**The Plain Jane**
Staring at her phone as if it were a mirror, Poppy adjusted her lip gloss for the fourth time. Her long legs, sheathed in sheer tights, were dramatically on display thanks to a painfully short black leather skirt. The plunging neckline of her tight pink top barely contained her surgically enhanced D-cupa gift from one of her ex-boyfriends, a car dealership tycoon. Her delicate nose, courtesy of another admirer (a plastic surgeon), completed the look. Her platinum blonde extensions cascaded down her back, catching the sunlight like a shampoo commercial.
“Liv, he should be here by now!” she fretted, tugging at her hair. “Look at his profilea townhouse in Chelsea, a villa in Marbella…”
Liv, her plain-Jane best friend, stirred her cooling tea, barely glancing up. Next to Poppys blinding glamour, Liv was practically invisiblepetite, slightly soft around the edges, dressed in a modest white blouse and knee-length navy skirt. Her mousy brown hair was pulled into a simple ponytail, her only makeup a swipe of clear lip balm. A stack of English literature textbooks sat beside her bagshe had studying to do after this.
“Pops, are you sure hes actually serious?” Liv asked, adjusting her thick-rimmed glasses.
“Obviously!” Poppy rolled her smokey-eyed gaze. “Hes forty-two, owns a property empire, has houses dotted all over Europe. I give it five years maxdivorce, settlement, and Ill be sipping cocktails in Spain for the rest of my life.”
Liv winced but said nothing. Poppy smoothed a hand over her chest.
“The key is he cant clock my dodgy Frenchthats why youre here, brainbox. If I flounder, you jump in. And honestly?” Poppy flashed a predatory grin. “You know why I really brought you, right? Contrast, darling. Next to a little… *wallflower*… Ill look like a goddess.”
The words stung, but Liv just dropped her gaze. She was used to being the “ugly friend”ever since school, Poppy had dragged her along to parties and dates for exactly this reason.
Then *he* walked in.
Average height, slightly soft around the middle, salt-and-pepper hair, warm brown eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses. Utterly ordinaryexcept Poppys sharp eyes caught the details: his charcoal suit was understated but unmistakably bespoke, his Oxford shoes a flawless Italian make shed seen in *Tatler*. The price tag? More than her student loan.
“Oh!” Poppy whispered. “Definitely loaded. Shame about the face, though.”
The man approached their table, holding a single white rose.
“Excuse me, are you Poppy?” His voice was velvety, faintly posh. “Im Henry Whitmore.”
“Yes, its me!” Poppy instantly transformed, flashing a sultry smile and leaning forward just enough to deepen her cleavage. “And this is my friend Liv.”
Henry gave Liv a polite nod, handed Poppy the rose, and sat down. Liv noticed he deliberately avoided looking at Poppys outfit, his gaze lingering instead on her stack of books.
“I brought you both a little something,” Henry said, sliding two elegant Chanel boxes across the table.
“Oh! How *lovely*!” Poppy gushed, already mentally calculating the retail price. “This is very expensive, yes? Very nice perfume!” Her accent was a train wreck, every syllable mangled.
“Thank you, Mr. Whitmore,” Liv said quietly. Henry blinkedher English was flawless, her tone warm. “Thats very thoughtful of you.”
“Please, call me Henry,” he smiled. “So, you both study English literature?”
“Yes, yes! I study English very good!” Poppy chirped, tossing her hair. “I want go London! Very beautiful city! You have big house there, yes?” She traced a red-taloned finger along his wrist.
Henry barely suppressed a wince at her grammar. Unfazed, Poppy prattled on, punctuating every sentence with shrieks of laughter.
“And you, Liv?” Henry turned to her. “Whats your favorite period in literature?”
“Im fascinated by Modernist poetry,” Liv said, her quiet voice suddenly alive. “The interplay between form and meaningEliot, Woolf, Auden…” She gestured to her books. “Were studying post-war British writers this term.”
“Really?” Henrys eyes lit up. “What do you make of *The Waste Land*? Most students find it impenetrable.”
“It *is* difficult,” Liv admitted, smiling. “But theres brilliance in the fragmentation. Like piecing together a mosaicevery shard matters.”
Poppy scowled. This was *not* the plan.
“Henry!” She clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Tell me about your business! You are very successful, yes? Rich man!” She winked, laughing too loudly.
“I consult on sustainable architecture,” he said blandly, shrugging off her touch. “But Id rather hear about your studies.” He turned back to Liv. “Have you tried your hand at Woolfs stream-of-consciousness? It must be fiendishly hard to translate.”
For the next half-hour, Henry barely glanced at Poppy, engrossed in conversation with Liv about metaphor, structure, the challenges of rendering British irony into other languages. Livusually silent in Poppys radiant shadowblossomed. Her eyes sparkled behind her glasses, her hands animated as she spoke.
Poppys mood darkened. She tried everythingcrossing and uncrossing her legs, adjusting her neckline, interjecting with gems like “Yes, very nice!” and “I like books too!”but her clumsy attempts drowned in the tide of actual conversation.
Finally, she snapped.
“Excuse us!” she hissed, yanking Liv to the ladies’. Inside, she jabbed a manicured finger into Livs chest.
“Are you *mental*? Thats *my* mark!”
“Pops, he just kept asking”
“Dont play innocent!” Poppys eyes flashed. “You know exactly why youre here! Youre the *background*, Liv! I spent a fortune on this outfit*Im* the star, and youre the frumpy sidekick whos meant to shut up and make me shine!”
Liv paled. She adjusted her glasses, hands trembling.
“Fine. Sorry for… getting in the way.”
She collected her books and returned to the table.
“Henry, Im so sorry, but I have to go. Thank youfor the chat, and the gift.”
He stood, dismayed. “Why? Did I say something wrong? Ive loved talking to you.”
“Not at all,” Liv said softly. “It was wonderful meeting you. Enjoy your stay in London.”
She hurried out, hugging her books, leaving Poppy to her prize.
Except the prize had lost interest. Poppy slid back into her seat, tossing her hair.
“Now we can talk alone! Liv is… how you say… *boring*. But I am fun!”
Henry nodded politely, but his eyes kept drifting to the door. Twenty minutes later, he made his excuses”Urgent business”and left without asking for her number.
Poppy scowled at her phone, already messaging her next target: a tech bro from California.
—
Two weeks later, Liv left university after acing her thesis on postwar poetry. Her bag held a first-class mark; her heart felt light, despite Poppys icy silence in lectures.
Outside, a sleek black Jaguar idled. Liv barely noticed until the door openedand out stepped Henry, clutching an armful of white roses.
“Liv! Ive been waiting.”
Her mouth fell open. A crowd of curious students paused to watchincluding Poppy, her face twisting with shock.
“Henry? I thought youd gone back to”
“I couldnt leave without seeing you again.” He offered the roses. “Dinner? Please? Theres so much I want to say…”
Liv hesitated, glancing at her gawking classmatesand Poppys murderous glare.
“Henry, if youre inviting me, youll have to invite *all* my friends. I dont like leaving people out.”
Henry laughed, delighted. “Youre extraordinary. Of course! Everyones welcomemy treat!”
An hour later, the entire literature department crowded into The Ivy. Henry ordered champagne and the tasting menu. Poppy, squeezed into a dress even skimpier than before, cackled loudly at the far endbut Henrys gaze never left Liv.
“Liv,” he murmured, “I havent stopped thinking about our conversation. About poetry, about life… Youve unlocked something in me I thought was gone forever.”
She blushed. “Henry, you hardly know me”
“I know enough. Youre clever, kind, *real*.” He took her hand. “You remind me of my mothershe taught literature. Always said true beauty is in the mind, not the…” His eyes flicked
