It is a strange sensation standing in front of the Superman Foundation building and looking up. Usually, I just float down through the open skylight. Till today Clark Kent has had no need to visit. I've been so careful to keep my two identities separate. It almost feels like a violation having Clark Kent breathe the same air as Superman. My unflinching face glares down at me, warning off any nefarious visitors. The statue is all wrong. I stand erect with my arms crossed over my chest, for all the world looking like a father scolding his naughty children.
"I wonder if everything is in working order under there," she says, whistling appreciatively. "Make sure to ask Andrina when you interview her, Kent," she chuckles at the obvious discomfort displayed on my face. Oh my God. What if Cat is onto something? It's my alien genetics that are making Lois sick. But she wasn't sick before.
"Get your head out of the gutter. We have a job to do." I guide her not too gently into my house, expelling any thought of Lois from my mind. Though it never really was home, just a place to put on a good show for the press. Midday shoppers are already crawling in the lobby, their eager hands searching for the latest Superman merchandise. We pass a wall full of Superman comic books and I inwardly groan. I told Pete no more wishy-washy comic strips. I might be the Man of Steel, but that doesn't make a lick of a difference to him; he never listens to me.
We find Pete in the upstairs library, all the lights turned off except for a single lamp, casting ominous shadows across the wall behind him. A trio of elementary students gather around his wheelchair, eating up each of his words like candy on Halloween. "Superman fell to his knees, weak, Lord Darkseid's fist closing around his throat," he wraps his own hands around his throat in a choking position. The children whimper and shuffle uneasily. "The world dimmed around him till all he could see was Darkseid's fiery red eyes." I can't believe his gall. My fight with Darkseid is not PG. The kids are not going to get a wink of sleep tonight. Superman still gets nightmares about the siege on Metropolis.
A little girl breaks away from the others angrily. "Superman will cut his head off, you'll see!" She says with conviction jabbing the air with an imaginary sword. I'm horrified such a morbid thought crossed her mind. She couldn't be older than eight years old. I don't even own a sword.
I trip over the rug and knock over the lamp in my haste. It shatters to the floor and the room is swallowed in darkness. The same girl from earlier shrieks like a banshee and jumps into Sam Lando's lap. The other children hold their ground on the floor but move slightly closer to his wheelchair.
No one screams louder than Cat Grant, her arm lashing out in the dark and grabbing hold of me – this is exactly why Cat writes the Gossip Column and leaves the heavy lifting to Lois and me. I flick a spare light on and shake Cat off.
"You know kids," I say, keeping my tone light. A freckled boy blinks at me in confusion. "You're hanging out with the wrong hero if you want ghost stories." Pete's eyes widen in shock as he sees me. "I hear Batman is the pro on ghosts going bump in the night."
"Psh," the girl waves a dismissive hand at me. "Batman is last century's news," she crosses her arms haughtily. She wouldn't feel like this come tomorrow when that incriminating photo is splashed all over the front page of the Daily Planet. I doubt Batman has to worry about tabloids. "Superman doesn't hide in the shadows, that's why mommy likes him."
"And one other reason," Cat says, smirking suggestively.
"What reason?" She demands.
"Never mind that," Pete cuts her off, not taking his weary dark eyes off me. "Say, you guys hungry?" He asks in an exaggeratedly upbeat tone. "Connie has made her famous Superman brownies," he says, rubbing his belly. "Wouldn't want to miss that," he winks at them. "Boy, that robot can bake." It has the intended effect. The children clamber out of the library, fighting each other to be first. It is not long before we are alone in the library.
Pete Ross wears a red wig to hide his iconic, tight, curly brown hair; the top of the wig is combed carefully to one side, a stray curl hanging over his squared forehead. Today Sam Lando has decided to wear a white starched suit with a purple bowtie that would make Mark Twain proud. It's such an un-Pete-like thing to wear it's no wonder no one has figured out the truth. Far as the world knows, he's my crippled, adopted big brother. My insides boil when I think of all the lies, we've told the world to save Clark Kent. Those lies were about to bury me alive.
"Ms. Grant," Sam nods in greeting to her. I don't miss the flush that rushes to his cheeks or how he can't take his eyes off Cat's scathingly dressed figure. He winds a nervous hand around his wristwatch. Please, God, tell me I'm reading him wrong.
"Sammy," Cat chides. "No need for such formalities," She wanders over to the small bar in the back of the room as if she's done it a hundred times and pours a glass of scotch for Sam and white wine for herself. "We're old friends after all," She hands him the glass and makes herself comfortable on the edge of the wheelchair's arm.
"Just friends?" Sam smirks at her, raising one playful eyebrow. "You wound me Cat." Darkseid is a picnic compared to this. I gag.
"Shut your mouth, Clark," Cat says. "It's rude to gawk." She's one to talk. I've caught her gawking at me on numerous occasions when I wear my other work clothes. Now I'm starting to think Cat was gawking at 'Sammy'not Superman. I school my expression back to normal. Looks like I'm not the only one with secrets. I shoot Pete a look saying, 'We're not done discussing this,' and tilt my head towards Cat meaningfully hoping she's not going to make me dig my own grave.
"As much as I love seeing you," she leans over and unbuttons Sam's shirt with deft fingers. "This is not a social call."
"I gathered as much," he looks at me when he says this with no trace of recognition on his face. I thank my lucky stars Pete went to acting school and is half a decent actor. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure of meeting," he extends a hand to me cordially. I take it, praying I'm as good of an actor as him.
"Clark Kent of the Daily Planet," I say in a robotic voice. I wait for Cat to get to the punch line but when she shows no indication of speaking, I begrudgingly take the lead. It is just another interview. There is nothing weird about this. "I don't know if you are aware, but at approximately 10:55 last night your brother was spotted at Andrina's penthouse," I say in one short breath.
Sam's cool demeanor cracks and he looks between Cat and me as if we've grown two extra heads. Then he raises an incredulous brow towards me, much too personal for my liking. It's the face of a sibling admonishing his tactless younger brother. I fight the urge to look away.
Cat seems to remember this is her story too, digging out the photocopy and handing it to Sam. Pete's features tighten as he takes the offensive sight in. "We were hoping you could shine some light on the situation, love," Cat purrs, rubbing soothing circles in his arm. "Nobody knows dirt like family," she says with a sly smile. "How long have Superman and Andrina been an item? Is he doing this to spite Lex? Are we to expect a Super Baby flying around soon?" I elbow her in the side warningly.
Sam Lando is so livid that steam comes out of his ears. I'm glad Clark is here and not Superman, otherwise, I would be getting an earful. He crumples up the photo in his fist eyes red with fury. "I expect this from Lane, not you Grant," he says through pursed lips.
"Don't be like that Sammy," She says, her grip tightening on him.
"That's Mr. Lando to you!" He spits out, wheeling out of her way; Cat stumbles mouth ajar in shock. I catch her before she trips on her high heels.
"The story is going to come out whether you like it or not," I say, the words poison down my throat. "Please sir, give us something to lessen the blow." I don't know if he heard the silent plea in my tone, begging him for an escape route.
"You want something? Fine," he leans forward in his wheelchair. "Andrina is a slimy, good-for-nothing, money-grabbing, two-face bitch." Pete hisses. "And you can quote me on that."
I bury my face in my hand, my cheeks growing hot. That was Lana ten years ago. She's matured since then. I think back to her lips on mine, the hunger in her eyes as she wrapped her arms around me. All she saw was the Man of Steel, not the man beneath. Okay, so maybe Lana hasn't matured as much as I'd hoped, but she isn't as bad as Pete makes her out to be.
"Such colorful language for someone you've never met," Cat says all business-like, her flirtatious smile obliterated. "Almost as if you have a history?" She prompts.
"You bet your sweet booty we do!" He roars, with raw anguish in his tone. Now he's going a bit too far. Lana left me years ago to chase fame, I'm over it. Clearly, Pete Ross hasn't gotten the memo. He still views her as that ambitious girl who broke his best friend's heart. "Women like her are the source of all evil, it's no wonder she's marrying Luthor – a match made in Hell."
"Please, do enlighten me," Cat says, jotting down notes in her hot-pink, Hello Kitty notebook. "But, as my partner said, we would need something a bit more substantial to lessen the blow," her gaze wanders to a portrait of Superman on the wall. "Perhaps they were High School sweethearts rekindling an old flame?" I wince, now she's hitting a bit too close to home. "The fans would love that!" She explains. "Childhood friends reunited after eons apart - it's got the makings of a Hallmark movie!"
Sam Lando pours himself another glass of scotch and sniffs it lazily. I roll my eyes. I'm familiar with his business proposition 'act'; it usually ends with me in an embarrassing situation like riding a float in the Thanksgiving parade in nothing but Superman swim trunks.
"Tell you what," he says conversationally, tone airy and carefree, but deep down I can see the turmoil in his mind. "Destroy any evidence of this incident and I will arrange for Kal to give you two the interview of the century." Do my ears deceive me, or did he really just say 'two?' What game is he playing?
"I can't do that," Cat says. "I've already shown my boss... ."
"No matter," Sam says curtly. "Tell him it's a fluke."
Cat scratches her chin thoughtfully and looks toward me for guidance. I shrug, honestly lost in this big mess. Wasn't it Pete who said, "Never let them see Clark Kent." With this magnitude of an interview, as he suggests, I don't see a way around that. "On one condition," Cat finally says. "I'll scrap the story, so long as Superman answers all of our questions honestly." I do not like the sound of this, but I sense a plan slowly forming in Pete's mind. At least I hope.
Sam Lando laughs heartily. "That wouldn't be a problem, Superman never lies."
No, he just poses as a human and argues for a living with reporters, specifically one particular reporter.
"I want it public, TV, live audience . . . the whole shebang," Cat makes an exploding motion with her hands. "Is that gonna be a problem?"
Pete looks at me with a tortured expression. I doubt I look much better. I've never been on live television before, not on purpose that is. "No problem," he says in an even tone, not betraying a single emotion. What have you gotten me into this time?
"Don't you want to call Supes and make sure he's on board?" Cat asks, trying to conceal her excitement and failing. She is practically jumping up and down on the soles of her heels, every bit as hyped up as Lois after eight cups of coffee.
"Don't you worry your pretty little head about that," he says in a condescending tone, only evident to me after years together. "I'm sure he got the message," he boldly looks my way as he says that. Cat does not notice or doesn't care. I'm invisible when I'm Clark Kent.
"Perfect!" Cat says, oblivious to our turmoil. "I'll call you with the deets soon!" She grabs her Louis Vuitton purse off the chair and loops an arm through mine.
"Actually," I untangle myself from her grasp. "You go ahead, Cat, I . . ." I scrounge around for the right words and settle for a semi-truth. "I want to ask a few follow-up questions."
She narrows her eyes at me, and I brace myself for the explosion to decimate. This would be the part where Lois screams at me for wanting to steal another story from her. Cat is not Lois. "Okay I'll see you at the Planet later Handsome," she says, skipping out the door. That was a lot easier than I thought. "Don't take too long – we've got a lot of planning to do," she calls over her shoulder. Boy, am I glad she is not Lois.
I wait till I hear the elevator door cling shut down the hall with Cat secure inside before facing Pete Ross. He doesn't beat around the bush. "Seems you've got yourself in a bit of a pickle," he laughs into his glass.
"It's not funny Ross," I throw myself into the armchair across from him.
"Hilarious actually," Pete says, but there is no humor in his gaze. "Who was it that told you to stay away from Lana Lang, she would only destroy you?"
"Why don't you get off your high horse," I demand. "What was I supposed to do, let her die? There was someone trying to kill her!" If I hadn't stepped in Lana would have fallen to her death.
Pete shakes his head at me. "You know, for someone with a trillion powers you're quite dim." He sets his glass down in the cupholder in his wheelchair. "I'll bet all my life's savings she set you up. Did that cross your brilliant mind when you flew in to play doctor?" Not for a second. Lana cares too much about appearances to sabotage her show. Besides, we're friends; We have history. Friends do not exploit each other.
"She's not like that anymore," I grind out. "High School is over Pete, a fact you seem to have forgotten."
"Yet you still think with your dick and not your brain," he retorts. "Just like the good Ol' days."
"Unbelievable," I say, my knuckles turning white against the armchair. It's not my fault if I break anything. He's asking for a beating. "Do the words, 'let it go' mean anything to you?"
"Can't say I know that language. Is it Norwegian?" Pete remarks, wheeling away from me and towards a cabinet. When Pete looks at Lana Lang all he sees is the girl who ripped his best friend's heart out and crushed it to dust. That was ages ago, I am over her. She has no hold on me any longer. I've got my eye set on a different girl who at the moment hates my guts. Everything is just sunsets and rainbows. I've got a pot of coal waiting for me at the end of the rainbow.
I comb my fingers through my hair and sigh. We are not getting anywhere with this argument and Pete knows it too. He grabs a device out of the cabinet that looks like the demented offspring of an iPod and walkie-talkie and starts to fiddle with it. It emits confusing noises that at one point sound suspiciously like crime lords fighting. Pete shuts the device off before I can make out any words, and glowers at me.
"Care to clue me in Holmes?" I cross my arms over my chest and try to look as intimidating as my statue out front. It doesn't faze him. I can literally see the wheels turning in his brain as he formulates an escape plan. Preferably a plan that avoids me from going on stage in front of a million people. The last thing we need is Superman puking all over civilians.
He shrugs in answer. "Don't look at me," Pete's eyes stay glued to the strange gadget. "This is your girlfriend's brainchild."
"Lois?"
"I might not like her," Pete admits. "But at least she's a step up from Lana. She makes you happy." he grudgingly says. "How did she take the news?" he asks. "You guys still the power couple of the Justice League?"
"I'm not sure," I answer honestly. "One moment she's mad and then the next she wants to kiss me." I don't understand her.
"So pretty normal for her," Pete observes.
He resumes fiddling with the device, subsequently dismissing me. I'm as significant as a gnat on the wall. His expression grows more closed off and distant by the second. He plugs some headphones in and drowns out the world around him. My ears pick up the sound of a car engine roaring down a brick road. I click the off button with some difficulty. Pete is entitled to his secrets. But if those secrets involve Intergang things could get dicey . . .
Nope. Not going down that road. Pete will tell me the truth when he is ready. Pete continues to ignore me and play with his toy. I fight the urge to rip it out of his hand and crush it as easily as paper. I can kiss my friendship with Pete goodbye if I lay a finger on his gadgets. But I am seriously tempted right now. He is not making this easy. The room echoes with the click-clack-clack of his typing. My life is on the brink of destruction and he's doing what exactly?
I can't stand the silence any longer. "She's more upset about this," I hand Pete the photo of Manheim Lois gave me.
Pete's face darkens maliciously. "She's stalking me now too! Clark, that's not normal."
"Was she right to?" I ask. "Why are you with a Mobster's son?"
Pete blinks confusedly at me. "He's a what, now?"
"His father is the one," The words dry up in my throat. His glassy eyes glare at me from the shadows. The kryptonite knife plunges into me. Agany devours my whole body. "The one that . . .," I repeat in a small voice, unable to bring myself to finish that vile sentence. I forget how to breathe and suddenly I'm back in space - the remains of my home sealing me in an icy grave.
"Jesus, Clark," Pete scurries to my side. "Breathe. Deep breaths. I think you're having a panic attack."
"No, I'm fine," I suck in air and steady my heartbeat.
Pete wears a funny expression that I can't quite put into words. A mixture of part horror and guilt. "I didn't know it was possible for you to have a panic attack," he marvels, his trap wide open in awe.
"There's a lot about me you don't know," I grab the photo and head out, too embarrassed to ask him any more questions. He's looking at me the same way he did when he first learned I was an alien like I'm a freak.