ENOUGH. Rob made very good company. He asked me about my life in the Valley, the vineyard, the wine store I had with Faith. Of course I couldn’t tell him about the Brotherhood and all that entailed. He didn’t need to know about that. I told him I lived with my three adopted brothers. He thought that was a little strange, but it was too early for him to have much of an opinion on how I chose to live my life.
In turn, he told me about the plastic surgery business. It was actually quite interesting. Super-rich wives from the city came to him and had their beauty enhanced while paying him inordinate sums of money. They actually paid him to cut them open with a scalpel and break their bones.
“Aren’t they afraid of the pain?” I said, taking my last sip from the one glass of wine I was allowed for the night.
“You’d be surprised what women are willing to go through in the name of beauty,” he said.
I nodded. I knew all too well. No matter how beautiful they were, no matter how much their husbands loved them, women were always on the hunt for the next thing that would give them an edge. It was in our genes. If there was something we could do to make ourselves more beautiful, then why the hell wouldn’t we take advantage of it?
Women looked at beauty the way men looked at money. Sure, you might have enough, but it was always safer to have a little more, just in case you needed it.
“Take you, for instance,” he said, “there are about six things I could name right now that we could improve.”
“Excuse me?” I said.
Was he actually implying that I needed plastic surgery? I know he wasn’t trying to insult me, in fact, everything he’d done all night had shown that he was trying his hardest to impress me, but I was taken aback by his comment.
“Sure. I mean, you look really great already, but you could be a knockout if you came to my clinic for some work. A facelift, lips, collagen, boobs, cellulite. For less than a hundred grand I could have you looking perfect in six months.”
“Six months.”
“It would be a lot of surgery. You’d need time to recover.”
“I bet.”
“But it would be worth it. At least, my clients would say it was.”
“I could get a law degree with that amount of money.”
“But what would a girl like you want with a law degree?”
“It’s just an example.”
“It’s a bad example, Lacey. At my clinic, we could give you something you’d actually use.”
“Beauty?”
“Exactly.”
“Isn’t beauty in the eye of the beholder?”
Rob laughed. “Sure, whatever. Believe that if you want. Women who think that don’t come to my clinic, and they miss out on all the ways we can make them better.”
“Make them better?”
“Isn’t it better to be more beautiful?”
I couldn’t believe we were having this argument. To be honest, I really didn’t have anything against plastic surgery. Who was I to judge? I spent a small fortune on clothes, makeup, even botox and filler on occasion. What was making me angry, was Rob’s attitude. He was implying that women could improve themselves by getting surgery. Like it was something we should do. Like it was an obligation. It was almost as if he was saying we weren’t good enough the way we were. It was a double standard. No one held men to such a high expectations. No one said to them, you know, some men speak five languages, work out every day, have perfect bodies, entertain everyone at a party, make millions of dollars, and drive Ferraris, and you’re not really keeping up unless you do the same.
Women, at least the women I knew, were accepting and loving of the imperfections in their men. They didn’t demand perfection. I felt like Rob wasn’t like that. I felt like he’d only love me if I did everything possible to be worthy of him.
“You know why women go through all that pain and agony and expense?” I said.
“Because we provide a service they’re hungry for?”
“No,” I said, my temper getting a
In turn, he told me about the plastic surgery business. It was actually quite interesting. Super-rich wives from the city came to him and had their beauty enhanced while paying him inordinate sums of money. They actually paid him to cut them open with a scalpel and break their bones.
“Aren’t they afraid of the pain?” I said, taking my last sip from the one glass of wine I was allowed for the night.
“You’d be surprised what women are willing to go through in the name of beauty,” he said.
I nodded. I knew all too well. No matter how beautiful they were, no matter how much their husbands loved them, women were always on the hunt for the next thing that would give them an edge. It was in our genes. If there was something we could do to make ourselves more beautiful, then why the hell wouldn’t we take advantage of it?
Women looked at beauty the way men looked at money. Sure, you might have enough, but it was always safer to have a little more, just in case you needed it.
“Take you, for instance,” he said, “there are about six things I could name right now that we could improve.”
“Excuse me?” I said.
Was he actually implying that I needed plastic surgery? I know he wasn’t trying to insult me, in fact, everything he’d done all night had shown that he was trying his hardest to impress me, but I was taken aback by his comment.
“Sure. I mean, you look really great already, but you could be a knockout if you came to my clinic for some work. A facelift, lips, collagen, boobs, cellulite. For less than a hundred grand I could have you looking perfect in six months.”
“Six months.”
“It would be a lot of surgery. You’d need time to recover.”
“I bet.”
“But it would be worth it. At least, my clients would say it was.”
“I could get a law degree with that amount of money.”
“But what would a girl like you want with a law degree?”
“It’s just an example.”
“It’s a bad example, Lacey. At my clinic, we could give you something you’d actually use.”
“Beauty?”
“Exactly.”
“Isn’t beauty in the eye of the beholder?”
Rob laughed. “Sure, whatever. Believe that if you want. Women who think that don’t come to my clinic, and they miss out on all the ways we can make them better.”
“Make them better?”
“Isn’t it better to be more beautiful?”
I couldn’t believe we were having this argument. To be honest, I really didn’t have anything against plastic surgery. Who was I to judge? I spent a small fortune on clothes, makeup, even botox and filler on occasion. What was making me angry, was Rob’s attitude. He was implying that women could improve themselves by getting surgery. Like it was something we should do. Like it was an obligation. It was almost as if he was saying we weren’t good enough the way we were. It was a double standard. No one held men to such a high expectations. No one said to them, you know, some men speak five languages, work out every day, have perfect bodies, entertain everyone at a party, make millions of dollars, and drive Ferraris, and you’re not really keeping up unless you do the same.
Women, at least the women I knew, were accepting and loving of the imperfections in their men. They didn’t demand perfection. I felt like Rob wasn’t like that. I felt like he’d only love me if I did everything possible to be worthy of him.
“You know why women go through all that pain and agony and expense?” I said.
“Because we provide a service they’re hungry for?”
“No,” I said, my temper getting a
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