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Men seldom make passes at girls who wear glasses. Lois tucked errant strands of hair behind her ear as she mused about the Dorothy Parker statement that occasionally flashed through her mind. Whenever it did, it was always because she was staring across her desk at Clark Kent.
Hidden by glasses and all, Lois always found herself examining her partner; for some reason he fascinated her. She was drawn to his features and she could never figure out why. Smallville- er, Kent- looked fairly average, though tall. She could never see if he was built or not because he always wore horribly ill-fitting suits in unflattering colors. His dark hair was cut so it looked a little too poofy, nothing that some product wouldn’t fix. He had a nice smile, straight, white teeth, and a strong jaw.
And then there were his eyes. They were hidden away by glasses with lenses that looked too thin to actually be prescription, yet he always wore them. His irises were green, flecks of gold visible when she was close enough. They were quite pretty, yet always behind the clear barrier.
Shabbily dressed or not, glasses or not, Clark was quite attractive in his own way. Not anyone that Lois wanted to date, but Clark should be able to get a girlfriend-or, boyfriend, whichever- and yet Lois couldn’t remember ever hearing about any of Clark’s dates, girlfriends, conquests, or anything of the sort. Could it be the glasses, even in that shallow way, people not wanting those with glasses? Lois tried to remember discussion of the quote, but all she could remember was a half-forgotten discussion of McLuhan’s hot and cold media and how it related to glasses completing the image and therefore it was hot. Or cold. Dammit.
Lois sat back in her chair, her quarter-finished current article nearly forgotten. She focused her gaze on Clark’s eyes, which were pointed to her left as he looked at his computer monitor while he typed. She absentmindedly picked up a pen and started tapping it against her lower lip. Clark glanced over at her, smiled shyly, then returned to his work.
What if the glasses were a different style? Lois tried to picture Smallville with different glasses. Smaller, darker, lighter, rounder, narrower, wider. They were still there, blocking the person behind them, no matter how fashionable or attractive. Perhaps that was why glasses were a deterrent?
Then she tried to picture him without them.
Without the lines of the glasses, the plain of skin from cheek to temple would be unbroken, smooth as it covered the bone. There wouldn’t be any glare blocking his eyes, and anyone would be able to see them fully. Changes in lighting might even make them look a little blue. No glasses, no barrier between another person and the windows to Clark’s soul.
Hmm. Get rid of the bulky glasses, and maybe change the hair. Brush it back, certainly, maybe trim it a little on the sides. Definitely apply some gel. Sculpting Clark’s hair with her eyes, Lois leaned forwards again, getting a better look at her partner as he typed.
No glasses, changed hair into an actual style, a facial expression that was neither his shy “I’m an innocent guy from a farm” look or his goofy smile or his tired morning and late evening features.
Huh. With those small changes, and a different style of clothing, Smallville was quite a handsome man, at least as far as Lois could surmise. And he even looked sort of familiar. Now chewing lightly on her pen because she didn’t want to reach down into her purse to get her Nicorette, Lois tried to place the extrapolated face in front of her. Another reporter? No, probably not. Neighbor? Definitely not. Lois frowned. Definitely someone she saw on a fairly regular basis, though.
Just when she thought it would come to her, Clark shot out of his chair. In response to her raised eyebrows, he shrugged. “Sorry, I, uh, have to go. Family emergency. I, uh, just got an email.”
Lois waved him away and watched him bumble to the door to the hallway. Just as she turned back to her own article, Perry slammed open his door. “Lane! Kent! Bomb threat at the art museum! Get on it!”
No more words were necessary, and in less than a minute Lois was in the elevator on the way down to the street. Perry would find out about Smallville running out early when she got back. He was always running off during work. She was beginning to think he was a hypochondriac, or on the other side of that, that he was actually really sick, what with all the doctors’ appointments he had. And that perhaps he was from a family of test pilots. Or rodeo clowns.
She left the building, lit a cigarette, and headed to the museum, her mind’s makeover of Clark completely forgotten.