Skin Deep

42

When Steve left Jackie’s office, he headed to Carleton to give Dana his last paycheck to help cover her cosmetic procedures. As it was the weekend, she had asked if he could drop it off instead of mailing it. By the time he pulled onto their street, he wasn’t sure why he didn’t call ahead. He wasn’t sure why he did or didn’t do a lot of things of late. It was as if he had become a stranger to himself.

He had counted on Dana being at home. Yet he had not counted on her having company. Sitting in the driveway was a gold Lexus SUV that he did not recognize.

He turned off the headlights and sat behind the wheel, wondering what to do. A year ago, it would have been unthinkable that he’d feel like an intruder in his own home, in his own marriage. Yet tonight he was pretend-married and Dana was pretend-divorced and entertaining another guy. And here he was dropping off a check to help grease her success. Hey, pal, you familiar with the term sap?

Steve knew in his heart of hearts that he should just leave. Put the check in the mailbox and head home. Or drop it off tomorrow morning so she could deposit it. If Dana had male company, she’d be rightfully upset at his appearance.

Worse, he really couldn’t predict how he’d react. They were estranged, and in their separation Dana had a right to date. But the thought of her desirous of another man was like an ice pick in his chest.

As he put the car in reverse, the front door opened and Dana’s silhouette filled the frame. She recognized his car and stood watching him. If she wanted him to leave, she would have closed the door. Instead, she opened the screen door and waved him up.

He pulled behind the Lexus, thinking that maybe this was the official turning point: that she would introduce him to the guy she was dating—get it out in the open as the next step toward divorce.

As he gathered the check from his briefcase, all he could think was that he didn’t want to lay eyes on the guy. Didn’t want to know who he was. Didn’t know if he could maintain civility. Before he got out, he removed his service weapon and locked it in the glove compartment.

When he reached the door she let him in. “Jesus!” he said as he stepped into the foyer.

“It looks worse than it is.”

Dana’s eyes were swollen and bruised red and purple. And for an instant all he saw was the dead cyanotic head of Terry Farina. “What the hell happened?”

“I had an upper lid lift.”

“Did he do it with a hammer?”

She smiled. “The bruising’s natural and will be gone in a few days.”

“You going to go to school like that?”

“I’ll cover it with makeup. Besides, there are only two days left of classes. Want to come in?”

“Only if I’m interrupting something.” He handed her the check.

She led him into the kitchen and toward the family room. He followed her, sensing another’s presence and steeling himself for a face-off with some guy he’d prefer to kick in the groin than shake hands with. But sitting on the couch was Lanie Walker, and he felt a cool rush. “Good to see you, Lanie.” Which was never so true. Lanie was a close friend of Dana’s, supportive and amusing at times. But she was also nosy and officious.

“Good to see you, too. How you doin’?” She was drinking a glass of white wine.

She knew perfectly well how he was doing. “Just dandy.”

“Would you like something—Coke or juice?” Dana asked.

“I’m fine.” Dana returned to the couch. “I thought you were only going for the Botox.”

“We talked it over and agreed that it was a good idea to get the lids done.”

“You mean his next Mercedes payment is due.”

She gave him a dismissive look, but Lanie snickered. “No,” Dana said. “It was my decision. And if it makes you happy, he did the procedure at half the usual fee.”

“Caught the weekly special.”

Lanie cut in. “In another week you’ll never know she had it done. And she’ll look great.”

Except for the swelling and discoloration, Dana’s eyes did look more open. The flesh on her upper lids was tight and smooth but not stretched to perpetual shock like half the TV anchors. The crease above her nose was gone. “Looks like you got the Botox, too.”

“You don’t approve of that either?”

He knew he sounded sour. He felt sour. And it was totally irrational. He resented her not telling him. He resented being out of the loop. He also resented Lanie because they looked so together on the couch—her new closest confidante and coconspirator in reinventing Dana’s looks and the rest of her life.

“You have to admit the guy’s a real artist,” Lanie said. “Did you know he’s famous for pioneering all sorts of procedures including face transplants? Like that Canadian guy who got burned. They used cadaver tissue and he’s like new again. I mean, she got the best in the business.”

Steve nodded, thinking Lanie also probably gave Dana the name of a good divorce lawyer. They chatted some more, then he got up to leave.

“So you think that professor guy killed that stripper?” Lanie asked.

“The investigation is ongoing.” He checked his watch. “Bye.” And he left the room.

Dana followed him to the front door. She whispered, “I think you were rather rude to her.”

“Not even close.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” The flesh around the sutures was discolored and swollen, but her eyes were definitely more open. He looked into them and wanted to lose himself. “Is this the last of it?”

“As soon as he can schedule me, I’m going to get my nose fixed.”

He nodded.

“You don’t approve.”

“No.”

“If it’s any consolation, I’m paying with my own money.”

“It’s not the money. I like your face the way it is.”

“It’s something I’ve wanted to do forever, so I’m getting it done.”

He nodded.

She studied his face. “What’s your problem?”

“The more you get done, the less you look like yourself.”

“I think I know where you’re going with this. This is not about you.” She opened the door.

“Are you still going to look for another job?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t turned in my resignation. I think I might miss the kids. Maybe I’ll wait another year.” There was a moment’s silence.

“I miss you.”

She nodded.

“Are you dating anyone?”

She sighed. “No. Are you?”

“No. Want to go out? Maybe dinner or a movie?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea. Thanks for the check.”

He headed back to his car, thinking about the gun in the glove compartment.