"Hello?"
"You suck!"
"What did I do this time?"
"You had yet another homicidal super-teen running around Smallville and you don't even call me?"
"What, that kid? He was, he's just…"
"Yeah, didn't think you'd be able to finish that sentence. Anyway, what the hell?"
"I don't know. I'm beginning to think this is all a bad dream. One day I'll wake up, and be in a normal town, where people don't throw trucks around and break people in half."
"He broke somebody in half?"
"Well. Clark."
"Clark's broken?!"
"Calm down, he's fine. Just a few cracked ribs. But…"
"You sound kind of pissed."
"I am."
"Because you couldn't kiss it better?"
"Because it means Roger's scenario of what happened couldn't be right. Clarks's normal, and my brain is remembering something that didn't really happen."
"Better than not remembering something that did happen, I guess."
"Hallucinations are better than a bad memory?"
"Well, more exciting."
"Anyway, I'm dropping the whole thing. It's interfering with my ability to function on a day-to-day basis."
Silence.
"Lilly? You still there?"
"I'm having an internal struggle. Give me a minute."
"Oops."
Silence. "Okay. Let the record show that I still want the whole thing to stay dropped, because you getting all nosy about Clark is weird, unless you're going to admit your love for him, in which case, nose away—"
"Lill—"
"But I don't know what Roger's scenario was."
"Didn't I tell you about that?"
"Uh, no."
"Oh. Well, it happened just before everything, so—it doesn't matter, he was wrong. Clark's just a farmer-in-training."
"Just a good old boy, never meanin' no harm."
"Huh. Maybe if I got him a General Lee car, he'd like me."
"Clark likes you already."
"I meant Mr. Kent. He looks a little like the younger one."
"Bo Duke?"
"Yeah."
"Mr. Kent looks like Bo Duke?"
"Yes."
"Really?"
"Please tell me you're over your crush on the Dukes of Hazzard."
"I'll never be over my crush on the Dukes of Hazzard! They're beautiful!"
"You're deeply disturbed."
"Shut up. Mr. Piggy."
"Don't bring that up."
"Sittin' in the living room, watchin' the Muppet Show, sticking pins into a Voodoo Kermit doll. And I'm disturbed."
"Eleven-year-olds have weird ideas."
"'Eleven.' Right. Because you're so totally over her."
"Shut up."
"You shut up."
"What were we talking about?"
"No clue. Hey, what did you get me for my birthday?"
"It's your birthday soon?"
"Lex."
"Because the e-mail that I get every morning, saying, 'List of Things To Do: Get Lilly a present, get Lilly another present, drive ass up to Metropolis to give Lilly presents, get Lilly another present while in Metropolis—'"
"You're just reading it off the monitor."
"But I don't have to, is my point. Since you've sent me the same e-mail for a week now."
"I'm just trying to make sure you come. With presents."
"Well, I could always wrap up Mr. Kent for you."
"That's gross. And also intriguing."
"Talk to you later."
"Bye. Love you."
*
"Hello, Dad. I've been meaning to call you—"
"Hello, son! How's business? Those adolescents staying nice and non-homicidal for ya?"
"Wow, Lilly, you had me completely fooled."
"I'm a brilliant mimic."
"Enrique said Dad wanted to talk to me."
"Well, he did, but then you didn't get on the phone within five seconds, so he started muttering, but instead of hanging up, he tossed the phone to me. Thereby forcing me to figure out something clever to talk about so you wouldn't feel like an idiot."
"You failed."
"But I failed with style. Did you get the invitation?"
"Yes, and the costume."
"Hee hee."
"I'm not wearing it."
"You have to! It's a masquerade, the whole point is to wear costumes and be all—"
"The whole point is to be someone you're not, and disguise yourself."
"Which you do all the time, anyway."
"The guests are supposed to choose their own costumes."
"That's the virtue of being the birthday girl. I get to make my own rules. And it's scientifically chosen, so you can't argue."
"Scientifically chosen?"
"Well, I put pictures of everyone I was inviting on my webpage, and asked my readers whom they most resembled, and it was either that or Ghandi, so I thought—"
"I'm not wearing the costume."
"Bruce is wearing his."
"Who did they think he looked like?"
"Young Clint Eastwood. He does, too."
"Hmph. So Bruce'll be there?"
"Apparently he got three out of his four personalities to agree to come, yes. And he's bringing a big present. And dressing up like Clint Eastwood."
"At least Clint Eastwood's a real person. Lilly, I hate to hang up, but I'm kind of in the middle of something with—"
"Hold on. Oh, we've got to go. Apparently Dad wanted to discuss the new parking lot you're building in Smallville, but he says… that it can keep. He's being kind of mean today."
"Is he right there in the room?"
"Yep. And giving me a dirty look. And handing me my coat. Got to go."
"Were are you going?"
"Opera. Again."
"Have fun."
"Bye."
*
"Whazzuuuuuup?!?"
Silence.
"Bumpy?"
"Okay, it is you."
"Duh. Sorry. I'm watching TV. There's a really annoying commercial on. Wait a sec… okay. So, what's up?"
"Well—here's the thing."
"I'm so nervous when you start conversations like this."
"Someone broke into the house last night."
"Oh, that. I know."
Silence. "And how do you know?"
"Because I can read."
"I'm going to have to start bribing people at the Ledger if they keep telling you about my life before I get a chance to—"
"Spin it?"
"Present my side of the story."
"Paper says you didn't report anything stolen."
"Well, not much was stolen."
"I have a feeling that you're lying right now."
"Would I lie to you?"
"In a second. Is Chloe Sullivan all right?"
"No, but she will be. It could've been a lot worse."
"It says she was over at your house and got thrown out the window. What was she doing there?"
"I'd have thought that Dr. Morrisette would have filled Dad in on all the details by now."
"What's Dr. Morrisette have to do with anything?"
"He and his posse flew in last night to work on Chloe."
"Well, I'm sure he told Dad. Dad, however, neglected to tell me."
"I thought the therapy was all about channels of communication."
"Yeah, well, therapy didn't take into account the fact that Dad has no sense of humor."
"Uh-oh."
"It's nothing, I thought he'd be over it by now, but he gave me the silent treatment the whole week, and… oh, whatever. He's just dumb."
"What'd you do?"
"Well. Somebody dropped off a packet the other day for Dad. It was all these Photoshopped pictures of him. So I messed with his head a little bit."
"You opened the packet?"
"Of course I opened the packet. I live here, I snoop here. So I took one of the pictures and put it in Dad's briefcase to freak him out, and now he's all mad."
"You put one in his briefcase."
"Right before he went into the meeting with the board about Hardwick Enterprises. He was so pissed."
"Really."
"Yeah. He actually grounded me for two days."
"That must have been terrible. What were the pictures of?"
"Oh… just, you know, some compromising pictures. If it wasn't obvious they were fake."
"It's obvious they were fake?"
"Well—okay, they were really good fakes but there's no way he would've been doing… what… he was doing. With the person he was apparently doing it with. But it was so bizarre—he usually thinks that kind of thing is hilarious, and this time he just flipped for some reason."
"So much for channels of communication."
"Yeah. Anyway, Chloe. She was at your house for a booty call, or what?"
"Chloe and Clark were there—"
"Woah!"
"—Interviewing me for an article she's writing."
"Oh."
"You're disgusting."
"Hee, but I didn't say anything, and you just automatically assumed that's what I was thinking about."
"You're always thinking about that with Clark."
"So are you."
"Shut up."
"You let Chloe interview you? You hate interviews."
"That's why I let her do it. If I only give interviews to the up-and-coming kids—"
"Then you don't have to answer the tough questions, because they haven't learned yet how to press for answers. Plus, they'll feel grateful to you."
"Sometimes you're inconveniently psychic."
"Part of my charm. So Clark was there?"
"Operating the camera. Or trying to."
"And he didn't manage to save the day?"
"Trust me, he's already beaten himself up over it quite enough."
"Maybe he should. He's hazardous to people's health."
"He's hazardous to his own health."
"That, too. So his ribs are all better."
"Um… yeah, they are. He seems fine again. But he didn't save Chloe from falling, so he's obviously to blame for what happened to her."
"He's so cute when he's angsty."
"No comment."
"So, Chloe'll be all right, and you apparently had nothing stolen, so what was the thing?"
"The 'thing'?"
"You said there was a thing."
"I said—right. I wanted to know if you were still friends with Charlie."
"Charlie from MetroSecurity? Yeah."
"Damn."
"What?"
"I was going to fire him."
"Fire him?!"
"But, judging by the tone in your voice, I won't be doing that."
"Fucking A right you won't be doing that! What the hell?"
"They broke into my house last night and into my safe, and that's not supposed to happen!"
"Well, then—then maybe the house breaker-inners were supernatural people too! But you don't just fire people because—"
"Because the service for which I hired them has been rendered futile by supernatural bad guys?"
"Right! God, just, I don't know, yell at him or something, don't fire him. He's trying his best!"
"He needs to try a little harder, if he wants to stay my chief of security."
"Well, I kind of agree there."
"Actually living somewhere around here might be a step in the right direction."
"Call him up and tell him that. It's not my fault."
"You hired him."
"I did not. I actually did, but MetroSecurity really is the best, so it wasn't just because—"
"Because you still have a crush on him."
"Stop finishing my sentences. And shut up."
"No denial there?"
"Hanging up now. Yell at somebody else."
"I'll do that."
*
"Hello?"
"I thought Smallville was overdue for a parking lot."
"Lilly, it's two in the morning."
"I am very well aware of that. I am also aware that Dad just came in, tossed some plan on my bed, and said you were starting a competition against Starbucks, and walked out. Which I guess is my cue to berate you, since you and Dad are still doing that weird don't-acknowledge-each-other's-existence thing."
"We acknowledge each other's existence."
"Not by choice. Are you going to tell me why the two of you—"
"No."
"Fine. So. The Talon."
"Yes."
"It looks nice."
"You think it looks nice?"
"You honestly want me to tell you what I really think?"
"Not at two a.m., I don't."
"Okay. It looks great. G'night."
"Wait."
"What?"
Sigh. "What do you really think?"
"Look, I'm tired too. I just wanted to let you know that Dad was all pissed off for a whole new reason, now."
"He wanted the parking lot, instead?"
"He wants the heir to behave like an heir, not a rival."
"Maybe he should start treating me like one."
"Well, maybe you should talk to him about that."
"Hmph."
"Okay, I can't keep my eyes open, so I'm going to throw this projection—which looks like absolute ass, by the way, I can't believe somebody actually convinced you to do this with this piece of shit—away, and go to sleep."
"Heh."
"What?"
"You read any of it?"
"Just looked at the sketches. Why?"
"Read the title page."
Paper rustles. "What about it?"
"Okay, put your glasses on and read it."
"Oh. My. God."
"Lana Lang, entrepreneur."
"And Nell Potter, crack whore. Together again in the hit sci-fi comedy series 'Smallville'. God, I really just hate them both beyond all reason."
"You really do."
"Now I won't be able to sleep."
"Sorry."
"I'm going to set rats loose in this place the minute I get there."
"It's opening the night after your birthday party. You sure you'll be up to it?"
"You wear the costume and I'll come."
"That was the wrong tactic."
"You wear the costume and I won't come."
"That's a better offer."
"'Night."
"Good night."