So. . . I guess an author's note is in order here. . .
La-di-da-di-da the usual disclaimer. Any resemblance to people or places are coincidental and aren't meant to be in any way harmful. Gotham is NOT a replica of New York city, mainly because I've never been to New York and therefore have no knowledge of its streets or businesses.
Enjoy
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They stay at the Hapy Inn. It should be the Happy Inn but one of the P's has fallen off the side of the building and is nowhere to be seen. It's the only hotel in the tiny town, so they make do. They stash their stuff, or rather Clark's stuff, in the back of the room's dingy closet and fall onto the bed. Clark is suddenly exhausted, barely able to move. He falls asleep almost instantly.
Smiley is gone when he wakes up. He checks the clock. The red numbers read: 4:38 pm. He growls and checks the closet. As he rifles through his bag he notices that some of his money is gone. Anger floods his veins and he storms out of the room, intent on locating the missing girl. The elevator door slides open almost on cue, and she steps out with a plastic bag in her hand.
He stops and looks at her. "Where were you?" He growls.
"I went for some food. They have a little convenience store down the street and they had some t-shirts on sale so I got one for myself." Her face doesn't show any recognition of Clark's anger, and she practically dances to their room He follows her back, and the instant the door is closed he is on her.
At first they sit at the tiny table in the corner. Clark watches Smiley peel open a granola bar wrapper and break off a chunk at a time, chewing thoughtfully before popping the next piece in. He says nothing when she offers him a piece of granola bar.
"What's the matter?" She asks, sensing a sudden change in mood when Clark's eyes darken briefly. "Aren't you hungry?"
Clark doesn't waste any time. He pulls her against him with one arm and lifts her so her toes barely brush the ground.
"Let's fuck." He says, and kisses her fiercely. She tastes like honey and granola, and smells like sweat.
When they wake for the second time, Clark and Smiley leave the inn right away. It's still dark, and the sun won't colour the horizon for at least another hour. The clock reads 4:00 AM, but there is an all night clerk at the desk; a tall, thin man with an aura of mothballs and eyes like a crow.
Smiley is wearing her new shirt. It's dark blue and has a big cob of corn stretched across the chest that proclaims, in bold red font: Kansas! Corn capital of the world!
It's utterly tasteless, but she seems to enjoy wearing it. Clark focuses sharply on her as she turns onto the highway. He remembers her as a too-thin club kid, dying in the flashing lights by way of heroin and acid. But as he looks her over he sees her hollow thinness filling out and her curly black hair gaining lustre.
He sees a girl who is almost the complete opposite of anything he was ever interested in before and after the ring. He remembers Lana in only the most general of ways, soft and chaste, who he still lusts after but doesn't want in any of the intensity he had before. Chloe, sharp and witty, a secret dream lover that he'd never really entertain the reality of. There were the soft, yet brittle and nameless blondes he had entertained night after night in Metropolis. Clark sees a sameness in Smiley; she runs, unlike the others, parallel to him. She knows something about him that even he doesn't, even if she doesn't realize it.
When Clark finally feels his stomach grumbling, it's almost 2 PM. He asks, "Do we have any food in the car?"
"It's on the backseat." She replies with a choked sort of tone that he ignores. He opens the bag on his lap and peers inside. There is a bag of apples, the box of granola bars and a two-litre bottle of juice. He pulls out an apple and rubs it on his shirt before taking a bite. The juice dribbles over his chin and he swipes it away with the back of his hand.
Smiley pulls over. She rests her head on the steering wheel.
"What is it?" Clark asks.
She turns her tear-stained face toward him. "I can't drive anymore. I'm too tired." She gets out and wipes her face. Clark thinks that Smiley might be more trouble than she's worth, but he doesn't want to let her go just yet.
Smiley quietly checks the map as Clark gets back onto the highway. "We only have about two-hundred miles left before Gotham."
"Good." He says. He doesn't ask why she was crying and she doesn't try to volunteer the information. They don't speak until they reach Gotham city limits.
Clark pulls up at what seems to be one of the more posh hotels and expects Smiley to look around in wonder. "Can you afford this?"
"Of course." He gives his keys to the valet standing outside the door and pops the trunk. He takes them out, and a hotel employee bustles forward to carry them inside. Clark lets him carry everything but the duffel bag full of cash.
They are whisked away upstairs to a large, if not luxurious room.
Clark decides it's time to go shopping.
"Come on." He pulls on Smiley's arm.
"Kal." She moans, slumping down on the bed. "I'm tired."
"I don't care."
He drags her to the elevator, and then to the valet. When the car comes around, Smiley finally decides she wants to go wherever Clark is taking them.
"How well do you know this city?"
"Pretty well, I guess." She looks at him. "Why?"
"What's the best place to shop for clothes?"
Clark can see the idea dawn on her. "Best or most expensive?"
"Most expensive."
"That's. . . There's a strip up on King Street." She gives him directions and when they turn onto the street, Clark can see Smiley sink a little lower in her seat.
He parks on the street and gets out. He doesn't wait for her, just starts walking toward the closest store. He hears her hesitate, then climb out of the car and run after him.
The interior of the boutique is a cacophony of colour and sound. Techno music wafts from the ceiling, and muted exclamations sound from customers and sales clerks alike. Everywhere they look, there are vibrant colours and bizarre styles.
"Oh! Beautiful!" Someone exclaims, and suddenly they are ambushed. "Hello, darlings, welcome to The Max! You two must be here for the shoot!" She snaps her fingers.
"Ah." Clark begins, but a short, flamboyant man instantly appears beside the woman.
"Fabulous!" He trills. "The contrast is amazing!"
"What are you talking about?" Smiley blurts out.
"You two! It's absolutely beautiful together!"
"Oh my GAWD it's almost six-thirty!" The woman shrieks. "We've got to get moving here, people." She grabs Clark and Smiley each by the hand and tries to lead them somewhere. Smiley stumbles forward, but Clark stands his ground.
"We're not. . . models." He tells her, and she turns around, shocked.
"You're not?"
"We're just here to shop." He reaffirms.
"Oh! Oh my! I'm terribly sorry!" She lets go of their hands and steps back. "You're really not models?"
"No."
There is a short pause as the tall, almost frighteningly thin woman stares at them.
"-Doll! Doll! I just got off the phone with Amanda! Their taxi driver got into an accident and Ryan had to go to the hospital."
"And of course Amanda had to go with him." The woman says to the petite blonde who instantly reminds Clark of Chloe.
The woman called Doll purses her lips and glances at the pair. "Why don't-"
"No." Clark says and turns to leave.
"I will." Smiley looks at Clark and he sees something pleading in her eyes.
"We need a pair." The tall woman asks beseechingly.
"No." Clark says firmly, trying to ignore the look Smiley is giving him. Anyone could see the pictures. Martha, Jonathan, Lana, Pete, Chloe. He can't do it.