haven’t got grooves around my mouth.”
“Give it time,” Eppstadt said, a touch avuncular now.
“How long does it take?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never had any of it done. If I went in there, I’d never get out again.”
“Too much to fix.”
“I think it’s bad taste to jump on somebody else’s self-deprecation, Todd. But I forgive you. I know it hurts to hear this. The fact is, I don’t have to have my face out there fifty feet high. You do. That’s what they’re paying for.” He pointed at Todd. “ That face .”
“If I was to get something done . . .” Todd said tentatively, “about the lines, I mean?”
“Yes?”
“Would you make Warrior then?”
He had opened the door to Eppstadt’s favorite word: “ Maybe . I don’t know. We’d have to see. But the way I look at it, you haven’t got much to lose getting the work done anyway. You’re a heart-throb. An old-fashioned heart-throb. They want to see you kick the shit out of the bad guy and get the girl. And they want their heart-throb perfect.” He stared at Todd. “ You need to be perfect . Burrows can do that for you. He can make you perfect again. Then you get back to being King of the Hill. Which is what you want, I presume.”
Todd admitted it with a little nod, as though it were a private vice.
“Look, I sympathize,” Eppstadt went on, “I’ve seen a lot of people just fold up when they lose their public. They come apart at the seams. You haven’t done that. At least not yet.” He laid a hand on Todd’s arm. “You go have a word with Doctor Burrows. See what he can do for you. Six months. Then we’ll talk again.”
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•
•
•
Todd didn’t mention his discussion about Doctor Burrows to Maxine. He didn’t want the decision process muddied by her opinion. This was something he wanted to think through for himself.
Though he didn’t remember having heard of Burrows before, he was perfectly aware he was living in the cosmetic-surgery capital of the world.
Noses were fixed, lips made fuller, crow’s-feet erased, ears pinned back, laugh-lines smoothed, guts tucked, butts lifted, breasts enhanced. Just about any piece of the anatomy which gave its owner ego problems could be improved, sometimes out of all recognition. Traditionally, of course, it had been women who were the eager and grateful recipients of such handiwork, but that had changed. One of the eighties muscle-men, who’d made a fortune parading a body of superhuman proportions some years before, but had begun to lose it to gravity, had returned to the screen last year looking more pumped than ever, his perfect abdominals and swelling pectorals—even his sculpted calf muscles—surgically-implanted. The healing had taken a little while, given the extensiveness of the remodeling. He’d been out of commission for five months—hiding in Tuscany, the gossip went—while he mended. But it had worked. He’d left the screen looking like a beaten-up catcher’s mitt, and come back spanking new.
Todd began by making some very circuitous inquiries, the sort of questions which he hoped would not arouse suspicion. The word came back that the procedures were far from painless. Even legendary tough guys had ended up wishing they’d never invited the doctors to mess with them, the process had been so agonizing. And of course once you began, if you didn’t like what you saw you had to let Burrows make some more fixes; wounds on wounds, pain on pain.
But Todd wasn’t discouraged by the news. In fact in a curious way it made the idea of undergoing the procedures more palatable to him, playing as it did both into his machismo side and a deep, unexplored vein of masochism.
Besides, was there any pain on God’s green earth as agonizing as reading Daily Variety and finding that once again you weren’t in its pages? That CC[001-347] 9/10/01 2:26 PM Page 75
COLDHEART CANYON
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other actors—names sometimes
“Give it time,” Eppstadt said, a touch avuncular now.
“How long does it take?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never had any of it done. If I went in there, I’d never get out again.”
“Too much to fix.”
“I think it’s bad taste to jump on somebody else’s self-deprecation, Todd. But I forgive you. I know it hurts to hear this. The fact is, I don’t have to have my face out there fifty feet high. You do. That’s what they’re paying for.” He pointed at Todd. “ That face .”
“If I was to get something done . . .” Todd said tentatively, “about the lines, I mean?”
“Yes?”
“Would you make Warrior then?”
He had opened the door to Eppstadt’s favorite word: “ Maybe . I don’t know. We’d have to see. But the way I look at it, you haven’t got much to lose getting the work done anyway. You’re a heart-throb. An old-fashioned heart-throb. They want to see you kick the shit out of the bad guy and get the girl. And they want their heart-throb perfect.” He stared at Todd. “ You need to be perfect . Burrows can do that for you. He can make you perfect again. Then you get back to being King of the Hill. Which is what you want, I presume.”
Todd admitted it with a little nod, as though it were a private vice.
“Look, I sympathize,” Eppstadt went on, “I’ve seen a lot of people just fold up when they lose their public. They come apart at the seams. You haven’t done that. At least not yet.” He laid a hand on Todd’s arm. “You go have a word with Doctor Burrows. See what he can do for you. Six months. Then we’ll talk again.”
CC[001-347] 9/10/01 2:26 PM Page 74
74
CLIVE BARKER
•
•
•
Todd didn’t mention his discussion about Doctor Burrows to Maxine. He didn’t want the decision process muddied by her opinion. This was something he wanted to think through for himself.
Though he didn’t remember having heard of Burrows before, he was perfectly aware he was living in the cosmetic-surgery capital of the world.
Noses were fixed, lips made fuller, crow’s-feet erased, ears pinned back, laugh-lines smoothed, guts tucked, butts lifted, breasts enhanced. Just about any piece of the anatomy which gave its owner ego problems could be improved, sometimes out of all recognition. Traditionally, of course, it had been women who were the eager and grateful recipients of such handiwork, but that had changed. One of the eighties muscle-men, who’d made a fortune parading a body of superhuman proportions some years before, but had begun to lose it to gravity, had returned to the screen last year looking more pumped than ever, his perfect abdominals and swelling pectorals—even his sculpted calf muscles—surgically-implanted. The healing had taken a little while, given the extensiveness of the remodeling. He’d been out of commission for five months—hiding in Tuscany, the gossip went—while he mended. But it had worked. He’d left the screen looking like a beaten-up catcher’s mitt, and come back spanking new.
Todd began by making some very circuitous inquiries, the sort of questions which he hoped would not arouse suspicion. The word came back that the procedures were far from painless. Even legendary tough guys had ended up wishing they’d never invited the doctors to mess with them, the process had been so agonizing. And of course once you began, if you didn’t like what you saw you had to let Burrows make some more fixes; wounds on wounds, pain on pain.
But Todd wasn’t discouraged by the news. In fact in a curious way it made the idea of undergoing the procedures more palatable to him, playing as it did both into his machismo side and a deep, unexplored vein of masochism.
Besides, was there any pain on God’s green earth as agonizing as reading Daily Variety and finding that once again you weren’t in its pages? That CC[001-347] 9/10/01 2:26 PM Page 75
COLDHEART CANYON
75
other actors—names sometimes
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