by Ilana Fox
‘Listen to me,’ Gable said. ‘You’re a cute girl, and when you go back to England you’ll look amazing compared to all those dowdy girls in London, just like everyone else who’s groomed and looks after themself.’
Jo shut her eyes. Gable hadn’t a clue that most of the girls who worked in the media in London looked like models.
‘You know,’ she said, ‘maybe it’s looking like everyone else that is part of the problem. For years I was either ignored or mocked because of my weight – my blubber made me stand out, and even though I hated it, it was all I knew. But now I blend in, I feel it’s for all the wrong reasons. I don’t want to be just an average-looking girl who happens to be a great writer and has a famous actor for a friend. I want to be a hot-looking girl who happens to run the best magazine in the country.’
As she began pacing around her condo Jo realised she didn’t need to talk about it any more – she was just going to do it.
‘Forget about percentages and me not knowing if I should get more surgery,’ Jo said, her voice sounding stronger than Gable had ever heard before. ‘I’m going to use all my pay cheques from Gloss to get surgery, and I’m going to get it done. I’m one hundred per cent.’
‘But are you sure about this? It all seems so rash, so sudden …’ The sun pounded down on him and he could feel sweat prickling at his thick foundation.
Jo spoke into her mobile. ‘Yes, I wasn’t absolutely convinced it was a good idea, but now I’ve spoken to you I think it is. OK, so I admit I’d had too much to drink when Lucy’s email came in the other week, but I really don’t see anything wrong in doing this – hundreds of girls get plastic surgery every day. Why shouldn’t I?’
Gable was silent for a moment. ‘But you’re not just talking about breast implants, are you? You’ve been saying you want the works – chin, nose, cheeks …’ He lowered his voice. ‘You said you were going to have more surgery than I did, and you were going to come out looking just like me! A girl-me! So you can be my “little sister”!’
Jo bit her lip. ‘Look, I know you hate the idea of me getting surgery, but I see this as a chance to improve myself, to finally be the woman I always wanted to become. What harm can this do?’
‘Lots, if you’ve not thought about it properly,’ Gable muttered almost inaudibly. ‘I just don’t see why you need to do this. I changed the way I look because I’m an actor – because nobody would give me the time of day unless I looked like a Hollywood star. The last time I checked, magazine editors didn’t need to look like models.’
Jo laughed. ‘They don’t need to, no, but they tend to – especially at Garnet, and that’s where I want to work as a “talented but also stunning editor”. What’s so wrong with that?’
Gable knew it would be hypocritical to try to talk Jo out of it, and chose not to answer her. ‘Have you spoken to my surgeon about your rash plans to become my “little sister”?’
‘Yes,’ Jo said patiently. ‘And he’s happy for me to go ahead with this. He could hardly say no when I said you recommended him, could he?’
Gable tried not to sigh. ‘I just want to make sure you really have thought this through. Once you’re in the operating theatre there’s no going back, you know.’
Jo knew – it was all she could think about ever since she’d received Lucy’s email. A small voice in her head asked if she needed to take such severe measures, but Jo knew she’d never be beautiful without a helping hand, and that if changing her appearance meant she could become a magazine editor – a player – then she had no choice.
Jo opened her eyes and wondered if she was dying. She was in a small, clean, private room in the hospital where Gable’s surgeon worked, and even though she could make out the bandages around her chest she had a sudden fear that the surgery had gone wrong, that she was having a heart attack. Jo had never experienced such a tight feeling in her chest before and she felt like she was about to explode from within her skin. She hurt so much, and despite the fear running through her veins she couldn’t shake off her drowsiness. It scared the shit out of her.
‘Hey, you’re OK. You’re OK,’ Jo heard Gable say, and she felt his hand stroking her hair. She tried to relax. ‘The surgery went well, there were no complications, and you’re now the proud owner of two C-cup breasts.’ Gable eyed Jo’s face, which remained scared and confused. ‘How are you feeling?’
Jo tried to shake her head. She didn’t think she could speak.
‘It hurts,’ she whispered.
‘I’ll go and tell a nurse that you’re awake, see if we can get you some painkillers,’ Gable said, looking quickly at the clock on the wall behind the bed. ‘I’ll be back in five minutes.’
Jo felt hot tears dripping down her face and she suddenly felt like a fool. Was she really so shallow and ambitious that she would put herself in this much pain?
For the next eight weeks the ache in Jo’s breasts ranged from complete agony to merely very uncomfortable. When she was released from hospital, Gable gently put her into a cab from Sunshine Cars and went home with her, sitting her up in her bed and holding an ice-pack to her chest. Jo wanted to angrily brush it aside, but Gable persevered, telling her the swelling could last for months and that the more they held the ice-pack to the area, the better she would feel in the long run. Jo wasn’t sure this was a scientific fact, but she took his word for it, and drifted in and out of sleep feeling sick and wondering what she had ever done so right to deserve such a good friend as Gable.
When she could, Jo slowly walked around the condo experiencing pain that was so excruciating she sometimes thought she’d no longer be able to bear it. Gable had two weeks between films, and he spent them with Jo – brushing her teeth when she couldn’t raise her arms, dressing her in baggy jogging bottoms and oversized T-shirts, and driving her to his surgeon to get her bandages changed. Even though she was warned that it would be the case, she felt alarmed when she realised her nipples were still numb, and she tried not to look at the bruising that was on her chest. She felt sick to think that she had chosen to put herself through such an experience.
Gradually, though, the swelling became less noticeable, and the pain began to disappear. Jo started sleeping on her back rather than in an upright position, and even though she knew she couldn’t bend or strain, the tightness in her chest seemed like a distant memory. Jo’s breasts began to feel smaller, and softer, and the surgeon was pleased with the results. On the twelve-week anniversary of her surgery Jo was happy too.
The first time Jo stepped out of her apartment she felt incredibly self-conscious. She knew she couldn’t hide out in the condo for ever, but as she walked along the street to the beach she realised her new breasts were constantly in her eye-line, and it surprised her that they were always ‘there’. Jo had decided that she needed to top up her tan – it had faded from the months she’d spent indoors recovering – and she couldn’t wait to relax in the sunshine. But as she lay on South Beach Jo realised that her bikini top made her new breasts look even bigger. She’d forgotten to replace the top half with a larger size, and she looked ridiculous.
Jo was making sure her bikini covered her properly when she became aware of men staring at her as they strolled past. Other girls – ones with natural breasts that were nowhere near as perky or as full – gave her dirty looks as they briskly walked past, and Jo couldn’t work out what she’d done wrong. It was only when a man came up to her and proposed – in utter seriousness – that Jo realised that people were staring because they thought she was sexy. For the first time in her life Jo felt sexually attractive, and it spurred her on to start her second lot of surgery as soon as possible.
The first procedure Jo had was an implant put over the front of her jawline to give definition to her chin. At the same time, Jo had a nose job to balance out her face; the low tip of her nose was corrected with added cartilage; and her nostrils were brought closer together. Jo had always hated the way her nostrils flared from underneath her long, straight nose, and she remembered
a phase in her childhood where she had spent days walking around flaring and then tightening her nostrils in the hope that they would correct themselves. Unfortunately, Jo thought, as she calculated that the cost of her nose job alone was $7,000, her pre-teen attempts to slim her nose by herself hadn’t worked.
After she’d recovered from her chin and nose surgery, Jo had cheek implants, where an incision was made on the inside of her upper lip and implants were inserted directly on to Jo’s cheekbones. When she’d fully recovered from this she then undertook the final part of her transformation – lip injections where fat taken from her own body was inserted into her lips, giving her a fuller, more juicy pout, just like Gable’s.
Over the course of the six months of surgery and recovery, Jo experienced pain on a level that she’d never thought possible. Like he had done when Jo had her breast implants, Gable made sure she took her painkillers; he held dry ice-packs to her face, and stroked her hair, telling her in a soft, comforting voice that it would all be worth it. Jo hurt so much she wasn’t convinced.
When Gable took her to see the surgeon Jo was forced to look in the mirror. Without her dressings – and the splint that she imagined was holding her nose in place – Jo thought she looked like a monster. As well as being swollen and bruised, Jo no longer recognised herself. It was a sensation that she couldn’t find the words to describe, but she felt as though she had walked into a black and white horror movie. Her world seemed devoid of colour and, to make matters worse, Jo found she often couldn’t sleep for the pain, even though she had been prescribed sleeping pills. When Jo did manage to drift off she had nightmares about her face never recovering from the invasive surgery. She dreamt that when she woke up her face would be a mask of patchwork skin, crudely put together with large, black stitches. When Jo woke up in a cold sweat Gable would hold her hand, but nothing he did helped her sleep. In the darkness and haze of her medication she sometimes thought he was Joshua Garnet, silently mocking her. Jo yearned for William’s touch.
Slowly, though, the swelling began to subside, and the deep purple bruises faded to green, and then yellow. Jo’s face began to settle, and even though she had mild discomfort and swollen lips for five days after her lip injections, she began to see the results she had been hoping for. When her lips stopped being swollen, Jo cracked a smile at herself in the mirror, and even though she wasn’t officially allowed to laugh for a week on her surgeon’s orders in case she stretched her lips, she couldn’t help herself.
She looked unrecognisable, like a woman who people would stare at as she walked down the street with a stylish gait, her expensive handbag swinging from her arm with carefree abandon. For hours Jo sat in front of her mirror and stared at herself, coming to terms with how she now looked. The Jo Hill who’d been bullied at school and had worked at The Royal Oak had been erased, and a butterfly had emerged from the chrysalis that she’d been cocooned in while in Miami. There were no other words for it: she was beautiful.
*
‘Have you worked out what you’re going to do next?’ Gable asked her one evening, while Jo was gazing at the sun setting over the ocean. She had a bit of a headache, but even her throbbing head didn’t distract her from wondering what William – if she ever saw him again – would think of her new face. She turned to Gable.
‘I’ve finished all my surgery—’ Jo started to say, but Gable shook his head, cutting her off.
‘And you look stunning – unnervingly like me! No, I mean what are your plans work-wise?’
‘I’m going to be your little sister,’ Jo said simply, and when Gable looked confused she smiled. Once again Gable was struck by how stunning Jo was. Her freshly highlighted hair made her green eyes shine, and her face, now that it was no longer bruised or swollen, was exquisite. Her chin was defined so that it was perky rather than weak or strong, and Jo’s nose, formerly plain and slightly wide, was almost aristocratic. It was slender and tapered away at the tip, and was an exact replica of Gable’s. Under her nose her plump, juicy lips begged to be kissed, and Jo’s new razor-sharp cheekbones gave her face the impression that she was a Scandinavian ice-maiden. Her eyes – her familiar green eyes – softened the overall effect of the paint-by-numbers beauty, and when she grinned her whole face lit up. She was gorgeous.
‘I know I’ve always said that I wanted to be successful as “Jo Hill”, but so long as Joshua Garnet remembers me – and he will, Gable, he’ll never forget me – everything will be a hundred times more difficult. I probably wouldn’t even be able to pitch to a magazine as myself, let alone actually write something. So I’ve decided to put both Jo Hill and Olivia Windsor to bed, and re-emerge as your little sister – just as I’ve been planning. Why not? I’m unrecognisable as the girl I used to be so I may as well use it to my advantage.’
Gable looked at Jo curiously. ‘Sounds like you’ve really worked this all out.’
Jo nodded. ‘I came up with the idea the night Lucy sent that email offering me a breast job, and I’ve been formulating it ever since. I’m going to email the best magazines in America and tell them that Gable Blackwood’s little sister has joined Platinum Consulting alongside Olivia Windsor, and I’m going to pitch my newest story ideas as her. I’m bound to be a hit – who wouldn’t want an article from the sister of the hottest Hollywood star since Johnny Depp?’
Gable grinned. ‘Damn right,’ he said. ‘But how is that going to help you get a job at Garnet Publishing in the UK?’
‘Once your little sister is American media property in her own right, Joshua Garnet will be desperate to give her – me – a job. He salivates over pretty girls, and with some celebrity sparkle added into the mix he won’t be able to resist.’
Gable laughed, but then his face froze. ‘But you don’t sound American …’ he trailed off.
Jo shrugged. ‘Your little sister got sent to an English boarding school when she was five,’ she said simply. ‘You ended up at a day school in America. We were separated because we were incredibly naughty when together.’
‘Hmm, it could work,’ Gable said. ‘And what if someone asks why I never mentioned you before?’
Jo tried not to roll her eyes. ‘Gable, why would you have done? Really, it will be cool, trust me. Hollywood stars are supposed to be incredibly quiet about their personal lives.’
Gable took a sip of his mineral water and encouraged Jo to do the same – it was good for the elasticity in her skin.
‘So what’s your new name going to be, Miss Blackwood?’ he asked her, and Jo blinked. She’d been so distracted by her new face and her plans for her career that she’d not even thought about it.
Jo looked out of the window for inspiration and started to run a list of names through her head. The sky was turning to a beautiful violet from the deep red, and as Jo watched the sun disappear in the horizon a glittering plane caught her eye. It was preparing to land, and, suddenly preoccupied again by her future, Jo imagined packing up her belongings and heading back to the horseshoe-shaped airport with Joanne Hill’s passport in her hands. The assistants at check-in would not believe that the slim, beautiful woman in front of them was the same dumpy, ugly girl in the passport photo, and Jo smiled. From the moment she stepped on to the plane and away from Miami it would be the beginning of her new life. Miami had been the making of her, and as Jo remembered the airport’s nickname – MIA for Miami International Airport – she knew what she had to be called.
‘I’m going to be Mia Blackwood,’ Jo said, as she turned back to Gable. ‘It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?’
PART THREE
Chapter Fifteen
December 2005
Mia stood in the arrivals area of Heathrow and tried not to let her tiredness show through her polished, haughty exterior. Even though she’d not been in England for nearly two years she’d been looking forward to coming back, but the harsh British weather made her suddenly yearn for the warm breeze of Miami. Outside, the sky was a cold, slate grey and all around her were pale, mis
erable people who were rushing around looking poor, malnourished and stressed. Mia adjusted her vintage Gucci sunglasses on top of her $500 blonde highlights and surveyed the crowds of people waiting excitedly for their friends and family. As everyone’s eyes flickered on everyone else, Mia tried not to feel self-conscious as men openly looked her up and down in front of their girlfriends and wives. In comparison to the perfectly groomed girls of Miami, most of the women in the airport looked frazzled and grey, with split ends, badly fitting clothes, and skin that was either so pale they looked like ghosts or so orange they looked cheap. Standing in the corner of the airport Mia looked as though she was bathed in sunshine – no part of her appearance had not been tended to, and she lit up the arrivals lounge in a flawless glow. She knew people were nudging each other and trying to work out if she was famous.
‘How about I buy you a coffee?’ a male voice murmured into Mia’s ear, and she whizzed round to see an attractive forty-something man in a well-cut navy suit. He had an American accent and even though he had a baby face there was something unnerving in his arrogant, over-the-top masculine demeanour. ‘My driver’s not here yet and I’m always partial to some female company.’ He looked directly at Mia’s breasts. ‘Especially if she’s as gorgeous as you are, baby.’
Mia stared at the man for a moment, and without saying a word she walked away from him, feeling his eyes on her Diane von Furstenberg-clad bottom as she pulled her luggage behind her. It had been the same on the plane. During the flight four different men had tried to engage her in conversation, and even though a part of her loved it that she was now deemed attractive enough to be hit on, Mia didn’t know how to handle the attention.