Guess Who's Coming to Dinner? Guess Who's Getting Greyed Out?

Chapter 5

Yeah, my momma she told me don’t worry about your size, she says, boys they like a little more booty to hold at night. You know I won’t be no stick-figure, silicone Barbie doll…

God Damn It! Looked like yet another Botox Barbie.

Well he could be grateful for small mercies he imagined, coz from what he could tell of her frame, at least it wasn’t another Liposuction Kardashian. Or, considering the theft of Black culture and curves they employed, the pertinent comparison should be Implantation Jennerashians. These culture vultures weren’t even trying anymore – not a single original bone in their plastic bodies.

Either way, suck out the tummy and inject into the double B’s – Butts and Boobs. Oh the boring monotony.

He couldn’t really be sure, of course, since she was Greta Garbo’in it. Her uniform bespoke “vant to be left alone” but you had to read between the lines to clue-in to the underlined intention.

I mean, who wore a Mink, huge darkened sunglasses and a head scarf during this rare beach weather if not to announce their presence? She definitely wasn’t going incognito with that fashion statement.

It was a garish attempt at attention grabbing garb. Which paradoxically could garner the wrong type of attention – that of the fashion police and, more seriously, animal rights activists. She was lucky not to have grabbed the notice of PETA…her brown coat would otherwise have sported quite the dousing of fake red blood if they’d gotten wind of her.

Wondering if her choice of fur had a special significance, he considered that he may have been reading more into the selection than perhaps her mind could conceive. Aside from the furry animal in question, urban dictionary shone an unusual light on the word. A verbatim transposition...

A ‘cheeky’ trickster, it said, used to describe something riddled with contradictions, surprises and intrigue. And the irony of the word was that it was usually used in direct conflict with an opposite usage or meaning.

Not even mentioning the British slang, “minky”…used to describe a woman’s desirable sex or her genitalia directly.

This was a literal copy and paste. Trues Bob. For one thing urban dictionary was not known for, was subtlety. And it never catered to any delicate sensibilities.

Which had he known all this then, wouldn’t have surprised him when she relaxed her death grip on the lapels of her coat and dropped the Mink to the floor, thereby revealing her almost nude body.

Yeah, almost. She wore Manolos. Or could’ve been Louboutins.

He was an Avery; he knew Designer Drag when he saw it. And red-soled shoes flaunted it.

His expectation was to be bombarded with self-tipped-off Paparazzi. It felt like that was what she was going for since, ironically, she was unrecognizable as any kind of celebrity. Any part of any celeb? Neither famous nor infamous was she; famously infamous may-be? Imposterologist…wannabe!

One who needed work done?

This looked to be another job done on the DL. The down low. Oh brother! Plastic Man to the rescue. He really needed to work on his Superhero alter-ego. Plastic Man made it sound like he was created from that polymeric substance. While his day job was his bread and butter work, unfortunately, he could still hope that Patient Plastic had some medical-journal write-up type deformity. Something that he could sink his teeth into.

Well, okay then. Certainly a novel approach to a consult. Not to mention, unconventional. Definitely an original experience for him; a patient all up in his grill with no concept of where the boundaries between personal space and professional etiquette lay. These Hollywood types were positively eccentric. To each his own, he reckoned.

He began the consult.

“Alright, what do we have here...Ms…?” he turned to check her file, but was stopped by the grating sound of a put-upon voice. She was apparently trying to sound…sexy? Mysterious? Would this be the time to start worrying that she was coming on to him?

“Melly…Kinka Melly,” she replied, accompanying her name with an obvious wink.

Well, that didn’t reassure him…at all. However, he would be the professional and give her the benefit of the doubt. She very clearly needed the work done.

“Okay then Ms. Melly, let’s get on with this.”

“Kinka, please,” she once again interrupted, once again winked.

This was just getting weirder and weirder, and more worrying, by the second. Also, was it just him, but what parent gave their child a name that could so easily be rhymed with Kinky? Slutty, anyone? Kinda like Phoebe Freebie. He fondly recalled that naming conversation that he’d had with April during their first pregnancy.

“So…is there anything in particular you want to have done?” And the lightbulb clicked. Of course! She was being anonymous. Going incognito. That explained the winking too. Damn pseudo-actresses…did they not know the term ‘doctor-patient confidentiality’?

“You tell me, Dr. Avery. You come highly recommended.” Once again with the winking.

He was starting to wonder if perhaps an involuntary eye twitch was her problem. For that she needed…Neuro, right?

He began the cataloguing

“Right. So a Liquid facelift with strategically placed Botox and fillers, pulling and lifting the face. Eye lift surgery to remove the fat bags from under the eyes. Lip-job, again Botox fillers and a Rhinoplasty. Earlobe Lift. Chin and Jowl Liposuction. Neck too – along the Necklace line. Breast and Hip augmentation, Tummy Tuck and Lipo. Buttock Implants. Arm reduction and Thigh Lift. Knee Lipo and fillers in the Feet. Hmm, and Cankle Lipo? Also electrolysis or Laser Hair Removal?”

He wondered at her dropped jaw and open mouth and the strange sounds emitting from said cavity. Aah, comprehension. “Braces and Teeth whitening.”

She continued sputtering nonsensical syllables.

He clarified. “Everything looks good. Whoever worked on you did a bang-up job, already. Except maybe for those cankles – that definitely needs work. And unless you want to go up a size or two along the buttock and breast areas? Hollywood Producers are always saying ‘Go Big or Go Home’ right? I suppose that’s why it’s called show business and not show friends.”

“I beg your pardon…What?! How fucking dare you? Do you know who I am?!” Still spluttering, she was however able to somehow string together somewhat coherent words. The sentences just didn’t make all that much sense. And they petered out into indignant huffs of air.

“Ehrm...you just said...do you not know who you are? Let me refer you to our resident neurologist Dr...”

“I know who I am, you buffoon! I’m Krista Smirnoff and I so obviously haven’t had any work done. This is the natural me…”

“Wait, what? I thought you said your name…”

“…how dare you suggest otherwise?! You must be some kind of quack, hack. I’ve heard that Plastics is a money-maker but this…! Stop shaking your money-maker at me! Anyway, I have Obamacare…”

“That’s not what a money-maker…you know what, nevermind.”

Sure, Jan. Looks like a Psych consult was needed for this one. And she was making it impossible for him to finish a thought, let alone getting a word in edgewise.

Firstly, what was with the different names?! Even she seemed confused as to what to call herself.

And B, why was she here for a Plastics consult if she didn’t want or need to correct what the ageist entertainment industry considered as flaws?

Lastly, point no.3. He was a qualified, professional Plastic Surgeon – he knew Plastics and he recognized when someone had work done. Extensively. But okay, to be fair, he had exaggerated slightly. Well except for the cankles, those calves and ankles were really confused as to their boundaries. Also, those inverted nipples…

This woman though, she was as synthetic as a silicone Barbie Doll. She was also either super smart and acting the ditsy blonde or else, no acting involved. For everyone knew that even without the repeal of Obamacare, elective cosmetic surgeries were not covered by the medical insurance carrier.

As swiftly as her crying in the Club meme analogy started, just as quickly did the false waterworks stop. He wished he could reclaim his time. He would just have to send her a hefty consult bill. But here he was faced with a bit of a conundrum. Since her details were obviously as fake news as much of her body…who from, where to and how did he recoup this loss?

“…say, how would you like to get away this weekend? My parents live in the country, Bainbridge Island. They have many, many wealthy friends looking to spend their money. And like I said, you come highly recommended…”

Those inverted nipples…

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