Gazing out the window in boredom, the wealthy and corrupted arrive in their fancy sports cars, showered with photos, blinded by camera flashes, and surrounded by pesky tabloid reporters as they walk the red carpet and into my building. These nuisances aren't really my taste, but I have to carry on the Luthor legacy of throwing a good party. But in light of recent events, the entertainment isn't the party. It's the people that are in it.
The purpose of this party is to raise money for the damages done to this city. Two years have passed since that alien and his friends leveled over half of our once towering buildings and took a portion of our population and grounded them into the ground, yet Metropolis is still in need of reconstruction. For the most part, things are back to the way things were, and thanks to the hefty contributions from the Son of Gotham himself, Mr. Bruce Wayne, it has gone a lot quicker than what I could have done, but the scars still remain.
It's amazing how a man who resides on a hill in a dying city donates part of his given fortune to help poor Metropolis. Gotham is the city that needs saving. And that Bat galloping around at night is scaring the people more than that Clown.
And they say I need help.
It baffles me how we now celebrate an alien for all the good he's done since then, after all the destruction he's caused. Apparently saving cats from trees and helping the elderly cross the street is something to be praised for. If that can allow him to be praised as a God, I can only imagine what I'll be praised as in the coming days.
A forty-something woman in a blue dress is telling me a tragic story of how she was affected by the battle of Metropolis and I slip my hands in my pocket and tell her how sorry I am.
"Your donation is much appreciated!" I wave as she chases a server with glasses of champagne on his tray.
I roll my eyes. They're fattening themselves up on my money! Mine! As much as I hate it, father always said, keeping up appearances can take you a long way.
Leaning against the bar, I smile and greet those that walk up to me, giving empty greetings and taking a check. I'd pull a Bruce Wayne and not show up to my own party, but I wouldn't miss the chance to see the two together.
Mercy steps beside me and wraps her arm in mine.
"Have you seen him yet?" she whispers in my ear. She is wearing her signature black rimmed glasses and a dress to match her silky short dark hair.
"Patience, Ms. Graves. He'll be here any minute" I whisper back. My parted hair falls over my face.
"They'll both be."
Running my fingers through my soft brown locks, I can't help but feel as if I'm being watched. I search nonchalantly through the crowd of people and past the vehicles on display and notice a woman in an a stunning maroon dress standing by herself behind the counter of drinks. Her probable flowing black hair is tied back and she is gazing in my direction with a hard look on her face, as if she's trying to analyze something. She has a beautiful face and fair skin, but has somewhat of a hardened look to her, like she's not focused on the party or the people. She seems focused on me.
She turns away and disappears into the crowd of laughing guests as I ignore her. Mercy has left my side and I take a gulp of the champagne I left on the counter. It is after I finish my glass that I see him. It's almost too hard not to laugh. A smirk forms on my face as I admire the sight.
Bruce Wayne is shaking hands with someone, dolled up in a black suit and pants. Surprisingly, he's wearing black shoes. He doesn't look too happy to be here. He's sporting tired eyes and forced smiles tonight and is being stared down by kiss-ups who want to leave a good impression on him. He doesn't take mind at all. It's as if he's tired of the publicity and chooses to ignore it. I notice a twitch of anger on his face as the conversation goes on with whoever he's talking to. His tired eyes aren't so tired and he isn't slouching. His fists are balled and he seems to be fighting the urge to punch someone. The group of elderly men and women in front of him leave to chase down the servers with food and my eyes light up as I see who Bruce Wayne is talking to.
A brown suit jacket too big for the wearer is wrapped over his body and a black undershirt and tie hide under it. His night-colored hair is gelled back and a pair of thick glasses sit atop his chiseled face. A pad of paper is crumpled in his hand and a bent ballpoint pen lies between his fingers. Mr. Kent isn't taking notes anymore. This seems to have gotten personal. Although Kent has a look of understanding on his face, he sure loves to retort back to what Wayne is saying. I wonder what they're discussing… I giggle.
At this point, they're just staring at each other, Kent tilting his head in frustration and Wayne slightly smirking.
It's time to break up this staring contest.
I clear my throat as I slide past herds of people, my black suit jacket trailing behind me.
"Boys!" I clap with a smirk on my face. They tower over me in size but I tower over them in brains and wit as I'm almost brought to tears with the puzzled looks on their faces.
"Bruce Wayne meets Clark Kent! I love it! I love bringing people together!" I announce as I reach for Wayne's hand. His grip is tight and I want to wipe my hand on my pants to not catch his stupidity as I ask them how they are. Wayne says my name with a sigh as I reach to shake Clark Kent's hand. It's obvious they'd rather not have me here. I mean, how could the small, awkward son of a Luthor approach these hailed figures? Shouldn't he cower in fear at the great and legendary Bruce Wayne? Shouldn't he be afraid to approach a towering man who writes award-winning pieces for the Daily Planet?
I am not afraid.
As I lie in saying how much of a pleasure it is to meet them, Clark confirms my suspicions. I feel as if my hand is about to crumble from his grip as we shake hands. He's probably still ticked off from his conversation with Bruce Wayne.
"Ow! Wow! That is a good grip, you should… not pick a fight with this person!" I warn to Wayne.
I smile at Clark to see his face. He acts like my comment didn't phase him, but I can tell, inside he's probably cursing at himself for what he did. He forces a smile and I tell them to resume their conversation and that I just wanted to say hello.
The Son of Krypton and the Bat of Gotham in the same room! Everything is going according to plan!
Now, I just have to wait.
As I walk away with a grin, I can't help but laughing.
A pair of glasses never fooled anybody.