"SNAP" by ingrid
~*~
Martin Olsen knew it was going to be a shitty day, possibly from the second he got up.
His boy Jimmy had what seemed to be the start of the flu, all aching stomach and pale face and he felt terrible leaving the little guy to shiver in bed, but Miriam had that covered, even if she complained that she always had to be the one who took days off from work to watch their son, but she knew what a press photographer's life was like, from the day she married him.
Or so he continually hoped.
Things went downhill from there, as rain and wind destroyed his five-dollar umbrella, then soaked through his thin overcoat and he'd just shaken the last drops from his arms when the Sections Editor called him into the office for his daily assignment.
"Lex Luthor. Metropolis General. Eleven a.m, but get there early. He always seems to draw a crowd," said Perry White, chewing on a cigar butt that had seen better days, maybe years.
"Wonder why," Olson returned dryly, only half kidding. Luthor the Younger was a damned brat with the press, insolent at best, violent at worst, especially to the paparazzi who'd stalked him relentlessly as a youth. "What's he there for? Have they finally learned how to transplant personalities?"
"Opening another wing. Some sort of rehab. I don't know, Carlton's covering the text. Just be sure you get anything unusual, which is a definite possibility. He's not the old hand his father was."
Martin laughed. "Lionel. He could unscrew a Pepsi bottle with his ass, that slick bastard. You know, he used to time my shutter so he could blink in sync with it, I swear. Never had one shot of him with his eyes closed ever."
"Yeah, yeah, we all miss him," Perry muttered. "Get going. Traffic is hell."
"Right." Martin quickly checked three of his lenses and tucked a spare flash in his bag just in case. Thirty rolls of film -- too much, but even too much was never enough. He tucked five more in his pockets, just in case.
One crucial missed shot would be the end of his career.
Traffic was hell, and he was wet again when he shoved his way into the Metropolis General mezzanine. The usual crew was there, from The Inquisitor on down (not that you could get much lower than The Inquisitor) and Carrie Castle was lurking somewhere in the background, hovering, as was her wont even though she'd made managing editor years before.
She was something of a Luthor hound, her once-pretty face grown pinched with frustration at the secrets the Luthors never seemed to give up, or, if they did, the price was too high for even the most ambitious journalist to pay.
The city press never did find out exactly what happened to Roger Nixon after all.
A lackey was at the podium, and Olsen began to hit the shutter, just to check his lenses and flash meter. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us today. If you don't mind, may I ask you to please come this way."
Olsen glanced at Carlton, who shrugged in reply. The herd followed the lackey down slightly less sterile halls and into what appeared to be a large conference room, altered to accommodate a luncheon party, with drinks and buffet tables and a number of good-looking waiters stood smiling, already holding out trays of champagne to the surprised crowd.
"Compliments of Mr. Luthor," said the lackey. "He'll be out in a few minutes. Enjoy."
Olsen tried not to laugh as he balanced a champagne glass between the three fingers not holding camera equipment and tossed the contents down with a gulp.
Hey, it was the good stuff, and Olsen smacked his lips with appreciation. The smell of food began to waft through the air and the mood in the room lightened considerably. If Luthor was going to feed them, well that might be a different matter entirely.
A tap at the podium, and Olsen nearly dropped the glass in his haste to get his camera up, as Lex Luthor stood smiling under the retracted hospital lighting, the yellow glow more flattering than one would have thought atop a bald man just entering his thirties.
He was dressed casually, in black was that a leather jacket? Whatever it was, it was expensive and shiny and soft looking, and paired with a T-shirt and slacks, even Olsen had to admit the guy had a flair for style.
Over to the side, stood someone Olsen had never seen before at Luthor's press conferences. A tall fellow, really good-looking, dressed in camel suede and a matching black shirt, smiling angelically in Luthor's direction as the man behind the podium waited for the first flashes to die down.
"Thank you for coming," said Luthor, bending a little to speak directly into the microphone. "As you might know from the press release, I'm here to dedicate this wing of Metropolis General to the city of Metropolis, in my mother's name. It will be called the Lillian Luthor Wing For Research and Treatment of Substance Abuse and Disease, and I'm very proud to be able to make this addition, in the name of science and public health."
A wild burst of snaps as Luthor straightened up and shook the hand of the department head, some doctor whose name Olsen hoped Carlton would get the spelling right.
"And that's it from up here," Lex said. "I'm going to be getting something to eat now, and any questions you have, I'll be glad to answer but from the floor, if that's all right."
Olsen's jaw nearly hit his chest. A Luthor answering questions from the floor? Unheard of. He wasn't the only one struck silent as Lex gracefully stepped down from the stage, holding his hand out and motioning for the young man to follow suit.
Both young men laughed, as Olsen raised his camera and just kept hitting the release. He was no longer listening to the surrounding buzz, he was concentrating instead on the story unfolding in front of his lens, the story that was his to tell versus the words the reporters would extract, transcribe and examine.
He told his story through his pictures. This was his art and his life and he would have no other, and he followed Luthor around the room, letting the moments evolve.
Luthor kept talking with the reporters, still smiling, and the tall dark-haired young man didn't leave his side. Lex accepted a glass of champagne and offered it to his companion who refused it with a chuckle. More smiles then from Luthor, who was reaching surreptitiously behind with long fingers, so as to brush them along the large hand that was hovering somewhere near his waist.
The shutter recorded the interaction, one frame at a time, and Olsen kept his eye trained, watching silently as other photographers pushed and pulled at each other, trying to gain better vantage.
He sidestepped them, camera down. The instrument of his trade could be either a compliment or a weapon, this he knew well, and if he wanted the best, most unique picture
"Hey, Lex," he said, in his best "Yo, Joe!" voice. "Who's your friend?"
A moment of profound silence from the gathered journalists as Lex fixed Olsen with a keen look, eye meeting eye. There was tension, if only because of Luthor's reputation and temper and
"This friend?" He reached out and pulled the young man to his side, arm around the taller man's waist, hand splayed over his stomach in an intimate touch. A huge smile followed -- a lover's smile. "This is Clark." He turned. "Wave to the camera Clark."
"Shut up, Lex," Clark whispered, unwilling, or perhaps unable, to stop beaming. His smile widened more, if that were possible, and the flicshkt! of dozens of shutters went off at once.
"Clark's my companion," Lex exclaimed, laughingly. "And yes, that's c-o-m-p-a-n-I-o-n and no, you're not getting anything more than that."
As if we'd needed more than that, thought Olsen, almost dizzy from the sheer magnitude of the scoop. "Clark!" he called out. "Lex how about a kiss then? Come on guys, don't be shy. You look good together."
Luthor raised a thin eyebrow at him. "You think so, Olsen?"
"Sure!" What the hell. Olsen didn't give a shit who Luthor was sleeping with, as long as he got his snap. And, it was true, they did look good together, smiling and if Luthor got any happier, he'd probably have to change his name.
Or maybe he already had. "Come on," Olsen wheedled. "Make some noise, guys. Show the world the romantic side of Lex Luthor."
At this, Lex laughed outright. His companion did as well. "Okay, Olsen. Put this in your darkroom and smoke it." With that, he turned in Clark's arms and entwined, they laughed again, before reaching in for a gentle, humorful lip-lock.
"That's great, guys," Olsen encouraged, praying with every part of his soul that his film wasn't going to run out. "Give us some more."
The other photographers cursed and shoved their way forward and yell out more encouragement, but Luthor waved them off. "I think that's quite enough for one afternoon, boys. How about some questions about the wing? I'll even take some LexCorp stuff, but if any of you ask about the aerospace plans "
To hell with aerospace, Olsen thought, practically running to the door, his cell phone in hand, hitting the speed dial frantically. He had snaps in his bag, and what snaps they were, and amid even all the chaos of his electrically charged brain, there was a tiny part of him impressed with this Luthor versus the old one.
Lex Luthor had guts, that much Olsen had to admit, as Perry picked up his line, already yelling. Guts and there now was something new and impressive to be found in the Luthor legacy
A man who wasn't afraid to blink.
Not even in the camera's candid eye.
~*~
fin