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BUSTED!
There are quite a few things I’d rather do than attending this party. Diving with hungry sharks comes to mind; jumping out of an airplane, leaving the parachute behind. Even getting shot sounds more enjoyable than what’s lying in front of me. However, I’m quite sure that today Martha Kent wouldn’t even take death for an excuse. I like her, I really do, but I wish she hadn’t invited me to her birthday — or at least not to the party. Judging by the vehicles in the farm’s yard it’s already a rather big party. Here a truck, there a truck…
I’m almost tempted to sing that silly children song as I park my Jag near the barn. It still sticks out like a sore thumb. I take a deep breath and reach for the flowers and the book I got for Martha, hoping this’ll pass Clark’s No Extremeness rule. Apparently, gifting him with a truck after he saved my life was extreme, and he’ll never get tired of rubbing it in. I, however, still don’t think it was an overstatement, but then again I consider my life worth more than thirty-six thousand dollars — at least on good days. Besides, the range of Thank you for saving my life cards is rather limited; if not to say non-existent. Still, I hope I’m on the safe side with a book and flowers.
Taking another deep breath, I leave the comforting shelter of my Jaguar, and zig-zag my way through the parked trucks. I’ve made quite a few trips to Italy in my life; what I see here makes any parking in Italy looking civilized. The only car that was actually parked — and not just abandoned mid-driving — was a 1968 Fiat 500. The irony can’t be denied. The little red car, barely bigger than a shoe box, puts a smile on my face; a rather idiotic one, I fear. However, my willingness to attend Martha Kent’s party increases by ninety per cent — and drops by thirty points when I see the people gathered in the small farmhouse.
Half the town has to be here already, and half of them stare at me when I enter. It’s not an unusual reaction. I stick out; not just because I’m bald but because I’m rich. I guess I could wear jeans and flannel and would still look rich. I feel like I stepped into a hornets’ nest, and I can’t help but scan the scene for hidden pitchforks and torches. It’s not as though I actually expect the Smallvilleians to attack me, but one never knows. However, they look peaceful and I show off my friendliest smile as I move through the crowd. I think I’m doing good. I even get a few smiles in return. Maybe they finally got used to me — one should think three years is enough.
I zig-zag through the house, hoping to find Martha soon. I always thought redheads were easy to spot, but I was wrong. Or maybe I can’t seem to find her because I’m not looking for her but for the Fiat’s owner. Well, I want to find both.
Suddenly, I feel as though I’m pushed at least five inches in the floor, and a grizzly-like paw is grabbing my shoulder.
“Never thought you’d really come.” I blink. Not in surprise but because I’m blinded by a set of pearly-white teeth.
“Well, Clark, I didn’t have much of a chance, did I?” Dammit, what are they feeding him? I’m quite sure the shape of his hand is impressed permanently in my shoulder.
He grins again. “She went all army general on you, eh? Trust me: you’re not alone. Thank God, Mom’s not always like this… only between New Year’s Day and New Year’s Eve.” There’s a pregnant pause, and for a second I’m tempted to let him hang there. He’s complaining on a high level despite having awesome parents. However, he can’t hide the love for his mother, and I give him the wink he’s waiting for. “Just imagine if it was the entire year…”
He laughs again, and guides me like a human iceboat through the party crowd. “I really wished I was you today. — I haven’t forgotten about you, Mrs. Hubbard. I’m about to make a fresh pot of coffee, and you’ll be the first to get a cup,” he tells an old lady who sits on the sofa, before he looks at me again. “I’m nothing but a servant today. At least I don’t have to wear a French maid dress.”
“Those costumes are made for different occasions anyway,” I mumble and try to hide a smile. He’s so innocent… I hope he’ll never change.
“Last time I saw Mom she was near Grandma’s cabinet… MOM???”
“Clark, it’s okay. There’s no need to scream — ”
“You probably want to leave as soon as possible,” he replies, craning his head. “MOM? I’d do it if I were you,” he adds when he looks down at me again. I wonder whether he’s still growing, or whether I’m already shrinking.
“I have a little time, Clark. It’s not as though — ”
“Hey, no need to justify yourself. Like I said: I understand that you don’t want to waste more time than necessary here.” Actually, I don’t want to leave that soonish anymore, but I can’t tell Clark. He would ask why I changed my mind, and I don’t think I’m ready to tell him yet.
“Lex? What a surprise!”
I turn around and find Martha Kent walking over to me, her arms wide open. “Hardly, you made it pretty clear that I have to show my… face,” I say as she pulls me in her arms.
“But I know how busy you always are. It means a lot to me you came.” She beams and even though I know she’s in her late forties, she doesn’t look older than twenty-five. Admittedly, I’m a bit overwhelmed. Not by her looks — she’s my best friend’s mom — but by the warmth in her eyes. God knows not many people look at me like this, and although Martha Kent almost always treats me like her son, I probably will never get used to it. I clear my throat, yet only a croaky “Happy birthday, Mrs. Kent,” leaves my lips and I hand her the gifts. I must look like a school boy, but Martha still beams and pecks my cheek before she looks at the flowers.
“Thank you, Lex. This is so sweet. And these flowers… Clark, have a look! Aren’t these wonderful?”
“Uhm… sure, I guess? Really wonderful daisies…” She makes a shooing wave with her hand and looks at me again. “I love daisies, they’re so cheerful,” she says and glances at Clark. “Get a vase! And some cake for Lex. Maybe a piece of that wonderful Bienenstich Chris brought along.” Behind her back, Clark clicks his heels and salutes. “I know you have a tight schedule, but I won’t leave you without some cake. My goddaughter made this really delicious cake. She got the recipe from Germany. She lived in all parts of this world. But you obviously already know that; she’s your lawyer after all.” She laughs and cranes her head. “She’s here, somewhere… I shouldn’t tell you, though. Actually, I’m a little mad at you, Lex.”
My heart stops beating and I swallow hard. “I… You… Uh…”
“You make her work too hard. I thought now that she’s your lawyer I would see her more often, and she promised to come for Sunday dinner at least every couple of weeks, but she’s too busy working for you.” She gives me a wink, and I can’t help but let out a relieved sigh.
“Frankly, I wish she’s worked less for me; she charges by the hour.”
“And she’s worth every cent,” she says and then is called away again before I can tell her that Chris is no longer my lawyer. More guests arrived. But before she vanishes she takes my hands and squeezes them slightly. I don’t know how she does it, but she makes me feel special — in a good way. Clark is lucky to be her son. And he probably knows it, although today he’d rather be someone else. I find him in the kitchen where he’s looking for a vase.
“Do you think this one goes with the flowers? I’m not sure about the pattern…”
I don’t know how long I stare at him before I burst out in a laughter. “I always thought you were more down-to-earth and less… a caricature of me.” I glance around and notice several bouquets lying next to the sink. “Just grab a vase that’s big enough for the flowers. They need water now. Your mom will think of a proper display tomorrow.” I take off my jacket and throw it on one of the stools.
“What are you doing there?”
“I’m rolling up my sleeves.”
“I see that. You don’t have to help me.”
“I know. The vases are in here, right?” I point at the cupboard Clark had left open, and move past him to grab two vases. “Don’t look at me like this. Half the town is invading your living room, and even you only have two hands to work with.”
“Yeah, but…”
“I’ll send you a bill, if that makes you feel better.” I give him a bright smile, and hope he won’t realize I have ulterior motives. Of course, I want to help him, and I really don’t mind filling a couple of vases with water and maybe serve coffee to old women, but I’m doing this because I want to stay in Clark’s good books. Soon, I have to tell him about recent events with my life, and I honestly don’t know how he will react.
I’m upgraded from kitchen’s help to waiter in less than sixty minutes. That’s quite a career, and actually it’s fun. I enjoy helping the Kents, and I think I also made some friends among the older Smallevilleians. Old Mrs. Hubbard likes her coffee laced, and she called me an asset to the town. It was after her third refill, so I’m not sure whether she really meant it, or whether it was the alcohol speaking, but it was nice to hear anyway. I almost feel like I’m back on the farm in Montana. I was part of the community over there, and today I’m part of this.
While I’m lost in my musing I suddenly hear a familiar laugh. I used to laugh at the phrase to have butterflies in one’s stomach, but when I turn my head and spot a mop of hazelnut-brown hair, I can’t help but feel a million butterflies in my belly. There she stands, talking to Chloe Sullivan. A ray of sunlight hits her head, making her hair shimmering almost reddish. Our eyes meet and she gives me a broad smile. The butterflies are breeding.
“Do you think it’s possible to borrow your butler next year?” Clarks pops up next to me and I blink in surprise. “The whole staff for my liking, but I doubt your parents would like it.”
“But I’d love it!” He groans and rests against the wall behind him. He really looks worn out.
“Is there anything else I can do?”
“You can leave anytime — ”
I chuckle and pat his shoulder. “Actually, that was a subtle way to offer more help. Seriously, I don’t mind helping out. At home there’s only silence and lots of paperwork awaiting me. And that sounds pathetic.”
He laughs and makes an indescribable face. I’m almost tempted to buy him a lollipop as he rubs his face, groaning quietly and then glancing at his watch.
“It’s time for the barbeque, right? Please, let it be — ”
“You don’t want me to do the grilling, do you?”
“As if Dad would let anyone near the grill,” he replies and straightens up. “No, but it would be great if you could tell him to heat up the grill. I have to check the old fridge once again. It’s kinda buggy and these people here go crazy when their beer’s too warm.”
I glance around as I agree to look for Jonathan and realize that Chloe is now talking to Lana Lang. Perfect timing, Clark.
“You’ve been a huge help, Lex. Thank you so much. If I wasn’t already so tired I’d built a monument for you.”
“Yeah…” I laugh and give him a nudge. “Check on that fridge. Beer should only be served warm in England. And then I’d say it’s time to call it open bar. After all, this is not a formal reception.” He gives me a brief hug and speeds off. I turn to look for Jonathan. Granted, this is not as fun as serving old ladies laced coffee, and I’d rather avoid Clark’s dad and his platitudes, but I can’t get rid of the feeling that I will find my brown-haired angel somewhere near the farmer.
The house seems to be even more crowded now, and I’m actually surprised that it can host so many people. And then I hear her voice. It’s deep, almost smoky and leaves many people surprised when they hear her speaking for the first time; me included. When I met her first I thought she had a silvery voice that would represent her elegant features and her slender body. I can’t see her since Jonathan Kent’s gigantic body is blocking her from my view. But my gut-feeling was right: she’s really with Clark’s dad and another farmer whose name I can’t recall right now.
“I swear Smallville was a much better place before the Luthors set foot here.” I wouldn’t bet my life on it, but I’m sure the other farmer is called Ben Hubbard.
“How come?” That’s her. Hidden beneath the curiosity I sense a slight nuance of amusement in her voice, and I can’t help but move a little closer. Of course, I was taught not to eavesdrop, but, in my defense, this is promising to be interesting, and by offering Clark my help I already did my good deed for the day.
“They are having their dirty fingers in every pie — ”
“Ugh, the rich have the worst manners. My dad always says two days in Quantico and they’d be better people.” She’s a very proud military brat; at the moment more brat, though. The mocking tone in her voice is unmistakable, yet Hubbard doesn’t seem to get it. Well, her voice is honeyed and I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s looking at him doe-eyed. The naive little girl is her trademark. I hear Hubbard sighing deeply, and he shakes his head when he speaks again.
“The Luthors already own half the town. First, they turned the Ross’ Creamed Corn Plant in a crap factory, then they shipped this huge, ugly castle here. They built two housing developments and bought the Talon, the bank — ”
“Really?” I still can’t see her, but I assume she’s watching him with eyes wide like saucers. I bite my lip. “I didn’t know half of it. They’re probably also are responsible for the town’s increase of population by forty-five per cent in the last fifteen years.”
“Uhm, yes… ”
“The population increases, the unemployment rate decreases… I always thought that was a rather good thing, but obviously they teach us crap at school… I mean lies… unuseful things.” Her voice becomes lighter and she adds a girlish giggle. Hubbard seems to be confused, but then he begins to nod eagerly and explains feverishly how people like me and my dad are made from pure evil and brimstone. Nothing new to me in this department. I’ve heard everything so far; however, I have to admit that Hubbard is rather creative in his rant about rich people in general and us Luthors in particular.
“That Luthor boy almost ruined the plant. More than twenty-five hundred people would’ve lost their jobs — ”
“But they didn’t, did they?”
Hubbard seems to enjoy this. I can only see his back, but he sure looks as though he grew an inch in height. “Thank God, they didn’t. They bought the plant. It was a rather complex process; you wouldn’t understand, and I don’t want to bore you…” I hold my breath. Not for a billion dollars would I want to miss what will happen next. And so does Jonathan Kent. I can see him hiding a smile while pretending to cough. Of course, he knows her. He knows she isn’t as naive as she pretends to be, and that she knows almost everything about Smallville. After all, he told her during all those Sunday dinners she had to sit through. However, I’m slightly surprised he lets Hubbard walk right into the trap. I always thought farmers would stick together like glue.
“I tell you, missy, these Luthors are bad.”
“Yet, you signed a five-year-contract with LexCorp. If memory serves right, you’ll make one hundred and eighty-thousand dollars with your cattle’s feces,” she says, her voice sweet as sugar. “I should know, I drew up the contract. Did it in my lunch break; wasn’t exactly an intellectual challenge. Just don’t tell Lex Luthor; I charged him half a day for this.”
Now Jonathan coughs for real; his eyes wide open when he looks at Hubbard. I catch a quick glance at her; she looks truly satisfied. Then, she’s gone and a moment later my cell phone gives a beep. I pull it out of my pocket and check the display: one new text message. I read it and roll my eyes. Am I really such an idiot? Did I really waste more than two hours playing servant for the alcoholic mother of an ignorant farmer when all it takes is a simple text message? Obviously, I am and not for nothing - she graduated with a Juris Doctor from Harvard in less than three years. She’s smart and knows that the easiest way to find a person in a crowded room is sending them a text message.
I keep telling myself I’d have done the same, if Clark wasn’t so stressed out and needed my help. And then I remember that he asked me to tell his dad about the barbecue. I look up. He’s still talking to Ben Hubbard, and perhaps I should wait until they’re finished, but… what the heck! It’s not as though any of these people read Emily Post. Besides, since Jonathan is till focused on Hubbard’s deal with the devil he won’t have much sense to give me some of his platitudes, and indeed he quickly thanks me — for both the notice and my help at the party — and that’s about it.
“Ben, wait! We’re not done here,” he says as Hubbard tries to sneak away, and I leave the house. Normally, I would wonder whether Jonathan is upset because Hubbard made a deal with LexCorp, or because Hubbard made a deal with LexCorp and still rants about me. Right now, though, I couldn’t care less.
I zig-zag my way through the trucks and station wagons, and enter the barn. Silence has never felt this good. I take a deep breath and suddenly, I’m attacked by a five-foot-seven, rather slender person. Arms are wrapping around my neck, and legs cradle my hips. I make a surprise yelp as I fight for my balance. Lately, I find myself doing that a lot; yelping and stumbling.
“Chris, what did we say about jumping at me?” Her lips leave mine and she untangles her legs. I say ‘untangle’ because her legs are long, really long. Actually, she’s just legs. One day I’ll measure them…
“You like it as long it’s me doing the jumping,” she replies, giving me a wicked grin that reaches up to her eyes. Those eyes are special. They have the most interesting color I’ve ever seen. They are neither green nor brown nor blue. Hazel might be the closest description if there wasn’t that blue-greenish ring on the outer part of the iris. But it’s not just the color of her eyes that always causes a shiver to run down my spine; it’s the way she looks at me. As though I am the most perfect man; the most perfect man with the most flaws he still tries to hide from her.
“You are devilish,” I say and cover her mouth with a hungry kiss. Her answer speaks volumes and I have to break away before we both end up rolling around on the floor. She deserves better than this. I clear my throat. “Let me have a look at you.”
Teasingly, she raises her brows. “You already forgot what I look like?”
“I haven’t seen you in two days, and look: you’ve grown four inches.” Smirking, I look at her, studying her from head to toe. She’s wearing an olive-green top and jeans so tight that they need a license. But I really frown at her shoes: black, high-heeled sandals. Since I know her she either wears kitten heels, or flats, but this is…
Chris blushes a little and crinkles her nose. “I had a court appointment today, and the Fiat shoes look hideous with this outfit — those would be flats I wear for driving — and I didn’t have time to change, and I knew you were here, and I can’t look hideous — ”
“You were at court? Dressed like this?”
“We have Judge Richardson.” Her voice becomes matter-of-factly. Well, that explains a lot. Richardson is known to be a hard-liner and a traditionalist. He would rather have no female attorneys in his court room at all, but since that’s no option, he expects them to wear skirts.
She grins. “I think he really liked my outfit. It’s worth fifteen hundred bucks.”
“You got fined?”
“Oh, it was worth it. Though, next time I will wear a skirt. If all goes according to plan, he’ll have a heart attack, and I’ll get my out-of-court agreement.”
“Chris Harris, you aren’t just devilish; you are much, much worse,” I say and I mean it.
It’s been eighteen months since I was in need of a good lawyer who wasn’t in cahoots with my dad, and due to a lucky incident I met Chris. I still remember the first time I met her, and how much of a fool I made of myself that day. Of course, I had have her checked; however, the tiny, yet important fact of her being female and incredibly young must have slipped the records. I expected to meet a squatty man in his late fifties when I entered Chris’ office for the first time. Instead, I met Chris. She was barely old enough to grab a drink, but she was good and even became better since then. And if possible: even crazier. She knows the code of law by heart, and she’s like a punk in the court room. She talks nineteen to a dozen, and her juvenile enthusiasm almost makes her unbeatable. She really impressed me with her juridical skills, but even more with her personality. Unfortunately, she separates between work and private life, and I’m in need of a lawyer again.
“That’s the Harvard way, Eli.” She’s pulled my shirt out of my pants, her fingertips trailing over my bare skin as she gives me yet another wicked grin. She likes to touch me, and she knows how to touch me. I pull her closer, feeling her firm breasts pressing against my chest.
“Point proven; red’s always been the devil’s color.”
“It’s crimson. When will you ever learn?”
“You’ll have to teach me.”
Again, she raises her brows, and again it’s teasingly. “Here? Now?”
I laugh again. When I met her first I thought she was nothing but a child — a very gifted child that graduated from HLS. And when we became more than lawyer and client, I still thought she was a child… a really young woman. She only turned twenty-two two months ago, and since she skipped the Spring Awakening part of her life because she was busy studying at Harvard she was rather inexperienced, even shy. But she’s so curious and enthusiastic… Hell, I swear sex with her is the best thing I can think of. And it’s getting better every time which is a first to me. I used to get bored quickly. Yet, it’s not just the sex; it’s way more. I love spending my time with her, I love talking to her. She makes me feel alive. I’m really falling for her.
“The sooner we start the higher chances are is I will learn something.”
She laughs. It’s a guttural sound, rather throaty and yet light and cheerful — if that makes any sense. She moves a little closer and nuzzles my nose. I even like that. It’s almost as intimate as a kiss.
“What took you so long? I sent you a text, not a carrier pigeon. Been too busy lacing old ladies’ coffee, eh?”
“Never lost for a witty reply… No, I was digesting the fact that my girlfriend charged me half a day when in fact you actually did the contract in your lunch break.”
“It’s not as though it ruined you. How much of that conversation did you hear? Seriously, for someone with your hairdo you blend in quite nicely.”
“There are a few things you learn when you grow up a bald freak.” I know she didn’t meant to hurt me, yet my response is rather cold. I’m comfortable being bald — it has some advantages — but the memory of my childhood still stings. However, I’m glad Chris doesn’t apologize. She regrets her glib comment, that’s obvious, but she doesn’t voice her excuse. Instead, she leans in and kisses my chin.
“I know… you already showed me one or two,” she whispers, and the way she looks at me feels like an embrace. But then a bold wrinkle appears between her eyebrows and she steps back, cocking her head. “Did you just called me… your girlfriend?”
Did I? I don’t know. I must’ve said it, obviously, however I can’t remember saying it. I wish I hadn’t say it! It’s not as though I regret it. I have strong feelings for her, but we are seeing each other rather secretly. Hell, right now we are hiding in my best friend’s barn who happens to still think Chris is nothing but my lawyer. I clear my throat, trying to sound confident as I say, “Do you see someone else here?”
“Yes… No… Uhm… I mean… Give me a sec; eventually this’ll evolve in a correct sentence.” She’s confused and maybe even in shock. Blinking, she rubs her forehead, her brows are raised so high that they seem to vanish in her hairline.
I am an idiot! With Chris everything feels different and I honestly thought she felt the same. Obviously, I was wrong. I didn’t want to rush things. She’s so young, and so honest, and so loyal… and so not returning my feelings. “Chris, I — ”
“Still working on that sentence.” With her hand she indicates me to be quiet while she looks at the stairs that lead up to Clark’s loft. She’s shaking her head. “Where are the people with the straight jacket when you need them?”
“For me?”
“Huh?” She blinks and begins to chuckle. “No, for me. You make perfect sense, I however…” She trails off and shakes her head again. “Do you know the feeling when there are words forming in your head — the perfect words for the given situation — and they don’t find their way to the mouth? I swear, the words are here,” she taps at her forehead, “however, there’s some sort of blockage between my brain and my mouth. Not really since I’m talking — obviously, but those perfect words won’t come out.”
“Chris, it’s all right. We obviously have different ideas of what… It’s my fault. — You look at me as though I was speaking a fictional language.”
“Yeah… it sounds a bit like it.” She crinkles her nose and lets out a little chuckle. Then she clears her throat. “OK, this is me digesting that, as of right now, I have a social label. The last time I had one I was still at Harvard and we had to wait until I turned sixteen. And I don’t like the term girlfriend, but that’s another story.” She shakes her head again, and involuntarily I remember a contract negotiation where she did that all the time. When the opposing lawyer asked her why she was doing that she told him this would help her putting her thoughts in the right order — and because she had muscles allowing her to shake her head.
“Lex, we’ve been hiding and telling lies like teenagers for the past three months and now you drop that girlfriend bomb on me. I have to look for casualties before I can function again. I still sound crazy, don’t I?”
“You sound like… you,” I say and she moves closer again, resting her head at my shoulder. I don’t really know what that means. It’s nice, though, and I close my arms around her. She sighs happily.
“You really know how to handle the crazy.”
“Is this good?”
“Perfect. Most people just tell me to calm down, which is like telling people not to think of kangaroos.”
“Kangaroos?” She looks up. “Where you thinking of them a second ago?”
I can’t help but laugh. Her train of thoughts is the weirdest I’ve ever encountered, yet it bears some form of logic; some rare form of logic. Gently, I take her chin between my fingers and make her look at me.
“You are not just a fling to me but more… I really like you — ”
“I really, really like you, too.” She smiles. No, she beams. “I never thought I was a fling, and I was fine with the hiding. After all, we said we want to go about us casual. See where it might end… I just would’ve liked a heads-up on the girlfriend thing. I like it, though; not the word but the implication.”
“A heads-up? What shall that look like?”
“Have you never been to school? A small note ‘Wanna be my girlfriend? Cross where applicable’ and then three options: Yes, No, Maybe.”
I honestly don’t know whether she’s kidding or not, but maybe I deserve this. After all, we have been doing everything secretly for the past three months when normally I get married and divorced in less than three weeks. I wish I could simply tell her that I want us to work, that I don’t want to rush things and that I’m scared we could fail because she already means so much to me that I don’t like to think of the end.
Instead of saying anything I nuzzle her nose and press my forehead against hers as though I truly believed this would actually put my thoughts in her head.
“I would’ve checked Yes,” she says and involuntarily I begin to chuckle. Isn’t she absolutely adorable?
“Maybe I should have referred to myself as your boyfriend.”
“Seriously!” Her features are strict, however the left corner of her mouth is twitching in an amused way. She presses herself against me, but I keep her at a distance. She frowns.
“We should tell Clark. I should tell him. Actually, he should already know, but…”
“No need to justify yourself. If you want to tell your best friend, go ahead. Mine already knows.”
“Yours is a full-grown homicide detective, living a floor above you. If he didn’t know about us by now I’d really lose my faith in law enforcement,” I reply, unwilling to let her go. However, my decision stands. I want to share this with Clark.
“Are you sure? I mean… wanna tell Clark today? He’s got a lot on his plate already, and — ”
“Tell me what?” Startled, I turn my head towards the barn’s entrance and see the silhouette of a tall man; Clark. The setting sun is standing in his back, so I can’t see his face, but the tone of his voice and the crossed arms speak volumes. I feel my lips parting, words are ready to leave them when suddenly he yells, “Watch out!”
That’s an odd exclamation given the circumstances. His voice is alarmed, not threatening, and all of a sudden, he rushes past me, pushing me out of his way. For the second time today I’m fighting my balance.
“It’s one thing to seduce Chris in my barn, but there was no need to push her away.” Clark is glaring at me, and all I can do is muttering a daft, “Who’s pushing whom?”
Puzzled, I watch him helping Chris to sit up while trying to make some sense out of this scene. Why is she sitting on the ground, rubbing the back of her head? Why is Clark still glaring at me? And what is the rusty tool box doing there at Chris’ feet?
“You really hook up with just anyone, do you?” Clark’s voice is shaking with anger, but I barely hear what he’s saying. What just happened? It feels like ages until I realize that she stumbled over it, and once that information is processed my feet finally decide to move again.
“Wow, you are pale,” she whispers as I squat down next to her.
“Are you okay?” Carefully, I cup the back of her head in my hand and feel a little bump. She flinches, and instantly I withdraw my hand. “Sorry…”
“No, I didn’t because of you… I, ugh, I think I hurt my ankle.” She squeezes her eyes shut and reaches for her left leg. A pained hiss leaves her throat as she pulls up the cuffs of her jeans.
“Oh, you two look…” When I look up I find Clark giving me a crooked smile and he shrugs helplessly. “You weren’t seducing her at all, were you? I mean… you don’t look like you two just happened recently…”
“Seriously, Clark? Do you want to discuss this now?” Shaking my head, I turn back to look at Chris’ ankle. It’s already red and swelling so that the straps of her high-heeled sandals cut into her flesh. “I have to take off your shoe now. That’ll hurt a little.”
She nods and I feel her fingers curl into my shoulder, almost causing me to gasp. I’ve barely touched her foot yet, but her grip is firm and gets even firmer as I unbuckle the straps. Her skin feels incredibly hot, and I can only hope there’s nothing torn or broken. I look up at her. “We better get you to the hospital.”
Her grip loosens and she chews on her lower lip. “Do I have to?”
“You need X-rays, and I somehow doubt the Kents store an X-ray unit in their barn.”
“We normally store it in the house,” Clarks says, causing Chris to chuckle. She really likes witty replies, and of course he knows about it. He winks at her. “You can’t get around to see a doctor; Lex is right.” He looks at me and shrugs again. “I better get some ice for the ankle…”
“Will it come with whisky? For the hospital?” Chris yells after him when he speeds out of the barn. “I loathe hospitals, like… a lot. Can you help me up?”
“Sorry that I was such a jerk in the barn.” Clark and I are sitting in the waiting area while Chris is having X-rays. I barely look at him but focus on my breath. On the other side of the room sits a young woman with a small boy who was ingenious enough to put a coin in his nose and is now screaming at the top of his lungs, but that’s not what bothers me. It’s rather that smell. Although I’ve spent quite some time in hospitals I’ll never get used to that acrid smell of blood, sickness and ammonia. Clark doesn’t seem to mind any of this; he simply keeps babbling away while I focus on my breath. I’m feeling rather sick right now.
“I actually didn’t think you were, uhm, having fun with Chris. You obviously really like each other. You were really focused on her, and… I guess I was just a little surprised. Chris is like really smart, and… that came out wrong. You are smart, too, you should see someone as smart, and Chris definitely is, yet all your girlfriends were, well, vicious or shallow. Some were even both…”
I begin to breathe through my mouth. That smell is getting unbearable by now and I can’t help but wonder why I never noticed this horrible smell before. Do hospitals smell differently when you are a patient? The minute hand of the wall clock moves awfully slow, and I get to my feet, moving around.
“How long can it take an X-ray of an ankle? Do they have to exhume Röntgen himself and ask him how it’s to be done?”
“Maybe they need to do an MRI… Hey, sit down again. You’re making the other people nervous. Chris will be fine.” Clark reaches for my elbow and pulls me down on that plastic seat again. He smiles and it looks really stupid.
“What?”
“Nothing, it’s just… You look happy,” he says and chuckles. “Well, not right now, but… you already care a lot for Chris, don’t you?”
Admittedly, right now I’m barely thinking of her but of that horrible smell. “I need air.” I stand up and rush outside, inhaling the clean, hospital-smell-free air. Clark has followed me.
“I’m sorry! I should’ve never said you pushed Chris. I didn’t mean it, and I honestly don’t know why I even said it. And I know that you don’t hook up with everyone who’s available, I just… You should go back inside and wait for Chris. I can leave if you’re really that mad at — ”
“It’s the smell, Clark, I can’t stand it. Do hospitals smell like that when you are a visitor?”
He cocks his head and eyes me curiously before eventually, he raises one eyebrow. “OK, I know you’ve known Chris for a year and some, but why do you already sound as crazy as her when you two are just… when did you actually start dating?”
I rub my face and can’t help but chuckle. Indeed, Chris probably would have said a similar insane thing, and I look at Clark. What shall I tell him? That technically I only started dating her today by calling her my girlfriend and that we’ve been merely friends with benefits for the past couple of months? That even now I don’t know what she actually is since I’ve never felt like this before? That she is confusing me, annoying me and making me feel good all at the same time? I take another deep breath before I say, “At about three months. That is: fifteen weeks and three days.”
“Oh, that’s quite some time,” he says slowly, without looking at me. “I thought like two, or three weeks…”
“Because that’s normally how long I’ll wait until you get a wedding invitation?”
Clark shrugs and gives me half a smile. “I’m not used to you keeping those things from me for that long… I know you spare me the one night stands you’re having — ”
“Because I know you disagree with that life style.” And because I don’t want to see that judging expression on his face ever again. One time was more than enough. I take another deep breath and indicate him to go back inside. The smell is still horrible, but I try not to think of it.
“Yeah, but this is… this seems serious.”
“Listen, I wanted to tell you about Chris and me. I never meant to keep it from you. Frankly, that’s exactly what I tried to do.” I can’t help but chuckle. Yes, I wanted to make sure Chris and I could work, and yes, I wanted to keep her out of the media, and yes, I was worried about Clark’s reaction, but admittedly, I just wanted to keep Chris and what we have for myself, because I was scared the bubble might burst once people know about us. I look at him again. “You’re my best friend, and you should be the first to know when something truly good happens in my life.”
“Like Chris?”
I don’t answer but I feel my lips curl into the most foolish grin ever. I don’t even notice the smell anymore, but think of Chris and the way she makes me feel. And I really start to believe she’s with me because of me and not for who I am, or my money.
“Please, don’t give me the wedding invitation three hours before the ceremony begins; like the last time,” he says and grins this bright smile which is so typical for him. He nudges my shoulder. “My best friend and my mom’s goddaughter… This is really cool.”
“You are okay with us? You practically grew up with Chris — ”
“Lex, that’s why I’m more than okay with you two. I know Chris. I know she can make you happy — obviously, she already does and anyone who is able to put such a foolish grin on your face is good in my books.” By now he’s beaming, and I can’t help but wonder whether Chris’ injuries were actually caused by my doing. If I had told Clark earlier about us…
“You accept my apology, though, do you?” He’s looking at me with his big, blue, puppy-like eyes, and I begin to smile. It’s difficult to resist a Clark Kent.
A small bruise at the back of her head, and a twisted ankle; that’s the official diagnosis. Apparently, Chris is lucky to be in such a good shape otherwise the damage could have been worse. I’ve known her for eighteen months. Granted, that’s not long given the fact we’re together for only three months, but she tells me a lot about herself, yet I’m surprised that it took this long to learn that she’s running three times a week, does kenjutsu and uses the stairs more often than the elevator. She’s athletic which probably helped her making the fall over the tool box less fatal, and it also explains why she is on the diet of a future heart patient without actually being fat. And I always thought she just has a really good metabolism — or suffers from bulimia. However, I can’t deny that I love watching her digging in a T-bone steak; there’s something about a girl with a healthy appetite.
Yet, there’s something truly annoying about her: she’s rather undiscerning. It took me quite a while to persuade her to rest and elevate her ankle, and she would only follow orders when I agreed to rest with her. Now, we’re sitting on the sofa in my private living room, and actually this is quite nice. She’s cuddled up against me, her ankle rests on a couple of pillows, covered with an ankle brace she got at the hospital, and an ice-pack Matthew, my butler, brought for her. I nuzzle the back of her neck.
“How’s your ankle?”
“Still attached to my leg.”
I hold her a little tighter. “You know what I mean. You have to tell me when you are in pain. I know your dad’s a Marines, but — ”
“I’m fine. The ankle hurts, but it’s bearable. The ice really helps, though it’s nothing compared to you holding me. You cause my hypophysis to produce a lot of endorphins.”
“Or, it’s actually the pain.”
She turns her head to look at me. “I’m really fine, but if the pain gets worse, you’ll be the first to know. Promise!” She gives me a bright smile. “All in all it was a good day, wasn’t it? Apart from the hospital, quite obviously. Gee, why do these places always smell like urine? It’s almost as bad as a subway station, though one should think hospitals are sterile to a certain point… At least Clark now knows about us, and have you seen that smile on his face? As though you told him Christmas comes earlier this year.” She laughs and I can’t help but smile a little.
Of course she’s right about Clark, and I’m more than relieved that he is okay with us, but actually I smile because I can’t believe someone like Chris is with someone like me. She’s so full of life, so cheerful and carefree, almost silly, and at the same time she is controlled and focused, even a little sarcastic. She is so many things I’ve never looked for in a woman before. Or maybe I did, but it was always easier to date shallow women; I wouldn’t get emotionally attached to them. Chris, however… she’s so complex and I don’t get tired learning new things about her.
“And wasn’t it absolutely adorable when he… OK, you could at least pretend to be listening. Isn’t that social standard?”
I blink and find Chris watching me amused. “I am listening!”
“Nope, you’re not.” Grinning, she tilts her head and studies my face. Slowly, the smile turns into a frown. “You’re not actually playing the What-If-game, are you?” Sighing, she straightens up and shakes her head. “It doesn’t do any good. Trust me: I do that all the time, and… my sprained ankle has nothing to do with you keeping us from Clark — ”
“I know. I came to the same conclusion,” I say and pull her back in my arms.
She struggles a little, squinting at me. “You really did think you were to blame for me being childish enough to wear those ridiculously high high-heels only to piss off a judge, and then being stupid enough to fall over a toolbox?”
“I don’t feel responsible for your choice of wardrobe, but I was certainly wondering whether it would’ve changed anything if Clark knew about us earlier — ”
“The toolbox probably still would’ve stood there, and I probably still would be stupid enough to actually fall over it.”
“That’s why I decided it was a lucky accident. Not that you are in pain,” I hasten to add and brush my fingertips against her upper arm, “but that you are here with me now. Otherwise you would’ve headed back to Metropolis, and I had to wait until you squeezed me in your schedule.”
Chris chuckles and cuddles up against me. “You’re trying to be cute. I like that; and I like to be here with you.”
Her fingers trail across my collarbone. We sit in silence for a little while. It’s the most perfect silence, and Chris hands slips beneath my shirt, caressing my stomach. I close my eyes and kiss the top of her head. Admittedly, a part of me still thinks that it’s my fault Chris sprained her ankle and that it could’ve been prevented if I had only told Clark about us earlier, but it’s just a small part; the irrational one.
A satisfied sigh escapes my lips. I could fall asleep right now, with Chris in my arms. This moment is perfect, and I know she doesn’t blame me.
~fin~