don't worry!" though she added an appreciative wink. Then she and Kay headed back toward Teri Hatcher's trailer, leaving behind an agreement to meet again in twenty minutes for a planning session. Justin remained, offering assistance, endless and boundless. His eager-as-a-puppy attitude almost made Clark laugh. It was also clear that the young man hoped to see more super stunts but didn't want Clark to realize it. Maybe, he thought, he'd feel like accommodating the desire once they figured out what had happened and were on the way to correcting things. There could be time for stunts then. He picked through Cain's clean clothes and chose among other things an extra-large plain white T-shirt, blue jeans and well worn but comfortable-looking Nikes. Justin commented on all the clothing, saying what Dean liked to wear each piece for. "Your friend sounds like an athlete." "Oh, he is, he's in great shape and he's really into sports and he's really good at most of them, except surfing, but he tries." "I see. Surfing can be difficult. Think about him some more, what he's like and what he likes to do, and when I come out of the shower we'll talk about him so I'll know how to imitate him if I have to." "That's a great idea! Hey, I'll go change, too, my trailer's just down there," he pointed in some as yet indeterminable direction. "Ah, unless you need help. Are you going to shower real fast? You know, like, superspeed?" Clark could easily imagine water flying everywhere. "Ah, no, I don't think there's enough room for all that movement." Besides, he preferred leisurely showers. But there probably wasn't enough water for that and he was mostly concerned with removing the make up and the goop in his hair. "And you feel free to change clothes, too. I'll probably still be here when you return." *** Upon entering Hatcher's trailer, Lois kicked off the annoying shoes. Then she and Kay went through the clothing they found in a small closet and came up with what Lois thought would be innocuous, unobtrusive, good to relax in clothing: a loose, comfortable blouse, baggy exercise pants and scuffed running shoes. "It looks like she does work out. These will probably fit me. Kay--do you mind if I call you that or is it Kathryn or Kathleen or...?" "It's K, and just the letter K, K Callan." That was odd... except it probably wasn't. Maybe she'd been duped into taking the unusual name. "It must be a Hollywood thing, huh?" "No, it's a family thing," she said as though she had been asked about this many times and still found it amusing. "I was K before I became an actress back in the 60s." "The 60s... what year is it now?" "1996. And in Metropolis?" "Oh, the same, and it's midsummer, but it looks like it's November here, if you have Thanksgiving in November, too." "We do." "Maybe if other things here are like they are at home, Clark and I won't have so much to get used to, though we'll figure this out quickly once we have a chance to think about it, so we won't be here very long. Oh, and we'll save your friends, too." "I'm glad to hear that..." "We save people all the time, it's part of the job. Now you said 'family'..." but before she could ease K onto into this line of questioning, Lois noticed herself in the mirror over the desk/dressing table and gasped. "I *have* to wash my face, this makeup is *awful!*" K smiled. "Now *that's* Hollywood. It's all for the cameras and the lighting. After you remove it, you might put on a moisturizer. Teri has some here on the desk and in the bathroom. I don't think she'll mind if you use it." Lois spotted a collection of bottles to the left of the mirror. What with the desert dryness of Southern California (compared to the high humidity of the east coast) and the added assault of the makeup, using moisturizers made sense. "Okay. I don't use much makeup usually, I don't have time for it, and I've only been in the desert, um, twice, following leads for stories and avoiding sand fleas and Gila Monsters and that kind of thing..." She headed into the tiny bathroom but called out. "You said the girls are away. Your daughters?" "Yes. I have two daughters and a son, but none of them can make it home for Thanksgiving this year." "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that..." Though it could explain why the woman was here and not at home boiling or frying a turkey or whatever--no, *roasting* one, that's right. When the real Thanksgiving approached back in Metropolis, she and Martha were going to have a little meeting about that. She was, Lois figured, already ahead of the game, what with remembering the roasting angle. She found a washcloth, wet it, and squirted some scented soap on it from an expensive-looking bottle. She patted the cloth over her face to remove the makeup and began to feel better, fresher. She'd be looking like herself in no time. "And Mr. Callan?" "There is no 'Mr. Callan.'" "Oh." Lois noticed the matter-of-fact tone in the woman's voice. There must have been 'no Mr. Callan' for quite some time; the woman had probably answered as many questions about that as about her unique name. Lois looked around the corner. K was sitting at the desk, appearing more rested than before. The sight was comforting for some reason, and Lois did not want to ruffle the feelings of anyone who looked so much like Martha Kent. This realization made Lois feel a little guilty. "I'm snooping, aren't I? I'm sorry." "Oh, it doesn't bother me, but it must be an occupational hazard for you." Lois smiled. "You not only look like Martha, you sound like her, too." K looked thoughtful. "Thank you. I've always thought of her as an interesting character. To think that somewhere out there, in another dimension, she's a real person..." Another dimension, an alternate universe, yes... Why are these things always chasing after Clark and me? Lois sighed but covered it with a smile. "She's very real, like... like me..." She decided not to think about this for the moment, because Martha Kent and everyone else she and Clark knew were Somewhere Else... She concentrated instead on the immediate chore. Dimensions had to do with time, and time meant Tempus, and Tempus never hesitated to hurt anyone if it would hurt her or Clark. She'd have to watch out for these new friends. Then again, she hadn't heard that man's infuriating laugh yet, and it was well past time for him to put in an appearance ...if he was responsible for this. And if he's not? What have I done now to attract some nasty character? She tried to ignore that question and when she couldn't she faced it and herself: nothing, she had done nothing, these things just happen sometimes... She rinsed the soap off her face and patted it dry using a soft towel from those lying folded on the top of the toilet tank. Then she saw a bottle of moisturizer right there on the little shelf over the sink. She opened and sniffed it, decided the scent was okay and applied it. She rubbed the last of it into her hands when she was finished. The lotion soaked right in; it must have been expensive. She ran her hands through her hair to fluff it. She liked that about this cut, it was easy to shape. She also liked what she saw in the mirror now, herself. Yes, this would do until she and Clark fixed things and got home again. She returned to the main little room. "Do you mind if I change clothes right here?" "Not at all, unless you'd like to do it outside..." Lois laughed. "No...!" K smiled and turned away discretely. Lois quickly stripped off the red dress and pantyhose, tossing them over the back of a spare chair. "Do I have to wash these now? Does she do that?" "No, Wardrobe will do it. Teri has an assistant who usually takes care of all that, but I heard she won't be on the set until this afternoon." "We'll be out of here--out of this *world,* wherever this is, *long* before that." Lois pulled on the blouse and pants. They fit and were subdued and wouldn't attract attention. Then she sat down on the chair she'd thrown the dress over to put on the socks and shoes. "I guess all this must be as odd for you, too. Do those two really look like us?" K turned back. "Yes, they do. It looks like you've already fooled everyone on the set and you probably would have fooled me if you and De... I mean, Clark, hadn't given us the proof." "That's good, we can go undercover here as long as we need to. This will work out just fine." "Wait now, Dean and Teri's faces are well known. The paparazzi are always chasing them, poor kids..." "Paparazzi? Those failures? They don't have anything on *me*. You should see some of the disguises I've made up on the spur of the moment to fool *real* villains." "Well, Teri's disguised herself as a lounge singer, a copier repair person *and* a giant chicken, among other things." "Wha...? *She's* done that, too? And they still recognized her even though she had a whole Hollywood studio to help her disguise herself?" "No, that was for some of the episodes. She was playing you." "Oh. I just had me, *and* I defended myself with karate while in that chicken suit, too, did she do that? I don't *think* so. She's just an actress. *I* have..." She looked around quickly. "These sunglasses." She plucked them up from the back of the desk. They had been lying on a folded scarf. "And that hat," a baseball cap hanging from a hook on the back of the door. "It's really sunny out here, isn't it?" "Usually, though you have a nice tan like Teri does." "I worked hard to get it, we don't get as much sun in Metropolis sometimes. I can use all of these things to make a great disguise. Even Clark won't recognize me--well, that's not true, but nobody else will." Maybe Hatcher tried to do something like this. "Does *she* go out in a disguise?" Hollywood people did that; they put on funny hats and heavy coats and then stood on street corners praying that agents and photographers would see them and make them famous. "Sometimes she does." "Then I'll do it even better." She put the things down and returned to tying the shoes firmly; they fit, too. Hatcher must have bought them in a larger size than she needed to wear with heavy, protective socks, not the anklets Lois had found in the closet. She put both feet down flat on the floor... and found a sigh welling up from deep inside. Now what? She realized that she hadn't yet taken a moment to simply think and here she was, both feet firmly on the ground (well, the floor of this trailer), with that moment at hand. What had happened to her and Clark, just *what* had happened? If a villain like Tempus or some new version of Bureau 39 using a weapon against Superman were responsible, why were they taking their time getting around to rubbing it in? Clark's secret was out--if it had ever been a secret--if somehow a whole TV show was based on him and her (with her name first). Wasn't all this enough to throw Clark and her off guard? What were the perpetrators waiting for? Unless... there were no perpetrators and Clark was right, they were in the middle of a very strange accident. That was hard to believe but... if that were the case it did free up a lot of their time. They wouldn't have to be watching their backs or those of their new friends and could concentrate on solving this. If their disguises were effective so that no one bothered them. If they could find their way around this town. If they could figure out how to get out of this studio so they could find some S.T.A.R Labs-type company and force a scientist to help them or... "What am I saying...?" "Nothing, dear." "Well, no, I know that, I'm just thinking... about this, about... all this," she tried to indicate it but hand gestures were inadequate, "and what Clark and I are going to do to fix everything and... oh..." Usually plans just sprang nearly full grown right into her mind, but not now. Now everything just looked daunting and now she understood how Clark (yes, he was easily bewildered sometimes) had felt earlier. "K, I've never been to Southern California except to land at the Los Angeles Airport once or twice. I don't have my driver's license! I don't have any money--I don't even have my *purse*! We don't know anyone here but you and Ji... Justin... and somebody who looked like Perry but it wasn't... I... Oh..." She sat down, closed her eyes and ordered herself to stop complaining because it wasn't helping at all and she bet *Clark* wasn't acting like this, he was probably being quiet and reserved and trying hard to understand this and using the Kentium computer part of his brain to think up solutions... "Lois? Lois, dear, it's okay to panic. I'm surprised you haven't already, even as much as I think I know about you..." Lois felt the woman's strong hand on her shoulder and she tried to explain. "I can't panic, I have to be calm," she explained. "For Clark. He doesn't need to worry about me. You know... no, you don't... He needs me to be... not *this* way... *I* don't need me to be this way..." "To me it sounds like you're gathering facts and facing them, and this is frightening, isn't it?" She blinked her eyes open and nodded. "Uh-huh..." "The way he looked at you when we decided to split up ten minutes ago, that told me all *I* need to know about your relationship. Listen: I'd be pleased to help you both, and I could tell Justin wants to. You may not be here long enough to need us anyhow, things will probably work out quickly, they always do on the show. Until then, you don't have to drive, we can take care of that, and we can loan you money if you need any. Teri and Dean can pay us back on your behalf," she winked. The expression was comforting. "They'll sure be upset that they didn't get to meet you! And, you know, you can both stay at my place if you want to, the paparazzi *never* bother me. They think I'm old and uninteresting." "Ha!" "Ha is right, and they'll never know how wrong they are. I don't even think you'll have to try hard to pass yourself off as Teri if you want to for a while. She enjoys a quiet home life when she's not out promoting something and when John's not home." Her eyes widened. "Oh, my! John..." "John? Her..." please... "brother?" "No... her husband." Lois sat back, not easy since she was sitting sideways in the chair. "Oh..." another one to explain all this to... "But he's in Venezuela, shooting a movie, so..." "Venezuela? Is that down in South America, too?" "Oh, yes." "Good--Movie? Is *he* an actor, too? Good grief, how could she marry an *actor*?" "The same way *you* could marry a mild-mannered reporter." "No, that's entirely different." "Only your jobs are different. Actors hang out with actors, reporters hang out with reporters. Teri and John, it was one of those fairy tale things." She pointed. "That's his picture, there." On the back of the desk was a small, framed picture of a handsome man. *I wish I were there with you--Jon.* "They're very much in love, but they don't see each other as often as they'd like. Maybe that keeps it going, the expectation." "Oh..." Now she felt sorry for the woman. Lois had an absent husband to, but not *that* absent... "At least since he's in Venezuela, I won't have to explain what's happened to his wife-- you won't have to explain, either, she'll be back here in *no* time," she nodded firmly, smiling. "I promise you." This was the attitude to take. Sure she didn't know how she and Clark were going to pull it off, but she once again had no doubt that they could do it. She stood up and wiggled her toes in the shoes, glad they had comfortable arches. "Okay, that takes care of my disguise. What does Dean Cain usually do that I can help Clark work around?" K thought about this question a moment. Lois rethought it. It must have sounded confusing. "I mean..." "I know what you meant, I was just thinking how to describe Dean. He's a friendly, handsome--like Clark--30-year-old single man with no girl friend at the moment." "No girl friend?" Oh, good. "Poor guy, I'm sorry to hear that..." K gave her a knowing look. "No, you're not..." "Okay, I don't want girl friends chasing after Clark. I could take care of Jon if he were here, but Clark has a hard time putting his foot down sometimes." "Our show's version has the same problem. Well, Dean does all the things an active young man brought up in California does, except he also works all day long on the set and then spends time in the gym to keep up his Superman physique--and by the looks of the real thing he's done well... and he likes to write scripts and stories, have some fun on the town when he can, and sleep." "Are he and Teri having a torrid love affair on the side by any chance?" "No, not after spending as many hours as they do together already. We'll have to be careful about that. When we're all out in public," she smiled, "Justin and I will chaperon you." "Okay, we can do that, if you're ready for heavy-duty undercover work. And what does this Teri Hatcher like to do?" "I suspect she planned to enjoy the peace and quiet of home. I know she was going to participate in some charity thing..." "An aideswalk. On Saturday. Justin told us without realizing he was telling us. She'll be back in time to do that." "I hope so. Until then, I think you can help Clark safely avoid the beach and surfing, and the nightclub scene, too, if you both have to stay through tonight." "Well, I certainly want to stay long enough to try your soup." She raised her eyebrows, amused. "You are hungry, aren't you? That's good. On the way to my house we can show you around a little. It will be fun. I just..." Her face took on a troubled look, "I just hope Teri and Dean are okay. If Metropolis is *anything* like we've portrayed it--big and dangerous and full of villains that Superman has to keep under control... they could be in trouble." "Well, things have been quiet in Metropolis lately," Lois said, not that there was anything anyone could do about it anyhow, she thought, other than try to cheer the kind woman. "They can act, can't they? As long as she doesn't play me as 'ditzy'..." "Oh, I'm sorry about that..." "It's how Hollywood sees things, I understand. If Dean doesn't try to pass himself off as anyone *other* than Clark, like you know who, and if they lay low, maybe find our home and stay there, they should be okay." She picked up the scarf and fit it around her head, tying it in back. "Clark has tons of videos they can watch, and he and I have a little vacation time coming, too, so they can use that. We were in the office. If they completely switched places with us somehow, they may have wound up there. If they sweet-talk Perry--which is *incredibly* easy to do..." unless, like now, the Chief was on an everyone-who-gets- paid-around-here-has-to-work kick, in which case when they got back, she and Clark could find themselves out on the street looking for new jobs... which was something K didn't need to know. "I bet he'll tell them to go home because they're acting strangely. Clark and I rarely do, so Perry will know they need some rest. Then they play it safe while can figure this out and switch us back. Simple, huh?" "Well, they are intelligent and resourceful, that should help them keep out of trouble. They know everything the show has done and something about what the comics are doing, so if your real life is anything like that, except for maybe the monsters that eat buildings and all the supervillains..." "Comics? As in... the funny pages?" "No, as in comic books. There is 50 years of history behind the show." Lois tried to fathom this. It refused to make any kind of sense. It didn't even want to be thought about at the moment. She didn't try to argue with her own mind. "Okay, that's fine, don't say any more. I don't think I want to know about it right now." "Justin probably knows more about the comics than I do anyway." "I won't ask him, either, if you don't mind." "Not at all. Let's go talk to the boys. I think everyone will like my soup." *** Clark hung up Cain's business clothing, took a full, fast shower, and then in the little cubicle of a bathroom changed into the clothing he had picked out. Afterwards, he wondered why he'd confined himself to this almost telephone booth-sized space when he was alone in the trailer. Fear of exposure maybe. Whatever. He found a comb and ran it through his hair. He considered himself in the mirror and nodded. He now felt like himself through and through. And Lois? He sensed nothing amiss with her, so she hadn't found any trouble yet, that was good. If--*when* she got into trouble, he had to be there, there was no choice. They knew so little about this world that they couldn't afford to rely solely on each other's instincts or his powers to pull themselves out of any problems. Clark heard Justin returning just as he was about to step back into the main room of the trailer. The young man, attired in different, equally comfortable clothing, had an excited look on his face and bouncy quality even when he was trying to stand still. "Wow," his new friend said. "Your hair *is* black!" "No, it's still wet. It's brownish when it dries." "It's not blue tinted?" That made no sense. Clark briefly imagined himself among a bevy of little old ladies. "Pardon?" "Oh, nothing, that's just the comics." "Comics?" Don't go there, a little voice warned him. "Yeah, Superman's been in the comics for*ever*. He's an American *legend,* an *icon*." "Oh," then the "forever" could explain the blue-tinted hair. "Okay... We can talk about that later." "Does it slick back when you change into Superman?" The hair. "It does a little." "It doesn't do that in the comics, just on our show. Where do you keep the cape and the boots? *Everyone* wants to know!" There were questions and there were questions, and he'd hardly even taken two steps. "I just... keep them, okay?" This nonanswer didn't phase the young man. "Do you have the suit on under those clothes, even under the T-shirt?" "No, I don't have the suit at all. I suspect Mr. Cain is wearing it at the moment and he's probably finding it warm." Clark hoped his double didn't try anything unwise while wearing it. Indeed, it would probably be best if Cain got out of it as soon as possible. Here and now, though, Clark had to find out more about the man. "Does his hair slick back or does he wear it like this?" "It slicks back hard, like it's spray-painted on when he's... Superman, but loose like yours is now for Clark, except I think his is a little shorter than yours." "If I go out like this, do you think I can pass for him?" "Oh, yeah, no problem," he said quickly, trying to please. "Your face is a little smoother and you don't smile as much--not that you have very much to smile about I guess... but you still fooled *me* and he and I are buds." "I see..." He saw that he was saying "I see" a lot even when he didn't see, when he knew that Justin's "no problem" didn't describe the situation at all. But he also saw that his assessment of the reality of the situation, as well as his reactions to it (the failure to smile) might be making him sound blunt and even harsh. He never liked encountering that attitude in others, so if indeed *he* was using it, it could be spooking Justin into useless passivity or, worse, hero worship. It was time for honesty. He tried to smile. It didn't want to happen. He didn't force it. "I realize you must be almost as overwhelmed about this as I am." "You?" The young man's eyes widened. "*You're* overwhelmed?" "Yes, because this is..." He looked down and then around the room, trying to find something familiar and comforting, but even looking through the walls didn't help. It was the same as it had been almost fifteen minutes earlier, busy and foreign. "This is incredible." He sat down in a nearby chair and tried to distract himself a bit by putting on the clean, heavy socks and designer athletic shoes he and Justin had found earlier. "I think Lois and I are in some kind of... parallel universe. Your world is similar to ours, but *actors* are playing us and everyone we know, playing the story of our lives, and you know all about us, or at least a version of us. That's why it's incredible." "When you put it that way... So there's a real Jimmy Olsen, huh? Do I look like him?" These questions came out naturally, the young man was concerned. "Yes, you do, and if you play him with that exuberant attitude, you probably do a good job of it." "I try to, I want to do him well, it's important. I don't get much on-screen time, so I have to put everything I can into it. I know Kay does, too..." He sighed thoughtfully, then brightened again. "Hey, I have all the shows on tape, even the first season, which I wasn't in, another actor played Jimmy, but he was okay. Maybe you'd like to see some of them--and I have scripts, too, and Kay has some, so you could look at them--real fast!" There was an angle that hadn't occurred to Clark. It would be like doing research on a truly unusual subject. He remembered the shoes and pulled on the second one. "I want see them, yes, if we have time. The solution to our current problem may pop up at any moment, though, so we all have to be alert for it." "Oh, yeah, *we* have to be..." he nodded, obviously pleased to have been included as one of the solution seekers. Perhaps he didn't know the value of his knowledge. He said, "Well, Kay and I will help you, you can *bet* on that. I called my mom while and told her I'd be hanging around with you today, all day long. This morning I thought I would anyway because Dean's girl friend dumped him for some stupid reason, so I was going to keep him company, you know, to help him keep his mind off all that, but now I'll help you, if you don't mind." The shoes fit snugly, like shoes should, and Justin's offer fit, too. Clark smiled, feeling it at last. "I don't mind at all, because we will need help. Even if we can pass ourselves off as your friends we don't know anything else about this world." "Well, Dean does look like you, except you're..." He tried to indicate breadth and depth with inadequate hand gestures. "...bigger, I guess, somehow, and smoother, like, for example, he has a little mole up here," Justin indicated his own upper right lip. "But other than that... I'm not sure what it is, unless... unless it's because you're really... him." Clark, who simply saw himself as someone who had just taken a shower and put on clean, nondescript clothing, had never been subject to such clear adulation (other than by his wife). If he had been wearing the suit, he could have understood it. Unless... "So there are no... 'him's in this world?" "No, none, and we could use some, use a Superman or someone like him sometimes..." He looked soberly introspective... but this didn't last. He perked up again. "I think we do a good job on our show. It's lots of fun, and we have millions of fans-- we've even been renewed for a fifth season and we're only half way through the fourth one!" "Is that good?" "It's terrific! It was sort of a political thing, but I still think it's really great." "I see... And so millions of fans would recognize Mr. Cain and Ms. Hatcher..." "Sure! *All* the time. He's in a campaign now with George, George Clooney--he's playing Batman--they want to stop the paparazzi from hounding everyone and it's sort of working, big stars are joining up, and some of the TV tabloid shows are scared. But the fans, they're great. When he doesn't want to be noticed, though, Dean likes to wear sunglasses and a baseball cap--he keeps them in the desk there," he pointed to a drawer to left of where Clark sat, "and usually nobody notices him. There are lots of good-looking guys in LA, he just sort of blends in, I guess. I don't worry too much about it myself because I'm not as popular, but that's okay," he laughed, "*I* don't have to get in a harness and pretend to fly." Clark nodded to avoid saying "I see" again. Harness, fly?-- Ah, something would have to be rigged up to make it appear that the actor could fly. Hollywood magic. And Batman... "So, other than the fans and the paparazzi who could recognize him if he's not careful... You said something about Mr. Cain's family, didn't you?" "Yeah, his folks and his brother and sister are in New Hampshire making a movie. His dad is a good movie director. They're a real close family, so Dean wasn't too happy about having to be here on his own. He was hoping they could maybe meet in Aspen and spend the holiday there, but that didn't work out because his folks couldn't get away after all." "And he wasn't going to be in this aideswalk thing on Saturday." "Right. He does charity work all the time, as much as he can fit in, but he wasn't invited on that, I don't know why--or maybe he was but he didn't accept because of the Aspen thing." Sorted out, this was adding up nicely. "So his schedule is free for now and I won't be likely to ruin his life if I'm careful. You said he has no girlfriend at the moment." "Yeah, the last one dumped... well, it didn't work out. Too many schedule conflicts. It happens all the time really--for all busy people, not just for him." "Is he simply friends with Ms. Hatcher?" "Yeah, good friends, but they practically have to be. They spend hours and hours together on the set acting like married people, like you and Lois, I guess, I hope," he smiled as though he knew what all that entailed, "probably *less* like you and Lois... but they don't hang around together off the set. Paparazzi watch for that kind of thing since she's married and he's not. You know," he waved his hand to paint a headline, "'While her husband's away, Teri plays with costar.'" Clark nodded. "She's married. To John." "Right, but he's out of town, too, in *Venezuela*, and he's not due back until next weekend. Since *he* can't fly, and he's not going to take a plane up here for the weekend since there's no Thanksgiving in Venezuela, we don't have to worry about him." Another complication resolved. "Good." Some things were going to be easy, others tough. "So Ms. Hatcher and Mr. Cain don't do anything together off the set?" "Well, not often. They promote the show and do things for charity, but he'd rather hang out at the beach or work at home writing. She likes to putter around her house and make movies and do fashion shoots where it somehow turns out that she doesn't wear many clothes. You know, that kind of thing." "That kind of thing...?" "I think she's a little afraid of being stereotyped as Lois Lane." "But Lois wears nice clothes, so Ms. Hatcher..." didn't? Did she do... oh, my, nude layouts or worse? "I see." No, he didn't. He advised h