Chapter 03 - Sit down with Stephen

It’s immediately clear that I don’t belong in a place like Sculpted Dream as I walk into their lobby. I’m not exactly a slouch in the looks department but everybody here is beyond beautiful. They’re angelic. The women are curvy and graceful, the men are big and hulking. While I kind of expected the people getting work done to look like models I didn’t expect the same of the staff, but the receptionist, the medical assistant that called a patient back, and even what I assume to be one of the doctors that walked through the lobby all looked like they were out of central casting in Hollywood.

And even if I looked the part, it was clear that this was an entirely different financial atmosphere than the one I lived in. The marble floors gleamed. The hardwood desk and fixtures looked solid. The plants generously placed around looked exotic and difficult to maintain. The clothes of every single person, except me, looked like they were designer and custom fit.

When Stephen stepped into the lobby and called out to me, I was already halfway back to the elevator. That’s how out of place I felt. Only Stephen coming up to me, clapping his arm around my shoulder and turning me back into the cosmetic surgery clinic prevented me from leaving with my tail between my legs.

Stephen, for better or worse, was just as jovial and friendly as he’s always been. Sure, he was also wearing clothes that looked more expensive than my entire studio and he’d obviously had some work done with his brilliant smile and flawless skin, but he was still the same old Stephen cracking jokes and making me feel right at home. After a quick tour Stephen brought me into one of the consultation rooms and sat me down as he stepped out to take a quick phone call.

Even the consultation room was intimidating. I’d expected at least this part of the clinic to be, well, clinical. Medical. But it looked more like a sitting room in a well-appointed McMansion. Hardwood wall paneling, oak flooring, shelves filled with books on beauty and the human form, and before and after photos of naked women showing off the work the clinic could do.

When Stephen finally came back he had us sit at the consultation table across from each other. “So Jamie, don’t let all this finery fool you. Dr. Montgomery runs this clinic like a Swiss watch. Everything is done for a reason. The expensive fixtures, our clothes, and everything is designed to bring in and impress big money clients. Those clients pay so much over the standard rates that the clinic can afford a team member like me that doesn’t do nearly as much cosmetic work and instead focuses on the more press friendly plastic surgery. Just last week I got to work on a five-year-old that was tragically burned. Her family could have never afforded the work we did, and she would have ended up scared for life, but Dr. Mongomery was able to write off the entire procedure for them.”

Stephen sits back and spreads his hands, obviously happy with himself, “So, before we catch up, lets talk business. Tell me about what brings you to our clinic.”

I nod, recognizing Stephen’s professionalism. Even though he already knows most of this problem I’ve had all my life, he wanted this to be run like any other consultation. “I was born with a congenital defect. A deviated septum. It wasn’t severe enough to warrant anything being done as an infant and the doctors told my parents that I had an equal chance of growing out of it. With my luck as it is, it didn’t grow better. It grew worse. I had doctors in middle school telling my parents that I should get it fixed, but by then Dad was in between jobs and never had the insurance that could cover the procedure. The symptoms just kept getting worse and worse. The most public has to be the bloody noses. They can come out of nowhere and just take forever to stop. I’ve ruined more clothes and more social outings than I can count because of the bloody noses. And more recently, I’ve honestly lost work because of it.”

I continue to tell Stephen everything that the deviated septum is doing to me. Getting far more than my fair share of sinus infections. Having those infections be more severe than most and lasting longer than average. Even when I’m not currently dealing with an infection I still get stuffed up and can have difficulty breathing through my nose. Postnasal drip with the disgusting taste going down the back of my throat, and occasional pressure and pain behind my cheeks and eyes.

“It’s gotten worse in the last year. Unfortunately, I just can’t afford to get insurance yet. The studio is doing pretty well, but not nearly good enough for that.” I shrug, figuring that out of everything Stephen does here and everything the clinic does cosmetically, my problem has to be the very bottom of their list.

Stephen nods and starts filling in various other sections of my medical record. “Okay, lets go over previous surgeries. You haven’t ever gone under for a surgical procedure before, right?”

I shake my head, “Actually, I had surgery on my eyes as a kid. I think Mom told me I was two years old. It was to correct a severe lazy eye. They fixed that so that my eyes both look forward at the same time, but they also fucked my vision up. That’s why I have to wear contacts all the time. Other than that, I haven’t had any other procedures.”

Stephen writes that down then asks a lot of other medical questions including medications I take, last physical, primary care provider, allergies, and **** use.

“I don’t know if you need to put this down or not. I was a pretty heavy smoker. I got up to two packs a day. But I’ve been using the patch and have almost completely stopped smoking now.”

Stephen nods, adding that to the record, “Yeah that’s important to know. A lot of those dermal patches aren’t labeled, and we have a lot of clients on various medications that use them. If you came in with one and we didn’t know about it, we might have to stop the procedure.”

Stephen seems satisfied as he leans forward and sets his notes aside while getting another blank sheet of paper to start scribbling numbers out on. When he turns it to for me to see my eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. “Yeah, that’s what our normal fee would be. Our facilities are state-of-the-art. Our staff is highly trained and therefore highly paid. Our surgical suites are right here in this very building and I’m sure you can imagine what the rent is on four floors in a Chicago skyscraper.”

I’d researched online how much a septoplasty would cost and had come up with numbers varying from $10,000 to $20,000. I assumed Sculpted Dream would be more expensive but never thought the first number would be $56,900.

Stephen chuckled and pulled the paper back. “Look, I know that’s a lot. I’d be able to sell any of our normal clients on its value though. Hell, our methods and procedures for post-surgical healing alone can get you up and running faster than any normal hospital. Our scar treatment program will make sure that only a fellow plastic surgeon could tell that you had anything done. But we know that we can change prices like that to our millionaire and billionaire clientele. First thing I can do is give you the negotiated insurance prices even though you’d be paying out of pocket. That’d cut that down to thirty thousand dollars right off. Add in a friends and family discount and I could bring that down to twenty thousand. And so long as you’d agree to join a couple of our clinical trials, I could probably take that down to fifteen thousand.”

I lean forward, realizing that Stephen was offering me the very best possible care for a completely reasonable price. Beyond reasonable, it was below average. “What kind of clinical trials are you talking about?”

Stephen reaches over his shoulder and pulls out a thin book from the shelf and starts idly flipping through the pages. “Oh, we generally have about a dozen trials going on at any given time. Most of them are creams, lotions, and salves that help with healing. Remember, we’re a cosmetics clinic first and we need our beautiful clientele to look better after a procedure. Not worse. Considering that minimal work we’d be doing I already know you’d end up with hardly any scaring, so these would just be icing on the cake. And don’t worry, they’ve all already been through testing for undesirable effects. Our trials are more about HOW effective they are in different scenarios. And hey, since it saves you twenty five percent, I’d highly recommend it. So, what do you say? Can I book you a time?”

I smirk and can tell by Stephen’s smile that he knows the answer is no. Even at his amazing prices, I still can’t drop over ten grand on preventing my bloody noses and extended infections. Hell, I’d have to scrimp and save to possibly spend five grand on a procedure like this.

Thankfully Stephen doesn’t take any insult from me saying no and just reminds me to keep it in mind as he’ll keep my records on file. After we catch up with each other for another hour, he finally has to go to another appointment, and I head back out into the cold.

While I was inside the snow stopped falling and the sun came out but that just made the Chicago winter scene all that more surreal as the snow already on the ground continued to get picked up and blown around in the wind between the buildings. Thankfully the elevated train was warm and got most of the snow melted off my clothes and hair by the time I got back home.

I still had a couple hours before Grace came back so I went down to snag my laundry out of the dryer. As I’d expected, someone had taken my clothes out and laid them unceremoniously on the table. I looked through it and didn’t see anything too wrinkled, so I gathered it up and put it away. And by away I mean tossed into their various piles around my room. With the laundry done I texted Grace and found that she was going to stay late at work again, leaving me to have dinner on my own.

After scanning the fridge, the delivery menus, DoorDash, and GrubHub, I finally decided on some frozen Stouffer's mac and cheese. With that tossed in the oven I slip in for a quick shower. When I’m finished and brushing my teeth I can’t help but look more closely at my face in the foggy mirror. Being a photographer, I was used to sizing people up on a scale of beauty in a mere moment. Working with young and new models it was important to know how they’d look better. Sometimes it was simple things I could do in the studio or use simple camera tricks to accomplish. Sometimes it involves sending them to a beauty salon or to get some hair work done.

But after seeing all the beautiful people at Sculpted Dream and all the before and after photographs showing off their work, I looked at myself differently. After I was finished in the steamy bathroom I stepped naked into Grace’s room where she had a standing mirror and looked closely at myself. This was the first time in a long time that I’d put a critical eye to my own body. I started with my hair. It had always a brownish red that suited me just fine. It helped me stand out without being overt or obvious. Looking at it now, I realized that it wouldn’t take much though to make it special. Knowing what salons could do now a days, it would be easy to color it so that it was fully on the red spectrum.

I certainly kept it long enough to stand out. There was just something satisfying about running my hand up my forehead to pull it all out of my face while working that relaxed the models. Kind of like saying I dealt with the same problems they had. It also helped that I didn’t have to get it cut all that often and could just run a comb through it a couple times a day to keep it looking like Chris Hemsworth when he played Thor. Although I’d let it grow out enough that it was more the length he had in Love and Thunder. It’s probably time for me to cut a few inches off and return to early Thor. Long enough to get in my face, not long enough to flow to my shoulders.

My face of course was nowhere near Chris Hemsworth handsome. Sure, my jaw was wide, but it was also soft. I had to keep a five o’clock shadow on it just to keep it looking somewhat rugged and even that five o’clock shadow took three days to come in. My nose was on the small side while my cheekbones were on the higher side and well rounded. I had a good-looking face to be sure, but not in any traditional masculine way. Even with facial hair I leaned more androgynous than manly.

My upper body was thin. Thin shoulders, prominent collar bones, wispy chest, slim arms, not much musculature. Most of that was a result of my metabolism. I could eat just about whatever I wanted and not put on weight. My doctors always told me that that would one day stop, but for now unlike most people I ate to keep my weight up instead of dieting to keep my weight down.

Turning to the side I saw that I was always happy with my belly. There wasn’t one. Sure, it would look a lot better if I had a six pack down there but at least there wasn’t any hump. My ass unfortunately was the same, flat as a board. Grace would sometimes joke that only my hips kept my pants from falling down. And she wasn’t wrong. With my thin 30-inch waist I either needed a butt or hips to keep my jeans on. Genetics just decided it would be hips.

I’d seen enough naked guys to know that I was below average in the cock department. I wasn’t tiny by any means, but I’d never star in porn. I made sure to keep the hedges down there trimmed short all the time though to give the impression of bigger size. Even my ball sack was on the smaller size, though if you listen to old men complain about sitting on their own balls, I guess I can be happy about that.

My legs were long for my height, being only five foot six, but they were smooth. Even purposefully flexing, I couldn’t make out the musculature in my thighs or calves.

Turning to and fro, I thought hard about what Sculpted Dream could do for me. I guess they could give me Pec implants. Maybe a butt lift? I’m sure they could help my face out some. But the rest was more work I’d have to do on my own. Work out, lift weights, eat right and just gain muscle weight.

With a sigh I got dressed in my sweats, grabbed my mac and cheese from the oven and sat in front of the boob tube, knowing that there really was no way I’d put effort into how I looked. I was good enough as is.