Scribe's POV

"Free? I don't believe in 'free'. 'Free' is a mythological concept, up there with the belief that this is the best of all possible worlds. What's the catch?"

"None that I can determine." Lois is looking at the sheet of paper that was delivered from the mayor's office. It came in the mail this morning, and I sorted it out of the usual fan mail. (Yes, it's still coming. Hasn't slacked off that much, either. I'm starting to feel guilty about the rain forests.)

"An anonymous donor wants you to accept full medical coverage for a year. In return, they'll donate the equal cost of the premiums and any expenditures to the free clinic program. Wow, Scribe, that could mount up into some bucks. You could do a lot of good with that, and it would benefit you, too."

"My mama always said if it sounds too good to be true, it probably isn't true. There has to be a hook in there somewhere."

"I can have Superman scan the fine print, just in case, but I really don't see anything. All you have to do is take a complete physical with the insurance company's doctor, answer some questions, and you're signed up."

"Ah-hah!"

"Ah hah, what?"

"A complete physical."

"Yes. So?"

"One word, Lois: stirrups."

"Stirr...? Oh. Yes, that would be required."

"Forget it."

"Really, Scribe. It's little enough to ask, when you'll be doing so much good..."

"Second word: speculum. Okay, second and third: cold speculum. Do I have to move on to cover the part of the pelvic we share with the men?"

"No, I'd rather you didn't. But it's only a few minutes of discomfort, and it would help the less financially able."

"Lord, that's a politically correct term if I ever heard one. 'Poor people', Lois. Oh, all right. But I warn you, I will most likely be in a rotten mood for the rest of the day. You only think a bear with a sore foot is grumpy. You haven't seen what a Scribe with a sore..."

"I get the picture. I'll set up the appointment. What's that other one from the mayor about?"

"Dunno. Gave up my ESP for Lent. But you got one, too. Let's see..." (Rip) "Oo, fancy. Is someone getting married? I usually give them an electric carving knife. No one ever thinks of those."

"Oh, Scribe! We've both been invited to the Free Clinic Charity Gala!"

"Coolness. What, exactly, is a gala?"

"It's an elaborate, festive event. In this case, a fund raiser."

I perked up. "A carnival? Dunking booths? Corn dogs? I hate corn dogs, but you have to have them to get the carnival smell right. Preferably cooking in grease that was changed somewhere around the Roosevelt administration, Teddy's."

"No, no. A ball."

"A party? Hey, I'm up for that!"

"Good. We'll have to get you a formal. Though I don't know, you might be able to get away with a cocktail dress."

"Dress? I thought you said this wasn't a wedding. I already told you, I don't wear dresses, except maybe to weddings. Maybe. Ellen Degeneres wore a pants suit when she was maid of honor."

"Ellen who?"

"Too complicated to explain, but you'd like her. Shame she and Anne broke up. Cute couple."

"But you have to wear a dress. It says 'formal' on the invitation."

"Martha Stewart wore a pants suit to the White House. My God, you can't get more freaking socially correct than Martha Stewart." I pause. What I have been saying just struck me. "Lois, was I just holding up Martha Stewart as an example?"

"I don't know who you're talking about, as usual, but yes."

"I'll wear the dress. If I'm looking to that woman as a role model, I have serious problems, and am probably in need of therapy."

"I've thought that for some time, but I didn't want to say anything."

I slap her bottom. "I do believe being a smart ass must be contagious. You seem to have caught it from me."

"Oh, I was a carrier a long time before I met you. You just seem to make it active."

"There's some stuff handwritten on the bottom, here." I read it, forehead puckering. "Oh, please." I dropped the note on the table.

Lois was reading her invitation. "Well, isn't that novel?"

"Try 'embarrassing.' I'm not doing it."

"Oh, come on, Scribe. It'll be fun. And it's a real honor to be asked to participate."

"No. If they want to set up a dunking booth, I'll be happy to sit over the tank, but for this? No."

"Well! After the spectacle you make of yourself at Lavender's Green, singing, I'd think this would be nothing to you."

"You would, huh? Well, it's different. At LG they know me. And I'm doing something, I'm performing. Fairly well, if I do say so myself."

"And you do."

"Self esteem is healthy. But this thing... Uh uh. A celebrity auction?"

"You qualify. I'm asked to participate, too. I expect they'll include the mayor, the chief of police, some local television hosts, perhaps an actor or actress who's visiting Metropolis..."

"Fine. They'll have plenty of stock without me."

"Scribe..."

"Don't use that tone of voice with me. Guilt won't work."

"Scribe..."

"I am strong. I am invincible. I am..."

"Scribe...'

"...going to hate myself for this, I just know it." I sigh. "Lois, what if no one bids on me? Or I get knocked down for bargain basement price?"

"That isn't likely to happen. They're sure to ask Superman to participate, and I expect him to be the only one who really gives you any competition when it comes to final price."

"What, exactly, does my purchase entail? I don't do windows, and I ain't birthin' no babies, Miz Scarlet."

"Someday I'll understand you."

"Don't count on it. My mother has been trying for forty years."

"Let me see... You would have supper, and spend the evening with your purchaser. Then, at a later time, go on one of several preselected 'dates', arranged by the mayor's office. Museum trips, picnics, etcetera."

"Huh. Well... No nudie bars?"

"Not on the list, no."

"Okay. I guess I can stand a few hours in a dress, for the greater good. God, I hope word of this never gets back to Lawrence and Alex, they'll laugh their collective butts off. Well, if I'm gonna do this, I better see if Clive can do my hair. He'll probably spank me if I don't at least ask."

"Why are you grinning?"

"Mental image. Never mind." I called Attitudes. "Hi, Bettina? It's Scribe. How ya doing? Uh huh. Uh huh. Uh huh. Bettina? That's usually a rhetorical question. What? 'Rhetorical' is not dirty. It means I didn't really expect an elaborate answer. Because it's the polite thing to do, that's why. Since... Look, let me talk to Clive. Thanks." *Girl could talk the hind leg off a mule, and make sense about every hundred words or so.*

There was a brief pause. Then I heard heavy, rapid footsteps approaching the phone. Clive did love those steel toed boots. "Precious, how lovely to hear from you. What's up, besides my libido at a chance to hear your golden tones?"

"Clive, have you heard about this charity thingie the mayor is sponsoring?"

"The Free Clinic Gala? I should say so. I am besieged by social harpies wanting my magic touch. Philistines."

"I got roped into it. Could you manage to fit me in that day?"

"Darling, do you even need to ask? I'd shift the pope to accommodate you, you know that."

"Yeah, but I'm more fun than he is."

"That you are. Tell me, are they actually getting you into a dress for this occasion?"

I sigh. "I'll never hear the end of it."

"Well, darling, if you're going to do the whole nine yards, I ought to give you the full treatment."

"Which would be?"

"Clear up any excess fur on legs and in pits."

"Wax? Yipe!  No way, Clive. That's used as a favorite method of torture in certain totalitarian regimes."

"Not wax, silly. You can't control the heat properly. Besides, I wouldn't want to risk burning that delicious white skin of yours. No, I'll shave you myself."

"Uh, Clive? The first time I tried that when I was a teenager, it was a good thing that sharks couldn't swim up drainpipes into bathtubs, given the amount of blood I shed."

"I don't nick, cupcake. What type of razor did you use?"

"Um... Gillette? Standard double edge safety razor."

"There's your problem. I have a lovely cut throat razor that works miracles when I handle it."

"A straight edge?"

"Ears, precious, ears. Don't you trust me?"

"I let you tie me down and use scissors on me. I guess I trust you."

"Splendid. Since you're going to do it, I will, too."

"You're a braver man than I am, Gunga Din. The thought of waving a razor around my own crotch..."

"I mean I've been asked to offer myself up in the name of charity. I've always loved a good slave auction, but I've never been on the block myself. It should be fun. I'd bid on you, if I wasn't participating myself." "All right. If you and Lois are going to be up there, too, maybe I won't feel like such a dork."

"Sweetheart, you keep referring to dorks. What is a dork, exactly? Do we have them, or are they limited to your home world?"

"A dork is a dull, stupid, boring fatuous person."

"Ah. They're universal, then."

"Oh, yes."

"All right, rose bud. Drop by early the day of the do, and Clive will take care of you. You'll be all sleek and shiny for your purchaser."

"I don't intend for them to get that good of a look, Clive."

"You never can tell. Ciao."

"Lois, they aren't going to be able to, like, check my teeth before the auction, are they?"

"Scribe..."