The Procedure (3 page)

“I wanted the best.”

“Dr. Stein is good at what he does.”

“But he’s not the best. You are, and I wanted the best.”

He eyed me. “Please don’t mistake my curiosity for anything more than that, but what exactly does
everything
consist of to you, Mrs. Aldridge?” he asked.

I didn’t hesitate as I answered truthfully, giving him a tiny glimpse at my vulnerability. “Any and everything that will make me beautiful.”

Another deep, dark confession and the minute the words left my mouth, I felt like an idiot, but it was the truth. Secretly, I wondered if maybe they leaked some kind of truth serum through the air vents to get the patients to bare it all. I wondered what Dr. Roman would think if I told him I wanted things sucked, tucked, lifted, and reshaped. I wanted to be the young sex goddess my husband was probably screwing right at that moment.

When he didn’t respond, I brought him into focus. My cheeks heated when I realized Dr. Roman was looking at me as if I’d suddenly grown several heads, and the embarrassment burned hotter on my cheeks. This had to work. I needed to save whatever was left of my marriage. I had nowhere to go and no one to turn to, but I did have Michael’s money, and I’d use it to save us if I had to.

“I’m confused,” he uttered. “You want me to make you beautiful?”

I knew it sounded totally ridiculous, and I was sure he thought I was some freak addicted to medical procedures or something. There were a lot of women out there with money and nothing better to spend it on then a new nose and a few cheek implants. I’d seen the consequence of a plastic surgery addiction, but I wasn’t doing this just because. I wanted to look good, not overworked and unnatural.

“Yes. I want to be beautiful.”

Rolling away from me, yet keeping his whiskey-colored eyes locked on mine, he rested his forearms on his thighs, drawing my attention to this thick legs and crotch. Quickly, I averted my eyes.

Then he did two things that I hadn’t experienced since I was a whole hell of a lot younger. His eyes slowly dragged down my body and then back up, making me blush under his inspection. I wanted to cover myself, but oddly enough, I didn’t feel ashamed the way Michael made me feel when he looked at me. Maybe it was because Dr. Roman didn’t have that look of disgust in his eyes.

“Who told you that you weren’t beautiful?”

His question caught me off guard, and I sat there, confused and speechless. “What?”

He sat back in his chair. “Obviously, someone made you feel as if you needed to change yourself.”

Suddenly, I was too ashamed to admit that I was doing this for a man who may or may not love me, and who was sleeping with every twenty-year-old he could get his hands on.

“Then why would you go through all of this effort? I’m trying to understand why an already-attractive woman would want to undergo
extensive
plastic surgery when there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with her other than an unhealthy self-image.” He leaned forward in his chair. “Unless someone, someone important to her, made her feel and think otherwise.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but instead, I snapped it shut.

My shoulders stiffened when the memories of all the magazine articles about Michael sleeping with a different A-lister every month bombarded me, which of course, brought on the memory of the blonde he had facedown on my side of the bed.

The memories, too, of his unimpressed eyes the few times I’d tried to dress sexy for him—the way they skimmed my body in horror once he realized I was trying to turn him on. My dreams of one day having a baby with Michael had died then and never returned.

“It’s just…” I prepared myself to explain, but I lost the nerve. Whatever had been in the air before had faded and with it, so did another confession. “I
need
this.”

He watched me. I wasn’t sure what he was trying to find and maybe he didn’t either, because he sighed and stood. Holding my breath, I prayed and hoped I’d made him understand enough to change his mind.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Aldridge, but you don’t
need
anything. A child with a cleft lip who has trouble eating
needs
this. A woman whose face was destroyed in a car accident and can no longer get a job
needs
this. You, on the other hand, are perfectly healthy and fine just the way you are,” he said, and with those words, he took the last bit of hope I had with him. “Insecurities are something I know about, and women tend to have a lot of them. That’s not me being sexist…” he said firmly, “it’s just a simple fact. I understand you thought you needed to come here, but I hope you can understand that you don’t need to be here at all.”

“Does that mean you won’t help me?”

He stared at me for a long moment and then sighed. “No. I’m sorry, but I won’t.”

Even though I knew coming to see Dr. Roman was a long shot, I still felt stunned by his refusal. I should have expected him to say no. I was nothing or no one special. Rejection was my best friend.

“Why?”

“I’m not a cosmetic plastic surgeon, Ms. Aldridge.”

“But you used to be.”

His jaw twitched at my words, and something sad and regretful darkened his eyes before a spark of annoyance covered it.

“Exactly.
Used to be.
And honestly, Ms. Aldridge, even if I still were, I wouldn’t do any work on you. You don’t need cosmetic surgery.”

I felt a little spark of anger. “Isn’t that for me to decide?”

“Yes, but I can refuse to do the work.” He looked down at his watch.

“Money isn’t an issue,” I blurted, launching forward and almost knocking myself off the table. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”

Instead of that making him stop and think twice about walking out of the door, it only seemed to make him angrier.

“Excuse me?”

“I’ll pay whatever you want. Just name the price and I’ll pay it. Whatever it is.”

As I heard the words leave my mouth and echo off the walls, I suddenly felt pathetic sitting there, begging the man in front of me to make me beautiful. But it was said and done, and now I had to live with it.

Taking a step towards me, he loomed over me as his furious eyes bore down into mine. His large shoulders went up with each of his deep breaths, making me feel small. He was huge.

“There is no amount of money you can throw at me, Ms. Aldridge, to make me change my mind. I perform surgery on those who actually
need
it. I’m not here to entertain you or all the other bored housewives of Miami with unnecessary surgery after surgery until there is nothing left of the
real
woman you used to be. Or worse.” He didn’t elaborate on what he meant by
or worse.

“Look, I’m sorry I can’t help you, but I’m not that kind of doctor anymore, Ms. Aldridge. Plastic surgery isn’t a quick fix for boredom, loneliness, or a housewife looking for a project.” He took a breath. “Obviously, I can’t tell you what to do, but you seem determined and I’d hate for you to end up under the hands of some money-hungry quack with a God complex and a scalpel. So if you’re still going to get the surgery done no matter what, Dr. Stein is a very good doctor and would be more than happy to meet with you.”

I should have been angry as his blatant refusal and maybe under the frustration, there was some, but all I could focus on was my heart-sinking disappointment.

“I’m sorry to have wasted your time, Doctor.”

“And I yours, Ms. Aldridge.” He moved to leave the room, but he stopped. “I don’t know anything about you, I don’t claim to know a lot of anything, really, but at the risk of offending you, it seems like you just need someone to talk to.”

Looking up at him, I stiffened my shoulders. “You’re right, Dr.
Blake.
You don’t know
anything
about me. Thank you for your time.”

Turning away, I waited for him to leave the room. When the door shut, I wanted to curl up into a ball and sob, but I slowly got dressed and got the hell out of there.

I CAME HOME
to an empty house. Michael had some work in Los Angeles, and he had taken the first flight out without saying goodbye. He’d be gone for most of the week, which I hated. Being alone in our house, which was too big for two people, was scary and lonely. My imagination would get the best of me, and every noise was someone ready to kill me.

I wasn’t sure why I felt safer when Michael was home. Odds were he’d trip me to save himself. Most of the time, I wondered if he even cared for me at all. Other times, I was almost positive he still did. Otherwise, why wouldn’t he have asked for a divorce by now?

Sometimes, when he looked at me, I thought maybe he still loved me. However, that was if I was even in the same room with him awake for more than ten minutes, and only
if
he took the time to look at me.

Starting a hot bath and peeling off my clothes, I settled into the steaming water. The sting of the hot water felt good against my sensitive skin. Cupping the water in my palms, I attempted to wash away the embarrassment of my day. I could still see the look in Dr. Roman’s eyes when I’d told him what I wanted. I could only imagine what he was thinking.

I was just another bored housewife, he’d said. Maybe I was. I wasn’t an idiot. What he said made sense, but I wanted my life back. The one I had in the beginning with Michael—the happy smiles and long conversations. I wanted the touches. God, I wanted those so badly. My body hummed just thinking about them.

After the water began to cool, I put on my most comfortable, yet most unattractive, pajamas and set out for bed. I skipped getting into our bed and instead opted to sleep in the guest room. It was appropriate considering I felt more like a guest in my own house. Plus, the memories of Michael and that girl in my bed made it feel dirty. The sheets had long been washed, but it didn’t matter. The room was forever tarnished with her.

I barely slept that night, jumping at every tiny noise, convinced as soon as I closed my eyes that some crazy person would come in and murder me in my sleep. I didn’t feel better until Alma, our maid, came in early the next morning to clean. I caught up on my sleep to the sound of her vacuuming downstairs.

Michael came home two days later. I braved embarrassment to go to his office and see him. His dark blond hair covered his handsome face as he looked down at some paperwork on his desk. He had a masculine office. Dark blue walls boasted college degrees, assuring anyone who entered his space that he was capable at his job.

Michael was a lawyer for high-profile clientele. His job was to cover the mishaps of the rich and famous and take care of anyone who was out to ruin their careers or reputations. He’d come a long way from the broke pro-bono lawyer he was when I’d first met him after a car accident I’d had.

I thought about how he’d taken my case and promised me that he’d get the money for my doctor bills. He assured me I wasn’t to blame, stepped into the courtroom like a force to be reckoned with, and got every dime I deserved. A week later, I received a call from him, asking if I’d like to go on a date. The rest was history.

Stepping deeper in his office, which consisted of mahogany furnishings and fine leather chairs, I shut the door behind me. The sound of the door clicking grabbed his attention. His eyes moved over my body before he turned back to his paperwork.

“To what do I owe this honor?” he asked.

I could hear the tension in his voice. He didn’t want me there. Still, I pushed through. Clearing my throat of nerves, I moved closer to his desk and took a seat. “I thought maybe we could get lunch.”

His pen stopped moving. He placed it gently on the desk before shaking his head and looking up at me. His blond hair still hung in his green eyes, causing him to look even more handsome. A tiny smile formed on his lips, making me think that maybe he’d finally go for it.

“Samantha, sweetie, when’s the last time we ate lunch together?” he asked.

The way my name moved across his lips sent chills down my spine. It had been so long since he addressed me by my full name instead of Sam.

I held my head high, sure that I was finally getting somewhere with him. “A year maybe?”

He nodded. “That sounds about right. Let me ask you something else… If I haven’t taken the time to stop my day to eat lunch with you since then, what would make you think I’d be interested to do so now?”

He spoke sweetly, but his words were meant to be hurtful and rude. I hated when he spoke to me that way, as if I were too stupid to understand what he was trying to say.

“I don’t know. I guess I just thought…”

He cut me off. “Exactly. Do yourself a favor, Sam. Don’t think anymore. You’re only embarrassing yourself.”

And then he picked up his pen and went back to work as if I weren’t sitting there. Hurt burned like acidic bile in the back of my throat and chest.

Standing, I started toward the door, but he stopped me.

“Don’t expect me for dinner tonight or expect me home early for that matter.”

“Oh?” I said, trying to keep the hurt and agony from my voice. “Will you be at the office?”

His brows pulled together. He wasn’t used to me questioning his late nights. Normally, I wouldn’t, but obviously, I enjoyed being tortured. Part of me wanted to see if he would lie to me or if he would just come out and say he planned to have sex with someone that wasn’t his age-appropriate wife.

After finding him with someone else in our bed and his response to me catching him, I wondered if he figured there was no reason for him to hide or lie to me anymore. I wanted to ask him if he planned to bring more women to our home, but I wasn’t brave enough to.

“Actually, no. Bill Hendrix is having one of his parties tonight, and we were invited.” He dropped his attention to his work, writing me off as mere background noise if I wished to continue this conversation.

“We?”

“Hmmm?” he mumbled. “Oh, yeah, but don’t worry,” he waved his hand in my direction, “I gave your usual excuse.”

“I want to go,” I rushed out, twisting my hands together in front of me.

I caught his attention again, and he looked up at me. “You do?” He eyed me suspiciously.

I’d had my heart set on Dr. Blake doing my surgery. If he wasn’t going to, then I didn’t want anyone to do it. So I was moving on to plan B and praying that was going to work.

“Yes. It’s been a long time since I’ve gone to a party with you. I think it would be nice.” I shrugged, secretly praying he would agree.

But he didn’t

“You won’t know anyone there.”

“Actually, I met Bill’s wife a few weeks ago at the country club. I met a few different wives there. They’re nice, and we got—”

“Whatever,” he said, cutting me off. “If you want to come, fine.”

In code, that meant he hadn’t found a replacement yet, and he was too busy to make an effort to. Everyone knew Michael didn’t show up to a party alone just because his wife didn’t want to come, especially after what happened the last time.

He pointed a finger at me. “But don’t expect me to babysit you all night. There’s going to be a lot of important people there, and I don’t want them thinking I have a clingy wife. That scares clients away from wanting to do business with me.”

By clients, he meant his whores, and by business, he meant sex.

“What time should I be ready?”

“Eight and go shopping for something new. You haven’t been to one of these in a while, if you’ve forgotten.”

His eyes found mine for a brief, evil second. I knew exactly what he meant, and I hadn’t forgotten. I wondered what I’d done to him to make him so cruel and hateful. “I’ll see you at eight.”

I closed the door to his office before he had the chance to destroy another tiny piece of me. As I made my way to my car, embarrassment colored my skin red and made a jolt of tingles fizz in my stomach when I remembered that night two years ago. Michael was becoming worse, meaner toward me, and having a crowd to entertain only made him that much harder to bear. I’d become the center of his cruelty, and he never passed up an opportunity to put me down or humiliate me in front of his “friends”.

My humiliation became a sport and his source of power, building his ego and giving him a false sense of being a man. I endured it, letting him bring me to tears in the bathroom of a stranger’s home. Later, when we were alone and I’d confide my hurt to him, he’d apologize and promise not to do it again, but I learned to stop believing that meant anything to him.

Eventually, I stopped going to them with him, and he was more than willing to leave me at home alone. It wasn’t until months later that I heard the whispered rumors of Michael bringing other women with him.

I didn’t want to believe it. Michael loved me, I loved him, and there was no way he had betrayed me like that. I vowed to go to the next party, but Michael didn’t even mention them to me anymore. He was dressed and heading out of the door without me. When I offered to get ready and meet him there, he told me not to bother. With a kiss on the forehead, he was gone. Determined not to be one of those wives who just sat around while her marriage fell apart, I got ready for the party anyway.

I showed up an hour later and searched the crowd for my husband. I felt empowered. I was taking back what was
rightfully mine.
I would show Michael I still cared, I still loved him, and we could make this work. But then I saw the raven-haired twenty-three-year-old rubbing against my husband, and I felt the warrior in me shatter.

And then the whispers, laughter, and sympathy made its way around the room like we were at a sporting event, and everyone was doing a wave of different reactions. I was defeated, feeling like a failure to keep my husband. When his eyes found mine, there wasn’t even a hint of remorse.

It was easier to pretend I was oblivious to the fact that my husband was cheating on me and cry myself to sleep every time Michael left to an event and came home in the early hours of the morning.

My father raised me never to give up. Despite everything that had happened in the last two years, I still loved Michael because the man he used to be was still so strong in my memories. He was all I’d ever known and loved, and I wasn’t ready to give up on what once was.

I wasn’t sure how much more of my situation I could take. Mentally and physically, I had needs that weren’t being fulfilled. I felt like half a woman walking around, waiting for something Michael was obviously not willing to give me. I was so pathetic I couldn’t even get a plastic surgeon to give me surgery.

Instead of going home, I went shopping for something that I thought Michael would find sexy. I hated Michael’s work parties. I hated the way half of the people looked at me like I wasn’t good enough to be there and the other half looked at me with pity-filled eyes. Pity for the wife they thought was too stupid to know what her own husband was doing behind her back.

As I held up
the
dress against my body, I imagined what I would look like in it tonight. It was something totally out of my comfort zone, but I needed to do something drastic and quick. I was also bound and determined to turn some heads at the party too. Hopefully, one of those heads would be Michael’s. Smiling, I was blissfully happy in my own little world, imagining the look in Michael’s eyes as he took me in tonight. I wanted to be nothing short of blowing his mind, and I was sure my new dress would do the trick.

Michael didn’t show up until almost nine, which meant I sat around the house, sure that I’d gotten all dressed up for nothing, and he was taking one of his bimbos with him instead.

When I heard the door open and the familiar sound of his footsteps on the marble tile, I got excited. I’d taken extra care with my hair and makeup, and the lady who sold me the short, black, Vera Wang dress I was wearing assured me it was made for me. My legs were waxed to perfection and the diamond-encrusted and black-strapped Jimmy Choos that covered my feet made my ass look round and ready when I looked in the mirror.

Standing, I adjusted my dress and waited for him to look at me when he entered the room. Excitement and hope swam through me, making my pulse accelerate. A smile pulled at my ruby-red lips because I just knew I looked great. I felt pretty, and I hadn’t felt that way in so long.

The door opened, and there he was. His eyes dragged from my face, over my cleavage and stomach, before falling and following the bit of thigh that was showing and my legs. Optimism bloomed inside of me. He was actually looking at me, following my curves as if I’d mesmerized him in some way. It felt powerful.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” he asked abruptly, his eyes clashing with mine.

My bubble of happiness popped instantly. His expression changed to one of disgust, and my stomach bottomed out. Reaching down, I ran my fingers across the bottom hem of my dress. “I got it for you. Do you… don’t you like it?”

My voice sounded as weak as my stomach felt.

“Stop fucking around and change. You know you’re too old for a dress like that. Are you trying to embarrass me, Sam? What made you think you could ever pull something like that off?”

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. Not that it would have mattered. I’d failed to do anything more than disgust him further.