"That's it?"
"Yeah," I said long-windedly. When all else failed, I had realized with the passage of time, Lex served as a guiding light for me. Such was the case now. Having left Jesse's company, I decided to drive into Metropolis to see Luthor. He always had a way of…putting things into perspective.
"All of it? Anything more you want to add?"
"No. That's it."
"These things happen," Lex remarked. He sat casually in his chair, behind his sprawling desk, typing away on his computer. Somehow, he still managed to carry a conversation with me.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I replied coarsely. Lex reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small sheet of paper. He began scrawling on it, but I was too far away to make out anything.
"It means this was something that was beyond your control," Lex said as he finished writing. "You had nothing to do with his decision, and now, I suspect, it's eating away at you."
"It isn't."
"But it is," Lex said with a slight grin. "You're so absorbed in yourself that you can't accept there are some things you'll never know. Not that there's anything wrong with that. It…reminds me of myself at an early age."
Lex removed a whit envelope from one of his desk drawers and slid the sheet of paper inside it. He stood, slid the envelope inside his jacket and made for the glass double-doors leading out of his office.
"Where are you going?" I said, following him.
"A man of my intellect and savvy isn't going to let nature have her way with him. I'm flying to Philadelphia for my annual checkup. You're welcome to come with me. I'm sure Dr. Elliot would be impressed with you."
"Thank, but no thanks. I've got a paper to write, and Journalism class waits for no one."
"Journalism?" Lex repeated, stopping short of the elevator. "Who is the professor?"
"Morgan Edge."
Lex turned to me. His eyes darted around for a moment, and one corner of his mouth curled upward in a suspicious grin. He shook it off.
"Mind if I follow you down?" I asked as Lex stood and made for the doors leading to the elevator. He shook his head, and I followed.
The interior of the elevator was a bronze-laden marvel of metallurgy. A narrow switchboard blended almost seamlessly into the bronze panel behind it.
In the place of traditional metal or wooden wall coverings, all the elevators in the building had bronze panels on the vertical surfaces. The panels served to dim the elevator's interior—almost to the point of mood-lighting—and give an added degree of mystery to whoever was riding with you.
As it stood right now, it was only I and Lex in the elevator and neither one of us was saying much of anything. This only made the mystery—whatever that was—pile up. I twiddled my thumbs idly and bobbed my head expectantly, waiting for one of the two of us to strike up a conversation; I wasn't about to tread unknown waters, and I got the distinct feeling that Lex was in a sour enough mood to not want to talk about anything. What struck me was how quickly his cosmetic mood had changed—in the matter of a few minutes he had gone from talkative in his office to stoic in the elevator. Mysteries of human chemistry, I told myself.
I turned to my left ever so slightly to see Lex. He stood relaxed. From my limited vantage, I could see his left hand fumbling around in his pockets as if rustling some loose change. The other hand, his right hand, was held in a tight fist. His knuckles were whitening in a sort of displaced anger; as if he, too, was bothered by some inevitable fact of life and knew he couldn't do anything about it. He held his head high, staring at the digital display board, which said we were close to the lobby.
"Allen."
"Yes?"
"Are you familiar…with the conquests of Alexander the Great?"
"Yeah. We spent a lot of time on him in my senior Military History class."
"Then you know about Hephaistion." Luthor's head was held high, still staring at the digital display above the doors.
I turned to Lex, raised a curious eyebrow. Another lecture. "Yeah. I am."
"Alexander and Hephaistion were friends from a very early age. They were both privy to each other's darkest secrets. They held each other in the highest regard, neither one willing to admit he was greater or lesser than the other. Alexander thought so highly of his soul-mate friend that he carried him into battle. He had great freedom, as anyone else to speak his own mind to the king, yet no one in the army respected Hephaistion. They felt he was unqualified, given undue privilege…undeserving—"
"Lex," I interrupted brusquely. "Cut the crap. You know as well as I do that Alexander was gay. Like Jesse. So what are you aiming for here?"
Turning to me, Lex smiled modestly, and said, "You haven't listened to a word I've said. It was about power and social position with the Greeks, especially with someone as heroically and militarily regarded as Alexander."
Lex stared at me for a brief moment before shifting his hands into his pockets. "But even Alexander couldn't admit to his feelings, if that's how you want to explicate it. In the end, Hephaistion died, broken, poor, and alone."
Silence.
"Do you understand?" Lex asked through a narrowed gaze. "This is about you and your fears of being overshadowed by an undeserving pretender."
The elevator slowed to a stop, the door dinged, and then opened. Before us, the expansive, marble and bronze-laden lobby of the LexTower lay before us like a smorgasbord for some adventurous-feeling thief.
He turned back to me, removing a white envelope from inside his jacket.
"Do not let your conscience restrain you from doing what you must."
Luthor stepped out of the elevator, handing the envelope to Mercy.
"Get this to the Planet. Make sure it's in the hands of Dirk Armstrong by the four o'clock deadline. No exceptions."
Mercy nodded promptly and Lex walked away briskly. I followed, but Mercy cut in front of me, joining up with Lex on his right side.
"When will you be back?"
"Before the end of the week. Perhaps even tomorrow," he proffered lightly. "Here," he added, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a small black jewelry box and handed it to me. It was…heavier than I expected. No ring weighs this much. Curiously, I held it in my hand and regarded it thoughtfully for a moment.
A doorman pulled a bronzen door open and Luthor stepped through effortlessly, flanked by myself, Hope and Mercy. Up ahead of us Luthor's personal car—a 1932 Rolls Royce Silver Ghost—sat parked—waiting for its master to enter.
"The item in that box will protect you from Superman. Don't open it unless you absolutely have to. Let me know how your situation with your friend works out."
"Okay," I said faintly, as the door shut and the Rolls sped away.
It took me twenty minutes to get back to campus; mid-day traffic had a way of slowing anything and everything down.
I suddenly realized I had to pee. Really bad. I ran up the stairs, bolted down the hallway burst into the small, one-shower fixture bathroom to see Jesse standing there, a towel slung low around his waist.
"Hey," I said, and went to the urinal. Jesse turned around slowly and said, "Oh…Allen. Sorry."
"That's…okay," I said with a sigh.
"You actually caught me at a bad time, Allen. I was about to jump in the shower."
"I gathered," I said, flushing and making my way back towards the door. I pushed the door open and let Jesse walk past me.
Jesse only stopped once, and that was to wrangle his keys out of his bundled-up pants. Nothing like seeing a half-naked man locked out of his room, I thought dubiously.
What surprised me, and caught my attention to a moderate extent, was how well Jesse apparently took care of his body. Chiseled abs. defined pectorals, broad shoulders, and strong, sinewy legs. It was also clear to me that Jesse was one of those rare guys who actually went to a tanning salon—just to get full coverage. And it showed.
Finally the door clicked over and he pushed it open, kicking his pile of clothes and shower supplies in before him. I followed him in.
I stared out the open window, felt the slight breeze amble its way in and lighten the mood. Thank God something was cutting through the tension in here.
Jesse bent over to retrieve a pair of boxers from his hamper, and pulled them on. I regarded the small black jewelry box once more before sliding it into my front pocket.
"Jesse," I said tentatively as he turned to face me. I glanced at the floor, then brought my eyes up analyze his body—the strong legs, the washboard abs.
"What is it?"
"I've gotta…go into town. I'll be back later."
"Sure," Jesse said through narrow eyes.
So I left. I went for a walk. I go for a lot of walks. Through the business district—conveniently close to campus. I stopped in front of the WGBS Building, and sat on a park bench outside the front door.
Why was it that my life had taken a seemingly-bad turn for the worse. Was I doomed to it? This…failure, this unending circle of events that made me feel absolutely worthless? Was it divine intervention? That seemed an extremely snobbish notion to me; I'm no religious person by any means, and I don't think blind faith ever got anyone anywhere.
Oh come on, Allen. It's not as bad as you think.
Yeah. Right.
It could be worse, you know. A lot worse.
Maybe that was the answer: this so-called higher power was punishing me for not listening. I had been listening. My whole life. Listening for answers. But they never came to me. I had worked, and sweated, and troubled, and sold myself short of achieving my own dreams. And for what? Estrangement from family…association with a man regarded far and wide as the Devil, and……why the hell did I feel remotely attracted to Jesse?
So there I was, sitting on this park bench, wallowing in cheap emotion and self-loathing…and for what?
The muffled buzz of my cell phone ring jolted me back to reality and I pulled it out of my pocket and answered.
"H—hello?"
"Allen? This is Dr. Edge."
Morgan Edge was the chairman and CEO of Galaxy Communications, the second largest company in Metropolis and one of the top companies on the Fortune 500. But he was also a professor in Broadcast Journalism at the University of Metropolis. He taught my 11:00 Journalism class, and he was one of the best professors on the campus. By rights, he was a genius. Certifiably. But like all geniuses, Morgan Edge was also very eccentric. He always wore brown leather gloves—probably a symptom of his creeping obsessive-compulsive disorder—and always dressed in hideous earth-tones. Whenever he lectured, the words poured forth in luscious verbal streams, each phrase intensifying and having more meaning than the last. But the most intriguing thing about Morgan Edge?
His face was always red, and he swore worse than a sailor…and sometimes he looked like he was about to strangle the nearest breathing thing.
In any event, that was Professor Edge—the simple way he carried himself and spoke—had a certain ring to it that made the girls in class just swoon whenever they saw the trimmed brown hair, flawless grin, and hints of a five o'clock shadow.
"Allen, I'm worried about you," he said in a moderate tenor voice. "You've been late to my class every day for the past week."
"I know, sir," I interjected. "I'm trying—"
"You're failing," he said pressingly. "You've missed two papers last week alone. I feel compelled to ask, Allen. What did you think college was going to be like?"
"I know I have to work, Dr. Edge. Just give me a chance."
I checked my watch. 4:00 p.m. Damn.
"I highly suggest you get serious about my class and about this University. Now…I'm giving out a month-long reading assignment on Monday. Get it done if you want to stop form happening what almost did a few minutes ago."
"Thank you, Dr. Edge," I said uneasily, unsure if the olive branch had just been extended or broken and recast.
"Do it, O'Neill. Or else I'm failing you."
I stopped and exhaled laboriously. This was the closest I'd ever come to complete mental annihilation. In its way, it was…humbling.
"And Allen?"
"Yes?" I murmured.
"If you don't get this done, Luthor won't be there to save you."
