WELCOME TO HELLYWOOD CH.2 - FIRST PROCEDURE
By Yasamin Alisha
You wake up the next morning feeling like the decision was just a good sleep away. You pull the face mask from your eyes and ignore your maid as she wanders around your massive bedroom opening the blinds and setting out breakfast. You stand from your bed, not caring that she is still there, and walk naked to the bathroom.
“Your PA called again.” She mutters as she fixes your bed.
“What’s the message?” you yell from the shower.
“Call back now or kiss your career goodbye.” She hustles out of the room before you can reply.
You walk out of your shower, air dry as you walk into your bedroom again, and smile at the thought that it looks as though you never slept in it. She may have had a smart mouth but she’s the best help in town.
You decide it’s definitely a silk-pajama day; there’s no way you’re leaving your house today. You slip them on and eat your breakfast. The more you think about the options given by Dr. Skin, the more you know how you plan to answer.
You pick up the phone and dial his number. The receptionist answers and you let them know you want to book the first surgery. You think that with technology these days, maybe it’s time you take a workout regimen seriously for once.
She tells you that the next available appointment is in three days. You agree to that. She tells you to fast for 24 hours and to avoid doing anything strenuous to keep your muscles as relaxed as possible. You agree and ask about pain level.
“Don’t worry, Dr. Skin will prescribe you only the best in pain meds.” She hangs up on you and you sit for a second, seething at her rude behavior.
You take a deep breath and call your PA. “I know.” You say the moment the phone is answered.
“This is beyond damage control. We are going to have to take a vacation for a bit. Reebok has decided to go with another ‘Legend’ for their Legend shoes this fall. We need to lay low and do recovery.”
“I’ve decided to have some work done.”
“What kind of work?”
“Basic stuff. A lift, maybe a tuck. Nothing to worry about.”
“Who’s the doctor? You don’t want to come out looking like a goddamned clown.”
“I won’t. He’s the best.”
“Get me his info and I’ll do some checking.”
“I’ve already booked the appointment.”
“It can be canceled if I find anything hardcore. Just send me the shit and I’ll do the search. In the meantime, don’t talk to anyone. Just stay home until I get you some tickets for you. You’re going on vacation. Maybe we’ll go save some remote village somewhere. We’ll bring food or some shit like that.”
“You’re awesome.” You respond to the sheer lack of caring. You have a real love/hate relationship with your PA.
“Trust me.” The click on the line tells you it’s time to maybe have a mimosa by the pool.
You wander closer to the glistening water and think about everything you’ve been through. Your fucking career is in the toilet. Your life is pretty much over at this point. This surgery has to save you or you have nothing left.
You feel a soft oily cloth under your foot just before it slides out from under you and you tumble forward. The damned maid left the dust rag on the tile next to the pool again.
You fly into the air, your head slamming against the tile at the edge of the pool. The excruciating pain suddenly fades as you feel fluids pouring from your body. Blood streams from your nose and ears as you slowly slide into the cool water.
The water creeps up your body but you have no control of your muscles to scream. It laps past your head and you can do nothing as the water fills your lungs. You cannot move but you sure as hell can feel as your lungs convulse and your heart squeezes in the attempt to keep you alive. Your whole body is paralyzed as you slowly drown in your pool, and all you can think is:
Well shit. There goes damage control.