save people, at least help you save them.”
“There’s nothing you could do.”
“There must be something,” she insisted.
“You’d only be in the way.”
“Listen, I’m intelligent”
“So what?”
“-well-educated-”
“So am I.”
“-gutsy-”
“But I don’t need you.”
“—competent, efficient”
“Sorry.”
“Damn it!” she said, more frustrated than angry. “Let me be your
secretary, even if you don’t need one. Let me be your girl Friday, your
good right hand-at least your friend” He seemed unmoved by her plea.
He stared at her for so long that she became uncomfortable, but she
would not look away from him. She sensed that he used his singularly
penetrating gaze as an instrument of control and intimidation, but she
was not easily manipulated. She was determined not to let him shape
this encounter before it had begun.
At last he said, “So you want to be my Lois Lane.”
For a moment she had no idea what he was talking about. Then she
remembered: Metropolis, the Daily Planet Jimmy Olsen, Perry White, Lois
Lane, Clark Kent, Superman.
Holly knew he was trying to irritate her.
Making her angry was another way of manipulating her; if she became
abrasive, he would have an excuse to turn her away. She was determined
to remain calm and reasonably congenial in order to keep the door open
between them.
But she could not sit still and control her temper at the same time. She
needed to work off some of the energy of anger that was overcharging her
batteries. She pushed her chair back, got up, and paced as she
responded to him: “No, that’s exactly what I don ‘t want to be. I don’t
want to be your chronicler, intrepid girl reporter. I’m sick of
journalism.” Succinctly, she told him why. “I don’t want to be your
swooning admirer, either, or that well-meaning but bumbling gal who gets
herself in trouble all the time and has to rely on you to save her from
the evil clutches of Lex Luthor.
Something amazing is happening here, and I want to be part of it.
It’s also dangerous, yeah, but I still want to be a part of it, because
what you’re doing is so. . . so meaningful. I want to contribute any
way I can, do something more worthwhile with my life than I’ve done so
far.”
“Do-gooders are usually so full of themselves, so unconsciously
arrogant, they do more damage than good,” he said.
“I’m not a do-gooder. That’s not how I see myself I’m not at all
interested in being praised for my generosity and self sacrifice. I
don’t need to feel morally superior. Just useful. ”
“The world is full of do-gooders,” he said, refusing to relent. “If I
needed an assistant, which I don’t, why would I choose you over all the
other do-gooders out there?”
He was an impossible man. She wanted to smack him.
Instead she kept moving back and forth as she said, “Yesterday, when I
crawled back into the plane for that little boy, for Norby, I just. . .
well, I amazed myself I didn’t know I had anything like that in me. I
wasn’t brave, I was scared to death the whole time, but I got him out of
there, and I never felt better about myself”
“You like the way people look at you when they know you’re a hero,” he
said flatly.
She shook her head. “No, that’s not it. Aside from one rescue worker
no one knew I’d pulled Norby out of there. I liked the way I looked at
me after I’d done it, that’s all.”
“So you’re hooked on risk, heroism, you’re a courage junkie.”
Now she wanted to smack him twice. In the face. Crack, crack. Hard
enough to set his eyes spinning. It would make her feel so good.
She restrained herself “Okay, fine, if that’s the way you want to see
it, then I’m a courage junkie.”
He did not apologize. He just stared at her.
She said, “But that’s better than inhaling a pound of cocaine up my nose
every day, don’t you think?”
He did not respond.
Getting desperate but trying not to show it, Holly said, “When it was