Chapter four

CHAPTER 4: BECOMING JANE

"Again," Jane commanded, circling Lyra like a shark. "And this time, don't hunch your shoulders."

Lyra took a deep breath and walked across Jane's penthouse living room for what felt like the hundredth time that morning. Her feet ached in the four-inch heels Jane had insisted she wear

"until they feel like extensions of your legs."

"Better," Jane gave in, "but still not quite right. You're walking like someone trying to be elegant. I was born elegant."

Lyra bit back a reply. After twenty-four hours of crash-course training in becoming Jane McCormick, her patience was wearing thin.

"Let's try something else." Jane pulled out her phone and showed Lyra a video. "This is me at the Bridgehampton charity gala last summer. Watch how I move."

On-screen, Jane glided through a crowd of glittering socialites, her smile never reaching her eyes as she air-kissed cheeks and touched arms with practiced familiarity.

"You never fully face anyone unless they're important," Lyra watched. "And you always keep your chin slightly raised."

"Very good." Jane seemed genuinely pleased. "Now you're paying attention to details."

The coffee table between them was covered with documents, Jane's birth certificate, passport, social security card, and family photographs.

A separate pile contained information about the McCormick family history, business holdings, and social connections.

"Quiz me again," Lyra said, sliding off the painful shoes for a moment's relief.

Jane picked up a photo of an older couple. "My parents?"

"Loren and Margaret McCormick. Married thirty years. Your father built McCormick Industries from a small investment firm to a Wall Street player before the downturn three years ago. Your mother serves on the boards of four charities but spends most of her time at your family estate in Connecticut or the winter home in Palm Beach."

"My birthday?"

"October 12th, 1999. You were born in New York-Presbyterian. Your first word was 'mine.' You attended Chapin School before graduating from Yale with a degree in Art History."

Jane nodded her approval. "And what are you allergic to?"

Lyra hesitated.

"Shellfish and penicillin," Jane answered for her. "If Ryker tries to take you to a seafood restaurant, you have a built-in excuse to be difficult. And if you ever need to escape a situation, a 'shellfish reaction' can be faked easily. Hives, shortness of breath, you know the drill."

Lyra looked at her with new respect. "You've thought of everything."

"When you've spent your life planning an escape, you learn to cover all bases." Jane checked her watch. "Speaking of which, we need to go. Your appointment at Bergdorf's is in forty minutes."

"Appointment?" Lyra scrambled to put the shoes back on.

"You can't become me wearing Target clearance items. Jane McCormick would rather die than wear synthetic fabrics." She pointed to Lyra's blouse.

"What is that, polyester?"

"It's all I can afford," Lyra said defensively.

Jane's smile turned razor-sharp. "Not anymore."

*******************

The personal shopping suite at Bergdorf Goodman was bigger than Lyra's apartment.

Jane spoke quietly to a sleek woman named Vivienne, who nodded and disappeared, returning minutes later with a team of attendants carrying clothing.

"Your sister has excellent taste," Vivienne said to Lyra, believing the cover story Jane had thought up.

"Half-sister," Jane corrected smoothly. "Different mothers. Mine had better fashion sense."

Lyra struggled to keep her face uninterested as Jane described her "sister's" upcoming society wedding, explaining the need for a complete wardrobe overhaul.

"We're thinking classic silhouettes, nothing too trendy," Jane said. "She'll be moving in very traditional circles."

"Of course," Vivienne agreed. "Let's start with the essentials."

What followed was three hours of Lyra being dressed and redressed like an expensive doll. Suits, dresses, casual wear, lingerie, shoes, and bags, are all selected by Jane with ruthless efficiency.

In a dressing room lined with mirrors, Lyra stared at her reflection in a cream-colored Chanel suit that cost more than her car.

"Stop looking so stressed out," Jane said, adjusting the lapel. "This is who you are now."

"How do people live like this?" Lyra whispered. "Everything costs more than I make in a month."

"That's the point. When you have this much money, you demonstrate it through what you wear." Jane stepped back to assess the outfit. "We'll take this one, Vivienne. And the black Dior, the blue Valentino, and all the basics we selected."

Vivienne didn't blink at the final total: $87,465.23.

Jane handed over a black credit card. "Charge it to this account."

"Wait," Lyra hissed as Vivienne stepped away. "That's more than a quarter of my payment!"

"It's not your money I'm spending," Jane replied. "This is Daddy's credit card. Consider it his investment in our little scheme."

As the purchases were being wrapped in tissue paper and placed in signature shopping bags, Jane led Lyra to the store's restaurant.

"Time for lunch and signature practice," she announced. "You need to perfect my handwriting before tonight's dinner."

Over salads neither of them ate, Jane watched Lyra fill page after page of a notebook with attempts at copying her flowing signature.

"The 'J' needs to be bolder," Jane critiqued. "And the 'k' never connects to the 'i'."

"This is impossible," Lyra muttered, her hand cramping. "No one will believe this."

"They will because they want to," Jane said. "People see what they expect to see."

She took the pen and demonstrated again, her signature a perfect blend of confidence and carelessness.

"It's not just about the signature," Jane continued. "It's about the attitude behind it. I sign things like I'm doing the world a favor."

Lyra tried again, imagining herself as someone who had never worried about money, never counted pennies, and never received a rejection letter.

"Better," Jane said. "Much better."

The waiter brought their check. Jane pushed it toward Lyra with a challenging look.

With only slight hesitation, Lyra signed Jane McCormick with a flourish.

Jane examined it and smiled her approval. "Now for the final test of the day. We're going to Cartier, and you're going to select an engagement ring as if you've worn fine jewelry your entire life."

******

Four stores and several hundred thousand dollars of Loren McCormick's money later, Lyra collapsed onto the sofa in Jane's apartment, surrounded by shopping bags.

"My feet are killing me," she groaned, kicking off the new Louboutins Jane had insisted she wear out of the store.

"Beauty is pain," Jane replied unsympathetically, examining the huge diamond ring now adorning Lyra's finger. "At least you'll look the part tonight."

Lyra wiggled her fingers, watching the diamond catch the light. "It feels wrong, spending all this money."

"Wrong?" Jane laughed. "My father promised me to a man I've never met to save his reputation. He's lucky I'm only bankrupting him, not destroying him completely."

There was such meanness in Jane's voice that Lyra looked up in surprise.

For a brief moment, she saw something raw and wounded in her friend's eyes before the mask of cool boredom slipped back into place.

"Besides," Jane continued, her tone light again, "look how much I'm doing for you. New wardrobe, new jewelry, new life. Most people would be grateful."

And there it was, the quiet reminder that Lyra was indebted to Jane, that this entire scheme was Jane's gift to her rather than a mutual transaction.

"I am grateful," Lyra said carefully. "But I'm also scared. What if Ryker sees through this tonight?"

"He won't. Men like him see what they want to see, and he wants to see an obedient society wife who validates his success." Jane checked her watch.

"Now come on, we need to get you ready. The hair and makeup team will be here in twenty minutes."

As Lyra followed Jane to the bathroom, she caught sight of herself in a hallway mirror. With designer clothes, expensive jewelry, and perfect hair, she looked like a different person already.

"What about my writing?" she asked suddenly. "Will I have time for that, playing this role?"

"You'll have six months in a luxurious beach estate with nothing but time," Jane replied. "Think of it as a very well-funded writer's retreat."

It did sound tempting, financial security, and uninterrupted time to write. Everything Lyra had dreamed of.

"Now," Jane said, all business again. "Tonight you'll meet my father. He knows about our arrangement, of course, but Ryker's lawyers don't. So you need to be perfect."

"Your father knows? Won't he give it away?"

"My father wants his debts cleared more than he wants anything else. He'll play along." Jane's voice turned bitter. "He'll sell anyone to protect himself. Me, you, his mother if she were still alive."

Again, that flash of real pain crossed Jane's face before disappearing. Lyra felt a rare moment of sympathy for her friend.

What kind of childhood had Jane made it through to become the person she is now?

Before she could chase that thought, the doorbell rang.

"That'll be the glam squad," Jane said, all business again. "Time to complete your transformation."

As a team of professionals entered the apartment carrying cases of cosmetics and hair tools, Lyra took a deep breath. There was no turning back now.

Jane watched the proceedings with the satisfied smile of a puppetmaster whose strings were all perfectly in place.

"By tonight," she promised Lyra, "you won't just be playing Jane McCormick. You'll be her."

What Jane didn't say, what Lyra was beginning to understand, was that becoming Jane meant losing pieces of herself along the way.

The question was: how much of Lyra Winson would remain when this was all over?