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PERLA

I wouldn’t say that Perla was pretty ... I guess you could say that she was a handsome woman. Like, not delicate or really very feminine. She was always dressed really conservatively. And her nose had this, like, speed bump in the middle of it.

—Ann Wiffle, social events director, Brighton Estates Country Club

I spent Monday morning calling plastic surgeons, and my stress level grew with each call. I couldn’t even get an initial appointment in the next three weeks, and was being quoted surgery dates three to six months past that. I tried sweetness, then aggression, but every one of those bitches on the phone needed a surgical reduction on her ego.

I finally broke down and called Morayi and asked her to lunch. It was risky, going inside our neighborhood’s inner circle for help, but I was desperate. I dressed carefully for the event, pairing soft gray cashmere pants with a cream turtleneck and chunky black onyx earrings. I pulled on my highest pair of black slingbacks, aware that I would still fall short next to the ex-model.

I was already seated at the best table in the restaurant when the statuesque African beauty entered. The effect on the room was immediate, a tidal wave of attention that shuddered toward the hostess stand. Morayi stood at the podium, her impossibly long legs accentuated by a short emerald-green silk jumper. Her dark skin glowed, and she exuded confidence as she caught sight of me and waved, then strode forward.

I could spend a million dollars and still never be half as pretty as her. I knew that, yet I still tried to spot her husband’s handiwork every time I saw her. I told myself there was no way she was born into such beauty, but maybe she had been. After all, she’d been on billboards and in magazines ever since she was a child.

“Perla.” She hugged me and kissed my left cheek, then my right. She smelled like blackberries and vanilla. I forced myself to pull away. “It’s been too long! Where have you been?”

The waiter was waiting, Morayi’s chair already pulled out, and she dropped into it without looking at him. I tried to remember if anyone had pulled my chair out. I didn’t think they had.

“So?” She folded one arm elegantly over the other and leaned forward, raising a brow. “Talk to me—because you were hot to get this lunch, P.”

I didn’t spit it out. I laughed and asked about her kids; then we talked about the newest arrivals to the neighborhood and mused over the sushi selection. It wasn’t until we were done with the second course that I brought up her husband.

She tilted her head, showcasing her slender neck, and studied me. “Yeah, I could get you in with Kellan. But what for?”

I gave her a dry look and gestured to my face. “Don’t act like this isn’t a project that’s long overdue.”

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “What, just some preventative maintenance?”

“I was thinking a nose job and removal of this.” I tapped the mole.

She leaned forward, studying me openly. “Turn your head to one side,” she instructed. She reached out and gently touched my nose, then sat back. “Your bone structure isn’t bad,” she commented. “I think a little refinement would make a big difference.”

“I’d also like some body work,” I admitted. “Just a little bit of lipo in my problem areas.”

She shrugged once more. “Sure. Lipo’s not really K’s thing, but you might as well do it all while you’re under.” Placing her elbow on the table, she rested her heart-shaped face in one palm. “How does Grant feel about the surgery?”

I bristled at the question. It didn’t and shouldn’t matter what my husband thought about it. This was my face. My body. I forced a laugh. “He’s fine with it. What man wouldn’t want a prettier wife?”

She made a noncommittal sound. “Some like a fully natural look. You remember what happened with Lydia Stone.”

“Lydia Stone looked like a porn star who’d been stung by a bee,” I argued. “I’m surprised she didn’t divorce herself when she looked in the mirror.” I widened my eyes. “Wait, Kellan wasn’t her doctor, was he?”

She snorted. “Please.”

“Well, Grant’s good with it. He should be, since it’s all his idea.”

“ His idea?” Her brows pinched without a single wrinkle breaking the smooth expanse of her forehead. “What do you mean?”

“He suggested it was time for a little improvement. He has a big work event coming up. In fact, that’s why I’m under a bit of a time crunch. I need it to be done in the next month, if possible.”

She let out a sharp laugh, one loud enough to catch the attention of a passing waiter. “In the next month?” She picked up her wineglass and shot me a look. “Girl, there’s getting you on K’s schedule and then there’s getting you on K’s schedule , you know what I mean?”

“I know. I’m sorry.” I winced. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

“It’s not important,” she said bluntly. “Kellan’s other work is. That’s why his schedule for cosmetic procedures is so limited.”

Oh yes, we were all aware of Kellan’s dedicated efforts to cure the world, one cleft palate at a time. He wouldn’t shut up about it. Were their facial deformities really any different from mine?

The waiters appeared, each in a pale-blue linen uniform, and presented the third course. I waited until they left, then picked up my chopsticks. Morayi was busy with hers and seemed to have moved on from the topic, which was unacceptable.

“You always say that you can make anything happen,” I reminded her.

“Look, a month?” She shook her head. “Uh-uh. It isn’t gonna happen. I could get you in for an initial consultation in the next two or three weeks. And even that’s pushing it.” She picked up a piece that was covered in pale-brown shavings and popped it into her mouth.

I should have left it alone. Finished up the lunch and accepted the reality. But there was always a way, and this bitch was forgetting that she owed me a favor. I put down my chopsticks and leaned forward, lowering my voice. “M, please don’t make me bring up Prince’s school.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What about it?”

“Remember, three years ago? You wanted Prince to get into the charter program but needed an address in Duarte in order to qualify.”

“Oh, that is rich, Perla.” She shook her head. “You’re talking about the lease you gave us? It was an email. Took you like fifteen minutes.”

“It was fraud,” I shot back. “I gave you three years of lease records and doctored utility bills to provide to the school, plus had my office prepped and available to verify your occupancy if the school ever called. And look, now Prince is at the top of his class, likely going to ... where? Juilliard? Assuming he doesn’t get kicked out due to ineligibility.”

Her perfect jawline clenched. This wasn’t a woman I wanted to be enemies with, but this was worth it. I had her. She’d get me the appointment and the precious surgery date. She’d do this for me, and she’d expect me to return the favor one day.

I wouldn’t.