Mexican. It was his culture, his blood. It was who he was. And, more, he was a Mexican man. Machismo. A Mexican male could not be weak or cry about his pain. Machismo required that he honor his father. Machismo demanded that he remember the family.
To remember it all.
The Michigan Avenue office of Dr. Jacob Harmon was as glittering and impressive as his reputation. The waiting room had the cool, smooth elegance of crystal, and as with fine crystal, Charlotte felt afraid to touch anything. But her eyes took in everything: the forced paperwhites in a pinecone basket, the lovely petit point upholstery, and a pungent, silvery eucalyptus wreath for the holidays. Even the artwork was original, not like the cheap prints and peeling posters on the walls at McNally and Kopp. It made her feel that she’d come to the right place. She held her hands tight against her thighs, not willing to so much as move a single up-to-date magazine in the plastic-protected covering from its precisely ordered line. In the corner, her blue wool coat hung in shabby contrast to the other luxurious ones. It embarrassed her just to look at it.
“Miss Godowski? Come this way, please.”
The stunning brunette nurse led her to a small, shell pink examining room to take a thorough medical history. Then she was transferred across the dove gray carpet and left to roost in Dr. Harmon’s office. She thought all the glass and shiny chrome was rather cold and hoped it didn’t reflect the doctor’s personality. Charlotte was exceedingly nervous about the interview. She knew that the doctor’s psychological exam was as important as the physical one in determining if she was fit for surgery. And she just had to have the surgery….
After what felt an interminable wait, the office door swung open and Dr. Harmon came sweeping into the room with a billowing white coat, followed by another model-perfect nurse. Charlotte’s mouth fell open. The doctor appeared more a boy. He was short, small boned, with amazingly smooth skin for a grown man. How old could he be? she wondered. More to the point, how many operations had he done?
Dr. Harmon delivered a quick, piercing look as he passed her, then moved to sit behind the huge desk that only dwarfed him further. The nurse appeared attentive, even fawning, to Dr. Harmon as she presented him with the chart and a coquettish smile. She left without so much as a nod of acknowledgment to Charlotte.
Charlotte’s heart began to pound. She slunk far back into the chair and peered out at Dr. Harmon with a guarded expression. He appeared unaware that she was even in the office. He leaned far back in his leather chair and began reading her chart, flicking pages with sharp, quick precision. She thought of a sparrow picking at seed. Good hands for a plastic surgeon, Charlotte decided.
Gradually he lowered the manila chart and raised his gaze. It was as though a searchlight had been flicked on and was scouring every inch of her eyes, her nose, her lips and the awkward line of her deformed jaw. Charlotte didn’t feel embarrassed by the scrutiny because Dr. Harmon studied her with the cold focus of a clinician.
Then, as suddenly, his expression changed. The intensity dissipated, and a slight, practiced smile politely took its place on his face. Charlotte sat up. The interview was about to begin.
“Good morning, Miss…” He looked again at the chart.
“Godowski.”
“Ah, yes. Thank you. Miss Godowski. Your general health seems to be in fine shape. I’ll give you a complete exam, but I don’t anticipate any worries there.” He looked up again at her with a benign expression. “Suppose you tell me, in your own words, how you would like me to help you.” Dr. Harmon folded his hands neatly upon the desk and looked at her with a bemused expression.
Looking at his face, a face so baby smooth she wondered if hair ever grew on it, Charlotte was at a loss for words. “I…” She stammered and looked away. “I would think
To remember it all.
The Michigan Avenue office of Dr. Jacob Harmon was as glittering and impressive as his reputation. The waiting room had the cool, smooth elegance of crystal, and as with fine crystal, Charlotte felt afraid to touch anything. But her eyes took in everything: the forced paperwhites in a pinecone basket, the lovely petit point upholstery, and a pungent, silvery eucalyptus wreath for the holidays. Even the artwork was original, not like the cheap prints and peeling posters on the walls at McNally and Kopp. It made her feel that she’d come to the right place. She held her hands tight against her thighs, not willing to so much as move a single up-to-date magazine in the plastic-protected covering from its precisely ordered line. In the corner, her blue wool coat hung in shabby contrast to the other luxurious ones. It embarrassed her just to look at it.
“Miss Godowski? Come this way, please.”
The stunning brunette nurse led her to a small, shell pink examining room to take a thorough medical history. Then she was transferred across the dove gray carpet and left to roost in Dr. Harmon’s office. She thought all the glass and shiny chrome was rather cold and hoped it didn’t reflect the doctor’s personality. Charlotte was exceedingly nervous about the interview. She knew that the doctor’s psychological exam was as important as the physical one in determining if she was fit for surgery. And she just had to have the surgery….
After what felt an interminable wait, the office door swung open and Dr. Harmon came sweeping into the room with a billowing white coat, followed by another model-perfect nurse. Charlotte’s mouth fell open. The doctor appeared more a boy. He was short, small boned, with amazingly smooth skin for a grown man. How old could he be? she wondered. More to the point, how many operations had he done?
Dr. Harmon delivered a quick, piercing look as he passed her, then moved to sit behind the huge desk that only dwarfed him further. The nurse appeared attentive, even fawning, to Dr. Harmon as she presented him with the chart and a coquettish smile. She left without so much as a nod of acknowledgment to Charlotte.
Charlotte’s heart began to pound. She slunk far back into the chair and peered out at Dr. Harmon with a guarded expression. He appeared unaware that she was even in the office. He leaned far back in his leather chair and began reading her chart, flicking pages with sharp, quick precision. She thought of a sparrow picking at seed. Good hands for a plastic surgeon, Charlotte decided.
Gradually he lowered the manila chart and raised his gaze. It was as though a searchlight had been flicked on and was scouring every inch of her eyes, her nose, her lips and the awkward line of her deformed jaw. Charlotte didn’t feel embarrassed by the scrutiny because Dr. Harmon studied her with the cold focus of a clinician.
Then, as suddenly, his expression changed. The intensity dissipated, and a slight, practiced smile politely took its place on his face. Charlotte sat up. The interview was about to begin.
“Good morning, Miss…” He looked again at the chart.
“Godowski.”
“Ah, yes. Thank you. Miss Godowski. Your general health seems to be in fine shape. I’ll give you a complete exam, but I don’t anticipate any worries there.” He looked up again at her with a benign expression. “Suppose you tell me, in your own words, how you would like me to help you.” Dr. Harmon folded his hands neatly upon the desk and looked at her with a bemused expression.
Looking at his face, a face so baby smooth she wondered if hair ever grew on it, Charlotte was at a loss for words. “I…” She stammered and looked away. “I would think
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