DISCLAIMER: I claim none of the characters. They are all DC's; a good majority of the characters are from the Superman comics, but there are a few of them from the Supergirl comic series. In short, they're not mine; I'm just borrowing them. I'll return them, I promise!
- - - -
It was snowing again as Linda walked out the revolving door of the Planet, her overcoat pulled tightly around her shoulders, her hands in her pockets, her head hung so no one would see the tears that threatened to fall down her cheeks as she walked numbly down the sidewalk. She had been tempted to fly to the Kents and talk with them, but she stopped herself in time; she wanted to think things over first, try to work things out on her own, but she didn’t have a clue what to do, because . . . well, she had no idea why Jimmy was mad at her, why he would lie to her.
The young woman didn’t realize how far she had walked until she stopped to get her bearings and found herself standing in front of a place of business. There were twinkling Christmas lights over front door, which was constantly opening and closing from people rushing in and out, some chatting with friends, others alone, but all of them with steaming cups in their hands. The young woman noticed a name painted in big, golden script letters on one of the two windows flanking the front door - The Perk o’Latté. She wasn’t too familiar with the place, but she knew enough to know it was a coffeehouse. She could smell hot chocolate wafting from the coffeehouse. Added to the fact that the place seemed warm and inviting, and the young woman couldn’t resist going inside.
As she shrugged out of her coat, Linda glanced around uneasily. The interior was plain and tasteful, the walls painted a soft white color with wood boundaries, with lights illuminating everything in a soft but warm glow. The floor was hardwood, covered with many Persian rugs. In the middle of the large space were small wooden tables with two wooden chairs at each table. Pushed against three of the walls was an assortment of upholstered easy chairs and couches of different colors, plus floor lamps. An old studio piano was against the fourth wall, next to an opening that led to another part of the shop with more chairs and couches and a counter. Soft jazz music reverberated through the room and black and white photos adorned the walls. The place was crowed with mostly college-aged kids, talking, laughing, or reading the paper with their various hot drinks.
Linda made her way over to the counter and stood in line, watching the activity around her. Behind the counter, three people were rushing around filling orders, taking money, and handing out drinks and all sorts of pastries from a clear storage shelf on the counter. She was watching everything around her so intently that she didn’t notice she was at the front of the line.
“What’ll it be?” one of the three guys behind the counter asked her. She didn’t notice him. “Hey!” She turned. “What do you want?”
Linda glanced at the colorful chalk-written menu hanging high above the counter. “Uh, what’s the strongest thing you have with chocolate?” Not that caffeine affected her any, but she was desperately craving chocolate.
“Buzz off,” the guy answered.
Linda frowned. “Excuse me? Look here, I have had a really bad morning, okay, and I do *not* need any more people being rude to me, so why don’t you -”
“No, no, no,” the guy shook his head. “That’s the name of the strongest thing we got with chocolate. The Buzz Off.”
“Oh,” Linda felt a little embarrassed. “Um, what’s in it?”
“Five shots espresso, whole milk, lots of whipped cream, and lots of chocolate.” He grinned at her. “Gotta warn you, though, it gives one helluva buzz.”
“I don’t get buzzed,” Linda replied. “And I’ll take it.”
The guy shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He quickly filled her drink, then rung it up at the register. “That’ll be four ninety-seven.”
Linda suddenly realized she’d left her purse back at the Planet. She glanced at the guy sheepishly. “I, um,” she said slowly. “I seem to have forgotten my money . . . .” Her face fell and she sighed. “Sorry.” Her face turning red, she turned to walk off.
“Hey!” She turned around. The guy behind the counter beckoned her back. “You look like you’ve had a rough morning.” He pushed the tall paper cup towards her. “It’s on the house.” He gave her a charming grin.
“Thanks,” Linda replied, smiling for the first time since she left the Planet.
“My name’s Buzz,” the guy replied, offering a hand over the counter.
“Linda.” She shook his hand. “Linda Lee.”
“You know, Buzz, if you keep giving free drinks away, I’m going to get jealous.”
Linda turned around and saw a woman her age standing with her arms crossed, smirking. She had dark skin and hair, with brown eyes that narrowed at Buzz in a playful manner. She was dressed in dark pants, dark loafers, and a hunter green sweater. Linda glanced back at Buzz and saw him shrug, still smiling.
“Don’t worry, Mattie,” he said. “You know you're my favorite coffee-guzzler. Your tips alone keep me stocked in toilet seat collecting.”
Mattie nodded, looking unconvinced. “Uh-huh. I'm sure you say that to all the regulars. In fact, I *know* you do.” She turned to Linda. “Hi, I'm Mattie Harcourt. I don't think I've seen you in here before.”
“Linda,” the blonde introduced herself. “This is my first time in here, actually. I was out getting some fresh air and ended up in here.”
Mattie studied Linda. “Hon, looks like you need more than fresh air - or even caffeine. I’m here with my study group and we were just about to take a break. Why don't you join us?”
Linda smiled. “That'd be nice.” She turned back to Buzz, smiling widely. “Thanks again for the coffee, Buzz.” She followed Mattie to a set of couches in the other room where four other people her age sitting. The coffee table in front of them was covered with textbooks, papers, and cups of coffee.
“Hey guys,” Mattie said, “I found us a friend. This is Linda Lee. Linda this is Dick Malverne, Andrea Martinez - everyone just calls her Andy, Wally Johnson, and Cutter Sharp - my honey.”
Dick Malverne had reddish hair, green eyes, and freckles dotted across his nose. He was dressed in jeans, a dark blue shirt, and tennis shoes. Andy was Hispanic, her short, dark hair pulled back with a headband. She was dressed in a snazzy white blouse, dark slacks, and a matching sports jacket and shoes. Wally was a little on the short side, with brown hair and hazel eyes framed by rounded glasses. He was dressed in jeans, a yellow t-shirt, and running shoes. Cutter was a little on the grunge side, his head shaved, a single ring in his left ear, and a dark goatee. He was dressed in a grungy t-shirt with Corn on it, jeans with a hole in the left knee, and old tennis shoes.
Linda smiled. “Nice to meet you.”
“Hey, Linda, have a seat,” Cutter said, nodding to the empty space next to Andy. Mattie took her spot next to Cutter. “We're just cramming for Professor Witicom's Philosophy class.”
Linda gave him a puzzled look, to which Dick rolled his eyes. “You're doing it again, Cutter,” he said. “Not everyone in here is going to school and letting their life's worth hang on what Witicom thinks of them.”
“No, I'm not going to school. I work at the Daily Planet.”
Wally perked up. “Cool. You a reporter?”
Linda shook her head. “No. I'm Assistant to the Editor.”
“That’s still cool. You get to hang out with reporters, right?”
“My cousin and his wife are reporters, actually.”
Wally's face lit up, and he opened his mouth, but Mattie stopped him. “You'll have to forgive Wally, Linda. He's a Journalism major.”
Linda smiled. She guessed that most of the group to be her age or older, but Wally seemed younger, and she admired his interest. “That's okay. Curiosity is a good trait of a reporter.”
“So who's your cousin?” Wally asked.
“Clark Kent,” the young woman answered with pride before sipping her beverage, blowing on it for added measure so as not to arouse suspicion about not being affected by a scalding hot drink.
“No kidding!” Wally almost shouted. “You're cousin's Clark Kent? Wow. He's my idol. I mean, Lois Lane is great, too, so don’t tell her I said anything, but . . . I mean, that piece he wrote about that scandal at City Hall was spectacular. If he doesn't get a Kerth this year for it -”
“So, Linda,” Dick interrupted his friend, “what brings you to our caffeinated corner of the world?”
Linda stopped in mid sip, taking her drink away. She didn’t know these people very well, so she didn’t feel it was right to just pour out what was bothering her to them, but she didn’t think she could lie to them; it wasn’t like they were asking if she was Supergirl or something.
Mattie saw her look, and knew what was bothering Linda. “It’s a guy,” she said simply.
Linda looked up, startled. “Excuse me?”
“You’re having guy problems,” Mattie replied. “It’s written all over your face.”
Linda was puzzled. It was a strange statement, and part of her wondered if she really had anything on her face to indicate her relationship problems with Jimmy, and she cautiously rubbed her forehead. “Just a misunderstanding with my boyfriend.”
“Looks like more than a misunderstanding to me,” Mattie replied.
“No offense, but I don't think I really want to talk about it,” Linda said.
Dick snorted. “Hey, that's okay. We're masters of interrogation. We'll get you talking about other stuff and trick you into spilling all the details about your boyfriend.” Linda gave a small smile, not sure if he was serious or not about the interrogation. She looked to Mattie for confirmation.
“He ain't trippin', Linda,” she said. “But you know, sometimes, the best thing you can do is to talk about what's on your mind. Keeping it bottled up is not good.”
“But I don’t even know you!” Linda protested. “Don’t get me wrong or anything, you all seem to be very nice people, but . . . .”
“Hey, we understand,” Andy replied. “If you don’t want to talk to us, that’s fine. However, sometimes, the best person to listen is someone who can listen objectively, without fostering his or her own biases.” She shrugged. “It’s up to you, Linda.”
Linda glanced at the friendly faces. She could use someone to talk to that wasn't a member of her 'family,' even if she couldn't tell them everything. She had been on Earth long enough to know from Clark that they could talk about problems stemming from their identities without having to reveal their dual identities. She took a deep breath and leaned back, resting against the couch. “Well,” she said, “his name is Jimmy Olsen, and I met him shortly after I moved to Metropolis . . . .”
- - - -
“So, what’s the plan?” Lois asked.
“Why don’t we see what Bobby knows first?” Clark replied.
“Do we even have a plan?” Clark shot her a small look as they sat in their booth. After leaving the newsroom the reporters had called Bobby, who - oddly enough - was expecting to hear from them, saying he did have information on the man calling himself Lex Luthor II, and he would meet them at a diner near the Planet. That was over thirty minutes ago. Lois was about to make a remark about Bobby’s tardiness when Bobby came strolling through the front door. He spotted the reporters, grinned, and came over, plopping himself across the table from the two.
“Did ya order yet?” he asked.
“We were waiting for you,” Lois replied, her tone mildly annoyed, hoping he’d pick up on her not liking him late.
Bobby looked slightly annoyed. “You could have ordered for me. You know I'll eat anything.”
“We wanted to see what your information was worth,” Lois replied. “Appetizer or Entree.”
“With what I have,” Bobby said, “both, plus a dessert.”
“What *do* you have?” Clark asked.
“When I heard Luthor’s ‘heir’ was coming to town, I did some digging - I figured you'd want the what on him eventually.”
Clark replied, “Good thinking.”
Bobby nodded at Clark’s appreciation of his work. “So I started with his history in Australia. Squeaky-clean. All-around nice guy. No one has a bad word to say about him. No one. Like maybe they were paid to say nothing but good things about him.”
“Who are these people talking?” Lois asked.
“Officials in Sydney where he served on a board of commissioners. Locals in Queensland where his company turned their economy around. Business leaders all over the continent. And a Girl Scout Leader troop from Wisconsin who'd taken her kids there on a grant from Luthor's foundation. To me, it sounds too busy. Even a man as ambitious as Lex Senior couldn't have done all the things he's been proclaimed to do - even with the Luthor fortune - all by the time he was nineteen.”
“Nineteen?” Lois asked.
“That's how old he'd have to be if he really transplanted to the other side of the country to take control of the Luthor holdings there when his father died.”
Clark nodded. “It does sound a little unbelievable.”
“Y'think?” Bobby asked rhetorically. “Plus . . . and I'll admit I didn't get this from the most reputable of sources, there's no way he can be Gretchen Kelly's son.”
“He's Kelly's son?” Clark asked.
“That's just it,” Bobby answered. “He claims to be . . . but my source says Dr. Kelly was infertile. It's one of the reasons she is into genetic manipulation - the reason why she stole Luthor’s body to begin with after his little swan dive a few years back.”
“Can you get a hold of her medical records for us?” Lois asked. She was trying not to look upset by all these new revelations into someone who never seemed to die. “Obviously, she can’t tell us herself - not that she would, considering how much she hated me.”
“They disappeared shortly before this Luthor pup arrived in the city,” Bobby replied. “Did some digging around though - no pun; her body’s still in Perpetual Pine, if you’re interested.”
“How convenient,” Clark muttered. He turned to Lois. “We’ll have to have a pretty good reason to get her body exhumed.”
“No joke.” Bobby almost smirked, but the gravity of the situation was serious. He leaned over. “Look, you want my opinion?”
“Do we have a choice?” Lois asked.
“You either got yourself a serious imposter - one who is VERY good at covering his tracks - or he’s the genuine article. If that’s the case, I can see why he’d be so secretive about everything, considering who his father was.”
"Either way, I think we should head to Australia," Clark replied. "We'll see if he checks out."
“After lunch, right?” Bobby asked. “I’m starving.”
Lois smiled. She found Bobby annoying, but he did come through for her and Clark every time they talked with him. “Of course. Help yourself, Bobby. You’ve earned it.”
Bobby grinned and grabbed a menu from behind the napkin holder. He opened it and read over the menu. He flagged down a waitress, who took his order before leaving. “So, what’s up with your cousin and that Olsen kid, Clark?” Bobby asked as they waited.
“Excuse me?” Clark asked, furrowing his eyebrows.
“Bobby,” Lois replied, “how do you even - wait, never mind, I don't want to know.”
“Lois, I'm insulted.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
Clark interjected with, “She's . . . fine, Bobby.”
“Not what I heard. I heard that Olsen's been giving her a hard time. Want me to talk to some guys? I can have them 'talk' with Olsen.”
Lois was miffed. “Since when did you care about anyone but yourself?”
Bobby shrugged. “Hey, I got sisters; I don't like to see any guy messing with them. Besides, I hear your cousin's a real sweetheart. Don't want to see anything happen to her.”
“Uh, thanks,” Clark replied slowly, “but I think Linda can handle herself.”
“And thanks for the info,” Lois replied, handing Bobby enough rolled up bills to pay for his large meal. “We have to run now.” The reporters left as the waitress came back with Bobby’s order.
“How in the world does he even know about Linda?” Clark asked as they walked out of the diner and down the sidewalk. “He's never even met her.”
Lois shrugged. “Just like he knew about our first date before *we* did. Some things you just don't question.” She glanced up. “So, you sure you want to go to Australia?”
“That’s our best bet,” Clark replied. “Better let Perry know. And Jimmy and Linda. They’re going to have to take care of that Guardian case on their own.” The two headed back to the Planet.
(End of Chapter 3)
