At six minutes before eleven the next morning, Louie and Kim opened the front door of the pool hall to admit Clark and Lois. Kim was not surprised to see the signs of fatigue on both of their faces. In fact, both of them were starting to take on the appearance of a couple of raccoons, what with their slightly sunken eyes and dark rings above their cheeks. Something had to give between these two – whatever was bothering them needed to be resolved as soon as possible or they might fall apart and disintegrate.
Her father must have seen the same signs. “Hey, Kim,” he said, “do you mind grabbin’ a couple of cold Cokes for these two? They look thirsty to me.”
“Sure, Pop.” She turned and headed for the fridge in the back room, but stopped when Clark said, “Louie, we may have a fairly serious problem.”
“What is it?”
Clark paused and shuffled his feet for a moment. “Have you heard of a man called Mister Smith?”
Kim was startled to see her dad stiffen and go motionless at Clark’s question. Without a word from anyone else, Kim hurried to the back room and returned with four twenty-ounce bottles of Coca-Cola, all with the tops already removed.
Her dad had all but collapsed into a folding chair, his face pale and his breathing shallow. Lois had her hand on his shoulder. “Louie,” she asked softly, “are you okay?”
Kim handed out the bottles, beginning with her father, who chugged nearly half of his drink before coming up for air. “Where did youse guys hear that name?”
Lois straightened and looked to Clark, who said, “Two men met us after last night’s show with an invitation to do a private party for the guy. One of them was called Benton. We didn’t get the other man’s name.”
Louie’s gaze drilled into Lois’ eyes. “That the first time you seen them?”
Lois shook her head. “No, the second. The first time they issued the invitation, Clark asked them if they’d talked to you, they said no, we said we wouldn’t do any gig unless the booking came through you. Last night the one not called Benton offered two-and-a-half times our usual fee and said that you’d be taken care of – financially, I mean. Clark told them that they still had to go through you to book us. The one called Benton tried to shove Clark around, but he used some Aikido move to flip Benton on his back on the sidewalk. We figured that you needed to know about this.”
Kim nodded. “No wonder the two of you look like you’ve pulled an all-nighter. Those guys would worry me too.”
Louie waved his hand dismissively. “Ah, Benton and Roberts is just glorified messengers. They won’t take a leak without askin’ their boss first.” He shook his head and sighed. “I had no idea that Mister Smith even knew youse existed. He’s real trouble.”
Lois’ eyes lit up. “How so, Louie?”
“Cause he’s one of the bosses hornin’ in on the action since Luthor turned himself into a street pizza.”
Kim slapped her dad on the back of the head. “Pop! Come on! Try to be sensitive for once, okay?”
She looked up at Lois, whose face had paled slightly. Her father exhaled and said, “Sorry, Lo, I kinda forgot for a minute.”
“It’s okay, Louie.” She turned to Clark and said, “I guess we’ll do the deli for lunch instead of the Italian eatery. I don’t feel like cannoli now.”
Clark’s soft smile surprised Kim. “Sure, Lois. Whatever you want.”
And Kim was surprised again at the color which returned to Lois’ face.
The two of them held each other’s gazes for a long moment, then Clark turned to Louie. “Okay, business manager, what do we tell these guys when they come back again?”
“If they come back,” Kim interjected.
Her dad shook his head again. “Naw, they’ll be back. Mister Smith don’t give up on nothin’.” He stood as tall as he was able. “I’ll put out a couple of feelers to see how mad he is. And I’ll let him know that I’ll cooperate with anything he wants ta do that’s reasonable. He don’t scare me.”
Clark tipped his head to one side and frowned. “You sure about that? You looked pretty ragged a couple of minutes ago.”
“Naw, youse just surprised me. I can handle these clowns.”
I hope he can, Kim thought. She was too old to break in some other dad.
*****
Clark frowned at the script in his hand and turned it face-down on the table. “I really don’t think we can put this one over. I don’t sing unless I’m playing a drunk. People don’t mind if I sound horrible then.”
Lois sighed. “I know this isn’t exactly Oscar or Emmy material, but we promised Louie that we’d go over these today and get back to him.” She pulled up one corner of the face-down script, then released it and sighed again. “The chair bit went over so well that he wants us to do more original material. It would help our bottom line not to pay script royalties, too.”
“Hmm. Hey, what if we do something country-style? You know how badly most male country vocalists sing. I could probably fake some of that stuff.”
“Mmm…I don’t know. I don’t listen to country stations, so I have no idea what’s popular now.”
“Doesn’t have to be current stuff. I could do Hank Williams’ ‘Your Cheating Heart Will Tell On You’ as ‘Your Squeaking Fart Will Smell On You’ and you could just be trying to stop me.”
She looked startled for a moment, then slowly smiled. “You know, that might work at that. As long as we weren’t doing the bit in one of those bars with both kinds of music.”
He frowned. “Both kinds?”
“Sure. Country and western.”
He hesitated until he identified the Blues Brothers reference, then he chuckled. “Yeah, we’d have to pay attention to the venue.”
“What else could we do?”
“How about – how about something like ‘Stand By Your Spam’ instead of ‘Stand By Your Man’?”
She laughed. “Oh, I wish there was a real song with that title.”
“Real songs, huh?” He grinned wide. “We could do ‘I’ve Got Tears In My Ears From Lyin’ On My Back In My Bed While I Cry Over You.’ That’s a real song.”
Her laugh was almost a bark. “It is not either!”
He lifted one hand. “I’m as serious as a speeding ticket, that’s a real song title. Homer and Jethro, the guys who did the Beverly Hillbillies theme song, made the charts with it back in the late 40s. Plus it’s got a really funky trombone part.”
“Trombone part in – no. I still don’t believe it’s a real song.”
“Okay, what about the Conway Twitty and Loretta Lynn tune ‘You’re The Reason Our Kids Are Ugly’?”
She all but fell off her chair to the floor laughing.
“You don’t like that one? What about ‘Mama, Baby, Mama, Let Me Jump In Your Pajamas’ by Kinky Friedman?”
This time she hit the carpet and slow rolled from side to side while holding her stomach.
“Or Ray Stevens’ ‘Get Your Tongue Outta My Mouth Cause I’m Kissin’ You Goodbye’.”
She waved one hand in the air. “Stop! You’re killing me!”
“And then there’s—”
“No! No more!” She struggled to her feet and stumbled to the bathroom.
The door slammed shut with Lois still laughing inside. “Hey, Lois? We could do ‘Mama, Get A Hammer, There’s A Fly On Daddy’s Head.’ My folks used to have that 45-rpm single.”
The sound of a fist hitting the bathtub accompanied her hysteria. A few more titles came to his mind, but since they were about busted relationships, he decided not to mention them. Discretion was, after all, still the better part of valor.
He waited a long moment, and it sounded like her laughter was under control now. “One more!” she shouted through the door. “I dare you to give me one more!”
He smiled and mentally told discretion to take a hike. “Okay. ‘I Wouldn’t Take Her To A Dogfight Cause I’m Afraid She’d Win’.”
Her laughter came more sporadically, but only because she was having trouble breathing.
*****
Louie folded his arms across his belly – significantly smaller than it had been only weeks ago – and tried to breathe around his laughter. “Country DJ! Yeah! That’s great! It’s – ha-ha-ha – it’s in – ho-ho – in the show!” He tried to stand but couldn’t quite make it and flopped back down in his chair.
Lois leaned on her partner with her arms draped across his shoulders for support. She was laughing uncontrollably too. Clark, however, just stood there in front of Louie with a bland if slightly bemused expression on his face.
Louie waited for his breathing to come back to normal. “Ya big mook – ha-ha – that was great! It’s even better than the chair sketch! They’ll love it in Philadelphia!”
Lois rolled her head around to look at him. “Does that mean that – whew – that we have a booking in Pennsylvania?”
Louie nodded back at her. “Yep. First one that far west. And it’s the best appearance fee we got so far, too.”
Clark blinked and smiled. “How many nights, and when do we start?”
“Sixteen shows over twenty days, starting a week from Monday. You got a matinee on the last Saturday – that makes two shows that day – and they’re paying for the hotel room. Plus you got sixty-five bucks a day per diem for meals and incidentals. Anything you don’t spend outta that is pocket money for the two o’ you.”
“So we’ll have five days off over three weeks? Do they pay the per diem on those days too?”
“Yep. I made sure o’ that. It’s in the contract.”
Clark nodded and held out his right hand. “Louie, it sure sounds like you’re earning your commission.”
Louie took his hand, once again marveling at the man’s hidden muscles. “Thanks. Oh, I do have somethin’ else. This maybe ain’t such good news as Philly, though.”
Lois sobered and stood erect on her own but put her hand in Clark’s. “You heard back from Mister Smith, didn’t you?”
“’Fraid so. He wants you two ta do a birthday party for his new wife. Said there’s gonna be fifty to seventy people there, wants your best stuff. He heard about the baseball routine and wants ya to do that one again cause his new wife is a big baseball fan. Oh, and he wants ya to do a short set before dinner, then a longer one after everyone eats and when they start gettin’ a little drunk.”
Clark’s voice was as hard as his biceps. “How dangerous is this gig?”
Lois broke in before Louie could answer. “It doesn’t matter! It’s a gig and they’re paying us real money!”
Clark turned to her and lifted his left hand, the one still holding Lois’ right. “I don’t want you to be in danger.”
She pulled her hand free. “I can take care of myself! You don’t have to baby me!”
Louie lifted both his hands to forestall the fight he saw coming. “Easy, both o’ ya! Clark, there ain’t no real danger as long as you two don’t poke around where you’re not supposed ta be. Lois, we all know how good you are in the clutch, but these boys don’t play good with others and Clark’s got every right to ask the question. My advice is to go do the show and be a funny as you can be, which I know is real funny, and keep your noses clean while you’re there. Okay?”
Clark looked at Lois. After a long moment, Lois looked at Clark, and they did that silent discussion thing they often did. Then they both turned to Louie and nodded together. “We’ll do the show, Louie,” Lois said. “And we’ll be very careful.”
He didn’t want to show it, but he was relieved. They’d do the show, bring in some badly needed cash, and maybe score some feel-good points with one of the newest local mob bosses. All they had to do was to make a bunch of not-very-smart mobsters laugh. “Glad to hear it. I’ll give you the address before you leave. The show starts the Saturday night after you get back from Philly at five-thirty, okay?”
*****
The shows in Philadelphia had gone over extremely well. Not only had they been paid their promised per diem every day – something Louie had told them didn’t always happen to new performers – they’d packed the house every night after the first one. And the newspaper reviews had been uniformly good. Some had even openly raved about them.
They’d shared a hotel room with a double bed and a couch. Their uneasy truce had held and there had been no interpersonal problems between them.
They’d returned to Metropolis around noon on Friday and rested until the next gig.
*****
On Saturday night, at five-twenty in the evening, they were in their dressing room getting ready for Mister Smith’s wife’s birthday bash, and Clark thought they were going to go over the first set for the final time. She startled him badly when she pulled out a black long-sleeved jersey and pulled it on over her shirt instead of reaching for her dress.
“Lois, what do you think you’re doing? We go on in ten minutes.”
“You go do the first show. I’ve got to step out for a few minutes.”
“And do what?”
“Shh! I’m going to poke around and see what I can find about these guys. They’ve got to be mobbed up.”
Clark couldn’t believe it. They were already at the party, about to start their first routine, and Lois was leaving him in the lurch.
“What do you mean you’re stepping out? You can’t leave! We have a show to do!”
“Keep your voice down! We won’t have this chance again. There’s no telling how much info I could pick up just poking around out there.”
“Blast it, Lois! You’re doing it again! You’re running off and leaving me holding the bag!”
“What do you mean ‘again?’ You’re the master of the disappearing act!”
“So you’re just paying me back by bailing on me?”
“I’m not bailing on you, Clark! You can do the short set by yourself!”
“I probably could if I weren’t worried about what you might be doing while I’m out on that stage! If anyone catches you snooping around—”
“No one will catch me! You just hint that I’m having bad cramps because it’s my time of the month and none of those tough guys will ask for any more details!”
He pulled off his glasses and rubbed his face with one hand. “What about the women? What if they want details?”
“Just tell them all you know is that I took some Midol and I’m resting and that I’ll be on-stage for the late show! They’ll nod and smile knowingly and tell you not to worry about me!”
He looked into her hard, determined eyes, then finally nodded. “Fine. I won’t argue any more. Just – please promise me that you won’t get caught.”
One side of her mouth curled up in a smile. “I promise, Clark.”
She turned to go, but he caught her arm. “No. I – I really mean it. I couldn’t stand it if you were hurt or – or if something happened to you.”
She made eye contact with him for a long moment, then her expression softened. “I promise you, Clark,” she said gently, “I will come back. And if there’s any evidence of criminal behavior to find, I’ll get it. Either way, they’ll never know I was there.”
He loosened his grip and let her arm slide through his hand. He watched her slip out of their dressing room, her black outfit and watch cap disappearing down the hallway like the Cheshire Cat’s shadow.
He finished putting on his tux and thought about the danger in which Lois had once again placed herself. If they hurt her, he’d take this place apart, thug by thug, secret identity or no secrets left.
*****
Lois ghosted along the corridor, testing doors and noting any burnt-out lights or places to hide. Silence and darkness were her best friends now.
A pair of heavy footsteps thudded along the wooden floor ahead of her from just around the next corner. She cat-footed to her left and ducked down behind two stacked sawhorses covered with thick, coiled rope and listened for any alarms.
The voices came into focus. “—and the whole place went nuts when the broad brought out the wheelchair.”
A more cultured voice answered. “Somewhat insensitive, don’t you think?”
“Naw!” the first voice growled as the two men passed her hiding place. “After all them other chairs, that one was the perfect thing! It was funny as—”
“I know, I know. It was as funny as the pawnshop owner whose arm you broke in two places last week. But I really meant that referring to the woman as a ‘broad’ was insensitive.”
“Aw, you’re nuts! She’s some looker, that’s for sure! Anyway, it was better than the pawnshop, man! I laughed so hard I almost wet my pants! I mean, I ain’t never seen nothing—” and the voices faded away.
Lois held her breath for a slow count of three, then exhaled and stepped back out into the corridor. Not only were these people Neandertals, they were stupid ones. She was positive that they didn’t recognize the irony of murderous gangsters discussing the political correctness of calling women “broads.” It would be a real treat to bring them down.
She resumed her recon mission. Surely there was an office somewhere along these walls.
*****
Clark opened the door cautiously to see Thing One lifting his hand to knock a second time. “Ah, Mr. Kent. We were not properly introduced the last time we met. My name is Roberts.”
Neither of them offered to shake hands with the other. “Just Roberts?” Clark asked. “Is that your first name or your last name?”
“It is the name I use professionally.”
Clark nodded without taking his eyes off the man. “Is your partner with you? Benton, I think is his name?”
“Benton has other duties this evening, Mr. Kent. I am here to escort you and your wife to the stage entrance. The backstage area can be a bit confusing.”
“I’m afraid it’ll just be me to start with tonight. Lois isn’t feeling well at the moment.”
Roberts’ concerned expression appeared to be genuine. “Oh, dear. Is there anything I can do? Does she require medical attention?”
Clark shook his head. “No, thank you. She’s just – she’s having a rough time this month.”
“This month – ah, I understand. I will convey the message to Mister Smith.”
“Thank you. Please also tell him that she will probably be well enough for the longer set after dinner, although she probably won’t want to eat much tonight.”
“I will make sure Mister Smith is aware of all of that. My sympathies to both of you. I know that such feminine inconveniences often affect the masculine also, even if the effect is indirect.”
Clark nodded again. He was getting a little tired of the man’s transparently false courtesy, and he wondered how many people Roberts had threatened, injured, or even killed in his “service” to Mister Smith. “Thank you. I’ll tell Lois when I come back. Oh, I wanted to thank Mister Smith and his wife from the stage for – for inviting us. How should I address them?”
Roberts’ eyebrows rose in apparent respect. “An excellent idea, and an excellent question. I suggest the phrase ‘Mister Smith and his bride Angelique’ when referring directly to the happy couple.”
“Got it. I’m ready to go now.”
“Of course. This way, please.”
*****
Lois shook her head, amazed at the hubris of some gangsters. The office door had been locked, but her set of picks got her inside within twenty seconds. Some lock. And none of the file cabinets had been secured against unauthorized access. Even the elderly computer in the inner office – whose door had not been locked – was not password-protected. Too bad she hadn’t brought a floppy disk or two with her. She could have copied all kinds of interesting-looking files.
It was almost too easy.
Either this was some kind of trap or these guys really were idiots.
Then she found the mother lode in the second file drawer she checked. Documents detailing illegal transactions of all sorts – construction kickbacks, substituted sub-standard materials, bribes to building inspectors, even a list of reporters, elected officials, and police officers and detectives to avoid if possible. She smiled when she found Bill Henderson’s name on that list. Her smile grew even wider when she saw Perry’s name.
The tiny camera under her watch cap was Cold War vintage, but with Jimmy’s help she’d learned to operate it perfectly. She took all four rolls of film, taking shots of the contents of the file and displays on the computer monitor, and didn’t get everything she wanted. The file folder tempted her, but taking it would tip off someone that their security was less than air-tight, and she and Clark would be by far the most likely suspects. So she returned it to the state in which she’d found it and snapped off her wrist light.
Too easy, my left kneecap, she thought. More like these guys were too stupid to replace Lex Luthor.
She eased back to the outer door and looked back to make sure nothing was out of place. Just then a burst of laughter came through the wall and she smiled. Clark was certainly doing his part for the team.
*****
Roberts walked out on the small stage and smiled at the audience. “Ladies and gentlemen, due to a temporary medical condition afflicting the distaff member of the Hottest Comedy Team In Town, may I present to you Clark Kent!”
Sporadic applause greeted Clark as he walked to center stage front. “Thank you, thank you, ladies and gentlemen. I’d like to give special thanks to Mister Smith and his lovely bride Angelique for inviting us here this evening.”
As he led the audience in the ensuing applause and noted which couple smiled and nodded to the rest, he glanced offstage to his right to see Roberts watching with his hands crossed behind him, a polite smile gracing his features. Clark was satisfied that he didn’t plan to check their dressing room for Lois’s presence.
“As I’ve already said, thank you. Before I came out here tonight, my wife told me that I—”
A short, rotund blonde woman in the fourth row stood and called out, “Is she okay?”
“Uh – ma’am?”
“I asked you if she’s okay! She need anything?”
“Thank you, but no. She’s already—”
An older redhead – definitely not in Cat Grant’s class, and not even in the same school as Lois – also stood. “She got some Midol?”
As some of the men in the audience laughed uncomfortably – and some blushed – nearly all the women leaned forward to listen. “Ah, yes, she does,” Clark answered. He even made his face redden a bit – which wasn’t all that difficult. He didn’t like talking about a woman’s monthly cycle either.
The short blonde asked, “She gonna be okay? For the late show, I mean.”
Clark nodded. “She told me to tell you that she’d be onstage for the second show. In the meantime—” he heaved a sigh of disappointment “—I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with me.”
Three room keys came out of the audience and landed near his feet. He stared at them as if they were coiled rattlesnakes. “If anyone thinks I’m putting those in my pocket, you’re quite mistaken.”
All the men and women laughed. He caught two separate tones – one of slight disappointment and one of released tension. The first was mostly high-pitched and feminine, the second lower and masculine.
He turned to his right. “Excuse me, Mr. Roberts? Could you assist me, please?” Clark carefully picked up the keys and handed them to Roberts, who smiled as he held out his hands to receive them. “Please make sure these get back to their rightful owners.” Roberts nodded and Clark said, “Thank you.”
Clark waited until he was alone on the stage, then turned back to the audience. “I’m sure you all know that’s not what I meant when I said you’d have to put up with me.”
The entire audience laughed, including Mister Smith and the woman beside him who looked almost young enough to be his granddaughter. It was an encouraging sign, so Clark decided to try out something he’d discussed with Kim the last time he’d seen her. She’d warned him against using it in any family-friendly venue, but he was sure he could get away with it here. Besides, it was perfect as misdirection, just in case anyone of a criminal mindset was thinking along the lines of “secret identity” for Superman.
“Now, I know that everyone knows who Superman is, right?” Scattered clapping was almost overridden by moans and groans. “Have you ever wondered where he goes when he’s not out there wrapping muggers and convenience store robbers up in street signs?”
Most of his listeners frowned in thought. The required effort seemed to be more than many of them could muster.
“I don’t know what any of you might have thought, but I think he puts on regular clothes and walks around town like a guy looking for a job, or maybe like a lawyer fresh out of law school. That way he can check out the city without looking like he’s checking out the city.”
“You mean he hides in plain sight?” a man called out.
“Maybe,” Clark shrugged. “But I think I know how to find him. If he does walk around like a regular guy, he has to go to the little superhero’s room sometime, doesn’t he?”
Several people snorted. One woman laughed aloud and clapped her hands twice. Clark lifted one finger. “Here, I’ll show you what I mean.”
Even more of them laughed. Clark turned around to face away from them and put both hands in front of him at cummerbund level. “See?” he called over his shoulder. “Maybe he’s showing off or maybe he really needs to use two hands, but he’s not Superman.”
He held the pose until the laughter built to its maximum. “What about this guy?”
He put one hand on his hip and stood straight. “Still not Superman.”
More laughter ensued. He spread his feet a bit more and put both hands on his hips and sang – badly, of course – the first few phrases of the Superman theme from the new Christopher Reeve “Superman” movie advertisements. “This guy? Total body control, right? Who else but Superman?”
The place broke up. As Clark turned to face them again, he saw Roberts offstage, laughing openly and sincerely. The man was leaning against a backdrop support with his eyes closed. Even the stage crew was convulsed in hilarity.
They’d laugh at almost anything he said now.
*****
Roberts led Clark back to the dressing room, still chuckling. “I had been under the impression that you were not particularly funny without your partner, Mr. Kent, but you have proven me wrong. The two of you will have to work hard to top your solo routine.”
“Thank you, Roberts. I’ll tell Lois that. She loves to hear that I don’t really need her.”
Roberts paused and looked back over his shoulder to see Clark’s slight grin, then chuckled some more. “As I said, Mr. Kent, you are quite funny by yourself.” They stopped at the dressing room door. “I hope Mrs. Kent is feeling well enough to come to dinner. If not, I can bring something here for her.”
“I’ll ask her—”
“Oh! Clark! Clark Kent!”
Both men snapped their heads around to see Mister Smith’s trophy bride barreling down the hallway toward them. “Hey! My husband sent me to check on your wife! I want to make sure she’s feeling okay!”
Clark blinked a couple of times. “Thank you, ma’am, but I’m sure she’s better now.”
“Nonsense! I’ll talk to her myself!”
Clark reached for the doorknob and pushed the door open about an inch. “Please, let me make sure she’s ready for company. She usually—”
“Are you kidding? Times like this a woman needs another woman to talk to, not some man who’s never had to put in a tampon in a bus station bathroom!”
“Uh—” Clark had no idea how to respond to that statement.
“It’s all right, Clark,” Lois called from inside the room. “You can let her in. I’m decent enough.”
The long-haired brunette-rooted blonde pushed past Clark with a triumphant grin as Roberts stepped back out of the woman’s path. Clark shrugged at him. “I think I’ve been overrun.”
Roberts smiled sincerely. “You do see that I’ve moved away from her line of advance?”
“I don’t blame you. I’d better get in there and support Lois.”
“Of course, Mr. Kent. I will come back in approximately fifteen minutes to either escort you both to dinner or to arrange for something to be delivered here.”
“Ah, let’s plan on having a tray sent here, if you don’t mind. No sense pushing the envelope.”
“Very well. I will send a server with an assortment of delicacies guaranteed to rest easy on the digestive system.”
Roberts turned, still smiling, and strode off on his errand. Clark took a deep breath and pushed open the door to the dressing room. “Is it safe for me to come in?”
“Come on in, Clark!” ordered Angelique. “Your wife is lying down on the cot but she’s feeling much better! Oh, Lois, you should have seen him talking about Superman taking a leak in the men’s room! It was hysterical!”
Lois’ eyes widened and she shot a quick glance at Clark, who shook his head and waved his hands as if begging her not to say anything.
It didn’t matter, because Angelique was still talking at full force. “I can’t wait for you two to do that baseball routine! I loved it when I saw that old video of Abby and Cosell doing it! But you two are even funnier!”
“Thank you—”
“Oh, Lois, don’t talk to me! Save your voice! I just hope you’re well enough to come and eat dinner with us!” The woman stood and bounced up and down several times. Even from that angle, Clark could see why Mister Smith was so taken with her. “No, I got a better idea! You two stay here and rest! I’ll send Roberts back with a couple of plates of food and you just eat what you want and don’t worry about anything! You don’t start the next segment for almost an hour so you can digest some of what you eat!” She jumped around Clark and almost sprinted through the door.
Clark watched her disappear, then closed the door behind her. “Wow. I don’t think I’ve been that overwhelmed since Cat Grant first asked me to dinner.”
He was surprised at Lois’ frown. “Cat isn’t anywhere as bad as she is.”
“Oh, no, she’s not. Anyway, do you want to make any changes to the set list tonight?”
The frown slipped away from her face but the expected smile didn’t appear. “No, let’s just go with what we planned.”
“Okay.” He paused to listen for prying ears, then quietly asked, “Did you find anything?”
She drilled him with an obsidian glare. “It was worth the risk.”
“Good. I mean, I’m glad you found something.”
Lois’ only response was to throw back the covers, stand, and reach for her performing clothes. Since she was wearing only a T-shirt and underwear, Clark turned away to give her a modicum of privacy.
The look she’d given him before her evidence hunt obviously hadn’t meant what he’d thought it had. He’d allowed his hopes that Lois cared for him as more than a co-conspirator in their undercover mission to rise again. He’d been warmed by the thought that maybe – just maybe – Lois was starting to come around to liking him for himself.
But now, behaving as if she didn’t care a whit if he saw her in her skivvies, treating him like a mannequin once again, kicked the slats out from under those hopes. She obviously had no concern for his feelings. She had to know that seeing her dressed – or undressed – like that was like dangling fresh bait in front of a shark. She had to understand that he might as well have been a hired servant for all the consideration she was showing him.
When would he learn? When would he accept that she didn’t want him around except for mission support?
Maybe when his heart stopped beating. He must be a slow learner.
*****
She pulled off the T-shirt and balled it up in her hands, then threw it on the cot where she’d been resting. How dare he compare Cat to that – that fake platinum bombshell? How dare he imply that he’d been overwhelmed so thoroughly by two different women who weren’t named Lois Lane? How dare he completely ignore her?
That was the worst of it. He’d gone directly from that – that brassy gold-digger and compared her to his first meeting with Cat Grant and skipped over all the times she and Clark had shared danger or thrills or talk of love – even obliquely – or their time together on this assignment or – or anything!
She sensed that he’d turned away from her almost immediately after she’d gotten out of bed. He didn’t even want to look at her partially unclothed body. He didn’t want her. And he certainly didn’t love her. How could he care about her and behave in that way? If he had any real affection for her, wouldn’t he make some comment? Wouldn’t he at least say “Excuse me” before he turned away? Wouldn’t he at least take a deep breath when he saw her state of undress? Shouldn’t he have made some appreciative comment about her? Or warned her that letting him see her like that wasn’t conducive for them making their curtain time?
She called on her martial arts training, took her own deep breath, and hauled on the reins of her emotions to bring them back under control. They still had a routine to do – several, actually, since this segment was supposed to be at least forty minutes long. They hadn’t done any segments longer than twenty-minute segments before, but they were the only act tonight, and they had to fill out the time or risk offending the gangsters.
She gently tugged on her pantyhose – she only had one spare pair with her and she didn’t want to tear these because she was upset. Then she stood and slithered into her dress, a sleeveless burgundy semi-formal gown she’d chosen because she’d had the vain thought that Clark would like it. As a bonus, it would blend very well with his jet-black tuxedo.
Then she realized that she couldn’t zip it up all the way by herself. “Clark? Would you zip me up, please?”
She backed toward him and waited. After a long moment, she felt him tug the zipper northward, then he stopped. In a voice devoid of feeling, he said, “Could you lift your hair so I can find the hook at the top?”
She complied silently. He fastened the hook to the loop, then finished with the zipper. A part of her almost wished he’d pulled the zipper down and taken her in his arms.
The other part of her sternly reminded the first part that, while they might be legally married, it was a marriage made not in heaven but in the upper offices of the Daily Planet and made necessary by the requirements of the undercover assignment.
She dropped her hair over the top of the zipper and gritted her teeth. No tears, she told herself. Get something light to eat, rest, go over the order of the routines with Clark, then go onstage and knock them dead.
She already had the “dead” part down pat.
