Fix

by Leslie Margolis

  There were many stages to Orlan’s work. First she provided surgeons with computer-generated images of facial features that have been idealized as feminine beauty in art. Then she actually had the surgeries. She’d given herself Mona Lisa’s forehead, the nose of Gerome’s Psyche, and the chin of Botticelli’s Venus. Later on, in an attempt to mimic Mona Lisa’s protruding brow, she’d had implants—the kind normally used to enhance cheekbones—placed above her eyebrows. The results were grossly exaggerated. In the end, it looked as if she were growing small horns.

  Her public exhibitions included not just pictures and videos of her surgeries, but actual vials of her blood and fat that were left over from them. Disgusting but powerful. Her goal was to suggest that beauty as an objective was unattainable and that the process was horrifying.

  Cameron got what Orlan was saying. It was annoying that women had to try so hard. But Orlan was not the eighteen-year-old daughter of a former model/actress; nor was she on her way to the University of Santa Barbies. Understanding the horror and futility of achieving perfection didn’t mean that Cameron was somehow immune to striving for it.

  She continued taking pictures, hoping it would all translate into something she could use.

  Two days later, Cameron could sit up and go to the bathroom without pain. She was off the Vicodin, so her whole stomach issue was resolved. Her ribs ached, but that was manageable with aspirin. Cameron was up and walking around without a problem. The Steri-Strips had fallen off and her incisions still itched like crazy, but she’d switched from the uncomfortable surgical bra to a regular sports bra. That helped, although she still had to wear it at all times—even in her sleep—because it hurt not to.

  Her friends called, wanting to see her. First Lucy came and brought balloons. Then Hadley and Taylor showed up with flowers. Even Ashlin visited, leaving behind a very sweet card that read SO CAN I HAVE YOUR OLD WONDERBRAS NOW?

  Everyone thought she looked great, and they were all very supportive, but the one person that Cameron really wanted to talk to never even called.

  She thought about Blake a lot and went through the pictures of him that she’d accumulated over the past year: Blake strumming his guitar; Blake doing a handstand on the beach, his ugly beret lying next to him in the sand; Blake wearing a tux on the night of their homecoming dance. The last shot made her angry, but she wasn’t sure why.

  Where was he now? After all they’d been through, it seemed impossible that their relationship was over. How could it be when everything felt so unfinished?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  As Allie staggered into the kitchen, red-faced and out of breath, her mom hardly looked up from the stove. “You went running again?” she asked.

  “I was just practicing wind sprints,” Allie huffed. She still hoped that if she was fast enough, she could prove to Coach McAdams that she deserved a shot at the tryouts even if she missed a week of camp. “What are you doing?”

  “Cameron was craving pudding.”

  Allie glanced at the staircase worriedly. “I didn’t realize it would hurt so much.”

  “It won’t be so bad with your nose.”

  “Where’s Dad?”

  “Working.”

  Allie’s dad never worked on Saturdays. Of course, he never worked past eight o’clock either, but he’d managed to miss dinner with the family every night that week. Clearly he was avoiding the house because of Cameron. Even though they’d talked and things were supposedly okay between them.

  Allie poured herself a glass of water and sat down at the kitchen table. Although she didn’t say anything, her mother seemed to read her mind. “Don’t worry. Your father will come around. He was so dead set against this. It’ll just take him a while.”

  “It’s not like you wanted her to do it either,” said Allie.

  “Of course not, but I understand where she’s coming from. And your sister is very stubborn. She knows what she wants and who am I to judge? I knew what I wanted when I was eighteen.”

  “Did you ever wonder what your life would have been like if you hadn’t been”—Allie was about to say “beautiful” but stopped herself—“discovered?”

  “Of course,” said Julie. “I’d be stuck in Wisconsin and it would have been miserable because I never would have met your father and I never would have had you girls. Things were different for me. I’ve told you that. College wasn’t an option. I didn’t have the grades or the money.”

  “So why do you think it’s so important to her? I thought she was happy. She seems happy, you know?”

  Julie finished making the pudding and joined Allie at the kitchen table. “Cameron is so ambitious, it scares me sometimes. She’s so driven. I feel like she’ll do anything to get her way. Part of me admires her for knowing what she wants and for going after it. Your father has the same drive, and that’s part of why he’s so successful. But it’s worrisome, too. I wish Cameron would focus her energies on obtaining something more tangible. Beauty is complicated, slippery. If she doesn’t know that yet, then she’s going to learn it someday. Yet at the same time, I understand what she’s after. And why shouldn’t she want to be as beautiful as she can be?”

  “What if she becomes addicted to this? Like, what if this is just the beginning?”

  “I don’t think that’ll happen.”

  “Are you nervous about your face-lift?”

  Julie reached for Allie’s hand and squeezed it. “A little,” she said. “Are you nervous about your procedure?”

  Frowning down at the table, Allie didn’t answer right away. “I guess. It’s weird to think about, you know. It seems like the whole thing is out of control. Did you watch that MTV show we TiVo’d for you?”

  “I did, and it was creepy, but that’s an extreme, Allie. There’s a big difference between having one procedure to improve your own looks and reconstructing your entire self in the image of someone else.”

  “I know, but don’t they sort of both come from the same impulse? Do you ever feel like maybe you just shouldn’t give in?”

  Her mom seemed to consider the issue carefully before answering. “It’s not giving in, Allie. At least, that’s not how I see it. You’re too young to understand, but try to imagine that you once had this amazing power to make anything happen. At first you were awed by it, and then you loved it, and then you got used to it and assumed it would always be there. Then all of a sudden, long after you’d taken it for granted, it was gone.”

  “But it wasn’t just gone. You left the business because you wanted to.”

  “I’m not just talking about my career. And yes, I took time off when I had you girls, but do you know why we moved to LA?”

  “Because Dad got a new job here.”

  “Dad got a new job here because I asked him to. I wanted to start working again, and I needed to be here. I’ve been auditioning for three years, Allie. And it hasn’t led to anything.”

  “You could have told me.”

  “I didn’t want to. Children shouldn’t have to worry about their parents like that. I made my choices and I don’t have any regrets. In the end, I’m glad I’ve been there for you girls. That’s certainly more important. I just wish I could have done both.”

  “You always said that Hollywood was so superficial, that you hated being judged.”

  “Knowing that it’s a ridiculous game only makes it harder. I don’t know why it’s so important to me, but it is. Especially now. You girls have your own lives. You don’t need me like you used to. It’s time for me to go back to work, and this is all I know.”

  “You know what Eve told me the other night? She said she didn’t even leave Hollywood by choice. Not completely. She said that Hollywood left her.”

  Her mom smiled at her, like she didn’t believe her.

  “It’s sweet of you to try and make me feel better,” Julie said as she stood up. “I’m going to check on Cameron now. Do you want to come?”

  “That’s okay.” Allie watched as her mom left the roo
m.

  Eve had given up her fame and career for something more important. Beauty hadn’t been enough. Allie wanted to tell her mother, but she didn’t know how. Perhaps it wouldn’t have done any good anyway. Everyone knew that looks didn’t last forever. Maybe it was okay to stretch things out for as long as possible.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  It wasn’t just in m but in windowpanes and other shiny surfaces too—the stove top and the coffeemaker. Every time Cameron caught a glimpse of herself, she was stunned, but in a good way.

  It had been almost two weeks since her surgery, and her breasts finally looked like actual breasts. They were still too large, but not obscenely so. Strangely, they seemed fragile, like precious foreign objects that were too beautiful to touch. When Cameron showered, she was afraid to let the water hit her chest directly. Driving made her nervous. She was afraid she’d crash and they’d deflate. But that was all psychological, and Cameron tried not to obsess over it, because she had more important things to do.

  All her recent pictures were spread out across the floor of her room. She sifted through them in search of a unifying theme.

  Before the photo shoot in Cabo, Cameron’s friends had spent hours—all morning—getting ready for a shoot that had lasted less than half as long. Cameron had managed to get it all on film: Lucy applying her first coat of lipstick, Taylor curling her eyelashes, Ashlin brushing out her hair, Hadley dabbing cover-up on her chin. Now she realized that these candids were actually more interesting than the pictures her friends had posed for. They all looked more beautiful when they weren’t trying so hard.

  Cameron added the pictures to her portfolio and moved on to the next group.

  The portraits of Eve would definitely be included.

  As would many of the Motion Picture Home benefit ones. Strangely enough, the most interesting picture from that night had been taken accidentally. Cameron had meant to capture a group of photographers taking pictures of a beautiful new actress. In the background of her shot, though, was Eve, sitting alone at the table, watching. The picture evoked real feeling. One looked at it and yearned to know what the frail old woman with the intense gaze was thinking.

  This was unexpected. Cameron had always loved that pictures could lie. Now she saw that they could also reveal the truth.

  Her obsession with body parts, for instance. The numerous breast and cleavage shots from the party made a striking contrast to the images of Cameron’s postsurgical chest. Her inflamed red stitches and her swollen and pointy torpedo breasts were gruesome but necessary. Like the process of beautification.

  It came to her in a flash. Her work was about youth and beauty and age and beauty and celebrity and beauty and the work people do for beauty, and the futility of it all as well, because everyone will someday look like Eve. Old, wrinkled, frail, and close to death. Regardless of how many plastic surgeries you can afford. The process of aging, nature itself, cannot be conquered.

  Everything happened seamlessly from that moment. Cameron knew exactly where to place each picture. It worked out perfectly, as if she’d envisioned it that way all along. She was so excited about the final result, her hands trembled as she turned the pages of her book. This was something good, something real that she’d created.

  “Hello, Cam?”

  Cameron looked up, surprised. She’d been so wrapped up in her work, she hadn’t even noticed her sister in the doorway. “Hey, Allie.”

  “Blake is here. Should I tell him to come up?”

  “What? No! It’s a mess in here. I’m a mess.” She ran her fingers through her bangs, annoyed that she still cared. Jumping off her bed, she said, “Tell him I’ll be down in a minute.”

  Cameron threw on a baggy sweatshirt, then looked at herself in the mirror. Why was she hiding her chest from Blake? She didn’t know, but there wasn’t time to contemplate. There were other, more pressing questions. What did he want? To remind her of how shallow she was, yet again? To tell her it was all a horrible mistake? Or to admire her chest?

  She didn’t want to see him and she was dying to see him. She missed him terribly and she was angry with him for not calling or visiting sooner. Elective surgery was still surgery, and Cameron had really suffered—regardless of her motivations. Even Ashlin had been great about coming to visit. Her criticism had stopped the day Cameron had her breast augmentation.

  Grabbing her portfolio, she headed downstairs. Blake stood in the foyer, looking sheepish with his hands in the pockets of his baggy shorts.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, and then regretted sounding so cold. Then again, Blake looked at her chest before he looked at her face. That hurt.

  “Hi, Cameron. How are you feeling?”

  At least he was now focused on her face. Not that she was ready to forgive him. He was so deliberate about making eye contact, she could tell it took effort, that he really wanted to check out her chest. “I’m okay now. Nice of you to wait so long to make sure, though. Thanks for that.”

  “I called your house the night after your surgery.”

  “How did you know?” asked Cameron.

  “You mean because you changed the date? I ran into Allie at Griffith Park a couple of weeks ago. I asked her not to tell you. I just wanted to make sure you were okay, and I guess I figured it would upset you too much to talk to me.”

  “Upset me or upset you?”

  “Both of us, I guess.” He shrugged, looking down at his feet. “I should’ve come sooner, but I felt weird about the whole thing. I’m sorry.”

  Cameron felt her eyes tear up. As much as she missed Blake, as much as she wanted to forgive him, she couldn’t. She was still so angry, and it wouldn’t be fair to make it this easy for him. Sure, now that the worst was all over, he’d probably be glad her boobs looked so great. Or would once the scars faded. It seemed silly, but she didn’t want to give him the opportunity to enjoy them.

  “You should have thought of that before you called me shallow,” Cameron said.

  “I think we both said a lot of things that we regret.”

  This was true, but she wasn’t going to admit it because that would mean agreeing with him. “Come look at my portfolio,” she said instead. She grabbed his hand and pulled him farther into the house. “I just finished and I’m sending it off tomorrow.”

  They sat down at the kitchen table and Cameron watched Blake flip through the images—smiling at her friends’ goofiness and cringing when he made it to the shots of her breasts postsurgery. It was uncomfortable showing it to him, but worth it because he reacted to every page. Sure, some of his reactions were of disgust, but that was okay. Cameron wasn’t ashamed of what she’d done.

  “These are amazing, Cam. I don’t know what to say. You did it, though. I’m sure you’ll impress that photographer.”

  Cameron wished she didn’t care what Blake thought.

  He closed her portfolio. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner and I’m sorry if I was a jerk in Joshua Tree. It’s just … I don’t get you. You’re so talented and driven, and this portfolio is awesome. How can you be the same person who cares so much about her looks?”

  “Everyone cares about what they look like. You’re not above it, Blake. I’m sure you’d like to think you are, but you’re not. You took a shower this morning, and you brushed your hair and picked out those clothes. Yes, your shirt has a hole in the sleeve, but you’re making an aesthetic choice by wearing it. By actively not caring about your image, you’re choosing to present yourself to the world in a very specific way.”

  “Oh, come on, Cameron. You know what I mean. It’s the extreme stuff that I don’t get. Hair and makeup, fine, but this is different. Someone as smart as you shouldn’t feel like she has to surgically alter her body in order to conform to society’s artificial standards of beauty.”

  It was frustrating that he still didn’t get it. “I didn’t feel like I had to. I felt like I wanted to. And I’m not going to apologize for being a complex person. I’m allowed to appr
eciate art and be ambitious and still want to be beautiful. You can’t pretend that what I look like doesn’t matter.”

  Cameron felt Blake’s legs bounce under the table. “I’ve been thinking about what you told me out in Joshua Tree, how everything changed after your nose job, and it all makes sense to me now. I get your insecurities, and it’s okay. No one is perfect, you know? We all have our flaws, and I forgive you.”

  Cameron narrowed her eyes at Blake. She saw him like she’d never seen him before. Clueless. How come she’d never noticed it? “You forgive me?”

  Blake reached across the table for her hand, but she pulled away before he could touch her.

  “I don’t need for you to forgive me. I’m not apologizing.”

  “Okay, whatever,” said Blake. “Maybe that came out wrong. It’s just, summer is almost over and we shouldn’t waste any more time.”

  Suddenly something occurred to Cameron. “Remember the homecoming dance last fall?”

  “Sure.” Blake shrugged. “We’d just started going out back then.”

  “Right. And I was elected homecoming queen, and I wanted to pose for portraits after, but you refused.”

  “It’s such a cliché, posing for pictures at a high school dance. Who needs that?”

  “I do,” said Cameron.

  “Well, the homecoming court is stupid. All those ceremonies do is glorify monarchies. It’s so elitist. Feudal, even.”

  “It was democracy,” said Cameron. “They voted for me.”

  “Okay, I’m sorry.” Blake threw up his hands. “Look, all I want is for things to be good again. So you’re right. We should have posed for pictures that night. Do you still have the tiara? Because we can do it right now.”

  “It’s too late.” Cameron spoke sharply, surprising even herself. “I want to break up.”

  Blake smiled, as if he thought she was joking. “Wait, what? You’re breaking up with me because of homecoming? That was, like, ten months ago.”