All the Way to Heaven by Becky Doughty

Author:Becky Doughty [Doughty, Becky]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Clean Teen Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2015-10-13T04:00:00+00:00

Having used the toilet, brushed my teeth twice, and my hair, scrubbed my face, and taken a dose of the prescription painkillers—this time for my head, not my ankle—I sat in front of the open closet, trying to figure out what to wear to make X-rays easier. I did not feel like removing clothing for Cosimo today, not for any reason, but I didn’t know what kind of reaction I’d get if I showed up in my teeny-tiny miniskirt. When a light tap on the door drew my attention, I smiled to see Isa standing there, a tray in hand, and what looked like a dress draped over her shoulder.

“I come bearing gifts for you, Ani. How are you feeling this morning?”

“I’ve been better.” Then I sighed remorsefully. “Not that you have any reason to believe me. I’ve been a terrible guest, Isa. I’m so sorry.” I rotated the chair around and joined her as she set the tray on the foot of the bed.

“No, Ani. You have no need to apologize.”

“But I got stupid drunk last night.” I put a hand on her arm to still her movements.

She handed me a steaming cup of coffee, not black the way I drank it, but pale with cream and lots of sugar. “A latte to wake up your smiles today.”

I had to admit, it was delicious.

Perching on the edge of the bed, knees together, she faced me, her expression turning serious. “Ani, I feel responsible for your condition last night. I did not pay attention, and I know Lazzaro wine is strong. Cosi should have known, too. We are to blame, tesora, not you.”

I shook my head but didn’t bother arguing. “How long do I have to get ready?”

“Plenty of time. Cosi had a surgery this morning so he will not be available to see you until after lunch.”

“Surgery? What kind of surgery does he do?” I pictured Cosimo bent over the swollen toe of a hangnail patient and grimaced sympathetically for both of them.

“This morning he is performing, em, how do you say rinoplastica?” She tapped the bridge of her nose with one finger.

“Rhinoplasty? As in a nose job?” I closed my eyes, mentally rearranging everything in my mind. The borderline erotic artwork on the walls of his clinic, the boutique feel of his exam rooms, the absence of patients in the waiting room suffering from the usual maladies of colds and runny noses. “I thought—so Cosimo is a plastic surgeon?”

“Yes. Cosmetic surgery. He is very good. He has patients who come from far away to have his skill.” She smiled proudly and I thought about those long-fingered hands cupping my jaw, curling warmly around my own hands, and I imagined him anew, bent over the face of an aging socialite willing to pay good money to get a few of her best years back.

“I can see why. He’s a wonderful doctor. So gentle.” I agreed, nodding and turning away back to the closet so she wouldn’t see my face. “And now I need to figure out what to wear for my visit.

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