Chapter 1
Tori
‘I beg your pardon,’ Dr. Maurice Strong, London’s top plastic surgeon, said with a perfect mix of British snobbery and professional contempt.
Anybody else would have cringed, but not Britney. She had absolutely no problem repeating her certifiably weird request.
‘I want you to make my eyes look like a cat’s. You know, going upwards, like this.’ She laid her forefingers on the outer corners of her eyes, and pulled the skin upwards, as high as her seventeen-year-old skin would stretch.
Dr. Strong glanced at me as if he suspected this was some sort of a schoolgirl prank.
I’ll admit it was a feat not to laugh at the crazy scene unfolding before my eyes, but I was damn good. I kept my expression shit-hot blank. It was more than my job was worth to express even a hint of mockery at Britney’s frequent forays into lunacy. I was paid by her father to follow her around, fetch, carry, and generally baby her.
How can I describe my job? Well, I guess, it was a bit like the ass-wipers of ancient China. No, I’m kidding. Straight up serious. Apparently, every great emperor had a manservant whose sole duty was to carefully clean his master’s ass after he had done a number two, and carry the precious royal droppings away to be disposed of. But here’s the best part of this little nugget from the past. You’d think that would have been considered the most horrible occupation a man could have, wouldn’t you?
Not so.
Since the emperor was considered a god in human form, direct from heaven itself, it was an awesome job eagerly fought over by many candidates. The lucky guy got to smell and dispose of a god’s poop. Unfortunately for me, other than the silent laugh factor to my job there was no such satisfaction in mine.
Getting nada from me, Dr. Strong pushed his glasses halfway down his nose (strange how plastic surgeons never have great noses) and peered frostily at Britney from the top of his gold-rimmed glasses. It was obvious that he thought she needed professional psychiatric help.
‘You want me to operate on your eyes to make you look like a … a … cat,’ he enunciated slowly, the last word dropping like a brick into the frigid air of his consulting room.
‘Yes, that right,’ Britney confirmed, nodding her blonde head eagerly, and flashing a heartbreakingly happy smile at him.
I could already see what was coming.
Dr. Strong sighed, as if he had done this way too many times, or he might actually prefer the ass wipe job. He clasped his hands on his desk and looked at her sternly. ‘I’m sorry Miss. Hunter but I’m here to make people look better not turn them into ridiculous freaks.’
‘No, no, no, you don’t understand,’ Britney launched hastily into an explanation, sheer panic turning her voice into the high, whinny drone that always hurt my ears. ‘It will look brilliant.’
‘It may look brilliant, but I’m afraid I’m not the doctor for you.’
‘Oh, but I want you to do it. You’re the best,’ Britney wailed. He didn’t know it, but we were this close (half-an-inch between thumb and forefinger) to a full-blown tantrum.
Dr. Strong looked like he was sitting on a toilet and had not eaten enough fiber to make it a worthwhile exercise. ‘Then take my advice and stop trying to ruin a perfectly good pair of eyes.’
‘I’ll pay more,’ she offered suddenly.
Oh! Britney, Britney.
For the first time a flash of anger showed on the good doctor’s face. He speared her with a stink glance. ‘If there is another issue you wanted to discuss then please do so, otherwise this appointment is over.’
‘But …’ Britney cried petulantly. ‘You did my nose and my boobs. You have to do my eyes.’
‘I don’t have to do anything.’
‘Oh please,’ Britney begged.
‘If you insist on cat eyes no doubt there will be other surgeons interested in taking on the … project.’
‘I don’t want to go to anyone else. You’re the best.’
He closed the file on his desk and looked at her with cold finality.
‘This is so unfair. I want cat eyes. I’m not asking for something unreasonable. And I’m paying. You can’t just turn me away,’ Britney raged.
‘Miss. Hunter,’ Dr. Strong reprimanded strictly. ‘Kindly do not waste any more of my time.’
Britney jumped up and I quickly followed suit.
‘Come on Tori,’ she ordered huffily, and proceeded to stalk out of the office with her nose held high in the air.
I shrugged apologetically at the doctor and followed her out.
She ran past the waiting room and rounded on me in the corridor. ‘I have to find a way to make him operate on me,’ she said desperately. ‘Can you help me to convince him?’