Drone
"Hello?"
"You suck as a businessman."
"What?"
"Seriously. This place is dead."
"What?"
"What happened to all the bru-ha-ha and all the excitement and all the 'I'm going to be the next Starbucks king' of a month ago? This is just sad."
"What?"
"This is your sister."
"Yes. I gathered that part. Where are—oh. When did you get into town?"
"A few minutes ago. I was going to surprise you when you came in to get your coffee, but then I got depressed."
"And you had to tell me about it right away."
"Well, half the fun of depression is sharing it with other people."
"And writing poetry."
"Right—shut up! It was one poem, it was for a class project, and I can't believe you haven't forgotten about that. And you suck."
"It was a Spenserian stanza, and some things are hard to forget. And what's with all the sucking? Your vocabulary used to be more comprehensive, especially when it came to insulting me."
"I ran out of my Dis of the Day toilet paper."
Silence. "Was that sarcasm?"
"Shut up."
"Well, it's often hard to tell with you."
"You suck. Are you coming in for your coffee or what?"
"Yes."
"When?."
"I'm on the road as we speak. I just have to go home and change."
"Did Homer Simpson spill something on you again?"
"His name is Gabe Sullivan, and he's more competent than you give him credit for."
"How many times has he dumped stuff all over you?"
"… about three times."
"Really?"
"…not including today."
"So I think he's exactly as competent as I give him credit for. Anyway, hurry up."
"You have some new insults you want to try to my face?"
"Well, yeah, that too. But I need some advice, so move your ass."
"You want my advice?"
"Yes. The planets are in that alignment again."
"Oh, God."
"Come on, it'll be fun! You can act all patronizing and superior, which is like what you normally do, only this time I'll actually listen to what you're saying and won't make fun of you."
Silence.
"Much."
"Is this really a planetary alignment kind of occasion, or are we going to have The Talk? That's really more Dad's responsibility than mine."
"Okay, first of all, I can't even imagine getting The Talk from Dad; I'd wind up like some latter-day Luzcrezia Borgia. And second, if I wanted to ask Dad about it, I'd take a few aspirin and lie down until the feeling went away, so could you please just shut up and help out a relative, here?"
"So what happened?"
"Nothing, I just need a little advice. And since you're my big brother, and you're a guy, I figured you'd be helpful in this one, extremely isolated occasion."
"'You're my brother, and you're a guy.' This isn't going to be one of those conversations where I end up hiring a guy named Vito to break someone's kneecaps, is it?"
"No."
"Because this isn't a secured line."
"No Tonya Harding, I promise. Just get over here so we can talk."
"I can't wait. See you in about a half-hour."
"I'll either be here or at that bookstore a few doors down."
*
Ring. Ring. "Hi. If you have this number, you know what to do."
Beep. "Hans, I need you out on Route 90, two miles east of the mansion. A red Mustang with engine trouble."
*
"Hey there."
"Hans?"
"Oh. Sorry about that. Punched the wrong speed dial."
"Hans?"
"It doesn't matter anyway; false alarm. Some reporter named Karen Castle trying to get an interview."
"Hans?"
"Uh-oh."
"You thought I was Hans."
"I said I was sorry."
"I am not Hans."
"True."
"Nor do I resemble, in any way, a 300-pound Swede with a handlebar mustache."
"Well, I keep telling you to do something about that harelip, but—"
"Shut up!"
"Heh."
"Asshole."
"Your ego's fine."
"Yeah, but my harelip might never recover. Didn't you listen to the message? Since when does Hans sound like an 18-year-old Metropolitan?"
"I was distracted. Why didn't you answer, anyway?"
"I was in a bookstore. You can't have a cell phone on in a bookstore."
"You were at the DogEared Bookstore."
"Your point?"
"It's not exactly Barnes and Noble."
"In God's eyes, all bookstores are equally sacred."
"As godlike as we Luthors may appear, we're not gods."
"So, in your eyes, it's either the Strand or nothing?"
"I'm a little nervous about the Strand, to be honest. But yes."
"Hmph. So what was with the Mustang?"
"I told you. Some woman trying to get an interview."
"By making her engine fall out?"
"I didn't say it fell out, I said there was engine trouble."
"Yeah, but remember the last time you were talking about engine trouble?"
"No—oh, God."
"'Oh, Lilly? I think we might have a little bit of engine trouble.' 'Really, Lex, whatever could you mean?' 'Well, Lilly, it appears that our engine fell off the back of the boat, Lilly.' 'Oh, shit, Lex.' Sound familiar?"
"That wasn't my fault."
"You were the one in the back of the boat. Bruce says it's not possible for a boat engine to do that, by the way. Plus we owe him five thousand dollars."
"That was a five thousand dollar boat?"
"No, that was a two thousand dollar boat; it was a three thousand dollar fishing kit that went down with the boat."
"Oh."
"It's amazing that we survived that."
"The hip waders didn't help."
"Hip waders, as I think their name implies, only help to keep out water if the wearer is in water that comes up to the hips. Beyond that, I think it's every man for himself."
"If I have to look like something off the Fishing Network, I expect a little more in the way of buoyancy."
"You should buy the company and make them put little floaties at the top, so you can float if the water does go past the hips."
"Laugh now, but L.L. Bean will sell out of them in a week."
"Did the water marks ever come out of the seats?"
"Hans is still working on it."
"Yeah. Try to remember which speed dial is his. Why is Hans on your speed dial, anyway?"
"I tend to have a somewhat higher turnover rate of vehicles than the average consumer."
"That's a snotty way of saying you're accident-prone."
"Hey, I'm a snotty guy."
"Good afternoon, Mr. Luthor, what can I get for you?"
"Hi, Sarah. Two cappuccinos with whipped cream, please."
"Coming right up."
Silence.
"'Mr. Luthor'?"
"Don't start."
"They call you 'Mr. Luthor' here?"
"What do you think they call me at the factory?"
"Well, to your face—"
"Don't start."
"Fine. Okay. You're no fun when you're pouty, by the way."
"I'm not pouty, I'm just disgruntled."
"By the reporter woman—Karen Carpenter?"
"Castle."
"Whatever. Why did you stop, anyway?"
"I believe that every citizen in this country has a duty to help his or her fellow patriot in times of need."
"Mmm-hmm. How long were her legs?"
"All the way up and all the way down."
"Hee. And ew."
"Hey, do you want to do a little investigating?"
"No."
"It'll be fun."
"Fun like last time?"
"Fun like every time. She works for the Metropolis Journal, she claims she's writing a puff piece on me…" Pause. "Why aren't you writing this down?"
"I'm not skulking around town for you again."
"You like to skulk."
"I do not like to skulk, I… just happen to have a flair for it. Anyway, I can't. I've got other stuff."
"Other stuff? Like what?"
"Like stuff. I have my own little subplots too, you know. They might not be an integral part of the Lex Luthor Comedy Hour, but they're key to my character development."
"You're not really a superhero, are you?"
"Bite me."
"It's not nice to leave me in the dark about it. The least you could do is tell your own brother about your superpowers."
"Yes, know me and tremble, for I am SarcastaGirl, wielder of wry witticisms and iron irony, defender of… I ran out of cleverness."
"Quite some time ago, I'd say."
"Defender of dry drollness? I don't know. Anyway, yes, I'm actually a superhero. I've got spandex and everything."
Silence.
"Sorry. Too much information?"
"Much too much. My sister in spandex is not something I want to contemplate."
"Hey, I'm a gymnast, we're all about the spandex. Why do you want to research this woman anyway?"
"So you'll do it."
"I didn't say that."
"Because anyone writing a 'puff piece' on a Luthor has something up her sleeve."
"You know when you use those air quotes, you look really stupid, right? Maybe she's just a homicidal maniac trying to torture and kill you."
"These days, that would at least have the comfort of familiarity."
"Okay. I'll check my sources. But I'm not promising anything."
"Thanks. So. What do you want to do this weekend?"
"Well, if I'm going to pump my informants for anything on this reporter woman, I don't think I can stay."
"Just make sure you wash your hands afterward."
"Shut up. And tell Lana that her service needs to be a leeeeetle faster than this, since I'm now going on the road with no caffeine."
"I'll be sure to do that."
"I'll call when I get anything on Catherine Keener."
"Karen Castle."
"Whatever."
"Hey, what did you want my advice on?"
"Oh. Nothing, it's all good."
"It is?"
"Yeah. I bought Women are from Venus, Men are from Mars from the bookstore, so I'm set."
"God help us all."
*
"Hello?"
"So?"
"So what?"
"What have you found?"
"Found about what?"
"What game are we playing here, the one where every sentence is a question, or the one where we use the last word the other person used first?"
"First of all, what makes you think I've got time for word games, and second of all, don't you realize I can whip your ass at either one?"
"One win, and suddenly you're Rosencrantz?"
"Rosencrantz?"
"Foul, you can't just repeat what the other person said."
"Fine. You win, I lose."
"Have you found out anything about Castle yet?"
"Not yet."
"Lilly, I asked you for this stuff yesterday."
"Remind me to kill myself if I ever have to actually work for you, instead of doing you favors like the one I'm doing for you right now."
"Call me as soon as you have something."
"I told you I'd do that, so if you don't mind, I'm going to go now and do my thing."
"The thing where you pump informants, or the thing with the spandex, or the thing with the grade-point average? Hello?"
*
To: nolimetangere@hotmail.com
From: sarcastagirl@aol.com
Subject: [None]
Is this address safe?
To: sarcastagirl@aol.com
From: nolimetangere@hotmail.com
Subject: RE: [None]
Relatively. Did you find something?
-L
To: nolimetangere@hotmail.com
From: sarcastagirl@aol.com
Subject: Re: RE [None]
Attachment: Legs.doc
There's not much to find. I've got the major stuff—birth date and
place, college, etc.—attached, but don't expect much in the way of dirt. Basically, she's committed the cardinal sin
of being a woman and ambitious, which means that she's a bitch from hell who
probably slept her way to where she is now.
I don't think she's too nice, myself, but most of the opinions I've got
on her are from people who've got footprints or egg on their faces because of
her. She's kind of like what Dad must've
been like when he was in his twenties.
So, evil, but not evil in a way you're going to be able to use.
--Lilly
*~A large income is the best recipe for happiness I ever heard of. –Jane Austen~*
To: sarcastagirl@aol.com
From: nolimetangere@hotmail.com
Subject: RE: Re: RE: [None]
Thanks. Can you find out if her editor really wants
to have a piece on me, or if it's just her?
-L
To: nolimetangere@hotmail.com
From: sarcastagirl@aol.com
Subject: Ew.
"her editor really wants to have a
piece on me," is a direct cut-n-paste quote.
You're gross.
As far as I can tell, the Journal doesn't know what she's doing half the
time. She's just on her own with
whatever projects she does. Which
doesn't sound like your typical journalist, so either she's not very good—which
her work seems to refute—or the paper trusts her an awful lot. Or she's got a very powerful backer.
--Lilly
*~A large income is the best recipe for happiness I ever heard of. –Jane Austen~*
To: nolimetangere@hotmail.com
From: sarcastagirl@aol.com
Subject: Dumbass
Attachment: LxL 3-24-03.pdf
What the hell were you
thinking? Read it and weep.
To: sarcastagirl@aol.com
From: nolimetangere@hotmail.com
Subject: RE: Dumbass
Where did you get this?
-L
*
"Hello?"
"Where do you think I got it?"
"If I knew, I wouldn't ask."
"The nimrod isn't even smart enough to keep her computer offline when she's writing—I ripped it off her drive."
"Okay. Well."
"It's not a puff piece."
"You sound surprised."
"Not with her. With you. I didn't expect you to actually sit down and talk with her."
"I didn't. Exactly."
"What, she slept with you and you thought, gee, I really love that journalistic integrity she's got on under her skirt?"
"I did nothing of the kind, and—she distorted everything I said!"
"Duh, or course she did, she's a reporter for a crap newspaper who's going to smack you upside the head with your own moronicness! What did you expect?"
"I don't know. I thought it was a bluff."
Pause. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, I thought she wrote this draft, and she was going to show it to me and then I'd pay her off, or something. But—"
"Did you actually try to talk to her about this?"
"Of course I did. One thing I've learned from Dad, is that you can always negotiate your position."
"And how well did you negotiate this time?"
"I think she's going to rewrite it to include that part where I illegally obtained a first draft of her story and tried to bribe her into not publishing it."
"So you negotiated yourself into a worse position than the one you were in before."
"Correct."
"You are the dumbest man alive."
"That's hard to argue right now."
*
"Hello? Anybody home? Hellooooo?"
"What are you doing here?"
"Wow, nice to see you too, Bumps."
"I just meant I didn't think I'd see you so soon." Pause. "Or see so much of your luggage."
"Yeah, well, I'm moving in for a while."
"I think your teachers might have something to say about that."
"I'll commute. I just can't stay in Metropolis for a little while."
"Why not?"
"Well—okay, I've got some good news and I've got some bad news."
"What's the bad news?"
"Dad found out and threw me out of the house."
Pause. "Is the good news going to make the bad news understandable?"
"Probably. Help me upstairs with the luggage."
"Enrique!"
"Wuss."
"Yes, sir?"
"Please take Miss Luthor's things up to her room."
"Yes, sir."
"Come on into the kitchen, I'll make you some toast."
"One of these days you're going to have to learn how to make something else."
"One of these days will never, ever come, Lilly. Besides, you like my toast. What's the good news?"
"The good news is that I found out that Dad's behind all the stuff with Karen Castle. It's a test to see what you'll do under pressure."
"How did you find out?"
"Where's my toast?"
"Lilly, remember that I inherit all your shares should you die in an untimely manner."
"Ditto, Bumps."
"Fair point. Would you like sourdough or honey wheat?"
"Honey wheat, please. Okay, Dad's been acting really chipper this past week, doing his gloating thing where he's all about how superior he is to everybody else, and—"
"Are you two still in therapy?"
"God, no."
"Good. I'd hate to think this is what you were like after all the headshrinking."
"Anyway?"
"Go on."
"Thank you. So, I looked at his phone records, and there was a call he put through about a month ago to a bar in the Suicide Slums that employs Castle's sister's ex-husband, and she's—"
"How the hell did you find that out?"
"Lex, you're going to have to get used to the fact that of the two of us, I am by far better at getting information. You seem all smooth and omniscient, but really, you could have a psycho working for you and not know about it—oh, wait, you have had psychos working for you and not known about it! So my point is, basically, that you shouldn't be surprised when we have conversations like this."
"Just so long as I can seem smooth and omniscient when I want to."
"Permission granted. The sister's the go-between, because before Dad called that bar, she hadn't talked to either her sister or her ex in, like, months. And then they start talking three or four times a week, always in certain patterns. After that first call, Dad went on an untraceable line. The bar would get a call, then the brother would call his ex, then she would call Castle. Or the reverse—Castle would call her sister, who would call her ex, who would disappear for a few hours. My guys couldn't follow him, and he's got a history, so I'd guess that he's either really good at losing tails or Dad warned him someone would try to follow him."
"How do we know it's Dad?"
"The untraceable call. I set up most of Dad's scramblers—or I know the guys who did—and the way the signals are bounced is classic Dad. Plus, it's the kind of thing he'd do just for the fun of it. On rainy days when he can't go play golf? He thinks up ways to drive you crazy."
"I think he does that even on sunny days."
"So what are you going to do?"
"I'm not sure."
"You could pull the old Richard Nixon on her."
"I've already got a Richard Nixon."
"True, but his legs aren't nearly as nice."
"No, they're not."
"This is a stumper."
"Here's your toast."
"Thanks."
***Note: Yeah, well, I never said I'd be timely with these things. If you don't remember this episode, I don't blame you, but dig up your recording of it anyway to explain any of the bits you don't get in the story. It always bugs me that they never explain Lex's all-knowing-ness, and Lilly's a great device to make it make sense.
Mostly, though, I just want to pimp the awesome and incredible talents of annie lee, who made this wonderful page for Lex and Lilly, and who did it, like, nine months ago, and has been waiting for an update ever since. You intimidated me with your coolness, I swear, and I couldn't write knowing that I had someone actually quoting me. It was scary-pressure. But in a good way. I can't make the dag-nabbited html code work, but if you drop me a line, I'll send you the website address. Anybody who's more html-savvy than I am (ie more than a sheep is), feel free to help me out here. Thanks!