Easy on the Eyes by Jane Porter Page B

women would have work done if they could afford it. Is the idea of being cut not as frightening
     to other women as it is to me?
    Maybe it’s time I did another piece on plastic surgery, and this time not on the industry itself, but on the impact surgery
     has had on women’s lives.
    I know the bad stuff already. I know those who’ve died from undergoing the knife. Kanye West’s mother. Olivia Goldsmith, the
     novelist. Ordinary women hoping for a make-over. But there are hundreds of thousands of people who have undergone successful
     procedures without complications. I want to talk to those women, real women, who’ve had work done and find out why they did
     it and if they’re happy with the results. Did they get what they wanted? Are their lives better now for having done it?
    As the limo pulls up near the theater, I double-check my lipstick in my compact mirror and swipe a fingertip beneath each
     eye to catch smudged liner.
    I study my reflection for a moment longer.
    Would I be a different person with a different image? And who would I become if I did allow myself to age?

Chapter Five

    M ax’s assistant calls me Monday morning to schedule a late lunch for that afternoon. We’re to meet at the Bel-Air once I’m
     done taping tonight’s show.
    It’s a good choice, I think, arriving at one and handing over the keys to my car. As I head to the restaurant, I’m soothed
     by the myriad archways, the gurgle of fountains, and the purple bougainvillea draping from pink stucco walls. I love this
     hotel and stayed here for a weekend once when my house had a broken pipe. I suppose I didn’t have to stay here for three nights,
     but it was so luxurious and I felt so pampered that I hated to go back to my empty house with moisture problems.
    We eat on the Terrace with its terra-cotta pavers and elegant stucco arches. My fish entrée is perfect, and the service is
     superb. As my plate is cleared and the pink linen tablecloth is scraped of crumbs, I can’t help wishing this was how life
     really was. Beautiful. Calm. Peaceful.
    I wonder if this is how the public imagines my life. Glamorous. Pampered. Luxurious.
    It’s funny, but Hollywood is the least glamorous place I know. It’s a creation for the cameras, achieved with lights and makeup
     and special effects. Turn off the lights, put away the cameras, and what we do becomes just another job.
    “I have some good news,” Max says, waving off the waiter with the dessert tray.
    “What’s that?”
    “Last week
America Tonight
trumped its competition. Glenn just gave me a breakdown of the week’s numbers, and as expected, those numbers were highest
     on Friday with all the tabloid press about your trip to Paris with Trevor.” He looks at me, and there’s a gleam in his eye.
     “I think the secret is keeping you and Trevor in the news.”
    I totally disagree but am careful expressing my opinion. “Manufacturing ratings?”
    “It’s done all the time.”
    “I know, but I haven’t succumbed to a steady diet of sensationalistic news yet.”
    “Which is why your show needs Shelby,” he answers bluntly. “She understands that this is business, and sex and scandal sell.”
    “So I’m to date a progression of hot young actors to keep my name in the news?”
    “We can’t milk the cougar thing forever. We need a long-term plan as well.” He drums his fingers on the table. “I see two
     options. The first is a complete but discreet make-over. Face-lift, drop ten pounds, and a new wardrobe. And the second is
     the make-over coupled with a new show format. Partner you with a sexy young male co-host. New high-energy stories. A new fun
     set to showcase your youth and chemistry and sex appeal.”
    “You know plastic surgery scares the hell out of me. I
like
my face.”
    “And so do I, but I like you even better employed.” He pulls out his iPhone and opens the calendar icon. “What’s your schedule
     like? When could you schedule the surgery? It’d need to