Build a Man (22 page)

“They’re just
giving people what they want,” I respond. “People should have the
freedom to do as they wish to their bodies if it makes them feel
better.” As the words come out of my mouth, I realise it’s the same
line I’ve heard Peter repeat whenever anyone challenges what he
does for a living.

“Have you had a
shot of Botox to the brain?” Kirsty stares at me incredulously.
“You never–” She stops mid-sentence as Jeremy puts the phone in his
pocket and swivels toward us, face drained of colour.

“What?” I ask.
“Is everything okay?”

He nods. “That
was Doctor Lycett.”

Peter? What’s
Peter doing calling Jeremy?

“There’s been a
cancellation tomorrow afternoon for one of his surgeries. Doctor
Lycett asked if I wanted the spot for my eye-bag fix, nose job, and
chin liposuction.”

My heart starts
thumping. Tomorrow! This could be great for the column, really kick
off the action. And great for Jeremy too, of course. He’ll get
started on his transformation even sooner than expected.

“And?” I ask,
when I can’t bear the silence any longer.

Jeremy drops
his head, running a hand through his hair.

A pang of fear
shoots through me. Surely he said yes!

“I don’t know,”
he answers finally. “When the operations were a few weeks away, it
seemed safer. Like I had a cushion of time to think more about it,
to change my mind if I wanted.”

I stare, unable
to make a sound. Change his mind?
What?

“I told Doctor
Lycett I’d ring back in a few minutes to let him know.” Jeremy
meets my gaze. “What do you think? Should I just go for it?”

I look into his
green eyes, thoughts racing through my head. This is the first time
I’ve ever thought Jeremy might have doubts about the surgeries
ahead – he seemed dead set on everything. Beside me, I can feel
Kirsty’s disapproving stare as she awaits my answer. But what does
she know? She hasn’t listened to Jeremy’s tales of woe; heard his
Julia horror story. If ever anyone needed this surgery emotionally
– to pick himself up and feel more confident – it’s Jeremy.

“You should do
it,” I say. “Just think of your dream woman.”

Jeremy swallows
and keeps his eyes fixed on mine. “I am.”

My stomach
shifts at his words, and I tell myself not to be ridiculous. He
doesn’t mean
me
, of course. “It’s a great opportunity for
you to get started with your real transformation, sooner than you
thought. You should definitely go for it.”

An emotion I
can’t quite pinpoint slides over Jeremy’s face – something like
hurt and disappointment – and he turns away from me, taking out his
phone. Kirsty and I stand mutely as we listen to him make
arrangements to be at the hospital tomorrow. When he swings toward
us again, his face is an unreadable mask.

“So?” I
ask.

“So, this is
it.” Jeremy shoves the phone back in his pocket. “I’m on my
way.”

I bite my lip
as I notice the stiff set of his shoulders. This is the beginning
of his journey; of everything he wanted. Why doesn’t he sound
happier?

“Do you mind if
I head home? If I’m going to do this tomorrow, I have a few things
I should take care of.” Jeremy’s words come out tense and tight,
nothing like his usual warm, relaxed tone.

“But what about
the coffee?” I ask, unwilling to let him go like this.

He shakes his
head. “I’m not in the mood for it any more.”

Kirsty and I
say goodbye, watching Jeremy’s broad back weave its way through the
crowds away from us.

“I hope you
know what you’re doing,” Kirsty says, shaking her head.

“Of course.”
Thankfully, my voice sounds way more confident than I feel.

By the time
I’ve navigated all the weekend Tube delays to get home, I’ve
managed to suppress any earlier doubts about Jeremy’s surgery. I’m
sure his hesitation was down to cold feet. Peter’s always saying
patients get antsy pre-operation. Well, he did tell me once about a
woman who cried for hours before her gastric-band surgery because
she didn’t want to give up venison.

I’ve got two
hours to write the ideal woman/ dream date piece for Leza, and I
need to let her know about the change of plans for the operation. I
scrabble in my purse for my mobile then punch in her number.

“Yes?” she
barks when she comes on the line.

“Jeremy’s
surgery has been moved to tomorrow afternoon,” I say quickly,
knowing Leza won’t want to waste time with pleasantries. “It’s the
blepharoplasty, rhinoplasty, and chin liposuction.” God, that
sounds like a lot, doesn’t it? Another thread of uncertainty weaves
its way back in.

“Brilliant,”
comes her quick response. “Shadow Jeremy while he’s in the
hospital. Get into the operating room. I want details. Remember,
the more blood, the better.”

I swallow hard,
my stomach turning over at the thought of Jeremy’s blood. I’ve
never been good with bodily fluids, let alone those from people I
know. But if that’s what it takes to impress Leza and get the job,
I’m there with bells on. Or whites. Or whatever you have to wear in
the operating room. “Sounds good.”

“Get the dream
date copy to me by five today, and the surgery copy on Monday. And
tell Mia to do a fact box with surgery stats.”

“Okay.” I can’t
wait to pass that along; to show Mia
I’m
the one
spearheading this and that she really is just secondary.

“Keep me posted
on any issues.”

“Okay,” I say
again. “I–”

I realise the
phone has gone dead and I slump onto the sofa, wondering how best
to go about getting into the operating room to watch. I can tell
Jeremy it’s part of the life advisory package – seeing him through
surgery, etcetera – but what the hell am I going to say to Peter to
explain my sudden interest in surgical procedures? He knows I’m
hopeless when it comes to the technical aspects. He’ll never let me
forget the time I asked what a ‘subcutaneous contusion’ was after
snooping around in Madame Lucien’s post-op files (disappointingly,
it’s just a bruise).

Well, Peter’s
always after me to take more of an interest in the biology of
things, so he should jump at the chance for me to get first-hand
experience . . . or first-face experience. I shudder again at the
thought of Jeremy lying there, still, as Peter cuts into him, but I
draw in a deep breath and sit up straight. I need to do this.

Right, time to
get started on the dream date column. I get out my notepad, tapping
a ragged nail against my teeth as I think about how to begin.

THE WAY TO A
MAN’S HEART: THROUGH HIS (SOON TO BE GONE) STOMACH

Before his
first major operation tomorrow, our Build a Man James took some
time out of his preparations to speak about his ideal woman – and
his dream date.

I glance down
at my notes from last night.

‘My ideal woman
is someone who’s easy to talk to; someone I feel really comfortable
with,’ I write, remembering Jeremy’s laughter and how much fun we
had earlier today. Whoever he ends up with is a lucky woman.

The door opens
and I hear the click of Smitty’s newly trimmed claws on the floor
as Peter comes in.

“I’m home!” he
calls.

Damn. I snap
the notepad closed.

“Insanity at
the hospital today.” Peter flops onto the sofa beside me and clicks
on the television, cranking up the volume.

I wince at the
blaring of the TV. “Peter, can you–”

“Shh!” He holds
up a hand as a reporter details how one of those fanatics with a
metal detector found a stash of Anglo-Saxon gold in a field. Thank
God Peter hasn’t taken up that yet, although lately he’s been
making noises about buying a device. Still, where’s he going to use
it? Regent’s Park? The most you’d find there would be a junkie’s
needle.

Sighing, I
scoot closer to him. If I don’t ask Peter now about getting into
the operating room, I may never get a chance – particularly if Tony
Robinson comes onscreen. Thankfully the story’s over quickly and
Peter leans back, stretching out his long legs.

“So I hear
Jeremy’s going in for surgery tomorrow,” I say, to get the
conversation headed in the right direction.

Peter turns to
face me, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Yes, he is. He’s scheduled
for two in the afternoon. How did you hear that?”

Aw,
shit
! With everything running through my mind, I completely
forgot I wasn’t supposed to know Jeremy outside the clinic. I’ve
been playing the life advisor role so often, I almost feel like I
actually
am
one.

“Um, um . . .”
My mind works frantically to come up with something plausible. “He
left a message on the clinic’s answering machine about it.” Peter
should be happy I’ve actually checked the messages (not that I did,
of course) – he’s always reminding me to do it on Saturdays and
Sundays in case, heaven forbid, we miss scheduling an all-important
Botox shot to the earlobe or something.

“That’s
strange,” Peter muses. “I gave Jeremy the hospital number to ring,
just in case. Maybe I should call him to make sure everything is
okay.” He gets out his mobile.

“No, no!” I
practically leap onto Peter’s lap. “That’s not necessary, I’m sure.
Jeremy only wanted to know if . . . if the hospital had a
twenty-four-hour room service facility. You know what these people
are like.” I feel disloyal to Jeremy, lumping him in with the rest
of the rude rich, but needs must. If Peter calls Jeremy, the jig’s
up.

I hold my
breath as Peter jams the phone back in his pocket. “Okay. You rang
him and told him yes, right?”

My mouth drops
open. What? The hospital has twenty-four-hour room service? I was
just making that up. “Of course.” I squish even closer to Peter,
the smell of his lemony cologne – so different from Jeremy’s spicy
scent – filling my nostrils. “Um, Peter? I’d really like to learn
more about actual surgical procedures, from a clinical perspective.
And, you know, to see you in action and witness your expertise.
Could I come to the hospital tomorrow and observe you with Jeremy,
maybe?” After the recent episode with Kirsty, I’m not keen on
pandering to Peter’s ego. But if I don’t get in that operating
room, Leza will kill me. I hold my breath, thinking my words are
slightly over the top. But a beatific grin is spreading on Peter’s
face. He’s bought it!

“I think that
could be arranged. Jeremy’s probably a good one to watch, since
you’ve interacted with him from the beginning. You’ll need to stay
in the corner, out of the way. And you’ll have to get Jeremy’s
consent, too, before the surgery. Otherwise, there’s no way I can
let you in there.”

“No problem.” I
need to see Jeremy before the surgery, anyway, to ask him a few
interview questions.

“But I have to
warn you, the procedures aren’t pretty. There’s a lot of blood, so
prepare yourself. I can’t have you fainting or causing any
disruption in the room.”

“I can handle
blood. Don’t worry.” I cross my fingers, hoping that’s true. I’ve
never been in the presence of a lot of blood to find out, thank
God. But I’ll just focus on my work and I’m sure I’ll be fine.

“Come to the
hospital around noon, then you can pop into Jeremy’s room to get
the consent form signed. I’ll leave you a copy at the front desk.
Patients usually don’t have a problem being observed, in my
experience. But if he does express any discomfort, please don’t
badger.”

Badger? Me?
“No, of course not. Thanks, Peter.”

Peter reaches
out and pulls me toward him. “I don’t have to be at the hospital
until ten tomorrow. Late start for once.” He tidies my hair back
from my face, and just as I think he’s about to kiss me, he tilts
my head up, touching the small furrow between my eyes. “Hmm. You
might want to consider some Botox in the next few months.”

Gee, thanks. I
bite back my snarky response and smile tightly. He
has
just
done me a huge favour by letting me in the OR tomorrow.

“Do you feel
like . . .?” Motioning toward the bedroom, Peter raises his
eyebrows.

I follow his
gaze, trying to remember the last time we actually made love. It’s
been a couple weeks, but with everything that’s happened, I’ve
barely even noticed. And right now, getting busy with Peter is the
last thing on my mind.

“Sorry. I’m a
bit tired.” Not to mention I’ve got to finish my article for
Leza.

Peter shrugs.
“Okay, no problem. I must admit I’m knackered, too.”

Suddenly I
remember my earlier conversation with Kirsty. “Peter, this
operation tomorrow . . . it’s not dangerous, is it?”

Peter shrugs.
“It’s as dangerous as any other operation. Whenever patients go
under general anaesthesia, there is always a risk of
complications.”

My heart jumps.
“Complications? Like what?” I hold my breath as I await his
response.

Peter turns up
the TV. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re turning into one of my
hyper-anxious patients. I don’t have the energy right now to deal
with this, Serenity. Jeremy will be fine.”

I shake my head
at his abrupt dismissal, then grab the notepad and head to the
bedroom to refocus on my story. Peter’s a good doctor and a
fantastic surgeon. I’m sure everything will go to plan.

Yawning, I
force myself from the cocoon of blankets and into the cold air of
the bedroom. God, I had the worst sleep
ever
last night. I
jerked awake at three, after a horrible nightmare where Jeremy’s
crimson blood was splattered across the operating room and my
pristine white clothes. Then, every time I closed my eyes, all I
could envision was the pattern his blood spots made against the
stark white.

The flat is
silent; Peter must have left for work already. What time is it? I
rub my eyes and squint at the digital clock. Only ten-thirty. Phew.
Still plenty of time to get ready and head to the hospital.