Author's Historical Note: Roxana is the best known of Alexander the Great's three wives. Hephaestion was a general in Alexander's army and his lover.
Lex Luthor had spent most of his teens drinking, taking drugs, and otherwise engaging in self-destructive behavior. He'd thought he was escaping his father, but he was just reacting to him. His choices had been all about pissing Lionel off not about pleasing himself. He'd been stupid, but fortunately for him, stupidity had been only a temporary condition. Maybe the (expensive and discreet) rehab had helped, or maybe it did nothing except give him the time he needed to grow up.
Lex was focused now on becoming the man he was meant to be. Lionel had given him a chance, exiling him to a small town in the middle of nowhere, fully expecting him to fail. Lex had spent the last ten months of working flat out without a word of praise from his father. Not that he had ever expected any acknowledgement from Lionel. Lex was exhausted not crazy.
And now this. Julian's birthday. It lay in wait, every year, one day out of three hundred and sixty five, waiting to trip him up, to make him abandon all his fine resolutions and undo all his hard work. How was he going to he get through that day without the drugs, fast cars and faster women to distract himself from the pain?
Worse yet Julian's birthday fell on a weekend this year. On a weekday, he could put in a solid sixteen hours non-stop, no problem, but Julian's birthday was on a Saturday. He'd be hard pressed to fill more than eight or ten hours with productive work, and then he'd be alone in his father's ridiculously pretentious castle in the middle of the Kansas cornfields. There was always scotch, of course. Drinking himself into a stupor seemed the best option available.
The invitation was the answer to Lex's unspoken prayer. It was to a party to raise funds for the Metropolis Philharmonic. LuthorCorp regularly donated money to the Philharmonic. A totally justifiable, LuthorCorp-related, trip to Metropolis would be just the distraction he desperately needed. He had his secretary send his acceptance immediately.
Lex telephoned Clark. Jonathan Kent answered the phone. He was gruff, almost rude, and for a minute, Lex thought that he was going to refuse to put his son on the phone.
"Hello, Clark," Lex said. "I was wondering whether you might be able to clear your calendar on the weekend of the nineteenth."
"I don't know. I'll have to check. What's up that weekend?"
"There's a fundraiser for the Philharmonic in Metropolis. I'll be attending and I was wondering if you might want to attend as my guest. It will be a good educational opportunity for you. You could write an article about it for the Torch."
"The Torch doesn't have a society column. Besides aren't you supposed to bring a date to those kind of things?" Clark said, laughing, "Are you asking me to be your date?"
Through the phone line, Lex could hear Jonathan Kent growling like a grizzly with a sore paw. He was obviously standing next to Clark, listening to their conversation.
"Anyway, I'm going to busy that weekend," Clark continued. "My dad and I are going to the Truck and RV show that weekend."
For a second, Lex thought of joining them. Then he thought of trailing around a hot fairground surrounded by sweaty farmers drooling over chrome-laden Detroit iron. Jonathan would lecture Lex on the virtues of the courageous American farmer and his rugged, American-built pick-up truck. Lex would resist the urge to tell Jonathan Kent that one of the reasons the Kent farm was struggling was because he spent all his capital on shiny fully-loaded pickups. Or maybe he'd give in to that urge and there would finally be the fist fight that Jonathan had clearly wanted from the very first day he had met Lex.
Lex pulled himself out of a pleasant daydream in which he had Jonathan pinned face down in the dirt, pathetically crying uncle.
"That sounds...bucolic" Lex said diplomatically. "Well, my invitation stands in case your plans change."
Lex's date for the evening was the friend of a friend. She had the bland symmetrical features and willowy figure of a model, though she was a crucial few inches to short to make the grade in Milan or New York. She called herself Cissy Roedean and she wore tangerine lipstick, sparkly blue metallic eye shadow and a dress that showed both cleavage and leg. Lex wasn't pleased when he saw her – a real lady might show off one or the other but not both – but he let it slide.
Lex wore the customary dinner jacket, but the shirt was the faintest shade of lavender rather than pure white. Purple, which symbolized royalty, was Lex's favorite colour. Wearing something purple reminded him that his destiny as a Luthor was to rule over others. However, unlike his father, he would use his power for the public good.
Unfortunately, Lionel, who was on the Philharmonic's board of directors was also in attendance. He confronted Lex, dragging him away from Cissy and into the coatroom for a private conversation.
"Why aren't you in Smallville? Who's running the plant?"
"The plant manager. He had my cellphone number if I'm needed," Lex replied.
"When I give you a job, I expect you to do it, not to palm it off on someone else."
"And I've been doing it. You've seen our production figures. The plant can do without me for a few hours."Lex said calmly. " I'm here to support the Philharmonic."
"Your presence is redundant. I represent LuthorCorp."
"Sorry, dad. I'm here now and you will just have to tolerate my irrelevant presence for one evening. Don't worry. I'll head back to my prison soon enough," Lex said sarcastically.
"If it weren't for me you'd be in a real prison ," Lionel retorted. "Do you know how many people I had to bribe and coerce to keep you out of jail? Promise me, son, that you'll at least conduct yourself with a measure of decorum tonight."
Lex smiled, "I never make promises."
He turned to leave the room. Lionel reached out to stop him, but he shook off his arm and kept going. When he left the coatroom, he could tell that Lionel's tirade had attracted a curious audience. He recognized most of them. They were the city's great and good; his father's rivals in business and in social standing.
"Mrs. Oliphant, Mr. Wayne," he said, nodding cordially in their direction. Then he walked away, his expression serene and untroubled, giving them nothing.
Lex was drinking himself into a stupor, but at least he was doing it in a room full of people instead of alone. He was drinking because he wanted to, not because he had to. And he was doing it in the company of a beautiful woman. Everyone in the room envied him.
"This is not champagne," Cissy complained. "This is sparkling wine."
"You don't like it?"
"It's cheap. I like Dom."
"We're here to raise money for charity. Dom Perignon may be a bit much to expect. However, I've come prepared."
He handed her his flask. She sniffed the contents dubiously.
"What is it?"
"Whiskey. Forty year old Scotch whiskey. Very expensive."
She took a cautious sip and made a face. Cissy handed the flask back to him.
"There's a woman in the lady's room who's got some acid. She swears it's pharmaceutical grade. A guaranteed smooth trip."
She held out her hand. Lex took out his wallet and handed her a fifty. When she frowned, he handed her another.
"Want some?" she asked.
Lex shook his head.
"Not my drug of choice. I tried LSD when I was sixteen. The person who sold it to me told me it would open doors into my subconscious. I found out that those doors were closed for a reason."
"Suit yourself," Cissy said as she got up from the table. She leaned over to give her date a kiss on the mouth, but he had already lost interest in her and was taking a sip from his flask. Instead, she gave him a quick cousinly peck on the cheek.
Bruce Wayne waited until Cissy was out of the room before he headed to Lex Luthor's table.
"Alexander," he said, holding out his hand.
Lex stood up to shake his hand.
"Mr. Wayne," he said. "A pleasant surprise. What brings you to Metropolis?"
"Tedious business matters that I will not bore you with. And please, now that we are both adults, call me Bruce."
Lex had known Mr. Wayne since childhood. Although Bruce Wayne lived in Gotham City and the Luthors in Metropolis, they shared the same social circle. This Gothamite was the only person who called him Alexander rather than Lex or Mr. Luthor. It was a curious formality, this concern with proper names and titles, but then Bruce Wayne was a curiously formal man.
Lionel hated him, of course. He loathed all his business rivals. According to Lionel, Wayne was a dilettante, a socialite who only dabbled in business. He told Lex that Bruce Wayne was not the philanthropist that he seemed to be.
"He and that so-called ward of his, Dick Grayson... there's something wrong there. Why else would a grown man want to spend so much of his time in the company of a teenaged boy? He's bribed Social Services to turn a blind eye."
"You don't think it's possible that he just wanted to give a good home a boy in need?" Lex had asked. He'd been younger then and more naive.
"Please," Lionel had scoffed. "There's no such thing as a philanthropist. The breed is extinct, like the giant moa."
Lex didn't know whether Lionel was right about Bruce Wayne. Lionel didn't have any evidence to back up his accusations. If he had, he would have used it to destroy his business rival. Lex liked Bruce and his ward Dick. He wanted to believe in the existence of good people – people like Clark Kent – but they weren't part of the world he knew.
"Do you mind if I take the seat so recently occupied by your fair Roxana?" Bruce asked.
"Hardly my Roxana,sir, " Lex replied, gesturing for him to sit down. "I'm afraid that currently there is no Roxana in this Alexander's life."
"Nor any Hephaestion?"
Lex shook his head. Taking a quick glance around to make sure that he was being watched (he was), Lex moved his chair closer to the older man. He leaned toward him to whisper in his ear.
"Are you intending to audition for the part?"
When Lionel found out that Lex had been flirting in public with a man – and a business rival at that – he would be furious. He'd be humiliated. He'd accuse Lex of sullying the illustrious name of the Luthors.
"What makes you think I would be interested in that particular role?" Bruce asked.
Lex shrugged his shoulders eloquently.
"Your reputation precedes you, sir.
If I'm mistaken please accept my apologies. I may indeed have miscast you. Or perhaps it is I who am badly cast. Perhaps you are looking for a much younger Alexander."
Wayne frowned. He didn't look like a society dilettante when he was angry. He looked dangerous.
"You've been listening to your father," he said bluntly. "I'd sue him for slander if he had the courage to say out loud in public what I know he whispers in private.
If you really believe what your snide remarks suggest, it is your duty to call the police. But you haven't and you won't because you know your just repeating baseless and vile gossip. You've met Dick Grayson. You know that he is not a victim of sexual abuse who has been cowed into silence. He's a strong, confidant and well-adjusted young man, which is something, I fear, that you will never be.
I can see your father in you. It's a pity. You were an unusually thoughtful child. I had hopes..."
Whatever those hopes had been, Bruce Wayne didn't say. He stood up to leave. Then he turned around to look Lex in the eyes.
"No," he said sternly. "I have to warn you, even if you are a jackass. Your date isn't what she seems to be. She's a con artist and quite possibly a killer. Her real name is Misty Kismet. She preys on wealthy young idiots like you. Her kiss is addictive. One kiss on the lips and her victims are hooked. They sign away everything – their houses, their bank accounts – for a kiss. When she's done, she moves to a new city while her victims pine for her and wither away.
We're not sure what makes her kiss so addictive. It may be some mutant body chemistry. Or it could be some kind of chemical agent in her lipstick."
"Mutant tangerine lipstick."
"I know it sounds ridiculous."
"And weird," Lex said, " but I've been living in Smallville, Kansas which is Ground Zero for weirdness. My capacity for belief in the strange and inexplicable has expanded enormously in the short time I've been living there."
"Has she kissed you yet?"
"On the cheek," Lex said.
Bruce Wayne took out his handkerchief. He picked up Lex's flask and wetted the handkerchief with forty-year-old whiskey. Then he leaned over to wipe both of Lex's cheeks .
"Thank you for the warning. I'm not usually this much of an asshole," Lex said. "Well, I am, but I'm sincerely trying to improve. I've had a difficult day, but that is no excuse for my behaviour."
"May I take that as an apology?"
"You may."
"Now, if you really want to scandalize your father..."
Lex nodded.
"let me have this dance."
With surprising strength, he pulled Lex to his feet and led him on to the dance floor.