As always, I had the fun, and Datasprite and Virgina had the work.
Where we left off in Part 2 :
“I may need some help.”
“Sure, sure,” answered Perry with an evasive gesture, his thoughts already somewhere else. “Take whomever you want.”
“Lois Lane?”
Perry regarded him a moment, his attention on Clark once more. “Son, you have flair. When I hired her, I thought I hit the jackpot. A clear and bright mind, always at the limit of impudence, perfect to force through the toughest, most barricaded doors.”
“Why didn’t you assign her the story?”
“Because here at the Daily Planet,” replied sharply the Editor in Chief, "we do not require raw potentiel but results. Last month, she swore she was on the trail of something big and I never saw heads or tails of it. It's like promising a kid French fries and serving him spinach. But partner with if you wish. In hindsight, this sounds like a great idea. Shake her up a bit. The young woman's going through a rough patch." Perry glanced pointedly at Claude, who was moving towards them. "Ah, women", he sighed. "Parade a pretty boy in front of them and they morph from lioness to lamb."
Clark couldn’t restrain a smile. “With all due respect, sir, I don’t think Lois Lane is anything like a sheep.”
“Let her prove it then. Enough small talk, back to work!”
Part 3 :
Perry White walked off barking orders to no one in particular. Clark was ready to comply but was forced to delay his work a minute more. To his great surprise, Claude also made a stop in front of his desk. Usually coworkers didn’t pay much attention to Clark and this meshed well with his humble and reserved nature. However, he realized that his article on criminal mastermind Denis Carrigan would change his daily routine, whether he liked it or not.
“Hi, Clark!”
Every trait of the friendy face Claude presented was likeable - Clark believed this effortlessly - and yet, firmly returning the offered handshake, he didn't feel any. He disliked the man from their first introduction and found himself annoyed to note that he had no reason to feel such animosity. Clark had heard only good things about him. Claude had won the friendship of his colleagues as easily as he did memorizing everybody’s favourite doughnut flavour. Admittedly, there were whispers that he manifested a certain weakness for women, but heck, he could do so if he wished. If Clark for his part preferred monogamy, he would never consider blaming other people’s life choices.
“Hello,” Clark greeted him, striving to return his smile.
“Already working on your next article?”
“Hectic week in perspective,” confirmed Clark with a tone of apology, without knowing what he was apologizing for exactly.
“Speaking of articles,” continued Claude cheerfully, “I came by to propose my help. We have to support each other and I wouldn’t be where I am today if my colleagues hadn’t given me some good advice. What would you say if we teamed up together?”
“Uhh…It’s very nice of you, but there are already two of us working on this.”
Claude’s smile wavered for an instance – only an instant. “Oh, alright. The next one, maybe?”
Over the shoulder of his interlocutor, Clark witnessed the elevator doors open to let Lois Lane enter, a bundle of files tucked under her left arm and a croissant in her right hand.
“Sure, sure, why not,” Clark responded hastily, rising. “Excuse me, here is my partner right now.”
Claude followed Clark’s gaze. “Oh, Lois Lane. Excellent choice. Working with her can be very… pleasant.”
The satisfied grin Claude sported left room for only one possible interpretation. The brutal desire to punch him hard in the face consumed Clark, deeply surprised to discover in himself such a primitive reflex. Claude waited, evidently, for Clark to request more details so that he could boast, like the alpha male, of his success with the aforementioned Lois Lane. Clark however, unwilling to give him the contentment, ignored the allusion. Anyhow, Claude was already carrying on.
“A gorgeous woman, don’t you think? And pretty smart too. Watch out though: she is of the ambitious kind and women like her vault ahead of you at the first available occasion.”
“I thank you,” answered Clark coldly, “but I prefer to make my own opinion.”
Claude raised his hands in surrender. “I say that for you. You look like a decent guy, and I wouldn’t you to be taken advantage of.”
A voice, feminine and languorous, voluntarily drawling, interrupted them. “Good morning, boys.”
They turned around as a pair. Never had Clark been so happy to see the daringly slinky skirt of Miss Catherine Grant appear. Her provocative sex-appeal and her no less provocative banter had never particularly put him at ease. Her feline eyes seemed to scan the world like X-rays and undoubtedly did, as she was in charge of the newspaper’s gossip column. She had a bewildering social ease that couldn’t be denied, an aggressive assertiveness that demanded admiration if not affection. Unlike the majority of men who focused on her never-ending legs always on display for their avid stares, Clark could have felt certain tenderness for her and her need to constantly seek the spotlight – for this woman who dared present to the world her sensuality without false modesty – but Cat was a predator. She ate men for breakfast, oozed sequins and was gold-plated; to be honest, she frightened him slightly, like a butterfly attracted to streetlights despite the risk of burning. The way her pupils sharply ran from him to Claude, seemingly evaluating which of the two was the most delicious, was not helping any.
“Who had the bright idea to make people work so early?” she complained.
“It’s nine thirty,” Clark pointed out, amused.
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“Come on, Cat,” intervened Claude, charming, “If you had slept any longer, I wouldn’t have had the chance to see you this morning. I have an interview at ten.”
While they flirted with a subtlety becoming more questionable by the second, Clark stammered an excuse neither party paid attention to and, leaving them planted at his desk, moved toward Lois’s.
Since she didn’t seem to catch sight of his presence, he jumped in head first. “Lois? May I speak with you for an instant?”
Gee, since when am I so ceremonious ? he wondered.
She pivoted her chair to face him and Clark wondered if he had imagined the whole storage room exchange. Discrete and efficient makeup, cleavage sufficiently plunging to be charming but not enough to be vulgar, skirt streamlined and classic, sleek hair style, piercing gaze, set lips – the young woman did not give the impression that she was “going through a rough patch”, never mind what Perry White and his own memories stated.
“I’m listening,” she said in a neutral tone that seemed encouraging to him.
“Mr. White asked me to work on the 13th avenue murders, and…” He stopped, realizing that she was rolling her eyes. “What?”
“Well played, Kent, you have become the boss’ favourite. What do you need from me exactly?
Some congratulations?”
Too agressive, he noted, and she immediately re-transformed into the Girl from the Storage Closet in his mind. To abort the misunderstanding that was brewing, he abruptly blurted, “Can we work together?”
She regarded him with unguarded suspicion. “Bad idea.”
“Why?”
“I know the type, Kent. You’re counting on me to do all the work, is that it? And then, you’ll go parade in front of Perry like a rooster in a chicken coop.”
He shook his head, half way between amusement and annoyance. “Lois, don’t you ever get tired of being so distrustful? I’m asking you to work with me; I’m not asking for your credit card number.”
“Why would you want to work with me?”
“Because I think you are an excellent journalist and that both of us together will be more efficient than me alone.”
“Yes but… An excellent journalist?”
In a heartbeat, in front of him, he saw a child to whom someone had just handed a piece of candy. God, this woman was changing, reactive, and unpredictable.
“That’s what I said, yes,” Clark confirmed with a smile.
“I am the best,” Lois rectified. She was thus offering him a perfect angle of attack.
“Well, that’s what you say,” he dropped with a doubtful air.
“Are you issuing a challenge, Kent?”
“Exactly. I am challenging you.”
“This is the most pitiful manipulation attempt I have even witnessed.” But she was grinning.
“Admit that you desperately desire to toil on a good article.” Gesturing to the papers spread out in front of her, he asked , “What’s that?”
Lois responded with an evocative grimace. “The media library’s faulty security system. I’m definitely winning the Pulitzer for this one, or I’m not worthy.”
“Heaven!” He exclaimed, falsely horrified. “Could ‘sense of humour’ actually be written on your resume?”
“It surprises you that much?”
“I almost died of a heart attack, you mean.”
She seemed more relaxed, and her eyes, where a touch of mischievousness now mingled with the severity, showed that she wasn’t ready to finish the conversation.
“I admit that it must be heartbreaking to stop investigating on the media library’s security system,” Clark continued, “but I promise that you won’t regret it.”
“Then start by taking note that I hate promises.”
“I promise that I’ll remember.”
Lois shot him a menacing stare, and he quickly added, “I won’t have to beg you to accept a proposition that any journalist with a smidgen of instinct would jump at without hesitation?”
“Very well, but with three conditions.”
“State them.”
“Firstly, I keep all the proof at my apartment."
He had not anticipated a request like that one, and he observed her, puzzled. “Do you think someone will rob the Daily Planet?”
“Secondly,” she continued as if she hadn’t heard him, “I’m not working for you, I'm working with you."
“But of course, I never thought…”
“Finally, if you speak a word of what happened in the storage closet to anyone, I’ll…”
It was Clark’s turn to interrupt her. “I would never think of doing such a thing!”
She scrutinized him, but deciphering nothing on his face but absolute sincerity, softened slightly. “Show me the records you have.”
Clark passed her the folder. As her head bent over, already opening it, she missed the overjoyed grin of her new partner.
