Bedazzled

It was evening at the Xavier Institute, and Kitty, in her regular clothes, sat in her room, next to her phone. Her eyes were narrowed in determination, as she picked up the phone, dialing the number, and hoping to God that she'd timed this right...
"Hi, this is Dynamo D at the Triple-B, your main event, and you are lucky Caller #8! Anything you'd like to say?"
Kitty let out a soft squeal, before she answered, "I'm Kitty Pryde, and the Triple-B is the bomb that rocks the country!"
"Hey, that's the phrase that pays, Kitty Pryde!" Dynamo D answered. "I hope you've cleared your Saturday schedule, because tomorrow, you and two lucky friends are going to be hanging backstage with the one and only Alison Blaire! Drop by the main office of Dynamite Recording Studios with photo I.D. tomorrow, and you'll be set to hang with Alison! Peace out!" With that, Dynamo D hung up.
"OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD!" Kitty squealed jumping up and down. She had to tell everyone! Brimming with excitement, she practically bounced down the stairs, to tell the others.
It was just after sunset when Superman returned from his evening patrol. After donning his street clothes in his room, Clark headed down to the living room where everyone else had gathered. Scott and Jean were watching a movie on the TV, sitting on the couch, Scott's arm looped around Jean's shoulders. Evan was just walking in after skateboarding outside for the past hour. Rogue was sitting in a chair, reading a novel. Lance was in another chair, absently strumming his guitar. Ororo was watering her indoor flowers with mini rain-clouds. And Remy was sitting at the table, playing poker with Logan, who was scowling. "You'd better not be cheatin', Gumbo."
Remy grinned. "Why, Wolvie', would Remy do a 'orrible t'ing like dat?"
"You want me to answer that?"
Clark chuckled. "Hey, Logan, any mail, today?"
"Yeah; it should be on the kitchen table, and I think there's something there for ya, Flyboy." Logan replied.
"Thanks." Clark replied as he walked towards the kitchen...pausing to open the kitchen door just enough to lift up the bucket of ice-water that had been placed above the door. He laughed. "Nice try, guys."
Ray and Roberto peered out from behind the corner.
"Aw man, how did you know?" 
"I can see through objects remember." 
"OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD!"
Clark winced as he – along with the rest of the Institute, minus the members of the X-Men that were in the Danger Room - heard Kitty's squeal, as she bounced down the stairs, overjoyed. 
"I won!" She squealed. "I actually won!"
Remy looked up. 
"Won what, Petite?" He inquired.
"I won three backstage passes to meet Alison Blaire!" Kitty squealed.
"Whoa!" Ray exclaimed. "You mean, teenage pop-diva, swimsuit-model-gorgeous, girl-of-my-dreams Alison Blaire?"
Clark blinked. "Who?"
Kitty stared at him as if he'd grown two heads. 
"Hello?!" She cried. "Alison Blaire?! The most talented, nicest teenage singer ever?! The girl whose first CD sold over ten million copies on the first day it was released?!" She held out a CD for emphasis.
Remy stood up and took a look, as Clark walked over. Remy whistled. "Merde...no 'ffence, chere, but Remy got t' admit: dat be one belle femme."
Clark had to agree as he looked at the photo of the smiling, slender, curvaceous blond-haired young woman in a pink tank-top and blue jeans. 
"Wow, she's a doll, all right." He said.
"So, Kit, who's going with you?" Scott asked.
Smiling sheepishly, Kitty looked to Rogue. "Rogue..?"
"Hell. No."
"Oh, please, Rogue?!" Kitty begged. "There aren't a whole lot of people that can go with me! Scott and Jean have plans for tomorrow; Evan, Lance, and Remy don't like her enough; Kurt's still on probation, and so is Tabitha; Archangel, Banshee, Beast, Bishop, Colossus, Iceman, Psylocke, Sunfire and Thunderbird are presently preoccupied in the Danger Room; I can't ask any of those hormone-crazed New Mutant boys; and the New Mutant girls are just as fanatic about her as I am! I need some who can keep cool, and keep me from gushing too much! Please, Rogue!"
Rogue rolled her eyes. 
"Fahne." She muttered. "But ya still need one more, and ya just said that there's no-one else!"
Kitty smiled slyly. "Not quite." She said. She put on her sweetest smile...as she turned to Clark. "Clark..?"
"No, Kitty." Clark said firmly. "I need to go check in with the boss of the newspaper I'm interning at, tomorrow. Ask someone else." Kitty's expression saddened...and Clark knew what was coming next.
Whenever Kitty ever asked him to do something he wasn't fussy about, she always managed to "guilt" him into it with her "puppy-dog eyes." Recently, Clark had finally developed an immunity to that tactic, and he'd thought his problems were over...
...until Kitty had developed a new trick...which she was using now.
The "Puppy-Dog-Eye-Lower-Lip-Quiver-Sniffle Combo." Her face now looked like she was ready to burst into tears at even the slightest hint of refusal.
And that – other than Kryptonite – was Clark's weakness: he hated it when girls cried. He'd been that way for as long as he could remember; every time he heard that sound, he would say anything, do anything, just to make them stop.
"Kitty, you do not fight fair." Clark muttered. Kitty's sniffling started to increase in frequency. "Okay, okay!" Clark cried. "I'll go!"
"Oh, thank you!" Kitty squealed, her expression becoming joyful again, as she hugged him. Then, she hugged Rogue, too. "Thank you both so much! You won't regret it!"
"Too late." Rogue muttered. "Ah'm gonna spend tomorrow talkin' to another run-of-the-mill, curvaceous, blond, leggy diva. What fun."
Just then, Clark's hearing picked up a transmission on the emergency channel. "Uh-oh."
By now, everyone knew what that meant. "Uh-oh."
"France. Cargo ship in distress." Clark said. "Gotta go, guys; duty calls."
Rogue grinned. "Hopefully, it'll call tomorrow, too."
Clark chuckled, as he darted to his room, donning his uniform, and ran for the nearest window, opening it and flying out, heading for France at top speed.
It looked like another job for Superman.
Dynamite Recording Studios, New York City, October 12, 2007
"I'm afraid that ten million just won't be enough, my friend. Alison's talent is worth far more than that; if you insist on wasting my time and hers, there are plenty more studios who would be interested..."
17-year-old pop-sensation Alison Blaire sighed to herself, laying her head on the office table as her agent, Tom Petersen, and the studio-manager kept on negotiating the terms of her recording contract. Alison was fairly tall, and slender, with a delicate, willowy frame, with ample curves, and long, shimmery, wavy strawberry-blond hair, which reached the middle of her back, as well as sapphire-blue eyes, and light, peach-creamy skin, with the lightest hint of a tan. She wore her favorite sleeveless pink tank-top, which accentuated her curves tastefully and showed her toned midriff, and slim blue jeans, which accentuated her slender legs. Alison had always tried to keep her image cleaner than some of the other singers in the business.
Tom and the manager had been negotiating for the past few hours, now, and it was past lunchtime, as Alison's cranky stomach was starting to inform her. She'd been up at 5:00 AM for the recording of her next CD, and she hadn't had time to eat. After that, she'd done her yoga and Pilates lessons, and then Tom had dragged her into this.
Tom, a lanky 40-something-year-old man, with slick brown hair, shaded eyes and a too-professional suit – the ever-sneaky talent-agent – was not her favorite person. So far, all he'd mentioned was the money involved in her contract; he hadn't even mentioned the most important issue!
"Tom?" Alison asked. "What about me writing my own songs?"
Tom just smiled condescendingly. "You just let me worry about that, Alison, darling." he said too-smoothly. "I'm getting to it."
He'd said that three hours ago.
Finally, Alison had enough. "That's it! Tom, we've been here for over three hours! I am starving!" Alison said angrily. "I am getting some lunch!" With that, Alison stormed out, heading for her dressing-room.
As Alison entered her dressing-room, she sat down at her mirror, feeling utterly glum. Tom never listened to her; she wanted so much to sing the songs she wrote. Not only that, lately she'd been feeling a bit homesick; she missed her family...
Just then, Alison's beloved Aunt Bridget – her manager – walked in, just hanging up her cell-phone. Bridget Blaire was a delightfully irreverent-yet-loving British lady in her late forties, with long brown hair and green eyes, wearing her usual blue jeans and grey sweater. Aunt Bridget and her family had "adopted" Alison ever since her father hadn't approved of her singing career, prompting Alison to simply walk out. Bridget had also been home-schooling Alison, making sure her "gorgeous and talented niece didn't neglect her academic life."
Bridget smiled at Alison. "Than was Jenny!" she said, in her British accent. "She said that Gadget keeps trying to eat the blankets in your room!"
The mention of her younger cousin and the family cat was too much for Alison, as she burst into tears, from a combination of hunger, frustration, and exhaustion. Bridget instantly was at her side, her hands on Alison's shoulders. "Honey, what's the matter?"
"I miss Gadget!" Alison sobbed.
Bridget smiled. "Oh, I know, sweetie. Jenny says that he just isn't the same without you."
Alison sobbed again. "And...and I miss Jenny and Uncle Mike!"
"And they miss you, sweetheart." Bridget said softly. "Jenny keeps saying that she wants to be just like you!"
That made Alison smile, her tears slowing. Her sapphire eyes narrowed. "And I hate Tom!"
Bridget chuckled. "Now that I can understand!" she said. "What's he done, now?"
"Ignoring me, as usual!" Alison exclaimed. "I keep saying that I want to do my own songs, but does he listen? No!"
Bridget frowned. "Sounds like I need to talk to him, again." she said. She smiled, and added, "Honey, if you're tired of all this, just tell me, and you can go back to school for a while; if anything, you're ahead of your grade-level! It's all doable!"
Alison smiled. "I know." she said. "But this kind of chance is hard to come by! I mean, how many girls my age get to live their dreams? I'm so lucky!"
Bridget smiled. "Okay, sweetie." she said. Grinning, she added, "Now, I'll go talk to Tom." She turned to go...
Then, Alison remembered something. "Aunt Bridget?" she called, and her Aunt stopped. "There's...something I need to show you. Do you...remember the past three concerts? The ones were it looked like the lights kept overloading, but they hadn't?"
Bridget nodded; in each of those concerts, Alison had been on stage singing, when a flash of light seemed to surround her. "Why, yes, honey." she replied. "We never found out what caused it..."
"I found out." Alison whispered. She reached over to her radio, and switched it on, turning the volume up high. As the music played, Alison felt a kind of energy just building up inside her, in tune with the beat of the music – just like at the concerts. She concentrated, controlling the flow...and formed a small sphere of white light on her palm.
"Aunt Bridget...it was me."
Bridget looked astonished. "How..?"
"I don't know." Alison whispered. "Aunt Bridget...is something...wrong with me..?"
"No." Bridget said firmly. "No matter what, sweetheart, there is absolutely nothing wrong with you; if anything, this...ability, or whatever it is...it just makes you even more special." She smiled. "You can be sure that your Auntie Bridget will be right there to help you figure this out." she promised.
Alison smiled, and hugged her Aunt. "I love you, Aunt Bridget." she murmured. Tears came to her eyes. "Oh, I'm so glad I didn't lose you on that plane, last month." Alison had been terrified when news of a plane about to crash in the Atlantic had reached her...and had been overjoyed to hear that it had been saved, somehow.
Bridget smiled. "Oh, I love you, too, honey." she replied. Then, as the hug ended, Bridget grinned, rolling up her sleeves. "Now, you just let old "Battlin'" Bridget Blaire, the toughest talent-manager in the business, get in there and play some hard-ball with that wanker, Tom!" With that, she headed out, as Alison laughed at the comment.
Alison really had been lucky. Her childhood had been relatively happy, though her parents, the gruff lawyer Carter Blaire and the free-spirited performer Katherine Blaire, had argued a bit more than occasionally. Her family had often traveled with Aunt Bridget and her family to spend summers in Smallville, to visit their friends, Mr. And Mrs. Kent...as well as their adopted son, who the young Alison had an immense crush on. In later years, even after her mother had walked out, her father had never so much as laid a finger on her, though he had frowned on her dreams of becoming a singer.
Then, at the age of 16, Alison's career had started. She'd auditioned for the American Idol competition; an incredibly nervous Alison had given the performance of her life at the try-outs, before nervously awaiting the judges' reactions, softly inquiring if they had liked it.
Simon Cowell – the brutally honest "Grim Reaper" of the contest – had been so moved, he'd actually gotten up and hugged her, before giving her the name of a talent agency, along with a reference that was so glowing, she'd been surprised she hadn't contracted radiation sickness.
That reference had been her proverbial "Golden Ticket." She'd been taken in for a recording...and Alison's talent did the rest. With her ever-supportive Aunt Bridget as her manager, Alison had signed a recording contract, marking the start of her career, quickly soaring to become the Number One pop singer in the States, showing no sign of slowing down, with the royalties from her CDs and the money from her concerts being tucked away in a trust fund until she was 18, the legal age of adulthood; Alison was planning on using it for university...while still recording CDs and doing concerts, of course.
Her father had not been impressed. He expressly forbade her to sing, saying that she was "throwing her life away." Alison had tried to get him to listen, but his mind was made up. Alison wasn't about to give up her chance for her dream to become reality, so she'd left, to live with her Aunt Bridget and Uncle Mike, who'd welcomed her, as had her adoring younger cousin Jenny.
Alison had almost wanted to visit Smallville during the past summer with her new surrogate family, but decided against it in the end; when she'd been twelve, her childhood crush, Clark, then fifteen, had simply vanished close to the start of fall, shortly after his father had died. Alison had cried herself to sleep, the night she'd found out. Going back would simply bring back those sad memories.
Though her professional life was going well, her personal life stank. She'd gone on a few dates after her career had gotten started, but she quickly learned that 99 percent of the guys in the teen-singer crowd were jerks, and the few that weren't were either spoken for, or just didn't interest her.
The reason for that was likely due to the fact that Alison hadn't entirely given up on one day finding her childhood crush, again.
Her stroll down Memory Lane complete, Alison walked to her computer, to check her e-mail. She quickly brought up MSN Messenger, and logged in. She didn't see any new messages...
Lila-Singer has signed in.
Alison smiled as she saw the IM address of one of her best friends, Lila Cheney, who was a very sweet girl, and a promising rising star in the music business. She quickly started an online conversation.
Care-Blaire says: Hi!
Lila-Singer says: What's up?
Care-Blaire says: Not much. Tom's being a jerk. Again. lol
Lila-Singer says: Yu should SO fire him.
Care-Blaire says: Very tempting. What's up with yu?
Lila-Singer says: Not a whole lot, but did yu hear? There was another Superman sighting!
That surprised Alison a tiny bit. Even among the stars of music, movie and TV, the topic of Superman was becoming increasingly popular for gossip.
Care-Blaire says: Where?
Lila-Singer says: In some African country: Wabanla, or Walkana, or something.
Care-Blaire says: I know of a country named Wakanda. Is that it?
Lila-Singer says: Yeah, that's it!
Lila-Singer says: Anyway, there was some big forest-fire in part of the rain forest, but then the country's radar picks up something near it just before the fire just goes right out!
Care-Blaire says: Wow. Hey, do yu remember that day, a few months ago? My 17th B-Day?
Lila-Singer says: Yeah. Those meteors. It HAD to be him.
Alison allowed her memory to take her back a few months. Back in May, Lila had convinced Alison to come to a party in New York City, to celebrate Alison's 17th birthday. Alison and Lila had just stepped out of the limo, heading for the club – the flashes from the cameras nearly blinding them both – when Alison had happened to look up...and spot a big, red meteor heading straight for the city. She – along with everyone else – had screamed...
But then she'd seen a red beam fire at the meteor, missing it. Then, she'd seen another. And another, only this one hit it. And then there was another, which blasted it into dust, as something flew overhead, leaving a sonic boom in its wake.
Care-Blaire says: He saved us, that day. He saved the WORLD.
Lila-Singer says: I heard that Paris has put up a big billboard with her number, telling him to call her.
Alison nearly burst out laughing; leave it to the ultra-spoiled Hilton heiress to find another way to draw attention to herself. Alison wasn't exactly friends with the girl, and vice-versa.
Care-Blaire says: OMG are you SERIOUS?
Lila-Singer says: Oh yeah. She didn't get him, but she sure got a lot of calls, that night. lol
Care-Blaire says: lol. Yeah, like he'd stop in the middle of catching airplanes just because Paris Hilton wants him to call her.
Then, Alison remembered that she had a music video to do, and after that, three fans were supposed to hang with her after winning a contest.
Care-Blaire says: Sorry. Got to go; music video, plus I'm meeting three fans.
Lila-Singer says: Ok. Later.
Lila-Singer has signed out.
After signing out of MSN, Alison simply waited for the make-up people to just do a light touch-up for the video. Before long, they'd arrived, and had just applied a light coat of makeup, perfectly accentuating and complementing Alison's own beauty. Ready for the video, Alison headed for the main recording room.
It was mid-afternoon by the time Clark, Rogue, and Kitty had arrived at Dynamite Recording Studios; the studio had contacted Kitty about when they could drop by.
Clark had to smile at how giddy Kitty was as they walked into the studio. "I can't believe it! I'm actually going to meet Alison Blaire!" she squealed.
Ever-stoic Rogue just sighed. "Ah can't believe ya dragged the both of us with ya."
By then, the receptionist had verified their ID's. "Go right in!" She said. The three of them promptly headed in.
As they walked, Clark thought he heard a familiar voice, as a brown-haired lady in her forties – arguing with some guy in a suit – passed ahead of them, not noticing them, going off in a perpendicular direction. 
"Hey...who was that?" Clark asked.
"Oh, that was Alison's Aunt, and her manager, Bridget Blaire." Kitty said.
After her video, Alison returned to her dressing room, flushed yet exhilarated, like she always felt after a performance. She'd felt that the video had gone well. She'd never had any real problems with the dance moves involved in music videos; several years of ballet and dance lessons tended to give a girl pretty good coordination.
As she sat down, Alison checked her watch, and smiled; it was time to meet her three fans. She clicked on the room's PA system. "Okay, I'm ready! Send them in!" she said.
A minute or so later, two girls about a year younger than her came in. The first was a bit shorter than her, with chestnut hair in a ponytail and blue eyes, in a white t-shirt under a pink hooded sweater, and blue capri jeans. The other girl was closer to Alison's height, with Goth-style makeup, her auburn hair mid-length, with a white streak in the middle, and green eyes, clad in a black tank-top under a green semi-transparent blouse, with a black miniskirt and black leggings, with gloves on her hands.
"Oh my God!" the ponytail girl squealed, zipping in. "I-I'm so glad to meet you! I'm, like, your biggest fan! I'm Kitty Pryde, and this is Rogue!"
Alison smiled. "Hey, you made the winning call, right?" she asked. "It's nice to meet you!"
The other girl – Rogue – was a lot calmer. "Yeah, and she had ta drag meh along with her." she said, in a Southern accent. Looking slightly apologetic, she added, "No offense. Ah mean, yer music is nahce and all, but it's just...not mah tahpe of music."
Alison shrugged, smiling. 
"No problem." She said. "To each, their own." Then, she paused. "Hang on...wasn't there three of you supposed to be here?"
Kitty smiled. "Oh, yeah; he'll be right in." She said. Her smile became sheepish. "I kinda had to 'guilt' him into coming, but he works way too hard! He really needed a day off, Alison!"
"Hello." She looked to the door, and stopped as she beheld a seriously handsome guy, who looked about 20, wearing blue jeans, a white t-shirt, with a black jacket over it. He was tall, with a serious amount of muscle to him, from the look of his frame, yet he was clearly agile and athletic from the way he moved. His hair was short, and black, a few tendrils spiking over his forehead, and his face blended the best of any male model with the rugged good looks of a movie action-hero. And his eyes...his eyes were the clearest sky-blue Alison had ever seen...