THE WOMAN OF STEEL. BONUS CHAPTER. THE LIFE OF LOUIS AND CLARA

17 February 1950

Metropolis

Louis glanced sideways at Alina as she wandered slowly through his living room. The truth was that Clara and Alina could not be more different. Alina reminded him of a cat. A big, aloof cat, but with a certain charm. It was the fourth or fifth time in the last month that Alina had come to his house for a drink. Although she was a fervent conservative, her customs and lifestyle were anything but traditional. When he first encountered her in the 1930s, she was much the same as she was today. She slightly resembled Pat, his estranged wife and mother to Emily, which perhaps contributed to his dwindling attraction and subtle apprehension towards her. Nonetheless, she was an intelligent and bold woman, whose company Louis admittedly enjoyed, despite being painfully aware of his own vanity when basking in Alina's attention. Louis harbored no delusions about her; Alina was a woman of many past relationships, practiced an open marriage with Captain Baker, and was his superior at World Magazine. Recently arrived in Metropolis, America, from France, she was already making waves in journalism, yet he sensed her disenchantment with her new surroundings. Metropolis was no Paris. In his view, he was likely just a diversion or an unresolved issue to her.

While serving as correspondents in Spain during 1937, within territories under General Franco's control—a period marked by their initial tentative and questioning support for the Nationalists—Alina tried to seduce him, albeit half-heartedly. In those days, Louis harbored resentment toward Pat that mirrored the estrangement he felt toward Clara in the present. He was convinced that no romantic entanglement would ensue, not by his desire. Louis was additionally weighed down by the thought, which he persistently denied, that succumbing to Alina too readily after steadfastly resisting Clara for over three years would betray his principles. His sincere faith and orthodoxy, his adherence to a deeply ingrained religious upbringing, a source of pride and distinction within his social sphere, and a steadfast code of honor became his refuge amid the tumult of his life. In matters of the heart, unlike in all other aspects of existence, Louis recognized himself as perpetually hesitant and timorous. He had to remind himself again that Clara was merely another facade of Superwoman, a formidable and nearly eternal extraterrestrial being. As Alina reclined on his sofa, stirring her whisky with a grand smile, Louis couldn't help but notice her teeth—sharp, almost like fangs.

"My dear Ochi Chornye, what are you thinking about?"

"Oh, Spain, Alina."

"Maybe we should go back, right, Cherie? There's a good article waiting for us in Espagne. Now it seems we must get along with all the anti-Communists in the world, and that includes General Franco. I've already forgiven them for trying to shoot us."

Louis laughed, "The Nationalists wanted to shoot us even though we wrote in their favor. I really didn't start writing against them until they bombed Guernica."

Alina placed her whisky on the glass table and slid onto her back on the sofa with a swift gesture, almost paralyzing Louis, who felt a pang of desire.

She cleared her throat. "The German pilots hated us. The moment they discovered that I was a Russian Jew - and to some extent you, too - they rushed to inform the Spaniards and accused us of being spies."

"Franco was very clever to distance himself from the Germans in time."

"Oh, Franco doesn't care about anything...He's only interested in ruling. Do you know Captain Baker is going hunting with him? Franco's a petty, cruel, and boring man. Not interesting at all. But at least he keeps the Communists at bay."

Louis answered despairingly "Talking about Communists, lately I've been a little overwhelmed with all the work of the Committee on Un-American Activities. I'm tired of looking for cracks in stories, stains in the past, and strikethroughs that allow us to accuse someone of being a Communist. I'm not cut out for that. And they don't take me seriously. In theory, I'm there to raise the ethical and technical standards of investigations. And that makes them angry. They thought that with my background I'd be a hunting dog."

"I think it's excellent to bite the Communists, Louis."

"Don't you have any contradictions?"

"Contradictions with what?"

"I don't know...We make strange bedfellows these days. I was in the war in Africa, in Italy, and in France against the nazis. You had to hide in a cellar in Limoges for years because you were a Jew. I'm not suspected of being a communist sympathizer, good heavens, I don't even like the liberals. In the Spanish Civil War, I loathed both sides. But well, things move very fast in Europe. I personally despise fascists. But now we are recruiting them for the Secret Service, many of them dangerous criminals. I don't feel extremely comfortable with this."

Alina stretched out on the sofa, her dress riding up a little as she did so, fully exposing her legs. "The fascists don't bother me, Cherie, we've already won the war against them. They're either dead or ridiculous little people who have already changed their clothes and accepted our way of doing things. It's over. The Communists are stirring things up, Communists are everywhere. I took this job because I didn't want to live in a country where the Communists could be the leading force in Parliament."

"Didn't you, like, think of going to Israel?"

Alina looked sad. Louis didn't know that it was the first thing Alina had done with full sincerity that evening. "Why? It's okay that it exists, I guess. I'm not sure. I don't know If I fit in there. I've never thought of myself as particularly Jewish. It's always been others who have treated me as a Jew, and I've been okay with that. I mean, nobody can change who they are. Otherwise, I don't think being Jewish is about being religious. Frankly speaking, I don't know what it is to be Jewish. But I do know that my parents were killed because they were Jews." Alina's words were puzzling even for her.

Louis was taken aback; it was said that Alina's parents had been killed by the Bolsheviks at the Romanian border in 1919. Although anti-Semitism was officially forbidden in the Red Army at the time, the situation was different in Ukraine, which was engulfed in turmoil. Given the chaotic circumstances and the diverse composition of the army, which included many who were conscripted against their will, who could dismiss the possibility of anti-Semitic acts occurring?

"Would be easier everything if I baptize?" Alina asked naughtily.

"Oh, not at all. We have a certain set of rules…" Louis joked.

"Oh... You are consumed by piety Cherie! I have known French reactionaries, less rigid than you, who have agreed to divorce."

"In France, they've been divorcing for a century, sometimes by force. It's a little different here." Louis tried to sound witty, but it turned out awkward. Now, he really wanted Alina to leave.

Alina's gaze lingered on him. Her interest was not entirely feigned. Louis, with his handsome features and somewhat athletic build, caught her attention. It was his fervent conviction and unwavering stance on everything, his distinguished service as a decorated army major, his sense of humor, and the way he seemed to revert to a shy adolescent in her presence on the sofa that she found sightly appealing. On a political level, of course, she despised him. For her, he was a symbol of the disillusionment and alienation fostered by capitalism, perhaps clinging to Catholicism as a shield against the deceptions of the system he so staunchly defended. But basically, she remained indifferent to him. But there was a twisted tenderness Alina also felt for Louis; the idea of sharing an intimate connection with Superwoman, the most extraordinary being in the universe. That feeling inflated her ego. However, should the need arise to use Louis against Clara Kent or Superwoman, even to the point of eliminating him, she would proceed with a heavy but determined heart.

Was Louis perceptive enough to harbor any suspicions? Could he possibly imagine that Alina Baristova-Baker, born Alina Fiedorova Berenkoff, with her illustrious background at Le Temps, Paris Match, Le Matin, and her reputation for strong conservative views, in addition to a seasoned career in journalism, was in fact a dedicated Communist spy? Completely devoted to the communist cause, she had no regrets or internal conflicts about her past and present as a spy and assassin. Her journey into espionage and assassination, driven by a vendetta against Petliura, the Ukrainian anticommunist leader whose followers killed her parents, had begun long before her communist allegiance, a path she would readily choose again. Did Louis have any doubts about her? Her thoughts often returned to the dynamics of his relationship with Clara Kent. Whether Louis Lane had always been aware of Clara Kent's identity as Superwoman, whether that knowledge had been acquired over time… The reasons for their separation - if any - remained speculative. But perhaps the reality was simple: Who in their right mind would willingly fall in love with a supremely powerful, flying alien who camouflaged herself among humans? Reflecting on the concept of a potential "Superman," Alina concluded that she would feel the same contempt and fear for him as she did for Superwoman.

"And your annulment, how's that going?" Alina tried to change the subject and unsettled Louis a bit.

"E la nave va. Pat is being very reasonable. We both want what's best for Emily."

"If you weren't going to remarry and you were already doing separate lives, why did you separate and seek an annulment? Honestly. Isn't it messy and scandalous?"

"It's the right thing to do. And living together was right, but I don't think it was a good environment for a child. It's much better to come clean about the situation. Do it by the book and in a clean and honest agreed upon way. The girl now has two homes, surrounded by her grandparents and cousins. She reacted well. I did not want to live a lie or have my daughter live in a deceitful situation. Besides, our marriage could be completely null according to canon law."

"You wouldn't think of marrying that peasant girl Clara Kent, would you? She's charming, but she's tough and vulgar, like those provincial Parisian dressmakers who are the mistresses of old bureaucrats. Since you never told me the story..."

Louis shot her an angry look. What she had just said was horrible in so many ways. Alina knew he wouldn't throw her out. Deep down, she believed that Louis enjoyed verbal provocations.

"Nothing happened. We misunderstood each other. Clara's an excellent woman. She wouldn't have handled my lifestyle well and she's very young." Louis replied slowly.

"You can't say she's young! 31 years old! Only six or seven less than you. At that age I was a correspondent in Spain, and I was already married to Captain Baker and even thinking of divorcing him and marrying Count Hoyos! To me, Clara Kent is a granny, in her league of typists, secretaries and dressmakers."

"What you say is horrible. Few women have risen so early to the position of senior reporter. She has courage, and she can write really well. She has more virtues than many of us."

In response, Alina used her right foot to slip off her left. The high heel fell noisily to the floor. Louis looked at her with restrained anger and turned away. He looked out of the window. He felt the fear of Superwoman flying nearby and seeing him with Alina. He had the strange feeling that he was committing infidelity.

Clara, oh how he missed her. Yet, amidst this longing, Louis found himself unable to reconcile the image of Clara with that of Superwoman. And the lies. The disdain he once held for Superwoman had morphed into fear. The haunting words of Luthor echoed in his mind: "From the age of thirty, she ages thirty to forty times slower than a human. By the time she reaches six or eight hundred years old, she will barely look fifty. Do you believe that over the span of six to eight hundred years, this being will not come to realize that she is neither a reporter nor a farmgirl, and that the world is utterly hers?" But what if Clara truly was Clara? The moments he'd shared with her were genuine; in those moments, she was unmistakably Clara. The letters, too, affirmed her presence — Clara's presence. Yet, she was also Superwoman. However, it seemed inevitable that Superwoman would gradually overshadow, blur, and ultimately absorb Clara entirely. Superwoman, in her magnificent and extraordinary guise of serving humanity, could not be a companion to anyone. Perhaps he had wronged Clara. Maybe she was wholly sincere yet oblivious to her true essence, blind to the chasm that lay between her and humanity. Having always been amongst humans, both wielding and hiding her powers, experiencing love and rejection like any human, she likely envisioned a shared life with him. But how could he convey to her that a shared life was an impossibility? If she were to live for 800 years, he would merely be a brief note in her lengthy saga. A decade alters a person; centuries would transform her beyond recognition. What transformation awaited Clara? He found himself incessantly pondering over his lost love — sometimes in awe, at times engulfed in nostalgia and melancholy, and occasionally, gripped by fear. Had Clara been merely a woman, their paths might never have intersected. If Clara were merely a woman, he would have faced his demise. And who knows how many others would have shared his fate. And she had lied. She had lied to him for almost four years.

"I hope you're not mad at me," Alina said in a mocking tone, forcing a French accent.

"No." Louis replied dryly.

Alina now used her other foot to take off her remaining high heel. Barefoot, she stealthily walked toward Louis, who listened impassively to the sound of Alina's dress zipper coming down. She hugged him from behind. Without turning around, he grabbed her arm and tried to pull away. He hurt her, but Alina tried to keep up the pressure.

"You're a very rigid man, Louis...it's okay for men to be rigid, but only about certain things. Don't make me beg you, because before I beg you, I'll break a bottle of whiskey over your head. You know you want me." Alina whispered to him with an amused purr.

Louis pushed her away and walked out onto the terrace without turning around. Alina followed him and slipped out of her dress, no matter how cold it was. She didn't want to make love anymore, she didn't care, but she wanted to provoke him even more and make him explode. And most of all, she longed for Superwoman to fly by and see them together.

3 September 1945 (More than four years earlier)

Metropolis

Clara waited at the Daily Planet's reception desk, nervously clutching her purse. She glanced at her reflection on the glass table. She adjusted her eyeglasses and then flipped back through the pages of the paper, "JAPAN SIGNS TERMS OF SURRENDER. TOTAL END OF WAR." She had already made up her mind, perhaps too late...no, certainly too late. No, it is never too late. It was too late for too many people. She discreetly wiped away a few tears. The strange suit, a kind of second skin in blue, gold and red, with a long cape, that had come with her from another galaxy, was in her suitcase in the room she had just rented. Soon. She had already decided. Only yesterday she had acted discreetly in the evening, in the midst of the festivities and the general drunkenness. She had put on an aviator jacket that was two sizes too big for her and a pair of pilot's goggles that covered most of her face. Clara had not dared to fly in public or wear the costume of her Kryptonian ancestors. She had taken cover in the dark to stop a few thugs and avoid a few hit-and-runs or crashes. Soon.

A secretary in a stylish purple suit called her over.

"Are you Miss Kent?"

"Yes."

"Please, come with me, Mr. Weiss and Mr. Lane are waiting."

A new life. A new job. A new era of peace, and a new era to redeem myself and help others. To calm her nerves, she began humming "The Trolley Song," a song she had been singing lately. Clara got it from the first movie she had seen in a theater in a long time, after spending more than half a year in the place she called "The Fortress of Solitude," urgently learning to know and control her superpowers.

A short man in shirtsleeves, with slicked-back gray hair and thick lips that Clara found amusing, was chatting in the hallway with a tall, thin man who looked less than friendly. The secretary stepped forward.

"Mr. Weiss, Mr. Mailer, may I present Miss Kent, Mr. Lane's new assistant reporter."

The short man's face lit up with a broad smile and he shook hands with Clara, who nodded shyly. The other man ignored her.

"A pleasure, Miss Kent, welcome aboard! How are you? How was your trip, are you settled in yet?"

"Yes, I am already settled in. Everything is fine, thank you very much. I'm very happy for the opportunity."

"I have a meeting right now. Excuse me. Please accompany me, I'll take you to meet Mr. Lane and then I'll join you afterward. Again, I'm very happy to have you on board."

The short man, Perry Weiss, seemed remarkably kind. Clara was comforted by his gentleness and followed him when he beckoned her to come with him. He led her to a series of glass-enclosed offices. In one of them, an operator was painting a "Louis J. Lane, Senior Reporter" sign on the door. Clara looked over with her x-ray vision and saw four men inside, two civilians and two dressed as military, standing and chatting animatedly. One of them was almost an old man and the other three were young. Which one would be her future boss? All she knew was that he was a Pulitzer Prize winner.

Perry Weiss opened the door without knocking.

"Katz, Lombard... stop slacking and get out of here, you pinchers." Perry turned to Clara and pointed to an older bespectacled man in civilian clothes and a young, dark-haired man with a mustache and dark eyes, wearing an officer's uniform and being held up by a crutch. Clara found him to be a very elegant man with an attractive look, he resembled Laurence Olivier although he was not very tall. Clang, clang, clang went the trolley, Ding, ding, ding went the bell, Zing, zing, zing went my heartstrings...

"Dear Miss Kent, this is Mr. George Taylor, assistant managing editor, whom we won't allow to retire because we'd be shipwrecked without him, and Major Louis J. Lane, Pulitzer Prize winner in 1940, who has just rejoined us. Distinguished Service Cross and a couple of stars, so he's as good a soldier as he is a journalist." Perry Weiss continued.

Clara smiled shyly. The man stepped forward and held out his hand.

"A pleasure." His greeting was a dry one.

"Now, Lane, please take care of Miss Kent. Get to know her, make sure she's comfortable with everything here, and tell her how we work. George, we have a meeting with Cat right now to prepare for the board meeting, so stop chatting with Lane... Miss Kent, please go to my office afterward and wait until I can be with you." Perry Weiss left, accompanied by George Taylor.

Clara was left alone in the office with Major Lane. He looked at her with a certain coldness and indifference. She felt a little self-conscious.

"Please sit down Ensign Kent... Tell me, are you demobilized yet? Would you like something to drink?"

"No... Thank you, Major Lane. Yes, I am demobilized, as of August. I'm in uniform because I must go today to inform the Navy that I now reside here in Metropolis."

"I see. Well, I'm not demobilized. Technically, I'm on leave. I'm not ruling out being sent back to Europe anyway. Gotta get back to normal. How long have you been away from the front?" The man tried to be gentle, but he looked annoyed and bored. There was something about him that caught Clara's attention, but he also seemed arrogant to her.

"Since December. Southern Philippines."

"I see."

Louis walked awkwardly to his chair, Clara stood up again and helped him sit down, letting go of the crutch. Louis was embarrassed. Clara x-rayed Louis' hip, it didn't look like a serious injury, and it would heal soon.

"In a month or two I won't need the crutch anymore." Louis justified himself.

"You've already seen that I'm an Ensign Navy Nurse. Any help you need..."

"No, I shan't require the services of a nurse, please, have a seat. This isn't some daycare establishment. Miss Kenneth, or is it Ensign Kenneth? Personally, I eschew military titles in casual discourse. I must be quite candid with you. You find yourself here solely on the directive of Mr. Weiss. We shall review your contributions and intentions shortly, but I must tell you, I am not in need of an assistant reporter at present. My career has been a solitary one; never have I worked with an aide in reporting. What I require is someone to ensure my affairs are orderly and my feet firmly on the ground. Should you happen to unearth a compelling story, that would indeed be to your credit. However, my immediate need is for a secretary. I trust this arrangement will not be an inconvenience. Moreover, should you manage to procure a story, so much the better... Now, from whence do you hail, Miss Kenneth?

"It's Kent, Major Lane, Clara Josephine Kent. I'm from Kansas, from Smallville." Clara replied with annoyance, looking down at his wedding ring.

"Oh, Smallville..."

"Do you know it?"

"No. Never heard of it. It's a picturesque name."

"It's in northeast Kansas."

October 1945

Metropolis 

Clara watched amusedly with her X-ray vision as Louis stood behind the door of her house. She was still dressed as Superwoman. Louis was carrying a bouquet of white tulips and grumbling. He was still in his Infantry Major uniform, as he had to report daily to a military office to confirm his availability. She had stopped wearing her navy nurse uniform the first week she worked at the Daily Planet.

"I must apologize a thousand times, Miss Kent, for showing up at your house. It is completely improper. I have no intention of entering. That would be out of the question. You are a single woman and I am a married man. I know perfectly well that it is wholly improper. I don't do these things. But I wanted to apologize personally for everything that has happened over the last few days. You've been absent from the newsroom except to submit your notes for our articles. You've been at the newspaper for a very short time, Miss Kent, and you need to understand how things work. I regret my manners. I come from the military. Admit that you are very sensitive and do not accept authority... You were right about there being a bloody woman flying around with super strength. We are going to publish your articles we rejected in the Sunday supplement. Damn, it's crazy, a flying woman. How could I not believe it was a fabrication?"

Clara smiled as she put on her stockings and shirt over her Superwoman suit. She feigned an angry tone and spoke forcefully from behind the door.

"Of course, it's improper for you to show up here. Indeed, I hope you don't go presenting yourself at the doors of single women uninvited. I know the story of the woman in the red cape is crazy, but it's true! I was right! You disregarded my research and my sources until she saved your life!"

"Well, what did you expect me to do, Miss Kent? I couldn't just march over to Mrs. Grant with a half-baked story written by an apprentice, in which she insisted there was a woman dressed in aviator glasses saving children from plummeting into the abyss. If I came in tomorrow with a piece claiming there's a colossal, amorphous monster shaped like a barrel with tentacles, gobbling up the locals of Dunwich, the most picturesque and tranquil corner of Miskatonic... I'd be shown the door immediately. All I said was it was a contagious madness brought on by the war's end."

"I'm not an apprentice. I'm an assistant reporter. And in the end, there was a flying woman, that's the point. She doesn't seem to wear aviator glasses, though." Clara finished putting on her skirt, concealing her red cape underneath her clothes.

"Which, unfortunately, means we can no longer rule out the appearance of a monster in Dunwich devouring all its inhabitants," Louis answered.

Clara laughed heartily as she put on her glasses, and now fully dressed as Clara Kent, she opened the door.

"White tulips!" Clara feigned surprise as a reluctant Louis handed them over.

"It's a small gesture of apology. Let's start over, Miss Kent. It's clear you have good intuition and sniffed out the Superwoman story. I'll trust you more. But you still have to learn how a newspaper operates."

Clara buried her face in the tulips, aware she was blushing slightly. She turned around.

"Do you know what white tulips mean, Mr. Lane?"

"Uh, yes, friendship and respect."

"You don't know much about flowers, do you?"

"Not at all. I'm no expert."

"White tulips symbolize virtue, peace, innocence, and kindness."

"Truth be told, I'm not sure you possess those qualities. Let's agree that from now on, they represent professional loyalty between us."

Clara slammed the door on Louis, who complained from the other side that she had no sense of humor and that was essential in the newspaper business.

December 1945

Metropolis

Louis tenderly stroked Clara's golden retriever puppy, who playfully barked at him. The dog was wearing a small red vest, as if it were a cape like Superwoman's.

"Tell me, Miss Kent, why did you name the dog Krypto?"

Clara Kent, dressed in a brown suit and a heavy navy-blue wool coat, looked around anxiously as if she heard or saw something disturbing while adjusting her round, oversized glasses with a very strong prescription.

"Uh... I found the name of Superwoman's planet amusing, that's all... excuse me, I must make a phone call, I'm going to the phone booth. If I don't call within five minutes, I'll lose a reservation for some tickets I have for Radio City."

"Don't worry, I'll stay with the dog, I'll wait for you here, Miss Kent."

Clara Kent slipped away and disappeared almost unnoticed by Louis Lane. The dog pulled him toward one of the tunnels in Central Park, so the journalist did not notice a red and blue blur streaking across the sky above him. It took Clara more than a quarter of an hour to reappear.

"Sorry, Major Lane, the call took longer than expected. They didn't want to give me the tickets, but in the end, I got them."

"You could convince the devil himself of anything, Miss Kent. No one is more stubborn and persistent than you. But I'm glad you are, it's good for business."

"What business?"

"What business? Don't you know, Miss Kent, what you do for a living? Do you remember that you work for a newspaper and are a journalist?" Louis burst out laughing, causing the dog to bark at him. Despite her embarrassment, Clara couldn't help but smile.

"Well, Major Lane... How do you feel now? You're the man of the hour."

"I'd rather have a comet fall on me, to be honest."

"I don't think Superwoman would let that happen."

"I'm about to plant a bomb in the Metropolis Post offices."

"Superwoman would stop that, too."

A week earlier, the Metropolis Post had leaked that the first interview with Superwoman, the Daily Planet's big scoop, published without a signature, was the work of Louis Lane. The journalist had become the story. And he was trying to avoid the spotlight by explaining that he had gotten the interview by sheer coincidence. It was an obvious candidate for the Pulitzer Prize again, but Louis grumbled that if he won, he would reject the award and stop working for a newspaper because that interview had not been an achievement. Clara had liked the way the interview had turned out, very much, and the lead that Louis had written... "Up in the sky! Look! It's a bird? It's a plane? No! It's Superwoman! Faster than a speeding bullet! More powerful than a locomotive! Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, this amazing stranger from the planet Krypton, the Woman of Steel: Superwoman! Empowered with X-ray vision, possessing remarkable physical strength, Superwoman vows to fight a never-ending battle for love, truth, justice, and the American way". Even though Louis complained that it was a childish and sensationalist lead, the result of nervousness after the interview. In a way, it was a gift from Clara to Louis. Of course, he didn't know that. The reality is that Superwoman obviously had to give a first interview to someone... but there were so many journalists. Clara suggested Louis to herself because, even if he didn't know it, he was the closest to her. And in a way, Louis also appealed to her, as a journalist of course.

Louis lit his pipe and sighed.

"Our friend with the red cape turned our world upside down. Only a month after the atomic bomb, we discover that there is an alien among us who has the face of a Hollywood actress, wears a strange suit, can fly and do a thousand other wonderful things. And did nothing during the War. Too much shock. And now my name is tied to her. At least for a while."

"You're not that important, I hope they'll forget about your interview soon."

"I wish, Clara! I don't want to be remembered as the man who interviewed Superwoman."

"Why? Isn't that an impressive milestone? To be the first man to interview what is said to be the most extraordinary woman of our time."

"I wouldn't call her a 'woman,' I'd call her a 'creature' - it still doesn't seem logical to me that an alien would look like Hetty Lamarr or Gene Tierney."

"Maybe they're aliens too." Clara tried to joke.

"All women are aliens after all, except my daughter, of course."

Clara smiled and looked down. Why was Louis suddenly so hostile to Superwoman and why was he ashamed of the interview?

April 1946

Metropolis

Clara watched affectionately as an almost moved Louis embraced a young and strong black man with close-cropped hair, dressed in a lieutenant's uniform. The man wore round glasses very similar to her own. Clara wondered if she was wearing men's glasses and needed to change them.

"Ah, damn Ronnie, you've gotten tired of loafing around in Stuttgart."

"I'm glad to see you too, you old scoundrel. You look twice your age, as usual. It's a miracle you're still here."

"Smallville, dear, this is Ronnie Troupe, well, excuse me, the thrice-decorated Lieutenant Ronald Troupe. He was an assistant political reporter, and now that they don't want him in uniform anymore, he's back as a senior reporter. I've told you a lot about him. He's a bigger pain in the ass than you are. God bless him."

Ronald Troupe laughed and shook her hand.

"Louis has written to me a lot about you. I'm very pleased to meet you. According to him, you're the most interesting person in the paper these days."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Troupe." Clara smiled shyly.

"Please, call me Ronnie; I feel like I already know you."

"Smallville, you should know the only thing I've told Ronnie is that you're the most intuitive being I've ever met but also the most stubbornly obstinate, nothing more," Louis said with a mocking tone.

Ronald Troupe laughed and leaned in discreetly to whisper to Clara.

"He's a fool, don't mind him, he adores you. He's crazy about making you a senior reporter."

October 1946

Metropolis

"Have you refused to write the editorial on the first anniversary of Superwoman's presence among us?" Clara asked timidly, without looking up from her typewriter.

"Oh yes, I'm not the right person for it," Louis replied indifferently.

"I understand." Clara did not understand at all.

"Everyone is overjoyed with her and all her deeds...we're not really digesting or thinking through the events. Just a few months ago, an alien army landed on Earth to wipe us out, and a flying woman with superpowers defeated them. All this happens months after the end of the World War, the discovery of the Holocaust, and the atomic bomb in Hiroshima and Nagasaki. It's too much. The events overwhelm us. We are not thinking. And people cling to Superwoman as if she were a goddess." Louis said quite seriously.

"I agree with all that. Why didn't you write it?"

"I chose not to."

"But do you really think she could be a danger?"

"She could become one. That's the problem."

Clara sighed and adjusted her glasses. "Sometimes I'm afraid we have to take a leap of faith Mr. Lane, and not live in perpetual suspicion."

"My dear Smalville... I couldn't disagree more. Si vis pacem, para bellum. If you want peace, prepare for war."

"Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth."

"I know the Bible too, Smalville," Louis replied with a smile.

"We're not going to agree."

"Do you prefer Superwoman or Mrs. Roosevelt?"

Clara didn't answer and continued typing.

"Miss Kent, choose, Mrs. Roosevelt or Superwoman?"

"What do you want, Mr. Lane?"

"Who is a better role model for you?"

"Mrs. Roosevelt."

Louis made an exaggerated face of disgust.

"How appalling... even I prefer Superwoman."

"I already asked you, Mr. Lane, not to be disrespectful to Mrs. Roosevelt in my presence. She was our First Lady and the widow of the President. She deserves at least some respect."

"Don't be so formal, Smallville. Widowhood doesn't entitle anyone to special treatment. She's a terrible demagogue. For example, did you know that she said terrible things about Jews until the 1930s, when she realized how important their votes were? And she always hated Catholics."

"I don't think so. She's a champion of civil rights and democracy, and a brave feminist. I admire her very much, but I don't think I have to agree with her on all issues. Sadly, we all have prejudices, and we must fight against them."

"You think Mrs. Roosevelt's anti-Semitism and anti-Catholicism are excusable?" Louis was putting a funny voice.

"I have zero knowledge of the comments you are referring to. I want to see them in context. I don't trust you. You may be deceiving me. If there were such comments, they would be disappointing."

"I'm not deceiving you, my dear Smallville, it's just that you're very stubborn and cling to idols with clay feet."

Clara gave him a sideways glance and sighed. Then she smiled to herself.

"I will not fall for your provocations."

Louis started playing with his hat. "I'm practicing the Socratic method with you."

"Oh please, how arrogant and what an ego you have. How awful, Mr. Lane."

"You have no sense of humor."

"You always answer me like that because you can't stand to be contradicted."

An avalanche of fire sirens far away, far from Metropolis, perhaps inland, startled her. This is a job for Superwoman!

"Mr. Lane, I'm going out for some air."

"Ah, I see you're already mad."

Clara was sightly angry but at the same time she enjoyed debating with Loui. She had to admit that Louis, in spite of all his arrogance, sometimes made her think things over. Other times, she felt the need to freeze him with her cooling breath. She had long since admitted to herself that she was attracted to him, but she tried to put him out of her mind. A married man, her supposed boss, a whining conservative prone to putting himself in danger. There was no chance, and most of all, he was an intolerable distraction. Clara fought for Mr. Lane to have less space in her mind.

"Keep trying, Mr. Lane! Maybe you should use that urge to provoke and argue in your writing and get something of value out of it this week. The truth is that you seem to be on strike, despite your salary. Your typewriter is rusty."

Louis was surprised by Clara's frankness. He never let anyone talk to him like that before, except his bosses at the newspaper or in the army, or his mother. But Clara disarmed him. He always ended up feeling guilty for arguing or provoking her. What was it about Clara, so different, so stubborn, sometimes even naive and bumpkin, that could silence him with relative ease? For the first time, he wondered if he felt too much for her, and he dared not answer himself.

Spring 1947

Metropolis

Clara positioned herself with a glass of champagne in the most discreet corner of the foyer, almost hidden behind a curtain. She was still very excited about the opera she had just seen. The story had thrilled her, even if it had scandalized her a little. She didn't know if it was a condescending or insensitive story, or precisely the contrary. The music had enchanted her. Louis, dressed in a tuxedo, handsome and well-groomed, and fortunately without a cigarette in his mouth, approached her with a broad smile. She saw him every day at the office; she had saved his life three times already, she was Superwoman, but at that moment she felt diminished in front of Louis, especially since he was arm in arm with his extremely elegant and extremely unpleasant wife, Pat Lane.

"Clara, dear, did you enjoy the opera?"

"Very much, Louis, very much. It moved me very much. Thank you for the ticket."

"My pleasure. Puccini is the best. Pat thinks it's corny and that..."

"I don't think it's corny. It's very lyrical. That's the word. Sometimes it's overwhelming. If you'll excuse me, I'll go say hello to Marion Harris..." Pat replied dryly and hurried off to greet another woman. Clara watched her go. She was wearing a dress that probably cost several months of her salary. Clara was wearing a rented dress, with her Superwoman cape and supersuit folded and wrapped around her stomach, like a girdle, always at hand. Pat was not particularly beautiful, but she was very elegant and had a very penetrating gaze. She was very snobbish and very unpleasant. Although it was something that deeply embarrassed her, Clara already knew all the gossip about Pat Lane's life and how her marriage to Louis Lane was in name only. She didn't quite understand why Louis put up with the situation and stayed by her side. They were Catholics, divorce was unacceptable to them, and they had a little daughter. Was Louis still in love with her? She was a daughter of a powerful Irish family linked to Tammany Hall, the local Democratic machine, although she was certainly not at all liberal and must have been apparently as traditional as Louis.

Now the two of them were alone in a corner of the foyer. Clara blushed; this happened too often. Louis cleared his throat.

"So which part did you like best?"

"The love duet at the end of the first act, the beginning too. Everything. She's a wonderful soprano."

"She is. The tenor is also excellent. My favorite character is the Consul, the baritone."

Clara smiled at him. "He has some excellent moments, especially at the beginning. He's a very decent man."

"Oh, he's a very upright character. He's the only one who really cares and respects Butterfly."

"Is he in love with her?"

"I like to think so, yes. Enraptured. But he's an old man, a prisoner of social conventions, and Butterfly is in love with Pinkerton."

"Pinkerton is a scoundrel! Were we like that abroad with other cultures?"

"And we still are in many ways, unfortunately. Don't get me wrong. I think we're the best country in the world and the oldest democracy. But sometimes we really mess it up..."

Louis offered her his arm, gesturing toward the bar; she took it, her heart beating a little faster. With her super-hearing, she could tell that his heart was racing as well, and she felt a little dizzy from the sensation.

"The Consul could have enchanted Butterfly."

"Oh, I don't think so." Louis laughed, but with a hint of sadness. "Butterfly is completely clouded by her love for Pinkerton, until it becomes an unbearable disappointment. It's a love that is pure and total. It's certainly an excess of romanticism and orientalism."

"The opera doesn't show the Americans in a very good light."

"It's normal. When it was written, we were in total rivalry with many old empires, with less advantage than now, we were the newcomers. Madama Butterfly is an opera by an Italian where the villain is a scoundrel American military man and the heroine is a Japanese woman. It's my favorite. But to be honest, I'm not sure it's the best context. They were very brave on the Opera House's board to put it in the season. There are still people who are very sensitive about… recent events".

"Well, the war is over."

"Thank God. We don't miss it."

"No, not at all."

"We never really talked about your experiences in the Pacific, Clara."

"I'd rather not. Not tonight."

"Of course. I have no desire to talk about my experiences either."

"Well, you're a decorated officer. I mean…that means something. Someday you should write something about your experience."

"No, dear, it doesn't mean anything, Clara. Someday I'll should bury all my decorations." Louis's joking tone was somewhat bitter.

Clara lowered her head shyly and looked at Pat Lane, who was chatting animatedly with a group of men.

"Your wife is quite elegant, Louis."

"Is she? I suppose she is. Despite appearances, her great-grandparents were potato farmers. She doesn't like to be reminded of that."

"What's wrong with growing potatoes?" Clara replied heatedly. The remark had hurt her. She was a farmer's daughter and proud of it.

"Nothing, of course! I mean, no one is better than another."

"'Oh! One can be very elegant and grow potatoes.'"

"That's not what I meant... I meant that, for example all my grandparents were immigrants, we are not aristocrats here... well, forget it."

There was silence for a while as they sipped their champagne in stillness. Louis broke it timidly.

"In another life, I would have been a conductor."

"Oh, but if you already are, what you do with the boys' orchestra is delightful." Clara looked at Louis with shy admiration. She hadn't known until a few weeks ago that Louis had been conducting a children's orchestra, including children from an orphanage, since his return from the war. Ronald Troupe had told her about it and she had come to a concert, much to Louis' surprise.

"I am very grateful to the kids for allowing me to get some noise out of them." Louis said humbly.

"You scold them more than you scold me?"

"No, they are fairly easier than you." Louis joked with a bright stare. "I'd like to be able to sing, even a little. Technically, I'm a baritone. I'd like to play the Consul in Madama Butterfly. The one who sings beautifully is Emily, my daughter."

"I think it's a role that would suit you very well. I thought of you every time he came on." Clara stopped herself. She wasn't sure if she had overstepped. It was a compliment to Louis. Would he understand? How would he interpret it?

Louis gave her a look of almost joy and gratitude. Clara smiled back, almost childishly without realizing it, but an anonymous voice caught by her super-hearing froze her smile. "Who's that with Louis Lane? She's very pretty, but so vulgar... uh, his assistant reporter, you say? And he brings her here in front of his wife? Look at them, how they look at each other... How indiscreet! And this is supposed to be a conservative! You know how journalists are. Disgusting. His wife is not much better, but at least she's more discreet."

Late 1947

"I'm not going to publish this, Clara. It's a senseless, weird article. If I take it to Cat Grant, she'll fire us both. If Cat had a stroke and it got published, Lex Luthor's lawsuit would end both our careers and the paper."

"But it's the truth!"

"I don't know if it's the truth. You don't have enough reliable sources."

You know it's the truth, Louis. I saved your life from Luthor and Metallo. I saved you. You saw them. You saw Luthor. And you saw that Metallo was Corben, or what was left of Corben. Why are you doing this? Luthor is a public menace. And you won't do anything.

Clara trembled with anger at the calmness with which Louis was lying to her. Louis had been a witness; he had been there; he had been kidnapped. He knew that Metallo was Corben. He had seen Metallo obey Luthor. Was Luthor blackmailing him not to tell the truth? Sometimes she was confused about the line between what she actually knew... and what Clara Kent was supposed to know.

"Louis... many people saw Metallo without his mask and saw that his face was John Corben's. Other many people saw Metallo land on top of Luthor Tower. Corben's lawyer was paid by one of the foundations funded by Luthor's Tesla Foundation..."

"The first point does not prove anything. The second is circumstantial. If Metallo had landed on this building, would you say Perry assembled it? The third means nothing. The Tesla Foundation invests a lot of money in paying defense attorneys for the proper functioning of the legal system. You have nothing to go on. It's not suitable for an article. It's conspiracy paranoia."

You know perfectly well I'm right and it's true... You're lying to my face. But I'm lying to you, too.

"You don't trust me." Clara answered.

"That's not true. It's not true at all. But this report is a bunch of circumstantial evidence with no real proof that Metallo was Corben and that Luthor had anything to do with it. You can't make groundless accusations against one of the country's most important industrialists, who is also one of the most admired and respected people in this damn city." Louis insisted.

"Great Scott, Louis, it's the truth!"

Louis grabbed her arm gently but spoke in a tone of anger and frustration.

"Whatever is true doesn't matter. You must stick to what you can prove. Damn it, Clara, think with your head. You're not invulnerable, you're not Superwoman. Don't stick your head in the guillotine. It could very well be true. You think I trust Luthor? He's extremely dangerous to me. I'm convinced he is. I don't know if he's involved with Metallo or if Metallo was Corben. I don't know if we'll ever know. It's about being careful and doing our job well. We are not here to spread unfounded rumors. Especially not against dangerous people. Least of all against the powers that be. Not without evidence. Luthor is the power. He's the closest businessman to your beloved government today, did you know that?"

Clara aggressively pulled her arm away. She felt suffocated between the tangle of her lies to protect her identity as Superwoman and Louis' lies to protect her, Clara Kent, and himself. She felt guilty and angry at the same time. Enormous frustration. In a split second, she made a fateful decision. She couldn't take it anymore. She turned her back on Louis, took off her glasses, and began to unbutton her shirt, revealing the red and gold crest of the House of El. It was time to tell the truth. Louis had turned his back as well.

"Clara, you were in the war. You know very well what the real world is like. You can't act lightly. The testimonies you got... I know they were hard to get and maybe they point to the right way. But they don't help us. You don't act like you have your feet on the ground."

Clara's resolve to confess the truth collapsed as quickly as it had come. She felt immense dizziness. It was easier to fight Metallo than to tell Louis the truth. She buttoned her shirt again and put on her glasses without Louis noticing as he leaned against the window with his back to her.

"Louis, If you trusted me, you'd refuse to publish this article, but you'd sit down with me and see how we can redirect the investigation and strengthen it. Because you know there's a story here."

"No, there isn't, Clara."

"For you, the only story if Superwoman is involved is that she's a public danger."

"She is a public danger. Whether you like her or not. She's a public danger because her existence contradicts everything we are and is ultimately an insurmountable contradiction that can only be resolved by her absolute supremacy. She's a damn alien who could turn this city to ashes in a matter of minutes. Why can't you get that through your head? And why are you jumping on this now? Superwoman has nothing to do with this story."

"She defeated Metallo. If she wanted to reduce a city to ashes, she would have done it by now. Rather, her focus is on... how should I put it... rescuing children's kites from the heavens and safeguarding individuals such as yourself."

Louis put on a look of terrible anger and rage.

"I don't care. I don't care. It won't be published. You can try to go cry to Cat and Perry. Cat would gladly force you to eat this article with butter, and Perry as much as you're his spoiled little girl knows this is worthless. But if you want to go, try it."

"Perhaps where I'm going is somewhere else."

Clara had never seen such a strong look of restrained anger in Louis, but that very look suddenly relaxed into one of sadness and fatigue.

"Do whatever you want, Clara, you're an adult."

"You would love it if I went to another paper."

Louis narrowed his eyes.

"I'm surprised you think that. But it doesn't matter."

"Why are you surprised?"

"Because it's public and well-known that you are crucial to me."

Crucial.

Crucial. Why do you say that to me, Louis... what do you mean...

The word "crucial" took Clara's breath away. Tears welled up in her eyes and she sat down, feeling tremendously confused and ashamed. She thought she might burst into flames at any moment. She didn't know how to react. I love you, Louis... what a labyrinth we are getting into... Louis put on his hat and picked up his coat.

"If you're interested in publishing it in this paper, go to Perry and ask for his advice. Tell him I've recused myself from this matter. I'm going to get an earful from him about this. Make sure neither Cat Grant nor Bob Mailer sees it if you want us to keep our jobs. I must go. You'll let me know your decision, whatever it is."

Clara didn't want to turn around because she didn't want Louis to see her eyes filled with tears.

"Louis, I'm not going anywhere." Clara managed to answer dryly.

"Good evening, Clara, see you tomorrow." Louis shut the door behind him.

March 1948

Metropolis

At the Meridian Hotel, the evening orchestra serenaded the sparsely filled ballroom with classic melodies. Clara and Louis cherished this venue, drawn to its cozy atmosphere and the quiet that preceded the night's busier hours. Opening at five, the ballroom rarely saw a crowd before nine, providing a perfect retreat for the couple. On occasion, the orchestra would switch to Latin jazz, very much to Louis' liking, although he typically resisted Clara's invitations to dance. The orchestra also performed contemporary renditions of hits from a decade or two ago, refreshing the classics with a modern twist.

At that moment, Easy Come, Easy Go was playing, and Clara and Louis danced cheek to cheek. It was one of the few times Clara had managed to get him off the table. It had become an almost daily ritual for a few months now, going to the Meridian Hotel after work, having a drink or two-Clara only had non-alcoholic cocktails-before retiring home.

We never dreamt of romantic dangers

But now that it ends, let's be friends

And not two strangers.

"I don't like the lyrics of this song," Clara said shyly.

"Why?"

"Because it's about a breakup."

Louis laughed and gazed at her with a look that Clara now believed was filled with love. "You can't be that corny."

"I'm not corny."

"Yes, you are incredibly corny."

Clara feigned a pout and pulled away a little without letting him go.

No, no remorse, no regrets.

We should part exactly as we met

Just easy come, easy go.

"I didn't congratulate you on your Blakely Town mine corruption scoop." Louis said.

"You can't congratulate me on everything I write. The mine thing broke my heart, the Centralia thing was only a year ago." Clara answered modestly.

"But your article was damn good."

"Thanks...no need to say 'damn'," Clara said blushing.

"A thousand pardons," Louis said with mock seriousness. Their heads came close again.

"When is Pat coming back from Chicago?" Clara asked seriously.

"Tomorrow. Do you want to go home later and say hello to Emily?"

"Yes. I can't stay long, but of course."

Pat was in Chicago for a week. Clara didn't really know what she did for a living. Pat Lane wrote articles for Vogue sometimes, she was also a home decorator and even organized charity events. Over the weekend, Louis had taken Clara and his daughter on a picnic to the coast in the convertible he had brought back from Italy. Previously, Louis had introduced Clara to Emily, merely as a "friend" of his parents, although Clara was aware that Pat strongly disliked her. Despite the persistent gossip that had surrounded them even before their friendship solidified, Clara was content with the newfound closeness and level of intimacy she shared with Louis. It seemed there were some truths too evident for everyone to notice.

It was a "friendship". Despite its complexities, what they had was a "friendship", even if it unsettled Clara. They shared time and nothing more. However, it wasn't a fully honest relationship. Neither Clara nor Louis addressed the underlying motivations for their friendship, much to Clara's frustration. Louis avoided discussing the reality of his marriage, just as Clara concealed her true identity as Superwoman. Though aware of the rumors and the truth behind their "friendship", Louis chose to ignore them. For Clara, these moments with Louis—and increasingly with Emily—brought happiness and a respite from her overwhelming daily responsibilities. Despite the complications, she opted to keep certain truths hidden for now. Eventually, they would need to confront their reality, but not yet.

Clara recognized a distinctively dressed woman with short, red hair at a glance. "Louis, is that Margaret Ivy?"

"What do you know about Margaret Ivy?" Louis lowered his voice.

Margaret Ivy was one of the Daily Planet's big open secrets. Cat Grant had lived with her for years, with extreme discretion, but she was relatively well known, at least on their floor of the Planet building.

"I'm sorry, Louis..."

"I know you don't like Cat, but please be discreet. Don't comment on this subject anymore."

"It's not what you think at all, I didn't mean to be gossipy, sorry."

Louis held her hand lovingly.

"Let's be respectful. They didn't have an easy friendship. Mrs. Ivy ended up being a bad friend to Cat." Louis whispered.

Clara rested her head on Louis' shoulder, "Friendship," what a strange way to call impossible, hidden, or unfinished loves.

"I have the utmost respect for that kind of love, Louis."

Louis remained silent. His usual abundance of strong opinions on various matters was absent, either because he was wrestling with internal conflicts or because his true thoughts clashed with his established beliefs.

"I couldn't lead a double life. I'm not the man for that." Louis finally replied.

The orchestra performed "Isn't it Romantic." Now, it was Clara who remained silent. With a kiss on Louis's cheek tinged with guilt, she thought to herself…"double life."

May 1948

Church of St. Ignatius Loyola

Metropolis

Louis and Father Morris sat on the side pews in the nave of the church. Louis detested the confessional and preferred to confess in a whisper, sitting on the pews, or even walking around the church. His confessions were often long and rambling. Father Morris, a Jesuit, had struck up a friendship with Louis over their shared interest in history. Among Upper East Side Catholics, Father Morris was seen as too lenient and unorthodox, which made him a favorite of the young and troubled marriages.

Dressed in his clerical garb, the young corpulent priest listened intently to Louis' doubts and pains.

"She... she is a very generous and altruistic woman. As I told you, she was alone when she came to Metropolis. Miss Kent doesn't have many friends. She devotes a lot of time to her work. She's absolutely upright. She's never made a single inappropriate advance...she's also very unselfish. Miss Kent has very "open" views on love and marriage, certainly, but she has never...well, never brought it up concerning our friendship. She's just very merciful with people, especially with me."

"I see. She's not Catholic, is she?"

"No, she's actually a Quaker, you know? Miss Kent is an honest woman, but she tends to be unorthodox and challenging in many ways. I have to tell you, it doesn't worry me in the least. In fact, it's the least of my concerns about our relationship."

"No, of course not. The issues between you both don't depend on her religion at all."

"No. It's about me, Father. You know that after everything I've told you..."

"Mr. Lane, do you know the words of the Gospel, 'But I say to you, anyone who looks at a woman with lust has already committed adultery with her in his heart'?"

"Yes, I know them. Perfectly, Father. I know that my friendship with Miss Kent is adultery. Chaste adultery, if you prefer. But is it a sin to love the other person and not want to separate from her without falling into fornication?"

"But you are not fulfilling your marital duties, and neither is your wife."

"We have discussed this, Father. You know the full reality of our marriage. You have acknowledged that it is perfectly annulable."

"For me, it's an annulable marriage, not a null marriage... resulting from a grave sin."

"But out of that grave sin came my daughter, who is what I love most in this world. And to expiate that sin, we got married."

"In what you consider to be a loveless, annulable marriage that you're now considering breaking..."

"That's why I'm here, Father. I've tried, certainly not enough, I confess. I've caused my wife and myself pain. I don't blame her. She didn't try either, but I can only respond and accuse myself..." Louis spoke passionlessly, dryly, almost mumbling.

"And there is no love...after a daughter and so much time? You have known each other since college..."

"No father...I have some affection for her. But sometimes I despise her, and sometimes she creates an intense sadness and melancholy in me...I loved her at college, but I think I stopped loving her afterward. And she stopped loving me. She was always with other men. We weren't even together at the time of the thing that was the cause of our marriage. But I'm afraid... what I feel for Miss Kent is far greater than what I ever felt for my wife. I know that's adultery. I want to stop sinning and hurting others. I don't know if I'm hurting my wife. She is living her life. She has been living her life since the war. I never blamed her. It was an indirect agreement that we made. I didn't want to violate the sanctity of marriage anymore. Believe me, I have not even dared to kiss Miss Kent... but I know I hurt her. Miss Kent, well, she has not had an easy life. She comes from a humble home, she was a sickly child. Her father died when she was going to college and she had to stay in her town. She was about to get married in her early twenties... It was a failure. Then the war came."

"It probably hurts her, yes. She's a woman in her thirties, in a chaotic and hostile city like this. You are her main companion, but she lives alone. It is obvious from what you tell me that your feelings are mutual. She is waiting for you. Or she is waiting for you to make a very significant decision. One that will either bring you together or drive you away forever. Because she loves you and doesn't want to go away and is willing to suffer for you. Which is a miserable situation. And in the meantime, she is enduring unfair social condemnation and a barrage of comments that you are aware of. Don't forget that society will be much more lenient with you than with her. And you already have your family."

"I suffer for putting her in this situation. Maybe I should have set more limits. But I can't leave her, I'm not able to. I know maybe it is going to be necessary."

"And your daughter?"

"She comes first. I would never make a decision that would make her life worse."

"I know of very few marriages with children where a separation would make life better for them. Of course, there are unavoidable cases."

"But Father...Pat and I have large families, they live close, and we have money...The safety net around the child is immense. The child hardly ever sees us together. We are like two strangers under the same roof, going to social events together. We are rarely both with her at the same time..."

"This is a very serious fault."

"I am aware of it."

"Mr. Lane, the way I see it is this. You and your wife have had an unhappy relationship in the past. You may have done the right thing in getting married, and I think you raised your daughter very well. You went to war for almost four years, and your wife took very good care of your daughter. You allowed or even encouraged your wife to have a life outside of marriage while you withdrew into yourself. Now another woman has brought you out of that confinement, a woman who seems to love you and whom you love, and with whom you are making an enormous effort not to violate the sanctity of a marriage that is no longer such... yet you must understand that in addition to other sins you are already committing adultery. "

"Yes, I understand," Louis answered painfully.

"And what do you think? And please don't see things as bureaucratic entanglements to be washed away with a stamp or a signature. You could have had and cared for your daughter without a marriage. You feared the condemnation of society and of this church, and I don't blame you, but..."

"I don't know. I love Clara. I believe my marriage can be annulled. But I need to know if such an annulment, even if recognized by the Church, would be a sin. And I would never proceed with such an annulment if my wife reacted negatively and it could be problematic for my daughter."

"And then?"

"I don't know... If it were easy, I would marry Miss Kent. By the rite of this church, of course."

"You see? You're thinking about the rules. You must look at your heart and what you want, and then know if it's God's law. And you must think about the people you love: your daughter, Miss Kent. Think of your duties. And I wouldn't be so sure that your wife would be indifferent. You may be... stern with her, however bad she has been... What if she wants to keep the marriage?"

"If she is an obstacle to the annulment, there will be no annulment, that is a certainty. I'll never start divorce proceedings and I'll never put my daughter in a complicated situation".

"But you want your wife to roll out the red carpet for your decision..."

"I haven't made a decision Father... I'm asking you to help me make it. To know what is the right way. I don't want to be out of the Church."

"You must weigh the sanctity of a marriage that no longer seems such, and see in your heart-thinking also of your wife's-if you still have the strength and love to repair and rebuild it. I feel obliged to tell you that it is your duty to try to rebuild your marriage, even if there are grounds for a canonical annulment. If you still do not succeed, and if you also manage to make a good pact so that your daughter will feel loved and cared for by both of you... then I advise you to get an annulment. I think it would be a relatively easy case according to canon law, and even if it is an injustice in my opinion, you have the means to obtain such a solution with celerity. Please also consider a temporary separation. But separation leaves Miss Kent out of the equation because you would still be married. Above all, you must be honest, with yourself, with Miss Kent, who loves you and is waiting for you, exposing herself to social condemnation, and with your wife, who is the mother of your daughter. You must tell the truth to everyone and decide with your duty and love in mind, with God and your daughter above all else. If you decide to stay in your marriage, you must leave Miss Kent completely. But if you really don't love your wife, and she doesn't love you... and considering the circumstances of your wedding and the lack of fulfillment of marital duties, it's a perfectly annullable marriage. And I would see nothing reprehensible in your later pursuit of love with Miss Kent. But in the impasse you find yourself in, in this ambiguity, you are hurting Miss Kent, you are hurting - believe me - your wife, and you are hurting yourself... and you will end up hurting your daughter. The truth will set us free. So said Jesus Christ, who also said that in the evening of life, we will be tested by the love we have given."

Louis sighed and looked up at the ceiling in anguish.

"I can't ask you for absolution, Father, because I don't even know what I repent for and what I don't. And what sins I can expiate."

"Do not worry. Pray and I will pray for you. Be strong. Have an honest dialogue with yourself, with your wife, and with Miss Kent. Then we'll talk."

February 1949

Planet Building

Louis and Clara were naked in the darkness of the file room where they had just loved each other with passion. They were lying on the floor. Whenever they were together in the most intimate way, Clara tried to stay in the dark, not to let her hair down completely or not to take off her glasses. It was a childish and increasingly implausible attempt to hide her physical resemblance to Superwoman. If Louis turned on the light now, he would see her indistinguishable from the Woman of Steel. He was silently clutching her to himself.

"We should get dressed." Louis said heavily.

"Why? I'd stay a little longer...We can still get some use out of the file room today." Clara said amusedly, caressing Louis' chest.

Louis' only reaction was a long sigh.

Clara moved closer to his face and gave him a long kiss.

"This can't be a sin, Louis. We're not doing anything wrong."

"It's not that simple... But soon everything will be easier. Soon you'll be my wife."

"Don't think about that, my love." They melted into an embrace as Louis' hands roamed over her body.

"If you want to get dressed, get dressed…but don't provoke me anymore." Clara sounded like teasing again. This time she elicited a slight chuckle from Louis in the dark.

"One day we'll be seen or heard by someone." He said worriedly.

"Everyone already knows that."

"We both have homes. This is an indecency."

"Anatomy is independent of geography. I refuse to wait half an hour if there's a file room next door."

"For God's sake, Clara." Clara knew that Louis's indignation was somewhat feigned.

"Major Louis Lane, an example of the inevitable relaxation of behaviors in modern America." Clara adopted an announcer's tone.

"Please don't joke about it." Louis' voice sounded more serious.

Clara kissed him again while he fiddled with her hair. For her, experiencing love in this way was entirely new. Since he had boldly chosen to leave his wife and declare his love for Clara a few months earlier, their lives had transformed abruptly, like a rapid deluge. Their daily routines were markedly different, their intimacy reshaped. Words and places once deemed off-limits or unexplored now surfaced daily in their conversations, were embraced, or felt deeply. From merely confessing their love—a declaration they had repressed for years—to indulging their passion almost anywhere, fulfilling desires that had once only haunted their guilty dreams. Clara found herself astonished by her own reactions and her evolving relationship with love. Louis occasionally wrestled with stiffness or moral reservations, yet he surrendered daily, just as she did. "There is only one obstacle left," Clara kept telling herself, "And that is to dare to tell him the truth about myself. But when?" Her mother and Bruce had advised her to do it as soon as possible. Bruce even told her she should have told Louis the moment he left his wife. She hadn't dared. Louis still hated Superwoman, but how could he not see that she was the same person? She couldn't wait for the wedding night either, if there ever was one.

"What's on your mind, Mr. Rochester?" Clara asked Louis, tugging at his mustache in an attempt to push her own thoughts away.

"Don't be a gossip, Miss Eyre." Louis followed her joke. "To tell you the truth, I'm thinking about Romania and a woman who's running for Congress in Maryland next year."

"Am I supposed to be jealous?"

"Oh, no. Believe me, you should not. She's a unique case. Her name is Amanda Waller. She's an exceptionally rough black woman. I think the first running. She graduated from Howard University and worked for General Davis. This Mrs. Waller got a lot of military patronage. Conservative Republican, but a staunch advocate for civil rights. It's curious, isn't it? The party has suddenly taken up the civil rights mantle—they could well have done so last year... Mrs. Waller harbors a distinct dislike for Superwoman. She's quite the compelling figure. McArthur backs her, along with the liberals within our ranks, yet she faces opposition from Taft's contingent. She's more anti-communist than even I am comfortable with. Moreover, she's financed by Luthor's Tesla Foundation, which, frankly, astonishes me. Extremely risky move, but of course she is running in a black district."

Clara tried to ignore Luthor's detested name. And she slapped Louis lightly.

"You're with me now! Stop thinking about damn politics or I'll lock you in here!"

Louis pulled her against him again. "Well, we can stay here for a while."

"I knew it, I knew it, I knew it..." Clara purred happily.

February 18th, 1950

Planet Building

Clara was alone in the elevator, it was an odd hour, quite late in the evening. There was hardly anyone left in the building. As the elevator descended, the journalist adjusted her thick winter gloves. It wasn't that she needed them, but she had to wear them to appear normal. She was humming a Tony Martin's song…If it's you, when a knock comes at my door, if it's you, then I'll rush across the floor, but if you're not there the sky falls on my schemes again, I close the door and rush back to my dreams again. The elevator stopped at the World Magazine floor, the international political magazine owned by the Daily Planet, where Louis now worked.

As the doors opened, Louis appeared. She couldn't help but blush and he seemed very flustered.

"Good evening, Clara."

"Good evening, Louis."

Silence followed. As the elevator continued to descend, they looked at each other a few times with polite, perhaps desperate smiles. What to say... I have to say something...

"How are you, Clara?" Louis broke the silence.

" I'm fine, Louis... And you? How is Emily?" Clara replied shyly.

"Everyone is doing well, thank you." Silence fell again. The elevator continued its descent.

"Would you like to see Emily? She keeps asking about you." Louis spoke again.

"Yes, of course." Clara replied eagerly, perhaps too anxiously.

"I'll send you a note next week. I'll bring it over one day after lunch if you have time."

Clara didn't answer but nodded. Louis looked forward again. The elevator doors opened and four people entered, positioning themselves between Clara and Louis. They rode down the rest of the way in silence, not looking at each other. Finally, the doors opened in the lobby. Louis let Clara go first. She left the elevator quickly, saying goodbye in a low voice.