After Rudy Graveline slammed down the phone, his hand was shaking. It wouldn’t stop.
At the breakfast table, Heather stared at Rudy’s trembling fingers and said, “I sure don’t like the looks of that.”
“Muscle spasms,” he said. “It’ll go away.”
“My surgery is tomorrow,” Heather said.
“I’m aware of that, darling.”
They had spent the better part of the morning discussing breast implants. Heather had collected testimonials from all her Hollywood actress friends who ever had boob jobs. Some of them favored the Porex line of soft silicone implants, others liked the McGhan Biocell 100, and still others swore by the Replicon. Heather herself was leaning toward the Silastic II Teardrop model, because they came with a five-year written warranty.
“Maybe I better check with my agent,” she said.
“Why?” Rudy asked peevishly.
“This is my body we’re talking about. My career.”
“All right,” Rudy said. “Call your agent. What do I know? I’m just the surgeon.” He took the newspaper to the bathroom and sat down on the John. Ten minutes later, Heather knocked lightly on the door.
“It’s too early on the coast,” she said. “Melody’s not in the office.”
“Thanks for the bulletin.”
“But a man called for you.”
Rudy folded the newspaper across his lap and braced his chin in his hands. “Who was it, Heather?”
“He didn’t give his name. Just said he was a patient.”
“That certainly narrows it down.”
“He said he came up with a number. I think he was talking about money.”
Crazy Chemo. It had to be. “What did you tell him?” Rudy asked through the door.
“I told him you were unavailable at the moment. He didn’t sound like he believed me.”
“Gee, I can’t imagine,” said Rudy.
“He said he’ll come by the clinic later.”
“Splendid.” He could hear her breathing at the door. “Heather, is there something else?”
“Yes, there was a man out front. A process server from the courthouse.”
Rudy felt himself pucker at both ends.
Heather said, “He rang the bell about a dozen times, but I wouldn’t open the door. Finally he went away.”
“Good girl,” Rudy said. He sprang off the toilet, elated. He flung open the bathroom door, carried Heather into the shower, and turned on the water, steamy hot. Then he got down on his bare knees and began kissing her silky, perfect thighs.
“This is our last day,” she said in a whisper, “before the operation.”
Rudy stopped kissing and looked up, the shower stream hitting him squarely in the nostrils. Through the droplets he could see the woman of his dreams squeezing her perfect breasts in her perfect hands. With a playful laugh, she said, “Say so long to these little guys.”
God, Rudy thought, what am I doing? The irony was wicked.
All the rich geezers and chunky bimbos he had conned into plastic surgery, patients with no chance of transforming their looks or improving their lives—now he finds one with a body and face that are absolutely flawless, perfect, classic, and she’s begging for the knife.
A crime against nature, Rudy thought; and he, the instrument of that crime.
He stood up and made reckless love to Heather right there in the shower. She braced one foot on the bath faucet, the other on the soap dish, but Rudy was too lost in his own locomotions to appreciate the artistry of her balance.
The faster he went, the easier it was to concentrate. His mind emptied of Chemo and Roberta and Stranahan and Maggie. Before long Rudy Graveline was able to focus without distraction on his immediate crisis: the blond angel under the shower, and what she had planned for the next day.
Before long, an idea came to Rudy. It came to him with such brilliant ferocity that he mistook it for an orgasm.
Heather Chappell didn’t particularly care what it was, as long as it was over. The hot water had run out, and she was freezing the orbs of her perfect bottom against the clammy bathroom tiles.
25
Mick Stranahan asked Al Garcia to wait in the car while he went to see Kipper Garth. The law office was a chorus of beeping telephones as Stranahan made his way through the labyrinth of modular desks. The secretaries didn’t bother to try to stop him. They could tell he wasn’t a client.