Making It Legal

Chapter 1

one

Diesel Races From The Knife

“Now remember, you must keep your head elevated for the next forty-eight hours.” The nurse said to the woman limping out of the plastic surgeon’s office. “We recommend sitting up in a recliner for the duration, or at the very least use two fluffy pillows so your head is elevated. Also, keep the skin greased up with petroleum jelly, and don’t forget to wear sunscreen!”

The woman’s face was covered in gauze, and I noticed little pink spots where blood was seeping through the bandages. There was no way she was showing her face to the world for a long time.

“Laser resurfacing.” A man murmured as he sat next to me in the waiting room. “I can almost guarantee that’s what she had done.” He inclined his head toward the lady who was now being led out of the office by a woman in a black and white maid’s uniform. “How have you been, Diesel?”

I turned and looked at him. He had bleached blond hair and was dressed head to toe in Armani, from last year’s collection. The voice sounded familiar, but his face was unrecognizable.

“Don’t remember me, huh?” The man smiled, and I noticed his forehead hadn’t moved. He also had very full cheeks, like a chipmunk, and his skin was super tight. “It’s me, Blaze.”

I stared at him for a moment longer, then felt my cheeks burning. He looked nothing like the man who’d first introduced me to the world of hustling. “Wow, it’s been a long time. I’m surprised we haven’t run into each other. Richmond’s a small place and…”

“That’s because I live in Norfolk. If you want to keep it a secret, you know, about getting procedures, it’s best to do them out of town.” Blaze crossed his legs and grinned. “I know a skilled surgeon a few blocks from where I live. If you want, I can give you his number.”

“Oh, thanks.” I mumbled, and realized Blaze had to be approaching fifty years old by now. In the world of escorts, that was close to a hundred. But, damn, he didn’t look a day over thirty-five.

“So what are you here for?”

“I don’t know yet. My skin looks fine, I think, but I’m almost forty and thought it was better to start taking care of stuff now. Maybe a little Botox?” I sighed, then snuck a peek at Blaze. He appeared young, but there was a plastic quality to his skin. It was super shiny, and I couldn’t see a single pore. “How about you?”

“My annual radio-frequency lift.”

I stared at him blankly, not knowing what that was.

“The treatment is similar to a laser, but you don’t look like ground-up hamburger afterward. It’s a non-surgical skin-tightening procedure. Works great, and nobody can tell you had anything done since it’s non invasive. Well, after a few days they can’t tell you’ve had work done. You should try it.” Blaze patted me on the knee. “How old are you now? Forty-five?”

“Thirty-nine.” I mumbled, and Blaze snickered.

“Oh, sweetie, everyone in this business over forty says they are thirty-nine. You can tell me. It will be our little secret.” He opened up his mouth to say something else, but was interrupted by a nurse. She had extra-tight skin, like everyone else in the waiting room.

“Bernie Floyd?”

Blaze flushed, then turned to me, and whispered, “I’ll hunt you down and kill you if you tell anyone what my real name is.”

“Doctor Patel will see you now.” She said, then Blaze got to his feet and followed her out of the room without another word. I pulled my phone out of my jacket pocket, then put it back, too nervous to play games or go on social media. I noticed a stack of brochures on the table next to me, so I snatched one up and opened it.

Regain your youth with laser resurfacing. Perfect for eliminating age spots, building new collagen, and eradicating pores.

An image of a youthful woman of an undetermined age was underneath the words. She was dancing in a field surrounded by sunflowers, apparently thrilled by her lineless and taut skin. But all I could think about was the woman I’d seen leave the office a few minutes ago, her face covered in bloody bandages.

“Shit.” I whispered, then I got to my feet and approached the nurse behind the sliding glass window.

“Excuse me.” I muttered, and the woman glanced up at me. Like everyone else, her skin was flawless, yet artificial. “Where’s the men's room?”

“It’s right outside the office door to the left.” She grinned, and like her face, her teeth were perfectly straight and blinding white.

“Thanks.” I said, then hurried away.

When I entered the bathroom I was relieved to see it was made for only one person. After locking the door, I gripped the sink and stared into the mirror over it.

“I don’t look that bad, do I?”

There was a smattering of tiny brown spots under my (receding) hairline, and a vertical wrinkle was etched between my eyebrows. I rubbed my index finger over it and sighed.

“If you want to stay in the business, you’re going to get this s**t taken care of, pronto.” I whispered to my reflection, and the gnawing pain in my gut that I’d been ignoring for weeks, burned.

“Do I really want to keep turning tricks for a living? I mean, do I want to end up looking as plastic and fake as Blaze?” I switched on the hot water and washed my hands, noticing how my knuckles were red, and the skin was peeling.

“f**k it. If I can get my asshole bleached every few months, I can go under the knife too. Or at the very least, get some Botox, or fillers.” I yanked a towel out of the dispenser and dried my hands. “It’s just maintenance. And since I have no other job skills besides s*x, I don’t have a choice.”

A knock at the door yanked me out of the angsty moment, and a nervous giggle bubbled up my throat. “f**k it, dude. You’re getting older, and if a nip and tuck can keep the money coming in, why the hell not?”

I opened the door and a chipper, plastic-faced man of unknown age winked, then sailed past me into the bathroom.

“What’s the appeal? Like these guys don’t even look natural.” I stuffed my hands in my pockets and hurried back into the waiting room. A woman had taken my chair, so I chose one opposite of her. She was holding an ice-pack against her red face, moaning.

“You will be fine in a couple of days, Ms. Brewster. Just remember not to make too many expressions, and every few hours reapply the ice to keep swelling to a minimum.” A nurse told her. “Is your ride going to be here soon? Because we don’t recommend driving after your procedure.”

“Yes." The woman replied, her voice muffled by the ice pack. “My driver is just running late. He should be here any minute.”

I noticed the hand holding the ice pack was covered in age spots, and I wondered how old she truly was.

“Eugene Shiflett?” A woman’s voice rang out, and I turned in my chair and saw it was the nurse behind the sliding glass window. I got to my feet. “Doctor Patel is ready for you.”

At that moment Blaze stepped back into the waiting room, his face the color of an overripe tomato.

I froze, and the pain in my gut throbbed.

“No f*****g way.” I muttered, then spun around and raced out of the waiting room. When I got to the building’s exit I pushed open the door, then fell against the brick wall next to it.

“I can’t do this anymore.” I panted, and it dawned on me what I actually meant, and it had nothing to do with having my face cut up and injected with toxins.

“No more turning tricks.”

My eyes burned, and to my surprise I felt tears coursing down my cheeks. I brushed them away with the back of my hand.

“It’s time to get out of the business.”