The Beauty Doctor

by Elizabeth Hutchison Bernard

  “All right, I stand corrected—or should I say reprimanded?” Joe quipped. Then, raising his glass with a flourish, he proposed a toast. “Here’s to new friends and new adventures!”

  Abigail lifted her glass with the others, already wishing that the weekend was over.

  “And Frank—” Joe took a gulp of champagne. “Before dinner, I’d like for us to sit down and chat for a while. All kidding aside, I’m fascinated by your work. I want you to tell me all about it. And then I’ll fill you in on my little idea. I’d be curious to know what you think.”

  Dr. Rome nodded, saying, “I’ve been looking forward to it.”

  Everyone gathered in the formal dining room for dinner at eight o’clock. The long table was elegantly appointed, delicate bone china and cut crystal glassware sparkling beneath tall silver candelabras. Red roses and honeysuckle from the garden were artfully arranged in ample bouquets at each end of the table, filling the room with a seductive sweetness. In the soft flicker, Abigail could almost imagine the garish wallpaper and overly ornate furnishings as quaintly eccentric.

  Earlier, she had received a perfunctory tour of the first floor of the great house, an experience that left her rather stunned by her hosts’ lack of taste. The architecture was magnificent. The various rooms in the wings off either side of the expansive foyer were of stately proportions, with high ceilings, tall sash windows, and pillared fireplaces. They were spaces designed for furniture of distinction, fine Chippendales and Hepplewhites, Persian carpets, upholstery and drapes of rich textures and hues. But the items with which the Radcliffs had chosen to fill them seemed as if they might have been plucked from a seamy French brothel. The furnishings were Louis XIV, gilded and velvet-covered in brash shades of red. The draperies were heavy and dark, the walls papered in dizzying designs. Worst of all was the art, particularly in the drawing room, which contained numerous amateurishly executed paintings of female nudes in a variety of provocative poses. She had to wonder why the Radcliffs, who obviously could afford better, would choose to decorate their home with such offensive rubbish.

  Now, from her seat at the dining table next to Dr. Rome, she was mildly amused to see Joe strapped into an evening suit that was embarrassingly tight around the waist. Lillian had chosen a puffy-sleeved dress of white lace, which would have been more suitable as a tablecloth. She wore several substantial pieces of jewelry—a huge peacock brooch with every color gem imaginable, pearl drop earrings, and an amethyst-and-onyx choker—the sum of which utterly confounded the eye.

  And then there was the countess, decked out in a flowing green taffeta gown, the fitted bodice most notable for its nearly complete exposure of her ample bosom. A massive diamond-and-emerald necklace hung like a chandelier around her neck. She wore her hair loose, the dark mass puffed out around her face and dropping past her shoulders in a frenzy of curls. She was striking, dramatically so. Abigail couldn’t help wondering what Dr. Rome might be thinking about her; surely it was not only her mole that had captured his attention.

  As for herself, Abigail had chosen the coral-colored Parisian gown that she and Dr. Rome had picked out together, the same dress she’d worn that evening at the Park Avenue Hotel. It was beautiful and fit her to perfection, but somehow it seemed to pale in comparison to the countess’s flamboyant outfit. She reminded herself that she was not in competition, but still she was disappointed to feel so outdone, even in her finest frock.

  Suddenly she felt a weight on her thigh, underneath the table. With a start, she realized it was Dr. Rome’s hand! He leaned over to whisper in her ear, “Is your room upstairs satisfactory?”

  “Yes, it’s lovely,” she replied, her heart racing.

  “Mine is just across the hall,” he said, giving her thigh a slight squeeze before moving away to say something to Joe, leaving her dizzy from his touch and the warmth of his breath on her ear.

  It was then that Ronnie made her stunning entrance into the dining room—stunning because it was so bizarre. At first, Abigail didn’t recognize her, dressed as she was in a suit similar to what Joe was wearing. She glanced at Dr. Rome to gauge his reaction, but if he was in the least surprised or disturbed, he didn’t show it. Everyone else, too, acted as if it were nothing out of the ordinary. Looking about the table, Abigail started to feel as if she were a player in some odd drama with a cast of characters who seemed not to belong on the same stage.

  A butler began making the rounds, filling their glasses from a bottle of what was announced to be fine old Bordeaux, as Joe stood at the head of the table and cleared his throat.

  “Welcome, welcome! We have an exciting evening ahead of us, sure to be a memorable one. But how could it be anything else with such an outstanding group as we have gathered here tonight?” He clasped his hands, gazing down at his guests with a beatific smile. “I thought we could begin by entertaining ourselves with a little game—one that is intended to challenge the intellect and stimulate the imagination. Does anyone object?”

  “Are we allowed to keep our clothes on?” the countess quipped.

  Joe smiled. “You may, of course, Countess. Though I’m disappointed.”

  Abigail shot a sideways glance at Dr. Rome, who maintained an air of amusement. She attempted to do the same.

  “All right then, let us begin.” Joe pulled a small notebook and a pen from an inside pocket of his jacket and set them on the table in front of him. “The theme of our dinner tonight is, quite appropriately, beauty. I would therefore like to start with everyone offering his or her definition of beauty, with one stipulation: each of us must define it differently. Which means the one who goes first will have the easiest time of it, and the last may find it difficult.” He turned to Abigail. “It’s a definition that has eluded the great thinkers throughout history, but I have every confidence that among us tonight is the one who can finally put to rest all speculation as to the true meaning of beauty. Who it shall be, I have no idea—but, Abby, why don’t you go first?”

  It was all so sudden—this game of definitions for which Abigail was totally unprepared. All eyes turned toward her as she frantically tried to recall her fireside readings in philosophy, hoping to come up with an applicable quote from one of those great thinkers to whom Joe had alluded. It shouldn’t have been so difficult, yet at that moment she could think of only a single word.

  “Nature.”

  Joe raised a skeptical brow. “But some things that occur in nature are aberrations, wouldn’t you agree? Why else should we refer to that which is unexpectedly awful as a freak of nature?”

  Aberrations? She thought it strange that he would think of nature in such a way, when most would picture the majesty of mountain peaks, the dazzling hues of a spectacular sunset. “I would argue that nature in all its forms, even the strange and unexpected, is beautiful.”

  “I must say, your views strike me as unusual for someone involved in the beauty business,” Joe countered. “After all, what is a beauty doctor if not someone whose purpose is to alter nature? Right, Frank?”

  Realizing with some embarrassment that he had a point, she glanced at Dr. Rome, hoping he might amend her obviously too hasty declaration to better suit the purposes of their visit.

  “Let’s just say that, as a beauty doctor, my goal is to elevate nature to its own most perfect standards,” he replied smoothly.

  “How truly poetic,” Countess Alexandra gushed, smiling over her wine glass at him. “I can’t wait to hear your definition of beauty, Frank. Whatever it is, I shall try my best to exemplify it.”

  Joe had been scribbling in his little notebook, but now he stopped. “We’ll come back to Frank later. Ronnie, you’re next.”

  Ronnie, sitting to Joe’s immediate right, was fingering her white bow tie with a contemplative look. “I happen to like what the English critic John Ruskin said: The most beautiful things in the world are the most useless.”

  “So you see no value in beauty?” Joe asked, seeming to regard her remark with great seriousness.
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  “I didn’t say that. Clearly, something can have value without being useful. You know, art for art’s sake. That’s the point, I guess.”

  Joe nodded slowly, turning to the next in succession around the long table. “Countess?”

  “It’s very simple. Beauty is power.”

  Abigail caught her breath. How shrewd she was! She knew exactly what to say to win Dr. Rome’s approval.

  “And I must disagree with Ronnie,” she continued. “Beauty is indeed very useful. It can be used for good or for evil. But it can always be used for something.”

  “Beauty is innocence.” It was Lillian who chimed in now from Joe’s left. “That’s why we lose so much of it with age and experience.”

  Joe swirled the wine in his glass before finishing it off in a single swallow and turning his attention to Dr. Rome. “Frank, if anyone can give us a precise definition of beauty it should be you. Tell us, why do we see some people as beautiful, others as merely plain, and still others as unattractive or even hideous? Is there some single formula for beauty that we all recognize, whether we might realize it or not?”

  Dr. Rome, looking profoundly thoughtful, leaned back in his chair, his finger tracing the rim of his wine glass. “I can’t speak as a philosopher, only as a surgeon. But what I define as beauty is a certain balance and harmony among the features. If we’re talking about a beautiful face, that balance is somewhat different for each individual. In answer to your question, Joe, I don’t believe in an absolute standard of beauty, though some have proposed it. To my way of thinking, there is no precise measurement, no one formula that can be applied to everyone. If there were, then anyone skilled with a knife could be a superb beauty doctor. But beauty is elusive, even deceitful. It requires an artist’s eye to envision it, an artisan’s hand to mold it. That is in fact what I find so gratifying about my profession. The sculptor of human flesh can take his place among the ranks of Michelangelo and Leonardo da Vinci. Perhaps it may seem an overstatement, but to a beauty doctor the product of his labor—though mortal—is no less a work of art.”

  “How inspiring,” Lillian said. “I had never thought of beauty surgery that way, but it makes great sense.”

  The countess lifted her brows as she raised the wine to her lips. “I agree, Dr. Rome is most definitely the winner of Joe’s little game. But then, we haven’t heard from our host. Joe, we’re all dying to know your definition of beauty.”

  “Very well, Countess.” Joe closed his notebook and slipped it back into his pocket. “I see beauty as the engine of evolution.”

  “And we are supposed to understand what that means?”

  “It’s simple. Those who are beautiful are desirable; therefore they have the advantage in attracting a mate and reproducing.”

  “Well, if that’s true, then why are there still so many ugly people in the world? Shouldn’t beauty plus beauty equal beauty?”

  “A very astute question indeed, Countess.” Suddenly there was the sound of footsteps from the hall. Joe broke into a grin. “Well, well—I think the rest of our guests have arrived!”

  Abigail had noticed two other places at the table, but no one had mentioned for whom they had been set, and it was not for her to ask. As she twisted around in her chair to see the newcomers, through the shadowy doorway there emerged a form of which at first she could make little sense. She blinked, thinking perhaps it was an illusion of light or that she was seeing double. But no, it was neither a trick of sight nor of imagination. It was simply extraordinary.

  The girls were Siamese twins of the rarest variety—a single body with separate heads and necks, one slightly tilted to the left, the other at a somewhat greater angle to the right. They were adolescents, probably no more than thirteen or fourteen. Their faces were virtually identical and actually very pretty—dark eyes, well-angled cheeks, and small chins, the most distinguishing feature of each being a prominent and high-bridged nose. Their shoulders and chest were wide. The rest of their torso, obscured by the soft folds of a lovely but loose-fitting garment of white cotton and silk with blue embroidery, appeared to taper in a reasonably normal fashion. They had two arms, and a single pair of buttoned boots peeked from beneath the hem of their dress.

  As they paused in the doorway, taking in their surroundings and the company, it was clear they were not new to polite society. They stood for a moment cordially nodding and smiling. One spoke quietly to the other and then addressed a man in evening attire who had just come up behind them.

  “Come in, come in!” Joe called out. “Valencia, Melilla—I have a special place for you girls right over there.” He pointed to the far end of the long table, well away from the other guests. “And you, Baron, I’ve seated you next to the lovely Miss Abigail Platford, for which I’m sure you will thank me later.”

  The twins, walking with a limp but exhibiting otherwise perfect coordination of their shared body, circled the table to their assigned chair, while the man who had accompanied them was shown by the butler to the seat on Abigail’s left.

  “Friends, this is Baron Ludwik Rutkowski,” Joe said, addressing the group with a sweep of his arm, like an orchestra conductor. “The baron arrived late last night. I trust you’ve recuperated from your travels?”

  “Very much so, thank you,” the baron said, taking his seat. “Miss Platford,” he acknowledged, his lively blue eyes quickly moving past Abigail to Dr. Rome, who was leaning forward to get a better look at him. “And Dr. Rome, I presume.”

  “It’s a pleasure, Baron Rutkowski.”

  “Come now, we’re all on a first-name basis around here,” Joe interjected. “As I always say, titles are for those who feel the need to make themselves appear more important than they really are.”

  While the others exchanged brief pleasantries, Abigail conducted a clandestine assessment of the gentleman on her left. He was very handsome, his wavy blond hair brushed back from a high forehead and in a style slightly longer than current fashion. His face was clean-shaven, his features smoothly formed. There was an observable stiffness about him, which she took to be a mild discomfiture with his surroundings. She was curious as to how he knew the Radcliffs and what reason he had for being their guest. And, of course, what was his relationship with the Siamese twins?

  “But, forgive me,” Ludwik said, “I’ve neglected to introduce my girls, the two lovely Miss Rosas. On the left is Valencia, and Melilla is on the right. The twins are flattered to have been invited to join everyone tonight, aren’t you, girls?”

  Both of them nodded, smiling but saying nothing.

  “Their command of English is poor,” Joe explained, as an aside to the rest of the group.

  “Actually, it’s very good,” Ludwik said, inclining away from Abigail so the butler could fill his goblet. “By the way, I took the liberty today of borrowing a few books from your library. It will help to develop their vocabulary. English and Spanish have many similarities.”

  “They’re Spanish?” the countess asked, glancing disdainfully at the girls. “Parents were gypsies, I suppose.”

  An awkward hush fell over the table. Abruptly, Ludwik turned to Dr. Rome. “Joe tells me you’re in the beauty business.”

  Dr. Rome sprang to attention. “Yes, though it’s actually quite more than that. My field is transformative surgery.”

  “That does sound formidable.”

  “I’d be happy to explain, if you’re interested—that is, if the others don’t mind. I wouldn’t want to bore them.”

  “I, for one, should never tire of hearing you talk about your work, Doctor,” Countess Alexandra said with a charming lilt to her voice.

  At that point, several servants entered the dining room and began serving the first course, a cream soup with lobster and shrimp. Abigail couldn’t help her own somewhat puerile curiosity about the twins. Would they share a single bowl or would each have her own? Would they eat simultaneously?

  “Before you arrived, we were having a discussion about the definition of beaut
y,” Joe said, ignoring Dr. Rome’s offer to expound on his profession. “Abby was of the opinion that beauty and nature are synonymous. Yet, as we can see”—he glanced in the direction of the twins—“nature, left to itself, often makes mistakes. Sometimes disastrous ones.”

  “Nature plays with us as she chooses, sir.” Ludwik’s voice was tinged with anger. “It behooves us to show the less fortunate all the compassion we might wish for ourselves—especially when one considers that he who is strong today may find himself helpless tomorrow.”

  “Ludwik has an excellent point,” agreed Dr. Rome. “Yet more than compassion is required if we are to provide real hope to those afflicted with sometimes shocking but potentially explainable medical conditions.”

  Joe stopped eating, his spoon suspended in midair. “You’re not implying that something could be done to help these poor girls, are you?”

  The countess threw back her head with a laugh. “Ha! I suspected you might be some kind of mad scientist, Frank. What are you going to do? Cut off one of their heads and sew it onto a spare body?”

  The soupspoon fell from Abigail’s hand, clattering against the rim of the bowl before falling into her lap. “Excuse me,” she mumbled, lowering her eyes.

  “Bring Miss Platford another spoon,” Joe barked at one of the servants.

  Lillian smiled at the twins. “Tell Dr. Rome what you told me this morning, Valencia.”

  Valencia bit her lower lip, glancing nervously at Ludwik. “Our noses?” she said in a tiny voice.

  So they did speak English—or at least one of them did. Which probably meant they understood everything that had been said about them.

  Joe’s head popped up from his soup bowl. “What about their noses?”

  Lillian nodded again at Valencia, encouraging her to speak but to no avail. The girl refused to say another word. “Then I’ll tell him myself,” Lillian laughed. “Valencia and Melilla ran across one of your advertisements in the newspaper, Frank, and now they’ve got it in their heads to have you fix their noses. You know—take off the big bump in the middle.”