title: no questions
author: jessica
mail: thegirlinglasses@illuminatedtext.com
date: february 22, 2003
notes: inspired by an icon.
||||
"Lex. Lex, don't."
But he does anyway. He's had his hand on my knee the whole show because it's a dark theatre and he knows that nobody can see. But they can see. Someone's always looking and Lex knows that too.
The movie is over and the credits are rolling. I like to watch the credits to the end and Lex usually lets me. But this isn't just the two of us. He grabs my hand because there's a party afterward and Lex Luthor needs to make his appearance. The last time we skipped out on boring champagne and cheap conversation the story they slapped together the next morning with a picture of Lex leaning in too far to ask whether I wanted diet or regular was paired with the headline Lex Snubs Celebs for Snuggle. It was in all the dailies, the weeklies on both coasts, and People magazine.
I don't know what he pays to keep my name out of the papers, but I'm beginning to think my name could actually lend less stress to the situation. There are a lot of pictures of the two of us. They must know by now who I am and what I am to Lex. Instead, I'm his 'friend', sometimes 'young friend', sometimes 'young, male friend'. They like to experiment with adjectives.
Lex doesn't move his lips when he's reading, but he does say "fuck" with every 'friend'. There are times it's really loud and I'm sure everyone can hear it, not just Superman. There are other times - Sunday morning times - that he says it very quietly against my shoulder.
Lex grabs my hand and pulls me up out of the seat as the light come up. He's drawing me close and he's got that look on his face, but I pull myself away before he gets too comfortable.
"What?" he demands.
I let out a heavy breath and turn away, only a quick look back to the credits I'm missing. I let myself move with the crowd, listening to snippets of their conversations. They liked the music, but the lighting was shit. The girl couldn't act, but her dress was fantastic. I'm out the door and being steered towards the camera before I realise I've left my M&M's and Lex behind.
There are a million people calling my name and none of them Lex. The cameras clicking, an amazing assault of lights and sounds. I give them a smile, a tiny, ironic one because Clark was never supposed to be popular; that's what Superman is for.
I feel lost, but I hide it well. I keep moving, follow the red carpet because I have to believe it leads somewhere. That's when Lex catches up to me - "Jesus Christ, Clark." - because he always does. "What the hell are you doing? You can't take on the papparazzi by yourself." He's smiling, teasing me, but there's nothing ironic about it. "Who are you? Superman?"
"I can do this, Lex. If I have to, I can do this. You just can't hold my hand while I'm doing it."
Lex rolls his head back, and I can hear the 'fuck' he sends upwards. He cracks his neck, right, left, and right again. Then, on a dirty red carpet that doesn't even reach the curb, Lex kisses me in front of Metropolis.
There was tongue, he'll tell reporters later that week, because Luthors don't do anything without slipping you a little tongue. It's one of those great kisses you always hear about, but it still has to end. Our car is waiting when it does and the crowd is yelling Lex's name, over and over, like a million people coming to a collective orgasm.
I can't think of anything to say. I'm a little breathless, but I can do this; it's just not my thing. Lex does this. He gives interviews and quotes and reads carefully prepared speeches that he's still rewriting right up to the podium.
The look on his eyes tonight tells me that he has no idea what he's doing. The squeeze of my hand and the taste of him on my lips that I know can never disappear tells me that he's been planning this for years and that he still doesn't have the words.