Mine(12)

Whoa. I guess Gary and Susan really were fighting.

“Okay, then,” I said, pretending to take notes. “Got it. Unhappy marriage, pretending like everything’s good.”

“That stupid bitch,” Gary seethed, looking out at the pedestrians along Hollywood Boulevard.

“Can I ask you something?” I asked, hoping to change the subject. “About the surgery procedure?”

“What?”

“You said that I would be the medical trustee if anything goes wrong. So what do you want me to do if anything goes wrong?”

“Nothing will go wrong.”

“Yeah, but what if? Do you want, you know, life support? Or—”

“Of course I want life support!” Gary said. “Heroic measures, the works. Don’t let them pull the plug. Cost isn’t an issue. But nothing will go wrong, trust me.”

“Okay, sure. Let’s move onto something else,” I said. “I think I’ve got it.”

“Good,” Gary said, looking at his watch. The sun was getting ready to sink into the smog of the L.A. valley. “It’s almost time.”

He leaned forward and opened the privacy screen.

“Take us to the surgeon,” he said. “We’re ready.”





CHAPTER SEVEN

Rien

Everything was set up. The instruments were all laid out in order on the medical table, exactly the way I liked them. Tempered steel scalpels, from the wide No.18 chisel blade with a long handle to the tiny No.12 with its crescent blade like a hook. Each one made for its job, each one perfect in its own way.

I held up the largest straight blade to the light. It was sharpened down so that the edge would cut through skin like it was cutting through cheese.

Today the couple would come to me, hoping for a fresh start. Here: this operating room, so clean and white, overlooking the hills of Hollywood. A place to get plastic surgery while maintaining their privacy. And they would get it, alright.

When I was done cutting, they would be gone. The only thing that would remain of them was the emptiness that was there at the beginning.

People have such hollow lives. I’m always surprised when they beg to keep them.

The blade flashed orange, reflecting the sky outside. I set it back down onto the table carefully and admired the view outside of the huge window that made up one whole side of my operating room. It overlooked the west Los Angeles valley, and I had paid a fortune for it. Or rather, my clients had paid a fortune for it.

Sunsets in L.A. were beautiful, especially from my mansion. Fiery red and gold clouds spilled across the sky, and the moon was already visible in the evening dusk. It was a curved sliver of white, as thin and sharp as my scalpels. The operating room, white tile from floor to ceiling, reflected the burning colors of the sky.

I stripped the latex gloves off of my hands and shot them like rubber bands into the trash. Although I didn’t technically need the operating room to be sterile, I still liked to keep it clean. I suppose it was an old habit that I’d kept around from medical school and my work as an anesthesiologist. Back when I was doing no harm.

The operating table was white and chrome, and I rested one hand on the side of the table. The chrome was cool under my fingertips. Then my hand jerked back, as though afraid to contaminate the clean bed. I used my shirtsleeve to wipe my fingerprints from the chrome. There. Perfect again.

I looked out the window once more. The sky was already darkening. The clouds had turned ash-gray, dirty shadows of their former fire, and the white tile no longer reflected any color at all.



Sara

We pulled up to a private driveway just off of Sunset. I looked over at Gary. He seemed calm.

“Are we not going to the hospital?” I asked, frowning.

“Hospital?” he asked, looking surprised.

“You know, the place where most people get surgery.”

Gary laughed at me. My chest clenched, and I tried to work with it. Susan hated Gary, so I hated Gary. But it was a calm, controlled hatred. Yes.

“You think famous people go to Cedars Sinai to get work done? Hell, no. That would be way too much publicity. We have a private doctor. They say he’s the best. I only hope he keeps his mouth shut.”

“Ah,” I said, sinking into my role as Susan. Of course we would have a private doctor. Of course.

The car pulled around into an alleyway and stopped behind one of the private estates. There was a gate that opened as our sedan pulled into the back driveway, and then closed behind us. I stared up at the back of the huge mansion. A white door was the only entryway I could see, lit up by a spotlight and the rapidly dimming sun. There were no windows on this side of the house.

“That’s it,” Gary said. “Are you ready to be Mrs. Susan Steadhill?”