Boston. I test the sound of it in my mind.
Jury duty.
Take a little leave?
Just for one day, I muse.
Nothing big.
I turn back to the saleswoman and smile.
“You know what?” I ask. “Can you put the sweater on holdfor a day? At the Boston store, I mean?”
The saleswoman nods, but seems confused. I lean over thecounter to whisper my plan. “I think…I think I’ll go get it myself tomorrow!”
Just then, Jodi walks over. I worry that she’s heard me,but she’s too busy shopping to notice. “Ugh, all the clothing here is so cute!But I have to go get the girls at school, take one to tennis, one to art, andone to tae kwon do, then roast a chicken and plant some pink impatiens by thefront walk before stuffing envelopes for the PTA.” She gives me a quick hug andis off. “This was fun! See you Saturday!” she calls.
I wave in her general direction, but am distracted by myown slightly deranged thoughts, which are now moving quickly.
Boston. Georgie. Road trip! I leave a voice-mail messageto see if Georgie is free for coffee, then check the Amtrak schedule.
Wednesday is shaping up to be quite an adventure.
Chapter 8
As I’m getting into my car, the phone rings. “Hello?” Iask, not recognizing the name or number on the screen.
“Mrs. Worthing? This is Lila over at Dr. Grossman’soffice. I know I told you it would be impossible to fit you in today, but I’vejust had a cancellation. Can you be here in ten minutes, at three o’clock?”
My throat falls into my stomach. “Absolutely.”
On the drive over, I keep checking my forehead in therearview mirror. This makes driving a bit complicated. People honk as thetraffic lights change, but my car and I don’t move. Self-obsession is adangerous business. I don’t know how Jodi does it.
And then, I wonder, is self-obsession what I’m reallyafter? Isn’t it enough to just take a day trip to Boston? Now I have to go andget my face pumped full of poison, too? I mean, yes, I want to look younger.But what is the cost and what the gain?
First thought: Doug will be mad. More than mad. He oncesaid he would lose respect for me if I ever did any cosmetic alterations.
I wonder if he’d remember saying that. It was kind of awhile ago now.
Anyway, isn’t it my face?
My face, yes. But he has to look at it every morning forthe rest of his life.
Except, not tomorrow morning, because I’ll be slipping outearly to travel to Boston. Ha!
Come back down to earth, Lauren, and deal with thedecision at hand.
Okay, so Doug likes you the way you are.
Which is, you know, sweet.
But I could look better. Wouldn’t he like thateven more?
We haven’t seen much of each other lately. I wonder if heremembers what I really look like up close. Maybe this “tweak” of mine couldfly beneath his radar?
I could just not tell him, I think, channeling myinner Jodi.
I didn’t tell him about the pocketbook, and that wentpretty smoothly, I rationalize.
Now that my hair is colored and cut in a new style, Icould just insist that this is what’s making me look younger. Jodi almostdidn’t recognize me because of my hair, after all. People don’t have to knowthat I look better because I froze some really small muscles on my face.
But then I wonder, if he doesn’t notice any change, doesthat mean the procedure was successful? Or, isn’t the whole point of gettingBotox done to have people gushing about how fabulous you look?
See, I’m already self-obsessed, and I haven’t even had botulisminjected under my skin yet.
I enter the elevator in Dr. Grossman’s office building andhit “3.” The back wall is covered with mirrored panels, so I turn and stare atmyself some more.
I never really thought about my forehead much. If I do gothrough with this today, I know I’ll examine my face all the time. I’ll have towatch my forehead change, and then worry about it, and then run back to thedoctor’s office to maintain the perfection of it. Maintenance is expensive, andit’s perpetual.
As it is, I have hair color to maintain, and we all knowhow well I’ve done at that. And let’s not even talk about my bikini area.
I’ve heard that if you don’t keep up with the Botoxschedule, your face morphs dramatically overnight. Like, for a few monthsyou’re all smooth and glowy like a freshly picked apple and then, boom! Youwake up on the morning after the expiration date looking like an apple-head doll.Wear a cloak and people will start asking you to perform voodoo.
Plus, there’s cost to think about. I keep some of myteaching salary for fun splurges. Would I rather have new clothes or awrinkle-free brow?
If I started tutoring kids after school, maybe I couldafford both.
Tutoring for Botox? Is that crazy or inspired?
Though I’m still undecided when I reach the receptionist’sdesk, I give my name and wait to hear what Dr. Grossman’s opinion will be.
In the waiting room, I check my e-mails and see that thereis a follow up from Lenny. I am expecting it to be another group message, butthis one’s personal.
So, what did you think? I’m waiting.
My heart lurches a little. I scold myself, but I write backimmediately:
Not bad.
I’m about to write more, but a woman in teddy bear scrubsopens the glass partition and calls, “Lauren Worthing? The doctor’s ready foryou,” so I hit “send” and take a deep breath.
As we walk the pale hallway, I imagine meeting Lenny fordrinks in the city sometime in the near future. As I swivel toward him on mybar stool, he tells me that I look as great as I did in high school. No! Evenbetter than ever, Lauren, like you haven’t aged a day.
In the examination room, I hop up onto the giant recliningchair and wait. “Change into this backless paper gown,” the teddy bearassistant directs. “And the doctor will be with you in a few moments.”
“But I’m just having him look at my face,” I explain.
“Still. We like to embarrass everyone. Please put on thegown.” As
