"Scribe, someone sent you flowers."

I sighed. "Again? Let me tell you, roses were already on their way to losing their romantic cache when I came here. I mean, back home, any bozo with a ten and a couple of minutes to stop by the local MinitMart could come up with roses. Sort of glutted the sensibilities, and they thought giving them would do everything from get them into your pants to make you forget you caught them fucking your best friend in your own bed."

I was at work. I got a lot of deliveries at the Daily Planet, because it was an easy address for my fans to remember. 'My fans'. Sheesh, did I feel like a dork saying that, but it was pretty much what they amounted to. The office had been over run with bouquets for awhile. The air had been so thick and sweet with the scent that I was afraid I was going to come down with diabetes. I finally told security to take them away after I'd seen them, and either distribute them to other floors, or give them to a local hospital. I felt obliged to at least look at each offering and read whatever card was attached. That way, if anyone ever asked me if I’d gotten their flowers, I could honestly say yes. "Not roses this time, Scribe." Lois brought a beautiful green stone pot over to my desk. In it grew several tiny flowers about the size of cashew nuts. They were brown, but it wasn't a drab, dead brown. It was deep and velvety, and there were red streaks on the delicate petals. They were like nothing I'd ever seen before, and actually quite beautiful.

I leaned down and sniffed. The scent was almost spicy. "Cool. What are they?"

"I don't know. Hey Hortense." Lois called over the Gardening Editor. "What are these?"

"Let's see." Hortense donned a pair of cat's eye glasses and studied the blossoms carefully. "Well, they're dwarf orchids. Those are kind of rare. Your beau must think a lot of you to spring for these, Scribe."

"I don't have a beau."

"I've never seen any this tiny or this color before. Though..." She hesitated. "No, really, that's hardly likely."

"What?"

"Well... there have been rumors that a certain person was trying to develop a hybrid just like this one, and was getting close. But he'd hardly be giving away specimens." She giggled. "Unless he was planning on using them as tax deductions. They'd be worth quite a few thousands to collectors and commercial growers." Hortense reached toward the plants, but didn't quite dare touch the tiny petals. "You know, Scribe, they're the exact same shade as your hair."

Lois handed me an envelope. "Maybe this will explain things."

I turned it over in my hands. The paper was heavy and thick. Probably had a higher rag content than most clothing. A single word, my name, was slashed on the front in bold black strokes, the letters spiky. I wondered what a graphologist would make of that handwriting. I almost expected the booger to be sealed with signet embossed wax instead of being glued. I opened it and pulled out a single sheet of paper that was just as high toned as the envelope. There was a faint watermark on the paper. It looked like two overlapping capital Ls.

The same aggressive handwriting was scratched on the page. 'My dear Scribe,' it ran. 'Please accept this first blooming of my new orchid as a token of my esteem. I have taken the liberty of signing the patent over to you. I have named it 'Scribe's Glory'. Intrigued, Lex Luthor.'

"Simple. To the point. Flattering without being gushy. Hinting at luxury, and including a unique, and most importantly, expensive gift." I grunted. "I give it a 9.3."

"Not a ten?" Lois asked, dark brows quirking sardonically.

"To quote the great Bobby Bare, there ain't no tens. He loses points for the fact that he's a sociopath most likely bent on world domination."

"Ah. That would do it." A few of the other staffers came over to investigate.

Clark came in and joined us. Those baby blues were sharp behind his horn rims as he read the letter, frowning. "He doesn't mention the pot."

I shrugged. "It's pretty."

"I should hope so. It's solid jade. Tang dynasty, if I'm not mistaken. I covered an auction of Chinese antiquities at Carrington House Consignments last week. If I remember correctly, this fetched three thousand dollars."

I blinked. "All right. A 9.6, then."

"He's after something."

I put my hands on my hips. "He can't just want to give me a present without wanting something?"

Clark shrugged. "Porcine mammals will develop avian tendencies before Lex Luthor does anything without a personal motive."

Jimmy said, "Again, please, in English."

I translated. "Pigs will fly. What's the worry? It's not like I have anything he'd be after." Lois and Clark both gave me a look. "Stop it. From what you've told me, he has his pick of models and actresses and..." Jimmy nudged a copy of EXOTIQUE toward me. This time the cover photo showed me staring off into space with a dreamy, intense look on my face, one fingertip touching my mouth. It looked like I was pondering something steamy and romantic. "Where the hell...? Wait a minute, I recognize that. For heaven's sake, I was at a restaurant, trying to decide between cheesecake and a chocolate sundae! There was nothing remotely sexual about..." I paused, remembering that cheesecake. "Never mind."

"Scribe, if Lex Luthor is turning his attention to you, it might be better if we found you someplace more secure to stay." Clark commented.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Meaning?"

"I think Superman could be persuaded to put you up at the Fortress of Solitude for awhile."

"What? Me, stuck up at the North Pole, all by my lonesome? Because I know he couldn't hang around and keep me company, not with his day job." I looked at Clark pointedly.

"Clark may have a point on this," said Lois. "The authorities haven't been able to get anything concrete on Lex for a long time, but even if what he's doing isn't strictly illegal, his methods are stunningly unethical."

"Cussable, Lois, but as you said, not prosecuatable. If it was, most of the businessmen and some of the evangelists in my home dimension would be doing time even as we speak. You people need to chill. The man just sent me flowers, that's all. Hideously expensive, but flowers, nonetheless. Quit worrying. It probably means nothing more than the fact that he wants me to make an endorsement for one of his companies, or something. I've had plenty of those dodges, haven’t I?"

They looked unconvinced. I must admit, I was being more flippant than I felt. There was something a little intimidating about receiving, from a stranger with a bad reputation, a present that was worth more than any car I'd ever owned.

I got instructions from Hortense on the proper care of the orchids. She agreed to board them in her greenhouse, as I couldn't provide the proper temperature and humidity to keep them healthy.

The second delivery came around lunch time. It was a large, greenish bottle, with a faded label. This time the accompanying letter said, 'In tribute to your creativity with spirits.'

The Food and Beverage editor almost fainted. "Chateau de Romy Cambarole, 1921! There are only a half dozen bottles of this still in existence! Oh, God, please let me smell the cork!"

"I'm afraid to ask, but what is it worth?"

"There's no telling, you'd have to auction it. But I tell you this, if I had the money, I'd buy it as an investment."

"Yeah? Well, get me some ice. I'm gonna drink this puppy."

He turned pale. "You can't!"

"Why not? It's mine now."

"No, I mean the ice! Good lord, woman, you can't pollute this nectar with ice!"

"You can turn your head if it bothers you. I have as little patience with connoisseurs whining about no ice as I do with 'master chefs' having fits when I want a steak well done instead of rare. Now, shut up or I won't give you any." He shut up. I poured for everyone at the table, and they all got at least a sip or two. The editor went into paroxysm over it, going on about bouquet and undertones. What do I know from wine? It was all right. It could have been Boone's Farm for all I knew. Clark was shaking his head. "Look, he's just showing off, all right? When he asks me to shill for him, he'll probably write it off as a business tax deduction."

That afternoon, a third delivery arrived. I unwrapped silvery paper to find a long, narrow, flat velvet box. I opened it and stared at the contents. The other staffers peered over interested. "What is it, Scribe?" Lois asked.

I pulled out a glittering strand. It was a medium length necklace of alternating pearls and white gemstones, all about the size of barley grains. Somehow I know those weren't cubic zirconias. Since this world didn't have shopping networks, science had never felt the need to invent that substance. Dangling as a pendant was a quarter sized charm that represented a sheet of parchment embossed with crossed quills. I believe it was made of platinum. The accompanying letter said simply. 'I would like to meet you. Lex Luthor.'

I looked up at them, and said, "Okay. Maybe he isn't interested in a business proposition."