The Making of Mia (25 page)

‘Hey, you’re OK. You’re OK,’ Jo heard Gable say, and she felt his hand stroking her hair. She tried to relax. ‘The surgery
went well, there were no complications, and you’re now the proud owner of two C-cup breasts.’ Gable eyed Jo’s face, which
remained scared and confused. ‘How are you feeling?’

Jo tried to shake her head. She didn’t think she could speak.

‘It hurts,’ she whispered.

‘I’ll go and tell a nurse that you’re awake, see if we can get you some painkillers,’ Gable said, looking quickly at the clock
on the wall behind the bed. ‘I’ll be back in five minutes.’

Jo felt hot tears dripping down her face and she suddenly felt like a fool. Was she really so shallow and ambitious that she
would put herself in this much pain?

For the next eight weeks the ache in Jo’s breasts ranged from complete agony to merely very uncomfortable. When she was released
from hospital, Gable gently put her into a cab from Sunshine Cars and went home with her, sitting her up in her bed and holding
an ice-pack to her chest. Jo wanted to angrily brush it aside, but Gable persevered, telling her the swelling could last for
months and that the more they held the ice-pack to the area, the better she would feel in the long run. Jo wasn’t sure this
was a scientific fact, but she took his word for it, and drifted in and out of sleep feeling sick and wondering what she had
ever done so right to deserve such a good friend as Gable.

When she could, Jo slowly walked around the condo experiencing pain that was so excruciating she sometimes thought she’d no
longer be able to bear it. Gable had two weeks between films, and he spent them with Jo – brushing
her teeth when she couldn’t raise her arms, dressing her in baggy jogging bottoms and oversized T-shirts, and driving her
to his surgeon to get her bandages changed. Even though she was warned that it would be the case, she felt alarmed when she
realised her nipples were still numb, and she tried not to look at the bruising that was on her chest. She felt sick to think
that she had chosen to put herself through such an experience.

Gradually, though, the swelling became less noticeable, and the pain began to disappear. Jo started sleeping on her back rather
than in an upright position, and even though she knew she couldn’t bend or strain, the tightness in her chest seemed like
a distant memory. Jo’s breasts began to feel smaller, and softer, and the surgeon was pleased with the results. On the twelve-week
anniversary of her surgery Jo was happy too.

The first time Jo stepped out of her apartment she felt incredibly self-conscious. She knew she couldn’t hide out in the condo
for ever, but as she walked along the street to the beach she realised her new breasts were constantly in her eye-line, and
it surprised her that they were always ‘there’. Jo had decided that she needed to top up her tan – it had faded from the months
she’d spent indoors recovering – and she couldn’t wait to relax in the sunshine. But as she lay on South Beach Jo realised
that her bikini top made her new breasts look even bigger. She’d forgotten to replace the top half with a larger size, and
she looked ridiculous.

Jo was making sure her bikini covered her properly when she became aware of men staring at her as they strolled past. Other
girls – ones with natural breasts that were nowhere near as perky or as full – gave her dirty looks as they briskly walked
past, and Jo couldn’t work out what she’d done wrong. It was only when a man came up to her and proposed – in utter seriousness
– that Jo realised that people were
staring because they thought she was sexy. For the first time in her life Jo felt sexually attractive, and it spurred her
on to start her second lot of surgery as soon as possible.

The first procedure Jo had was an implant put over the front of her jawline to give definition to her chin. At the same time,
Jo had a nose job to balance out her face; the low tip of her nose was corrected with added cartilage; and her nostrils were
brought closer together. Jo had always hated the way her nostrils flared from underneath her long, straight nose, and she
remembered a phase in her childhood where she had spent days walking around flaring and then tightening her nostrils in the
hope that they would correct themselves. Unfortunately, Jo thought, as she calculated that the cost of her nose job alone
was $7,000, her pre-teen attempts to slim her nose by herself hadn’t worked.

After she’d recovered from her chin and nose surgery, Jo had cheek implants, where an incision was made on the inside of her
upper lip and implants were inserted directly on to Jo’s cheekbones. When she’d fully recovered from this she then undertook
the final part of her transformation – lip injections where fat taken from her own body was inserted into her lips, giving
her a fuller, more juicy pout, just like Gable’s.

Over the course of the six months of surgery and recovery, Jo experienced pain on a level that she’d never thought possible.
Like he had done when Jo had her breast implants, Gable made sure she took her painkillers; he held dry ice-packs to her face,
and stroked her hair, telling her in a soft, comforting voice that it would all be worth it. Jo hurt so much she wasn’t convinced.

When Gable took her to see the surgeon Jo was forced to look in the mirror. Without her dressings – and the splint that she
imagined was holding her nose in place – Jo thought she
looked like a monster. As well as being swollen and bruised, Jo no longer recognised herself. It was a sensation that she
couldn’t find the words to describe, but she felt as though she had walked into a black and white horror movie. Her world
seemed devoid of colour and, to make matters worse, Jo found she often couldn’t sleep for the pain, even though she had been
prescribed sleeping pills. When Jo did manage to drift off she had nightmares about her face never recovering from the invasive
surgery. She dreamt that when she woke up her face would be a mask of patchwork skin, crudely put together with large, black
stitches. When Jo woke up in a cold sweat Gable would hold her hand, but nothing he did helped her sleep. In the darkness
and haze of her medication she sometimes thought he was Joshua Garnet, silently mocking her. Jo yearned for William’s touch.

Slowly, though, the swelling began to subside, and the deep purple bruises faded to green, and then yellow. Jo’s face began
to settle, and even though she had mild discomfort and swollen lips for five days after her lip injections, she began to see
the results she had been hoping for. When her lips stopped being swollen, Jo cracked a smile at herself in the mirror, and
even though she wasn’t officially allowed to laugh for a week on her surgeon’s orders in case she stretched her lips, she
couldn’t help herself.

She looked unrecognisable, like a woman who people would stare at as she walked down the street with a stylish gait, her expensive
handbag swinging from her arm with carefree abandon. For hours Jo sat in front of her mirror and stared at herself, coming
to terms with how she now looked. The Jo Hill who’d been bullied at school and had worked at The Royal Oak had been erased,
and a butterfly had emerged from the chrysalis that she’d been cocooned in while in Miami. There were no other words for it:
she was beautiful.

*

‘Have you worked out what you’re going to do next?’ Gable asked her one evening, while Jo was gazing at the sun setting over
the ocean. She had a bit of a headache, but even her throbbing head didn’t distract her from wondering what William – if she
ever saw him again – would think of her new face. She turned to Gable.

‘I’ve finished all my surgery—’ Jo started to say, but Gable shook his head, cutting her off.

‘And you look stunning – unnervingly like me! No, I mean what are your plans work-wise?’

‘I’m going to be your little sister,’ Jo said simply, and when Gable looked confused she smiled. Once again Gable was struck
by how stunning Jo was. Her freshly highlighted hair made her green eyes shine, and her face, now that it was no longer bruised
or swollen, was exquisite. Her chin was defined so that it was perky rather than weak or strong, and Jo’s nose, formerly plain
and slightly wide, was almost aristocratic. It was slender and tapered away at the tip, and was an exact replica of Gable’s.
Under her nose her plump, juicy lips begged to be kissed, and Jo’s new razor-sharp cheekbones gave her face the impression
that she was a Scandinavian ice-maiden. Her eyes – her familiar green eyes – softened the overall effect of the paint-by-numbers
beauty, and when she grinned her whole face lit up. She was gorgeous.

‘I know I’ve always said that I wanted to be successful as “Jo Hill”, but so long as Joshua Garnet remembers me – and he will,
Gable, he’ll never forget me – everything will be a hundred times more difficult. I probably wouldn’t even be able to pitch
to a magazine as myself, let alone actually write something. So I’ve decided to put both Jo Hill and Olivia Windsor to bed,
and re-emerge as your little sister – just as I’ve been planning. Why not? I’m unrecognisable as the girl I used to be so
I may as well use it to my advantage.’

Gable looked at Jo curiously. ‘Sounds like you’ve really worked this all out.’

Jo nodded. ‘I came up with the idea the night Lucy sent that email offering me a breast job, and I’ve been formulating it
ever since. I’m going to email the best magazines in America and tell them that Gable Blackwood’s little sister has joined
Platinum Consulting alongside Olivia Windsor, and I’m going to pitch my newest story ideas as her. I’m bound to be a hit –
who wouldn’t want an article from the sister of the hottest Hollywood star since Johnny Depp?’

Gable grinned. ‘Damn right,’ he said. ‘But how is that going to help you get a job at Garnet Publishing in the UK?’

‘Once your little sister is American media property in her own right, Joshua Garnet will be desperate to give her – me – a
job. He salivates over pretty girls, and with some celebrity sparkle added into the mix he won’t be able to resist.’

Gable laughed, but then his face froze. ‘But you don’t sound American …’ he trailed off.

Jo shrugged. ‘Your little sister got sent to an English boarding school when she was five,’ she said simply. ‘You ended up
at a day school in America. We were separated because we were incredibly naughty when together.’

‘Hmm, it could work,’ Gable said. ‘And what if someone asks why I never mentioned you before?’

Jo tried not to roll her eyes. ‘Gable, why would you have done? Really, it will be cool, trust me. Hollywood stars are supposed
to be incredibly quiet about their personal lives.’

Gable took a sip of his mineral water and encouraged Jo to do the same – it was good for the elasticity in her skin.

‘So what’s your new name going to be, Miss Blackwood?’ he asked her, and Jo blinked. She’d been so distracted by her new face
and her plans for her career that she’d not even thought about it.

Jo looked out of the window for inspiration and started to run a list of names through her head. The sky was turning to a
beautiful violet from the deep red, and as Jo watched the sun disappear in the horizon a glittering plane caught her eye.
It was preparing to land, and, suddenly preoccupied again by her future, Jo imagined packing up her belongings and heading
back to the horseshoe-shaped airport with Joanne Hill’s passport in her hands. The assistants at check-in would not believe
that the slim, beautiful woman in front of them was the same dumpy, ugly girl in the passport photo, and Jo smiled. From the
moment she stepped on to the plane and away from Miami it would be the beginning of her new life. Miami had been the making
of her, and as Jo remembered the airport’s nickname – MIA for Miami International Airport – she knew what she had to be called.

‘I’m going to be Mia Blackwood,’ Jo said, as she turned back to Gable. ‘It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?’

December 2005

Mia stood in the arrivals area of Heathrow and tried not to let her tiredness show through her polished, haughty exterior.
Even though she’d not been in England for nearly two years she’d been looking forward to coming back, but the harsh British
weather made her suddenly yearn for the warm breeze of Miami. Outside, the sky was a cold, slate grey and all around her were
pale, miserable people who were rushing around looking poor, malnourished and stressed. Mia adjusted her vintage Gucci sunglasses
on top of her $500 blonde highlights and surveyed the crowds of people waiting excitedly for their friends and family. As
everyone’s eyes flickered on everyone else, Mia tried not to feel self-conscious as men openly looked her up and down in front
of their girlfriends and wives. In comparison to the perfectly groomed girls of Miami, most of the women in the airport looked
frazzled and grey, with split ends, badly fitting clothes, and skin that was either so pale they looked like ghosts or so
orange they looked cheap. Standing in the corner of the airport Mia looked as though she was bathed in sunshine – no part
of her appearance had not been tended to, and she lit up the arrivals lounge in a flawless glow. She knew people were nudging
each other and trying to work out if she was famous.