Makeovers Can Be Murder

Chapter 33

I had an interview scheduled for Tuesday morning with Evelyn′s plastic surgeon, the much ballyhooed Dr. Medina. I was going to test the ″thermal-laser thingee″ that Evelyn and the Newbodies group had been raving about. The procedure was actually called thermal laser-lite, and it was supposed to melt away your fat and shrink your skin. My job was to tell viewers whether it in fact worked.

When I′d called to arrange the interview with Medina, I didn′t tell his scheduling assistant that there was a chance that the procedure might wind up on my list of fat scams. I actually hoped the wand worked, because I was going to be the guinea pig for a free round of laser lifting. Normally each treatment cost nearly a thousand dollars.

Off the record, I was hoping that I might even get Dr. Medina to talk a little bit about Jana, who′d been one of his patients. Jana had come straight from Dr. Medina′s office to our lunch on the day before she was killed. I was even hoping that I might get some insight from Dr. Medina about the latest twist in her case, the alleged theft of her internal organs. As a medical doctor who dealt with the human body′s largest organ-skin-Dr. Medina might have some background information that I could use.

Dr. Medina′s plastic surgery office was several tax brackets more luxe than any doctor′s office I′d ever seen before. The waiting room was centered by an enormous glass sculpture. Lit from within, the sculpture was formed in the shape of layered crystals and looked like something that might have been found in Superman′s secret cave.

As Frank and I hauled our loads of equipment into the waiting room, a woman behind the long white counter gave me a welcoming smile.

″Kate Gallagher?″

When I nodded, she clapped her hands together. ″Ooh, I′ll be so excited to tell my daughter I got to meet you,″ she said in an excited-sounding tone. ″Nadia is fourteen years old; she watches you on the news all the time. And so do I, by the way. I′m Michelle, Dr. Medina′s assistant.″

I felt completely disarmed. For some reason I′d been expecting Dr. Medina′s assistant to be incredibly young, or else a study in filler-and- lasered perfection. Michelle appeared to be about fifty years old, and she seemed refreshingly un-lifted.

My first stop was the photo room, where I stepped up on a stool, and another assistant, this one a very young and insecure-looking woman named June, struggled to take my ″before″ picture.

After she reshot the series of front, side, rear, and other-side photos, June started sweating.

″Sorry, this is a brand-new camera,″ she kept saying.

It′s hard to figure out what to do while you′re being photographed for a ″before″ picture. Should you smile? Look depressed? Anything seems weird.

While I decided on an expression that I hoped looked appropriately natural, Miss June Bug of the Fumble Fingers kept fiddling around and apologizing for the malfunctioning camera.

After June′s fourth retake, Frank rolled his eyes in exasperation behind her back.

″I′m going out to the truck for a spare battery, ″ he said.

While Frank was gone, June finally got the shots she wanted. Then she gave me a dressing gown and ushered me into a small examination room.

″Dr. Medina will be in to see you in a moment, ″ she said, and then withdrew, closing the door gently behind her.

I sat there reading women′s magazines. Eventually, I heard a gentle tapping on the door.

″Come on in,″ I called out.

I found myself staring into a pair of warm, soulful brown eyes. George Clooney eyes. And they seemed to be smiling deep into my core.

Oh my God. Why didn′t Evelyn tell me about those incredible eyes?

″Hello, Kate,″ the incredible man-creature who went with the eyes greeted me. ″I′m Xavier Medina. So great to meet you.″

″H-hi, Dr. Medina.″

″Oh, please just call me Xavier. No ceremony here.″

″Okay,″ I said, suddenly feeling shy. ″Thanks so much for letting me and my crew do a story about your laser technique today.″

When had I gotten so stiff and formal? That wasn′t my usual style when doing a story.

″It′s totally my pleasure-I′ve seen you on the television news, of course. Although I don′t think of you as doing feature stories about skin treatments. Aren′t you normally more of an investigative reporter? Big-time crime stuff?″

He gave me a knowing smile, as if we were both in on a clever joke. Dr. Medina-Xavier-exuded an air of confidence and competence. It was as if he already knew everything there was to know about my fat-scam series. And about me as well.

″Well, this is an investigative series of sorts, actually,″ I admitted. ″I′m profiling what does and doesn′t work in the area of fat loss.″

″I′m glad to hear it. Based on what I′ve seen of your reporting, I know you′ll be completely objective in your work. I want you to tell your audience exactly how you feel about the results of your thermal laser treatment-both the good and the bad,″ Xavier said smoothly.

He pulled up a stool. Then he donned a pair of goggles. Using a metal arm that extended with a lighted mirror on the end of it, he examined my face.

″I know we′re treating your stomach, but I just have to say that your skin is amazing,″ he said. ″Have you had IPL treatments or laser facials before?″

″No. What′s amazing?″

″Your pores are unusually small. And you have very smooth, even coloration.″

″Is that a bad thing?″

″It′s a very good thing.″ Medina leaned back on his stool and laughed. ″Women-and men, too-come in here and pay thousands of dollars to get what you′ve got.″

″Really?″

″Yes. The small pores give your complexion a creamy, luminous surface. And you have almost no sun damage. It′s very unusual, even in someone as young as you. You must not ever have been a sun worshipper.″

″Really?″

I′d obviously just turned into a parrot whose only word was Really? Really? Which really must have made me sound like an idiot.

″Yes,″ he said. ″Marilyn Monroe had your kind of skin, plus a fine layer of downy hair that caught the light just so. The effect was incredibly luminous-that′s why the camera loved her so much. But the best example is a portrait I saw on a recent trip to Florence -have you ever seen the portrait of the Venus of Urbino, by chance? By Titian.″

″I saw that portrait once on a trip after college, ″ I said. ″And I think I recall studying it in school.″

Titian had painted the Venus of Urbino full length and buck-ass naked, with a fuck-me-now look in her eye. The painting had touched off a firestorm of court gossip during the Italian Renaissance, the same way the Paris Hilton tapes would hundreds of years later. Trust me to remember all the tabloid gossip from Art History 101.

Medina smiled as if he′d intercepted the raunchy little jog my thoughts had just taken. ″Oops, sorry,″ he said. ″I didn′t mean to sound fresh. I just meant that your facial skin is like that Venus′s. And actually so is the color of your hair.″

His smile seemed to engulf his eyes as he continued, ″I should add that I haven′t seen a blush like yours in quite a while, either.″

I could feel myself beginning to relax. Medina′s compliments and gently probing questions made me feel truly looked at, for the first time in a long, long while. It was a flattering feeling. Intoxicating even. I was tempted to bask in that feeling and forget all about my story assignment.

While Medina excused himself to speak with June the photographer, who had knocked on the door to announce that she was struggling yet again with her camera, it occurred to me that I hadn′t mentioned Jana to anyone at the office. Jana had been a patient of Dr. Medina′s, plus she′d seen him the day before she was killed. I was dying to ask him about their last appointment. I knew he probably wouldn′t violate doctor-patient confidentiality by saying anything about it. Still, it wouldn′t hurt to ask. Maybe I′d learn something new.

Medina was an interesting guy. And he certainly was attractive. Was it possible that he was this friendly and charming with all his patients? Maybe he was putting on a charm offensive for me so that I′d do a positive news story about him. That was always a possibility.

If he acted this way with everyone, I′d be surprised if the women of the Newbodies weren′t sending their underwear to him by Priority Mail. I noticed he wasn′t wearing a wedding ring.

Or maybe… maybe he was being this charming because he liked me. That thought squirted a jet of heat into my cheeks. Then the heat spread to a new location, this one completely inappropriate, given the clinical circumstances.

I′d just broken out with a severe case of Hot Pants Fever for Dr. Xavier Medina.