more on Jillian. “I just felt like I ought to give them one tiny imperfection — just a single hair slightly out of place. Add a little…what? Personality, maybe?”
He glanced up at Teresa, whose eyes seemed not only perplexed, but disapproving as well, then turned to Kate.
The anesthesiologist’s expression duplicated that of the nurse’s.
And neither of them spoke, knowing Conrad Dunn could read their expressions at least as clearly as he would hear their words.
“You’re right,” he sighed, plucking out the hair and discarding it. “She should be as perfect as I can possibly make her.” He chose another hair, excised it from the donor patch, and inserted it into the tiny pocket from which he’d plucked the offending strand. Working slowly and carefully, he continued to transplant the hairs, one by one, until both brows were full and arched every bit as perfectly as the ones displayed on the monitor.
“Nicely done, Conrad,” Kate said nearly two hours later, when he was finally satisfied with his work.
“They’re exactly as they were, and if she’s careful about keeping them trimmed, very few people will ever notice they’re not quite brow hairs,” Conrad said. Then he smiled at his surgical team. “Not that it matters — Jillian Oglesby will never be anything like Margot, at least not like the Margot I constructed before.” He squeezed a tiny dab of golden ointment from a small tube labeled HEALING HEALTH LABORATORIES and gently applied it not only to the brows themselves, but to the area around them, and then to the stitches at the back of Jillian’s neck from which he’d taken the patch of donor skin.
“Can you finish?” he asked Teresa.
“Of course,” the nurse replied.
Conrad Dunn gazed down at Jillian Oglesby’s face, utterly relaxed in sleep. “They really aren’t Margot’s brows, if you actually study them,” he said. “The shape is there — no question about it. And the color. But this girl simply doesn’t have the underlying bone structure to show them off properly.” His eyes finally shifted away from Jillian’s face to the image of Margot on the wall monitor, a picture taken from full front, which showed her eyebrows in their full perfection. “That was the magic of Margot,” he said almost to himself. “That perfect bone structure.”
“Which none of us will ever see again,” Kate said, deliberately disturbing his reverie. “She was one of a kind, and there won’t be another.”
“Actually, that’s not quite true,” Conrad Dunn said quietly as he pulled off his gloves. “I believe Alison Shaw has it.”
Part Three. TRANSFORMATION
23
“WELL, I’M STILL NOT GOING TO TELL YOU I APPROVE,” CINDY KEARNS said, but even though the words hadn’t changed in the half hour Alison had just spent telling her best friend the latest details of her recovery from surgery, Cindy’s tone had softened, and Alison knew that when she finally saw her new figure in person, Cindy would be as happy about it as she herself was.
“I just wish you could come over right now,” Alison sighed.
“I could, if you still lived in Santa Monica,” Cindy reminded her.
“I know. I wish I still lived there, too,” she said, but knew that wasn’t quite true anymore. She hadn’t just gotten used to living in Conrad Dunn’s enormous house, she’d started to feel comfortable in it. When she thought about her old room in the little house in Santa Monica, she realized she didn’t want to go back to it. “It would be even better if you lived up here in Bel Air,” she said.
“Like that’s ever going to happen,” Cindy drawled. “My dad’s a fireman, remember? Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow. What should I wear?”
“We’re going to start inside, and then we’ll go outside for dancing. Just wear what you think you’ll be comfortable in. It’ll be fine.” Alison flipped the phone closed to end the call a few seconds later, then swiveled around in her desk chair to look around her room, trying to see it the way the Santa Monica kids who hadn’t already been up here — which was all of them but Cindy — would see it. They’d be expecting a big house — practically every house in Bel Air was large, and the newest ones were so big they looked ridiculous — but most of them hadn’t ever seen a bedroom as big as hers. Still, the room had started to look like her, with her favorite posters on the walls, her stuffed animals among the throw pillows on the bed, and her track medals and trophies on the bookcase.
Not all that much different from her room in Santa Monica, she told herself, except for its size.
And the thick Oriental rugs on the gleaming hardwood floors.
And the beautiful paper covering the walls above the wainscoting.
And the private bathroom she didn’t have to share with anyone.
Okay, it was a lot different from her old room, but it was hers now, and she liked it, just like anyone would. So why was she feeling guilty? Or maybe the little knot in her stomach was just hunger. She looked at the clock — her mom wouldn’t be home for at least another hour. Maybe she’d go down and see if she could sneak or beg a snack from Maria.
She was just getting up when there were two raps on her bedroom door.
“Come on in,” she called out.
Conrad opened the door, holding a large flat white box. “Hi,” he said. “Am I disturbing you?”
Alison shook her head. “I was just talking to my friend Cindy.”
“I brought a dress I thought you’d look good in tomorrow at your party,” he said, and handed her the box.
Alison looked at it uncertainly. Didn’t he know she already had a dress?
She racked her brain, trying to remember if she’d mentioned it to him. But surely she had at least
Conrad thumped his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Oh, for God’s sake! How could I have forgotten?” Then his voice changed and he sounded almost like a little boy. “Maybe you could save the other one for another day? I found this one, and it seemed so perfect, and—”
“I guess I could,” Alison broke in. “But what if it doesn’t fit?” Conrad stared blankly at her, and she had the distinct feeling that the thought had never crossed his mind. “Maybe I should try it on.”
“Great!” Conrad said, his expression suddenly clearing. “And if it doesn’t fit, or you don’t like it, you can wear the one you already have.”
Alison put the box on the corner of her bed, then raised the lid.
When she peeled back the tissue paper, she gasped. A gorgeous black V-neck dress, made of the lightest fabric she’d ever seen, lay folded inside.
She stared at Conrad in stunned amazement.
“Go ahead,” he urged. “Take it out.”
She lifted the dress from the box. It couldn’t have weighed more than a few ounces. The back was cut low and the flared skirt, cut on the bias, had a diagonal hem dropping away from right to left.
And a very discreet Valentino label.
“Oh, Conrad,” she breathed. “This is beautiful.”
“Try it on,” he said.
She turned to look at him. “You’re sure?” she asked. “It must have cost—”
“Just try it on,” he broke in, lowering himself into the wing chair by the window. “If you hate it, I’ll return it. If you like it, and it fits, you can either wear it tomorrow or it can stay in your closet until you need it.” His right
