“Gosh, I’m awful sorry,” Clark coughed, after inhaling half of the finishing powder that the makeup artist, Alice, just applied. Alice was nice. Alice only asked him questions about Bruce Wayne and whether or not the little husky mix he adopted was as cute as she seemed in the photos. After Clark had reassured her that, yes, Ace was adorable and Bruce was spoiling her, he shook her hand with both of his and thanked her twice.
The dressing room was silent again. He stood up and stretched his legs, after prying the narrow wooden chair from his hips. No one on set had expected him to be this big, which resulted in some last minute seating changes... but only once he was in front of the camera. A little discomfort now was fine. He just didn’t want to be remembered backstage for breaking a chair.
“Ok, Clark. Let’s decide who you’re gonna be today.” He squinted at himself in the mirror, not liking how the powder obscured the pores in his face. He leaned against the vanity and scrunched up his nose, then rolled his shoulders back. With his tie tucked and a confident smile, he stared at his reflection. One hand in his pocket. Feet shoulder width apart.
He rolled his shoulders forward, higher by his ears, and let his weight shift to the right. He hunched forward and made sure his glasses were high on the bridge of his nose, with the black rim obscuring the space between his eyelids and brow. The lens were thick enough that his eyelashes would barely be seen, much less noticed.
Too much like Clark. Old Clark.
The Clark that hid from opportunities like these, and only scraped by in job interviews, scuttling through parties along the back wall until he faded into the background.
Clark didn’t want to be that Clark today. He didn’t want to be that Clark ever again if it meant he couldn’t be effective.
He straightened up, and took his hand out of his pocket, but he smiled again. Just a disarming, shy one, but enough that he didn’t look like he was prepared to jump out of his skin at any moment.
He buttoned his blazer and opened the door, just as he heard one of the crew telling Brandon, from sound, to grab the guest and bring him out.
“If you’re just joining us, I’m Chuck Wilton, and as the Ukraine scandal unfolds, WGBS is bringing you an exclusive interview with the journalist, Clark Kent, who broke the story. Welcome Clark.” The introduction rolled off the older, gaunt looking man’s tongue with a practiced ease. Chuck appeared on millions of screens across Metropolis and the country for more than a decade. He was a familiar, no nonsense face in American homes.
And he was still too conservative for Clark’s liking. He could respect the man’s commitment to his work while disagreeing with his personal politics. Clark couldn’t relax entirely, even as he shook Chuck’s hand and sat down in the appropriately sized swivel chair, on his side of the desk. He knew not to close his eyes when the pitcher’s planning a curveball. Clark just didn’t know when it would come.
“Thanks for havin’ me, Chuck. I’m glad to be here,” Clark kept the drawl in his voice, as he let the button loose and set down his typed notes in front of him.
Chuck first asked about Clark’s conversations with Ambassador William Taylor, envoy to Ukraine, who returned stateside to testify in front of Congress about the President’s international transgressions. Clark answered calmly, laying out the timeline of the President withholding national aid to force another government to investigate his political opponents.
“That’s correct. President Trump asked for Kiev to investigate former Vice President Biden and would not release security aid until this was done. Requesting that a foreign government conduct a politically motivated investigation with the promise of something in return is not only illegal, but it’s not how the United States conducts foreign affairs.”
“And this single phone call, that we don’t have access to the transcript for, is enough for Speaker Pelosi to file the articles of impeachment? The testimony of a single civil servant has launched these closed door hearings in the SCIF?”
“Not just any civil servant, Chuck. Mr. Taylor is a decorated veteran who has served in nonpartisan roles under both Democratic and Republican administrations since 1985. He worked for the Department of Energy and NATO, ‘fore he began working internationally for the State Department.” Clark pushed back, still smiling, but dropping his hands to his lap to keep from gesturing as he spoke. “I think that in the coming days, you’ll see more and more folks comin’ forward, but this is on top of the previous and documented abuses of power by this administration since 2016.”
“Pelosi has hemmed and hawwed about keeping the scope narrow. If this is the event that finally lights the spark of impeachment, why couch it in the context of those other allegations? Isn’t the public ready to move on from the spectacle of the Speaker grasping at straws?” Chuck fixed Clark with a look over his glasses.
“I think that the latest Pew polls showing public support for a removal of the President from office answers that question better than either of us could. I think it can be argued that it may not have been politically viable to move to impeachment before now, ‘specially in light of the GOP’s shameful display yesterday in the SCIF.”
“Don’t they have the right to protest peacefully, as any other American group?”
Clark’s smile grew tight. “They’d have that right if it was an actual protest, but you’ve got to call it like it is, Chuck. They committed a federal crime. The two dozen or so elected officials barged into the SCIF, brought their cellphones in with them and tweeted from inside. The SCIF is a Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility. These rooms are designed to handle sensitive materials while matters of national security’re bein’ discussed.”
“They weren’t protesting, Mr. Wilton,” Clark took a deep breath, “They were obstructing justice and protesting the very rules they put into place durin’ the era of the filibuster, under President Obama. Electronics weren’t supposed to be in that room, because of the high risk of compromise by foreign agencies. Representative Gaetz knows that."
Chuck hummed unhappily, “Even if they simply wanted to be in the room during the hearing? Isn’t that a reasonable request?”
“If they were one of the Republicans on the congressional Intelligence committees that were supposed to be there? Certainly. But the fact is that those representatives-- from both parties, I might add-- were already in the room. Closed-door testimonies were standard practice durin’ the impeachment inquiries into former Presidents Clinton and Nixon.” Clark worked his jaw and continued. “Just because our current President might act like he’s above the law, doesn’t mean that his party should feel entitled to do the same.”
“I see. It says here that you’ve been at the Planet for two years?” Chuck opted to pivot, leaning back in his chair.
“Yessir, two years this December.” Clark clasped his hand in front of him, on top of the desk. His smile brightened again.
“Where have they been hiding you? Welcome to the world, Mr. Kent.”
“Aha, thank you, Chuck,” Clark laughed nervously.
“Why haven’t we heard from you before? It says here that this is the first time you’ve written on national politics for them. The last time your name was in the news, you were the news. A puff piece from a gossip columnist in Gotham about your current relationship.”
“I’m grateful to my editor, Perry White, for giving me the opportunity to inform the American people about what’s happening on Capitol Hill. I think that they want to hear more about if our Congress is going to impeach a sitting president in an election year, than they do about my personal life.” Clark glanced away and then forced himself to meet Chuck’s gaze again. Old Clark wouldn’t be allowed to finish this interview. “Wouldn’t you agree, Chuck?”
“I would.” Chuck smiled for the first time. His teeth were straight, but yellowed. “But they would also like to know if they’re receiving their news from a reliable source. What would you say to those that might think you’re just trying to keep your name in the papers?”
“The Daily Planet prides itself on integrity. That’s been true since the paper was founded. I think that this story could have been written by any of its reporters. My answer to those folks would be simple, Chuck: the article speaks for itself. Our investigative team has complied page by page summaries of the ambassador’s testimony, cross-referenced with additional witnesses since the probe began.”
Clark paused and turned away from Chuck to stare directly at the camera.
“Stories like this aren’t meant to catapult any one person into stardom or notoriety, they’re meant to keep hard-working Americans abreast of the issues that will have profound impacts on their lives. Make no mistake, Chuck, the American people have asked for the president to be held to the same standards as any other citizen. They have a right to know that some of the men and women that they voted into office aren’t only talkin’ the talk, they’re walkin’ the walk, and they’re ready to check the Executive Branch.”
“Powerful words from a new face. I’d like to thank today’s guest, Clark Kent, from The Daily Planet. I’m sure this won’t be the last we’ll see of him.” Chuck gestured to Clark, who nodded and waved, and then a relieved looking woman with a clipboard and a large headset gave the cue to cut to commercial.
