Fix

by Leslie Margolis

  “I know all this,” said Cameron.

  “Right, but I promised your father that I’d go over it all with you before agreeing to do the surgery.”

  Cameron crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s so unfair. I’m a legal adult.”

  “It would be unethical if I didn’t go over everything with you. And while at eighteen you’re technically an adult, I usually don’t perform this type of surgery on people so young.”

  “I won’t be talked out of this.”

  “I’m aware of that,” said Dr. Glass. “And it’s not my intention, anyway. I just want you to understand what you’re getting into. And I also need to ask you why you want to do this.”

  “Why does anyone have cosmetic surgery?” asked Cameron with a shrug. “I want to look better. You’re in the business of making people beautiful, right?”

  “You’re already a beautiful young woman,” Dr. Glass replied.

  “Thanks to you.” Cameron tossed her hair over one shoulder. It made her feel good that he’d called her beautiful, but also annoyed that she cared. “Anyway, lots of your patients are already beautiful, I’ll bet. But that’s not the only reason I’m having this procedure. I feel uneven, too bottom-heavy. Clothes don’t fit me right.”

  Cameron was embellishing because she knew that when surgeons were dealing with teenagers, they were supposed to go through a list of questions. The answers she repeated were the acceptable ones. “Look what my nose job did for my self-esteem,” she said, since “self-esteem” was listed as a good reason to have cosmetic surgery. “I was so self-conscious before, it was hard to function, but it changed my whole life.”

  “Most implants last seven to twelve years,” said Dr. Glass. “Some last fifteen years, and some rupture or leak after just a few months or a few years.”

  “I’ve read that they can last longer,” said Cameron. “Twenty-five years, even.”

  “Maybe, but it’s not likely. You understand that this isn’t a one-time deal? That you will have to go through surgery again, probably more than once, over the course of your lifetime?”

  “Yes,” said Cameron. “I’m prepared for that.”

  “They can also cause a rash or infection right away,” said Dr. Glass. “It’s very rare, but some women have allergic reactions to the silicone shell.”

  Cameron didn’t need to hear this from Dr. Glass. “Like I said, I’ve done the research. Would you like me to tell you the risks?” Pulling her notebook from her purse, she began rattling off information to Dr. Glass.

  “Capsular contracture is the most common complication in breast augmentation. It happens when scar tissue builds up and hardens around the implant. It feels tight and uncomfortable. It makes the breast too hard, and can also cause it to change its shape. Infection usually occurs within one to six weeks after surgery. In some cases, the implant will need to be removed and the patient treated with antibiotics. Hematoma, or an accumulation of blood near the surgical site, can occur, making it necessary for the surgeon to go in and drain the excess blood.”

  Cameron looked up. She kept waiting for Dr. Glass to stop her, but now she realized he wanted her to read the whole thing. Fine, she thought. It wasn’t going to make her change her mind.

  “Some women say they can hear the saline swish whenever they move, and I know that implants don’t warm up the way natural breasts do. So when I go skiing, my breasts will feel colder than the rest of my body. Breast implants can interfere with mammography, a test to screen for tumors, especially if there is capsular contracture. Also, rippling can occur when the saline shifts within the implant.”

  She lowered the paper and looked at Dr. Glass. “Happy?” she asked.

  “Studies by implant manufacturers report that most women have at least one serious complication within the first three years,” he said. “In my experience, complications have been minor, but they can include any or all of those you listed.”

  “How many of your patients regret what you’ve done to them?” asked Cameron.

  “Ten percent come in for more surgery,” Dr. Glass replied.

  “But how many ask you to take their implants out?”

  “Honestly, not so many.”

  “So that means most of your breast augmentation patients are happy with the results?”

  Dr. Glass nodded. “Yes, they are. But most are also older than you. Those your age, well, they’re usually doing it for their career. But your dad tells me you have no interest in the entertainment industry.”

  Cameron bristled. Was he acknowledging that she had no intention, or that she had no choice because she hadn’t a chance? And what did that matter, anyway? Surely being better-looking would help her in any career. Why was that so hard for people to admit?

  “I’m going to double major in photography and business,” said Cameron. “I like to take pictures, and I don’t see why I can’t look as great as my subject matter. Better, even.”

  Dr. Glass nodded. “If you are as determined in your career as you are in this endeavor, I have a feeling you’ll be very successful.”

  “So you’ll do it?” asked Cameron.

  “I understand that you’ll be getting implants with or without me.”

  “Yes. The other doctor wanted to put them in through an incision near my belly button so the scars wouldn’t show.”

  Dr. Glass cringed. “That’s a bad surgery. Don’t do that.”

  “I’d rather go with you, anyway.”

  “You won’t wait a year to think about it?”

  “A year will be too late,” said Cameron. “I’m starting college in September. I’ll be meeting all these new people and I don’t want anyone to know.”

  Dr. Glass nodded. Leaning forward, he looked at his appointment book. “I have room in my schedule in a few weeks. On a Thursday, actually. The same day I’m doing your sister and your mom.”

  “My mom?” asked Cameron. “What do you mean?”

  Dr. Glass picked up his phone and pressed a button. “Madison, please send in Julie Davenport and Allie Beekman.”

  He hung up, took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  Cameron thought that Dr. Glass must have made a mistake. “My mom isn’t having surgery,” she said.

  “You mean she hasn’t told you?”

  “What’s she doing?”

  “Why don’t you wait a minute,” said Dr. Glass. “So she can tell you herself.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “A face-lift is a really big deal, isn’t it?” asked Allie.

  “Why would you say that?” asked Cameron.

  “Because it’s Mom’s face.”

  Julie was sitting right across from her, but Allie was too embarrassed to question her directly. And even though she and Cameron were whispering, their mom still asked them to keep it down. They were in public, after all, at Sushi Hanna on Melrose Boulevard. The three of them shared a table for four. On the empty plate sat a manila envelope containing the digital-imaging shots of the postsurgical, new and improved mother and daughters.

  In a sense it was a relief to Allie. All this time she’d thought there was something wrong with her. It comforted her to know that she wasn’t the only one in need of fixing. It made her feel less alone, but it also worried her. Julie and Cameron were beautiful, no question. So if they thought they needed surgery, what did that say about all the regular people like Allie? How much would her nose improve her looks? Would she need more surgery later on? Was it like an addiction? Would it be impossible to stop? And what if she didn’t even like her nose in the end? What would happen then? Of course, if she loved it, what would that say about her? And what would it do to her? Would she start taking an hour and a half to get ready for school every morning? What did her sister do with all that time, anyway?

  Allie felt nervous for Cameron. Even though she insisted that she didn’t want huge boobs, Allie couldn’t help but think of Pamela Anderson.

  Then there was her mother. Allie had seen plen
ty of pictures of women with bad face-lifts, their skin pulled back so much that it looked shiny and tight. Her friend Carly’s mom resembled a cat. Sure, Julie had a few wrinkles, but Allie hadn’t even noticed them until her mom pointed them out. And to be honest, now that she could tell, Allie liked that her mom looked soft and real in a city where so much was hard and fake.

  “What does Dad think?” asked Allie.

  “He says I don’t need it, which is very sweet, but he’s not the reason I want this. I’m doing it for my career and for myself.” Julie straightened the crisp white napkin on her lap. “I’m turning forty-five in a few weeks, you know. I thought, why not give myself a birthday gift?”

  “So you think it’ll help you get work?” asked Cameron.

  Their mom sighed. “I hope so. Not having a face-lift certainly isn’t doing anything for me.”

  “But you just started auditioning again,” said Allie.

  “I’ve been thinking about doing this for a long time. I’m competing with women who are half my age. Girls who are your age, even.”

  “Isn’t it dangerous, all of us doing this on the same day?” asked Allie.

  Julie smiled. “Honey, stop worrying. It will be easier because I’ve hired a private nurse to take care of us.”

  “Well, what if there’s a bad batch of anesthesia? It could wipe us all out, and then Dad will be left alone.” Allie bit back her tears.

  “I don’t think anesthesia comes in batches, sweetie,” Julie said.

  Cameron laughed. “Don’t stress about this, Allie. Dr. Glass does families all the time. He told me he once did breast augmentation on twins, and he knows a guy who did rhinoplasty on triplets, two sisters and a brother, all in the same day.”

  “I just don’t think Mom should do this,” said Allie. She grinned at her mom, apologetically.

  “That’s kind of hypocritical, don’t you think?” asked Cameron. “I mean, we’re all doing it.”

  Allie knew that arguing with her sister would be pointless. When Cameron wanted something, she was ruthless about getting it. Everyone knew that. Allie admired her sister’s determination, but she also found it intimidating.

  As Allie looked away, a hunky waiter approached.

  “Hello, ladies,” he said as he sidled up to the table. His tanned biceps seemed perpetually flexed, and his dark, shiny eyes crinkled in the corners. He smiled so radiantly, he reminded Allie of some guy in a movie—a struggling actor playing the part of a waiter.

  Cameron tucked her hair behind her ear and Julie smiled up at him.

  “So, three sisters out for lunch?” he asked, winking at Cameron. It was a cheesy line and they all knew it, but that didn’t mean that their mom didn’t appreciate it. Allie was just glad he’d said three sisters rather than two sisters and one big-nosed, dark-haired troll.

  “Can I start you off with some drinks?” he asked. “The passionfruit iced tea is amazing.”

  “I’ll try that,” said Julie.

  “Me too,” said Cameron.

  “I’ll have a lemonade,” Allie said.

  “You know what I was thinking?” asked Cameron, as soon as the waiter left. “It’s good that we all have the same surgeon, because we’ll still look like a family.”

  “Except for Dad,” said Allie.

  “That’s not true. We’ve got Dad’s dark hair,” said Cameron. Then, grinning, she added, “Well, you do and I did.”

  “Both of you girls have your father’s smile,” said their mom. “And your father’s brains. That’s what really matters.”

  It was nice of her to say, but Allie didn’t think she meant it. How could she, when Allie’s grades were so rotten? Cameron got their mom’s looks and their dad’s brains, so what did that leave for Allie?

  Cameron grabbed her hand. “Allie, promise me that when it’s time for us to get face-lifts, we’ll find the same surgeon so we’ll still look like sisters, okay? I’m sure Dr. Glass will be retired by then.”

  “We hardly look like sisters now,” Allie pointed out.

  “Well, we will in a few weeks.”

  When the waiter came back with their drinks, he said to Cameron, “I feel like a tool for asking you this, but I can’t help it. You look so familiar. Have I seen you on the Warner Brothers lot, maybe? Because you look like an actress.”

  “I’m not,” said Cameron, smiling and sitting up straighter. “But my mom is.”

  “Really?” He turned to Julie, his smile fading ever so slightly as he tried to place her.

  Julie bit her bottom lip and studied the menu, even though she always ordered the same thing at sushi restaurants.

  “What were you in?” he asked.

  “Nothing much,” said Julie. “It was a long time ago.”

  “She starred in The Deepest Bluest Sea,” said Cameron.

  The waiter shrugged. “I haven’t seen so many old movies.”

  Then, realizing his faux pas, he said, “I mean, not old. I haven’t seen so many movies, at all.”

  No one said anything.

  “What can I get you for lunch?” he asked, looking down at his notepad.

  Julie ordered her usual in a clipped voice: seaweed salad, tuna and salmon sashimi, and an eel-cucumber roll. Cameron had the same. Not one for raw fish, Allie asked for the chicken teriyaki.

  All three of them were relieved when the waiter went away. No one commented on the fact that a different waiter brought out their food, or that the original guy stayed exiled on the other side of the patio for the rest of their meal.

  Allie watched him from across the restaurant. Her mom used to be the one waiters flirted with. Now it was her sister. When had that changed? And was this why her mother wanted a face-lift?

  Cameron placed the manila envelope on her lap and peeked inside. “It’s amazing how natural it all looks,” she said.

  Julie leaned over so she could see the pictures, too. “People call Dr. Glass the Michelangelo of plastic surgeons,” she said.

  “They say that about practically every plastic surgeon,” said Allie.

  “How do you know?” asked Cameron.

  ‘I’ve been reading about it online,” Allie replied as she glanced at the shots.

  In the picture, Cameron’s boobs looked perfect, Allie’s nose was straight and cute, and Julie looked like she did in her wedding pictures, twenty years before.

  Despite her reluctance, Allie had to admit that they all looked beautiful, like better versions of themselves. Not like other people, as she’d feared. And while Dr. Glass had said that the pictures were a mere representation of what he could do under ideal circumstances, rather than a guarantee, it was hard not to see it that way.

  The human body rendered as a lump of clay, merely a template for something better.

  Before they left the restaurant, Julie and Cameron stopped in the restroom to fix their makeup. Allie waited by the door, observing all the tanned, pretty people in expensive-looking clothes walk by. The food at Sushi Hanna was good, but Allie dreaded eating there. The place made her feel trapped in a game at which everyone else excelled, while she couldn’t quite figure out the rules. Perhaps she’d feel differently in a few weeks. Maybe it was like a club, and once her nose was fixed, she’d be asked to join.

  “Excuse me,” someone said from behind her. “Can I ask you a question?”

  Allie turned around to find their original waiter peering down at her. He was even better-looking close-up. She couldn’t help but smile at him. “You just did, but go ahead and ask me another.”

  He handed Allie a scrap of paper. “Can you give your sister my number? I’d love to take her out sometime.”

  Allie kept her smile frozen on her face and took the scrap. “Sure,” she said.

  This type of thing had happened before, so she wasn’t surprised.

  What shocked her was the thought that popped into her head as she watched him walk away: If the waiter had seen her postsurgery, might he have given his number to her, instead?

&n
bsp; CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Ashlin sat on the floor of her bedroom with Cameron’s red, leather-bound portfolio in her lap. Lucy and Hadley were on either side of her, leaning in close so they could get a better look at the pictures.

  It always gave Cameron such a rush, watching people admire her work. Although this time it wasn’t exactly a surprise, since her friends were the subject matter and she’d made them all look gorgeous.

  In a sense, she owed it to them. They’d all been great about helping her out in Cabo. After being so supportive and understanding about the evil La Jolla crowd, they’d spent countless hours posing—leaning on the rocks by the beach, rolling around in the sand, frolicking ankle-deep in the surf, and lounging by the pool. Cameron had done group shots and individual portraits, and the final result was impressive. She had a series of thirty stunning pictures, all laid out and ready to send to David Champlain. Half were in color and half were black and white. The more artistic shots came toward the end: Ashlin’s bare foot half covered in sand, two points from a starfish in one corner of the frame. Hadley staring pensively out to sea as her blond hair whipped in the wind.

  Looking through it gave her a thrill, mostly because her friends were so beautiful. They were the proof that Cameron had succeeded, that she’d moved beyond the girl she once was.

  “I must get a copy of this one,” said Lucy, pointing to the close-up of her face and torso. In it, she was grinning slyly as she emerged from the pool. Water droplets cascaded from her dark hair. Cameron felt especially proud of that shot, since photographing water was such a challenge. She had aimed for the style of a classic pinup. Lucy’s cleavage looked so amazing, Cameron had made an extra print to bring to Dr. Glass. She decided that she wanted breasts that were as natural as Lucy’s—the same shape, but just a tad larger.

  “I’ll print one out for you later.”

  “What are you guys looking at?” asked Taylor, as she walked into the room and set her purse on the floor.