Our players really get into the act in this part.
From Part 14
At first the attic retained its secret, as Gretchen could find nothing. Looking at her watch again, she ran over to look out the circular window to see if her employer was wending her way back. As Gretchen moved toward the window, a board beneath her foot creaked.
The housekeeper, clutching the small bound volume beneath her coat, walked out the front door of the house at 417 Maple--the house that held the secrets of life and death.
***********
***********
Now for Part 15
Smallville, Kansas
Wednesday,
February 9, 1994
9:30 p.m. CST
“I know we’ve had a long rehearsal and that it’s been an especially trying day for all of us, but let’s do just one more scene and then call it a night,” Martha told the group. “We’ll take it from page seventy.”
Clark took his position halfway up the staircase, while Miss Libby and Beatrice placed themselves at the foot of the stairs looking up toward him.
Mortimer/Clark: The police! [Mortimer/Clark turns to face them.] You can’t go for the police!
Aunt Martha/Miss Libby: Why can’t we?
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Miss Libby knew why *she* couldn’t contact the police, that is Rachel Harris. First of all no one would believe that Lex Luthor was alive and in the guise of Richard Thurston. They just wouldn't give credence to anything that Libby Barton, who had supposedly killed her entire family, could tell them. Why would they accept that such a woman--a woman who was currently in a play portraying yet another eccentric old lady, who killed people--was in her right mind? Why would they believe her when she told them that a dead man had been resurrected and was running around killing some of the best people of Smallville? It sounded implausible to even Libby, and yet Libby had lived through so many inconceivable and bizarre moments.
Secondly, if she revealed everything--Laslo Barton’s formula, the bodies in the cellar, the rape, her baby, Colonel Trask, the globe--all in order to prove that what she told them was the truth, so much more would come out. Including, the one secret she shared since Clark came to earth almost twenty-eight years ago--the fact that Martha’s son was an alien being, that he had gained super powers as he grew to manhood; and, that for the past five months, he had become the light and hope of the world.
Mortimer/Clark: Because if the police find Mr. Spenalzo, they’ll find Mr. Hoskins, too. [Crosses to Aunt Martha/Miss Libby, takes both of her hands in his, and looks at her with deep concern in his eyes.] And, that might make them curious and they’d find out about the other twelve gentlemen. They’d find out all about *you*.
<No, you> Libby Barton thought, gazing into Clark’s eyes and then noticing a far away expression in them.
“Mom,” Clark said, turning out toward the director. “Can we call it quits? I’m sure everyone is tired and I...I...”
“Uh...yes,” Martha replied, understanding. “You’re right and...and you have to run that errand for me before the store closes,” she explained as Clark came down from the stage and hurriedly began striding up the aisle past Lois who was sitting with Cindy.
“Clark,” Lois called out, running after him. “I’ll come with you.”
“No!” Clark insisted strongly, turning to intercept her. And, noticing the bruise on her forehead once again, started to reach up to touch her but stopped himself. “You can’t...I’ll be...I’ll see you later,” he stated abruptly as he turned and pushed open the auditorium door.
Richard walked up behind Lois who was watching Clark run out the door. “I’ll be glad to see you home, Lois.”
***********
After righting a large truck on the interstate and insuring that all were well, Superman flew up into the night sky. The cold air never affected him, but for some reason a chill coursed through his body.
***********
Down below, Richard was escorting Lois into her living room. “You should really lie down. Sometimes a nasty bump on the head can be worse than it looks even a couple of days later.”
“Now you sound like Clark,” Lois informed him, sitting down.
“But *he’s* not here when you need him.”
“He...he’s...” Lois began....
“...not establishing the correct priorities,” Luthor finished, moving into Lois’ kitchen and starting some tea. “Aspirin in the bathroom cabinet?” he asked.
“Yes, but....”
“No buts, young lady.”
“I really don’t need anything,” Lois insisted.
“If that head of yours is not throbbing now, especially after the workout Martha gave us, it may soon be,” Lex countered loud enough for her to hear, as he walked into the bathroom, opened the medicine cabinet and retrieved the aspirin. He closed the cabinet door and looked into the mirror. “You’re doing your finest scene,” he said quietly as a sadistic grin crossed his face. “Now for the maudlin, sappy repartee.”
***********
Superman wasn’t exactly sure where he was going, he just knew that he had to fly, that he had to think. He should be going back to see Lois, but he wasn’t ready to face her yet. Not until he had worked out what...how...he was going to tell her. He turned and headed south. Down below he saw the beach they had shared. Was it just a little over a month ago?
Clark turned around and flew back toward Smallville. It was really late, but he knew that his parents would still be up. They always were after a long rehearsal--sitting at the kitchen table having tea, just sort of a winding down ritual--particularly tonight after so much had happened.
Superman landed at his parents’ back door, spun into jeans and a sweater and went into the kitchen.
“Is everything all right?” his mother asked, seeing his face and knowing him all too well. “I’ll get you some tea.”
“I’m fine,” he answered. “Just had to fix an overturned oil truck on the interstate. Oh and tea would be great.”
“How’s Lois?” Martha inquired, getting a cup and sitting down again. “After the accident and....”
“That’s actually the reason I’m here,” Clark told them, joining his parents at the kitchen table and pouring himself some tea.
“What is it, Clark?” his father asked.
“It’s....,” Clark began letting out a deep sigh and then taking a couple sips of tea. “Sometimes I...I feel like maybe Lois and I shouldn’t even be together.”
“Did you two have a fight?” Martha wondered out loud, still sensing that something wasn’t right.
“No! It’s just...it’s Lois. I...I’m worried that...I’m worried that I’m a jinx,” Clark said, getting up to put his cup in the sink.
“A jinx?” his father asked incredulously.
“Yeah,” he told them turning around. “Let’s face it. Ever since she came to Smallville and met me, she’s been beaten up, almost shot, poisoned by gas, wounded by an explosion and who knows what else?
“B..bu”, Martha began.
“And it’s all been basically because of me.”
“Have you talked to Lois about this?” his mother asked, as Clark sat back down at the table.
“Well not exactly. It’s just so uncomfortable especially since we’ve made a commitment. I don’t want to break it off; but it’s because I love her so much that I’m beginning to think that it’s the right thing to do...” he paused. “...right for her. It’s just going to be uncomfortable to talk about it.”
“Well, honey, loving a person means having the courage to talk about something,” Martha insisted. “Even if it is uncomfortable. You’ve got to talk to her about it. Communication is key.”
“I guess,” Clark said hesitantly as he got up to walk toward the door.
“Son, no matter how much you love somebody,” Jonathan said deliberately, “there’s no way you can protect them from all the evil in the world, even if you *are* Superman.”
Martha nodded and put her hand on her husband’s arm. Martha had always been the one to proffer most of the advice to their son, but Jonathan could always get to the heart of the matter quickly and succinctly.
Clark turned to the door again and started to open it.
“And remember, honey,” his mother needed to say. “Lois knows what it means to be involved with you. It’s her choice too.”
***********
Richard Thurston sat down next to Lois. “Well, you’re going to have to make a choice,” he said.
“A choice?” Lois asked him.
“Yeah, Bayer or Bufferin.”
Lois smiled and took two tablets from Richard’s outstretched hand. “Water or Tea?” he asked her.
“I’m not sure I’m into making more decisions,” Lois chuckled.
“You may have to make several more soon,” Lex told her. “Just remember that I’m here if you need anything.”
“Thank you Richard, but you should...”
“Yes, I know. You’re spoken for,” he acquiesced, as he got up to leave. “Just know, he said, turning back to her, “that I’ve been admiring your from afar for these past few weeks. You’re an incredible woman and you should be revered. I think Clark doesn’t realize how extraordinary you are,” he admonished, taking her hand, turning it palm up and kissing it.
***********
***********
Smallville, Kansas
Saturday,
November 12, 1993
8:00 p.m. CST
Gretchen Kelly sat at a back table unnoticed by Lex Luthor. On stage the Smallville Players had begun “Murder on the Orient Express”. Gretchen watched angrily as Luthor held Mayson Drake’s hand in his. He turned it palm up and kissed it, an action that had once been reserved for her.
Dr. Kelly had run out of the Barton house two weeks before, carried her find to safety and then placed the journal she had discovered into a locked desk drawer at her new office. Gretchen had been hired as the new Smallville Coroner recently. She had had a friend of hers in Metropolis refer her for the vacancy and had interviewed and accepted the position surreptitiously during her off hours from her housekeeping stint for Miss Libby.
Gretchen had planned to approach Lex at this dinner, slide into a seat by his side, push the journal toward him and offer both it and herself to him. But seeing Mayson Drake had interrupted her scheme. She fled from the building only to be called back professionally less than two hours later to procure the murdered body of the man she loved.
***********
Dr. Kelly’s assistant had received the call and the night shift had jumped into the Coroner’s vehicle and headed out. Gretchen Kelly now dressed in her greens entered the Luthor Bank Building once again.
The Smallville Players were on the stage, but looked up as the double doors to the banquet room opened and two men pushed a gurney into the room ahead of the new Coroner.
Rachel Harris pointed out the body to the Coroner’s assistants.
“You must be Sheriff Harris,” the Coroner stated efficiently. “I’m here to take charge of the body.” She leaned over and pulled the tablecloth down and made a cursory examination.
She then signaled the two men to place the body on the gurney and remove it to the Coroner’s wagon. “I will begin the autopsy tomorrow morning,” the new Coroner informed Rachel. “If you need anything just call me. Here is my card,” she said following the gurney out.
Once in the cold night air, Dr. Kelly took a deep breath. The storm had abated and her assistants loaded the gurney. Gretchen sat in back with the body as her assistants drove the “meat wagon”. She pulled the covering down once more and looked into his face. “Well Lex, darling,” the new coroner purred. “You’ll soon belong to me.”
***********
***********
Smallville, Kansas
Wednesday,
February 9, 1994
10:45 p.m. CST
Three months later, the resurrected Lex Luthor disguised as Richard Thurston left Lois’ house and walked out to his car. He turned and leaned against the door his deep green Mercedes. He pulled out a cigar and lit it--his omnipotence, in his own mind, assured.
If he knew his enemy, and Lex Luthor believed he did, Clark Kent should be arriving at any moment. Richard took a puff and smiled slightly as he thought about a confrontation he had had earlier on stage with the young Mr. Kent.
JB/Richard: Oh, Mortimer--I’d like to have a word with you.
Mortimer/Clark [Standing up to him.] A word’s about all you’ll have time for Jonathan, because I’ve decided you and your doctor friend are going to have to get out of this house just as quickly as possible.
JB/Richard: [Smoothly.] I’m glad you recognize the fact that you and I can’t live under the same roof--but you’ve arrived at the wrong solution. Take your suitcase and get out! [He starts to cross above Mortimer, anxious to get to the window-seat, but Mortimer/Clark makes a big sweep around about the table and comes back to JB at down stage center.]
Mortimer/Clark Jonathan!--You’re beginning to bore me. You’ve played your one night stand in this town--now move on!
JB/Richard: My dear Mortimer, just because you’ve graduated from the back fence to the typewriter, don’t think you’ve grown up....[He takes a sudden step up stage around Mortimer and gets to the window-seat and sits.] I’m staying, and you’re leaving--and I mean now!
Richard chuckled. Yes, Clark was leaving and Lex Luthor was staying.
Lex Luthor took several more puffs and watched the column of smoke waft into the air. Things were going exactly as planned. “Well, Lois, darling” he exclaimed. “You’ll soon belong to me,” he said aloud as
***********
Lois sat on the couch and tears came to her eyes--tears she had been holding back the last two days. Bill Saxon was dead, Barb Friskin was dead, and now Mayson Drake was dead. She had been almost killed several times, and now, now there appeared to be a...a strangeness, a coldness between her and Clark.
She raised her hand to rub the large bruise as her head began to throb. The tears continued to flow slowly down her cheeks as she picked up small glass case that enclosed the delicate chiseled pink stone she loved so much. She put it back down as she heard a soft knock on her door.
Lois hurriedly swiped at the tears and went to open the door. As soon as she saw Clark’s worried face she jumped into his arms. Clark stroked her hair and then moving her away, he reached out to touch the abrasion on her forehead.
“I should’ve protected you from this,” he said self accusatorily.
“No,” Lois said tears starting to fall again. “It’s not your fault.
“But I *feel* responsible.”
“You shouldn’t,” Lois said, moving back into his arms.
“Sure I should,” Clark said, pushing her away and holding her at arms’ length. “I love you and that’s what makes it so difficult,” he paused and looked intently at her. “Lately, every time I’m off being Superman, I think about all the accidents and deaths that have been going on right here in Smallville, and what if it’s Lois. What if it’s her turn, and I’m not here to....”
“Clark....”
“Lois,” Clark said sitting her down on the couch. “What if this whole thing is because of Superman. What if all the deaths and accidents are in someway connected? What if the person responsible forces you to reveal that Clark Kent is Superman. We’re engaged! They would do anything to you to get to me.”
“But that’s the worst case scenario,” Lois insisted.
“Maybe not,” Clark replied.
“So, what do you want me to do? Pretend I don’t know you?”
“No, Lois. What I’m saying is that it’s...it’s hard. It’s just hard. Harder than I ever thought it would be.”
“We can make it work. I know we can,” Lois urged, reaching up to move the hair from off his forehead and to gently trace the side of his face as if trying to commit it to memory. <She must remember this,> she thought as she looked into his eyes, at last beginning to fully understand that this--touching him in this way--might be for her very last time.
Clark put his hand over hers and then took her hand away from his face. He had to go through with this. His whole life had been one in which he had had to keep people at a distance--he couldn’t let them know, couldn’t let them really know him. And now, now that he had brought someone close to him, she was in danger. He should never have allowed this to happen. He was meant to go through life alone--to live a solitary existence.
“Lois, I know I can’t control everything. But I can control people not using you to get to me. And so that’s why I came...to tell you.”
“Tell me what?” Lois asked, biting her lower lip.
“To tell you...to say,” Clark said softly, struggling to get the words out. “We...we just can’t be together anymore, Lois.”
She had almost been expecting the words--those terrible words. But as soon as the sound of them reached her ears, it was as if her heart ceased to beat--everything stopped--everything came to a standstill.
“I’m sorry,” Clark whispered and turned his head as he heard a siren. “I...I have to go,” he said, quickly rushing out of the house almost relieved. He darted down the block a bit making sure he was out of the glare of the street light and spun into his suit. He flew off glad for the call but realizing he was a coward to want to get out this way.
Lois could hardly breathe. Clark was gone. He didn’t want her. It was over. She sank down, clutched a sofa pillow to her chest as she sobbed into it.
There was a soft knock on the door. “Clark!” Lois exclaimed, getting to the door quickly.
She opened the door and walked into Richard’s waiting arms.
***********
***********
Smallville, Kansas
Monday,
February 21, 1994
11:20 a.m. CST
Clark sat on the edge of his desk and surveyed his American History class while they finished a quiz. He was both physically and emotionally exhausted, as he had had little sleep for the past two weeks.
Superman had been kept busy since that night he had broken up with Lois, and Clark’s emotions were presenting a dichotomous flip-flop. He was pleased that he had been so distracted as to not dwell on his break-up with Lois nor on her growing relationship with Richard, a man he was increasingly uneasy about. And, yet Clark was deeply troubled over the number of seemingly unrelated catastrophic occurrences that were calling out to him. Was he simply more aware of them as his focus needed to be shifted away from Lois, or was there really an epidemic of natural disasters, criminal activities and downright stupid acts of benign neglect that required his attention?
The most recent was a fire at a granary south of town early this morning. Superman had gotten to the scene when the inferno became unmanageable for the county’s volunteer fire brigade to handle. He had used his super breath to extinguish the blaze. Upon checking the granary for remnants of embers that might ignite again, Superman found the remains of a body burnt beyond recognition and the case was turned over to Rachel Harris.
Clark could still smell the smoke and the water soaked grain as he collected the quiz papers and then returned to sit on his desk and faced his class.
“On a warm spring Saturday in March of 1911,” their teacher began. “The worst factory fire in the history of Metropolis occurred in the Asch building at the northwest corner of Washington and Greene streets, where the Triangle Shirtwaist Company occupied the top three of ten floors. Five hundred women were employed there, mostly Jewish immigrants between the ages of thirteen and twenty-three,” he continued, getting up to pace in front of the students.
Two members of his class, who sat in the front row, watched their teacher as he lectured, noticing the trace of sadness in his voice.
Carol looked over at her best friend, Annie Holland, and sighed. Mr. Kent was *so* hot. Both she and Annie thought so and they both knew other girls who agreed with them. Miss Lane was so lucky. Carol shook her head and tried to focus on what her teacher was saying instead of on his brown eyes and incredible body.
“To keep the women at their sewing machines,” Clark went on, “the proprietors had locked the doors leading to the exits. The fire began shortly after 4:30 p.m. in the cutting room on the eighth floor, and fed by thousands of pounds of fabric it spread rapidly. Panicked workers rushed to the stairs, the freight elevator, and the fire escape. Most on the eighth and tenth floors escaped; dozens on the ninth floor died, unable to force open the locked door to the exit. The rear fire escape collapsed, killing many and eliminating an escape route for others still trapped. Some tried to slide down elevator cables but lost their grip; many more, their dresses on fire, jumped to their death from open windows.”
Clark paused to look at his class as they listened intently.
“Pump Engine Company 20 and Ladder Company 17 arrived quickly,” he told them. “But were hindered by the bodies of victims who had jumped. The ladders of the fire department extended only to the sixth floor, and life nets broke when workers jumped in groups of three and four. Several of the young women had become impaled on the iron railing that enclosed the factory as they jumped for their lives. Additional companies were summoned by four more alarms transmitted in rapid succession.”
Clark sat on the edge of his desk once more and his voice softened.
“A total of 146 women died in less than fifteen minutes, more than in any other fire in the city’s history. Although there was widespread revulsion and rage over the working conditions that had contributed to the fire, many defended the right of shop owners to resist government safety regulations, and some in government insisted that they were, at any rate, powerless to impose them. The owners of the company were charged with manslaughter and later acquitted, but in 1914 were ordered by a judge to pay damages of $75 each to the families of the twenty-three victims who had sued.”
“That was the only result of it?” Annie asked, hoping for additional attention from her teacher.
“No,” Clark answered her. “The Factory Investigating Commission of 1911 gathered testimony, and later that year the city established the Bureau of Fire Investigation which gave the fire department additional powers to improve factory safety. The event crystallized support for efforts to organize workers in the garment district and in particular for the International Ladies' Garment Workers' Union. It remains one of the most vivid symbols for the American labor movement of the need for government to ensure a safe workplace.”
Clark walked to the black board and picked up a piece of chalk and then turned to face his class once again.
“Across the street from the burning building stood a 29-year-old woman--a woman who watched the carnage with tears in her eyes--a woman who vowed that something like this would never happen again.”
“What did she do?” Emily Cox asked.
“An amazing amount,” Clark answered. “The strength and courage of this woman,” Clark lectured, and then paused as he heard and recognized the unmistakable soft footfall of Lois Lane as she walked down the hallway outside his classroom. He looked over toward the door and being careful not to use his x-ray vision, watched as she passed by the window.
Clark’s heart practically stopped as he caught sight of her. He had had a strong and courageous woman who loved him. How stupid had he been, how incredibly asinine....
“Mr. Kent,” Carol called out, her hand waving about.
“Yes, Carol.” Clark responded, looking at the young woman.
“What did she do exactly?” Carol asked gazing up at him intently.
“Who?” Clark asked, looking back at the window hoping to get another glimpse of Lois. He automatically reached up to move his glasses down, thought better of it and turned toward the class.
“The woman outside the burning building,” Keith called out from his seat at the back of the classroom.
“Oh, yes,” Clark responded. “She began to push for changes in the labor laws--to insure the health, safety and security of all working people.”
Their teacher walked over to his desk and picked up a book. He opened it to a previously marked page. “Let me read a quotation from her: Out of that terrible episode came a self-examination of stricken conscience in which the people of this state saw for the first time the individual worth and value of each of those 146 people who fell or were burned in that great fire...We all felt that we had been wrong, that something was wrong with that building which we had accepted; or the tragedy never would have happened. Moved by this sense of stricken guilt, we banded ourselves together to find a way by law to prevent this kind of disaster....It was the beginning of a new and important drive to bring humanity to the life of the brothers and sisters we all had in the working groups of these United States.”
Clark closed the book, returned it to his desk and walked back to the blackboard and turned again toward his students.
“In 1933 she became FDR’s Secretary of Labor and the first woman cabinet member in our history. She was instrumental in creating the Social Security Act of 1935,” Clark explained. “She and other women like her contributed a great deal to our country and that’s what we are going to examine next.”
The students looked at each other.
“Okay. Does anyone know what special event is next month?” their teacher inquired.
“St. Patrick’s Day,” Emily Cox offered.
“Spring Break,” piped up John Greene.
The class laughed.
“Actually,” their teacher said turning to the blackboard and writing. “It’s Women’s History Month,” he explained writing the title on the board. “And we are going to celebrate it by having each one of you research a woman who has impacted our country, and then you’ll present your findings in an oral report.
As Clark raised his arms to quell the groans, Carol looked over at Annie and then called out, “I think that will be a wonderful assignment, Mr. Kent.”
Several of the male students in the class rolled their eyes.
The history teacher took out a baseball cap from his desk drawer and reached into his pocket. He placed about thirty slips of folded paper into the hat and walked down the first aisle of students.
“Pick a name” he explained as he proffered the hat to Carol Ehm.
“Abigail Adams,” Carol called out as she read the name in her hand.
“Some consider her the first feminist in our nation’s history,” Clark explained to the class.
“She was our second first lady, right?” Carol asked, batting her eyes at him.
“Correct, Carol,” her teacher nodded, moving on quickly.
“Dorothea Dix,” John Greene read after pulling out a slip of paper.
“Investigator of the deplorable conditions in mental asylums in the 1850s,” Clark explained.
“Susan B. Anthony,” Annie Holland said. “I know her. Women’s suffrage and stuff.”
“Good for you,” Clark said, smiling.
“Eleanor Roosevelt,” Tom Mock called out. “Good, an easy one.”
Clark continued around the room with Emily Cox getting Jane Addams, first woman Nobel Peace Prize winner and founder of the settlement house movement; and Keith Haley getting Sojourner Truth, former slave who worked tirelessly for abolition and women’s rights.
Cindy Brady reached out her hand and picked out a slip of paper. “Resurrection,” she read.
“Oh, sorry. That shouldn’t have been there.” Clark retrieved the piece of paper from Cindy’s hand. With everything that had been going on, Clark hadn’t thought of that note that he had found in the wastebasket of the Coroner’s office. It had been Mayson’s last word as well. He had forgotten about the piece of paper and now he stared at it. It must have been on his desk at home and he had accidentally gathered it together with these slips when he prepared this exercise.
He vowed to himself to work on it soon. It must have something to do with what’s going on.
“The hat, Mr. Kent,” Cindy said looking at him oddly.
“Oh, right,” Clark responded. He simply had to get a simpler life. Being Superman and Clark Kent was becoming too much. Clark’s life was complicated enough on its own--teaching high school, advising students, the Smallville Players, and Lois. Well, now just spending time trying not to think of her. And, of course, he also had Superman to contend with. He had lost Lois as a result and now he was losing himself. But he couldn’t give up Superman because Superman provided Clark the opportunity to fight for justice and truth and to do what he needed to do--make a difference.
Cindy reached once more into the hat. “Frances Perkins,” Cindy read out loud, looking quizzically at her teacher. “Darn, someone I don’t know.”
“Yes you do, Cindy. Frances Perkins was that 29-year-old who stood up for what she believed and worked hard to make a difference--something we all need to strive for.
***********
***********
Smallville, Kansas
Monday,
February 21, 1994
7:25 p.m.
Martha watched her son as he paced the stage waiting for Richard to arrive. She had not scheduled any rehearsals of scenes that put Clark and Lois together since Valentine’s night when it was obvious that the two needed some time apart before portraying lovers on stage once again. Thankfully, they had completed blocking their scenes together and both of them knew their lines. The director believed that they could wait to do all those Elaine and Mortimer sections when they began the final series of run throughs of the entire play which would start tomorrow. In the meantime, she had just worked around their scenes.
Tonight’s rehearsal was a rather difficult one. It was the scene in which Richard’s character would be attacking Clark, that is Mortimer. Although they had blocked it, walked through it a couple of times with scripts in hand, this was the first opportunity for the scene to be done off book and a more intensified utilization of character to be displayed.
Martha looked up the aisle of the auditorium. Richard was late. She knew that he had been dating Lois and that they dined together frequently. She glanced back up at Clark whose feelings she could always read. He was upset and in emotional pain. Martha knew that he had regretted the decision he had made and now realized that it may be too late to go running back to her. No, he shouldn’t run back to Lois. <He should fly back>, Martha thought.
The door at the rear of the auditorium opened and Richard entered looking self-satisfied and arrogant--the perfect characterization for Jonathan Brewster--a characterization that Richard was more at home with. Tonight’s rehearsal would allow him to drop the façade of candy-coated Richard and be Lex Luthor. “Sorry I’m late,” Richard declared, although Clark could sense no contrition in that statement at all.
Clark climbed to the “second floor” of the set as Richard bounded up the stage steps to take his place in the “Brewster living room.”
Wayne Irig, who’d been going over his script, joined the two adversaries on stage. Wayne, playing Dr. Einstein, a character subservient to Richard’s role, but a man who really didn’t enjoy hurting others as did the maniacal Jonathan Brewster, looked up the stairs at Clark and then back down to Richard who stood center stage.
The two men were obviously getting right into character, as Wayne Irig sensed the animosity and malice erupting between them. It looked like it was going to be very easy for him to act as a nervous Dr. Einstein while Jonathan Brewster prepared to murder Mortimer.
tbc
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