INT. HELEN’S HOME/BEDROOM — DAY
Another bout of lovemaking between Clark and Helen comes to a close.
A minute later.
Helen and Clark lay together, sheets bunched up between them. Instead of cuddling, making pillow talk, they watch the ceiling — Helen with disinterest, Clark with dissatisfaction — a silent, palpable distance between them.
Sitting up, Helen reaches over Clark for the nightstand on his side of the bed, taking up a cigarette case and lighter resting atop a movie magazine. As she fishes a cigarette from the case, Clark picks up the magazine; an image of Greta Garbo emblazons the front cover.
CLARK: Greta Garbo. (flips through magazine) Is she a good actress?
Lighting up her cigarette, Helen shrugs.
CLARK: I don’t know any of the actors. I’ve never been to the movies. I’ve never been out of Smallville to see one. (beat) My whole life.
HELEN: Poor dear. (solemn) I know that feeling well.
The two make eye contact, on the cusp of an emotional connection.
CLARK: Do you remember your first? Which was it?
Helen takes a moment to think it over.
HELEN: Frankenstein, in 1910. (takes drag) Yes, it was Frankenstein.
CLARK: What was it like?
HELEN: You’ve read the book.
HELEN: There’s your answer.
The distance returns.
Helen offers Clark her cigarette. Accepting it, Clark takes a dispassionate puff. Tobacco does nothing for him.
INT. HELEN’S HOME/ENTRANCE HALL — DAY
Helen opens the front door for Clark.
HELEN: You’ll be in tomorrow, of course.
CLARK: It’ll be a long day for me. I don’t believe I’ll make it in.
HELEN: Then the day after.
CLARK: The family’s entertaining a guest — my cousin Luma, visiting down from Canada. I’m sorry.
Clark enters the threshold.
HELEN: (raises hand) Just a moment!
Stopping in the door, Clark waits for Helen as she leaves for another room. In a minute she returns, a fresh-baked pie in hand.
HELEN: (offers pie to Clark) Pecan.
CLARK: Thank you.
Helen starts to smile.
CLARK: (cont’d) Ma has allergies, but I appreciate the gesture.
The nascent smile dies.
CLARK: (forlorn) Take good care of yourself, Hel.
Clark steps through the door, closing it after him. Helen is left standing in the entrance hall, alone with her pie.
INT. LANG HOME/LANA’S BEDROOM — DAY
In her undergarments, singing softly to herself, Lana goes through her closet. She finds two items: a red blouse and a beige sweater. Looking them over, she chooses the sweater. Setting the sweater down beside a brown skirt atop her bed, she crosses over to her dresser. Gazing into the dresser mirror, she checks her hair. As she tucks an errant lock behind her ear, she sees in the reflection a face outside her bedroom window.
LANA: (gasps) Jumpin’ Jesus!
Spinning 'round, she finds it is Clark gazing in on her. She strides to the window; flinging it open, she leans out; Clark clutches the window frame, feet braced tightly against the wall, suspended two storeys above the ground, nothing on or against the wall he could’ve used to scale it.
LANA: How’d you ever manage‽
Taking a step back, Lana allows Clark to climb inside. She places her fists on her hips, none too pleased with Clark.
LANA: You’re a voyeur, too, now?
CLARK: Sorry. (averts gaze)
LANA: Suppose I can’t fault you. Must be desensitized to the sight of bubs by now.
Moving to her bed, Lana takes up her sweater.
LANA: Let’s not futz around. (slips sweater on) What’s on your mind?
CLARK: It’s over.
Lana takes up her skirt, eyes intent on Clark.
CLARK: (beat) Between your aunt and me.
LANA: (slips skirt on) Face stretcher wore thin?
CLARK: (turns to window) I should go.
LANA: (buttons skirt) Clark — no.
Taking him by the wrist, she sits him down beside her on the bed, ready to hear what he has to say.
CLARK: It was sex. Just sex. Nothing else. (beat) I tried to love her. I tried. But she wouldn’t let me in. (beat) Lana, is it me? Is there something wrong with me?
LANA: Clark … you’re a sap. A real sap. But my God … your heart is big. You, you shine — a sun on Earth. (beat) I pity Hel, if she can’t see you … (touches his lips) … appreciate you….
There is a loud rap at the door, startling them both.
SARAH LANG: (O.S.) Lana, are you decent?
LANA: (faces door; irate) Mother!
SARAH LANG: (O.S.) Peter’s just arrived.
LANA: (to herself) Oh, Pete! (to Mrs. Lang) I’ll be right down!
Rising, Lana retrieves her shoes.
CLARK: Having a night on the town with Pete?
Slipping into her shoes, Lana nods.
CLARK: Since when have you and Pete …?
LANA: Clark, we’ve been going steady two weeks. (beat) You didn’t realize?
CLARK: No. (bewildered) I’ve missed out on a lot.
LANA: (sighs) That you have.
“I am a writer. Therefore, I am not sane.”
― Edgar Allan Poe