She blinked, smiled and cast her beautiful eyes to the side, then looked straight at Platonov. How many such grimaces, confused looks and feminine tricks had he seen in this office. As soon as he asked about age, women immediately remembered that in front of them was a man, young and attractive. Eva was no exception.
“How much would you give me?” she asked playfully.
He looked at her sternly.
“Twenty-nine,” Eva lied without blinking.
For some reason, turning thirty always scares women.
“Thirty-nine, to be precise,” Platonov corrected her dispassionately, still knocking off two years out of sympathy.
“You can’t fool me, Doctor,” said Eva, appreciating his tact.
– Why are you trying to deceive me? I am a doctor, not a potential groom. I need your age for something completely different. If you were really twenty-nine, you would hardly come to me. You look good for your age. I would even say, excellent. Many women would envy you.
“You are a terrible person. You see right through us, like an X-ray,” Eva coyly reiterated.
– This is my work and experience.
– Your wife is lucky. You know women and understand them.
Platonov wanted to say that he was not married yet, but changed his mind.
– So why did you come to me? You look great and don’t need plastic surgery. Not yet, anyway.
Eva’s eyes lit up with interest at the compliment.
– And at what price do I manage to do this, don’t you want to ask? Yes, I have a rich husband. I have access to the most modern cosmetic procedures and products, which, by the way, cost a lot. But I’m tired of working out in the gym for hours, then lying on the cosmetologist’s table for several hours with masks and miracle products for rejuvenation. I don’t live, I try to hold on to time, youth. I’m tired, – she repeated.
– So let time go. Let it go as it goes. Every age has its advantages. No need to seem better and younger than you really are. – Platonov gave her one of his radiant smiles.
– It’s easy for you to say. You’re a man. You don’t have to fight age, count wrinkles and calories in the morning, and go on endless diets. And all for the sake of your figure and complexion. And who pushes us to make such sacrifices?
– And who? – Platonov played along.
He liked Eva. She was sincere, beautiful, active. It was easy with her.
– It’s you, men, who are pushing us under the knife. Yes, yes. You feel more confident if you have a young and beautiful woman next to you. If she’s next to you, it means you’re worth it. And the older you get, the younger women you choose. – Eva smiled, a sad line appeared at the corners of her mouth, her eyes grew sad, but she still looked beautiful.
— I am from a small provincial town. My mother worked at a poultry farm, as did my father. Then the factory closed, my mother got a job as a nurse in a hospital, and my father went to work in a boiler room. It is difficult to find work in our town. There was one factory, and it was closed. My father drank, of course. I hated this life, the city, since childhood I dreamed of moving far away, to Moscow, I dreamed of becoming an artist. — Eva’s eyes clouded with memories.
Platonov understood her very well. He himself came to Moscow from a small provincial town.
— I didn’t get into drama school. But they gladly hired me. At a stall at the market. — Platonov saw that the recognition hadn’t come easy to her. — I won’t go into details about how I survived. I was lucky. One woman noticed me. I gave her a good rip-off, by the way. She invited me to a fashion house. Not one where models walk the catwalk, although that happened too. Well, you know. That’s where I met my future husband. I was young, desperate… — Eva’s eyes clouded over again. Platonov didn’t interrupt.
– He fell in love so much that he proposed to me. Of course, I accepted. I wasn’t embarrassed that he was older than me. I had pulled out a lucky ticket after all. I had a husband, an apartment in Moscow, a country house, connections, money. He gave me everything I dreamed of. My wildest dreams came true.
He has a son from his first marriage, my age, lives abroad. My husband doesn’t want any more children. I’ve resigned myself to it. Restaurants, clothes, trips around the world. I liked that life. You’re right, many women envied me. I escaped from a small provincial town and I don’t want to go back there. – Eva sighed and was silent for a while.
— And three days ago I dropped by my husband’s office. Just like that. I wanted to please him. He loves donuts. You know, those sweet ones covered in pink glaze. I bought a couple and a cup of coffee.
The receptionist wasn’t there. Or rather, she was where she was supposed to be – in my husband’s office. They didn’t even bother to lock the door. They didn’t see me. I left, leaving donuts and coffee on her desk. It was terrible. – Eva hid her face in her hands.
Platonov waited, did not interrupt. He had heard similar stories many times in this office. Women confided their secrets to him, as if in confession.
Eva took her hands away from her face. Her eyes remained dry. She allowed herself to remove the mask of a confident woman for a moment. Such women do not like to show their vulnerability to others. Life has taught that in all situations one must “keep face.”
— I wasn’t naive, I guessed that my husband had other women. But then I got scared. I realized that time was passing, I wasn’t getting any younger, and there were a lot of young girls with long legs around, ready to do anything to take my place.
Everyone wants money. They have something I no longer have – youth. You are right, I am forty. I cannot compete with them. Men like my husband like young, stupid and pretty girls. If he leaves me for one like that, I will no longer have a chance for a second lucky ticket. You quickly get used to good things. I do not want to go back to the life I ran away from. I would rather die.
Platonov was struck by her sincerity and despair.
— Could you just give up Moscow, your house or apartment, your expensive car, your job, your money? Move to the wilderness, become an ordinary surgeon?
Platonov was silent. Eva didn’t expect an answer from him. Everything was clear anyway.
– Good. Here is a list of specialists you need to see, tests you need to take. Some of this can be done in our clinic. Then come to me.
Eva’s eyes lit up again. She jumped up from her chair with youthful ease, but also with dignity.
– And yet, think again. Any operation is a risk, especially on the face. Tell me, does your husband know what you want to do?
——————————————————————
“No. But I’ll think of something,” she answered quickly.
— The thing is that after the operation you will look, to put it mildly, not very good.
– How long? – Fear flashed in Eva’s eyes and then disappeared.
– I think in your case, about a month, maybe a little more. It’s different for everyone, it all depends on the complexity and scope of the intervention.
“I’ll say that I was attacked, beaten, and they wanted to rob me,” Eva said, but Platonov didn’t hear any confidence in her voice.
— Let’s say. But you’ll still have to go to the gym. Your face will look younger, but not your body. The effect of the surgery won’t last long, it also depends on various factors. After some time, you’ll have to go under the knife again. Remember the faces of our stars. In pursuit of youth, they get hooked on plastic surgery like a drug. Any surgery leaves its mark on the body. Not everything always goes smoothly, and unfortunately, not everything depends on the surgeon’s skill. It’s hard to predict how the body will react to the surgery. The more surgeries you have, the more your body will take revenge on you with complications. Remember Michael Jackson’s face?
Fear flashed in Eva’s eyes again and then disappeared. She had control of herself.
– I know you’re trying to talk me out of it, scaring me. Don’t try. I’ve made up my mind. Everything will be fine, – Eva waved it off. – I’m tired of being afraid of old age, my husband’s indifference. How much money is spent on all these procedures. It’s easier to have an operation.
– I see, it is useless to dissuade you. And yet, think again, – Platonov also stood up. They were the same height. For a moment they looked at each other. Platonov felt that she liked him too. Eva with difficulty looked away, took an envelope out of her purse, but did not give it to her, she put it on the edge of the table.
“Payment at the cash desk,” Platanov said dryly.
He became a doctor again, and she his patient. He sat down at the table and buried himself in papers, indicating that the appointment was over.
He had many patients, different, pleasant and not so pleasant. He never tried to look at them through the eyes of a man. But he liked Eva. There was something special about her. Maybe it was their common difficult provincial past, the vanity with which they both strove for a better life.
He didn’t want to fix her face, he liked it just the way it was, mobile, with a mesh of small wrinkles masked by makeup. He honestly tried to dissuade her. But she was holding on and would hold on to her rich life with a death grip. He looked at the expensive watch on his wrist. There were about twenty minutes left until the next patient. He went to have some coffee. Then an unknown actress came to him, who also wanted to prolong her youth.
Some people go to a plastic surgeon to keep a rich husband, others to match their younger lover, or for roles, like this actress. Men don’t need to torture themselves like that. It doesn’t matter how you look if you have a lot of money.
Eva came a few days later with a folder of tests and diagnostic results. Platonov immersed himself in reading the papers, feeling her scrutinizing gaze on him.
“She’s in good health. She looks great. She looks at you with hope and supplication, like a dog at a bone. Okay, I’ll do the minimum surgery to do as little damage as possible to the natural beauty that nature has generously gifted her with,” Platonov decided.
“Okay,” he repeated out loud. “Here is a list of what you can take with you to the clinic. Don’t forget your documents. From this day on, do not take any dietary supplements or medications without my knowledge. Have you ever had allergic reactions to anything? Food, fruit, medication? No? Very good. Fill out the form as honestly as possible. Sign the contract and your voluntary consent to undergo plastic surgery. Read it carefully before signing. You have been warned of the possible risks and consequences.” Platonov pushed a stack of printed sheets of paper toward her.
Eva didn’t read it, she readily signed everything. “She’s in a hurry. Oh well. It’s her decision,” Platonov thought regretfully, checking to see if Eva had missed any sheets.
“You have time to change your mind. Until tomorrow. Don’t eat anything in the morning,” he reminded her as they said goodbye.
He really wanted to shake her hand, to touch it, but he held back.
Preparations for the operation were coming to an end. Everything was going according to plan, checked many times, there should be no surprises. Platonov valued his reputation very much and did not allow any sloppy work. He took the preparatory stage seriously – it was half the success of the operation. The intervention was planned to be minimal, corrective. And yet, you never know at what moment and for what reason something might go wrong.
“Have you changed your mind?” he asked Eva the day before the operation.
– No, but to be honest, I’m afraid. Tomorrow already? Finally, – Eva sighed.
– You can still refuse. I repeat, you can do without plastic surgery.
“No, no. I’m ready,” Eva said hastily, but Platov noticed the doubt that flashed in her eyes.
The next day he carefully drew the cut lines on his face with a marker. Like a sculpture, he tried on where to remove the excess, what to cut off, where the seams should go so that they were not noticeable.
“I look like a rag doll,” Eva said.
– Don’t talk. You look great. They’ll take you to the operating room now…
She lay on the table, calm and detached, like a sleeping beauty. Without makeup, her face looked even younger, although the wrinkles and sagging skin were more noticeable.
For a second, the scalpel in Platonov’s hand hovered over Eva’s face. And at that moment the anesthesiologist shouted:
— The pressure has dropped. Cardiac arrest! Everyone away from the table!
Platonov took a step back, not understanding what had happened. Everything was fine, she was healthy, he hadn’t had time to do anything… The machine was beeping long and anxiously. He looked at the monitor, then at Eva on the table. The anesthesiologist was working his magic over the body, injecting her with something…
– That’s it. Time of death…
Platonov couldn’t believe it. It couldn’t be! He talked her out of it, as if he felt he didn’t want to do the operation. What could he have missed? What was the reason for the cardiac arrest? Or was she hiding something from him? This shouldn’t have happened…
“It’s not your fault. The autopsy will show, but I’m sure she had an allergy. She hid it, didn’t indicate it anywhere in the documents. All the documents are in order. The preliminary conclusion is intolerance to one of the components of the anesthesia,” the anesthesiologist reassured him. “Drink,” he splashed cognac into the glass.
Platonov drank it in one gulp, without tasting or smelling it. Now they’ll torment him with checks and investigations. They’ll suspend him from operations. Or they might even revoke his license. Rumors will spread… All this is bad. But the worst thing is that Eva died. My heart was heavy and anxious.
– You know, she said that she would rather die than lose everything and return to her Kukuevs. She asked me if I was ready to give up everything and go to the village.
“And what did you tell her?” the anesthesiologist asked without interest.
– Nothing. She didn’t expect an answer. And I, you know, was confused. I never thought about it. How I delayed, I didn’t want to operate on her…
– Don’t blame yourself. It was her choice. There are complications beyond our control.
— She didn’t need plastic surgery. I wanted to tighten the skin just a little bit, for her peace of mind… Who knew it would turn out like this…
– Calm down! Everyone saw, you are not guilty. And stop drinking. When the investigative committee comes, you must be sober. – The anesthesiologist took the bottle from him.
The next day, a heavyset bald man burst into his office. His protruding belly made him look arrogant and haughty. Behind him loomed two burly bodyguards.
“Like in the movies,” Platonov thought inappropriately. “This is someone who really needs plastic surgery.”
“I am the husband of Eva, whom you stabbed to death yesterday,” the man shouted from the doorway.
– I didn’t cut, as you put it, your wife. I didn’t have time. She died from a reaction to the anesthesia. She was allergic to the drugs. She hid it from me. – Platonov put the forensic experts’ report on the table. At the same time, he turned on the recording of the conversation during Eva’s first visit. In the place where Eva talked about her husband and his secretary, he twitched.
– Enough. I’ll sue you, you idiot. You’ll answer to the full extent for my wife’s death, – the husband hissed through his teeth.
– If I am at fault, I will answer. She signed a consent that she was familiar with the consequences of the operation…
– Shut up!…
– You pushed her to it yourself. She could have thought about nothing for a few more years. A young, beautiful woman died on the operating table. Am I to blame for this? She went through the operation for you, afraid that you would find a replacement for her. She wanted to deceive time and age, to hold on to her youth…
“If you don’t sit down, I’ll kill you with my own hands,” the husband said as he left.
His threat and hissing voice, like a snake’s, made me feel uneasy.
“And you could drop everything and go to the provinces…” – Platonov remembered Eva’s words. Well, perhaps it’s time to prepare for this.
The investigation took a long time. Operations were suspended. Patients refused to wait and went to other clinics. Platonov decided that no matter what the outcome, he would leave.
The investigation did not reveal any violations in the work of the clinic or the surgeon. Eva hid her allergy and paid for it. Platonov’s resourceful notes, in which he dissuaded her from the operation, also helped.
“She could have easily died during a Caesarean section if she had wanted to give birth. Or during an appendectomy, any other operation if such a need arose. But she wanted to become younger, to preserve her beauty. She was simply a woman who loved her husband.” The lawyer’s words were decisive.
The husband sat quietly in court, did not shout, did not accuse. But he was a real threat. Platonov was not a coward, but he did not want to die. He left the clinic and went far away from Moscow. He got a job as an ordinary surgeon in a hospital in a small provincial town. He received little money, but he did his duty – he saved people’s lives, and did not reshape the faces of rich clients. Peace is more valuable than money.
He often dreamed of Eva, beautiful and sad, on the operating table. She looked at him reproachfully, and her face fell apart along the green lines of future incisions. Platonov woke up in a sweat, and could not fall asleep for a long time.
And then he married a local nurse. He had a son. He was happy in his own way. Platonov never returned to Moscow. When his wife said she wanted to get rid of her belly after her second difficult birth, he made a scene, forbidding her to even think about it.
