“Trapped?”
“In a glass globe. See how it looks like an animal trying to get out?” I touched the top of the glass globe, letting my fingers stroke the glass the way I imagined wanting to stroke the doctor. I heard his breath and let my hand fall to my side.
“Like an animal in the zoo,” he said. “Put there so that people could stare at it, watch it eat already-dead food and climb on concrete made to look like rocks.”
“But it’s an animal made of plastic. It’s not real.”
“Maybe nothing is real,” he said.
I laughed, tilting my head back so that my hair fell and showed my exposed neck.
“Is that a message from your local plastic surgeon’s office?”
“Hey, I only put them under. Whatever happens next is out of my hands.”
I turned, and before the doctor could step back, I placed one hand lightly on his chest. Looking up, I fluttered my eyelashes softly and whispered to him.
“So if this is all fake, when do things turn real?”
Acting like I liked this guy was easy. Easier than any part I’ve ever played. He looked down at me with gold-brown eyes, and I could see his desire. I could feel it, like heat, radiating off of his body. His jawline, slightly accentuated with dark stubble. The slight flash of his teeth through his full lips. He wanted me, I knew it. And why wouldn’t I want him? I could have anyone, after all. I was a CEO, a Hollywood wife, a millionaire. I could have anything I wanted.
“You’re married,” he murmured, looking at me closely. “Aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I said. “We’re such a perfect couple, too.”
“Mrs. Steadhill…”
Before I could respond, the door to the operating room behind him opened. I let my hand fall away casually and turned back to the sculpture as though nothing had happened.
“I’m ready,” Gary said, poking his head through the doorway. My ignorant husband.
“Wonderful,” Dr. Damore said, smiling broadly. “Then let’s get started. Mrs. Steadhill, would you like to sit in for the first part?”
“You mean, while you put him under?”
“Come on, honey,” Gary said. “Come say goodnight, how about it?”
“Anything for you, darling,” I said, my words dripping saccharine sweet. I followed Dr. Damore into the operating room.
My eyes darted to the view of L.A. as we walked in. Again, I had to stop myself from gaping out of the wall that was an entire window overlooking the valley. Probably Susan Steadhill saw views like that all the time, I told myself.
Dr. Damore helped Gary onto the operating room table and draped a sheet over his sides and lower body. Then he took out a syringe that was attached to the IV tubing. I turned away, wincing.
“Scared of needles?” Dr. Damore asked.
“Just a bit,” I said. I wasn’t sure if Susan was scared of needles, but I sure was. Gary hadn’t given me much to go on for Susan’s character, so I was making do with my own experiences. And, in my own experience, needles hurt like hell. I stared out at the Los Angeles landscape. The sun was lower in the sky, almost gone, and the lights were beginning to twinkle on all along the valley.
“Start counting down from one hundred,” Dr. Damore said to Gary. I peeked back over my shoulder. The IV was in, and the doctor was depressing the plunger on the syringe.
“One hundred,” Gary said. “Ninety-nine. Ninety-eight.”
“Good. Keep counting.”
Dr. Damore stepped away from the operating table.
“Ninety-seven. Ninety-six.”
“Nice view, isn’t it?” the anesthesiologist said, coming close to me. “Soon your husband will be out. I’ll monitor him closely.” Behind us, I could hear Gary still counting down, his voice getting groggy.
“Ninety-five.”
“Good,” I said, casting my eyes down. The cars below reflected flashes of sunlight. “I trust you with his life.”
Was that too dramatic? I hoped that wasn’t too dramatic. But I felt dramatic.
“Ninety-four. Ninety… ninety-three.” His voice was fading.
“I’ll take good care of him,” Dr. Damore said.
“I have no doubt.”
“I’ll take good care of you, too,” Dr. Damore whispered.
I turned in shock that he would make such a bold statement. The doctor was standing so close to me that I could feel his breath. I looked past him, to where Gary was lying on the table. His eyes were closed, and a line of drool ran from one corner of his mouth as he snored. My heart beat faster. What was I doing, playing with fire? I was supposed to be pretending like our marriage was alright. Suddenly I felt a flash of worry. I had gone too far with acting. I shouldn’t be Susan. I should be a better version of Susan.