It's a Thing He Does At Parties
By Jude Williams <judithwilliams@hotmail.com>
Rated: PG - 13
Submitted: October, 2002.

Feedback: Courteous constructive criticism is welcome at 
the above mentioned e-mail address.

This story came about because I was tired of writing 
stories with unhappiness and angst in them and just wanted 
to lighten up a little. It began with my asking the 
question, "What if the telephone call Clark received at the 
beginning of ATAI was not from Jason Mazic.  What if there 
were no Jace Mazic at all? Who would have been calling and 
why?"  What follows is the answer I came up with. 

From the end of WWW to Ultrawoman, Lois made an odyssey 
that not only revealed a lot she didn't know about Clark 
and Superman, but also revealed some things she didn't know 
about herself.  What happens in "It's a Thing He Does At 
Parties" is another way she might have taken to get where 
she was going.  In it you will read some dialogue and 
situations that may seem familiar from L&C episodes.  I 
make no claim to have created them, but only use them as 
points along the way for Folcs to recognize and enjoy from 
a different perspective.

Likewise I intend no infringement on the characters from 
the Lois and Clark series.  They belong to D.C. Comics and 
Warner Brothers; I have borrowed them briefly to have a 
little fun with them.  Also you will find herein several 
real life celebrities appearing under pseudonyms.  I mean 
no slander in my portrayals of them.  It's all for fun.  
There is one macabre portrayal of a notorious fictional 
character, who, I readily acknowledge, belongs to someone 
else, but he has become so entrenched in American pop 
culture, that I was compelled to borrow him.  Again no 
infringement on the author's rights is intended. 

WARNING: This story contains satire ridiculing human 
foibles and follies through parody and exaggeration. The 
purpose is to provoke amusement. The human targets include 
well-known persons as well as some folcs who like to 
speculate about the beautiful and the famous.  The 
celebrity depictions should not be read as validation and 
dissemination of gossip nor as portrayals of those persons 
as they actually are. The dialogue and actions of the 
celebrity characters in the story do not describe those 
real people in real situations. These characters, their 
words, and their actions are fictitious and should be read 
as outrageous parodies and grotesque exaggerations. They 
are not real. As I stated previously, it's all for fun.

All characters and events that I have created for this 
story belong to me and may not be used by anyone else 
without my permission.  This story may not be uploaded or 
copied to any other website without my permission. 

My thanks go to my beta readers, Gerry Anklewicz and Anne 
Carlson who helped me keep the story honest. Gerry, 
especially, encouraged me to attempt the humor. 

I have used the following symbols as shorthand: words 
between *  * are to be emphasized.  Words between <  > 
represent unspoken thoughts.

IT'S A THING HE DOES AT PARTIES

"Here he is, folks.  Our very own Superman."

Perry's voice boomed as he turned, smiling broadly, and 
gestured toward Clark Kent.

The young man following Lois Lane through the doorway of 
the Daily Planet conference room stopped in mid-stride, 
heartbeat stumbling, complexion paling. He looked around 
the room, shock and fear in his eyes.  <His secret was out! 
They knew.> The secret identity, the meek fa‡ade, the 
hiding from Lois - all swept away with a few words.  How 
did they discover the truth about him?

The room, or his brain, seemed to be filled with a fog, 
through which he could see, dimly, the familiar faces of 
the Daily Planet staff.  They displayed their usual 
variation of smiles, boredom, sidebar conversations and 
obsequious attention that characterized every early morning 
staff meeting.  But they didn't show surprise or even the 
admiration that Superman's appearance normally provoked. 
There was one face among them that seemed not to belong - a 
vaguely familiar woman. But his mind was incapable of 
identifying her.

What was going on? And what must Lois be thinking? He 
hadn't told her yet.  She would be furious with him. How 
could he explain? Would she let him explain?  Would she 
ever speak to him again? Just when his dreams about his 
fascinating and desirable partner seemed to be coming true, 
this had to happen.  

He still couldn't quite believe that last night had not 
been another fantasy.  After a bitter fight over his 
frequent disappearances, she had left a note for him with 
an imperative "Forget it!" written in her bold script, and 
when he tried to phone her, the line was busy. Later that 
night, as Superman waited outside her apartment building, 
he saw her on the front stoop, talking with Dan Scardino, 
the DEA agent who had been trying to shove him aside. Then 
he watched them go inside together.

In the aftermath, he decided that he would have to leave 
Metropolis. He couldn't stay and be witness to her throwing 
herself away on Scardino. He was packing his possessions 
when she came knocking on his door.  At first he thought 
she had come to tell him, as gently as she could, that she 
and Scardino were a couple now, but she still wanted to be 
friends with him, just as she wanted to be friends with 
Superman. Then, wonder of wonders, the words he heard were 
that she had dumped Scardino and chosen him. Almost before 
he understood what she was saying, they were in each 
other's arms, and he was in paradise.

They had spent the rest of the evening holding each other 
and kissing and grinning like idiots.  Through all of the 
soft talking and whispering between tender kisses that 
would heat up and then cool when one or the other of them 
would back away until reason intervened - neither of them 
quite yet willing to venture beyond the beckoning threshold 
of sexual intimacy - through all of that, he had never said 
that he loved her.  And he didn't remember that she had 
exactly said it to him. But she must have realized what his 
feelings for her were, and he thought he knew how she felt 
about him.  After all, she had made the first move, hadn't 
she?

When, at last, she had reluctantly gone back to her 
apartment, he had been so elated that he couldn't stay 
cooped up.  He sought the skies, turning somersaults and 
executing barrel rolls over Metropolis, creating some havoc 
and a little panic among the air flight controllers at 
Metropolis International.  He was skywriting an imaginary 
"Lois loves me" when his super hearing picked up the 
excited radio communiqu‚s between ground and air. 

Flying by the control tower, he made a sheepish apology, 
then darted west, reaching the Indian Ocean, where he 
cavorted with porpoises and dolphins for a while, and, 
continuing on, caught up with the edge of darkness. Covered 
by the star-sparkled black velvet folds of a gentle night, 
he floated along, stretched out comfortably on his back, 
hands behind his head, enraptured with thoughts of Lois and 
the future he envisioned for them. Finally, he arrived back 
in Metropolis just as the sun began to burn at the rim of 
the horizon.

As he showered, he kept repeating to himself: "I wasn't 
dreaming; I wasn't dreaming". His dreams had become 
reality; he and Lois would be more than just partners, more 
than friends.  They were on the verge of...he became aware 
that he was shaving...with his laser vision.  Clark Kent 
did not have laser vision.  Superman had laser vision. Of 
course, Clark Kent was Superman...but Lois didn't know 
that. She didn't know because he hadn't told her. He wanted 
her to love him, Clark; have a relationship with him, 
Clark; someday marry him, Clark...and he was keeping 
secrets from her.  Not secrets, *the* secret. It was the 
most important secret of his life and carried the weight of 
a million ordinary secrets.  If he wanted a real, open and 
loving relationship - one that would last for the rest of 
their lives.... He knew what he had to do.  

They were planning to have breakfast together.  He would 
just go early, tell her the truth and hope she would 
forgive him before they were both eligible for Social 
Security. 

He had approached her door with trepidation and, while 
waiting in her sitting room, had tried out several ways he 
might tell her.  When he saw her advancing into the room, 
he wanted to take her in his arms, sprinkle kisses over her 
lovely face and just ignore what he had come to do; but he 
managed to stay focused on his task. He was in the middle 
of "Lois, I'm Super -" when the phone rang. It was Perry 
telling the two of them to get to the Planet 'faster than a 
tick jumpin' on a houn' dog.'

When Perry talked like that, everyone at the Planet 
understood that anything else had to be put on hold. It 
meant get there or get gone. So they left the rest of 
Clark's declaration unspoken and unchallenged in the rush 
to answer their editor's summons, and, now, here Clark was, 
caught like a possum in a dead tree. 

"Here he is.  Here's our Superman."

<What must Lois be thinking?> his inner voice repeated.   
Looking down at her, he saw an angry scowl on her face.  
But she wasn't looking at him.  She was looking at the 
unknown woman he had noticed earlier.  

From far away, Perry's voice continued.  "Lois, Clark.  You 
remember Linda King."

Clark heard Lois mutter, " Who could forget a bad case of 
poison ivy." Lois seemed to be angry with Linda, not with 
him.  Hadn't she heard what Perry said? Did she loathe 
Linda so much, that she had just let the announcement pass 
over her head?

"Now boys and girls, you all remember that Linda worked for 
Preston Carpenter over at The Star, and that her book about 
how she, Clark and Lois brought him down was made into a 
smash hit movie."

Clark heard more muttering, "Smash.  That's the word I was 
looking for." He was looking at Lois and was astonished 
that she could speak those words with her jaw clenched and 
without moving her lips.  She must have studied 
ventriloquism.

"Linda's here now, on assignment for IN Weekly's Trends for 
the Trendsetters section, to cover Metropolis's version of 
the hottest new attraction at Summer Festivals - Superhero 
Pageants. She dropped by here to say hello and got me all 
excited about the whole idea. 

More muttering. "Yeah, she's good at getting guys all 
excited."

"Well, uh, Linda, honey, why don't you fill everybody in."

"Honey! He's supposed to call me honey, not that -." 

Clark cut off Lois's mumble by clutching her arm just above 
the elbow and dragging her into the room, a few steps to 
the right of the doorway. She didn't look at him.  Not a 
good sign.  She had to be mad at him, but why wasn't she 
looking at him?

"Perry, that's so sweet of you," Linda said, gazing warmly 
at him. Then turning to the room, she went on, "Cla-ark! 
You're still tied to Lois? I was sure you'd have moved up, 
by now."

Lois stiffened and started forward, opening her mouth to 
retort aloud this time.  Clark grabbed her arm again and 
spoke before she could.

"It's good to see you again, Linda. Yep, we're still 
partners," said Clark, putting a brotherly arm around Lois. 
"You can't improve on the best," he said brightly, 
squeezing Lois's shoulder. 

Lois came in right behind him.  "Yes, that's right, Linda, 
we're still partners. And I see you haven't changed one 
little bit. No improvement at all."

"Why thank you, Lois," Linda said, semi-sweetly, and went 
on.  "As you all may know, Super Hero pageants have been 
held all over the country this summer.  Gotham City had a 
Batman Pageant, Gateway City, California, a Wonder Woman 
Pageant and in The Big Apple, a Spider Man Pageant.  They 
have all been enormously successful, but IN wants to 
feature the pageant for the greatest Super Hero of them 
all, Metropolis's own Superman. The Superman Pageant will 
be in the spotlight at the Metropolis Summer Festival this 
year, and I managed to persuade Perry..."

Mutter. "Of course you did." 

"...that the Daily Planet should enter someone as a 
contestant."

<Oh, no,> thought Clark, apprehensively.

"And," Perry broke in, " the big boys upstairs agreed with 
her. They think it'll make great copy for one of the 
Planet's reporters to be on the scene as a participant, and 
I have to agree with them.  Linda even suggested the 
perfect person."

<Oh, no!>
    
Everyone looked at Clark.  Jimmy came over and punched him 
on the arm, saying, "You're the man, CK!"

"I, ah, I don't, uh," Clark stuttered.

"And we'll be working closely together again. Won't that be 
fun," added Linda, a come-hither note in her voice.

Now Lois *was* looking at him, and the look wasn't an 
affectionate one.  

Linda King came over to him and ran her hand down his arm.  
"I think you'll look just gorgeous in that Superman 
costume."

Clark was horrified by the thought.  Lois's eyes opened 
wider but were no friendlier.  Wearing a seductive smile, 
Linda followed through with, "Maybe you could even get 
Superman to lend you one of his."

<Not on your life,> thought Clark.

Lois growled, "Wear one of Superman's actual suits? Hah! 
You'd have to call him Saggyman."

She was mad at him all right. But that was the least of his 
worries, right now.  He was going to have to put on a 
costume and pretend to be Superman in front of hundreds of 
people! It had been hard getting used to the tights when he 
first became Superman, but at least, he was able to hide 
behind the fa‡ade of a Super personality.  People weren't 
really seeing him.  They were seeing Superman.  But now 
they would see Clark Kent in ways he had taken great pains 
to avoid. It would be impossible to keep the world from 
recognizing the truth about him.  It would be obvious right 
from the start. Everyone would know immediately that he, 
Clark Kent, was the real Superman. He had to get out of 
this.

"P...Pe...Perry, I don't really think I'm the guy to do 
this.  I mean, Superman and I are friends. I just wouldn't 
feel right trying to fill his suit..."

"Snork!" The sound came from slightly to his left.    
 
"Cla-a-a-r-k." Linda was now draping herself over him.  
Lois's eyes were shooting mortar rounds at the both of 
them. "I think you'd just be great." 
 
Mutter. "Bimbo, tramp, slut." Mutter.

Perry explained. "You won't really be taking his place.  
The pageant winner will be crowned Super Metro Man, and his 
costume will have an M instead of an S on the front.  Super 
Metro Man will be a symbol of the city and act as a good 
will ambassador, welcoming visitors and dignitaries, 
attending civic functions, and generally filling in as a 
celebrity for Superman when he's busy. You know so much 
about him, more than anyone else. You can bring something 
to the contest that no one else can."

"Contest?" Clark asked.  This new word filled him with 
terror. "What kind of contest?"

"Oh, you know, the usual," Linda replied. "Dance routines, 
individual talent acts, interview questions. The Superman 
costume eliminates the need for a swimsuit competition, so 
it's been replaced with a muscle flexing demonstration."

<Oh...my...god!> He wasn't going to be a part of this cheap 
exploitation of male...of a man's... He couldn't do it.  

"No!" At the shouted word, the occupants of the room turned 
their eyes to him. "I mean...I'm sure there's a better 
stand-in for Superman than me.  I'm not very good at...you 
really need to find someone who could win. Perry, I'm 
afraid I'm gonna just have to say -"

Perry broke in. "Clark, you aren't going to say no, are 
you?"

"Yes, Clark. Are you going to say no?" There was no 
question from the way Lois looked at him that she was 
demanding just that.

"I, uh, I don't really feel -"

Perry interrupted again, "Because you do look an awful lot 
like him. Diana Stride, a world class television journalist 
- is that an oxymoron? - tried to prove you were Superman's 
alter ego.  Well, we all know how that turned out. But you 
do look enough like him that people were starting to 
believe it could be true.  It took that joint press 
conference with Superman to prove she was wrong.  You're a 
natural. Besides, it's the assignment of a lifetime. Why 
would you say no? Do you have a good reason why you 
wouldn't want an assignment that would put you on the front 
page and the Daily Planet way ahead of every other paper?

There was silence as Clark thought desperately. What could 
he say? He was just no good at thinking up excuses. 
Returning a video or getting his teeth cleaned wouldn't 
work this time. Lois was great at that kind of thing, but 
she didn't know he was Superman and would be in danger of 
exposing more than his physique. And she was mad at him.

Jimmy jumped in.  "Yeah, C.K., think of the perks.  Every 
babe in Metropolis'll be hanging all over those guys, win 
or lose. You wouldn't see me saying no if they asked me 
to...." Jimmy's voice faded when he noticed Clark's warning 
expression and Lois's angry scowl.

Having received no answer, reasonable or unreasonable, to 
his question, Perry continued.  "Any way, we all voted on 
this, and it was unanimous. Evabody here agrees that you're 
our man. You're not going to let the Planet down, are you, 
son ?"

Clark looked around helplessly. "Well, I wouldn't want to 
let the Planet down, but there must be somebody else..."  

Linda King read the inevitable and smiled triumphantly.  
Lois's eyes no longer looked angry, just disappointed.  
Without another word, she turned and hurried out of the 
room. Clark attempted to follow, but Perry, Linda, Jimmy 
and his co-workers surrounded him, all talking at once and 
giving him a Super headache.

Lois went straight to her desk from the conference room and 
began flipping through her phone file.  When she found what 
she was looking for, she punched furiously at the numbers 
on her telephone  keypad, although it was difficult to see 
because of the tears forming in her eyes.  She was angry 
with Linda King, just for being there, and with Perry for 
falling for Linda's so completely obvious wiles.  But most 
of all she was disappointed with Clark.

The guy she thought was so special wasn't.  <Just let some 
brazen bimbo, tramp, slut crawl all over him, and he turns 
into a spineless blob of play dough just like every other 
man - panting for the creature to demonstrate her manual 
dexterity and mold him into whatever she wants.   Well, 
it's a good thing one reporter around here is impervious to 
her designs.  Lois Lane would ->

Someone on the other end of the line answered, and Lois 
began a quiet, intense conversation with an information 
source, shooting questions rapidly and making notes about 
the answers.

As soon as he could work his way out of Linda's grasp and 
away from the crowd around him, Clark sped from the 
conference room toward Lois's desk. She was turned half 
toward him, talking on the telephone.  As he came into her 
view, she deliberately turned her back, making her 
disinterest in him very clear.  Clark, noting the stiff set 
of her shoulders and spine, slowed, hesitated, and diverted 
his path to his own desk. He sat, opening his mail, while 
keeping an eye on Lois so that when she finished her call, 
he could try again.  

She placed the instrument in its cradle, and he quickly 
rose going over to the coffee station in hopes that a cup 
of her favorite brew, fixed just the way she liked it, 
would help ease things between them.  As he approached her, 
he saw that she was on the phone again.  He placed the 
coffee on the desk in front of her and smiled 
ingratiatingly when she looked up at him.  She responded by 
picking up the cup, saluting him with it, holding it high 
above the wastebasket, and pouring its contents into the 
receptacle. Then she turned her back to him again.

Not a good time to talk. Okay, maybe later. He backed away 
and returned to his desk. 

No sooner had he sat down than Perry came out of the 
conference room with Linda King.  Walking her to the 
elevator, he saw her aboard, then returned, passing by Lois 
and saying, "Come into my office for a minute, Lois. I have 
an assignment for you."  

Obviously an assignment without Clark since he hadn't been 
invited along.  She rose eagerly and hurried after Perry, 
briefly meeting Clark's eyes, then raising her nose into 
the air as she proceeded.

"Come in and close the door, darlin'," the editor said as 
she came through the doorway. 

<Oh, oh, this must be a good one,> she thought as she 
followed instructions and crossed the intervening space to 
stand before the authoritative desk. "What is it, Perry?  
Do you want me to check up on Linda King?  Discover what 
she's really after? Find out why she wants to spend two 
weeks doing a story about our Super Hero Pageant when she 
could have covered the one in California in a couple of 
days? I knew you weren't actually falling for that 
glandular gloss she secretes."

"Now, Lois, honey. I know you and Linda haven't exactly 
gotten along in the past, but you have to get over that.  
While this pageant thing is going on, you'll be seeing a 
lot of her, and she can be a valuable source for your 
story."

"I knew it!  What's it all about, Perry? Some kind of scam 
Linda's pulling with the pageant organizers?  Cover for a 
drug cartel?  Weapons smuggling for terrorists?"

Perry listened to her patiently before saying, "Lois, I 
want you to take Clark to the costume shop and get him 
outfitted in a Superman suit.  He doesn't act like he's 
very enthusiastic about doing this, so he's gonna need 
someone to ride herd on him and see that he does it right.  
I don't want him slacking off, deliberately trying to lose 
just because he's friends with Superman.  It'd be a great 
coup for the Daily Planet to have one of our reporters 
recognized everywhere as Super Metro Man.  And we'd sell a 
helluva lot of newspapers with his by-line on the front 
page."

Her mouth dropped open. Did she hear him correctly?  She 
began a loud protest. 

"Perry, you want me to baby sit that amateur-hour Superman, 
so he can win and have an automatic front page by-line just 
by looking gorg...<No, no, don't go there>,uh, just by 
flexing a few musc...<Uh uh, bad visual>, ah, just for 
standing around pretending to be Superman? He gets a 
regular front-page by-line for that while the rest of us 
have to work our buns off to get an occasional page one 
hit? I thought I was the top reporter around here, not a 
day-care provider."

"Well, it's gonna require some nighttime work too, Lois, 
but that's not the point. The point is, there's a story 
here for you.  Clark will be too close to it, so you'll get 
front page space for your observations of the pageant and 
your interviews with the contestants, and Clark'll be your 
prime source."

"That sounds like touchy-feely fluff, Perry.  I don't do 
touchy-feely fluff.  I do cutting-edge, hard news, not 
fluff!"

"Well for the present, Lois, you'll do touchy-feely 
fluff...unless, of course, you'd prefer to cover dog shows 
and PTA meetings?"

She was battered and defeated, but still unbowed. "All 
right, Perry.  You're the boss. But I won't forget this.  
You owe me big! Just don't let it ever be said that Lois 
Lane doesn't know how to follow orders."  And throwing open 
the office door, she stomped over to Clark's desk.

"Lois?" He looked up warily, seeing a very unfriendly 
visage.

"Come on, Metro Man wannabe. Let's go turn you into a 
winner."

Slowly assimilating her words, he watched her march away 
and get on the elevator. He didn't know where she was 
going, but he understood that she wanted him along, and he 
grabbed his jacket, hurrying after her. He could ask 
questions later.  Right now, he sensed the ice jam 
breaking, and he didn't want to miss the boat. 

She was behind the wheel of her Jeep, motor running, when 
he caught up to her in the parking garage.  Sliding into 
the vehicle, he looked at her expectantly, but she kept her 
eyes straight ahead, shifting them only to maneuver the 
car. The silence grew louder as they raced through the 
streets toward an unspoken destination that he desperately 
hoped would not be a hospital.

Arriving at a row of neighborhood shops, she parked, and 
they departed from the vehicle to stand on the sidewalk.  
Curiosity heightened, Clark was looking at the storefronts 
trying to figure out why they had come to this place, when 
he saw "Mr. Norman Blackwell, Costumer to the Stars" 
lettered discreetly in gold leaf on one corner of a display 
window.  Inside Clark could see window dummies dressed in 
garments from various historical time periods. Lois was 
already opening the door.  "Oh, no," he groaned softly. 

When the door opened, a small bell jangled, and, as they 
stepped inside, a doleful man approached them, rubbing his 
hands together. His skeletal frame was clothed all in 
black, and Lois thought he looked like a modern day Ichabod 
Crane. 

 He approached them, asking in sepulchral tones, "May I 
help you with something?  For a costume ball?  A lovely 
Empire gown in white for the lady, like this one perhaps?" 
He gestured toward a mannequin.

Clark blinked.  He was reminded of an undertaker discussing 
a choice of clothing for the deceased.  But then he caught 
his breath, as the words sank in. He had a sudden flash of 
Lois in the garment under scrutiny. He saw her, instead of 
the mannequin, wearing the pale silk dress, very low cut, 
clinging bodice barely covering her breasts, above the 
high-waisted, slim skirt softly falling over her hips to 
her ankles. It was perfect with her tanned, glowing skin 
and dark hair.  He slowly emptied his lungs in a long sigh 
and thought how fickle history was. If Lois had been 
Josephine, Napoleon would never have left her to go fight 
silly battles.

Lois's attention was on the lugubrious shopkeeper. "Mr. 
Blackwell?"  At his nod, she continued. "I'm Lois Lane and 
this is Clark Kent.  We're from the Daily Planet, and Mr. 
Kent - Clark - is the paper's entrant in the Super Hero 
Pageant at this year's Summer Festival.  He needs a 
Superman costume."

"Oh, yes," the man sneered.  "Such a tacky ensemble.  
Superman should have consulted me when he chose his 
uniform. Something in black or an understated blue with a 
lighter shade for the cape would have been more 
appropriate. Monochrome for the body would have been so 
tasteful.  All those primary colors are just too garish."

"Yes. Well I'm sure that if Superman had known you were 
available for consultation, he would have been here, uh, 
faster than a speeding bullet," said Lois encouragingly. 
"Be that as it may, Mr. Kent needs a garish Superman 
costume for the pageant."

Blackwell harrumphed, measured Clark with his eyes and went 
into the back room of the shop.

Speaking pettishly, Clark turned to his companion. "Lois, 
who told you to get a suit for me.  I'm not interested in 
parading around in tights and a cape for the world to gawk 
at.  I'm going to tell Perry that I'm not available."

"You think it's my choice to spend my time getting you 
decked out for Linda King to drool over?" she shot back. 
"And good luck saying no to Perry, because he has it all 
figured out that you're going to win and write lots of page 
one articles on the thrill of being Super Metro Man.  If 
you don't at least try, Clark, you'll be covering sewer 
board meetings and celebrity PR junkets for the next year. 
Although, I don't know why I should care. It'd serve you 
right."
 
"Lois, I thought we...last night you...." 

"That was last night. This is business."

"Okay, forget last night. As a partner and a friend, you've 
got to help me figure out how to get out of this.  I can't 
do it."

"Come on, Clark.  How hard can it be?  You stand around in 
a Superman suit; you dance and sing a little, flex a little 
muscle, say your greatest wish is for world peace, and they 
crown you Super Metro Man.  If you're afraid of looking a 
little anemic in the tights, we can always stuff you."

"Lois, I'm not worried abou...sing?"

"Yes, Clark, there's always an official pageant song that 
all the gir...uh contestants sing like in a chorus. And 
then they all do a little dance before the finalists are 
announced."

Clark slumped into a nearby chair and put his head in his 
hands.  "O-o-o-h  n-o-o-o."

Lois eyed him with curiosity.  Why was he acting this way?  
It could be a little embarrassing, but it wasn't the end of 
the world.  You'd think he was facing a death sentence.

At this moment, Mr. Blackwell returned with a red, yellow 
and blue garment slung over his arm and carrying a pair of 
boots.  "All right, Mr. Kent, let's get into the dressing 
room and fit this hideous creation.  If you must wear it, 
we can at least make it fit you properly."  

"No, no! I'll just try it on first, Mr. Blackwell, and come 
back out here.  Maybe it won't need any fitting," and he 
shot into the dressing room.

"You wish," he heard Lois say under her breath.

In the tiny changing room, Clark looked at the clothing in 
his hands and thought of the absurdity of the situation.  
He had to take off a suit, put on one just like it, and 
pretend to be his alter ego.  Why not just wear the 
original?  But for all he knew, the fake suit might have 
some slight difference from the real one.  He couldn't take 
any chances when he went into the other room. He just hoped 
that neither of the people out there would see the truth. 

He had about as much space as in a telephone booth, but he 
managed a spin fluttering the curtain covering the doorway. 
Well, his regular clothes were gone, but he still had on 
the real suit.  Would another spin replace it with the 
ersatz one?  And would it go wherever his regular clothes 
went?  He spun again.  The suit on the chair had 
disappeared, so he must be wearing it, and the real suit 
had gone to wherever it went.  He pulled back the curtain 
and returned to the main shop room. 

Lois thought he had come back quickly, and she supposed the 
strange fluttering of the curtain had been because of his 
haste. She became aware that he perfectly filled in the 
contours of a knock-off of the most famous suit in the 
world. 

She saw his chest first.  Her eyes widened and they slowly 
descended to his waist and beyond until they reached the 
boots, at which point, they began the return trip, 
lingering at certain vista points. Her jaw had gradually 
dropped open as her gaze had traveled, and when she 
finished, she closed it, swallowing hard. 

If he'd been able to blush, he would have turned carmine.  
It was one thing to stand before the world...and Lois...as 
Superman.  The suit wasn't an embarrassment then.  But to 
display himself, Clark, in the second skin of the body 
suit...well, he wanted to hide himself with his hands and 
bolt out of sight.

She whispered, "Wow," and decided to check out the 
territory one more time - just to be sure no fitting was 
needed, of course. <O-o-o-h, y-e-e-esss,> she growled 
inwardly. <Definitely no fitting needed.>  

"Lois?"  The word was slightly strangled. 

There was no answer. Lois had reached the boots and 
reversed directions again, dawdling here and there.

"Lo-is!" Now the sound was filled with anguish. 

"What?" She jerked her eyes away from their target and 
looked up into his face. She could see he was miserable.  
<Distraction needed.> Distraction for Clark...and for her. 

"Clark, you're wearing your glasses," she said briskly. 
"Superman doesn't wear glasses, and your hair can't be soft 
like that.  It has to be slicked back."

"I can take care of that," said Blackwell as he scooped the 
glasses off Clark's nose, and slapped some gooey stuff on 
his head.  He quickly ran a comb back through the 
reporter's hair, and the transformation was complete. But 
standing behind Clark, Blackwell, more concerned about the 
fit of the suit, hardly looked at the superhero. Wiping the 
goo from his hands with a towel that he then threw on a 
chair, the costumer began fiddling with the drape of the 
cape and never saw what Lois saw.

Clark looked fearfully at Lois. How could she not see it? 
What would she say?  

Lois stared through narrowed eyes at a Clark who had 
suddenly morphed into Superman right in front of her.

<It couldn't be! No, that was ridiculous.  He just looked a 
lot like Superman that was all. > They'd been through this 
before when Diana Stride had tried to expose Superman for 
that sensational news show, Top Copy. Clark and the super 
hero had proved her expos‚ was a lie. But there had been 
something strange about the way Superman had looked, 
floating in front of the face of the Daily Planet building.   
He had looked...kind of...out of focus... 

"Clark, cross your arms over your chest and look stern.  
You know what I mean, like when Superman is lecturing the 
bad guys."

<Lecturing?  He lectured the bad guys? > And if he followed 
her demand, she'd have to recognize him, wouldn't she?

"Clark!"

Well, either she'd recognize him or she wouldn't.  He 
didn't see any way out of it.  He folded his arms and 
looked stern.

Lois's heart fluttered.  It wasn't just a resemblance.  It 
was real.  <Clark is Superman!> She looked him up and down 
one more time.  There was no doubt about it.  She'd given 
Superman the surreptitious once-over too many times.  Clark 
fit Superman's mold in every way...*every* way.  She had 
expected a resemblance; Clark was pretty well built. But no 
one was a match for Superman. Except, Clark was. 

<Wow!  Double wow!>

How did she feel about this?  Clark had been deceiving her, 
and because of his deception she had made a fool of herself 
over Superman. She should be really, really mad, but she 
was still in shock with the revelation. She'd have to 
figure everything out later. Right this minute, she needed 
to do something, say something. Well, last night Clark had 
made it pretty clear that he was hers, and if he was, she 
didn't want anyone else, specifically Linda King, ogling 
him in that suit the way she just had. And, he had asked 
her to help him.

Lois heard her calm voice say, "That won't do. It's too 
small.  We need one several sizes larger."

It was Clark's turn to gape.  What was she talking about?  
This suit fit just like the ones at home. A larger size 
would probably wrinkle or at least sag a little.  

Mr. Blackwell was indignant.  "What do you mean 'too 
small'?  It's a perfect fit." He concentrated only on the 
suit, never looking at Clark's face, never seeing the total 
representation that Lois saw. "Anything larger would be a 
droopy disaster. I can't allow him to wear something from 
this shop that would fit that badly.  Have you no sense of 
style?  I have a reputation to maintain."

"Mr. Blackwell.  Norman," she purred, her smile deceptively 
friendly as she spoke.  "I'm the customer here, and I 
really don't care about your reputation.  I say it's too 
small, and unless you want to miss out on a rather 
substantial sale, you'll give me what I want. Otherwise you 
might find your reputation smeared all over tomorrow's 
edition of the Daily Planet."  Blackwell scurried away to 
the back room again. 

While Blackwell was gone, Clark put his glasses on, scooped 
up the towel from the chair and rubbed it over his hair, 
saying, "This stuff is awful.  I don't think I need it 
anyway, and I have to have my glasses, Lois, or I won't be 
able to move around without stumbling."

Until five minutes ago, she would have accepted his 
statement unquestioningly.  She was appalled at her 
gullibility.  He was out and out lying to her.  She thought 
Superman couldn't lie.  Maybe 'couldn't' wasn't the word.  
Maybe it should be 'didn't' unless things got inconvenient. 
She could work up a really good mad at him.  But not yet.  
They had too much to worry about.   

When Blackwell returned, Lois motioned for Clark to try on 
the new suit.  When he came out of the dressing room, she 
looked him over.  The difference was amazing.  He had 
wrinkles, he had droops, and his muscles appeared to have 
shrunk. Now he was an ordinary guy trying to look like 
Superman in an ill-fitting costume.  He was, in fact, 
Saggyman.

"That's pretty good.  That'll work. All right. Mr. 
Blackwell, we'll take it." In an imperious aside, she said, 
"Get dressed, Clark," as though he wouldn't know what to do 
himself.

While Clark dressed, he wondered why Lois had opted for the 
baggy suit, when she had been so obviously taken with the 
snug-fitting one. Could she be trying to help him? If so, 
why?  She'd been mad at him and hadn't been willing to 
help. Why had she changed her mind? If she had recognized 
him, she'd really be mad, and help would be out of the 
question.  Why would she do this? It was as though she 
didn't *want* him to win. 

And then it hit him.  She had just told him why.  Perry 
wanted him to win so he could write front-page articles 
about what it was like being Super Metro Man.  Front page 
articles with his byline and not Lois's. She would have to 
compete for page one space with all the other reporters, 
while he would have it handed to him with practically no 
effort on his part.  She was protecting her territory as 
top banana.  He had thought she'd lost her Mad Dog Lane 
approach to reporting rivalry where he was concerned.  They 
had become friends, and now, after last night, he'd been 
sure they were on their way to being more. But the ghost of 
Claude still hovered. She wasn't going to repeat her 
mistake and let a relationship get in the way of her career 
again. What had she just said?  "This is business." 

While she was, unwittingly, helping him, he still had a 
chance to tell her the truth, himself, and to make her see 
that she didn't need to worry about him using her to gain 
an advantage and grab page one space that she deserved. 
Getting it this way would be too dangerous, anyway. Looking 
in the mirror now, he was pretty sure that the odds against 
anybody thinking he was the real Superman had turned in his 
favor. 

Lois paid for the costume with her credit card, carefully 
tucking the receipt into her purse to be turned in for 
reimbursement back at the Planet comptroller's office. She 
accomplished these routine tasks automatically as her brain 
seethed with thoughts and emotions she wasn't sure she 
understood.

<Clark is Superman.> No matter how many times she told 
herself that, it remained startling and unbelievable.  How 
could she not have figured it out before?  And why hadn't 
he told her?

She reflected back on this morning and what he had said in 
her apartment.  "Lois, I'm Super".  Perry's call had 
interrupted, and ensuing events had completely distracted 
them both.  He had tried to tell her, but fate, manipulated 
by Linda King, had stopped him.  

She recalled Perry's greeting when they arrived at the 
conference room.  "Here he is, our own Superman."  No 
wonder he had looked so startled and, yes, scared.  She had 
thought he was distracted by Linda King, but he'd had 
something much more important on his mind. And afterwards, 
he had tried to approach her, but she had ignored him and 
refused to talk to him.  

She'd completely misunderstood when he had asked her to 
help him get out of the pageant. Of course, he wanted out.  
He was afraid the world would recognize him, the way she 
just had. 

She wasn't sure how she felt about his trickery, but she 
didn't have time to work that out now.  He needed her help, 
and she wasn't going to let him down.  She would have to 
throw up a lot of camouflage to keep Linda King off the 
track, but she would manage.  The saggy suit was a good 
start.

Right now, they had to get out of here so she could tell 
him what she had learned from her phone calls about Linda 
King and the pageant. But she wouldn't tell him what she'd 
discovered about him. Not yet.  She needed more time to get 
used to that.

++++++++++

In the week and a half before the pageant, Clark and Lois 
spent their time getting ready for the event.  Perry had 
channeled them away from investigative reporting to 
concentrate on the priority of making sure Clark would win 
the title of Super Metro Man.  

The two were together for long hours selecting a wardrobe 
at the Planet's expense and searching for Clark's 
apparently well-hidden talent. But Lois insisted they 
remain strictly professional. She wasn't ready to add the 
complication of their personal relationship to the 
situation. Not yet. 

"It's too bad it's the middle of summer, Clark.  You'd look 
really good in a tweed jacket and dark slacks for the 
interview, but it's too hot.  We've got to find something 
cool and tasteful that flatters your, ah, frame and will 
leave a good impression on the judges." She was sorting 
through a rack of jackets at Cool Guys, the favorite 
haberdashery for young Metropolis men.
 
"I thought the interview was about how intelligent and 
thoughtful the candidates are and how well they can express 
themselves, not how they look. That's what the brochure 
says."

She managed to suppress a snicker. "That's what the 
brochures always say, Clark.  Trust me.  The bottom line is 
how much the judges like the way you look."

"Oh, really.  And you would know that from the experience 
of competing in several pageants?"

"Of course not!" she replied indignantly. "But I covered a 
few in my cub reporter days. And yesterday, I interviewed 
the representative from Showtime Magic, the outfit that's 
putting on this extravaganza. You're gonna love him. But 
that's beside the point.  We've got to come up with 
something for you that's tasteful but sexy."

"You think I'm sexy in tweed?" he asked while mentally 
reviewing his wardrobe. 

"We're not talking about my opinion of what you wear. We're 
not talking about you, Clark. We're talking about you, 
contestant.   Stay with the program."

"Well, how about you, Lois and me, Clark, talk about us and 
your opinion of me personally over dinner tonight. Maybe we 
could -"

She interrupted.  "We don't have time for that now, Clark.  
Our news assignments for the next year are on the line 
here, and it's not a part of my career plan to get on a 
first name basis with poodles and basset hounds. Let's just 
concentrate on getting you a sharp ensemble." 

He sighed.  "We could always consult Mr. Blackwell."

"No way.  I'm sure we'll find something here at Cool Guys.  
In fact, what do you think of this?" she asked pulling out 
a lightweight camel blazer.

He turned instead to a navy blue one with gold buttons, and 
they teamed it with cream-colored slacks in a silk-linen 
blend.  He insisted that he had a nice shirt that matched 
the pants and that he really didn't need any more ties.

Next, they went to a tux shop and selected a traditional 
white tie and black tails for the opening night finale, 
and, then, finally, had to face up to the problem of his 
talent. He played no musical instrument.  She rejected 
singing after he demonstrated his difficulty in carrying a 
tune by himself.  He did have a talent for drawing but she 
couldn't quite figure out how to use that. 

They were standing in front of a sports shop in the mall, 
when a couple of kids Clark knew from his neighborhood 
stopped to say hello.  Clark asked how the playground 
basketball league was going, and one of the boys, answered, 
"It's okay, Clark, but we miss having you coach us.  And 
some of the new guys don't believe what you can do with a 
basketball. Mickey Jordan, here," he went on, pointing his 
thumb at his tall companion, "says nobody can do that."

"Oh, yeah?" Clark replied, going to a nearby display of 
basketballs just inside the shop entryway. Picking up one, 
he said, "Watch."  He began to manipulate the ball in a 
fast drill, dribbling between his legs, bouncing it from 
one hand to the other behind his back, spinning it on one 
finger and rolling it down the opposite arm to be picked up 
by that index finger and spun in the opposite direction.  
He dropped it, bounced it off his heel over his head and 
caught it behind his back, bouncing it back between his 
legs, catching it with his heel again and directing it into 
his hand.  It was a fast and complex routine that he did 
while half whistling a kind of monotone 'Sweet Georgia 
Brown' in double time. When he had finished, he looked over 
at the boys and asked, "What do you think now, Mickey?"

Watching his skillful movements, Lois realized that they 
had found his talent.  All they had to do was pick out an 
outfit for him to wear.  She envisioned black tight fitting 
bicycle shorts and tank top with black and red basketball 
shoes. The whistling left something to be desired, and he 
might go dry-mouthed at the moment of truth.  She'd get a 
looped tape of the tune, so they could just play it as long 
as needed. 

Saying goodbye to the boys, they went into the sports shop 
to purchase the talent costume.  When Clark tried on the 
bicycle shorts, he refused to wear them in the pageant, and 
Lois settled for looser fitting gym trunks. Just seeing him 
in the bicycle shorts had been enough to remind her that 
the audience would probably be almost all women. She wasn't 
interested in displaying any more of her partner to the 
female population of Metropolis than was absolutely 
required. There were some things about Clark Kent she 
wanted to keep for herself. Then there was the problem of 
the bimbo, tramp, slut's continuing attentions. Further 
encouragement, she didn't need. 

They left the mall, dropping their purchases at Clark's 
apartment on their way back to the Planet. While they 
weren't covering new in-depth investigations, they were 
still reporting on breaking news and putting in time 
writing fillers and giving a local angle to the wire 
stories that occupied a lot of any newspaper's white space.

Days hurried by, and as the Superman Super Hero Pageant 
opening night approached, they worked out a basketball act 
with eye-popping manipulations that ended with a backward 
slam-dunk into the net of a portable basketball goal that 
would be set up on the stage. They timed every move so that 
it worked perfectly with the music, and Clark was supposed 
to practice it for an hour each day.  Lois insisted that he 
spend another hour every day working out at a gym and a 
third hour running and skipping rope in preparation for the 
dance movements the contestants were required to be a part 
of. She frequently supervised him, so he actually followed 
through when she was around, even though Superman didn't 
really need to. 

He especially enjoyed the gym work when she would put on 
her exercise clothes and work out with him.  They would 
ride side-by-side on the training bikes, with her talking, 
at the same speed as the bikes, about their most recent 
stories or the latest city hall scandal.  After he had 
finished with the weights, he would spot her as she lifted 
them. Looking down at the movement of her pecs made him 
forget what he was supposed to be doing, so that, once or 
twice, he had to do a super move to keep a bar from falling 
on her. 

It was becoming more and more difficult for him to repress 
the sexual desire being so close to Lois generated. The one 
night they had released their emotions had opened the 
floodgates of his feelings for her. He wanted to hold her, 
kiss her, caress her lithe body, explore the miracle of 
being in love. Was she having those feelings, too? Then why 
did she keep him at arm's length?  Why wouldn't she let him 
kiss her? He had tasted ambrosia and he wanted more. These 
thoughts colored every minute with her, but so far, he 
didn't think they had affected their camaraderie as 
partners.

She wanted to help him with his interview, but he insisted 
he could manage that all by himself, unless she wanted to 
come over to his apartment and discuss it in depth. But 
having reveled in the tandem movements of their bodies so 
close, almost touching, she thought <Not yet, not yet> and 
remembered pressing matters elsewhere. 

Things were going smoothly between them and they were 
enjoying themselves, although neither would admit it. Under 
ordinary circumstances, this might have been a kind of 
romantic dating ritual in their flowering relationship. 
They were almost able to forget the approaching crisis, but 
there was always an underlying tension from the looming 
disaster. Even though they were always aware of what might 
happen, neither spoke about it.  They just wanted to be 
happy together. But romance had to wait.

The fly in the ointment, or as Lois thought of her, the 
snake in the grass, was Linda King, who kept trying to 
insinuate herself into their daily routine, slithering up 
to Clark at the gym, asking if his friend, Superman, was 
helping him prepare for the pageant. She showed up at the 
Planet during the final days to influence Clark, 
purportedly on behalf of Showtime Magic, to ask Superman to 
attend the final night of the pageant and crown Super Metro 
Man.  

"I don't think he would want to do that, Linda", Clark told 
her.  "I'm not sure he approves of this whole thing. And 
Metropolis criminals keep him pretty busy, you know."

Actually, the summer had been unusually quiet, and the 
police had handled almost everything without his help, but 
he had become very wary of Linda, and he wasn't going to 
tell her that. He hadn't trusted her since the day he and 
Lois had picked up his Superman costume, and Lois had told 
him everything she had found out from a few telephone calls 
to IN Weekly, the Metropolis Summer Festival office, and 
Showtime Magic Enterprises.  
++++++++++

"Clark, we have to be careful around Linda King. She's up 
to no good, and we can't trust her."

They were driving back to the Planet from Norman 
Blackwell's shop, and her annoyance with Linda made her 
usual weaving in and out between cars a little faster and 
more heart stopping as she cut closer corners and 
challenged stoplights. He was buckled in but as they 
careened through the streets, he frequently reached to 
steady himself with the safety handle above the door.

"Ugh!" He was thrown against the door as she made a sudden 
movement into another lane.  "Lois, what makes you think 
Linda isn't here for the reason she says she is?  She 
hasn't given us any reason to mistrust her."  

"You mean in the last five minutes? So far, since she's 
been here, she's manipulated Perry into putting you in a 
spot, taken her usual pot shots at me, and practically 
seduced you in front of the entire office staff.  Is that 
enough or should I go back into our mutual history?" She 
abruptly turned into an alley to avoid a line of cars 
stopped at a red light.

"Hunhh." He grabbed the bar over the door to keep from 
toppling into her. He took a deep breath and replied. 
"Okay, so you don't like her, but where's your proof that 
she's up to something underhanded?"

She jammed on the brakes to prevent running up the back of 
a garbage truck just exiting the alley. Clark rocked 
forward; then he lurched against the door as she made a 
quick swerve to the side, to get around the vehicle.

 "I checked out her story, Clark.  According to an old 
source at IN Magazine, they would have been satisfied to 
cover the Wonder Woman Super Hero Pageant right there in 
California, but Linda insisted it had to be the Superman 
pageant. And she persuaded the editor/publisher to hold 
space for the story and make arrangements for a rush prep 
for print so it could make the issue right after the 
pageant. He's a man, of course. Just her meat. According to 
the Summer Festival office they weren't that interested in 
adding the pageant to their activities this year, 
especially at the last minute, because they already had a 
pretty full schedule, but she called them and insisted that 
the magazine story would showcase the city and be great PR 
for the festival for next year. And Showtime Magic thought 
she was a pain in the neck, but she hooked up with Hughie 
Short, who, coincidentally, is now the pageant director, 
and convinced him that putting on a spectacle in Metropolis 
would be great for him, personally and publicity wise.  So 
do you still think she's here on an innocent assignment, or 
do you agree she's after something, and what do you think 
it is?"

She had maneuvered the Jeep in perfect coordination with 
the beat of her explanation and arrived at the parking 
garage, pulling into her designated spot. She turned off 
the key just as she looked directly at Clark to ask the 
final question.

++++++++++

He'd had no answer, but they had continued to speculate and 
take notice of Linda's activities in the ensuing days, as 
she kept bothering him about Superman.  Now here she was 
again.

"But Clark," she pouted. "It would make my story so much 
better.  Couldn't you help me out here and persuade him to 
participate?"  She was hanging on to him, looking into his 
face and batting her eyelashes. He had never found Linda's 
flirting particularly enticing, and he knew Lois was 
watching.  

"Linda, I, ah..."

"What he's trying to say Linda," said a charming Lois 
voice, "actually, what he's already said, is no, he won't 
ask Superman.  Which part of that do you not understand?"

"Lois," Linda said in fake surprise.  "I didn't see you.  
Slow news week for you?  I haven't seen your byline for 
quite a while."

"Well, be sure to read the Planet tomorrow, because my 
series on the Superman Super Hero Pageant is starting with 
an interview with Hughie Short, the pageant director. Oh, 
but, of course,  you knew he was in charge. In fact, I 
believe you know him quite well, don't you, dear?   Isn't 
the usual phrase, 'great and good friends'? How convenient 
for you."  Taking Linda's arm she steered her away from 
Clark. "It's been fun chatting like this.  Clark can't help 
you out, but I will. Let me see you to the elevator," and 
she hustled Linda up the bullpen ramp and on her way.

When she came back down the ramp, Clark said, "Whew! I 
don't want to get caught in the middle of that fencing 
match. A guy could get cut to ribbons."

"Don't worry, Clark.  I intend to keep that barracuda away 
from you as much as possible. I don't like the way she's 
always trying to devour you."

"And is that important to you, Lois?" Clark asked 
innocently. His eyes reached for hers and connected. As he 
stared into the black depths of her gaze, his face became 
serious and compelling. Drawn by the power of his 
intensity, she felt herself dropping into magical pools of 
unfathomable promise. <No! Too much, too much. Not yet.> 
She shifted her eyes away and broke the spell.  

 "I'll tell you later," she said snippily.

Back sitting at her desk, doing one last check of 
tomorrow's copy, she suddenly turned to Clark, saying, "Is 
it just me, or is she obsessively interested in getting 
Superman personally involved in this show?"

Clark stood and came over to sit on the corner of her desk. 
"No, I don't think it's just you.  She's got an agenda that 
revolves around Superman, and we need to find out what it 
is." After thinking for a moment, he said, "Let's review 
what we know. She breaks a big story and leaves here to 
write a screenplay about it in Hollywood. Then she goes to 
work for IN Weekly."

Lois jumped in. "Months pass and suddenly she comes back to 
Metropolis with this Superman obsession...I don't get it."

"Something must have happened that we don't know about. 
Didn't your source mention anything...?" 

Lois sat thinking for a moment. Suddenly alert, she 
exclaimed, "Clark, Diana Stride's big story! Do you think 
Linda saw that broadcast and believes that Superman does 
have another identity?" She had to be careful how she put 
this.  She didn't want him to know she knew who was who and 
what was what. "Someone besides you, of course, since you 
and Superman proved that. But someone else and she thinks 
she can find out who it is? You don't suppose she thinks 
she can coax Superman out, hypnotize him with her cheap 
allure, and finish what Diana started?  Could that be 
what's behind all this?"

Clark didn't like what he heard, but when they looked at 
each other, something clicked between them.  They nodded 
simultaneously. "It makes sense," he said. 

"That's gotta be it, Clark.  If Superman does have a secret 
identity, she'd have the story of the century, a sure 
Pulitzer. She doesn't care that it would damage Superman's 
life irreparably, not to mention the lives of people who 
are close to him. She wouldn't think twice about the ruin 
she'd leave in her wake."

"I think you're right, Lois.  That has to be why she's 
here, why she keeps bothering me about Superman." He paused 
and caught Lois's eye. "Would you care, Lois, if Superman 
was exposed?  He'd probably have to leave Metropolis and 
only come back to help out in emergencies."

She felt a chill. That was a circumstance she hadn't 
considered. If Superman were exposed, Clark would be, too.  
And if Superman had to leave, so would Clark. "Of course, I 
care, Clark.  Metropolis needs Superman." <And I need 
Clark!> "Not just for the crime fighting he does, but for 
the inspiration and example he gives to all of us." <Not to 
mention the inspiration and support Clark gives to me.>

"Yes, Superman is important...to... Metropolis." Clark 
looked at Lois thoughtfully for a moment, then continued,  
"Fortunately, he's impervious to the kind of thing Linda 
seems to specialize in, but I'll have to be, uh, I'll have 
to warn him so he can take extra precautions with her." 

He thought Lois looked at him strangely when she replied, 
"Yes, you'd better do that."  

 Lois's not knowing the truth about him was making him more 
and more uncomfortable.  It just wasn't right.  She 
deserved the truth, but it wasn't the right time or place 
to tell her.  

There hadn't been a right time or place since that morning 
in her apartment.  He wanted to speed up this whole thing 
and get the pageant over with so he could find an 
opportunity to be alone again with the woman he loved.  She 
deserved so much more than she was getting from him, and 
that had to change. Tomorrow, Friday, everything would 
begin to wind down, and after Saturday night, they could 
get back to what was important. 

As pageant day approached, Clark's anxieties - about not 
telling Lois the truth, about having his true identity 
revealed, about exposing parts of his anatomy he'd just as 
soon keep under wraps - pressed more and more on him. He 
wished for any kind of criminal outbreak to take his mind 
off what was coming.

++++++++++

Martha and Jonathan had immediately made plans to fly to 
Metropolis when Clark told them about the predicament he 
was in, and they arrived on Thursday morning to help in any 
way they could, especially to lend their support during the 
agony of the pageant.

"Clark, what on earth were you thinking?  How could you let 
yourself get roped into this?  Don't you realize how 
dangerous this is?" Martha scolded. 

Jonathan echoed Martha's fretful voice.  "Son, you can't 
play with your life this way!  You'll wind up in a 
government laboratory being -" 

"I know Dad, 'being dissected like a frog.'  Don't you 
think I've thought about all that?"

"Then why are you still here?" asked Jonathan.

"Because there's been a change in my life that I haven't 
told you about, yet, and leaving isn't that easy now."

Martha looked carefully at her son's face and said, "Clark, 
have you and Lois...?"

Clark smiled faintly at her.  "Is that a mother thing, or 
is it just a special knack you have of knowing what I'm 
about to tell you?  You're right.  Lois and I have 
become...are trying to become more than just partners to 
each other.  The night before Perry sprang this on me, 
we...well, let's just say that we both agreed that we care 
for each other and we're ready to take the next step."

"Does she know about Superman?" Martha asked.

"I tried to tell her the next morning, but Perry called, 
and before I knew it,  I was stuck in this silly pageant 
thing, and I haven't had a chance to...we really haven't 
had any quiet personal time since then.  I can't just 
casually say, 'Oh, by the way, Lois, I'm Superman.' I don't 
think she'd take that very well."  A smiling Martha nodded 
in agreement. "And, well, there just hasn't been a good 
time to tell her properly."

"So what's been going on that you haven't found the time?" 
Jonathan said.

"When we're not working at the Planet, we've been  getting 
ready for the pageant.  Lois helped me with my talent act, 
and we've been working out together at the gym...and she 
helped me with my wardrobe.  I have to dress like Superman, 
you know."

"Clark!"  His parents spoke simultaneously.

"When I first tried a costume on, it fit just like the one 
you made, Mom, and I could tell Lois liked it from the way 
she looked.  But then she did a funny thing. She said it 
was too small, and that I needed a larger one.  You should 
see what we ended up with. She helped without realizing it.  
Here I'll show you."

With that he spun into the droopy suit, and stood before 
Martha and Jonathan.

Martha looked at him and collapsed in a gale of laughter.  
Jonathan's face bore a broad smile.

"See what I mean?  I don't think anyone will see me as the 
real Superman when I'm wearing this."

Martha recovered to say, "And Lois did this, even though 
she doesn't know you're ...who you are?"

"That's right, Mom."

"You don't think she figured it out when she saw you in the 
suit that fit?" Jonathan asked.

"Well, at first, I thought she might have, but she hasn't 
said anything, and I don't think Lois would keep quiet 
about something like that.  She'd be too mad."

Martha looked thoughtful for a moment and then smiled a 
Cheshire grin.  "What time do you have to be at the 
rehearsal tomorrow?"

"Ten o'clock. Why?"

"Let's invite Lois over for blueberry pancakes beforehand.  
You'll need to fortify yourself for the day's trauma.  I 
assume she's picking you up?"

"Yes. I'll give her a call." 

That night, when Superman went for a spin around 
Metropolis, everything was quiet.  Apparently even the 
criminals were stuck in a lull, waiting for the blockbuster 
event to take place. 

Returning to his apartment, Clark was careful not to wake 
his parents in the bedroom, as he dropped on the couch to 
get some sleep. But he couldn't shake his worries. He'd 
been having recurring dreams for almost two weeks. Some 
were about his pageant fears, but the one that repeated 
itself most was of Lois as a contestant vying for the title 
of Miss Galaxy. He saw her strutting in a barely-there 
string bikini that lifted him a foot off the cushions he 
was lying on. Next she was demonstrating gymnastics in a 
sleeveless leotard that covered only her torso and 
dramatically emphasized her physical assets. And then she 
was undulating down the runway in that white gown he'd seen 
at Mr. Blackwell's shop; only this version had a slit up 
the side exposing one long leg to the top of her thigh. He 
would wake in a sudden panic when, in her interview, she 
suddenly became Linda King shouting that her greatest wish 
was to win a Pulitzer for revealing to the world that Clark 
Kent and Superman were one and the same. 

If this would just all be over, he was going to get Lois 
alone, tell her everything and hope they could get close to 
that intimacy threshold again. He was feeling less and less 
reluctant about crossing it, as he spent every day with 
her, getting to know her in ways other than as his 
reporting partner.
 
Lois, too, was restless the night before the pageant 
opening. For days she had been debating with herself about 
her feelings toward Clark/Superman.  She was mad at him for 
not telling her who he really was.  He was a worm...worse 
than a worm...he was slime...not just any slime.  Slug 
slime.  Slug slime from a slug that crawled out of the 
Metropolis Waste treatment overflow swamp all the way 
uptown to the Daily Planet.  A long ugly trail of sewer 
slug slime needing the biggest, heaviest, roughest street 
sweeper Metropolis owned to scour it away. A giant Brillo 
pad. 

But then she thought about how frightened he'd looked when 
he thought everyone would find out he was Superman.  How 
much he needed her to help him preserve his secret through 
this crisis, even though he didn't know she knew who he 
was.  How he'd kept trying to get her to talk about their 
relationship.  The way he looked at her when he didn't 
think she was noticing.  And how really good he looked in 
the white tie and black tails, and the black exercise 
shorts, and especially the suit.  Well, not the suit they'd 
ended up getting.  It bagged just enough to be almost 
laughable, but it would protect him from being recognized, 
because if anybody saw him the way she had in that first 
snug-fitting costume, it would all be over. Clark Kent 
would have to disappear, and she didn't want that, not 
until they'd had a chance to...not until she told him...not 
until they'd figured out their relationship and where it 
was going. 

She just wanted this whole thing to be over so she could 
get Clark alone somewhere, and they could talk. Just a 
little more time to get used to the Superman thing was all 
she needed, and then maybe they could get close to that 
intimacy threshold again.  

The more she was with him, knowing that he was Superman, 
the more confused she became. She wanted to explore various 
approaches to the threshold with him, and yes, she believed 
she was feeling less reluctant about crossing it. But was 
she having those feelings about Clark, or because she knew 
Clark was Superman? She had fallen in love with Clark and 
given up her fantasy of Superman.  Now she had to reconcile 
her feelings for two men who were the same...weren't they? 
Was she supposed to be in love with both of them?  She 
wished she had someone she could talk to about it. She 
needed time...

When Clark had called to say that Martha and Jonathan had 
arrived and wanted her to come over early the next morning 
for blueberry pancakes, she was surprised to find that she 
felt relieved.  It was only then that she realized what 
tension she had felt in walking the fine line between doing 
what Perry had ordered her to do and doing what she wanted 
to do - protect Clark.  Now his parents would be there to 
share some of that responsibility.

 Friday morning came without an earthquake destroying 
Metropolis and canceling the pageant. Lois crawled from her 
tumbled bed and prepared to look her best for Clark's 
parents and the pageant bystanders, especially Linda King. 

Arriving at Clark's, she found Martha busy with breakfast, 
as Jonathan talked with Clark about the day's activities. 
After saying hello to the two men, Lois went into the 
kitchen to see if she could help.

"Martha, hi.  I'm glad you've  come.  Clark's pretty 
nervous about all this."

"Lois, it's nice to see you too.  Yes, Clark's told us all 
about what he's been doing for the last two weeks, and how 
you've been helping him. He said Perry wants to be sure 
he'll win."

"Oh, well, you know Perry.  He thinks if Clark wins, it'll 
sell a lot of newspapers." Lois didn't want to get into too 
much detail about the ways she'd been helping Clark. "What 
can I do to help *you*?"  She looked around. "How about if 
I set the table."

Martha was watching her carefully, taking in her nervous 
manner, and attempts to divert the topic of conversation. 
"Thank you, dear.  That would be nice. Clark said you've 
been working out together at the gym and that you helped 
him with finding a talent."

Lois took the plates down from the cupboard and set them on 
the table, avoiding Martha's eyes. "Yes, well, he has to be 
in good shape for the contests.  Is there juice in the 
fridge?"  Still not looking at Martha, she opened the 
refrigerator and found a jug of orange juice. 

"I'm sure figuring out his talent was difficult. And 
choosing a wardrobe couldn't have been easy."

Lois finished putting silverware on the table and began 
searching for napkins. "Oh, it was pretty standard stuff."

Martha was turning bacon and sausage in a skillet as she 
said casually, "Clark showed us the Superman costume you 
picked out."

 "Aha! Found 'em!" Lois said, taking the napkins from a 
drawer, folding them and placing them on the table.

Martha turned and called out, "Clark, I don't think you 
have any Maple syrup.  Would you and Jonathan go to the 
market on the corner and get some?"

"Sure, Mom," answered Clark.  "It'll just take a second."

"See if they have the kind we like - MacDonald's dark 
amber.  It's Canadian."

"We'll look for it, Martha," Jonathan chimed in.

Lois finished filling the juice glasses and put the orange 
juice back in the refrigerator.  As she was about to close 
the door, she spotted an almost full bottle of Maple syrup 
in the back.  "Martha, I found some.  Clark -" she said 
loudly. 

Martha interrupted whispering, "No Lois, let them go.  We 
need to talk."

"Lois, did you need something?" Clark queried.

Staring at Martha, Lois answered, "Nnnno-o-o, just...you 
can use my car if you want."

"That's okay, it's not far.  Dad wants to stretch his legs, 
anyway.  We'll be right back."  

The door to the apartment closed behind the two men, 
leaving Lois and Martha staring at each other.

"That Superman suit is much too big, Lois.  In fact, it's 
laughable.  Did you really think you were helping Clark win 
by putting him in that?"

"Why, Martha, I don't know what you mean?" Lois answered 
evasively. "He looks perfect in that suit."

"Lois, he modeled it for us.  It's perfect if you don't 
want him to look very much like Superman.  Is that why you 
chose it?"

"Why wouldn't I want him to look like Superman?  Why 
wouldn't I want him to win? Perry will have me on the 
library board beat if he doesn't."

Martha watched Lois who was unnecessarily rearranging 
plates and table implements, avoiding her gaze. Carefully 
weighing her next words, she finally said, "You figured it 
out, didn't you?"

"What?"

"You know what I mean.  When you saw him in the suit that 
fit, you figured it out."

"Martha, I really don't have any idea what you're talking 
about."

"Lois, look at me! I know you know.  I know you're trying 
to help him so that people won't recognize who he is, and I 
love you for that.  Putting him in that saggy suit was pure 
genius.  But why didn't you tell him?"

Lois gave up her pretense. "Don't you think he should tell 
me?  He tried once but we were interrupted.  I think he 
wants to tell me himself, and to tell you the truth, with 
all of this going on, I don't think either of us is ready 
to confront that now.  I haven't figured out how I feel 
about it. I need some time to get used to it, and Clark is 
upset by this Superman carnival. "

"But Clark said that you two had...."

"Yes, well, sort of.  It's all so complicated."

Martha was distracted for a moment with removing bacon and 
sausage from the skillet; then taking Lois's arm she moved 
her to the couch.  "He loves you, you know.  I don't know 
how long he's known it, but Jonathan and I knew the first 
time he told us about you.  He'd never talked about any 
girl that way before.  But if you aren't sure about how you 
feel about him...."

"I was very sure about my feelings for Clark...but he lied 
to me...and getting used to the idea that whenever I 
thought I was talking to Superman, I was really talking to 
Clark...and this whole pageant thing...it's just too much 
all at once."

"So your feelings for Clark have changed because he's 
Superman?" Martha shook her head in concern. "I'd hoped 
that wouldn't happen. That's what he's always been afraid 
of, you know - that if people knew who he really was they 
would think of him as an alien and treat him differently. 
That he would always be an outsider and alone."

"Oh, no Martha, no," protested Lois with tears in her eyes. 
"I could never think of him that way.  I love him. That's 
why I'm helping him.  I just need some time."

"Then tell him that you love him. And make him tell you.  
You can get through this silly pageant and anything else as 
long as you hold on to each other.  Loving one another is 
the important thing.  You can work out the little details 
later."

Smiling wanly through her tears, Lois nodded.  "Thank you, 
Martha," she whispered.

Martha and Lois were hugging each other as the door opened 
and Jonathan and Clark came in with the Maple syrup.

++++++++++

Clark strode into the Kennedy Center Auditorium curious to 
see if anyone he knew was also a participant, but before he 
had a really good look, one of the pageant assistants 
snatched him away to fit his costume for the muscle display 
event.  Hughie Short had decided, in the interest of 
fairness, that the contestants' apparel would be identical 
so that clothing would not distract from what should be the 
focus of the display.

In a corner backstage, someone handed Clark  a black knit 
garment about the size of two dinner napkins.  He shook it 
out to full size and stood speechless with dismay. Behind 
him, he heard a voice that he recognized.

"Clock.  Vat to you tink of dis idea off vearing 
feightliftehs uni fohms? I tink dey vit fery nizely, 
myself."

Clark turned to see Harold Schnerzenberger, Metropolis's 
perennial contender for Mr. Universe, whose body building 
dedication was renowned around the world.  A sometime actor 
in carefully chosen action roles, he had recently been 
appointed by the President to head the National Council for 
Fitness.

Schnerzenberger was wearing the two-napkin suit and 
posturing in different muscle poses before a full-length 
mirror.  Clark stood aghast at the idea of having to 
display himself the way Mr. Muscle was.

Over Harold's shoulder Clark could see Lois, who had 
followed him backstage.  From her vantage, she had a view 
of  both the front and back of the body builder. Clark 
didn't like the look on her face or the interest of her 
gaze.  "Lois, could I speak with you for a moment?"

"Vat's de mattuh, Clock? Afrait ov de combedition?" 
Schnerzenberger sneered, displaying an assurance of 
superiority.     

"What competition?" Clark shot back with a lot more 
confidence than he felt. 

"Sure, Clark. What do you want to talk to me about?" The 
emotions he was feeling were plain on his face, and Lois 
recognized his distress. She touched his arm, saying, "Come 
on. Let's get some air."  

As they walked away a chortled, "Girly baby," drifted after 
them. Lois grabbed Clark's arm, as he started to turn 
around, and urged him along to the exit door.  They stepped 
out onto a sunny tarmac teeming with deliverymen and 
stagehands.

Glancing around, she directed Clark to an out-of-the-way 
corner of the building.  Placing her hand on his chest, she 
asked, "What is it, Clark?"

"Lois, you've got to get me out of this.  I can't wear this 
thing,'" he gestured with the costume in his hand, "in 
front of thousands of people gawking at my...at me.  Do you 
know what I'd look like?"

<Mmmm, I'd buy a ticket to see that.> was the thought that 
leaped into her brain,  but she didn't like the idea of 
everyone else ogling him like that anymore than he did. 
However, if Perry wanted him to compete, he had to wear 
that thing.  

Clark went on.  "I'd feel dirty and violated.  You 
understand that don't you?"

"Well, Harold didn't seem to mind wearing it.  I didn't 
think it looked so awful on him."

"I noticed what you thought about the way he looked, and 
that's exactly what I'm talking about. Dirty and violated."

She reddened slightly as she ducked her head, looking away 
and smoothing her hair.  "So I appreciate the way a man is 
built." She defiantly returned her gaze to his. "Most women 
do.  That's why they'll fill this auditorium tonight."

"Will they all salivate the way you were?  I don't want to 
be the object of that kind of...of..." He searched for a 
word. "Lasciviousness!"

"Lasciviousness? You've been reading a thesaurus again, 
haven't you? Do you mean you object to being stared at the 
way you and Jimmy were staring at the women in the Miss 
Universe contest on TV the other night?  Do you mean you 
don't want the kind of remarks made about you that the two 
of you were making? I guess you have a double standard just 
like all the other guys." Chin jutting out, she pushed her 
finger aggressively against him.

"This is different, Lois."

"It always is."

"Look, the other night was...it didn't mean anything.  It 
was something that just kind of got started and ran away 
with us. We were just...like...trying to top each other, 
the way guys do. It was a game. The contestants weren't 
real people."

"Oh, I see.  They were just objects for you to ridicule."

He realized he had said the wrong thing.  He tried to 
backtrack. "No, no.  You know I don't think of women that 
way.  We were looking at figures on a screen; they weren't 
real, not like somebody we actually know."

"So if it had been your sister, or me, you wouldn't have 
said those things.  But because they were strangers that 
made it okay?"  She was gathering steam.

"I don't have a sister, and you would never participate in 
a beauty pageant, so there's no way to answer that. Look, 
we're getting sidetracked here. Just help me get out of 
this. We can fight later."

She exhaled and stepped back. "I don't want to fight with 
you, Clark." She knew she was getting carried away. They 
needed to focus on the present.  Later, would bring what it 
would bring.  She took a deep, calming breath and 
continued, "But I don't see how you can get out of this, 
unless you want to resign from the Planet.  If you walk 
away from competing, Perry will never understand, and our 
names will be at the top of the list for every rotten 
assignment on the board. I don't know how long it would 
take us to get out of his doghouse.  You're just going to 
have to suck it up and do this.  Let's just get it over 
with."

"Our, we, us? You're not going to be up on that stage."

"No, not in actuality, but I'll be with you in spirit, all 
the way." She patted his arm in a comforting manner. 

"Don't patronize me, Lois.  You may be with me in spirit, 
but it's my body they'll be eyeballing, and me they'll be 
laughing at in that saggy suit."

 "Clark, if I could be up there with you, I would. Whatever 
one of us does, the other backs them up, okay?  We're still 
partners, you know."

"Is that all we are, Lois?  Just partners?"

"We need to talk about that." She paused, thinking. "Go 
inside and try on that costume.  If you don't like the way 
it fits, see if you can get one that's just a little roomy.  
If that can work once, it might work twice.  After your 
rehearsals are over, we can grab some takeout and go to my 
place.  We need to get some things out in the open - things 
you need to tell me, things I need to tell you.  Then maybe 
we can relax a little before tonight." 

He was trying to sort out what she meant about how getting 
a roomier size worked once, when, for the first time since 
the whole nightmare began, she put her arms around him and 
gave him a light kiss. Promptly forgetting her remark, he 
tried to embrace her and extend the kiss, but she stepped 
away from the circle of his arms and hurried to the 
auditorium door.  He had no choice but to follow. 

Inside they made their way back to the assistant assigning 
costumes, and Clark requested a larger size to try on. 
Harold Schnerzenberger had disappeared, but Lois noticed 
other contestants were gathering for the rehearsal.  She 
groaned inwardly, as she recognized someone she knew.

"Yo, Lo! Long time, no see.  Where ya been hanging?" 
 
Fiorello Fallone was a figure from Lois's past that she'd 
hoped she'd never see again.  He had been a fighter out of 
Menken's gym, one of Allie Dinello's attempts to turn a 
sow's ear into a silk fight-purse, but he'd never made it 
in the ring.  He had attempted a lot of other venues for 
celebrity, the most successful being in action movies that 
needed a lot of muscle, little talk and no brainpower.  He 
continued. "Hey, yera realbabe now.Whooda thoughta 
shrimplikeyou could getso goodlookin'." His voice was low 
and he spoke in a swift monotone, slurring his words and 
making it difficult for the un-initiated to understand him.  
No one would ever accuse him of having taken elocution 
lessons. 

"Oh, thank you, Fly.  How sweet of you to say so." Lois 
knew Fallone wouldn't recognize the sarcasm.  "Are you here 
as one of the contestants?"

"Contestants? There'snocontest.  S'alreadydecided. 
Yerlookn'at SUPERMETROMAN.  RIGHT. HERE. ME!"

His shouts attracted the attention of people all over the 
room, including Clark who eyed the pair with curiosity.

"What gives you the edge, Fallone?" It was really hard to 
suppress her dislike for the man, but she was doing her 
best to treat it as an interview. "There are some pretty 
sharp guys here, including Harold Schnerzenberger."

"Schnerzenberger, Chickenburger.  Hec'nbe  onabun 
witcheese. He's still. dead. meat. Da resta deseguys er 
patherticlosers.  Hey. Listendoll. AfterIwin, come aroun'.  
I'llshowya agoodtime."

She flinched, but answered in a cajoling manner.  "Oh, 
well, thank you Fly, but you won't have time for little me 
when you're Super Metro Man."  

"Yerright.  There'llbe plentya dames hangin'roun'.  
Prollybuilt better'nyou too.  Don'tsweatit,babe.  Maybe one 
ada losers'll takeya. Seeya later."

As Fallone shuffled away, Clark came over to Lois. "Are 
there any muscle-bound neanderthals in Metropolis you don't 
know? When did you and Fly Fallone get to be such good 
friends?"

She rolled her eyes. "Never! I can't stand the jerk."

"Well he seemed to think you're pretty close.  Where did 
you meet him?"

"Remember Menken's gym and Allie Dinello.  When I was a 
kid, I hung around helping Allie.  Fallone was the leader 
of a litter of very macho pigs that wallowed there.  I was 
so skinny they didn't even think about me as a girl.  I was 
just some gofer for them to boss around."

Clark was looking at Lois trying to imagine anyone not 
knowing that she was a girl. Lois spotted him from the 
corner of her eye. "Stop that, Clark."

"Hey, you're getting your share of viewing here! Anyway, I 
don't believe anyone could ever forget you're a girl."

She smiled smugly. "Just so long as you don't." They made 
eye contact. He felt himself pulled toward her, and he 
extended his hand to make the contact physical. She backed 
away, and from far off, she heard her shaken voice saying, 
"A-as I was saying, they thought I was just another gofer 
and paid no attention to me." Her breath became even again.  
"They just went right ahead with their profanity and 
obscene stories as though I wasn't there.  Is that some 
kind of male bonding thing?  Guys have to see who can swear 
the worst or tell the story that demeans women the most?  I 
can tell you I didn't miss him or his friends a bit when I 
got outta there."

"Sounds like a terrible experience for a kid.  But you seem 
to have hung on to an appreciation for porcine contours."

"It was awful, Clark, but if you think you're going to 
embarrass me into ignoring pulchritude when I see it, you 
can just run off and snuffle in the mud with the rest of 
the swine."

"Now who's been reading a thesaurus," he accused. As she 
was about to reply, the stage manager called the 
contestants for rehearsal.  Clark went to the stage; Lois 
sat in the auditorium.  She watched for a while as the men 
were lined up and shown how to enter and where to walk.  It 
was quite boring, and while she would have liked to wait 
around to hear the singing practice, she decided to go in 
search of something more interesting for the next 
installment of her series on the selection of Super Metro 
Man.

++++++++++

In the executive suite on the top floor of the building, 
Hughie Short was sitting behind the desk talking with an 
angry woman, wearing worn jeans and a dragon T-shirt,  who 
was confronting him.  "Take it easy, Sheri.  I'm giving you 
a great opportunity."

"You listen to me, Hughie.  You got me here because I 
thought we were going to shoot another Electronic Hut 
commercial.  Now you tell me you want me to be a judge in a 
Superman contest? I don't do Superman any more, Hughie.  I 
thought you understood that."

Short adjusted his glasses and shifted his wiry frame in 
the chair.  Sheri Thrasher might appear to be petite and 
fragile, but when she wanted to, she could stand a lot 
taller than her five foot six and even intimidate an ex-
football player as big as he was.

"Sheri, it's great publicity, and lord knows you can use 
some right now.  The networks didn't exactly jump all over 
your sitcom pitch, and all those off-the-map movies you 
make are still looking for a distributor.  You can pick up 
a nice piece of change for a couple of nights of waving at 
the crowd and smiling at a camera that's sending that 
gorgeous face out to a billion people. Then we'll do our 
commercial. What more could you want?"

  "To stay the hell away from anything involving the name 
Superman. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get people 
to think of me as an actress instead of a babe in 
distress?"

"Hey, it's built in popularity, so milk it instead of 
ignoring it.  It could be a great gig for you, and who 
knows what might come out of it. C'mon, you'll love it."

She thought for a moment, then asked shrewdly, "How many 
judges are there?"

"Just two.  You and a guy, so you'll really be the center 
of attention. A billion people. All over the world."

She regarded him suspiciously. "Who's the guy?  You're not 
trying to team me up with Keane Blaine again, are you? 
We've had an agreement.  No more appearances together, 
especially one associated with Superman!"

"Would I do that to you?  It's some fancy pants doctor who 
likes to cook.  He's older than I am.  Now I ask you, 
who're they gonna look at, you or some old guy in an apron.  
Think of it.  Paparazzi chasing you again. Another guest 
appearance on Leno. Maybe you'll get another magazine 
cover. Maybe even IN Weekly." He watched her slyly. She was 
wavering.  "That'd be great, wouldn't it?  And I know for a 
fact that several movie producers, A-list movie producers, 
are gonna be here."  That sold it.

"Okay Hughie, but if Keane shows up, you're dead!"

"I thought you two had a thing for each other."

"'Had', Hughie, 'had'.  I haven't seen him since the series 
was canned.  We have different lives now.  I made that 
mistake a long time ago."

"So how are you and darling Don getting along?"

She spoke as though repeating a catechism. "For the record, 
I have a beautiful daughter, I love my husband very much, 
and we're a very happy family.  Now where am I staying?"

He gave her a keycard for a suite at the Metropolis Lexor 
and called the limousine service.  "The limo is already 
downstairs waiting.  See you back here tonight.  Look 
glamorous."

She gave him a scathing look and went out the door, pushing 
on her sunglasses so she wouldn't be recognized.

As soon as she left, Linda King came from an adjacent room 
and stood looking through a glass window that offered a 
vista of the activities taking place on the stage below. 
"That's quite a collection of Metropolis muscle down 
there."

Hughie Short got up to stand beside her. "Yes, we have 
Harold and Fly and you managed to get Clark Kent here.  But 
you don't have Superman, yet. How can we expose his true 
identity, if he isn't here?"

"Oh, he's here.  I told you.  Clark Kent is Superman, and 
when he's selected as Super Metro Man, we'll expose him."

"Well you'd better have a lot more evidence than you have 
now.  If you don't catch him in the act of changing from 
one to the other and get it on film, your whole plan is 
microwave toast."

"Don't worry, Hughie dear, I'll get it, and Lois Lane won't 
stop me. She thinks she's a better reporter than I am, but 
she doesn't even know what's going on right under her 
nose."

At that moment it so happened, Lois Lane's nose was poking 
through a crack in the door that Sheri Thrasher had left 
slightly ajar, and Lois's ears picked up every word that 
was being said.  She struggled to suppress an indignant 
snort at Linda's final remark, then hurried away as Linda 
began kissing Hughie to distract him from their 
conversation. "Don't fret about it, Hughie. Everything will 
be all right.  I guarantee it. And I always deliver." 
Linda's hands, as well as her mouth, were busy, and Hughie 
forgot about anything else except what Linda was doing to 
him.

Lois didn't want to watch a demonstration of the depths to 
which Linda would sink to get her way, and she could hear 
music so she hurried downstairs to the auditorium.       

The men on the stage might have muscle, but they, 
apparently, lacked grace and, in some cases, rhythm.  The 
choreographer, who had been trying to teach them some 
elementary dance moves, finally threw up his hands and 
worked out a simple march that required no more than 
putting one foot down in front of the other in time to the 
pageant theme song.  

Next the music director handed out the words to the song 
and had the orchestra play it through several times until 
the group could speak the words at the right places with 
the note changes.  Finally they tried an actual sing-along.  
Lois thought it was pretty awful.  Some of the contestants 
were actually going to sing as their talent, but most of 
them, like Clark and Harold, badly needed help hitting the 
notes.  On the other hand, Fly, while his words were 
unintelligible, had a pleasant and tuneful baritone. The 
music director, having worked the pageant circuit for 
years, wisely had a male chorus waiting in the wings.  

While they were vocalizing, Lois headed out to the car to 
get her laptop and call in a part of her story to the 
Planet. She would finish it at the end of the evening and 
relay it for Saturday's paper. Before she left she caught 
Clark's eye and mouthed for him to meet her outside when he 
was finished.

++++++++++

A disgruntled Clark ran down the steps and found the jeep, 
with Lois in it, waiting for him.  "That opening musical 
number is embarrassingly terrible," he complained.  "Most 
of the guys are about as musical as I am, and that song 
would still be bad even if we could sing it. Fly loves it.  
He can sing and move like a natural. Harold's voice is 
pretty bad, but he has a plodding sense of rhythm. Lois, 
why is it that some people can carry a tune and others 
can't?  I love music.  I sing in the shower all the time, 
but I can't seem to catch on to that pageant song. I'm 
going to make a fool of myself in front of the whole 
world!"

Lois put the car in gear and drove away as she said, "Don't 
worry about it.  You have many other qualities that more 
than make up for your lack of musical skill.  When you want 
music, I'll sing to you." She patted his hand comfortingly. 

"You're patronizing me again.  Where's that support you 
were talking about, Partner."

"I'm not patronizing you.  I meant every word.  You're very 
accomplished in other areas, and believe me, I'd rather you 
have those than a great musical talent."

"For example?"

She slid her eyes sideways. "Later, Clark.  Later."  
Silence settled in until she said, "Let's get some food.  
What do you want? Pizza, Thai, Chinese?"  He made no reply. 
"Mexican?" she prodded.  

"I don't really care," he mumbled listlessly.  "I'm not 
very hungry."

This time she looked directly at him.  He looked unhappy 
and disheartened.  His hands kept clutching and stretching 
the weightlifter's suit he had brought with him. 

"Okay," she said.  "How about if I make dinner. The 
Creative Cook at the paper had an interesting recipe last 
night for fried chicken that looked pretty easy. It uses 
flour, cream soda and balsamic vinegar to make a batter.  
We can stop at the market-"
 
 "No!"  As she had expected, he interrupted her with 
desperation in his voice and a frantic look in his eye.  
"Pizza sounds great." Pause. "You...you're probably tired 
from today.  I don't want you to have to go to any trouble.  
And we don't have a lot of time before I have to go back."

Hiding her smile, she said, "You're right.  We need to 
talk, and you need to get some rest. Pizza it is."

They ate the pizza while sitting on the couch watching the 
news. After clearing the dishes, she sat him down again, 
gave him a glass of wine and waited expectantly for him to 
speak.  He drummed his fingers on the couch, fiddled with 
his wine glass, picked up a magazine and discarded it, 
examined a CD lying on the coffee table, 

"Clark!"  She stopped him from rearranging the couch 
pillows.  "Was there something you were going to tell me 
last time you were here?"

He stood up and walked away and then walked back.  She was 
looking at him with great, beautiful expectant eyes.  How 
was he going to say this?  Once he told her, she'd probably 
be so mad she would pre-empt the suspense of the pageant 
and announce to the world, herself, that he was Superman. 
He wondered just how much deception his partner would 
overlook. 

"Are you going to tell me or not?" She waited. His brain 
was in turmoil. "Lois, I...I..." What was the best way to 
say it? He was tongue-tied. 

She sighed.  "Okay, I'll tell you.  You're Superman." Her 
manner was offhand, but the words hit him like A-bombs. 

"Lois?  You know?"  He waited for an explosion, fallout. 
She just looked steadily at him. 

"When did you figure it out?  Why aren't you mad? You're 
going to torture me now and kill me later, aren't you?"

She smiled. "How could I not have figured it out when you 
put on that Superman costume at Blackwell's shop?  I know 
I've been blind for a pretty long time, but I'm not stupid.  
Don't you understand that's why I had him give you the 
saggy suit?  Once you put that on, you didn't look very 
much like Superman any more."

"You knew and you still wanted to help me? Why?"

"That's why I wanted us to talk. I thought you wanted to 
tell me that you were Superman-"

"I did." He hung his head.

"And I wanted to tell you that I love you. I'm not happy 
that you kept that secret from me, but in a way, I'm glad 
you did because I think it would have been harder for me to 
fall in love with Clark if I'd known he was Superman."

"Harder?"

"Yes.  I might not have looked past the suit and noticed 
you and how important you are to me.  I might not have seen 
that the real you is much more endearing and lovable than a 
god-like superhero." She paused and then added wistfully, " 
I might not have discovered how wonderful you are."

"You think I'm wonderful?"  He looked at her in pleased 
surprise.

"Of course I do, you lunkhead.  I'm in love with you."

"You sure have a funny way of showing it sometimes."

"What do you expect?  If I let you know all my secrets 
you'd get bored with me and run away...as if you didn't 
already do enough of that. I have to keep you in line some 
way."

"Believe me, getting bored isn't even a possibility.  But 
why didn't you tell me that you knew?"

"For the same reason you didn't tell me that you're 
Superman. Things have just been too crazy, and the 
circumstances didn't seem right.  I probably wouldn't be 
telling you now, except that Martha helped me see how badly 
you needed my love to help you through tonight and 
tomorrow."

They had been gradually moving toward each other, and Clark 
slipped an arm around her waist. She placed both hands on 
his chest and looked up at him, uncertainly.  Then slowly, 
little by little, first one hand and then the other made 
its way up and around his neck until they joined.  Her head 
tilted as his lowered, and their lips hesitantly sought 
each other.  The first kiss was light and unsure.  Then he 
swept her into his arms, releasing all the love and passion 
he had been holding in check.  She responded, clasping him 
to her, surrendering her defenses and allowing him to know 
all she felt for him, thinking, <Why do you need to sing 
when you can kiss like this?>

They stood against each other, losing themselves in the 
emotional turmoil their longing had unleashed.  He felt her 
warmth and softness, and he wanted to become one with her, 
to hide from the pageant and all its attendant worry, 
forget the world's perils, and be safe forever - with her.

Their kiss deepened, and Lois felt herself gradually 
slipping away.  Self-determination and will no longer 
existed.  She was caught in a maelstrom she could neither 
understand nor control. She had hated Claude for seducing 
her, pretending to love her and making it impossible for 
her to say no to him.  But now she knew that he hadn't 
seduced her. She had allowed him to take her; she could 
have stopped him had she chosen to. He had simply led her 
into doing what she wanted to do.  She understood that now 
because this was what it was really like to be helpless 
against the tumultuous storm of a consuming love. This was 
seduction in its purest form - a force so inevitable that 
there was no possibility of resistance.  She and Clark were 
being swept into a whirlwind from which there was no 
escape, and she couldn't imagine a better fate than to be 
caught in inexorable passion with him.

They were on the conch with no memory of how they came 
there, bodies touching, tongues introducing themselves, 
hands exploring.
 
She felt Clark's lips trailing butterfly kisses down the 
side of her neck, touching off shivers of pleasure she 
didn't want to stop. She unbuttoned his shirt, and, pushing 
her hands across his bare chest, grasped the garment and 
pulled it off his shoulders, away from his body.  

Where they touched, heat scorched through clothing, 
suffusing skin, bare or covered, through capillaries and 
nerves, prickling and tingling, turning curiosity into 
want, want to desire, desire to need. 

His hands were gentle, softly moving across her like a 
barely heard whisper, light, almost indiscernible. <Touch 
me,> she thought.  <Oh, god, please touch me.> She strained 
upward, wanting to feel his mouth again, to feel those 
feathery kisses across her bare skin. "Take me to bed, 
Clark," she whispered. "Make love to me."

He raised her in his arms and the two of them floated into 
the bedroom where he placed her gently on the bed. His 
mouth dropped on hers in a long, heated kiss. At first his 
lips were puckered as he drew on hers, sucking them into 
his, then his mouth began to relax and open, his tongue 
pushing to enter her tongue's dwelling. 

She lay, head back, eyes half closed, unable to reason, 
only feel. She wanted to cry.  There had never been such a 
feeling in the world.  It couldn't have existed until now, 
or no one would ever do anything but this.  
       
She thought she would go insane if he did not ease the 
yearning that was becoming unbearable.  Her body was 
vibrating like a piano played by a master.  She didn't want 
the playing to end. She wanted it to escalate to a 
crescendo of heart stopping ecstasy. 

<Is this happening?> she thought. <Can this be real?>  No 
man had ever been able to make her feel this way.  How many 
women had Clark done this to?  She wanted to sit up, to 
stop him, to demand to know how and where he had learned 
these touches that were driving her wild, but her stomach 
muscles were too weak, everything in her boneless body 
focused on the delicious feel of his mouth and his hands. 

"Don't stop, Clark," she begged.  "Oh, god, don't stop."

"Lois," he asked hoarsely. "Are you sure? It's risky; I 
don't have any protection." 

"I want you Clark," she pleaded.   "You don't need to 
protect me.  I take care of myself."

He fleetingly wondered why she would always be protected, 
but then forgot everything except that she was beneath him, 
waiting for him, wanting him.

Looking down at her, he began to lose himself, letting the 
sensation of touching her wash over him.  The room, the 
light, the air swirled around them in a tornado of color 
and sound. In a juncture that shattered molecules and 
called forth the aurora borealis, they became one. There 
was no heaven or earth, no yesterday or tomorrow, only 
here, this moment, and the two of them melded into one. 

Afterwards, lying together, silent, unwilling to leave the 
new world they had created, they held each other, 
continuing to touch and caress, lips and hands expressing 
what they could not yet say. Finally, breathing became 
measured, hearts beat steadily, and the real world came 
back into focus. It was time for words again.

He kissed her temple as he held her possessively. He 
whispered, "Lois, I love you...always and forever."

"And I love you, Clark.  More than I ever thought I could 
love anyone."

Silence ruled again as they breathed in the words that had 
been spoken, allowing the life-force they conveyed to co-
mingle with the life-force each inherently possessed.  They 
were irretrievably altered by what had passed between them, 
changelings who could never return to the past and be the 
creatures they had previously been.  The avowing words, and 
the exchanging of their love had set their fates and yoked 
their destinies. While neither yet realized it, they would, 
henceforth and eternally, be one.

"I was beginning to think I'd never hear you say that.  
I've loved you for so long.  I didn't expect this to 
happen."

She slipped an arm over him and rested her head on his 
chest. "Neither did I, but I'm glad it did. I wish we could 
stay like this forever."

He looked down at her.  "So do I.  In fact...there's 
something I want to ask you."

She stiffened. "Clark -."

"I've dreamed about it...this for months, and now that I 
have a real chance-."

She sat up abruptly.  "Clark, stop!"

"Stop?"

"Stop. Don't ask me."

He sat up repeating her words in surprise and irritation. 
"Don't ask you?"

"Please, don't ask me."

"How can you say 'don't ask me'? You don't know what I'm 
going to ask."

"No, I don't, but if it's what I think it is, I don't want 
you to ask me, but the only way I'll know for sure is if 
you ask me and if you ask me it'll be too late, you'll have 
asked me and I'll have to give you an answer, and I'm not 
ready to answer you yet." She gasped for breath. 

"You're not ready?  You're ready to jump in bed with me and 
give me the most fantastic time I've ever had, but you're 
not ready to answer my propo-"

"Don't say it!  And since you mentioned it, do you think 
there's something wrong with my wanting to make love with 
the man I'm crazy about?  Or have you had so many women, 
I'm just one more notch in your belt?"

"You're crazy about me?  Then why don't you want me to...so 
many women?"

"Don't deny it.  You had to have had a lot of practice to 
make me feel so...I've never experienced anything like that 
in.... You heard me."

"It was that good, huh?  I wasn't sure I could do it."

"Wasn't sure?  You call that being unsure?  You're skirting 
the truth, again, Kent.  Just how many...much practice have 
you had?" she demanded.

"Well, since you brought it up, what do you have going that 
you have wear protection all the time?"

"With all that experience you should know more about women 
than that.  I take the pill to regulate, uh, some female 
problems, but don't think you can change the subject. 
Answer my question."

"Lois, you don't know how great it makes me feel to know 
that I was able to-"

"Answer the question, Kent!"

He raised his hand, palm out, as though he was giving 
testimony in a court of law.  "Everything I know I learned 
from books not experience, and that's the truth, I swear." 
 
"What are you saying?" She was startled by his declaration.

"I'm saying that I've never...been...physically intimate 
with anyone until now...you."

"Omigod!" she gasped.  

"Because I'm not from here. Because I have a secret 
identity, and I didn't want to share the most intimate 
experience beings can share with just anyone.  That person 
had to know about me, and I had to know that I would want 
to stay with her always. When I found you-"

"Omigod, omigod."  She looked around frantically, panic in 
her eyes, and saw the clock on the bedside stand. "Omigod, 
look at the time!  We've got to get you back to the 
auditorium, and we haven't picked up your costumes yet and 
I have to take a shower and dress and how are your parents 
going to get there?"  She was out of bed and fleeing to the 
bathroom before he could stop her.

"It's okay, Lois." He called out. "While you're showering, 
I'll pick up my clothes and I'll probably be back here 
before you've finished dressing.  My folks can take a cab.  
They have reserved seats and don't have to be there until 
just before 8:00." 

He heard the shower running.  This was not going the way he 
had hoped. But maybe it was a good thing that he hadn't 
asked her.  Better to wait and see if anyone put two and 
two together tonight and came up with 'Clark Kent is 
Superman'. He spun into the suit and left through the 
window.

++++++++++

Carrying a clothes box containing costumes for the talent 
and muscle flexing contests, Lois was hurrying up the 
auditorium steps to meet Clark when she heard a voice just 
to her left.  She turned and was at first blinded by the 
sun's final blaze as it slipped below the cityscape. She 
raised a hand to block its glare and came face to face with 
a slightly pudgy, mid-sized man, thinning hair combed 
straight back from a balding forehead. He seemed to emerge 
from the fiery inferno of the setting sun.

The man's cold, dead eyes glinted with pleasurable 
recognition as he said, in a soft, slightly nasal voice, 
"Is this Lois? Well, hello, Lo-issss.  How very unexpected 
to see you again.  Are you here at the behest of Perry 
White, reporting on this exploitative ritual for the good 
old D...P...? Surely this can't be your idea of Pulitzer 
winning material?  Or have you finally succumbed to the 
banality of the Philistines - giving up, giving in, writing 
to fulfill the devouring curiosity of the celebrity sucking 
common folk?"  His drawl was filled with the aggressive 
sarcasm he sometimes alternated with the gentler tone he 
usually took with her.

"Dr. Lister?" She felt an icy shudder make its way down her 
spine.  "What a surprise.  I haven't seen you since our 
interview two years ago." 

"It's so nice to see you again, Lo-issss.  I was very 
disappointed when I didn't hear from you after we'd become 
such good friends. I've missed our little chats. You 
weren't avoiding me were you?"

There was just a faint smile on his face; a smile that she 
knew indicated that this meeting pleased him. His reptilian 
gaze chilled her.   "Avoiding you?  Of course, not.  Why 
would I avoid you? That would be rude, and I know how much 
you dislike rudeness, Doctor. But why are *you* here?  This 
isn't the kind of thing I'd think would interest you."

"We did come to know each other rather well, didn't we? 
Quite right. This spectacle to entertain and pacify the 
plebian cattle doesn't interest me, but when the organizers 
asked me to be a judge, I decided the emolument is worth a 
few hours of my time. If you remember, I have some rather 
expensive tastes. The opera at La Scala promises to be 
brilliant this season, and I'd like to replenish my meat 
locker with some rare and costly victuals. Also there's the 
added lure of extending my connections, meeting new people, 
finding different contacts who can stock my larder. One 
should always be willing to try new things, don't you 
think?"  His smile broadened.

He was the only person she had ever met who babbled more 
than she did, but she had the eerie impression that his 
babbling had an undertone of menace.  One of these days, 
she and Clark should probably look more closely into 
Lister's background. Or maybe not, her unnerved intuition 
warned. 

She replied, "That sounds really nice for you, Doctor.  
It's been so good to see you again, and I know we'll be 
seeing more of each other during the pageant, but right 
now, I have a story to cover.  See you later." And she 
hurried up the steps toward the entrance. She wanted to be 
inside the building with Clark where it was safe.  

"Okey-dokey," he called after her. "I'll look forward to 
it. Ta-ta."

When she reached Clark who was waiting at the entryway, he 
asked, "Who was that?"

"Emmanuel Lister," she replied.  "You've heard of him, 
haven't you?"  When Clark shook his head no, she explained 
as they hurried inside and backstage to the dressing rooms.  
"He's that psychiatrist who's a celebrity chef.  You know, 
he concocts exotic culinary fare with unusual flavors.  He 
never gives interviews, but for some inexplicable reason, 
he let me interview him. Instead of treating me with 
contempt and disdain like he does all the other reporters - 
mankind in general, actually - he was courteous and 
respectful. In his odd way, I think he considers me a 
friend." 

"So why do I get the idea that's not a good thing?"

"He gives me the creeps." She shuddered slightly. "There's 
probably no reason for it, but I just feel uncomfortable 
around him.  That's why I didn't keep in touch afterwards 
even though he said he would teach me to cook." She smiled 
wryly. "I probably should have taken him up on it.  You 
wouldn't get so flustered when I offer to make dinner."

"Yeah, if you only knew how to cook, I'd fall in love with 
you." He grinned at her as he opened the door to a dressing 
room. Glancing in, he saw several partially undressed men, 
and he blocked Lois's entrance.  "Maybe you should wait out 
here.  I don't want you embarrassing the guys with your 
leering."  She tried to hit his arm, but he was too quick, 
closing the door, depositing his clothing, and returning to 
her in the hallway.

"Cut it out with the wisecracks, Kent!"  She did hit him 
and then shook her hand from the impact, and muttered, "I 
gotta remember not to do that so hard." 

"Sorry, Lois.  I know you have no interest in well-built 
men in various stages of undress.  I just wasn't thinking."

"That was the old me, Clark, before I saw you...before 
we...what am I saying.  That's still me, even if we 
did...um...don't you think you should be getting ready?"

He tried to hide a smile, enjoying her discomfiture, then 
said soberly, "In a minute.  I have something I want to 
say."

She reacted nervously.  "Clark, shouldn't we wait to talk 
later, after we see how the evening goes.  We have so much 
riding on what happens tonight."

"That's why I have to say this, now." He put his hand on 
her cheek. "I love you, Lois Lane, no matter what happens 
tonight or tomorrow or next week.  Nothing will change 
that.   What we shared a little while ago was the best 
experience of my life, and I want to keep sharing with you 
for as long as we live. But right now we have to get back 
to reality and take care of this pageant business. When 
it's all over, we'll work out what we're going to do about 
us. I can wait."

One part of her wanted to melt in his arms <Not yet.>;  
another wanted to run away.  "Yes, good idea!  We'll work 
all that out later.  Now go get dressed.  Oh, and Clark, 
don't slick back your hair, just comb it naturally...and 
wear your glasses...and slump, slouch, shrink if you can; 
if they laugh at the saggy suit, just remember that they 
don't laugh at Superman, and don't forget to smile a lot, 
big, big smiles.  Superman never smiles.  And don't worry 
abou-" 

He stopped her with a kiss, then went back into the 
dressing room.  She followed his departure with anxious 
eyes. When the door closed behind him, she turned to 
observe the activities of stagehands and pageant assistants 
finishing last minute preparations for the great superhero 
pageant.

Lois was circulating, asking questions, when she saw Sheri 
Thrasher enter through a stage door and start toward one of 
the dressing rooms.  She quickly decided to take advantage 
of the opportunity to find out if the beautiful star was 
going to keep the contest honest, or if she was only going 
to carry out Hughie Short's instructions.  

"Ms. Thrasher!" she called. "Lois Lane of the Daily Planet.  
I'd like to ask you a couple of questions about your 
participation tonight."

The celebrity stopped her progress to the dressing room, 
and turned a frequently downloaded smile on Lois. "The 
Daily Planet...the world's greatest newspaper.  And Lois 
Lane, the Planet's greatest reporter. Of course, I'll be 
delighted to answer your questions."

It was a well-polished act, but Lois wasn't taken in, and 
she had no time for subtlety. "Tell me, Ms. Thrasher, why 
did you decide to participate in a Superman show, when 
you've been distancing yourself from your previous 
association with the superhero television series?"  
Investigative Journalism 101 - get the interviewee on the 
defensive, shake her composure, and make her less careful 
about her answers.

Thrasher's smile turned steely. "As you know, I've made a 
series of Electronic Hut commercials with Hughie Short.  He 
asked me to do this as a favor. Hughie's a good friend; I 
wanted to help."

<Okay, try a little feint to the heart.> "Is it true that 
you agreed because Keane Blaine is also a judge and that 
you and he will be giving joint interviews during 
intermissions?" 

Red splotches of anger began to blemish the actress's 
usually perfect beauty. "No, that is not true!  I don't 
know anything about Keane Blaine, and I've been assured by 
Hughie Short that he will not be a part of this 
entertainment."

"So you *are* trying to avoid him.  Does that have anything 
to do with rumors that the two of you fell in love when you 
were shooting the Superman series?"

" I have a beautiful daughter, I love my husband very much, 
and we are a happy family. I don't answer questions about 
rumors, especially one as ridiculous as that one."

<Time to go for the K.O.> "Then maybe you'll respond to 
this one.  There's a rumor around the press corps that 
Hughie Short has already decided who the winner of this 
pageant will be, and he asked you to be a judge because he 
can get you to vote for whomever he chooses.  True or 
false, Ms. Thrasher?"

Sheri Thrasher forgot her press demeanor, and scowled.  The 
thundercloud visible on her face would not have been her 
choice for telecasting to billions. "Look, Lane.  Whatever 
Hughie Short says, I didn't come here to be his little 
puppet.  I don't know who's going to be Super Metro Man, 
but my vote will go to the guy who impresses me the most, 
not to some shill of Short's.  Now, if you'll excuse me, 
this interview is over." And she stalked away to the 
waiting room. 

Lois watched the woman disappear into the judges' anteroom, 
and then saw Clark emerge from the contestants' dressing 
room wearing the saggy suit.  As per her instructions, his 
hair looked natural, and he was wearing his glasses.  With 
her objective reporter's eye, she saw an ordinary guy 
trying to look like Superman and not quite pulling it off.  
She hoped the crowd would see it that way and wouldn't 
laugh too much at the suit.

She claimed his attention. "Clark. I just talked with Sheri 
Thrasher.  I think I managed to put a hitch in Linda's well 
laid, in every sense of the phrase, plans.  She's not 
likely to go along with any of Hughie Short's suggestions 
about who should win this thing."

"Do I want to know how you did that?"

She was indignant. "I was perfectly professional and well 
behaved."

"Uh-huh. Well, whatever you did, thank you." Then he turned 
all the way around and asked,  "What do you think?"

She leaned in close and whispered, "Well, to me you look 
scrumptiously sexy, but I don't think the audience or the 
judges will be coming from the same place I am." She gave 
him a quick little smile and touched his cheek with her 
hand.  Then she backed away and walked around him, looking 
him up and down. She was fighting a giggle as she took in 
the sags and droops.

"Lois, could you at least try not to enjoy this so much?"

"I'm sorry.  I'm sorry, it's just that...you want to look 
funny not heroic, don't you?  And you do look funny.  If 
the audience laughs, that's a good thing. Just try to be 
normal."

"I keep telling myself that, but it's not easy to act 
normal while everyone's laughing at you."  

She put a comforting hand on his chest.  "I know it's going 
to be really hard for you.  I meant what I said, Clark.  I 
may not actually be on that stage next to you, but I'm with 
you every step of the way.  I love you because you're 
strong and patient and can put up with a lot.  You're in a 
dangerous situation here, but it's also a very funny one.  
Superman doesn't laugh, but Clark has a wonderful sense of 
humor - another reason I love you.  Hang on to that humor.  
If the crowd laughs, you can laugh with them.  They don't 
know what the real joke is, but you do."

He gazed at her with love and gratitude. "I'm glad you know 
the truth, Lois. I think it's possible that later I may 
even come to think of today as the happiest day of my 
life."  He took her hands and held them, looking deep into 
her eyes.

A pageant assistant knocked on the dressing room door. 
"Five minutes.  Places everybody." The door opened and 
contestants spilled out to line up in the way that they had 
been instructed.

Clark raised Lois's hands to his lips and kissed each one 
in turn.  Then he took his place in the line.  She watched 
him, her heart turning over.  Their moment was broken by

"Clock! Vere dit you get det zoot?  Couldn't you vind fun 
small enough?  Com to de chym. I show you how to get 
muscle." Harold Schnerzenberger and several others laughed 
loudly. It had begun.

Leaving the backstage area, Lois made her way to the rear 
of the auditorium.  She wanted to get a feel for what the 
crowd was like before things got started. The hundreds who 
had come to witness this extravaganza were a diverse 
throng.  There were families - mom, pop, and kiddies - come 
to celebrate their idol - the epitome of truth, justice and 
the American way.  There were women's groups out on the 
town, come to cheer, whistle, stomp and ogle. A gay men's 
club, wearing T-shirts proclaiming their identity, were 
checking out the body builders from Harold 
Schnerzenberger's gym. There were drunks and there were 
teetotalers; clerics and grifters; beauties and beasts.  
They were, to a reporter's jaundiced eye, a typical 
entertainment-event crowd. Lois could sense a lead 
paragraph for her story forming in her mind.  

"Good try with that loose-fitting costume, Lois. But it 
won't work."  Linda King was standing next to her.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Linda.  What pipe 
dream are you hallucinating now?" Lois kept the jab light 
and unconcerned.

"You can't fool me, dear. I believe Clark Kent is Superman, 
and I'll prove it to the world before this pageant is 
over."

"I'd be careful if I were you, *dear*.  You don't want 
anyone overhearing that lunacy.  People will know how 
desperate you are to win a Pulitzer."

"We'll see who's desperate when I expose Clark to the world 
as the alter ego of Superman."

"I wouldn't count on it. You can't absolutely prove what 
isn't true, and it'll be pretty hard for the world to 
believe he's Superman if he doesn't win this contest."

"I don't think that's going to be a problem.  He's going to 
win, all right."

The house lights began to dim. "Gotta go, Linda. Let me 
know when you decide to make your move.  Maybe I can keep 
you from making a fool of yourself." 

Lois had to return to the stage wing so that Clark could 
see her every time he faced in that direction.  She wanted 
him to have visible proof that she was there for him. 
Heading for the door to backstage, she wished she felt more 
confident about Linda's not finding any proof. 

As the lights went down, the audience's conversational hum 
quieted.  The pit orchestra began to play a rousing medley 
of heroic marches replete with trumpet fanfares, brass 
flourishes and drum rolls.  The crowd responded with an 
occasional smattering of applause as they recognized 
favorites among the selections by Handel, Mendelssohn, 
Prokofieff, Meyerbeer, Walton, Clarke, C.P.E. Bach, Rimsky-
Korsakov, John Williams, and John Phillip Sousa. There were 
occasional whistles and cheers, and for particular crowd-
pleasers, clapping in time with the music.  They clearly 
believed the publicity slogan, "Metropolis is a summer 
festival", and were entering into the spirit of this, the 
centerpiece of the season. 

When the final chord of the music had resonated, and the 
enthusiastic applause was waning, a spotlight beamed to one 
side of the stage apron, and a tall, self-assured man 
standing in its circle began to speak. "Good evening, 
ladies and gentlemen.  I'm Hughie Short, and 
this...is...the. Metropolis.  Super Metro Man.  Pageant." 
He accentuated the words with stops at key points, 
heightening the excitement.  As he uttered the last word, 
another spotlight lit up a curtain at the rear of the 
stage. Emblazoned on it was the Super Metro Man logo 
featuring a look alike Superman except that, instead of an 
S, there was an M on his chest.  Over his head were the 
words, 'Super' and underneath him, 'Metro Man'.   

The crowd roared its approval for several minutes.  Short 
waved his hand to quiet them.  "Metropolis is fortunate to 
be the home of Superman, the greatest super hero on earth, 
and tonight we want to pay tribute to him. But we're also 
here to offer a little help to the man who's always there 
for us. We're going to choose someone who can shoulder the 
burden of some of those civic duties that Superman takes on 
so willingly.  Those ribbon cuttings and hospital openings, 
those welcoming speeches and award presentations.  Super 
Metro Man will be a different kind of hero, but one we can 
respect and admire because we know he'll be easing the load 
for our *super* hero. We have assembled a strong group of 
contestants to vie for the honor of representing Superman 
and Metropolis. So, ladies and gentlemen, without further 
delay..." The orchestra began a dramatic drum roll. "Meet 
your candidates for Super Metro Man!"

The trumpet fanfare from Also Sprach Zarathustra sounded as 
thousands held their breaths in anticipation, and with the 
last trumpet note, the curtain parted, the orchestra began 
to play, and a muster of muscle men in Superman costumes 
marched onto the stage in single file. The spectators 
erupted with applause, cheers and whistles.

The men formed a single line across the stage and stood 
waiting for the noise to die. Then, augmented by an off-
stage men's chorus, they began to sing:

"Name the Superhero, who is greater than them all,
"Speeding to the rescue each and every time we call,
"With only just a single bound, he leaps great buildings 
tall.
"Who is the greatest hero of them all?"

While they sang this verse, they formed five lines of five 
men and enacted complex geometric patterns, each line 
rotating around its end line axis, moving in columns 
peeling off right and left, marking time with the heavy 
thuds of their feet, one thud for each beat of the music. 

The agilities displayed by the participants in this Busby 
Berkeley-inspired routine varied widely and painfully.  
Some poor fellows simply had no sense of rhythm or music 
and managed to keep in step by watching and counting with 
moving lips.  A few were actually dancers and their 
graceful movements drew the attention of the assembly away 
from the stumblers.  Cody Cantrell was not a dancer but the 
natural grace and rhythm that made him a great quarterback 
and a star of the Metropolis Tigers drew the admiration of 
many of his fans. They chanted his name in approval. Co-dy, 
Co-dy. 

The five lines formed into two and began an X crossing 
pattern as they sang the next verse.

"Who catches every criminal as soon as he appears?
"Who modestly acknowledges our gratitude and cheers
"Then flies away to save the day the next time he appears? 
"Who is the greatest hero of them all?"

Harold Schnerzenberger was Teutonic not agile. He set each 
foot down with the ordered precision of a soldier executing 
a close order drill. He lifted his knees slightly higher 
than everyone else in a pronounced marching beat and looked 
neither to right nor left but maintained a rigid military 
posture.


"Who rights each wrong defending Truth and Justice?
"Against the foes of freedom, who's our buttress?"

Clark was miserable and embarrassed.  <This song is 
terrible.  How can they sing these words with a straight 
face? Oh, lord, just let this be over!> He found himself 
facing Lois in the wings.  She nodded encouragingly, then 
pantomimed pulling her face into a wide smile.  He was 
puzzled for a second before he remembered he was supposed 
to smile a lot.  He pushed his lips into a grinning grimace 
as his line turned away from that side of the stage.  

Clark forced himself to walk, slouching and slumping, with 
complete self-composure.  He wasn't going to be a little 
tin soldier like Harold, and he refused to play to the 
crowd like Fly Fallone, who was bobbing and weaving, 
flashing his teeth in a big grin, pointing and waving to an 
audience that, in turn, regaled him with approval.

The two lines broke and the twenty-five men paired up and 
formed three squares with the odd man facing the audience 
from center stage. The pairs executed a stamping do-si-do 
in each square as they sang the last verse.  

"Tonight Metropolis salutes its favorite he-man,
"Who's here to help us to become the very best we can,
"He is our number one, the leader of the hero clan."

The squares turned into two lines, the shorter one in 
front, and faced the audience.

"Superma-a-a-a-an. 
"Superma-a-a-a-an.
"He is the greatest hero of them all."

The men in the front line dropped to one knee and they all 
threw their arms wide as they shouted
 
"SUPERMAN!"

The audience erupted.  They were immediately on their feet, 
clapping and cheering, many calling over and over,  "SU  
PER  MAN;  SU  PER  MAN."

Lois heard them in disbelief.  She was sure that what she 
had just witnessed was the most dreadful attempt at show 
biz she had ever seen. <It must be true,> she thought.  
<There's no accounting for taste.>  Her eyes had never left 
Clark who was now standing, grimly waiting as Hughie Short 
prepared to introduce the contestants individually.  She 
saw Clark's head drop slightly as he looked down and drew a 
deep breath.  <I'm with you, Clark.  You can do this. I 
love you. Don't lose heart now.> She believed the words 
were a thought, but she realized she had whispered them, 
when  he turned his head and looked straight at her, a 
faint smile on his face.  
"Ladies and Gentlemen, meet the individual contestants for 
Super Metro Man." 

As Hughie Short pronounced each name and his sponsor, the 
man stepped forward for a brief moment alone in the 
spotlight. There was light applause for familiar heroes: 
Cody Cantrell; Edgar Cortez, the Metropolis Monarchs' 
muscular designated hitter; Evgeny Kuliakin, the dancer; 
Harold Schnerzenberger; Fly Fallone.  

Then it was Clark's turn. 

When he stepped forward - bespectacled, wrinkled and droopy 
- there was an audible gasp from some; others snickered.  
An occasional guffaw was quickly