Claude and Sally were in their white coats, looking over a patient’s chart. I had met Sally when she worked in my father’s office. She had a round face fitted with sharp eyes, and she smiled often enough to suggest either that she saw the joke behind things, or that she didn’t. Whatever the truth, I knew she had seen a lot in her years spent in doctors’ offices: tragedy, comedy, bad behaviors and death.
“Katie! How are you?” She gave me a big hug.
“Happy to see you,” I said. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Darling, not at all. Glad you’re here,” Claude said. “We have a busy day.”
I felt a slight shove and turned to see a model I’d just seen in the waiting room. She popped her eyes at me – Oh hi! So many of them were like bad teenage actors, you were surprised when a model acted like a normal human.
“I’ve never seen you here before,” she said, by way of introduction, then flipped around to face Claude. “How did you like my latest Vogue cover? Pretty smashing, no?” She stood taller than any of us in her blue lizard spikes.
“Loved it, Sidney,” he said, scanning her from head to toe.
“What happened to the autographed picture I gave you? I don’t see it hanging anywhere. You’re so bad,” she said with a pout, and she ran her polished black nail down his pink silk tie.
“It’s in my office. You’ll see it later,” he said, smiling gently. “Now go back and have a seat. Someone will be with you shortly.”
“I hope it’s you,” she said, cracking her gum.
“Go ahead, dear.”
“What is she having done?” I asked as we entered Claude’s office. “Brain lift?”
“Rhinoplasty.”
I had to laugh. “Nose job? Her nose is a dot!”
“Darling, please don’t.” He turned to Sally. “This is her third, but there’s very little cartilage left in her nose from all the coke she’s snorted. You would think it was still the eighties.”
“She reminds me of a praying mantis,” Sally said. “She’d eat you alive, if she ever ate anything.”
“How old is she?” I asked.
“Twenty-two and at the top of her career,” Claude said. “She’s sent me a lot of business. I’m actually quite grateful.”
I was twenty-three and had no career to go to the top of. Almost anyone who could alphabetize and smile, preferably simultaneously, could have done this job. Gillian had been right: I needed to focus more on my interests and passions before Claude got bored with me. He hadn’t been as attentive lately as he usually was.
“What else is on for today?” I asked.
“We’re jammed with VIPs. We’ll see patients this morning and then operate in the afternoon and – oh, hell. Is Mrs. Bingingham out there?”
“Yes.” I’d spied the dragon when I came in.
He sighed. “All right. Oh, and darling, I have a little surprise for you.”
“What is it? Please don’t tease me.”
He gently put his arm around me. “One of your favorite forties movie stars is coming in for a facelift.”
“You’re kidding. Who?”
“Victoria Langley.”
“Victoria Langley?” I said in awe. “Gillian and I saw her in Malicious Intent. She’s so amazing! She always figures out who the villain is before anyone else. She narrows her eyes in this really singular way.” I imitated the expression and then asked, “Does she still look at all the way she used to? Oh, that was a stupid question. How could she? It’s been half a century. But I would love to meet her. May I?”
“She doesn’t want anyone to know she’s having work done, so I’m bringing her in through the back with her nurse, and I want you there to help get her ready.”
“Oh, it will be just like going to the movies – maybe even better – to see her in person.”
“All right, then. In the meantime find Sidney’s photograph, would you, darling, so I’ll have it out when she comes in. I put a bunch of them in the left-hand cabinet over there,” Claude said, pointing. “Come on, Sally, let’s get started.”
They disappeared down the hall.
The model’s photo was on the bottom shelf among several other eight-by-ten glossies of famous models and stars. Across her thong bikini she’d written, in silver ink: “To the King. Words cannot tell of my Gratitude. XO, your Sidney.” I didn’t know quite what to make of it – I didn’t have the words to tell of it – or of any of the other photos, except that these women were so forward. The word seemed antiquated, even to me, but I knew it was the usual thing. With Claude’s strong looks, his Frenchman’s charm and his reputation, the attraction was inevitable.
I walked out to the front desk to help the receptionist file charts and field telephone queries. I could recite the answers in my sleep, and now the day’s recital began.
“I’m sorry, we’re booking eight months in advance right now, would you like to make an appointment?… We don’t discuss fees over the telephone… No, we don’t take insurance… No, the doctor is not available. Would you like to speak to one of the nurses?… It’s my pleasure, please hold.”
I put the phone down and looked up into the stern, unhappy, liftable face of Mrs. Bingingham.
“How much longer do I have to wait? I had an eleven o’clock and it’s already ten after,” she said bellicosely, pointing at her gold-and-diamond watch.
“I’m terribly sorry, Mrs. Bingingham. He’s running a little late. He’ll see you shortly. In the meantime, may I offer you something to drink? A skimmed latte perhaps?”
“What does that mean, ‘shortly’? I’m not going back into that waiting room. You’ve got a kid crawling around on the floor in there. He tried to open my bag,” she said, clutching her alligator Birkin.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I lied.
“Put me in your VIP room. I shouldn’t have to wait at all. My time here is valuable.”
“I’m terribly sorry,” I lied again.
She gave me a narrow look, as if she’d read my mind. “It’s my time he’s wasting,” she said. “Take me immediately, or I’m leaving, and you know what you can do with your skimmed latte, miss.”
“There, now, don’t be upset.” Like the apostle Peter, who also lied three times, only about more important things, I said, “I’m sorry. We’ll take care of you right away. We’ll put you in a special room and get you all set up. You know how important you are to the doctor. He’ll be with you in just a moment. Here,” I said, as I grabbed a nurse who was passing in front of the desk, “Lisa will escort you to your room.”
Mrs. Bingingham glared at me, but went with the nurse.
“Well done,” Sally said, as she appeared at the desk and handed me another chart.
“Sally, where were you when I needed you? That woman is a horror. Who does she think she is?”
“Who knows, and who cares? She’s par for the course around here.”
I liked Sally’s frankness and humor. Nothing rattled her.
“Come on, let’s take a tiny little breather,” she said. “I’ll give you a rundown on what’s in the waiting room.”
We moved to the alcove.
“Okay, so what’s the scoop?” I asked.
“Well, you’ve already met the model. What a trip! Then there’s, let’s see… one Eurotrash in for a tummy tuck: she’s for later. Mrs. Smith, aka you-know-who from Washington, for a consultation on a full lift to try and keep her marriage above the waterline, good luck with that. And then there’s the New York society queen with her twelve-year-old daughter, in to talk about a nose job, but I’ve already put them in the ‘unrealistic expectations’ category – the girl’s bones are too young, not fully developed enough for this kind of thing.”
“It’s such a different world from my father’s office,” I said. “I bet you sleep better at night now.”
“Oh, yes; it got to me over there. I couldn’t take it anymore. This is amusing, with these nut jobs coming in to beautify themselves. At night my head’s on the
pillow, and I’m out. No worries. And it’s much easier not to have to deal with insurance companies or hospitals. Less paperwork, and cash up front. Claude’s really got the best of both worlds: his own state-of-the-art operating room and partnering with your dad at the hospital.”
“My father doesn’t think much of this side of things.”
Sally’s round face laughed, and the well-rounded rest of her went along. “No, Jack doesn’t pull any punches. That’s where these two are so different. This one doesn’t mind giving special attention. He sees it as an opportunity to triple his fee.”
This one? There was something unsettling about the way she said it.
“Well… I don’t know about tripling,” I said. “Claude says he charges the same as anyone else with his skills and reputation. I mean, he’s the best and they’re all loaded, aren’t they?”
Sally shrugged. “Sure. He’s got a reputation.” She picked up her files and looked at me. “They’re all in love with him, you know.”
“Surely not Mrs. Bingingham.” I laughed unconvincingly, and Sally gave me a small smile in return.
“Yes, Mrs. Bingingham, too.”
“Well, I’d better get to the back,” I said, uncomfortable under her calm gaze. “Claude wants me to help with Victoria Langley, and I can’t wait to meet her.”
Sally sighed. “Back to the barricades,” she said.
I never would have recognized Victoria Langley in a wide-brimmed hat and swathed in scarves. The girlish character I’d watched on big screens was gone, replaced by something fragile and a little bit wobbly. Of course, she’d already had the pre-anesthesia shot, designed to erase the patient’s nervousness. I felt honored to be walking beside her, and I was touched by this older, vulnerable and of course real person. I escorted her and her nurse out of the changing room, and then into the operating room, undetected. She was loquacious – a little tipsy – and we chatted about Hollywood and her movies. Claude and his operating room nurse, Madeleine, greeted her. Ben, the anesthesiologist, was standing by.
Victoria pointed at me and said, “I like this girl. I want her to stay, if that’s all right with you.”
“Why?” Claude asked.
“Why not? She can tell me if anything goes wrong.” She laughed, not too unkindly, at the way Claude’s face dropped.
“Well, if that’s what you want, I suppose…”
“I insist, and I am certain nothing will go wrong. But I’m convinced she’ll bring me good luck. That girl has such a positive aura, it can only help.”
I didn’t think I could bear seeing another operation. I turned to Claude.
“Doesn’t Sally need me up front? It’s so busy.”
“Oh, nonsense. You stay right here,” Victoria said.
“Madeleine, get Katie a cap and gown,” Claude said curtly.
Victoria said, “I’ve been working with a healer in California. I made a CD, and he wants me to have it played during the operation to help me heal faster. You don’t mind, do you, darling?” she asked, and handed the CD to Claude without waiting for his reply. He helped her onto the operating room table.
“Of course not,” he said. “Did you listen to my CD? Remember, two weeks before surgery, three times a day. And did you take your Arnica pills? That’s the best thing for healing.”
“Yes, yes, and I cut out the aspirin and the martinis. That was the most difficult part of all,” she said, turning to me. “The martinis, I mean. Good ol’ Bayer was a lot easier to give up.”
Claude placed the CD in the player and then washed his hands in the corner sink, grabbing a pair of sterile gloves from the box on the wall, while Ben put the IV into Victoria’s long white hand, then checked the flow of saline. I moved a little away, nearer the door.
“Ready when you are, Doctor,” Ben said.
“You’re going to start to feel sleepy, Victoria,” Claude said softly, and nodded at Ben, who picked up a filled syringe from the instrument tray, inserted it into the IV, and slowly emptied the syringe into the tube. From the overhead speakers, Victoria’s soft voice began to repeat the words, “Love, light, blue energy, all is well.”
Her eyes closed and there was a faint smile on her lips as she lay motionless under the operating room lights. Claude watched for Ben’s nod.
“She’s out,” Claude said. “The sooner we finish this, the sooner I can stop listening to that blue-light stuff.” He drew his cutting area with a black marker. “But before I get started,” he added, “have a look – I did her breasts last year.” He threw back the sterile sheet. “Two implants, incisions that you can hardly see under the breasts and around the nipples, and voilà, a perfect 34-B.”
A person’s mouth doesn’t often actually drop open, but mine did. I looked at Ben, whose face was turned away as if he’d heard nothing, but there they were, my favorite former movie star’s updated nipples, staring up at me. How insensitive to expose her breasts without asking her permission – or mine, or even Madeleine’s, I thought. I didn’t want to see them. I glanced at Madeline; her eyes, like Ben’s, were averted.
They’re used to this.
I suddenly felt queasy and light-headed, and shut my eyes.
“Love, light, blue energy…” the soft voice droned.
“I wanted to lift Katie’s,” Claude said to Madeleine, “but so far I haven’t been able to convince her. Isn’t that right, darling?”
“Claude, that’s embarrassing,” I said, and Madeleine shot me a sympathetic flash of eyes. Not too long before, I had flunked Claude’s “pencil test”. Only one pencil had fallen to the floor from under my right breast when placed there. But I’d thought the test had been a joke, if a poor one; I couldn’t imagine that Claude was really being critical of my body. He’d always been eager to look at me, to touch me, to have me – and I was happy to be had! I’d felt exempt from his plastic surgeon’s eye, but now I had to ask myself if his professional eye was the only one working.
“I can’t imagine Katie needs anything like that,” Madeleine said with forced cheer.
“Oh, I was just kidding; you both know that,” he said dismissively. He pulled his magnifying loupes across his eyes. “Scalpel.”
Madeleine smacked it into his gloved palm. Claude maneuvered the instrument into place, bent, and in one motion made a precise incision inside one of Victoria Langley’s lower lids, then gently popped out the fat bag.
“See how easy, and no scar on the outside,” he said, flicking the fat into a stainless steel dish. “On the uppers, you want to make sure your cutting line follows the crease of the eye – so.” He trimmed the skin. “As you can see, there’s very little bleeding.” He sutured the incision.
“Now, the face. I make my incision just inside the ear, so it’s practically invisible. No telltale scars or keloids in front or behind the ear, so she can wear her hair any style, any length. I like to undermine the skin first to make sure the muscle and tissues are firmly in place underneath. The result lasts longer that way, and you don’t get that pulled look, which is a disaster.”
He drew the skin up and away from the face toward the ear. “I think I’m better at this than Katie’s father.” Claude chuckled, then set to work. When he was nearly done, he said, “Let’s do a little lipo under her chin.” He made a small incision. “Victoria and I didn’t discuss it before, but I want a perfectly clean jaw line. It’s just like vacuuming,” he said, moving the thin hose back and forth.
“She won’t mind?” Madeleine asked.
“She’ll thank me for it,” he said, as the sucking sound stopped.
He began to sew the face back together.
“There,” he said, putting in a last stitch under the chin and pulling his magnifying loupes off his face. “I’m finished. That was a record breaker – fifty minutes.” He pulled off his bloodied gloves and flung them into the tray. He looked elated. “They say I’m the fastest scalpel in town. I love that feeling of having a clear mind, of being completely free when I’m cutting.”
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Ben clamped off the IV drip. “Give her a minute, and she’ll start to come around,” he said.
I looked at my husband, and thought how different this was from my experience in my father’s operating room. Seeing Claude working in his element was exciting. He had no trace of uncertainty about himself or what he was doing. In the beginning of his career, he’d been ambitious, but now he was something else: sure. Sureness in anyone was unmistakable: in a man it was sexy. He had it, and I had nothing resembling it.
The sound of Madeleine’s raised voice jolted me back.
“Doctor, I think she’s stopped breathing. Look, she’s turning blue. I can’t get a pulse.”
I stared in horror at Victoria Langley’s face, which had indeed turned a bluish hue. She now looked like a corpse in an old black-and-white film, not like the lively elderly movie star I had smuggled through the back door of the office.
“Ben? What the hell is going on? Get out of my way!” Claude shouted, and pushed Madeleine aside. He bent down and began to administer mouth-to-mouth and CPR.
“We should call nine-one-one, Doctor,” Madeleine said.
“Are you crazy? We can’t. She doesn’t want anyone to know. No publicity.”
Above our heads, Victoria’s voice intoned, “Love, light, blue energy…”
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