"...and I said, 'Boys, play this game like it'll be your last, because for many of you, it will be,' and I'll be damned if they didn't go out there and win one for their old coach..." Lex eyed the man he was talking to, or rather, being talked at by. A tan, spry-looking senior citizen, he had achieved the top honor in his field of pro football. Lex had done the same in his field, politics, but he wasn't nearly as satisfied as this garrulous old gentleman. It might've been different than this, he thought. It should have, really. With Lana Lang by my side, I should have had the world at my feet by now--what went wrong?
Nothing, on the surface. He was a two-term President; Lana was beautiful and charming, the most popular First Lady since Jackie Kennedy, and perhaps his top political asset. The reality was different--lift up the sturdy block of granite that was their lives, and you would find nasty slimy things wriggling in the soil beneath. Why, just this morning, before she left for California...
-------
They were in the residence of the White House, in the bedroom. The two of them still slept in the same bed, to keep up appearances, but it was a very large bed, and two people who couldn't stand each other could keep to themselves quite comfortably in it. Lex went into the bathroom and lathered up for a shave, although he'd been toying with the idea of growing a beard. He was capable of it--only the hair on his head had been affected by the meteors, perhaps because the facial-hair follicles weren't active at that point in his development. And he liked the look of those old-time bearded Presidents in the portraits he saw every day in the White House; plus, it would enrage Lana. "You look like a hobo!" she would screech. "You'll be a laughingstock, and me along with you..." He chuckled. Yes, perhaps he would, on his next retreat to Camp David.
Lana and her assistant were in the other room, going over the itinerary for her trip. The assistant left, and Lana called out, "What on earth are you laughing about in there? And don't even think about ducking out of that photo-op with the football team--I know you are, even now, but don't do it. People adore that sort of garbage." She managed his image ruthlessly, even now, with his final election campaign behind him. Why? Well, his chief of staff had gotten a line on something, done some digging, and there it was--she was quietly putting a team together and sounding out donors for a political run of own, when his term was over. In the senate, most likely. But why keep it secret from him? He would support her--he'd have to, she knew where the bodies were buried. Almost all of them.
"They adore you, too," he muttered.
"What's that?"
"Did you see the front page of the Planet today?" he asked, covering.
She came to the doorway to the bathroom. "No, I did not. I don't normally read that newspaper. Was there something in it today that would interest me?" He looked at her--her eyes glittered dangerously. Careful, Lex.
"A good story by their top investigative reporting team. Real hard-hitting stuff--the subject matter's a little dry, perhaps, but they make it readable. It isn't very good for me, I'm afraid; seems they've uncovered serious discrepancies in the budget--massive sums diverted toward secret projects, and so on." It was a nice bit of journalism, and completely accurate. Secret projects were the only way he could ever get anything done at all, and they often cost a great deal of money. But it was in the country's best interests. Mostly. "Those two are a wonder, I tell you; how do they ferret out these things? Should I begin a leak investigation, do you think? " He knew he shouldn't bait Lana like this, but he was feeling fatalistic, a not-uncommon feeling of late.
Lana had been looking angrier and angrier as he talked, and spat out, "Oh, so they're on to another of your fuck-ups, are they, Lex? Then this is just another thing I'll have to go and smooth over for you." She really was remarkably good at that; he marveled at her ability to make his shady manipulations seem like clever and patriotic governance to the public. "When I married you, I thought that, at the very least, I could rely on you to be competent." She paused, then added, "That bitch is behind it, no doubt; Clark just trails along in her wake."
"Well, they're a good team, whichever way you slice it. I don't think this will win them a second Pulitzer, though, not on its own, anyway." He was just finishing the shave, doing the tricky bits under the jawline.
She glared at him, "Clark and I would've been a better team--I should've married him, not you. You're a failure." That seemed a bit harsh to him--he was the President. "Why don't you hamstring them, shut them down, wreck the paper somehow--you could do it, I'm sure. Your father would've done it without blinking. Or you could do something more subtle--that used to be your strong suit, subtlety. If Chloe Sullivan were to have an accident..." She trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid.
Lex was through in the bathroom--he patted on some aftershave and turned to his wife. "I don't want to hear any more talk like that. Now, have a good time out west, darling." He edged past her and off into another room, noting that she still couldn't bear to use Chloe's married name. As he dressed, he mused that Lana might have gained the contacts to make something happen without him, and that he should have his people keep a closer eye on her than usual.
-------
The coach had finally run out of steam and receded into the background; Lex was now smiling and shaking hands with the star quarterback--the photographers snapped away furiously, this was the shot they'd come for. "Pleasure to meet you, sir," the young man mumbled shyly. Lex nodded. This was taking forever, but it was really just eating into whatever pointless appointment or function he had next on his schedule. Was he meeting with the ambassadors from Scandinavia today, or was that later this week? He grinned mindlessly for the cameras as he made small talk with the quarterback--he was quite a specimen, with a 'golden arm', they said, but he felt sure that Clark could still out-throw and out-run him, even as he approached forty years of age. Very sure.
That morning, Lana had said she should've married Clark (a frequent jibe--she knew it would sting him), but that wasn't an entirely accurate depiction of the way things were at the time. Clark had broken up with her--he said their relationship had run its natural course, but it soon became abundantly clear that he was in love with someone else. A heartbroken Lana had turned to her closest friend, an up-and-coming state senator. They dated for some time, and then, after he was elected Governor of Kansas (that campaign had been a snap; the Luthors had the state in their pocket), at the inaugural ball in Topeka...
-------
"...and I promise that things are about to get better in the great state of Kansas!" Lex finished his speech and left the dais to a roar of applause. He cut a path through a crowd of people, shaking hands left and right, until he found her.
"Governor Luthor," she said demurely, with a small smile. She had never looked lovelier to him.
He laughed. "That's me. Care to dance?." She held out her hand and he led her out onto the dance floor as the band began to play. Flashes went off--they made a striking couple, and these pictures would run in every paper in the midwest.
It was a wonderful night, maybe the best of his life. After dinner, the two of them slipped away into a an anteroom for a breather.
"I feel like there's no limit to what I can accomplish now, Lana. I'm so glad you're here to share this with me."
"Of course; how could I have missed it? But Topeka--really; Lex, you're governor now, can't you move the capital to Metropolis?" she kidded him.
"Ah, but I ran on a platform of fiscal responsibility, and it would cost far too much to move the governor's mansion and the legislature. And this isn't such a bad place, really; I was actually hoping you might consider moving here." He pulled a box out of his jacket, opened it, and asked quietly, "Lana, will you marry me?"
He stayed perfectly still, as his insides churned. She didn't look surprised, just thoughtful. Then: "Yes, Lex, I will." He took her in his arms and thought, I've done it. Lana, the finest person I know, and the only person I trust, will be my wife. He suddenly remembered his father saying to him several years ago, "...and that's why Lana Lang will never love you, son," but the old man was wrong, for once.
------
She had loved him, he felt reasonably confident of that, and things had been good for a while. But she had turned mean--she had curdled. Was it power, corrupting as in the old adage? Was it seeing Clark's growing success and happiness without her, over the years? Or was it him, Lex Luthor--Lionel had told him that the people closest to him would know what was truly in his heart... Perhaps it wasn't anything, perhaps it always would have turned out like this; the seeds of the person she would become were sown the day of the meteor shower. And had Clark sensed it? No; he wasn't that perceptive, he had just fallen in love with Chloe. Lex wished he could talk to his old friend about this, and other things.
The football team was trooping out of the room, at last. He smiled and waved, as they left, until everyone was gone but Martina, his assistant. "You've got," she checked her watch, "nine minutes before the ambassadors from Scandinavia arrive." She held out a briefing paper on the meeting.
"Cancel it," he said, returning to his chair.
"Mr. President--"
"I'm deadly serious," and she saw that he was. "Tell my esteemed chief of staff to put someone else on it. Have Helen direct them to The Vice-President--he'll go over well with them." That might even be true; regardless, Lex needed a rest.