Diva Las Vegas by Eileen Davidson Page A

asked.
    “I’m working.” I looked at Riley apologetically. “Just regular iced tea, thanks,” I said to Maria.
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    Riley belted her robe, and then hugged me. Her body was as solid as marble. The skin of her face was as smooth as a baby’s as she pressed her cheek to mine. Her nose was perfect, as were her lips. About the only thing on her that hadn’t been worked on—except for some dye—was her hair, which was long, black, and all hers.
    “Pull up a chaise and tell me why you’re here. It’s so wonderful to see you! How’s Sarah?” Riley always got a little wistful when she asked about Sarah. She had everything, but had never had children. She said she didn’t really want them. Maybe that was true. It felt like regret to me, but what did I know?
    “She is just so great. Getting so big. She’s in first grade. Loves ballet and she’s surfing now . . .” I was starting to gush, so I stopped myself.
    “Well, being a mom certainly agrees with you. You look younger than ever, by the way. I don’t know how you do it without help.” She looked at me closely. “Have you had any help, Alex? Hmmmm?”
    “I’m afraid of knives and needles.”
    “My two best friends,” she said, and laughed.
    “I’m not quite sure where to start,” I said, honestly. “I need to talk to an expert.”
    “Regarding what?”
    “Plastic surgery.”
    “You want the name of my doctor?” she asked, raising her lasered eyebrows.
    “No,” I said, “you’re my expert witness.”
    “Oh,” she said, understanding. “You want an expert on the other side of the knife. Well, I think you’ve found your girl.”
    I often wondered why an intelligent woman felt the need to subject herself to so many surgeries. Riley was smart and she knew it, but she was also insecure. She knew that, too. Weren’t the constant procedures supposed to take care of that? I doubt that they did. The day one of the surgeries improved her self-esteem, I suspect it would be her last.
    The maid returned with my iced tea, which I accepted with thanks.
    “That’ll be all, Maria.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    I sipped my tea and set the glass on the small table next to me.
    “What’s going on, Alex?” she asked.
    “Shana Stern was killed two days ago,” I said.
    “I know. I read about it in the paper.” She hugged herself.
    “She invited me to that party. There was something she wanted to tell me. Unfortunately, she never got the chance.”
    “That’s very sad. I still don’t know what I can do, though.”
    “It’s a long story, but I found these pills with Shana’s name on them.” I took the prescription bottles from my purse and passed them to her.
    “I have these in my medicine cabinet,” she said.
    “For after your surgeries?” I asked.
    She nodded.
    “Basically, they help with the pain.” She looked at me. “I say help with because nothing really works completely.”
    She handed them back.
    “So you think Shana had plastic surgery? She was a Playboy Playmate; that wouldn’t be unusual, would it?”
    “I know. I was just wondering,” I said. “What about procedures people don’t hear so much about? I know doctors in Los Angeles and New York, even Mexico, are doing things that mainstream America doesn’t know about.”
    “Hmmm. I’ll have to think about that. What have I had done?” She looked at herself as if she were looking at a piece of real estate. “My calves have implants; my butt and chin and cheeks, and breasts, of course. I’ve had lots of lipo. Collagen for my lips; my nose has been done a couple times. But that’s old news. No matter what you do, there always seems to be more you should do, especially as fifty is rearing its very ugly head! The one thing they haven’t come up with is a way to reverse the aging process. And if they ever do, sign me up!”
    “Yeah, I know what you mean.” The big five-O was on my radar, too. “What about plastic surgery for men? Are they doing anything new