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A Tank Haircut Challenge response

By Meredith Knight <meredith@putwet.demon.co.uk>

Rated: G

Submitted: May 2004

Author's Note: You'll have to blame Tank for the original haircut  challenge, and Wendy for putting the idea into my head.  I'm inniocent!  <g>

I've played fast and loose with the series continuity: Lois's major  restyling took place early in S3, of course, not just before the  wedding.  What the heck, it makes a good (I hope) story.

Thanks to Missy and (Ban)Anna for speedy and helpful BRing! :)

Disclaimer: these are not my characters - I'm merely borrowing them for  a little fun, and not for profit.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

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As soon as I walk into the room, all eyes are fixed on me.  I'm  starting to get used to the phenomenon, but it irritates me all the  same.  I'm used to respect - I demand it from those I work with, wring  it out of them if I have to - but this fawning adulation is new and  unwelcome, and the reason makes it even more so.  Can't a woman get  married without being fussed over by every female in sight?  I feel  like Bridal Barbie at a birthday party for a horde of lovesick  teenagers.

The temperamental hairdressing artiste gives me a gracious smile.   Normally she would never deign even to notice lowly Lois Lane, mere  journalist, but she's been sucked into the Wedding Machine along with  everyone else.  She beckons imperiously, and a lesser minion scurries  forward to escort me to a chair in front of a sink.

I steel myself to sit down and submit to being swathed in towels and  protective gowns.  I know some people thoroughly enjoy this stage, but  I hate it.  For one thing, I dislike someone doing a job for me that I  can do perfectly well for myself.  But more than that, it's the  luxurious atmosphere.  I'm used to earning every penny I spend, and the  trappings of luxury give me a tense, itchy feeling, urging me to jump  up and start investigating the funding behind them.  But I'm learning  to control those impulses.  There are some things I'm just going to  have to get used to.

The minion starts to lather shampoo into my hair, and I work on  relaxing my tense neck muscles.  The tension has been slowly building  up all morning.  My mother has been feeding it, flitting around and  fussing over me.  I know she's torn - on the one hand she really does  want to make this a special day for me, but on the other she's honestly  terrified that I'm making a mistake.  It doesn't help that I'm marrying  such a handsome, charming man, either; if Daddy had been less handsome  and charming, he wouldn't have ended up in the string of affairs that  destroyed her marriage.  At least, that's what she says.  I'm not sure  what it would take to satisfy her that my marriage isn't about to go  the same way... sometimes I think she'd have reacted just the same even  if I'd announced I was marrying Superman.

Of course, it would be easier to ignore Mother if I weren't such a mass  of nerves myself.  I'm sure I'm doing the right thing, and yet...   Marriage.  A life sentence.  I've lived entirely to suit myself for so  long - am I going to be able to handle the responsibilities, the give  and take, the intimacy that marriage will bring?  Is it easy to go from  decorative girlfriend to faithful wife and loyal supporter?  Or from  romantic boyfriend to ardent husband and dependable provider, for that  matter?  I fear not...

The washing and conditioning are over, and I can relax at last.  I'm  escorted to a comfortable chair in front of a mirror, with a change of  towels, and offered a cup of coffee, which I decline.  I don't want to  be here long enough to drink it.  During the short wait for Madame, I  carefully avoid meeting the eyes of my mirror image; I don't want to  see how pale and nervous I look.

But when Madame arrives to ask how I want my hair cut, I seem to do a  convincing imitation of a woman who knows her own mind.  At first she  seems shocked that I want such a drastic change, but then she smiles at  me knowingly.  "A more feminine look, to please your husband," she says  in satisfied tones.

Is that really why I'm doing this?  It's true that my pageboy style is  professional rather than sexy, though I can and do put it up elegantly  for dates and formal occasions.  What will my husband - that scary word  again - think of it?  He likes to run his fingers through its length  when we're together, and when I have it up, his eyes linger on it that  little bit longer as he compliments me on my appearance.  No, I think  if anything, he'd prefer it longer.  He appreciates elegance.

Madame has finished checking her tools and combing my hair out.  She  turns away to pick up her scissors, and all at once my heart is  hammering in my throat.  "Just a minute, please," I say breathlessly,  and she halts.

It's not too late.  I can still stand up and walk, no, run for my life.   I don't have to go through with this haircut.  I don't even have to go  through with the wedding.  I can run away... and leave him to sort out  the aftermath, the curious, disappointed or avidly gossiping guests,  the return of the wedding presents?  No.  I can't do that.

But I'm not going to the altar as boring old professional Lois, either.   Marriage is inevitably going to change me, and the first thing that  will change is my hairstyle.  And according to my own dictates, not my  husband's.

I settle back into the chair.  "Carry on," I say airily, summoning a  sunny smile.

And the smile isn't even faked.  A huge load has been lifted from my  mind.  I really do fear marriage, I realise with a sense of shock - and  yet, why should I be shocked?  Every role model I've ever had screams  at me that marriage is a disaster - Mother and Daddy's endless bitter  arguments and acrimonious divorce, Lucy's disastrous two-week marriage  that started in Vegas and ended in the Casualty department, Perry's  long nights at the Planet and Alice's even longer, lonely nights at  home.

None of them can have known what they were letting themselves in for  when they set out.  Mother must have trusted handsome, loving Daddy to  be faithful to her till death them did part.  Perry and Alice couldn't  have guessed that the Planet would become a silent but all-consuming  third partner in their relationship.  And Lucy certainly never imagined  that Brad's attractive wild streak would translate into beating his  wife after a couple of beers.

But there I have to choke back a laugh at the comparison.  I know my  gentle fiance far too well to believe him capable of physical violence  towards me.  And if any proof were needed, the respectful way he's  honoured my decision to delay our final physical intimacy till after  the wedding must surely be enough.  He is a very patient man.

Still, it's not surprising that this fear has been eating away at me.   I want to believe that we will be different, that our good intentions  will be enough; but it's clear that it takes more than good intentions  to make a marriage grow and last.

But I think I've realised something fundamental today.  In marriage, as  in journalism, I don't have to sit and take what life hands me.  I can  influence what happens by my actions, by the choices I make.  And the  choice I've made today is to be my own person, married or not, instead  of submitting unthinkingly to my husband's preferences.

Because that's what I fear the most - that I'll lose my identity in  this marriage.  That I'll be so caught up in being a wife, and later  perhaps a mother, that I'll have no time left over for the things that  really matter to me - my work, my friends, my self.

So the decision I've made today is an important one.  It's not just a  haircut, it's my future.  I will maintain my selfhood within this  marriage.  I will make time for my work and my friends, as well as  caring for my husband to the best of my ability.  And my husband would  be the first to support my decision.  I'm quite sure of that.

All this wisdom from a simple haircut?  I giggle suddenly, and feel  Madame flinch in surprise.  I'm probably not awarding her ministrations  the proper degree of gravity and humility.  I want to giggle again,  this time at her, but I refrain; it's not her fault I decided to  restyle myself on the morning of my wedding.

She's nearly finished, anyway.  I close my eyes while she gives my new  fringe that artfully wispy look that hairdressers adore, and try to  focus my mind on what the rest of today holds for me.  But it's not an  image of the white dress and veil that grows before my mind's eye, nor  the ceremony in front of the arrayed guests, nor the wedding night and  the pampered honeymoon.

No, what I see is the part of my life that I always valued the most:  the Planet newsroom, my familiar colleagues around me, my few good  friends.  And above all, Clark.  Clark working beside me, laughing with  me, bringing me coffee; Clark challenging my views in private and  defending them in public, always supportive, always challenging me to  do just that little bit better than my best.

I have a lump in my throat, but there's no time to dwell on the picture  - Madame is calling on me to approve her handiwork.  I open my eyes  slowly and look for the first time into the mirror, half excited, half  dreading what I'm going to see.

The woman in the mirror doesn't look like me at all.  The smooth  curtain of hair is gone, replaced by soft, feathery wisps that cluster  about her head and leave her long neck bare.  The style accentuates her  eyes, lending her an air of elfin mystery.  I try a smile, and my image  smiles coolly back.  I turn my head, and she averts her face, glancing  challengingly back at me.  The lightness of my head, the absence of the  heavy swing that I'm accustomed to, finally convince me: the fey,  elusive creature in the mirror really is me.

Madame is hovering, holding a mirror to show me the back of my head,  waiting for the verdict.  I meet her eyes in the mirror and nod, a grin  tugging at my mouth.  The new Lois - whoever she is - has been born.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He's dead.  I can hardly believe it - just like that, he's gone.  I saw  him with my own eyes, jumping from the parapet way up above us and  plunging down, getting closer and closer.  He didn't scream on the way  down.  I could see his expression at the last second - a kind of grim  triumph.  I don't think he spotted me in the crowd.

That's the last thing I saw before I turned and buried my face in  Clark's beloved shoulder.  Clark's somehow always there when I need  him.  I could still hear, though, when Lex -

They hustled me into a cab then, Clark and Perry, and brought me home.   I clung to Clark all the way; I haven't let him go yet.  I can't bear  the thought of him leaving me alone.

I wouldn't let them fetch my mother.  I don't want her fussing over me  and telling me she knew how it would be.  Nobody could have known how  it would be...  Perry fussed enough, offering me tea and coffee and hot  milk until I could have screamed.  Clark just sat beside me, with his  arms around me, lending me his quiet strength.  At last Alice arrived  and removed Perry forcibly, earning my eternal gratitude.  She would  have ejected Clark, too, if I'd let her.  I think she thought I'd  prefer a woman with me, but all I want - all I need - is Clark.

When the Whites had gone, I finally broke down and cried.  Cried as if  my heart was breaking, as if I'd never be able to stop.  Cried for my  lost dreams of a happy marriage, for my shattered illusions about Lex.   Cried for Lex, for the man I thought he was, and for whatever dark  forces in his past turned him into the corrupt man he really was.  I  don't even know what he was, now; I guess we'll find out as time, and  the wheels of the police investigation, roll on.

Clark just held me and whispered sweet nothings, words of love and  comfort, into my ear.  With him as my anchor, I could let go of my  carefully controlled image in a way I've never done before.  Let go of  the crazy, mixed-up feelings I had about Lex and about the ghastly  mistake I so nearly made.  Let go of my rational self completely.  I  even sobbed out, at one point, that I'd killed Lex by having my hair  cut this morning - and Clark brushed his lips across my hair before  telling me it looked so good, it would give any sane man enough to live  for.  The nonsense comforted me in a way that a logical answer could  never have done.

The thing is, I know my heart isn't broken.  It isn't even bruised,  though my pride is in tatters.  The new Lois who was born this morning  was wise enough to realise that Clark meant far more to her than Lex  ever could, and strong enough to say "I can't" instead of "I do" at the  altar.

So here I sit, cradled in the arms of my partner and best friend, who  I've just realised is also my love.  The tears are over - at least for  now - but they've robbed me of the strength to tell Clark just how much  he means to me.  He probably thinks I'm asleep, and I probably will be,  shortly.  I imagine he'll put me to bed once he's tired of sitting here  with me.  I wonder if he'll take the wedding dress off...

Will I grow my hair out again?  It's hard to know.  The pageboy looked  more serious and professional, and I'm going to need all the  professionalism I can muster over the next few months.  But I can't  help noticing the way Clark's fingers are playing with the tendrils at  the nape of my neck, doing things to my insides that none of Lex's  caresses ever did.  I wish I had the energy to raise my face to Clark's  and kiss him...  It would probably only drive him away, though.  He  wouldn't take advantage of me after we were sprayed by that Miranda  woman; he'd feel exactly the same way about the fact that I've just  lost my "beloved" fiance.

I wonder if the new Lois will be brave enough to tell Clark just how  mistaken she was to think she could love Lex, and how much she regrets  rejecting Clark, that day in the park?  I hope so...

The End.

Copyright 2004, Meredith Knight

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