The next morning--Monday--I groaned at the fact I had to get up and head into school for the final week. The teachers usually gave the seniors their exams a day or three ahead of the underclassmen; they wanted the seniors out of their beloved school before their heads would explode…or so the grapevine told.
In any case, I lived out the first two days in humdrum existence. I spoke to my parents sparingly, if at all; they didn't bother talking to me. However, my mother—relationship builder that she is—decided that she would shoulder the majority of responsibility for organizing and hosting an Open House party for my graduation.
Then, sitting in my Human Physiology class—one of the hardest I've ever taken, and that's from the valedictorian—I decided I would give Luthor a call. Whim was a pretty neat way of getting away with stuff, if acted out properly.
During lunch, I grabbed my cellular from my locker, and started dialing the number for the LexCorp switchboard; Luthor hadn't given me the direct line to his office.
As soon as I dialed the first number, my phone lit up and started ringing—loudly. There was a slight fear that some femi-Nazi teacher would confiscate it, which milled around in the back of my brain, I pressed the green call button and whispered into the receiver. I didn't bother looking at the display to see who was calling.
"Hello?"
"Allen. It's Lex. Don't interrupt. This conversation has been calculated to last exactly forty-eight seconds." Lex sounded deeply sinister, as if he were concerned about something; concealing some dark, dirty secret.
"Uh…okay."
"Good. Allen, I'm sending my helicopter for you. If my estimations are correct, you're at school, right?"
"Right. What's the matter?"
"Whitehorse, right? In Queensland Park?"
"Yeah, well, on the outer edge. North-northwest, I guess you could say."
"Good. My chopper will be there shortly. Be ready to go."
"Fair enough, but…where am I going, exactly?"
"My office. I've some important matters to discuss. Be ready to go when Hope gets there," he concluded ominously.
Then, like a bad dream, Lex Luthor disconnected the line. For what seemed like an eternity, I just stood in the middle of the hallway, staring at my phone, totally in the dark as to how Luthor got my cell number, or what he possibly wanted with me. What bugged me even more--who was this Hope person he spoke of? The low-carb version of Mercy?
I spent the rest of the day in study hall, waiting for the principal to come and tell me to get the hell out of his school for allowing Lex Luthor's private chopper to land on the front lawn.
And land it did. In the middle of the empty front parking lot, on the blazing hot asphalt. At twelve-thirty precisely--a mere ten minutes after Lex hung up on me--his jet-black, narrow-bodied personal helicopter. On the side, emblazoned in sharp gold lettering, was a single capital letter L inside a perfectly round gold circle—the corporate logo of LexCorp International. Only here, in the place where he had not influenced me so far, did he show his power so visibly. I admired his tenacity, but a part of me kept wondering: why the grandiose, Lex? Through the front glass windows, I could see an African American woman. Dressed in the same manner as Mercy, who had served me lunch a week before, this woman was starkly beautiful in her form-fitted chauffeurs outfit--perhaps more so than Mercy.
The noise of the propellers whirring was so loud that, through the empty halls of Whitehorse High School, it echoed into every room; disrupting lectures, distracting students and teachers alike, and sending throngs of both to the window to see the commotion.
I stood from my desk in Study Hall, walked right out through the front hallway, and stared at the chopper, in its glory. Oddly enough, the study hall monitor didn't stop me; she and 600 other members of the faculty and student body were totally engrossed in the cavalier way Luthor brandished his power.
The African American woman stepped out of the helicopter she herself piloted, and approached me. People say I'm tall--at a mere 5'10'', but this lady…she towered over me. I estimated she was a good 6 feet…if not more.
Her voice was…unsettlingly calm, as if she had nothing at all to hide from anyone.
"Allen O'Neill, I presume?"
"Yes, that's…that's me," I said blankly.
"Good," she said. "My name is Hope. Step aboard and we can get going."
I followed suit and fell in step behind her.
Once aboard the copter, I watched the school fall away as craft itself lurched higher to a comfortable altitude. Hope sat in the tan-colored leather seat across from me, slouching, looking at me the way a scientist looks at an ant colony—the same wonder, I suspected, filling her brain. Something about her body language told me she would be slightly more genial to me than Mercy was.
Or so I hoped.
Five short minutes later, Luthor's helicopter landed on a landing pad at the Flatiron seaport, a few blocks south of the business district. Hope ushered me out of the chopper and into a waiting Cadillac limousine. I got in, buckled the seatbelt. Lex was sitting across from me.
"Afternoon."
"Uh…hi," I said, uneasy, to say the least. I had been whisked away from school for reasons not yet clear to me, so I was, at best, unawares.
"I hope you weren't occupied at school."
"Oh, no, Lex. I just finished an exam." That was a lie, I knew, but when business--especially Lex Luthor's--called you, it was wise to answer. The limo pulled onto Flatiron Boulevard and headed north towards the LexTower.
"I suspect you're hungry."
"A fair assessment, Lex."
"Then you wouldn't mind some lunch? My executive chef has it laid out special for us. Chilean Sea bass. Delicious, if memory serves."
I suddenly found myself at ease; food has that effect on the psyche. I replied absent-mindedly, "That sounds great, Lex."
"Good."
The limo rolled on, towards the rapidly approaching LexTower.
We arrived at LexCorp at 12:30, having left the seaport at 12:15; traffic, even in mid-day, was murder. Lex ushered me out of the limo, through the front lobby, and into an express elevator. Flanking Luthor were his two guards--Hope and Mercy--and six other guards in bulky dark gear that looked like covert SWAT issue. A patch on the left shoulder told me they were the aptly-named 'Team Luthor'. I chuckled at Lex's painfully obvious hubris.
By 12:42, Lex was sitting behind his desk enjoying a custom-made Cuban cigar, and I was enjoying a modest Filet Mignon served by one of Luthor's personal chefs.
I cut into it as Luthor began speaking.
"Again, I am sorry to have dragged you away from school."
"Again, I say: it's no problem."
"Well, good. It shouldn't have been. Your teachers…had everything arranged when I told them I had to 'borrow' you for an afternoon."
My attention went to Luthor immediately. He stubbed out his cigar, looked at me with a slight smile and continued.
"Allen, I see no use in lying to you."
"All right," I replied skeptically. If what he as getting at was true, then Lex Luthor had paid off my teachers—told them to give me, say, a passing grade on my exams—just so he could borrow me for an afternoon. "I'd hate to think you bribed my teachers just so you could shanghai me for an hour."
Was Lex capable of such a thing? My instincts—which were usually dead-on—told me no. Luthor was the greatest philanthropist the world had ever seen; his wealth channeling to over a hundred businesses throughout the world. What business would a sinfully-rich man have in paying off some meaningless teachers?
"In a hundred years, no one will remember me, or what I'm about to do for you. But they will remember the legacy Lex Luthor left to those he truly appreciated," Lex said modestly. As I had known him, Lex was a very modest man, yet so completely self-assured. Both traits, mixed in the proper proportions, were desirable…admirable.
He turned and formed his hands into fists, anchored them to his desk and focused his weight on them; he towered over me like a giant black monolith.
I interjected: "What is it you find so appealing about me, Lex?"
He smiled, sat back down in his chair, and removed a manila folder from his desk. "It's the hair, I swear. I always had a liking for blondes," he said jokingly, waiting for a reaction.
And there was one—I was stunned. Aghast, myriad of thoughts began buzzing in my conscious: did Lex Luthor just…come on to me? Lex slid the manila folder across the table and said, "I'm kidding, Allen. In this packet is everything you'll need to know."
"About what?" I glanced doubtingly at him, then opened it. The first sheet of paper was a formally-typed, letter announcing some kind of scholarship. I noticed the official LexCorp letterhead and corporate logo. Before I got the chance to read the letter, Luthor interpolated.
"I'm prepared to offer you 100% tuition coverage at the college of your choice. Renewable for as long as you attend there."
I dropped the packet and letter to the floor, and stared at him blankly. Luthor moved to the front of his desk, hoisted one leg up on it as if he looked like one of those old-time billiard players ready to make the game-winning shot. I guessed he had more gusto than they ever did. Guessed.
"You…you're joking," I countered skeptically.
"Hardly. I've known you for only a few short days, but you've already proven yourself worthy of such an award."
"I…don't know what to say, Lex."
"You don't have to say anything. But before I have Hope take you home, I do need some information on you—college of choice, intended major. And then there are the financial items. You may submit those items to me at your leisure, but I've spoken with your counselors and they do need the information before commencement."
"Of course," I said, nodding my head in agreement.
I put the materials back in the folder and looked past Luthor, out the window, and saw a dark shape moving closer to the panoramic glass. Immediately, I recognized the shape of a man flying in; the long, angular shoulders, the flowing red cape, the jet-black hair, the all-too-heroic spit curl ruffling in the wind, and the chiseled jaw line grinning cordially at me.
I stood and went to the window. Lex followed, and stood behind me. Barely, I could make out what he was saying.
"Alien," he whispered harshly. I looked back towards Luthor, as if questioning the validity of his claim, then looked back out the window. I had done limited research on the superhero known as Superman—it was hard not to know who he was, given my environs. In my studies, I found that he was indeed an alien, not from this planet, but a dead one. Under a yellow sun—our sun, more precisely—Superman was given extraordinary powers beyond those of normal men: heat-vision, ice-breath, near-invulnerability…the list of hyphenated augmentations went on, but I had basically come to the conclusion that Superman, selfless altruist that he was, was a snobbish commentary on the human race—we weren't able to handle things ourselves, so we had to rely on the scouts-honor gospel of an alien and those he associated with. His presence made me feel more confident in what Lex called "the Human Spirit". To Lex--and me--humans were quite capable of handling themselves…without the presence of a selfless ideologue with a bad fashion sense.
I recognized the now-visible red and yellow shield on his broad chest. I was, nonetheless, curious as to the nature of his impending visit. The so-called Man of Steel was flying not at his stereotypical horizontal attitude, but rather hovering gently towards the tower--upright--his cape flowing in perfect symmetry behind him.
Lex went to his desk, pressed a button on the armrest of his chair, and waited patiently for Superman's arrival. The button triggered a motion sensor which made two massive panels of the glass slide back, opening the office to the mid-day breeze. Beneath my feet, I heard the sound of gears whirring. I looked out the window to see a dark steel platform extending from underneath Luthor's office. Luthor gazed at the extending platform. I stepped back from the opening windows and stared apathetically at the so-called Man of Steel.
Superman landed, and threw his bright red cape back over his shoulders, revealing the large diamond 'S' shield which stretched from armpit to armpit. I was not impressed at his feeble attempt to sway my interest. Luthor brushed past me as I locked eyes with Superman. Luthor stuck one hand in his pocket, and inspected the fingernails on his free hand.
"Afternoon, Lex," Superman said augustly, yet snobbishly, as if completely assured of his own supremacy.
"Superman," Lex said flatly. He, too, was unimpressed by Superman. "Might I offer you some Scotch? It's quite delightful."
Superman's attention shifted from the flighty billionaire to me. "Who's the kid?" he said accusingly. I rolled me eyes at the remark; no one calls me a kid. No one.
"This," Luthor said with a sigh, "is Allen O'Neill. Valedictorian of Whitehorse High School and this year's recipient of the LexCorp corporate scholarship program."
"Congratulations," Superman said, extending his arm to me, gesturing a handshake. Reluctantly, I looked at his hand for just a moment, and then accepted the handshake.
"Thank you," I said lightly. "I do what I can."
"It's so wonderful to know that there are good-hearted kids like you in Metropolis."
"Yes," Luthor said, interjecting. Superman glanced hatefully at him, as if Lex had just stolen Superman's thunder. "It gives me great hope for the future. A future that, you can be assured, we will both play a large role in, Superman."
Superman whirled his head as if he had just been shocked back to reality, and said, "Oh. Yes. Certainly."
He angled his head away from Lex momentarily, giving me the chance to shoot a mocking expression of Superman at Lex. At his chortling, Superman turned back and spoke to us.
"Well, I meant to be here on a bit more serious note, Lex. But there's an apartment fire up in Suicide Slum. Excuse me," Superman said as he rocketed out the window.
With a sneer, Lex returned to his desk, pressed the same red button, and the windows began coming together again. The metal platform began sliding back into the glimmering façade of the Tower as I turned to Lex. Lighting a cigar, he inhaled deeply and questioned me.
"So," he said, nodding towards the window. "Superman, eh?"
"What a phony," I said contemptuously. Lex smiled halfheartedly.
"A remarkable observation. I myself see Superman as something of a nuisance. He's always been the thorn in my proverbial paw."
"I can see why, Lex. God, I think I almost wanted to vomit."
"Oh? Why is that?"
"Everything about the man is so clichéd and self-righteous."
"Sometimes, being self-righteous is a good thing," Luthor said darkly.
"Can't argue with you there," I said. "But Superman...he's got an aura of false glory about him. It's like, the people...they love him simply for being who he is. They love him so much that they don't need any kind of proof that he's a hero. Well, I'm one of those people that like cream cheese with their bagel, without sounding trite."
"It's not enough that Superman is Superman; he's got to have some sort of claim to his name?"
"Exactly, Lex," I said, slamming my hand on the desk. "If he's really a hero, I myself need more proof than some smug Adonis freak that flies around saving people from their worst enemy."
"And who is this enemy?" Luthor leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. The afternoon sun was rapidly descending behind the Daily Planet globe in the distance, encasing Luthor in darkness.
"Ourselves. That's why I don't buy the whole hero thing.You fly around, acting with humanity's best interest in mind, and your reward is nothing, or at least the certain doom that comes with everyone thinking their Superman will save them. You know? Superman saves every doting reporter from here to Star City, and people start behaving unhealthily—living dangerously."
"Interesting outlook, Allen. Go on…please," Lex said darkly. "
"I hate having stuff handed to me Lex," I said. "I think you see that. I think Superman is the propaganda that tells people that someone will always be there to hand them something."
"A fair assessment," Luthor said. "I couldn't have said it any better. You believe in the human spirit, do you Allen?"
"Absolutely. This might sound like rambling, but…the news, WGBS...they all spin Superman as the savior of mankind. The helping hand that's there even if he's not needed. That's what bothers me about him."
"Alright. Let me ask you a question."
"Okay."
"If you had to pick one: God or nature?"
"Nature," I said, without hesitation. "God's never done my taxes."
"Neither has nature."
"True, but at least I can see the real truth of nature—what it really is and how it functions. Superman might have the powers of a god, but I see him as a nut with a messiah complex. How else do you account for the bright colors, the hideously-overdone Boy Scout act, and the all-too-common need to hide his true self from us?"
A wide smile came across Luthor's face. My brow furled, and I questioned him.
"What?"
"My boy, you're the greatest."
"What does that mean?"
"I've never met a man of your caliber. I can see now why I chose to give you that scholarship."
"And why is that, Lex?" I purposely made my voice sound witty, if only to press my luck with Luthor.
"You're a realist--a character trait that is seriously lacking among today's population."
"Yeah," I said, staring at the floor. Lex immediately took notice of my action and inquired. It was amazing, I guess, how my mood turns from complete Superman-bashing into…well, sadness would be putting it lightly…in a matter of a few seconds. The human spirit, I thought. It's a curious thing.
"What is it, my boy?"
"It's…thanks for the compliment and everything, but…"
"But what?" Luthor stood and approached me. Dropping to one knee, he put his hand on my shoulder and softened his voice.
"You can tell me, Allen. You will tell me. Won't you?" And there it was again, the hints of coming on to me. For a moment, the "Dr. Frankenstein" speech ran through my head: Dear Lord, what have I done? The answer was not easily attainable.
"My parents…"
"Ah," he said, standing and leaning on his desk. "Let me guess. You told them you met the legendary Lex Luthor, and they don't believe you?"
"Not at all," I said, still very much interested in the floor.
"Well, then," he said, straightening his jacket. "Every theory begs to be disproved at least once."
