This continues the story started in Dawning and continued in Dawning
II, 3, 4, 5 and 6. If you missed any of those (and all this really
should be read in order), ask me, visit ftp://ftp.swcp.com
/pub/users/dstark, or ask the fanfic index for them. All recognizable
characters mentioned below are the property of their respective
owners, but the ideas are mine. debby@swcp.com, August 6, 1995

Dawning 7, or It's Not Over Till...

    "Martha?"
    "Lois?"
    "It's not too early, is it? I didn't wake you up, did I? It's
after eight there, isn't it? You weren't planning to go to church,
were you? I don't know if you do that, do you? I can call back if--"
    "Lois! Calm down! Take a deep breath... There. What is it?"
    "Oh, we almost had a big fight..."
    "'Almost'? Is that all?"
    "But it was such a close thing! If I hadn't forced him to kiss
me, it would have degenerated into a real fight!"
    "Oh?"
    "Fighting's horrible! Before they got divorced my parents
couldn't have a civil conversation, they had shouting matches! Lucy
and I weren't supposed to hear them but we did, plenty of times. And
Clark and I, we can't seem to get anything talked out--it's almost
easier to argue! Sometimes I wonder if we're just... just totally
incompatible..."
    "When did this happen?"
    "Last night..."
    "Then that's probably why he's here now--"
    "'He'?"
    "Clark, he's--"
    "HE'S THERE?! *Oh, my god*--"
    "Lois! Lois? He's out with his father, I saw him arrive just as I
was finishing the dishes. My hands are still wet. He followed
Jonathan into the barn. They're probably having a man-to-man talk
about women that I'm sure we'd think was simply precious. I'm in the
living room now and I'll hear them when they come in, don't worry.
Take another deep breath... Good. So suddenly you think you're
incompatible because you had a fight last night, is that it?"
    "Yes--well, I'm not saying we *are* incompatible, and I don't
want us to be, and I'm sure he doesn't want that, it's just that
things happen that... shouldn't happen to people who are... oh,
*meant* for each other..."
    "You two have had fights before--and was this a real fight or
only an argument?"
    "Well, more of an argument, words that just... came, and this
time it was too important for that. First we had some big row over
fish--"
    "Fish roe, that's funny--"
    "No, no, it's not!"
    "Oh, all right, it's not."
    "Well, maybe it is, and it was my stupid fish and me...
overreacting, but it wasn't funny then--though at the time I thought
it relaxed him, and after all, I didn't know how many babies Maxine
can have, and I really don't want a tank full of guppies, and she
probably won't notice if some of them get eaten by other fish, she'll
probably be relieved..."
    "Ah, yes, a distraction, I can see where that could work."
    "You do? He made a wonderful dinner and I brought wine and made
the salad and he dressed up and I was, too, and we had the fish...
discussion, and after we calmed down about that, he was going to tell
me everything, I *know* he was, he was just about to, he was working
up to it, plugging along, I'm sure he was afraid of how I was going
to react, and then Will Waldecker darkened our--his--Clark's door."
    "Your door."
    "All right, metaphorically speaking, our door, and Clark let him
in instead of telling him to get lost--I know he wouldn't do that,
he's a pushover, you warned me, and it's all right, I understand,
that's part of the package--but *he* better understand that I'm not
going to stay home and... and *knit* while he's out saving the
world."
    "No..."
    "And last night we went off on some wild goose chase except it
may turn into a good story, I don't know yet and, frankly, I'm not
sure that I care--God, I'm saying that about a *story*..."
    "Do you want to take another deep breath?"
    "No, I'm all right. Anyhow, before we left, Clark and I almost
had a real fight--we would have ended up yelling at each other if
Will hadn't been there."
    "Would you have had it at all if he hadn't darkened your door?"
    "Ah, no, probably not. If he hadn't shown up, I would officially
know everything, but instead I just realized how we have arguments
about the littlest things. It started out funny, but then it
degenerated into Clark making fun of my problem with this guy at work
and I made fun of his garden, or something like that, and neither of
us was very nice--I mean, it's times like that I begin to think we're
incompatible no matter how hard I try, and I don't know what he sees
in me anymore, and, to be honest with you, sometimes I don't know
what I see in him..."
    "And you think you sound like your folks."
    "Yes, that's it exactly--How did you know?"
    "You mentioned their divorce."
    "Oh, yeah..."
    "They were probably deeply in love when they got married."
    "Yes, or so Mother said. It was all that stereotype stuff like
you see in Cinderella with birds making the wedding gown and the
handsome prince on the horse, even though I arrived a little *early*,
if you know what I mean. Some fairy story. It fooled Lucy completely,
but it always sounded like something just short of a shotgun wedding
to *me*..."
    "Oh, no, I doubt that..."
    "Well, maybe I thought of that later, but she certainly left out
the part about the big, bad wolf at the door, breathing down our
*necks*..."
    "Hmm... Lois, your relationship with Clark sounds to me a lot
more like Jonathan's and mine."
    "It does?--No, it can't, uh-huh, never, *no way*."
    "Listen, Lois--"
    "You're wrong, I'm sorry, I'd like that, too, that would be
ideal, but it can't be, huh-huh, not with *me* involved."
    "Hear me out. You can't imagine a more *unlikely* couple than
Jonathan and me. I was, oh, 23 and from Seattle, by way of Rome,
Paris and New York. I was visiting Wichita because an artist I
admired picked a God-forsaken university in the middle of Kansas to
give a series of workshops that I just had to attend. I made friends
though, and one evening they invited me to a coffee shop where they
introduced me to this tough-looking Vietnam vet who was in his
twenties, too, and attending ag-school on the GI Bill and even
thinking of re-upping and doing another tour to go fight more godless
commies--"
    "*Jonathan*?"
    "The very same man. I know, his physique has... relaxed a little
since then, but, oh, my, *then*... well, he could have given Clark a
run for his money, believe me, and he was brash enough sometimes to
have tried it, too, though mostly he was quiet and retiring, a slow
boiler, like he is now."
    "Like Clark."
    "Exactly. A man of few words to my, well, my volumes. My friends
thought introducing us would be a hoot. I suppose they wanted to see
me with my juices aroused. I mean, there I was, a veteran myself of
civil rights and antiwar marches and sit-ins, and I'd seen the inside
of a jail cell several times for a variety of humanitarian reasons,
most of them. And they sat me next to this Army NCO who had grown up
in a backward place called Smallville and who had never thought of
breaking the law and had only ever left the state to go to bootcamp,
Korea and then Vietnam. Oh, and he had visited Chicago once."
    "Wow... I mean, all that, not Chicago. You two were opposites."
    "And we couldn't *stand* each other. But for some reason, we both
kept turning up at that coffee shop. He just *happened* to decide to
stay home and run the farm when his father died and his older brother
didn't want it, and I just *happened* to decide I should take some
art classes at KU because sketching the horizon of Kansas was a lot
easier than sketching the Alps--I mean, it's *flat*..."
    "You're a better artist than that."
    "Thank you, dear."
    "So you fell in love?"
    "Oddly enough, yes. Not right away, and we still had some
terrific fights--all of them verbal and over politics or farm life or
Europe or other silly things--but the making up! Okay, so some of our
attraction to each other was physical, I'll admit it, there's nothing
wrong with *that*, and he was the first fellow I really looked
forward to kissing, though we waited until we were married to, well,
you understand..."
    "Now I know where Clark got that, too."
    "That's one reason. Jonathan and I both admired the Beatles, and
he liked my love beads and he began to wonder about the war, though
he didn't became an activist. And, me, the more I visited the
countryside, the more I knew I wanted to settle down and start a
family of little hippies."
    "Oh, that's cute."
    "It didn't quite work out that way--it worked out better in many
ways--but I love being a farmer and mother, and now here we are."
    "And you still have fights...?"
    "Yes, of course, because we still have plenty of opinions. Our
arguments aren't as big as the ones we used to have, we know each
other very well by now, but the making up is still a *lot* of fun."
    "And he does things you don't like? I mean, does he..."
    "Say the wrong things at inappropriate times and not realize he's
done so?"
    "Yes."
    "And watch football to the exclusion of all else?"
    "Well, yes, that, too--maybe not *every*thing else. If the world
caught on fire, Clark might..."
    "Do something about it at half time. Well, I think saying
inappropriate things without realizing is a genetic thing for men,
wherever they're from. You'll have to work that out with him, but
both of them like football, there's no getting around it. I can't see
the sense of it, grown men trying to kill each other over a funny-
shaped ball..."
    "Yeah, I like baseball better."
    "That game does make more sense. So when Jonathan watches
football, I do something else. I've never felt obligated to sit
through a game with him--no, when we were first going together, I did
go once or twice, but then I thought 'What the heck am I doing? I
*hate* football!' When he asked me to the next one, I said, 'No, I'm
not really interested, but you go ahead, and I won't invite you to
another art show.' He didn't mind that at all."
    "Well, I'm sure there are things I like that Clark doesn't. I
think he doesn't like blues music very much, it can be depressing,
but then I don't really like opera or classical music that has a lot
of violins..."
    "Neither do I."
    "I don't think I could sit still very long if he put on anything
from Japan or China unless I could do katas--martial arts to it. And,
to be honest, I'm not very interested in gardening or the great
outdoors and *don't* get me started on gorillas, and I can't cook as
well as he can, and I only know French and a smattering of Spanish,
and--and you know what else? He thinks I'm 'serene.'"
    "Well, are you?"
    "When I'm... going with the flow, and I know I was just flowing
right along before Will showed up, but it's hard to flow and I
*try*..."
    "You try..."
    "Well, I do. Hard."
    "Hard."
    "Are you taking another psych course?"
    "The one was enough."
    "It sounds like you're trying to tell me something but you're not
going to, are you?"
    "That's right."
    "Darn..."
    "You gave me some idea of what he does to irritate you, like
playing music you don't like and cooking better than you and--"
    "No, wait, that really doesn't irritate me, it... it... I... It
makes me feel... like I can't compete...."
    "Oh, it's a competition now?"
    "Well, no..."
    "Did he say 'I dare you to conjugate Hindu verbs better than I
can'?"
    "No, of course not. We only really get competitive at work, and I
have the clear advantage there."
    "Then has he complained about your not knowing which teams are in
what group or whatever they're called in football?"
    "Oh, he wouldn't complain if you held his feet to the fire--Ha,
well, you know what I mean."
    "He complains a lot to us."
    "He does? Well, actually, he does complain some to me, but not
about personal things, except maybe he's starting to. On Friday night
a week ago, when we went to the softball game, I told him I wanted
him to talk to me--not about you know what, but just about... things,
like what he thought about getting caught in the rain, and Tuesday he
told me his landlord tried to evict him--"
    "What?!"
    "He didn't tell you about that?"
    "No, we haven't heard from him since, umm, he called his father
last week, and he left a message on our machine about that fire
bombing and that his apartment was okay. We assumed everything else
was fine."
    "Well, it did turn out all right, Clark outsmarted him, his
landlord, spouted legalese at him. I guess he's good at that, too...
but he didn't tell you?"
    "He must have felt better after talking to you about it."
    "Oh, how about that... So he is talking to me more--and that's
just it, he was about to tell me everything, and I was flowing right
along, encouraging him, being real serene--it was *easy*--and I
wasn't pushing him or complaining--I can be real pushy and you've
never heard anyone complain until you've heard *me* complain--and,
bang, Will arrives and the mood evaporates."
    "So you were both tense."
    "That's an understatement..."
    "Then I'll probably get a similar story from him."
    "Similar? Like... like we're incompatible and we had a big fight
and he's giving up or something? Just when we're understanding more
about each other? I mean, he practically admitted he'd crossed his
fingers that day, and I told him I'd been thinking about him and not
Lex while I was being dragged up the aisle! And it wasn't *really* an
argument, it was sort of a... misunderstanding because of the
tension, and I can apologize this afternoon for what I said, it'll be
simple, it's just a few words. You won't let him give up, will you?
That would be terrible--You'll talk him out of it, I know you can!"
    "Lois, dear, why don't you just *tell* him you know? Wouldn't
that be easier all around?"
    "Easier? But he's been trying to tell me, I'm sure he has some
plan about how he wants to do it, and he's been so great and
everything, why begrudge him that? Besides, he *owes* me the truth,
the whole story, from start to finish, right from his own mouth."
    "Owes you..."
    "Well, I know I've stretched the truth to him now and then, but
nothing of this magnitude--and what he's doing is not really a lie,
it's more a... a self-protective... omission of certain little
details, and I can understand, now that I've had time to think about
it. But if I just came out and said that I know, Clark, you can
relax--would he relax? No, he'd always wonder if he should have told
me himself and if he could have done it better, you know, if it was
the right time. And I think he thinks I'm going to be all upset, and
I want to show him that I'm not, that it's no big deal, not really."
    "I see."
    "*He's* the big deal, not what he does in his spare time."
    "I'm glad to hear you're thinking that way, and I think you're
right, too, he does have a plan, sort of, but he's been a planner
from day one. His plans don't always work, but mine don't either."
"Or mine, and I've been trying so... well, there's one problem,
I've been trying so hard, maybe that's why I'm upset, because I'm
trying too hard."
    "Hmmm. You can't push water."
    "Pardon? Oh, water, flow, okay, and, you know, I don't think
we're incompatible, not really..."
    "I don't think you are, either. I think you compliment each other
and make up for each other's deficiencies."
    "You do? He does have a few deficiencies, and I think maybe he
needs me because of them, and I... I guess I have some, too..."
    "None of us is perfect."
    "Perfect is boring."
    "Yes--Oh, and I think I hear them on the back porch. Are you
feeling better now?"
    "Oh, yes, definitely better. We're supposed to see each other
again this afternoon and I can get that flow going again, I know it--
but I won't try *too* hard."
    "Good idea."
    "He'll be trying, too."
    "I'm sure he will be."
    "He has been, I mean, he can't give up now."
    "He's not a quitter."
    "I know he isn't, not for this."
    "Bye, Lois."
    "Bye!"

                                 ***

    Martha put the phone back down on the coffee table and tried to
return to the national news section of the Sunday Kansas City Star.
She hadn't actually heard the imminent arrival of the male contingent
of the Kent family, but she had detected a good spot to end the
conversation on a high note before Lois could talk herself down out
of it. Those kids... It was going to be hard to keep a straight face
when Clark recounted his own tale of woe.
    She could see him and Jon now:
    "Women!" they were probably saying to each other and shaking
their heads knowingly in the way men do. "Just can't figure 'em!"
"You sure can't." "Can't live with 'em and can't shoot 'em!" "Dad!!"
"Oh, I'm just joking, son." "I *hope* so!" "Your mother has a new key
chain with that on it, but it's about men." "It's not funny whoever
it's about." "Son, you're being way too serious today. Things will
resolve themselves, believe me." "I hope so..." "But don't let your
mother know, you know how she is, thinks she has to analyze
*every*thing..." "Umm..."
    Clark would run out of ways to coax his father to listen, and
Jonathan would think he had been of tremendous help...
    Her love for them both overwhelmed her exasperation. Good thing
she had a sense of humor... too good, maybe. She was laughing when
she heard them enter and she couldn't stop even as she got up to walk
into the kitchen to greet them. Seeing them just made it worse
because the looks on their faces told her she had been dead on.
    "What's so funny, Mom?"
    "Oh, Congress again. You can always depend on them for a laugh."
    "Laugh?" Jonathan exclaimed. "At them? They're a bunch of... of
lawyers! Not a farmer among them! Not one of them's ever even gotten
his hands dirty--except laundering money!"
    Clark said, "Oh, right," to her, obviously pretending he couldn't
hear what his father was grumbling about. She knew he'd see good and
bad on both sides in nonlife-threatening situations and not want to
judge them, though if forced to he'd want time to think about it
first and come up with something Solomon-like if possible.
Fortunately, he usually thought pretty quickly, except, it seemed,
around Lois. Which was all right, she kept him on his toes, and,
generally, according to what Martha had observed, he enjoyed it.
    Though apparently not last night.
    Well, she thought, time to help this kid fix his life, too.
    She put on the straightest face she could muster. Good thing now
it was perfectly appropriate for a loving mom to smile when she saw
her son. "How have you been doing, honey?" she asked as she gave him
a hug. She noted his unsuccessful effort to square his broad
shoulders and yet come off as relaxed and in control. Nope, he looked
frazzled and worn out in the way only a fellow who was generally
immune and invulnerable to everything else in life could look.
    He returned her embrace. "Oh, just fine..." as though he might,
if pressed, have qualified that to as low as 42% fine. It wasn't a
fib but an "I don't want to bother you with all this..." kind of
statement, even though he'd taken the couple of minutes necessary to
fly all the way here to do just that. She doubted that Jonathan had
let him get out more than a few words about his problems before
assuring Clark that all would turn out for the best, he could tough
it out...
    There were things Clark could tough out, but this thing with Lois
wasn't one of them nor should it be.
    "Uh-huh..." she said.
    "Martha, I know that tone of voice. Can't the boy visit just
because he wants to visit?"
    The voice of guilt, she thought, another point for me. "Certainly
you can just visit..." and she looked up at Clark with a warm and
welcoming smile and patted his chest.
    Clark reinforced his own smile, the one that said he really
enjoyed her attention--but at the same time he was struggling
manfully not to let anything go.
    "And I don't think it's an ordinary visit," she continued,
inspired, "I think you've come for *breakfast*!" She disengaged and
turned away toward the refrigerator.
    "Ah, Mom? I'm not... really... hungry."
    Yeah, and he absorbed energy from the sun, just like a flower.
Not *my* boy, not my... oh, my! My hippie flower child!
    She was glad that her back was to them and she had a moment to
compose herself again before she said, "Oh? Have a big dinner last
night?" as she pulled out the last thing she would normally have
offered for a morning meal: the tremendously thick apple pie she had
purchased in town the afternoon before. She and Jonathan had eaten
only a fourth of it and had gone to bed stuffed. The juicy sweet,
golden brown apples were oozing out, plainly evident, and its
cinnamony scent had permeated the air by the time she set it on the
counter. Next, she opened the freezer to get the ice cream.
    She spied a glance at Clark; clearly reminded himself to close
his mouth. He looked at his father. Secret messages passed between
them. We're loosing this skirmish, Dad, Clark might have said. Hold
strong, Jonathan might have replied; she's just a woman and women
don't fight fairly.
    Ha-ha-ha! Martha thought. You fellows lost before you even set
foot on the porch.
    "I wasn't very hungry last night, either, Mom..."
    After their unexpected visitor turned up, she bet.
    "Are you feeling all right?" She reached up and touched his
forehead, though she knew better than to expect to feel a fever. That
only happened due to Kryptonite and he wouldn't have hesitated to
mention encountering that again. No, this ploy was so that he'd feel
the coolness of her hand and smell the vanilla in the home-made ice
cream. One way to this man's heart truly was through his stomach,
sunbeams or no. He held still for the little-boy treatment largely,
she thought, because he wanted to. "You're not hot..."
    "Well, no, it's not that."
    One more push and he'd be over the edge into the valley of tell-
all. He didn't usually have this much trouble spitting things out. He
must actually, she thought, be desperate to talk to Lois but couldn't
bring himself to fly to her instead. When that dam finally broke, she
thought, they wouldn't be seeing him nearly so often. She'd miss
these little visits... But that was the way flowers grew.
    Though sometimes liberal sidedressings of compost were a good
idea. The obvious attack now in this skirmish was to hit him from the
direction neither of them had fortified their bastions for: head on.
"Oh, what is bothering you then?"
    You're not going to wiggle this out of me? his surprised
expression said before it lapsed back into that all-tired-out look.
"It's just... just life."
    "Martha, don't bother him, it's nothing."
    "Nothing?" How about a reprieve? "Has Perry said you can't take
your vacation?"
    "No, that's still in two weeks. Less now."
    "Then if it really is nothing, I think we should fill it up. Sit
down right now."
    The strongest guy in the world hesitated a second then obediently
sat down at his accustomed place there at the kitchen table, leaned
on his elbows (she didn't tell them him to get them off the table)
and rested his chin in one hand. She placed before him a wide wedge
of pie, warmed briefly in the microwave; alongside it was a big scoop
of ice cream beginning to melt lusciously from the heat of the plate.
"There, that should fill up that nothing."
    "Really, Mom, I know you went to a lot of trouble, but--"
    "I bought the pie from Maisey."
    "Oh?" He looked at it again. "That's different--I mean, *your*
pies are great but--"
    "But Maisey's are spectacular, I know, and it wasn't a lot of
trouble. After all," she squeezed his shoulder, "we didn't know you
were coming." She sat down on his right. "So eat, it'll help you feel
better."
    He surrendered enough to take a polite forkful with a dab of ice
cream. She knew then that as much as he might linger over the pie, he
wouldn't leave the table until the plate was clean, unless, say, a
plane crashed in the back 40 and then they'd all be out the door for
that.
    Jonathan sat down across from her on Clark's left, and when Clark
wasn't looking gave her a warning expression which she acknowledged
and then proceeded to "forget" completely. Clark had come to talk,
not to be put off because Jonathan couldn't handle deep discussions
without resorting to platitudes. It was the cutest thing, certainly,
but they didn't help in this situation.
    "Well..." Clark said after he mulled over that first bite. "I
don't think this can help... It's Lois... and me... and we said some
stupid things to each other last night..."
    "It'll all work out in the end, son, these things really do. Your
mother and I say stupid things to each other, too, all the time,
there's nothing to it."
    Lois, if you could hear us now, Martha thought. "Stupid, huh?"
she asked Clark.
    "Not just stupid... not nice, mean, nasty even. And I don't know
why. I was upset, but I wasn't *that* upset, and I didn't think she
was, but she *was*..."
    "He was going to tell Lois about him being Superman," Jonathan
explained, "but she wasn't upset about that because they got
interrupted by someone before he could tell her."
    "And you answered the door like any polite person," Martha said
in a understanding manner.
    "Yeah, well..." Clark looked up. "How did you know it was someone
at the door?"
    Oops. "Well, if they'd called, you would have let your machine
answer it."
    "Oh, of course... If only he'd called, we wouldn't have had the
fight and she wouldn't have... put me on hold and..." he sighed.
    I bet that hold was the emergency kiss, Martha thought, to throw
a stop sign in front of the degenerating process. Clark would have
been truly, perhaps unredeemably depressed if Lois hadn't thought of
that spur-of-the-moment tactic.
    It was interesting, Martha thought, how similar questions
occurred to her. "Was it a real fight?"
    "Ah... no, just an argument, but it didn't feel good, not
considering I was *this close,*" measured in micrometers "to telling
her. It's always something. I'm beginning to wonder..." and he
returned to playing with the pie as though looking for some little
edible part of it.
    "Son, it's always darkest before the dawn, you know that. We see
it every morning."
    Clark looked up at his father with one of those endearing all-
thought-processes-at-a-screeching-halt expressions he fell into
sometimes when trying to figure out the most polite way to respond to
someone he respected having made a clearly incongruous statement. Had
he been in reporter mode, Martha thought, he could have breezed
through on autopilot.
    She touched his hand, a rescue. "Wonder what?"
    "Oh... Ah... I wonder about... well, my... timing. Maybe even
though it always seems like the right time to tell her, even though I
plan it right down to the last... oh, ingredient, and everything
should work just fine, maybe it just... isn't fine, isn't right. I
want it to be, but wanting it to be isn't enough, otherwise, why
would things interrupt us *every time?*"
    Clark, a fatalist? And yet... "You may have something there."
    "What?--No, don't tell me, *I've* got to figure out what isn't
right yet."
    "I wasn't going to tell you, I don't know myself, it just sounds
like you could be right."
    More pie play, and a few more bites with a touch more enthusiasm.
"We're... missing something, I guess, and it's not just that I simply
haven't told her the secret, but something else that... that has to
be straightened out between us first, or maybe a lot of things, and
maybe doing that will make the secret easier to tell..."
    Ah! It felt good to jump in when she knew the answers. "Like the
Lex Luthor thing?"
    "No, not that, not *him*." He smiled a little, glad for once, she
knew, to hear that bad name. "Not him ever, as it turns out, though
he was a problem--for me, anyway. She told me last night that she
didn't marry him because she couldn't--"
    "Well, didn't he jump out the window?"
"That was after, Dad. Said she was walking down the aisle
thinking of... well, not thinking of him, and she realized she
couldn't marry him and she told him that, and then suddenly the
police came and then Lex jumped, to escape them. And all this time I
didn't know that, that she had changed her mind and that she didn't
love him. I think she was going to tell me back then, too, but I
botched *that*..."
    The crossed-fingers fiasco. "Misunderstandings happen, dear, you
were only thinking of her well-being..."
    "If we'd just *talked,* Mom. Misunderstandings always seem to
happen when it comes to us..."
    "They sure do. Look at the way she's been infatuated with you
when you wear that suit," Jonathan said, "and you're the *very same
person*."
    Oh, that was a stinger, Martha thought.
    But then she thought: bingo, honey, I could hug you! In a round
about way, that was it, and the best part was that as Clark replied,
it looked like she didn't have to say anything at all.
    "Yeah, that's the *biggest* misunderstanding of all. When I went
to help the Messenger and I saw her there when I was looking for the
what was wrong--you remember, I told you I saw her first and figured
she had found something--I thought she'd recognize me right away and
be pleased to know I could do all that stuff and she'd want to work
with me on the paper instead of thinking I was just a... a hack from
Smallville. She said that to Perry, I overheard it...." he sighed.
    "But when she didn't recognize me, I was... relieved because I
didn't really know her that well, she might have made it all public.
Then it got crazy when she liked me better that way, even though
that's not me..." He swirled ice cream and pie juice together, paused
and looked up. "And, Mom, I'm trying not to talk about myself like
I'm two different people, it's just..." it was easier to contemplate
the pie again, "it's just crazy..."
    He almost had it. She asked, "Have you seen her recently while
you were wearing the suit?"
    "No, not close up since that monster thing and we were talking to
the people from the Pentagon. We've been really close since that
evening but as real people, and it's been really great, but what if I
have to rescue her or something, I mean, it's going to happen sooner
or later, and what if she gets all... I don't know, what if she...
forgets all that we've done?"
    His real fear, Martha thought. "She won't forget it, dear, you
mean a lot to her..."
    "She hardly mentioned Superman at all when she was here. When she
and I were out on the tractor, I was expecting her to say 'Superman
could plow up this field fast, couldn't he?' or 'Superman is stronger
than ten horses' when she met Robby, but she didn't, not a peep out
of her about any of that. She only mentioned Superman when I asked
her what that monster was like, and then she talked more about
Jimmy."
    Two hugs, Martha promised.
    Clark looked thoughtful now. "She's joked a bit about her
relationship with me--in the suit--but not as much as she used to..."
Another bite of pie; he'd eaten half of it already without much
thought about it. "And she doesn't get all... dreamy eyed, and she's
stopped rushing out to look for him, me, at every report. Actually,
she hasn't done that in a long time, and she doesn't go through her
Superman sightings file much any more, it's probably way out of
shape..."
    "There, you see?" Jonathan smiled. "Her infatuation is wearing
off, but I don't think it will go to the other extreme, she's
brighter than that. I don't think she'll start hating Superman like
that Mayson woman did."
    "And Mayson got over it fast once the UN gave me the Universal
Passport and the US Marshall Service gave me that badge and then the
State Senate deputized me. She just wanted me to be legal and she was
right, those things are great to have, I want to be legal, too. If
she still hated me she would have thought up legislation to rescind
it maybe, but she's working on education issues like she told me she
would. You know, if I'd never met Lois but Mayson instead... but I
met Lois and we argue all the time..."
    "Really?"
    "Well, not *all* the time, Mom, it just seems like it, and then
last night was disappointing because Will wanted to show us the bank
he works at now--"
    "He's in banking? He did sound a bit like an accountant type, and
he made some money from that book..."
    "More money than he dreamed of, and he used some of it to take
courses and become a private eye, of all things, but it looks like
he's for real. The bank job is a cover, he's a janitor. He thinks
there's something odd going on, but he doesn't know what. He led us
to Green Meadows--he drove his own car, a little red Miata, and gave
Lois a radio for her car so we could talk to him--which meant we
couldn't talk to each other, not that I'd have told her then when she
was driving but at least we could have made up, you know, after the
argument...
    "And then when we got there we staked out the bank and he sat in
the back seat, behind us, and kept talking. The unfortunate thing
about that is, he said interesting things. I just wish it had
happened some other time..."
    "Terrible timing."
    "Well, that's me any more... Nothing happened at the bank, it's
just a big, solid-looking building on the central plaza. It's full of
security and he hasn't found any glitches. I guess he studied that
kind of thing, too. But burglars keep throwing themselves at it
anyway, three times so far, two of which were hushed up...
    "Even though it was Saturday night, it was quiet there, but
something interesting did happen at last. A woman walked by. She
looked like she had been working late in an office, she was dressed
like that, not like, oh, a hooker. But a minute later we heard her
screaming and Will jumped right out of the jeep and ran off in that
direction. I jumped out to follow him, and Lois stayed behind to use
her car phone to call 911, which was odd. I mean, I didn't have to
tell her to stay put, not that she would have..." He ate the next-to-
the-last piece of pie. "But get this: that woman had been attacked by
this big guy who had a knife and he was dragging her into an alley."
    "That happens in the big city *all* the time."
    "Yeah, Dad, it seems to some nights."
    "It was just past the full moon."
    "Right. But I got there in time to see him stop dragging her and
aim his knife at Will, who was at least a foot shorter than him.
Well, he's at least a foot shorter than everybody. The guy got a look
at him and started laughing, but Will ran right up and grabbed the
his knife hand just so. The guy dropped the knife and the woman and
tried to grab Will, but the next thing I knew, Will had him face down
on the ground with his knife hand twisted around behind him and he
was screaming for help. The mugger, not Will. Will wasn't even
winded. He had told us he was studying Akido and he really is and
he's good at it."
    "And he sounds braver than he was, too."
    "Yeah, Mom, and he just jumped in to save that woman without
thinking."
    "Sounds like someone we know..."
    "Huh?"
    "Nothing. Go on."
    "Oh, you mean because he had a copy of my powers for a while he's
like me? Well, he's not, Mom, not any more, not since... April 1st,
and that was a false alarm. I couldn't help it that the Prankster
fooled everyone into thinking the Planet building and staff had
disappeared. You really should have called before coming."
    After that dreadful Stride woman had gotten Clark into such
trouble, Martha and Jonathan had cornered Clark and had it out with
him about his frequent failures to do a little basic thinking when it
would do the most good. He was perfectly capable of exercising more
caution... "You've become a lot more thoughtful about handling
trouble, and we're very pleased." No more rushing to Metropolis in
the middle of calving a cow or harvesting soybeans. What a relief!
    "Well..."
    "Go on. He impressed you after all."
    "Yeah, he did. So I can't help but think he's on to something
about the bank. If it just hadn't been last night, but that's his
night off, and then if we hadn't been there, he couldn't have helped
that woman, so..."
    "Something good came out of it. Did you stake out the bank all
night?"
    "No. The police came right away and took our reports, so we
couldn't stay any more. Will wanted to show us his house, but it was
nearly midnight and Lois looked sleepy and she wasn't dressed for
traipsing around doing that--she looked *great* for a dinner, but not
for a stakeout, so I suggested she go on home, that Will could take
me home, and she agreed..." End of pie. "We drove up to his house and
looked at it from the outside. It's small for the area, *only* four
bedrooms and a half-size Olympic swimming pool and servants' quarters
and a three-horse stable though he doesn't have any horses yet."
    "Whoa!"
    "Right. We didn't go in, I didn't want to wake Wanda Mae. I told
him I could get home on my own and I did. He said he'd try to come to
the party my neighborhood is having this afternoon. He said he had
something to confirm and he asked if Perry would be there. He should
be because Mr. Stern is sponsoring it, and there's going to be
politicians and it could be hairy because of all the publicity and
that means security, and security attracts the need for security..."
He shook his head. "Well, I have about four hours to get back, take a
little nap maybe, and then get to a planning meeting."
    "And no chance to talk to Lois...?"
    "Oh, she said she'd come, Mom. They don't seem to do anything
interesting in where she lives except complain about the utilities.
Maybe we'll have a chance to talk--not about the secret, but maybe we
can clear things up after last night. We were civil to each other on
the stakeout, but I want to be a lot more than *that* again."
    "Well, we better chase you out then. Do you want to take some pie
to take with you?"
    He looked at it, obviously torn. "If I didn't have half a quiche
and all that chocolate chip mousse at home, I'd take you up on it."
    "Oh, you made that and she missed it..."
    He nodded. "Yeah, we hardly even got to taste the quiche. If
we're still on talking terms, maybe we can eat it tonight."
    "If you two didn't eat, then she was hungry and maybe that's why
she got upset," his father said, sounding sage. "She'll probably be
in a better mood today, getting out in the fresh air."
    "I hope so. I guess I'll go find out."

                                 ***

    The day was bright and sunny with a hint of breeze and the
temperature was expected to reach only 80. It couldn't have been
better, Mom Nature was doing her part, Clark thought. At one o'clock,
after performing a few helpful deeds on the way home and indulging in
a quick nap, he arrived on time at the bandstand in the center of
Ellison Park across from the Unitarian Church. On the way, walking
through the long, wide park, he had passed knots of enthusiastic
people setting up booths and tables, preparing entertainment, and
practicing on musical instruments. Normal pre-party activity.
    What didn't look normal was the clot of uniformed men and women
from Metropolis Security UnLtd. that had taken over the bandstand, to
the dismay of a neighborhood rock band hoping to set up there to
enjoy their 15 minutes of fame. Also waiting around the bandstand
were six of Clark's neighbors, five of whom usually rotated through
border guard duty. They were obviously trying to eavesdrop on what
was being said on the bandstand to the alert security people by an
authoritative-looking man.
    Clark approached Mrs. Whitney, who had her hands on her hips and
looked like she was trying to determine how to blend her friends and
neighbors into the group of interlopers who thought they were in
charge. Before she could come up with any ideas, though, the man
addressing the uniformed people walked through them to the
bandstand's railing and looked down at her. "Is this them? Are these
your security people?"
    "Yes." She quickly introduced the six (excluding the band
members). Clark and his five neighbors smiled, but the man, whose
bronze name badge said "Capt. Scott," had no easy-to-read reaction.
He was in his late 40s probably and had a military bearing. He nodded
at them all and then, as Fran put it later, forced himself to look
human and interested in them. But the man's opinion was blatantly
obvious when his gaze came to rest for a moment upon Fran. True, she
didn't look like anyone's idea of a security person; more like a
granny in tennis shoes. But Clark had personally seen her take down a
drunken man (not a neighbor) who larger men had failed to get hold
of. Actually, she had snuck in and tripped him. She also wore a mean-
looking pair of hiking boots and would gladly have demonstrated their
utility on Capt. Scott's shin of choice given a little provocation.
    The man's gaze moved on, resuming its leisurely pace, summing up
what the neighborhood had to offer. "Well, Mrs. Whitney, I suggest
that your people supplement ours. They can enjoy themselves and come
and go as they please while my people do the job they're getting paid
for."
    He was so smooth that Clark could see she would have trouble
arguing with that. She gave it a good try. "My people enjoy helping
out at our block parties, Capt. Scott. It's their contribution to the
event. Remember, *you're* supplementing *us*. Maybe your people would
have more fun watching out for the DA and any other... celebrities
who turn up."
    As this turned into a back and forth contest of wills, Clark
heard a familiar pattern of heart, breathing and footsteps-in-the-
grass sounds behind him, but he didn't turn to verify it, waiting,
hoping... Then he felt a hand trying to slip down to meet his left
one, which like his right was in his jeans pockets.
    Whew! he thought. Everything's going to be okay!
    He pulled out his hand and Lois intertwined her fingers into his
and stood quietly at his side, watching the combatants come to a
testy draw. Half the neighbors would border guard, the other half
would party and then switch off if needed; the bulk of the paid
security would stick with the politicians and celebrities. Capt.
Scott returned to mobilizing his troops and the neighbors began
muttering among themselves.
    Clark had someone to mutter to as well. He turned to Lois and
before she could say anything whispered: "I'm really sorry about last
night."
    She looked like she wanted to whack him, and the look was
explained when she whispered fiercely: "*I* was going to say that!"
    "Oh, well--"
    "And now you think I'll use it as an excuse *not* to say that."
    "But--"
    "But nothing, we were *equally* culpable."
    "Maybe--"
    "No maybes, and you're not going to let me off the hook that
easily. *I'm* sorry about last night, too, got that? You were trying
to make it special and, well..."
    "I--We messed up."
    "Yes, *we* did. Things happen, stories happen to us, we should be
used to that, and since we work together well, we'll work it out,"
she nodded, no doubt about it.
    "I want to."
    She warmed up. "I know..."
    He could see a "now kiss me, you fool!" look in her eyes and
suspected his own said something similar (like "gangway!"), but this
wasn't the right place for a passionate embrace and a fireworks
smooch. She didn't look all that romantic anyhow: she was dressed for
a picnic (though, of course, had she been wearing a potato sack...).
She had tied her hair back in a triangular cotton scarf and she wore
a flowery t-shirt and dark blue jeans.
    She seemed to detect the inappropriateness of the location as
well now and moderated her expression. She said, "Well, do you think
you'll get to guard the Mayor? I hear he's supposed to show up some
time around four but it's a secret."
    "I hope not."
    "What? Guard, show or secret?"
    "All of them."
    "You're no fun..."
"It won't be much fun around here if people are afraid to have
any fun because of all the secrets and suspicion..."
    One of the security people, a woman who had been taking notes on
a clipboard, opened a cardboard box that had been stashed out of the
way. She pulled out black singlets and began handing them to Clark
and the two other neighbors, Fran and Rick, who were taking the first
security shift.
    Lois smiled. "Oh, let's see if it says anything..."
    Clark held it up.
    "Security," Lois read the white lettering. "Well, they spelled it
right and didn't put 'Assistant Security' or anything ludicrous like
that... Hey!" Lois said to the woman who had handed out the shirts,
catching her before she moved on. "Don't they get hats like yours,
too? No?"
    "Lois..."
    "That's not fair... Well, they shouldn't be so cheap, Clark."
    "But I don't want a hat. I don't want this either."
    "I bet you'll look nice in it..." and she raised her eyebrows
knowingly.
    Not the T-shirt thing again, Clark sighed, though couldn't deny a
spark of pleasure at her interest. "I bet you'd look nicer in it. Do
you want to try it on?"
    "No, I came to have fun, not work. Now I just have to get you a
good assignment."
    The woman with the clipboard returned, but before Lois could
pound her with suggestions for the best use of Clark's time, he said,
"I'll watch the playground, if that hasn't been assigned to anyone."
    The woman was clearly surprised. "No, it's all yours."
    Lois shook her head, obviously disappointed that he hadn't
insisted on, say, guarding the DA so that she could tag along and
question Dawis. But then she smiled a little, as though she wasn't
surprised at his request.
    The woman informed him that guarding the playground was an
important job because one scenario her colleagues envisioned included
armed terrorists kidnapping children as a diversionary tactic.
    "So they can make off with the Mayor while everyone is chasing
after the kids?" Lois asked, her voice dripping.
    "We can neither confirm nor deny that anyone in particular is
coming to this event, ma'am," the woman said, her manner immune to
sarcasm.
    Clark took Lois's arm gently but with a certain "Lois, please..."
firmness. Over his shoulder he said to the woman: "Thank you. My
friend and I will go watch the kids *right now*..."
    "Booorrriinngg..." Lois whispered as they headed south toward the
playground.
    "No, it's not, it's *exciting*."
    She tried to pinch his arm, which he appreciated, particularly
since she hadn't tried to find one of his ticklish spots. Sometimes
being supersensitive had its drawbacks, but someday, if all went
well, he'd let--no, *encourage* her to find them.
    She said. "I know you like kids, Clark, but really..."
    "They're worth watching over, and I get this..." He held it up
again, "this... stupid singlet."
    "It's not that bad. Put it on."
    "You just want to leer at me..."
    "Exactly. Hurry up. Need help?"
    "No." He pulled it on over his t-shirt, ignoring her suggestion
that he take that off first. The ensemble was a bit tight but he
straightened it.
    Lois smiled. "You look great."
    "I stick out like a... a sore thumb," whatever that was like.
    "Well, if you ask me--and you should have--you stick out just
fine. You're stuck with me, too, too, until those Buddhist monks I
saw near the stage start doing whatever they're going to do. I should
probably watch them to improve on my serene-ness."
    "Your sereneness is doing just fine, as is your sense of humor."
    "That's 'wicked' sense of humor."
    "Um, particularly after last night. My head's still spinning," or
he was sure it would have been had been human and not taken a side
trip to the North Pole to let out another shout on the way home from
Green Hills. The shouting release of tension, talking it over with
his folks, and now joking with her... Yep, things were looking much
better.
    "Too bad we didn't have time to work that out there on the
couch..."
    Uh-oh, another of those topics they couldn't pursue here and
now... darn. "Ah, yeah... The monks usually play drums, pass out
tambourines and get everyone into the act."
    "Then we'll probably hear them when they start--Oh, look, a swing
set! And they all work, too!"
    The big swing was crowded with kids for the moment, but they'd
soon move on to some other piece of equipment; Clark had noticed that
groups of kids tended to do that. She said, "I want to test drive the
first empty one."
    "You'll need a nifty black singlet to do that in."
    "No, I won't."
    "But," he pointed, "they spelled the word right."
    "No, they didn't spell it B-O-S-S, so keep your shirt on."
    A swing did free up soon and she took it after she checked to see
that there were no children waiting for it. He reflected that the
Lois he had met a couple of years earlier might have bribed a kid to
give up a swing, but this Lois waited calmly, probably trying to
think up more silly things to say. He offered to give her a push and
she accepted it, saying "Launch me, Captain!"
    Ha, he thought, she didn't *know* launching... He gave her a
gentle shove and made the next one a little harder, and then stood
back. While she worked on her own to soar to new heights, he looked
over the growing crowd of kids. Their parents had dropped many of
them off and others had wandered in on their own to visit Officer
Graham, who was setting up the face-painting table, to attend the
Metro College Vo-Tech branch students story theater, or to play on
the equipment the neighborhood association had refurbished earlier in
the year. He knew a lot of the kids and that they'd seek him out if
they needed help--if they knew he was present. He walked around in
front of Lois and caught her eye. "I'm going to circulate a bit,
okay?"
    "Wait a minute! Stand back!" She slowed the swing and, when he
was out of the way, made a daring jump, landed perfectly, knees bent
to absorb the shock, and then straightened like a star gymnast. He
applauded. She held out her hand, he took it, and they circulated.
    They made one round of the play area, stopping frequently to
greet kids and watch them show off tricks and stunts, and once to
mediate a squabble in the sandbox. Lois didn't seem to mind all this
inaction, which he felt certain at one time she would have found
incredibly dull and not have hesitated to tell him.
    No, instead she said she was thinking about getting her face
painted--"Not all over like that little girl there, more like a
little tattoo..."
    "Go for it. How about a daisy?"
    She looked at him speculatively. "And for you--"
    "Don't look at *me*, I'm in *security*, I have to wear this
terrific singlet proudly."
    "All right, you win for now, but when I get you to myself, watch
out! I wonder if any of the food booths are open, something smells
good. Are you as hungry as I am? It won't be as good as the quiche,"
she said, "but..."
    Though he realized he might have to stay here until late, he
decided to say "Maybe I could reheat that tonight."
    "Oh, good idea. But for now, don't go away, don't leave your
post," and she was off to hunt down the best free lunch she could
find, not an easy chore as Clark noticed that now Mr. Stern's
caterers were descending en masse on the park and would no doubt
start squabbling with the neighbors who were organizing their own
customary tables.
    Clark turned away from all that (it was no job for the man in
blue tights) and faced the playground again, but his thoughts were
not entirely on it. No, he was dedicating a portion of his mental
activity to cruising on how life with Lois was evening out again,
having in one fell swoop regained that high, almost breath-taking
level. Making up had been a breeze--and what a relief! That seemed to
bode so well for their relationship. She had just bounced right back
and a lot faster than he had, when it was usually the other way
around. Maybe she'd been thinking the same things he had, sort of,
though of course she didn't have as much to hide--what could she have
to hide in comparison?--well, her novel maybe... and certainly she
didn't have the urgent need to get it out into the open between them.
    Actually, he thought, I'll probably never get to see the novel...
    He began to stroll around again, keeping watch. Kids came up to
him to chat to show him their painted faces, or to ask him what he
thought about ponies some of Mr. Stern's people were herding into a
make-shift pen.
    Flash! "Hey, CK, look up! All these kids around you will make
some real good pictures!"
    "I don't think so, Jimmy," Clark said quickly. Such pictures
could look too much like the ones taken at the orphanage fund raiser.
"I'm an investigative reporter, remember? I won't be one for long if
my picture gets published."
    "Oh, yeah..." Jimmy lowered his camera. "Perry might assign you
to... to the Home Life section, huh?"
    "Yes, and assign you to take pictures of tastefully decorated
linen closets."
    "Yech! Well, the picture I just took, if the little kid looks
good, I'll crop you out. You know, the Mayor's supposed to be here at
four according to my friend Tad." He checked his watch. "I've got
time yet. They say he's bringing along some of the movie stars who
are in town. The Mayor, not Tad. I don't think Tad knows any movie
stars."
    Politicians and movie stars, that would really keep Stern's
people busy. "Who's the mayor's supposed to be bringing?"
    "Tad didn't know, and I haven't heard anything definite, but when
I do, I'll let you know. Richard Gere and Nicole Kidman are in town
making a movie."
    "Wow..."
    "I'd like to see her, too, but it's more likely that Superman
will turn up, and then we'll probably all see him arrive."
    "I expect so."
    "But he's not a show off, so he probably won't come."
    "Yeah. Are you saving film or...?"
    "No, I've got lots--and, okay, I should use it." Jimmy proceeded
to crouch, lay down, climb the jungle gym, get his face painted and
otherwise experiment with different angles to take pictures of the
kids, who thought he was funny looking doing all that.
    Clark resumed his strolling. Getting a late start, the loud
speakers Stern's people had set up boomed into life, and Mr. Reed
announced that the party was officially under way. He made some
introductions, but he mentioned no one special. Maybe, Clark hoped,
all the security would be for nothing and people could just have fun.
    Probably not, though.
    For example, his own fun was threatened when he spotted Raul
Escamilla walking vaguely in his direction. But seeing Raul wasn't so
odd: Mr. Stern's office had sent invitations to everyone at the
Planet. Clark had thought that a little presumptuous, even though his
employer was paying for almost everything. As long as no one went
hungry or caused trouble, though, who was he, Clark, to complain? He
didn't think many of the Planet's employees would attending though.
Most people who didn't live here still thought this was a rough
neighborhood.
    But there was Raul, Laura-less. Maybe they had finished their
story; Laura had mentioned Friday they planned to wrap it up for this
morning's business edition. That left Raul free to pursue Lois again,
meaning that he, Clark, had to... could do... nothing? Await Lois's
permission or risk her wrath?
    There had to be something he could do.
    He could be friendly. He smiled when Raul caught sight of him,
thus giving his hapless opponent permission to approach. Clark said,
"I'm glad you could come," which wasn't quite true, but under other
circumstances it would have been.
    "And I am glad to see you, my friend. You are the first person I
see who I know," he explained. "I enjoy fiestas, any fiestas and
parties and celebrations. I like to enjoy them with my friends."
    Why did Lois have so much trouble with this genuinely nice
fellow? Clark couldn't understand why she simply didn't tell him she
felt nothing for him rather than trying to beat him off with a verbal
stick. "Well, you've come to the right--"
    "Is Lois Lane here?"
    Maybe it was his tenacious, one-track mind... "Ah, yes--and she's
with me."
    "Oh?" He looked around briefly. "She is?"
    "She went to get something for us to eat, and we're going to
spend the rest of the afternoon together."
    "Ah, I see..."
    He did? It sounded like he was transforming that information into
a romantic challenge rather than hearing it as bad news for his
plans. Would he hang around and try to lure Lois away? It wouldn't
work, Clark was 99% certain of it, but it would be a strain on her
and he didn't want that.
    Good grief, he thought, I sound as paranoid about this as she
does.
    Then Jimmy reappeared out of nowhere. "Hi, Raul. I bet you're
looking for Lois."
    "Oh, yes! Have you seen her? I think she will need help carrying
things. Clark sent her away to get lunch for him."
    "That's not what I said, and she won't need help, she's a strong
woman."
    "She used to be, and she used to be a real loner, too," Jimmy
said. Then he winked and elbowed Clark, "But she's developed a heavy-
duty soft spot for you, CK."
    "Lois Lane has a heart that is big enough to contain the entire
world," Raul said dreamily.
    "Not really," Jimmy shook his head. "I mean, she's a great
person, but she's not always..."
    "Jimmy..."
    "Well, she's not Mary Poppins, but with *you*, CK, you know
Madona and that new video where she--"
    "I saw it," Clark said, and Raul's eyes widened and he nodded.
    Jimmy smiled, seeing he had gotten his point across. "Raul? Lois
and CK, they're like *this!*" and he held up two fingers in a Boy
Scout salute. Then crossed them, one atop the other. "They're really
close!"
    "Jimmy!"
    "Well," Raul said, obviously trying to put the best face on this
tabloid-style news, "Lois Lane is very kind to her friends..."
    "Oh, yeah! 'Kind,' right!" Jimmy put his hand on Raul's shoulder,
pulled him close and locker room whispered, "Believe *me*, I know
*all* about Lois and Clark, I've been observing them for a long time,
and they're *more* than close! Much more!"
    Clark didn't know whether to feel appalled or fascinated. "Jimmy,
go take pictures."
    "But Lois Lane is a paragon of every virtue..."
    "Right *now*, Jimmy."
    "Well, yeah, paragon, sure," Jimmy nodded, agreeing mostly, "and
one of the finest women in the world, but she knows what she wants
and she gets it, too, because she stayed at Clark's place for two
whole nights a couple of weeks ago, *everyone* knows that..."
    Raul looked confused. Obviously he hadn't known that. Jimmy
grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. "And she's been *real happy* ever
since..."
    Raul looked at Clark. Clark found himself shrugging, smiling a
little and not having the slightest idea (really) why he was, in
effect, agreeing to everything Jimmy was saying and all the
incredible implications.
    "I must think about this, I must ask her--"
    Yikes! Clark immediately said: "Don't--"
    Jimmy jumped in faster: "Don't you know *any*thing about women,
Raul? They don't like to talk about that kind of thing, especially to
another man! She'll *kill* you if you ask her about it! There won't
be anything left of you, not even a blood stain!"
    "I do not want her to be unhappy..."
    "Then just play it cool, real cool," Jimmy advised in a
conspiratorial whisper. "That's the best thing you can do, believe
me, I know, I've learned from the *masters*..."
    Perry? Clark wondered briefly. Nah...
    But when Jimmy said "masters" for some reason he did glance at
Clark... who smiled humbly again and again couldn't explain to
himself why he wasn't making *some* effort to set the record
straight, to untarnish Lois's virtue and ease the bizarre feeling in
his gut. Just because not insisting on the truth seemed to be the
right thing to do at the moment, that wasn't a good excuse for the
long term, not nearly. Especially if Lois found out somehow.
    "Look, Raul," Jimmy continued as though he considered himself the
confused man's best friend, "you've got a lot to think about--and I'm
hungry. Let's go find something to eat and I can take your picture
while you're enjoying it,"
    "But I am an investigative reporter..." Raul protested as Jimmy
steered him away toward the food tables and entertainment areas.
    Clark wasn't entirely certain what had just happened, but he did
feel like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders and he couldn't
argue with that.
    Not now, anyhow, because it was Lois's turn to show up out of
nowhere.
    "Was that Raul and Jimmy I saw buddying up?" she asked as she
handed over one of two heavy-duty paper plates full of food.
    "Yep." He didn't want to talk about them. "Oh, this looks good."
    "Talk about the odd couple. I hope he doesn't come bother us.
Raul, I mean. Or Jimmy either, for that matter."
    "He won't. Raul, I mean, too."
    "Clark, you have a funny look on your face and I don't mean funny
ha-ha. Sit down here..." On an unoccupied bench under a tree there on
the edge of the playground "...and tell me what happened."
    "Well..."
    "Spill it. Confession is good for the soul, you know."
    "I know..." Boy, do I know... "Well, it happened fast, but I
think it means that Raul's not going to bother you any more..."
"Oh? What did you do...?"
    Her voice sounded potentially scolding, as though she expected to
hear something she wouldn't like. TV sitcom mothers used that tone of
voice, and it had always mystified him since his own mother had never
used it that he could recall.
    "I didn't do anything, I was scrupulous about that. You warned
me, I took it to heart. Far be it from me..."
    "Well, then, good."
    "He asked where you were--"
    "Naturally."
    "and I said you were getting lunch for us and then Jimmy implied
that you and I... that something happened between us when you were
staying at my place after the Slime Monster."
    "Well, something *did* happen," she said casually as she poked
through her food, smiled, and chose a fried chicken leg to start on.
    "No, nothing happened--I mean, nothing the way he insinuated it
did..."
    "True, nothing like that."
    "Nothing *remotely* like that."
    "Actually, we did come rather close to it..."
    "Well, I did think about it a couple of times..."
    "Me, too," she smiled again and licked her lips.
    "But we were... adult about it. We didn't take advantage of each
other."
    "That's one way to describe it."
    "It's nice of you not to say we were boring."
    "The worst we were was cautious, and that was a good idea, given
everything else we were discovering about each other, like how you...
how well you cook." She looked at his plate then, which he realized
he had forgotten about due to being preoccupied with her eyes. "Are
you going to even try that or did I walk all over this park looking
for exotic food and you're not hungry?"
    The heaping plate practically winked at him. "I'm hungry, I only
had pie and ice cream for breakfast."
    "You call that a breakfast?"
    "Well, it was... what was available. Is this a tamale?... Yes. It
tastes good, too. Hey, I'll find us something to drink, that should
be easy." He began to rise.
    "Hold on." She put down her plate, pulled her fanny pack around
and produced some paper napkins and two cold cans of a name-brand
soda, one of them being a favorite of his. That was nice.
    He sat back again and decided he didn't want to talk about Raul
any more, particularly as Lois didn't seem to be upset at all. Could
it be that she didn't realize the implications of what Jimmy had
said? No, it was clear that she had understood somehow. But what if
Jimmy truly believed all that himself? If that were the case, then
there was a good chance that everyone in the newsroom also thought
they knew about those two nights and all kinds of lurid rumors were
spreading through the building unchecked. And here he had thought Cat
had just picked it up psychically when she had confronted him over
the phone about it way back then.
    He told himself it was way too late to do anything about it, to
calm down, to try to emulate Lois's tranquil attitude. She had serene
down to an art all right. She was certainly a woman he could stand
living with...
    She seemed to become aware of his looking at her and she smiled
unselfconsciously.
    His heart went "Wow..." and he told it to calm down now, too.
    It helped that she changed the subject. She told him she had
marveled at the transformation of the park. The stage at the other
end was complete and she had seen a group calling itself the Texas
Troubadours setting up. They were supposed to be playing now, but it
looked like everything was getting a late start since it was well
after three and no one had heard a sound out of them. There were at
least a hundred folding chairs arranged before the stage and they had
been filling up quickly the last time she looked. On the southwest
corner of the park, near where she had picked up the spoonful of
tabouli on his plate, had been two people juggling swords--"The
security people were watching them closely"--and on the southeast
corner, a small, open-sided tent had been erected and under it the DA
was serving chili, a smile plastered on his sweaty face.
    Just then they heard the Troubadours strike up a lively country
and western song, battling to become the loudest thing in the park.
Lois and Clark silently agreed that there was no use trying to talk
over that. They sat and watched the children playing, running here
and there, riding by on strings of ponies and otherwise having at
least twice as much fun as any of the adults.
    The crowd continued to grow. The people who Clark recognized
either as neighbors or Planet colleagues were vastly outnumbered by
strangers. This made him a bit nervous. Though the newcomers were
welcome and surely there was enough to entertain and feed them, they
wouldn't have the sense of belonging the neighbors did, and if they
became discontented...
    He finished his lunch quickly--at a human pace though--and told
Lois, "I want to walk around some more. Things are getting crowded
and I'm a little concerned..."
    She nodded and rose as well. "I'll go with you..." but she looked
at her unfinished meal.
    He said, "I'll carry your soda if you want to keep eating."
    "Thanks."
    They walked. Clark noticed that Officer Graham had abandoned face
painting for the time being and was doing a little patrol duty around
the playground as well. He looked conspicuous with his paint-dabbed
hands but he wasn't wearing a security singlet so was in effect going
under cover.
    But as crowded and noisy as the park had become, Clark couldn't
see anything truly suspicious or otherwise worrisome at this time,
and he was happy about that.
    Until Lois gasped and pointed through a momentary clearing.
"Look!"
    "What? Where?"
    "It's... It's Perry!"
    Clark zeroed in on his boss immediately, even though the man,
half the park away, was difficult to recognize. He wore a dark
baseball cap, sunglasses, a short-sleeved shirt, walking shorts,
matching socks and tennis shoes. He was holding a beer in one hand, a
hot dog in the other, and he was talking to someone dressed in a
jogging suit and carrying a brief case, a man who Clark recognized as
working in the upper reaches of the Planet's management team. They
were chatting about the upcoming holiday season because the other man
said the words "budget that Christmas party," which of course Clark
couldn't mention to Lois. He did say, "I see him, but I don't see
anything... wrong with him..."
    "He... He has... *knees!*"
    Huh? Clark turned his concerned frown on her, just managing not
to laugh. "Of *course* he has knees! He wore shorts during that heat
wave Luthor caused, remember?"
    "Then, yes, but I heard he had them surgically removed. It's why
he paces funny."
    "No, it's not, I heard that was due a war wound in an
inconvenient place."
    "Yeah, the Gaza Strip."
    "No, in his anatomy. Besides, he needs knees to get down on to
beg Mr. Stern not to fire us if  we don't find another story soon."
    "Or if your neighbors make hash of DA Dawis."
    "Or if you don't get an exclusive interview with Richard Gere."
    "Or you don't wrangle one with Demi Moore."
    "Demi Moore? Jimmy said Nicole Kidman."
    "Moore, Kidman--what's the difference?"
    "Well, actually--"
    "Actually, it doesn't matter, we don't stoop to Tinseltown
gossip, do we?"
    "Well--"
    "*Do* we?"
    "But if Nicole Kidman is *here*, in Metropolis, in Ellison Park,
*my* park, near *my* home..."
    "Clark..." She bumped against him gently, a move calculated, he
realized, to distract him from thoughts of any other woman in the
world but her.
    It worked. "Nicole who?"
    "That's better. Hey, wait a minute, isn't that Will?"
    The small man, wearing a Panama hat, a plaid shirt and matching
solid-colored shorts, broke out from a crowd that had gathered around
an ice cream distributor. Will carried an ice cream cone, and he
spotted and strolled casually in Perry's direction. Neither Perry nor
the man he was talking to noticed.
    "I wonder what that's about," Lois said. "Let's go butt in."
    Their view became obscured just then by more people, reminding
Clark of his other duties. "I have to stay here, but you can find out
what's happening faster if I'm not standing there by you."
    "True, it is easier to use my feminine wiles if you're not
hovering."
    "That's what I meant."
    "You're too polite sometimes, but I make up for it. I'll tell you
what: I'll get them to move their little tete-a-tete over here where
it's shady and quieter."
    It took her a good twenty minutes and her hard work paid dubious
dividends. She got rid of the management man, reintroduced Perry and
Will, and got them to move closer to the playground and under a
tree--between two families on picnic blankets. Not much privacy.
Clark considered working his way there through the kids, ponies and
clowns, but tuned in first, only to hear the two men discussing the
vagaries of the publishing world. Perry was enjoying himself and Will
was again proving that he could tell a surprisingly good story. Lois,
straining bravely to look interested, was dropping hints that they
should get on with it. She had to practically shout as the Buddhists
began their contribution to the late afternoon's entertainment and
the speakers amplified their drums and tambourines. He decided now
was not the time to intrude
    He tried again about half an hour later, ambling up in time to
hear Will's opinions of the Slime Monster and its origins (from an
undersea cavern he was sure), and Perry's tale of how he and
Mr. Stern had watched some of that day's events while trapped in the
Daily Planet building's penthouse. Mr. Stern had been concerned about
running out of seltzer, while Perry had been straining at the bit to
get out and cover the story himself.
    Lois was apparently eating all this right up, but Clark noticed
that she held her hands behind her back and was hooking her finger at
him in a "come on, this could be it!" manner.
    Clark received two welcome nods and thus permission to join in
the conversation. He did not, however, want to talk about the Slime
Monster. He had had his fill of it ten minutes after first seeing it
floating over the city at 10,000 feet, scaring the wits out of
everyone (including him, almost) with its eerie, pulsing manner. It
had forced him to give up his day off... but it had also gotten
things moving between him and Lois, so some good had come of that
long, miserable day.
    When there was a pause in the conversation for the Chief to take
a pull on his second beer and Will to do the same on his diet cola,
Clark said, "Will, last night you were so anxious to talk to
Mr. White, I'm glad you could make it here today."
    Lois gave him a covert I-was-going-to-to-say-that-next look.
    Will considered his options apparently and nodded, "Yes, that's
true, I did really want to talk to you, sir."
    "Call me Perry, son." He pulled off his sunglasses to wink at
Will. "We're not in a stuffy office where we have to be formal about
things."
    "Why, thank you, Perry. What I have to ask you about is sort of
private, though..."
    They were surrounded by people sitting around or passing by,
members of Mr. Stern's staff cleaning up after the ponies, and
children chasing geese that had escaped from the petting zoo.
    "Well, Will," Perry chuckled indulgently, "maybe you can give me
a little hint..." and he bent over slightly, offering his ear and
giving his star reporters a look that said he was in a damn good
mood.
    Lois glanced at Clark as Will took the hint and began to whisper.
    Why is she looking at me? Clark wondered. She didn't appear to be
upset because Will wasn't taking her into his confidence as well.
Maybe she thought he, Clark, would be the upset person, considering
he'd helped with Will's book. He was somewhat surprised that Will
hadn't told them many details the night before, but he had been in a
poor mood anyhow and had figured he would hear about it soon enough.
Like now, as he tuned in his particularly sharp ears to hear:
    "Do you think I'm going to take candy from you, you ugly
slimeball?"
    Perry blanched and nearly dropped his beer.
    Huh?
    That wasn't Will's whisper but the sharp voice of a child, a
voice filled with disgust and not a little fear, and Perry certainly
had not heard that.
    No, Clark's unpredictable some-day-I'll-master-it sixth sense had
picked up that fear in the air and used the most easily maneuvered
sense, hearing, to override all else and inform him of it. After all,
Will could be questioned later (or sooner if Lois had her way); the
child sounded like she was in trouble right now.
    He turned, scanned the area and in moments saw 13-year-old Sue
Schwartz, a tall, thin, blond-haired girl whose approach to life made
her a match for Lois. She was standing on the sidewalk at the
northeastern edge of the park with several other children of varying
ages and they were talking to an adult male of perhaps 30 who Clark
did not recognize. Uh-oh...
    He glanced at Lois. "I'll be right back."
    "But--"
    But he was already jogging through the people stretched out on
blankets, the tennis ball jugglers, and the teens throwing frisbees
for their big, black dogs wearing red bandannas. Sue and her friends
formed a semicircle around the stranger, who now looked up and saw
Clark and decided to leave, fast. But Clark was faster and he grabbed
the man's shoulder and a hefty handful of t-shirt and vest.
    "Was this person bothering you, girls?"
    "Nah," Sue said in a superior manner. "He's just a creep."
    "He has *candy*!" a very young child exclaimed. She had already
eaten ice cream and spilled some of it down her Little Mermaid
t-shirt, so that sugar had primed her for more.
    Sue looked at her and said gently, "No, he didn't, he was lying."
She looked at Clark. "He said he had it in the back of his *van*."
    "Yeah, he said that," one of Sue's peers nodded. "He probably
just wants to push us inside and take us somewhere where we can't
find our parents."
    Clark gave the struggling man a shake and a mean look. He was
glad he wasn't in the suit because he couldn't let himself look this
angry about anything less than an atomic warhead aimed at Metropolis.
    "We learned what to do about that in school," Sue explained.
"We're supposed to yell 'No!' at them and run away and tell our
parents or adults we know, like you," and she squinched her eyes and
smiled dreamily at him.
    The little crowd of kids, the squirming man and Clark having no
trouble keeping hold of him attracted the attention of Officer Graham
and two of Mr. Stern's security people. The girls were pleased to
recount their story, and Graham and the security people decided that
further questioning of the man was appropriate. Clark handed him
over, received a pat on the back, and added his own congratulations
to the praise heaped on the kids' actions; they took it with big
smiles.
    Well, that was worth it, Clark thought; his desire to take this
post had been justified, even though he could recall nothing like
this ever happening at a block party. He watched the children run off
to help find the denizens of the petting zoo, decided he wasn't
needed as the security people were sticking around this area now, and
he prepared to return to Lois, Perry and Will. Maybe they'd be past
the whispered preliminaries and wanting to talk, and he could find
out what had upset his boss.
    But instead Clark was intercepted by Mr. Stern. The owner of the
Daily Planet was strolling around the park with his wife. They were
both dressed as though they had just gotten off a flight from Hawaii,
but the willowy Mrs. Stern carried it off better. Mr. Stern hailed
Clark, commented that his employee looked well recovered from his
tribulations of the weekend before, and then he launched into a long
conversation that covered everything from how Clark liked his job to
the reporter's other adventures with the contractors and finally what
was happening here in the park. Stern was pleased with how the day
was going, claiming that the crowds were better behaved than any he
had experienced. Mrs. Stern agreed, saying she enjoyed the
entertainment and the food.
    Five minutes into the conversation, Clark gave up on rejoining
the others any time soon. Stern was rarely a talkative man, but, as
Jonathan Kent might have pointed out, it paid to listen when one of
the richest men in America felt like filling your ear. So since he
couldn't escape to play security officer any more, either, he quickly
pulled off the singlet, explaining that his shift was over. He was
informed that he could keep the apparel as a souvenir. He said
"Thanks" and added that he hadn't had a chance to see what was
happening in the rest of the park... hinting, he hoped, that
Mr. Stern might want to let him do that.
    Stern smiled grandly, "Then let me show you around! You know,
we're having a party like this one in Green Meadows next weekend."
    Clark felt a definite there's-a-story-here tingle. "It seems to
be a good time for block parties."
    "Oh, it's far more than that. Founder's Day they're calling it.
Someone dug into the history books for the area and, bingo, they
found that reason to party. It could have been a harvest festival for
all I care, but I'm all for it," said the man who not only rarely
spoke but who was known for working 25 hours a day. "Even residents
of Green Meadows should let their hair down now and then."
    Mrs. Stern smiled as though all these had originally been her
arguments and she didn't mind him using them now. "You'll come, won't
you, Clark?" she said, "You and Lois? I haven't had a chance to talk
to her today..."
    Neither have I, much, Clark thought. And neither did he have time
until it was nearing eight, after he had seen everything the big
party had to offer. During that time he had also overheard the news
on someone's personal radio that an avalanche in the Wyoming's Grand
Tetons had trapped six skiers and he had slipped away to rescue them.
There were reasons he heard about these things, he figured: people
needed help, some universal law decided they should survive whatever
mess they were in, and if he was one of those who could help, he was
bound to hear about it somehow and should try. The flight out, the
talk with the astonished authorities and the search took less than an
hour and was successful. When he ambled back to the park from "going
home for a minute," little had changed. There had been no big
trouble, and he had missed nothing except that Perry and Will had
gone and Lois, upon finding him, was fuming.
"Perry sat down for a while and looked like he was trying not to
have a heart attack. Will didn't say anything more because he
remembered he had to go to work. Then Perry decided to find Alice and
go home."
    "That's it? That's what I missed?"
    She sighed, unhappy at the stalling, too. "Will said he'd come
and see Perry tomorrow morning."
    "Then we'll be there."
    "Of course, but my tingle about all this says something else..."
    "Such as?"
    She shook her head. "I don't know... Maybe there's too much going
on. And what are you doing now?"
    "I had to go home for something and I came back and found myself
drafted into the cleanup crew."
    "That sounds like fun..." She turned slowly and looked at her
surroundings, which must not have been easy for regular (though
beautiful) human eyes since it was dark already. "The crowds are
thinning, aren't they? But from what I hear there's no more
entertainment and most of the food tables have folded up." She turned
back to him. "Well," she said carefully, as though deciding on some
life-changing event: "I'll stay and help you."
    He gave her a pleased look--but he knew she'd be easy to talk out
of her noble gesture. "Do you have my key with you? Good. Did you
park near my place again? Good. Well, right now, go there, go inside
and get into the refrigerator, take out the quiche, and cut a piece
for yourself. There are also two little bowls covered with aluminum
foil in the fridge. Take one of those home, too."
    "But I wanted to help you here..."
    "I know, and I hate to disappoint you, but they filled up all the
helper positions, so you have to go. I wish I could go with you, but
it's a real mess here," and, though he suspected Mr. Stern's people
would clean up most everything, he had overheard the park rangers in
the Tetons speculating about more lost hikers.
    "Now I really am disappointed," and she looked every inch of it.
She glanced around again, decided something (like there was no one
who would notice), and closed in to engage in an embrace. "Some
night, real soon, before you go on vacation, I'm going to have you
all to myself again."
    "To do this?"
    To kiss in a somewhat more than friendly fashion, but one that he
thought would draw crowds. The cheering might have been fun to hear,
and he had noticed other couples groping each in out-of-the-way
places around the park, but he and Lois weren't an ordinary couple,
it had been a noisy enough day already, and it would be a too quiet
night, some of which he would spend sitting in the snow, trying to
think.

                                 ***

    When he arrived in the newsroom the next morning, he found Lois
complaining about having been attacked by the horrible chocolate
mousse monster that she'd had no idea resided in Clark's
refrigerator. She had beaten it back, though, taken one prisoner, and
enjoyed it immensely upon getting home.
    He smiled and almost said he wished they could have enjoyed it
Saturday evening, but heads had turned upon hearing Lois's statement
and he didn't want to feed the rumor mill any more. She'd just have
to understand.
    Instead he asked if there was any news from Will yet, but she had
none, and they sat through the budget meeting without gathering any
useful clues. Clark did notice that Perry seemed subdued, but that
could easily be blamed on his having more than his usual small number
of beers the day before (the Chief was not known for indulging in
liquor) or on it simply being Monday morning.
    Raul was even more subdued, though he stole sad, furtive glances
in Lois's direction. Is that a broken heart? Clark wondered, almost
feeling sorry for the man. No woman in particular sat next to him.
Laura, for example, hadn't attended today, and Perry didn't have an
special assignment for him, he was to return to his Rinconcito beat
and look for news there on his own. Clark sympathized: having no
partner to work with was not fun at all.
    When the budget meeting broke up, Perry motioned to Lois and
Clark to accompany him to his office. When the three were alone
there, Perry said, "Will Waldecker is supposed to be here at nine. He
told me something... strange yesterday, and I want you two in on it
because you're good at handling strange things."
    "Thanks, Chief," Lois said, managing to sound both sincere and
sarcastic at the same time.
    "Now, you've only yourself to blame. You're the one who broke
that haunted housing project scandal six months after you started
here by going to that seance, and I won't even mention your
investigations of Superman."
    "Well, good, because he's not strange, he's..."
    What? Oh, Clark thought, don't struggle...
    "He's..."
    Then again, struggle can be good for building character...
    Perry raised an eyebrow. "'He's'?"
    "He's... ours. He belongs to Metropolis and... he works for the
world, so people have a right to know about him. He's not strange--
he's *news,*" she smiled, obviously pleased to have found the words
she wanted.
    But, Clark thought, I never wanted to be news...
    She continued, "What he does in his private life--if he has one,
and I'm sure he does--he must, I mean, who doesn't?--is his own
business. There could be a normal guy under that suit." She shot a
look at Clark. "Right?"
    "Oh, yes, right, completely right--"
    "Like... like you, for example."
    "Well, not like *me*..."
    She somehow refrained from giving him a "what was I thinking?"
look--or would she have said that? Was she refraining?--and she said
kindly: "Something like you then."
    "Maybe..." He always seemed to end up with the short end of the
stick when she was making such comparisons, which had been rare of
late, now that he thought about it. But he didn't feel the loser
today, that was nice.
    Perry shook his head at the both of them. "Lois, next you'll tell
me he has a wife and kids in Jackson Hole..."
    "I doubt that."
    Clark did, too, though, oddly enough, he'd been in the mountains
near there during the night before.
    "Not with the way he looks at you..." Perry said.
    "He hasn't looked like that at me in a long time and that's
perfectly all right with me."
    It was? Really? Then he was doing some things right...
    "Uh-huh..."
    "But it's true. I have a life to get on with. He's a nice person,
and I have the feeling he'll always be there for me, but..."
    "But it's the wife and kids back in Wyoming, I understand.
Whatever. You two get back out there and look busy until I call for
you."
    Will didn't show up. Indeed, at 9:15, Perry rushed out of his
office, down to their desks, and pointed at Clark. "There was another
attempt on the Commerce Bank early this morning. Get over there and
get the details. No, Lois, not you. Clark already knows the people to
talk to. I need you for something else..." and he turned away,
obviously expecting her to follow him. Lois and Clark exchanged
shrugs and he grabbed a note book and left.
    He returned within two hours. If asked, he would have said that
the best things about his having gone out were the chance to ride the
high-speed express metro out to Green Meadows (when actually he had
flown) and the bag of donuts he returned with. He settled in front of
his computer and as he dashed off the story, Lois glided up behind
him and began reading over his shoulder.
    "They sprayed the building with bullets? That's a funny way to
rob a bank..."
    He sat back and shook his head. "They chipped the marble and
didn't so much as crack the bullet-proof glass. Fortunately, no one
was hurt. There were eye witnesses to the event but they all told
different stories, like they did the last time."
    "They panicked, it happens."
    He finished the story and LANed it to Perry for his approval and
dumping on the wire. "Okay." He looked at Lois. No Will, I bet."
    "Right. So what do you know that I don't?"
    "I could ask you that about what Perry told you."
    "You could. Trade?"
    "Well, you might have more fun listening in..." He turned and
picked up his phone and dialed nine to get out of the building and
then a number that connected him with a home in Green Hills. Lois
went over to her own desk and prepared to pick up her phone on his
nod, an "I expect this to be good" look on her face. The day long ago
that she had stopped expecting his little stunts to fail had been
cause for celebration.
    "Hello, this is the White House. Wasn't that Mr. Bell just a
darling for showing us these talking contraptions? I *love* them..."
    "Mrs. Lincoln, this is General Grant. Is Tad in?"
    "Oh, my goodness, no, I think he's out inspecting the troops with
his father. He left last night and I don't know where he is..."
    "I see. Is the Secretary of State there then?"
    Wanda Mae thought so, and she put down the phone and began
calling out for a Secretary Irving. In a few moments the home health
care nurse came to the phone and apologized for not having answered
it initially. Clark introduced himself and asked to speak to Will, if
he was available, but Ms. Irving only translated what Wanda Mae had
said: Will had gone to a party in Metropolis, returned around six,
changed his clothes and gone off to his janitorial job at the bank.
He should have been home by now but he had not been seen since,
though upon leaving he had been cheerful. And, Ms. Irving added, he
had warned her not to worry if they didn't hear from him for a while.
She hadn't thought anything of it at the time, what with the odd line
of work he was in...
    Clark assured her that Will was probably just fine and then asked
her to have him call the Planet as soon as he got home.
    He hung up and looked at Lois. "That's it, that's what I know. I
discretely asked about the bank's staff and got a long run down about
how trustworthy every employee was and how the board of directors is
composed of upstanding citizens. Nothing suspicious at all except
that the janitor had signed off work early, which was all right with
the personnel manager because he had done his work and they didn't
want to pay him for sitting around."
    "Another bizarre attempted bank robbery and now Will missing... I
think you better tell this to Perry and he can tell you what he told
me. Maybe there is some kind of link, but honestly..." she shrugged
and played with the shredded coconut on one of the donuts, "I can't
get as emotionally worked up about it--well, I can *laugh* about it,
but that's not the kind of support he wants. You're better at looking
sympathetic than I am."
    "Then give me back my donuts, it's beginning to sound like he'll
need all the sugar rush we can give him."
    She handed over the bag, keeping the one she had liberated, and
accompanied him to Perry's office where, as soon as the Chief
finished yelling at someone over the phone, he motioned for them to
enter, close the door and sit down. "I read your story; it looks
fine. What did you leave out?"
    Clark told him about Will.
    Perry nodded. "I feared something like this would happen..." He
mulled it over a moment, then turned to his intercom and shouted
"Laurie! Coffee! Now!"
    Clark remembered the bag of donuts, stood up for a moment and
placed them on Perry's blotter between two piles of paper. "Most of
them are chocolate." They wouldn't be as good as Laurie's chocolate
chip-loaded cookies, but, as Clark expected, Perry said:
    "Good, I need the caffeine. I was up most of the night worrying
about this. Now ordinarily," he said, leaning forward and using his
hands expressively, "I can pull all nighters without any trouble,
I'll be out digging up the facts while you two are in dream land..."
He paused, reviewing what he had said. "In your own homes, of course,
separately... or not..."
    Lois nodded, understanding completely. Clark realized he had a
combination of surprise, anguish and thrill rushing to collide on his
face; he yanked them back and tried to appear noncommittal.
    "But last night..." Perry shook his head and looked at the bag of
donuts. As he opened it and checked inside, Laurie entered with one
of his larger mugs full of steaming black coffee. "Thanks, that's
perfect, you read my mind almost as well as Alice does..."
    She also carried napkins, and Perry used one for two donuts and
then he fussed over where to put them among his papers. She looked
over them quickly, relieved him of a stack, making more room, and
went away. "I don't know what I'd do without that girl..."
    "What kept you up all night, Chief?"
    "Hmm? Oh, something that Waldecker fellow told me, something I
never expected to hear..." He added three sugars to his coffee and
stirred them in slowly, drawing his star reporters near. Clark
thought that although Lois apparently hadn't been moved by what she
had heard earlier, she was doing a good job of pretending that her
mouth was watering.
    Perry looked up. "Relax, Lois, I know you weren't impressed by
the importance of Will's claims."
    She sat back. "Well--"
    "You kids just don't understand."
    "I certainly don't, Chief."
    "She didn't tell you, did she? Got your secrets out of you but
didn't tell you her own, isn't that always the case? Let me warn you,
women can be like that..."
    "Perry..."
    "I'm not complaining about anything," Clark assured them both.
"But I would like to know what's going on," the least reason being
that it might involve his other self and he liked to have warnings,
and the foremost reason being that he had been in the dark far too
long and it was affecting his love live.
    "All right, Clark, it's like this. You know I've been an admirer
of the King for a long time now..."
    Clark simply nodded, fearing that anything he said might be a
distraction.
    "I expect your parents are, too..."
    Clark just smiled. There was no way he was going to say that to
his knowledge they had no Elvis recordings at home.
    "Oh, they don't, well, that's all right, to each his own..."
    How do people do that? Clark wondered, then comforted himself
with the thought that only his closest friends seemed to be able to
read his thoughts and then not the important ones, fortunately.
    "I'll make it short and sweet. A whole flock of millionaires call
Green Meadows and Green Hills home, as you know, and millionaires
enjoy collecting things, big things, small things, but definitely
rare things, the rarer the better. This is not news to you."
    "No, sir."
    "Sometimes they don't think their own homes are safe enough
places to keep some of those rare things, so they stow them away in
safety deposit boxes and the like in banks."
    "Like the Commerce Bank."
    "Precisely. They'll put stocks and bonds and jewels and paintings
there... and Elvis's lost diaries."
    His what? Clark almost said. How had that poor, drug-drenched
fellow found time to write, let alone write a diary and more than
one?
    "They're legendary. Mythical. Unheard of. They're whispered about
in dark corners at Elvis conventions. And yet, like the Holy Grail,
admirers of the King have been searching for them ever since he
died..." Perry paused and sighed at his coffee.
    Clark stole a glance at Lois, but she was remaining neutral,
inspecting her fingernails. He looked back at his boss. "This is what
Will told you? These diaries are in the bank?"
    "That's what he suspects. He wasn't sure, it started out as a
rumor he picked up while emptying trash cans, I suppose, but since he
told me yesterday, I've been thinking about it and I've come to the
conclusion that odds are good it's no rumor. Robert Thibodeau, who's
making a fortune in computer game development, lives in Green Meadows
and he's also a follower of the King. He's so young he's still a
neophyte, but he has plenty of money and he could very well have
acquired what he believes are The Diaries and he's put them in the
bank for safekeeping."
    "And Elvis fans are trying to rob the bank to get to these
diaries?" He could just barely imagine a mob of white-sequined Elvis
imitators storming the massive building.
    "They don't have to be Elvis fans. Why, even though Will came
from Little Big Hollow, Tennessee, he's not a fan, apparently..."
Perry shook his head at the thought. "No, they simply have to realize
the value of them."
    "And of the stocks and bonds and jewelry and paintings," Lois
muttered.
    "Yes, and them, too, Lois," Perry sighed. "Although those will be
easier to fence than The Diaries."
    "No, all they have to find is some, oh, Arab or Japanese fan who
will take them out of the country and they're gone for good."
    "But first they have to get into and out of the bank," Clark
reminded them. "That could be the reason, or one of them, behind all
these attempts, to test the system."
"And it could be why Will's missing now."
    "But," Lois said, "That nurse said he told her not to worry if
she didn't hear from him--that's it, he might have been chasing down
some clues and decided go after the perps, but he got in someone's
way."
    Perry frowned and nodded. "I hope the little fellow's okay..."
    Clark reviewed his options, both human and superhuman, but could
think of none that would help him find Will short of scanning the
entire city and the surrounding countryside with x-ray vision, and he
rejected that. The last time he'd tried that with any success had
ironically been when Gretchen Kelly had kidnapped Wanda Mae,
entrapped Lois, and forced Will to help her reanimate Luthor on the
threat of killing the two women. He'd wasted a tremendous amount of
time in that search and nearly come up empty handed. If he hadn't
seen Lois's Jeep, she might still have been missing and they would
have had a SuperLex on their hands.
    Will hadn't left even that many clues, so brains had to be relied
on now. "We need to find out more about the bank, more about
Thibodeau--"
    "He's out, I don't think he's involved," Perry said. "I checked
on him last night: he's in Europe and has no connections to organized
crime that I could find."
    "What about disorganized crime? Shooting at a bank won't make it
lay down and play dead..."
    "Lois..."
    "Well, Chief, you said he made his fortune in computer games."
    Perry gave Clark a narrow look but not for long because, Clark
figured, he was pleased that Clark was supporting Lois even though
she was making light of the Elvis angle. "Well, you can check into
him if you want, but I think he's innocent, he's simply the latest
owner of The Diaries or imitations thereof, and he probably thinks
they're safe and sound. Maybe they are."
    "If there are really any diaries, fake or otherwise..." Lois
said.
    "Yes, yes... but the thought of them may be enough to have turned
Will into a missing person. Now, we don't have enough for you two to
concentrate your time on--particularly you, Lois, since you're such a
skeptic..."
    "It's not that--"
    "Yes, it is."
    "All right, it is, but the attempted robberies themselves are
interesting."
    "Yes, that's the angle you'll be looking at, with no mention of
The Diaries or Will, at least for now. We'll have to treat this like
a run-of-the-mill bank robbery story until we have more to go on. You
can bring Laura Sidbury in on it if you need her, but I don't want
both of you devoting your time exclusively to it until there's more
to go on."
    Clark reminded Perry of the Thursday tour, and Lois said she
planned to come in on her day off for that, trading the time for,
say, part of Wednesday afternoon, with a meaningful glance at Clark.
T-shirt and fish shopping he recalled. Perry somehow understood this
and smiled indulgently. "That's fine." So Clark decided it was a good
time to say, "Mrs. Stern hopes Lois and I will attend the Founder's
Day Celebration Green Meadows is having this Saturday evening."
    "Now that sounds interesting..."
    Lois sat up. "Very interesting..."
    Oh, Clark thought, two pros in action with two tingles at once.
    "More angles. I expect you to be at that celebration. I'll send
Jimmy to. Hmm, maybe I'll go myself. Well, get back to work and see
what you can come up with now," and he shooed them out of the office,
obviously happy to have shared his secret, to have them working on
it, and to have at least one of them fairly interested in the Elvis
angle.
    "Elvis..." Lois shook her head as the walked back to their desks.
"You'd think Will wouldn't need to ask Perry about that since he's
from Tennessee. Even if he's not a fan, osmosis alone... Hey, I
wonder if he has an office and if we can get into it to see if he's
left any clues lying around..."
    "Good thinking. I'll call--"
    "No, Clark, we'll just go. It's harder to refuse us entry if
we're standing there on the doorstep."
    "True."
    "And you can talk to Wanda Mae about old times while I sneak off
and case Will's office."
    "Not true. He probably has all kinds of security systems guarding
it, if he has one at all."
    "Sure he has an office! That's the first thing he'd set up! You
know, positive thinking for a successful business." She reached into
her drawer and grabbed her purse.
    "Then he'd probably set it up in town somewhere. We'll check the
phone book."
    "A waste of time," she claimed as she led him to the elevator.
"Remember Magnum PI? He worked out of his home."
    "It wasn't his home, it wasn't even an office, it was rooms he
caged off that millionaire, Robyn something."
    "Same thing."
    "No, it's not."
    People stood back as the elevator doors opened and the two
entered.
    "Millionaires are involved all over this case."
    "So?"
    "So he has his office at home."
    "He might not."
    She smiled at him as the door closed. They were alone. "There,
that kept them out."
    "There what? Who?"
    "All those people who wanted to use this elevator. They all
decided to take the stairs so they wouldn't get in the middle of our
totally sexual innuendo-free argument."
    "Ah, oh."
    She embraced him and growled: "Kiss me quick."
    "Yes, ma'am."

                                 ***

    They were offered a tour of the White House, giving Lois the
chance to find out where exactly the Oval Office was before
attempting a break in. As Clark didn't want her to do that, he took
the first opportunity to ask Wanda Mae about the War Room, which he
figured was what she might call Will's office (or rather
Mr. Lincoln's office that Tad would visit).
    "Why, yes, he does have one of those and I have the key," she
said proudly.
    Ms. Irving, standing behind Wanda Mae, shook her head though,
clearly both a warning and a protective gesture.
    Lois saw it as well, looked at Clark, her eyes speaking volumes--
in an unknown language, unfortunately--and then she smiled at Wanda
Mae. "I'd like to see your Rose Garden, if you have one..."
    "Why, yes, we do! They're out this way. They're all so
beautiful..."
    Surprised but pleased, Clark fell behind with Ms. Irving,
lingered and when they were some distance back down some hallway, he
explained, "If Will's in trouble, we may find clues about it in his
office. That's why we want to look there."
    "But you're not the police."
    "True. The police would have warrants, a bad attitude and yellow
tape to put all over the house and you wouldn't be allowed to pass
it, and Wanda Mae wouldn't understand. The police would suspect Will
is behind the break in attempts. But Ms. Lane and I think he could
actually be a victim, and our investigations have always helped
people, we have a good record for that..."
    "I know, I followed that nursing home scandal you reported on.
You got some award for it, didn't you? All right, you can look, but
only you, and I'll be there watching you."
    Clark agreed to the terms and broke the "only you" news gently to
Lois, who took it remarkably well, only allowing her eyes to flash at
him for a moment before turning to admire a tapestry on the kitchen
wall on their walk toward the backyard garden.
    But there was nothing in Will's designer-decorated office or the
attached darkroom to give Clark any clues. Except the computer, a
whiz-bang bells-and-whistles multimedia Pentium the likes of which he
had seen only on display and once played a bit of Solitaire on until
he was distracted and the screen saver came on and he didn't know the
password. A strange way to sell a computer, he had thought, the store
not allowing potential buyers to play with it. He didn't turn on
Will's computer though, not wanting to press his luck with the
vigilant Ms. Irving, who had already allowed him to check Will's
appointment book, poke through drawers and inspect several files.
    To no avail. Maybe Will kept everything but what would interest
the IRS in his head, and that was possible if his mental capacity and
acuity were increasing due to his exposure to the superpowers.
    Which didn't help his and Lois's investigation any.
    They had tea in the beautiful garden as the afternoon drew to a
close and, in leaving, promised Wanda Mae that they would return when
they had news from the front.
    Clark filled Lois in on what he hadn't found on the way back to
town, then ventured to make up for it by offering to buy dinner. "But
it's not a date."
    "Good. I don't feel like I want a date. It's Monday, and Monday
and dates don't mesh for me."
    "Then you won't mind going to McDonalds."
    "Yes, I will, Mr. Healthy Cook. The Green Room at the Hyatt would
be nice."
    "I'll have to take out a loan first and the banks are closed,
sorry."
    They argued pleasantly about this. Clark did not mind this kind
of exchange because, like the one in the elevator, he knew odds were
good it would end up with them laughing. Or maybe more than that.
    It ended in a draw. He got his way, they ate at a drive in,
sitting in the jeep. She got her way, forcing him to think about the
possibility of casing the bank ahead of time, like tomorrow, while
wearing disguises.
    It was a possibility he didn't like and he made that quite clear.
"I'm not good at disguises," he almost said, but later on, some day,
she might take that as another in a line of insults to her
intelligence when she found out he was actually pretty good at
disguises, one in particular. "I'll think about it," was the most
he'd commit to, and then he thought up a warning. "But the bank's
going to be vigilant, what with the problems they've had. I don't see
*them* letting us off with a warning just because we promise them
good publicity." Too often Lois and he had pulled stunts of dubious
value to get leads; he wondered why they both hadn't been thrown in
jail yet on serious charges of trespass or malicious vandalism. His
folks would be appalled, particularly his dad, and he wouldn't feel
very good about it himself.
    "You worry too much sometimes--"
    "And you don't worry enough sometimes."
    "There's nothing to worry about, Clark--"
    "There's Will."
    "Yes, but we'll find him. I'm sure he's alive and well. I'd feel
depressed otherwise and I don't feel depressed."
    "And there's--"
    "Don't say it, *that's* depressing, that the story has sunk that
low."
    "But it will make Perry happy if we can confirm their existence."
    "Yes, but I'll be happy exposing whoever's trying to rob the
bank, especially if you're right and Lex is involved. The bank has
the funding he's probably been searching for."
    "And double the take if he gets the diaries, if he tries to sell
them and doesn't just add them to some collection."
    "He does like to collect things..."
    They exchanged quick glances.
    "But he didn't get you, you saw through his disguises."
    "Barely..."
    Touchy subject, he told himself, but then that was good in a way,
a little tiny way. He didn't want her suffering from the memories,
and she didn't seem to be much any more, but if at the same time they
put him by contrast in a better light... not that he needed that, she
seemed to be seeing him for himself and not comparing him to some
megavillain or a weirdo flying guy...
    "Disguises," she said in an effort to redirect the conversation,
such as it was. "I know, we can go as Dale Evans and Roy Rogers! We
haven't done a western theme in a long time."
    "No."
    "Maybe not so far west. You could go as a farmer looking for
funding for a new crop of some kind, like..."
    "No."
    "What exotic things do they grow in Kansas?"
    "Ostriches, but no."
    "I can go as your lithesome daughter dressed in ostrich feathers
because you'll be dressing up old and gray, just like a ostrich
farmer."
    "That's a stereotype. Farmers aren't all old and gray, even
ostrich farmers, particularly the ones starting out needing bank
funding, and certainly none of them would take their green-haired
punk-rock daughters with them."
    "If he has a daughter like that he'd be old and gray fast."
    "Especially if she shaved half her head first."
    "Now there's an idea..."
    "No, it would never work."
    "You don't want me to shave half my head."
    "I'd love you just the same, believe me, but--"
    "You would?"
    "Well, maybe not *exactly* the same, but..." that sounded
superficial, didn't it?
    "I see..." she smiled a touch, that serene thing in action, which
was a relief to see.
    He decided to say: "But I'd respect you while you let it grow
out."
    "And you'd be cheering as it did so, is that what you're trying
to say?"
    "Yes."
    "If I cut it, it wouldn't take long to grow back."
    "Forget it." She wants to hear this from me, doesn't she?
    "You care that much how I look..."
    "I care that you're happy. Looks don't count in that equation
unless they make you unhappy. I think if you shaved your head you
would be very unhappy."
    "All right... Well, if you won't take me to the bank as your
lithesome, ostrich feather-covered, green-haired daughter, I'll take
you home because you're getting crabby."
    "I'm not getting crabby, I'm being cautious. I'm worried about
arriving at work tomorrow morning and seeing you dressed like..." his
imagination failed him--or it was more vivid than ostrich feathers
and he didn't want to go there. He used to hate moments like this
until he realized that such brain seize-ups kept him from having to
soothe hurt feelings. There were times he wished he'd seize-up
*more*... "...dressed like that."
    "Well, whatever I choose, I'll bring along enough to dress you
up, too."
    "No way, I'm not a... a Ken doll."
    "But you are a doll."
    "No, I'm not."
    "In a manner of speaking."
    "Not even that. Watch the road."
    "I'm watching it. And you." She pulled up to a stop light and
looked at him for a long, nerve-wracking moment. "All right, you're
not a doll."
    "Not that kind of doll."
    "What kind of doll then?"
    "Someday you'll find out."
    "I think I *already know,*" she smiled slyly and waved blithely
at some illegally turning trucker she cut off as she slipped on to
Sinibaldi.
    "Yeah, right." He'd lapsed and let her see him too many times
with very little clothing on. Each time it was one of those
thoughtless things that hadn't occurred to him might be improper to
do even in his own home, even though she was becoming more than a
guest. But I'm *not* an exhibitionist, he thought, trying not to
remind himself about the skin tight clothing he wore while helping
people. The costume had seemed like such a good idea at the time...
    Wait a minute, it still *was* a good idea. Relax, Kent... "And I
know what kind of..." no, hold it, *not* a Chatty Cathie doll, she'd
murder me, or try to, and things could only get worse from that point
because she'd hurt herself. "Well, I'll find out what kind of doll
you are."
    "When I let you. But not tonight. Monday's aren't good for that,
either."
    "It sounds like our Mondays will be good for cleaning house and
catching up on our e-mail."
    "One evening for facing reality."
    She pulled up in front his place.
    He held out his hand. "Shake, partner?"
    "What?"
    "You know, facing reality. We should get in some practice."
    She took his hand and, as he hoped, pulled. "In your dreams,
buddy," and they shared a nearly glasses-steaming, knocking-her-
socks-off, wish-it-weren't-Monday-evening kiss.
    Due to the BBC telling him about another building collapse in
South Korea and being in a position--flat out in bed trying to get to
sleep despite massively pleasant thoughts of Lois--to help out, Clark
was late arriving at work Tuesday morning. He held his breath upon
entering the newsroom, but didn't see Lois dressed in some bizarre
undercover costume. Actually, she wasn't there. He crept up to his
desk, but there were no materials meant for disguises heaped on it
and none were hidden in his desk drawers. He had entertained the
thought that she might disguise herself as Jane, but that meant he'd
have to go as Tarzan, and it wasn't an unlikely scenario considering
her admiration of his T-shirts.
    The wallpaper on his computer hadn't been changed to reflect
sketches she had made of what he could wear, and none of the staff
was looking at him and snickering behind a hand. This was all good
news. She hadn't carried through with her threat and come in earlier
dressed like a pirate queen or an Egyptian princess or an Indian
mahout, her face darkened with artificial tanning cream, her hair up
in a turban, and talking to everyone in a Peter Sellers-esque voice.
Though she might have dressed him like a pasha, for example,
inadvertently mixing cultures, and that could have been fun. But no
such luck.
    She breezed in at 11, dressed entirely normally, and typed up her
report on the latest attempt on the Commerce Bank of Green Meadows.
    "Hang gliders on to the roof?" he asked as he read over her
shoulder. "That's way too risky. How did they escape?"
    "They had a helicopter standing by. It was well coordinated,
according to the witnesses. They all thought Superman would turn up
and have a field day, but..."
    Oh. "But he was in South Korea at 8 am our time."
    She gave him a look that seemed to question how he knew that, so
he added: "The wire copy about it is in your in box."
    "Well, that explains it then. He was probably doing something
more useful than stopping another silly bank robbery attempt."
    "Yeah. So these would be robbers couldn't get in via the air
shafts?"
    "No, and they couldn't toss teargas canisters down them, either.
It looks like they almost gassed themselves in the processes. If it
weren't so unbelievable, they could get their own sitcom."
    "Like 'My Favorite Robber'? They still have a chance since they
got away. You misspelled--"
    "I know, I'll get it. Leave me alone..."
She was deep into it and he told himself he should have known
better than to hover, but he'd wanted to stand close to her for a few
moments and just sort of... bask. He returned to his desk and waited.
    When she was done, she LANed the story to Perry, turned in her
chair to face Clark, kicked back, put her feet up, picked up the wire
copy to peruse, and started counting quietly down from 20.
    Upon her reaching one, Perry stepped out of his office and
pointed. "You two, in here, now."
    "God, you're good," Clark whistled.
    "Yes, aren't you glad you know me?" she asked as she slipped her
shoes back on and stood up.
    "You bet. So tell me something: you write like Mencken and dress
like Lady Di--what's your secret?--and can I have it?"
    "No."
    "Darn..."
    "My clothes wouldn't fit you, but if you follow all my advice to
the letter, I'll make a reporter out of you yet."
    He grinned in the face of her superior, heads-up attitude--but
she grinned, too.
    Perry grilled them about their progress in the investigation,
obviously wondering more if they had confirmed Will's Elvis diaries
tale than if they had discovered who was behind the attempted
robberies. But they had little to give him. Clark wanted to look
further into Thibodeau and Lois had idea was risky: "I want to crack
Will's computer and see what he has hidden there. It should be easy
to fool that Irving woman into believing the story I give her."
    "I don't think so," Clark warned. "She watched everything I did
like a hawk. Try the truth on her."
    They argued about that briefly, but Perry came down on Clark's
side, Lois would probably get the best results using the truth. She
could point out that the longer Will was gone, the more likely he was
to be in trouble. The computer could hold the secret of his
whereabouts.
    She acquiesced, for now. "All right." She looked at Clark. "But
if Wanda Mae insists on helping me, I'll give her something else to
think about--I'll tell her that General Grant wants to read the
Gettysburg Address to her, in person and *in private.*"
    "You wouldn't..."
    "I would, and I'll tell her you plan to sing it to her, too, in
four-part harmony, in the Rose Garden in the moon light. Now loan me
your Computer Hacking for Dummies book, I have some brushing up to
do..."
    But all the brushing in the world and all the research through
the Daily Planet's extensive archives for more on Thibodeau did them
no good for a second day in a row investigating this story. The
computer-savvy millionaire simply had a good software idea and
brilliant marketers, and someone like him, or perhaps Will himself,
had programmed an unhackable password system into Will's computer
specifically, or so to hear her describe it, to foil Lois Lane. Clark
didn't question her about the methods she used in trying because she
was good at the intricacies of a number of computer programs. He also
didn't ask how she'd gotten to the computer in the first place
because she told him; indeed, she was mildly annoyed that using the
truth on Ms. Irving had gotten her immediate access to Will's office
and she had bypassed Wanda Mae altogether. "You can stop practicing
your do-re-mis..."
    They sat alone in the lunch room for a late-afternoon snack and
brain stormed ideas. Clark had nothing new, opting to wait for the
Thursday press tour of the bank to see if anything occurred to him.
When she asked, he admitted that, yes, he was taking his day off the
next day unless something came up at the office, which he didn't
foresee. He disliked all this waiting, particularly when it came to
Will's fate still being up in the air, but there was nothing for it.
    "Well, then, foresee this: I'll come by your place at noon and we
can go fish and T-shirt shopping and have a light lunch. I want you
hungry by dinner time because I want you to come by my place at, oh,
5:30 because I'm making dinner for you."
    Wow! She was moving fast in what had every indication of being a
wonderful direction, and he felt a thrill at the prospect of keeping
up with her. But, "You're going to cook?"
    "I can cook, Clark! I just hardly ever take the time."
    "Can I bring wine then?"
    "No, just bring yourself. And, actually, I'm not going to cook,
I'll just stop at a deli I found last week. You don't mind that I
don't want to rush home and slave over a hot oven, do you?"
    "Not at all. Having dinner with you and... talking..." By gosh,
they could talk, couldn't they? It wasn't even his idea or his
timing, so it might just work! She'd have the next day off to
recuperate--or at least the morning, if she decided she still wanted
to take the bank tour--if indeed she still wanted to work with him,
if he escaped her apartment in one piece, if she didn't throw him out
a window and scream "Fly, farmboy, you're good at that!" and slam it
shut behind him... Still, it was a chance he couldn't pass up.
"That's a great idea."
    "No ingredients to measure, no dishes to wash..."
    "Nothing like that to worry about, no..."
    They talked about getting together that night but she had a
Women's Press Club meeting to go to and he thought up some excuse or
another as well.
    In actuality he patrolled through the night and into the morning,
feeling good about life in general, using up excess energy doing a
wide variety of helpful things. True, the bank story was going
nowhere fast and he had no idea where Will was, but like Lois he
didn't feel that Will was in mortal danger, things just didn't...
tingle that way. The story was simply a slow-building one and he
comforted himself with the thought that he and Lois were as on top of
it as they could be and apparently all alone among the news media in
giving it serious attention. It helped, too, he realized, if help was
the right word, that they were the only ones who had the Elvis angle.
All in all it was better than "The Private Lives of Lois and Clark"
making the news among their colleagues. Clark might have seriously
considered suggesting she move with him to Wyoming, and become
shepherds there on the ranch run by Superman's mythical wife and
kids...
    He made it back home in plenty of time to shower, shave, and meet
Lois as she pulled up in front of his apartment at 11:30. When asked
how things were going at the office, she had little to report. She
had called the Waldecker mansion and been informed that Will was
still away at the front. She had detected the hint of worry in Wanda
Mae's voice and apologized to Ms. Irving when the woman arrived to
take over her Secretary of State duties. Lois felt sorry for the
women--not enough to go hold their hands, mind you, but quite enough
to make her more determined than ever to get to the bottom of the
attempted bank robberies, Elvis or no Elvis. "The police aren't even
looking for Will. I don't think they know he's missing, and it looks
like the bank hasn't noticed he hasn't shown up for work. No one
misses him but us and his family, poor guy. I don't have any contacts
in that police department, but you know people in the bank now, we'll
have to grab someone tomorrow afternoon and grill them..."
    He listened to her getting her frustration out of her system, and
when she had sighed herself into a lull, he suggested that they eat
first so they'd be more relaxed when shopping. They ate at a
cafeteria and talked only a little, listening in on the conversations
around them and simply watching each other poke over the small,
expensive portions of plastic food.
    Lemieux's Pet Store had too many varieties, sizes and shapes of
fish to choose from so, Lois decided, she wound up not getting any at
all. "I'm not in the mood," she explained. "One should really be in
the mood when thinking about purchasing fish to eat your other
fish..." He could not but agree. She got a general aquarium owner
handbook and fish enthusiast magazine instead and promised to be more
decisive the next time they tried this. Maybe next Wednesday, hmm?
    He said "Sure," but didn't add, "If we've made up by then and
things are straightened out and I haven't moved to The Antarctic and
taken up residence among the penguins..."
    She proved to be decisive enough when T-shirt shopping, and Clark
wound up paying $35 for two. The one she picked for him depicted the
Slime Monster in a particularly ferocious pose and under it was the
terse printing: "Don't talk to me until I've had my morning coffee!"
    "Lois, I know you really wanted this one," and he handed it over.
He'd had it put in a separate bag when he paid for it. "Consider it
my gift."
    "No, Clark, it's for you..."
    "Then why did you pull out a medium sized one when I take extra
large?"
    "Oh, well... I need bifocals, what can I say?"
    "You can say 'Thank you, Clark.'"
    "Thank you, Clark."
    "And you can say, 'I'll cherish it always.'"
    "Well, I might say that..."
    "'I know I'll look lovely in it when I wear it to the mayor's
next ball.'"
    "No, that I can't say. I'll look lovely in it at the next Planet
picnic, that will have to do."
    The second t-shirt, which he picked himself, was mercifully dark
solid blue and expressed no opinion and advertised nothing. This one
he liked fine.
    She dropped him off at his apartment and warned him to be at her
place on time, 5:45. He resisted reminding her that she had
originally said 5:30, but kissed her instead. He watched her drive
away, went into his apartment, through it, and out the back window in
the suit. He zipped south to Green Hills and the Waldecker home,
where he found Wanda Mae wearing black (uncharacteristic of her since
she had moved out of the rest home), sitting alone among her roses
and staring morosely into the distance. She looked up and blinked
when he landed lightly in front of her. She said, "Why, General
Grant, how kind of you to return..."
    This was why he had made every effort to avoid seeing her when he
had worked with Will on the book. "I'm on a secret mission."
    "Oh, I understand completely, I won't tell anyone that it's you
under that disguise."
    Whew! But then she had never done anything more than smile
knowingly at him whenever Will or anyone else was around. I worry too
much, he told himself.
    They had a brief conversation about Will, and he tried to assure
the woman that he was watching out for her brother, or rather, Tad.
I'm not doing a very good job of it, he reflected it, but then Will
had inadvertently covered his tracks.
    It did occur to him that he might take a crack at the computer
and succeed where Lois had failed. When Ms. Irving arrived to check
out who Wanda Mae was talking to, he asked if he could inspect
Mr. Waldecker's locked-up office and was given instant access.
    Though he could use his abilities freely, the results were the
same: zilch. Over a twenty-minute period he entered upwards of one
million possible password combinations into the computer, using all
that he knew about Will. He only paused once, when a tall, dark woman
introduced as Mrs. Pourhamidi, glided into the office and picked up
the empty waste paper basket. "Clean, we must have cleanness here,"
she informed them in a heavy, hard-to-place accent. She puttered
around the office, straightening the maps of Green Meadows that were
mounted on the walls, moving a chair back and then moving it forward
again, talking sternly to a philodendron, and generally doing nothing
that affected the look of the room at all.
    After she glided away, Ms. Irving confided: "She's a temp sent by
the agency."
    "I see," Superman said equitably.
    "At least she hasn't broken anything..." She then whispered: "She
looks like Natasha, don't you think? And sounds like her, too. You
know, like Boris and Natasha?""
    "Yes, or Morticia Addams."
    Ms. Irving laughed a bit, almost nervously, as though surprised
that Superman could actually make a joke.
    Yep. He'd seen this reaction before. He returned to the keyboard
and entered more possible passwords, but the program swallowed them
all and responded to none. He told Ms. Irving, who was still looking
on with fascination, that it was nice that Mr. Waldecker had such a
fine security system. Actually, it was a pain in the nether regions,
but at least, he realized, his visit let the women know they weren't
alone in their concern for their missing family member. He kissed
Wanda Mae's hand when she offered it, said he would keep in touch,
and flew away.
    As he headed home again, flying over Green Meadows on the way, he
initiated a scan but soon gave it up due to the vast number of things
to see and try not to see. The needle in the haystack, with hundreds
of thousands of haystacks. But that search would have been easier:
the hay would all have looked the same, the needle standing out. Will
was small, unprepossessing and could have been hidden anywhere in the
county or out of it. That left old fashioned detective work as soon
as he and Lois came up with something, some clue.
    For now, the rest of his life called. Grocery shopping, clothes
washing, buying some flowers...
warning: some violence follows (not heavy duty, but not
the usual for what I've been writing--DS)

    Lois was absolutely, totally, without a doubt certain that not
only was she late but Clark was up on 18 already, loitering around
outside her door, worrying about being too early. He'd worry about
that and it wouldn't occur to him to blame her or get disgusted that
she wasn't there.
    As she rushed into the spacious, well-appointed lobby of her
apartment building, she glanced at the clock. 5:40. That was cutting
it way too close. She had taken too long at lunch with Clark, as fun
as it had been, and then returned to work to see her desk piled high
with phone messages and the results of the research she had asked
Jimmy to do for her on Elvis. Clark shouldn't have taken his day off,
he should have come in to help her sort through this mess.
    She still couldn't believe it. Elvis. The man's pouring out his
life's woes into some probably nonexistent diaries seemed to be the
only clue Will had left them. Earlier in the morning she had taken a
more logical path, scrutinizing everything in the Planet's archives
about the Commerce Bank of Green Meadows, and she had come up with
nothing less than an impregnable building even she would consider
putting her money into. The Board of Directors was as clean as a
whistle and the Corporation Commission had given the institution its
highest rating.
    It was then little more than a rat waiting to find its cheese
stolen. Well, a super rat in this case, with pit bulls for body
guards. Clark might be on to something, she admitted; it was the kind
of place a twisted mind like Lex's would see as a challenge.
    But why keep doing it so... so stupidly? It was like throwing
pingpong balls against that very bank's closed vault door. There had
to be a reason...
    Which she didn't want to dwell on all that now.
    She'd have to distract Clark somehow, slip into her apartment--
too bad she didn't have a back door like he did... change into the
new t-shirt, that would be cute--no, that would be silly when he
needed supportive. She'd put on something undemanding, something that
wouldn't scare him because this was his big chance to tell her
everything and with her engineering it, it wouldn't fail.
    She rejuggled her bags, freed up a hand, and pounded on the up
button again. "Come *on*..."
    On the door of the other elevator someone had posted an "Out of
Order" sign. It figured. Fast, expert maintenance, once a selling
point for this place, had become nonexistent. Jeff wasn't at his
security guard post either. She wondered if he had been let go. She
wouldn't have been surprised. The building was falling apart, and it
was some deep, dark conspiracy, all to make her life miserable. What
if Clark moved in here with