climbing a mountain in Peru could never imagine.
He looked at the Swiza clock on the wall. It read one minute before four o'clock. Sprecht pulled his feet from the desk, took out a handkerchief, and wiped the dampness from his forehead. He tried to think about the massive advance that had yesterday been credited to his Cayman account -- a sum that easily counterbalanced the indignity of yet another withdrawal from his moral slush fund.
The second hand hit twelve. Right on cue, he heard the outer door open, then close. A tumbler locked into place. Sprecht straightened in his seat. The patient came in, closed the inner office door, and looked carefully around the room without speaking. The two had met once before to make preliminary arrangements.
"It is good to see you again," Sprecht offered.
"This is where you will do the work?" The tone was level, without emotion.
"Yes," Sprecht replied cheerily, as if his greeting had not been wholly ignored. "The procedures will take place here, along with a recuperation period under my personal, full-time observance." He did not bother to mention that he would have an assistant during the surgery. There was really no choice, as certain procedures could never be performed by a single pair of hands. Sprecht, however, had no desire to face the questions that such an admission would bring. As with his other patients, he simply did not address the issue. His nurse would enter and exit the sterile area when the time was right. A wonderful thing, anesthesia.
"How long will my recovery take?"
In an ode to his efficiency, Sprecht directed his patient to a chair and, as he spoke, began measuring facial regions with a pair of calipers. "The amount of work you have requested is significant. I cannot imagine recovery in less than six days. More if you wish." The surgeon stepped back and recorded his results on a notepad. He normally would have taken pictures, but that, of course, was out of the question. "Remove your shirt, please."
The patient complied, and said, "You know how I want everything." There was no inflection at the end of these words, and so it was not a question.
Sprecht said, "Have no worries. I have extensive experience. Your more regionalized features, they will be softened. When I am done, the nose might appear Roman. The eyes -- Spanish, perhaps."
As he pursued his examination, Sprecht felt the eyes tracking him, watching every move. He knew his best defense was to keep busy, tied to the rituals of his work. He went to a cabinet and found a section of rubber tubing and a hypodermic needle. Returning to his patient, Sprecht wrapped the tube tightly around one arm as a prelude to drawing blood.
"Is that necessary?"
"Yes, absolutely," Sprecht said in his 'doctor's orders' monotone. "You will lose blood in the operation. I must have an accurate specimen to rule out complications." He performed the procedure quickly, efficiently. "You may get dressed now," Sprecht said. He moved back behind the desk, wanting some distance before again engaging the soon-to-be-Spanish eyes. "When will we begin?" he asked.
"The time is near, but I still require a certain degree of flexibility. Be ready in two days."
"Done. And you have decided to go ahead with everything we discussed? It is truly an extensive amount of work."
"Over the years many photographs have surfaced, doctor. My face is too well known in ... in certain quarters. When you are done, I must bear no resemblance to my former self"
"We discussed this at our last consultation. You must understand that--"
"Doctor! Is there any doubt about your ability to perform the contract?"
Sprecht's thoughts stumbled. "I am only saying that you must temper your expectations. The scale of change you demand -- know that I am a plastic surgeon, not God."
The patient's gaze fell hard and struck to Sprecht's very soul. The silence was discomforting, and at that moment Sprecht wished it was he who was climbing a mountain in Peru. The surgeon
He looked at the Swiza clock on the wall. It read one minute before four o'clock. Sprecht pulled his feet from the desk, took out a handkerchief, and wiped the dampness from his forehead. He tried to think about the massive advance that had yesterday been credited to his Cayman account -- a sum that easily counterbalanced the indignity of yet another withdrawal from his moral slush fund.
The second hand hit twelve. Right on cue, he heard the outer door open, then close. A tumbler locked into place. Sprecht straightened in his seat. The patient came in, closed the inner office door, and looked carefully around the room without speaking. The two had met once before to make preliminary arrangements.
"It is good to see you again," Sprecht offered.
"This is where you will do the work?" The tone was level, without emotion.
"Yes," Sprecht replied cheerily, as if his greeting had not been wholly ignored. "The procedures will take place here, along with a recuperation period under my personal, full-time observance." He did not bother to mention that he would have an assistant during the surgery. There was really no choice, as certain procedures could never be performed by a single pair of hands. Sprecht, however, had no desire to face the questions that such an admission would bring. As with his other patients, he simply did not address the issue. His nurse would enter and exit the sterile area when the time was right. A wonderful thing, anesthesia.
"How long will my recovery take?"
In an ode to his efficiency, Sprecht directed his patient to a chair and, as he spoke, began measuring facial regions with a pair of calipers. "The amount of work you have requested is significant. I cannot imagine recovery in less than six days. More if you wish." The surgeon stepped back and recorded his results on a notepad. He normally would have taken pictures, but that, of course, was out of the question. "Remove your shirt, please."
The patient complied, and said, "You know how I want everything." There was no inflection at the end of these words, and so it was not a question.
Sprecht said, "Have no worries. I have extensive experience. Your more regionalized features, they will be softened. When I am done, the nose might appear Roman. The eyes -- Spanish, perhaps."
As he pursued his examination, Sprecht felt the eyes tracking him, watching every move. He knew his best defense was to keep busy, tied to the rituals of his work. He went to a cabinet and found a section of rubber tubing and a hypodermic needle. Returning to his patient, Sprecht wrapped the tube tightly around one arm as a prelude to drawing blood.
"Is that necessary?"
"Yes, absolutely," Sprecht said in his 'doctor's orders' monotone. "You will lose blood in the operation. I must have an accurate specimen to rule out complications." He performed the procedure quickly, efficiently. "You may get dressed now," Sprecht said. He moved back behind the desk, wanting some distance before again engaging the soon-to-be-Spanish eyes. "When will we begin?" he asked.
"The time is near, but I still require a certain degree of flexibility. Be ready in two days."
"Done. And you have decided to go ahead with everything we discussed? It is truly an extensive amount of work."
"Over the years many photographs have surfaced, doctor. My face is too well known in ... in certain quarters. When you are done, I must bear no resemblance to my former self"
"We discussed this at our last consultation. You must understand that--"
"Doctor! Is there any doubt about your ability to perform the contract?"
Sprecht's thoughts stumbled. "I am only saying that you must temper your expectations. The scale of change you demand -- know that I am a plastic surgeon, not God."
The patient's gaze fell hard and struck to Sprecht's very soul. The silence was discomforting, and at that moment Sprecht wished it was he who was climbing a mountain in Peru. The surgeon
Similar Books
