Fix

by Leslie Margolis

  Before she moved on, Julie stopped and put her arms around Cameron and Allie. “Take a picture of me with my daughters,” Julie said, and she and Cameron struck matching smiles, as if they’d practiced. Allie tried it as well, but she sensed she’d gotten it wrong. Maybe they’d cut her out of the final shot. More likely, none of them would make it in in the first place. Her mom wasn’t exactly a big star. Allie felt bad about that and then wondered why she even cared. Not being featured in some dumb magazine wasn’t exactly a tragedy.

  Julie whispered something to Cameron, but Allie couldn’t hear what she was saying. Maybe they were complaining that it was all taking too long. It seemed as if they were standing there forever. The bright lights hurt her eyes. She glanced at her dad, who stayed well away from the cameras. How come he was allowed to avoid such nonsense?

  Once inside, Allie’s parents stopped to talk to some friends, and her sister went to take some pictures—of what, Allie didn’t know. Abandoned, Allie felt panicky at first, but then relieved because she wouldn’t have to pretend like she was having a good time.

  Conversations competed with the band, making it all too loud. Beautiful people mingled everywhere, air-kissing and fake-laughing and checking each other out. Even though Allie’s dress was smooth and silky, she felt like she was trapped in an itchy wool sweater.

  She walked through room after room in search of some peace, but instead she ended up in the dining area and found Eve sitting at a table by herself.

  A bunch of photographers crowded around the cast of some new ABC drama. Eve sat watching it all with a strange smile on her face. Allie cut through the crowd and sat down next to her.

  “Hi, Eve. How are you?” she asked, as she slipped off her shoes and wiggled her toes.

  Eve’s face brightened. “Well this is a nice surprise,” she said.

  “I feel horrible about what happened the other day. I never should have brought my sister there in the first place. I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m fine. Please don’t worry.”

  “I didn’t know I was breaking any rules. Honestly.”

  “You were just trying to do a nice thing. It’s a silly rule. They’re afraid we’ll be exploited, but really they should worry more about us being ignored. That’s much more damaging, in the long run.”

  “My sister wasn’t trying to exploit you.”

  Eve patted her hand. “I told Nancy that it wasn’t your fault, and that she needed to hear your side of it.”

  “We have a meeting tomorrow,” said Allie.

  Eve nodded. “I know. She’ll let you come back. I’ve made sure of that. But I still don’t understand why you’d want to.”

  “I have to,” said Allie. “I mean, well, you know I have that requirement.”

  “There are other ways you can fulfill it, I’m sure, besides spending time with a bunch of old people.”

  “What if I like old people?” asked Allie.

  “Well, then there’s something wrong with you. Look around.” Eve gestured toward the other tables, which were all full. “It’s as if they’re worried that old age is contagious, and maybe they’re right. You should be careful.”

  Allie laughed, asking, “Where are the other residents?”

  “Oh, they’re backstage getting ready for some lifetime recognition awards.” Eve lowered her voice and gave a convincing imitation of a radio announcer. “You’re still alive. Congratulations. Yes, we ignore you most of the time, but your existence has given us a wonderful excuse to throw this fabulous party.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be with them?”

  “You’re not going to turn me in, are you?”

  “I wouldn’t dare.” Allie looked around. “God, I hate being at things like this.”

  “I used to love them.”

  “Do you ever miss it?” asked Allie.

  The cool thing was, she didn’t need to specify. Eve understood.

  “Of course I miss it. The problem came when I needed it, and when it meant everything to me. Those pictures your sister showed me? I was upset because my arms looked too fat. That was the first thing that struck me. Then I started worrying about my eyes because my left one was squinting closed. Sixty-seven years it’s been since that was taken, and I’m still worried about how I looked.”

  “You were beautiful,” said Allie.

  “Yes, I was, wasn’t I? And thank you for using the past tense. I hate it when people lie and tell me I’m beautiful now. I am a wrinkled and lumpy old woman in an unflattering dress, but that is all I can be at my age.”

  “I’m sorry.” Allie said it without thinking, but what was she apologizing for? The shallowness of the world? The fact that everyone got old?

  Eve shook her head. “Don’t be. It’s not important. There are other things to care about. If you spend so much time worrying about how pictures will turn out, what you look like, and what others say and think, well, that sort of thing can drive a person crazy. And the thing is, there’s no end to it. No one ever thinks that they’re beautiful enough. There’s always more you can do.”

  “Is that why you left Hollywood?” asked Allie.

  “Let me tell you a secret.” Eve leaned forward and lowered her voice to a whisper. “I didn’t leave Hollywood. Hollywood left me.”

  “But everyone said you chose to leave.”

  “I had some wonderful public-relations people,” said Eve. “At the time I still cared about what the world thought. I knew that my career was over, and I needed my disappearance to be dramatic.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense. How could your career have been over when you’d won all those awards and you were loved by millions?”

  “People loved my image. If they’d known the real me … well, let me just say that things were different back then. I had to hide some things about my personal life because the public wouldn’t have understood. In the end, it was too great a sacrifice. Some things are simply more important than fame. I have no regrets about what I left behind, because I’ve had a very full life.”

  “What have you been doing all this time?”

  “I spent my life with the woman I loved. We traveled a lot, and eventually we moved to Europe. That’s when I took up painting.”

  “Those pictures in your apartment, then … you painted them?”

  Eve nodded, slightly. “Yes, most of them.”

  Allie was amazed. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

  “What would have been the point?” asked Eve. “I did them for myself, not for outside recognition.”

  “But you could have told me.”

  “There you are,” said Julie, walking over to their table and sitting down next to Allie. She reached across and touched Eve’s wrist. “You look so beautiful, Eve. That’s a lovely dress.”

  Allie cringed, afraid that Eve would disagree and that her mom wouldn’t understand. Her mom, who cared too much what everyone thought. Her mom, who tried so hard to please.

  But Eve just smiled and winked at Allie. “Thank you, dear,” she said. “So do you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Cameron woke up feeling woozy and confused. As she blinked, her surroundings came into focus, but not completely. She felt like she was wearing someone else’s glasses. Everything in the room was blurry, with no defined edges. She tried to sit up but couldn’t. Regardless of how hard she willed her limbs to move, they hardly stirred. At least she managed to emit a low moan.

  Moments later the patient coordinator—someone familiar and beautiful—walked over and placed a gentle hand on Cameron’s shoulder.

  “Mahh.” Cameron felt relieved that she wasn’t alone but also embarrassed because she couldn’t seem to make any other sound. She’d meant to say “Madison,” but it had sounded like something between a moo and a call for her mom.

  “We’re all done here, Cameron. Congratulations. You did great.”

  Cameron tried to sit up.

  “Don’t worry about moving until you’re ready. Stay
here for as long as you’d like.”

  Cameron was ready, or at least she wanted to be. She tried to say as much, but her tongue was too thick and swollen and her throat too dry. She felt like she had something large and heavy on her chest—not just a boulder, more like a small mountain range.

  “Why don’t you go back to sleep?” Madison suggested.

  This sounded like a fine idea, so Cameron closed her eyes and drifted off.

  When she woke up the next time she was able to form actual words. “Hello?” she asked.

  Madison turned to her and smiled. “Are you thirsty?”

  Cameron nodded, so Madison brought her some ice chips, helping Cameron raise her head before tilting back the small plastic cup, ever so gently.

  “Trust me, the first few days are the hardest,” said Madison. “But you’ll get through it. Does it hurt?”

  Cameron swallowed. Her chest felt stiff and constricted like the day after a superintense workout. The pressure was dull but definitely present. “A little,” she managed to croak out.

  Madison said, “I’ll go get your mom.”

  A minute later Julie rushed into the room with Allie trailing close behind. Cameron was so happy to see them, she felt like crying.

  One of the nurses helped her into a wheelchair and brought her out to the car, which her mom had driven around to the exit at the back of the building. Then, with one arm around Madison and one around the other nurse, Cameron was helped into the backseat. What should have been a simple task took an enormous amount of effort. Cameron had never felt so helpless and it scared her. Too weak to put on her seat belt, she stretched out across the backseat and closed her eyes.

  The next thing Cameron knew, she was at home and in her own bed. She didn’t remember how she’d gotten there, but at the moment she didn’t care. Sleep felt glorious. She spent the day in a fog, in sheer exhaustion.

  Cameron’s mom and sister moved in and out of her room, bringing her ginger ale and crackers, dry toast, some luke-warm tea. She felt plenty of pressure and dizziness, but the actual pain didn’t start until early the next morning.

  Moaning, Cameron looked around. She saw a bottle of Vicodin on her bedside, a glass of water next to it. She gulped down one pill and closed her eyes.

  The pill turned the pain into something fuzzy. It made her float. Yet it made her wired as well as groggy, so she was only able to sleep fitfully. Because it would have hurt too much to sleep on her chest, she stayed on her back. She was sick of looking at the ceiling and found it impossible to get comfortable. She wanted to scream in frustration, yet she felt too weak to raise her voice.

  When Cameron woke up next, her mom was sitting in a chair next to her bed. She had no idea of the time. The sun filtered in through her lowered blinds. That meant morning, perhaps afternoon.

  “How do they look?” She had to ask, because her breasts were encased in a gigantic surgical bra. It was twice the size of a normal sports bra, and more like a corset, really.

  “It’s too soon to tell, honey.” Julie smoothed down Cameron’s hair. “But don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll be beautiful. We’re going to see the doctor tomorrow.”

  Cameron looked down at her swollen chest, but the effort it took exhausted her. She drifted in and out of sleep, and before she knew it, her mom was waking her and helping her dress for her appointment.

  In the examining room, Dr. Glass removed the surgical bra. “Let’s see what we’ve got,” he said.

  Her bare flesh felt cold. She glanced at her mom, whose face remained blank, and then at Madison, who grinned and winked.

  Dr. Glass examined the incisions under her nipples.

  “I’m going to show you the mirror, but before I do, I have to warn you. You’re going to hate me when you see yourself. Right now your breasts are extremely swollen and riding too high. They’ll look and feel stiff, too, but I promise you, the swelling will subside and they’ll come down and get softer.”

  When Cameron caught her image in the mirror, she had to struggle to keep from crying. She felt like a train wreck and looked even worse. Her too-pale face and greasy hair were nothing compared to her chest. Her boobs were enormous. Larger than Pamela Anderson’s, which she wouldn’t have thought was possible. The stitches looked scary and the incisions on the undersides of her nipples were inflamed. Also, her breasts were pointy—like large, swollen torpedoes.

  “They’ll look better next week. Okay, Cameron?” Dr. Glass re-covered her chest with the surgical bra.

  Too upset to speak, she just nodded and turned away from the mirror.

  “You’ll probably notice the changes every month or so. It’ll take an entire year to see the final results, but by the time you leave for college in the fall, they’ll look great.”

  Cameron remained silent. It was hard to imagine that her chest would ever look great.

  As Dr. Glass headed for the door, he said, “Madison will walk you through the massaging exercises. You’ll do them along the edges of the implants, twice a day for a month. This should help minimize the risk of capsular contracture. I’m also writing you a prescription for some scar-reducing cream. You’ll need to rub it into your wounds for the next six weeks to help with the healing process.”

  Before he made it out of the examining room, Julie spoke up.

  “She told me that the pain is really bad, and she’s not sleeping well.”

  “That’s completely normal,” Dr. Glass assured them.

  “But isn’t there anything else you can do?” asked Julie.

  “All she needs is time to heal,” Dr. Glass promised. He smiled at Julie. “I’ll see you next week.”

  When she got home, Cameron crawled back into bed and tried to console herself by looking at the digital-imaging shot of her chest taken weeks before. She ran her fingertips along the picture, longing for the day when her breasts would look that perfect.

  At the office it had seemed so easy. By pressing a few keys on his keyboard, Dr. Glass had transformed her. Cameron had fooled herself into believing the surgery would be that simple, as well. Sure, she’d been told about the complicated and painful recovery process. She’d spent hours doing research on the risks and arguing with her dad and with Ashlin, but deep down she hadn’t really thought about what it would feel like. It seemed so obvious that her body would need to adjust. Incisions had been made under each of her nipples, and two silicone envelopes had been pushed through and placed underneath her chest wall muscle. Then 350 cc’s of saline solution had been pumped into each one. Of course it would hurt. She had just happened to overlook that because she was so focused on the fun part: throwing away her padded bras and replacing them with cute, lacy lingerie; buying new bathing suits and going to her first college party in a tight tank top.

  Now there was no way not to think about the pain all the time. Her ribs ached, and she couldn’t feel her nipples. Her entire right breast was numb, while her left breast hurt like crazy. Her stitches were starting to itch, too. The Steri-Strips that covered them had turned yellow from the pus. She’d asked Dr. Glass to remove them, but he assured her that they’d fall off themselves in just a few days’ time. Cameron didn’t want to wait.

  She needed it all to be over, because things that should have been easy were now so complicated. Cameron wanted more than anything else to shower but would not be able to for three more days. She dreaded going to the bathroom, because it hurt too much to stand up and walk by herself. Whenever she did manage to go, all she could do was pee, because the Vicodin made her constipated. Her stomach felt cramped and bloated.

  Crawling back into bed, she took another pill for the pain and cried until she was too tired to cry any longer.

  When she woke up, the house was quiet and dark. Cameron couldn’t sleep anymore. She’d been sleeping for too long.

  Easing herself out of bed, she went over to the mirror, took off her shirt and bra and stared. Her boobs were still swollen. Being a patient required so much patience, Cameron thought. Was t
hat why the words were so similar?

  When she got tired of looking at herself, she glanced around her room. Her portfolio sat on her desk, underneath a pile of magazines. She hadn’t looked at it since her nightmarish critique. Flipping through the pictures of her friends posing on the beach, she could kind of see Selby’s point. They really weren’t about anything except pretty faces and great bodies. The shots were interesting to Cameron because they represented her success after so many years of lonely struggle, but that was personal. She hadn’t managed to convey that with her photos, which meant her pictures weren’t about anything larger. They weren’t thought-provoking, and they didn’t say anything to the outside world. Regardless of the pain, she needed to do something about it.

  But what else did she have? Cameron took out the box of her recent prints and started going through them. The pictures of Eve had turned out great, as had the ones at the benefit, but Cameron didn’t know how she’d pull it all together. She needed more pictures to work with, and since she was confined to her bedroom, her options were limited.

  Her new camera rested on its tripod in the corner. Cameron moved it to the center of her room and aimed the camera at her unmade bed. Taking off the lens cap, she peered through. Then she set the self-timer and walked around to the other side. Sitting down at the foot of her bed, she stared into the lens blankly as the camera flashed and clicked.

  Self-portrait of a girl who wanted to be more beautiful. On the digital display screen, her eyes were open, and she looked as if she were posing for a mug shot. Topless.

  Cameron lay down on her back and held the camera above, pointing down.

  She took close-ups of her bare breasts—both together and then one at a time—from various angles. The shots were gruesome, but they were also realistic and gritty. She liked them.

  Shooting her swollen, stitched-up breasts reminded her of Orlan, a French performance artist she’d studied in art class. Orlan had been having and documenting serious plastic surgery since 1990, using her own flesh as a medium to communicate and to inspire debate.