Jogging Wanda's Memory: A Plot Un-Twist

By Paul-Gabriel Wiener <>

Rated: G

Submitted: May, 2003

Summary: In this response to Hazel's Plot Un-twist Challenge, Clark goes clubbing, hits on the woman of his dreams, and manages to pick her up.

Author's note: This is a response to the "plot un-twist" challenge posted on Zoomway's message boards by Hazel. The idea is relatively simple: pick a moment from the show, preferably the teaser for one of the episodes, and change things so that the A-plot unravels in a hopefully humorous way.


When Clark walked into the "Ace O'Clubs" bar, he immediately noticed the display by the piano. There was a picture of Lois, and, underneath, a sign proclaiming "Tonight- Wanda Detroit!"

So, it was true. Lois had lost her memory and taken on the personality of the main character of her novel. This could be tricky.

As he walked up to the bar, the bartender called out to him. "What can I offer you today?"


"The capital of Connecticut is Hartford," was the surly reply.

"About Wanda Detroit," clarified Clark. "Is she around now?"

"At Bibbo's, our artists have a 'no autograph' policy."

Perhaps it was time for a new tack. "I'm with the Daily Planet."

"The food critic," Bibbo said sarcastically. "At last."

"I'm a reporter," he said, just to set things straight. Clearly, his professional credentials weren't going to help. "And a friend of Lo… Wanda Detroit's. Maybe you could get a note to her."

"All right. What's your name?"

Clark stopped himself before giving his first name. "Wanda" wouldn't react well to "Clark." Instead, he said, "Kent."

The door behind the bar opened slowly, cautiously. "You're Kent?" asked a familiar, if oddly accented, voice.

"Yeah, Wanda. It's me."

"Oh, Kent!" She ran to him, then slowed, unsure.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

She nodded, still unsure of the situation.

Clark turned to the bartender and ordered two bottles of beer. As soon as the bottles were on the bar, he grabbed one, and, before anyone could react, hit "Wanda" over the head. The bartender was understandably upset by this, but Clark paid him no attention.

"Wha… What happened?"


"Yes. Who are you?"


"Wha…? Clark?"

"Yes! Lois?"

"Lois? Who's Lois? I'm Ultra-"


"What…? Ack! I'm late for my shift? Where's that stupid chicken suit?"


"All right, what happened?"

"Lois?" Clark asked, tentatively. Her gruff voice was not promising.

"What are you calling me Lois for? I'm Larry. Do I look like a Lois?" "Larry" gestured at "his" body for emphasis, but, in so doing, noticed some unexpected features. "What did you do to me? I've got-"


"Oooo. My head hurts. What happened?"



"Who am I?"

"Clark, what are you talking about? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Lois. What's the last thing you remember?"

"Well, we were at the chapel, and I had to go sign the marriage licence… then, I'm not sure… Where are we? What happened?"

"You're back! Don't worry, I'll explain it all later. Right now, we should get out of here. Lex could arrive at any moment."

"Lex? Who's that?"

The bottle came up again, but Clark stopped himself just in time. "I'll tell you later." Clark tossed some cash at the bartender, grabbed the beer bottles (a souvenir, if nothing else), and headed outside with Lois.

They walked out through the front door, arm in arm, then quickly moved out of sight. Clark scooped her up in his arms and flew off.

Suddenly, his hearing picked up the sound of tires squealing behind the club. He didn't care. He had Lois back. Concentrating on that thought, he completely missed the sound of gunshots mixed in with the squealing tires.

The next day, the tabloids were full of speculation about just what Lex Luthor had been doing in a dark alley behind a bar, who had shot him, and why. Lois and Clark, involved in catching up on memories and lost time, failed to notice. The case was never solved, nor was it ever linked to a string of pet shop robberies that moved slowly across the country. No one even noticed that the robberies happened to coincide with the movements of a transient nightclub singer who called herself "Wanda Chicago." After all, what would she want with frogs?