Writing for Fun
February 2021
Treatment - Lynn Gale
Petra Randell could not resist another look in the mirror. The pronounced cheekbones, unblemished skin and slim figure, she liked what she saw.
'For heaven’s sake, Petra.' Davis Randell sighed, ‘Always in the mirror.'
Petra pinched her neck.'Maybe time for another little op,' she mused, knowing she would have to work on her husband. He did not agree with all the alterations she forced on her body.
Looking young, slim and beautiful was the main topic of conversation amongst Petra and her friends, living in the opulent luxury of Cedarwood Park. The gated landscaped gardens with large mock Tudor houses were the ideal abodes of the rich and famous. Holding on to their lifestyle and powerful husbands was something they had to work on, now they had reached a certain age. Tennis lessons, jogging, and Zumba classes with the deliciously toned Mario kept them fit while donating designer cast-offs ensured that they could profess to be charitable.
After a particularly gruelling tennis session, Petra and her closest friend Amelia were relaxing with a glass of cold water decorated with a slice of lemon.
'Have you heard about Caroline?' Amelia asked, taking a sip from her glass.'Dennis has left her, run off with his PA, young enough to be his daughter, I might add, and now demanding a divorce.'
'Well,' declared Petra, 'I noticed at the last cake bake she had put on weight.'
'Too much sampling,' sniggered Amelia. They laughed unkindly.
'Hi girls, have you heard the latest?' Petra’s neighbour Marcie James flopped into an empty chair.
'We know,' began Petra, then stared at Marcie in amazement,'You look fantastic. Have you had more work done?’
'I have found this fabulous little place,' Marcie enthused. 'Have you heard of Dr Brighterson’s Beauty Bar?'
That’s a mouthful,' scoffed Amelia.
'Shush,' snapped Petra,'go on, Marcie.'
'Well, two weeks ago, I was out on my morning jog,' Marcie began. Pleased that she was getting Petra’s undivided attention. 'When I noticed a new shop had opened up in Colter Way.'
'Colter Way,' remarked Amelia, 'Isn’t that scheduled for demolition?'
Marcie ignored her, and carried on. 'They are offering free treatment guaranteed to reverse ageing.' She pulled her hair back from her face. 'Even this has faded.' Petra and Amelia stared into Marcie’s face; everyone knew she kept a fringe because of a childhood accident that had left her with a visible scar on her forehead.
'It’s gone,' Petra remarked, 'Is it a cream?'
Marcie, now basking in the attention, 'Just a little shot of vitamins, actually.'
'Amazing, I could be convinced.'
'Fabulous,' squealed Marcie, 'and they are offering a free sample to new clients.'
Conveniently omitting to mention that for everyone she recommended, she earned herself one.
'What exactly are in these shots?' asked Amelia, 'You should look into this first, Petra; sounds too good to be true,’ but Petra was not listening.
'When can we go?' she asked.
'How about now?' Marcie replied, 'Are you coming, Amelia?'
Amelia declined.
Arriving outside the salon, Petra looked up at the clean white facade, declaring, 'The Beauty Shop' in Gold lettering.
Going through the door, Petra blinked rapidly as her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting.
Devoid of usual paraphernalia, the salon seemed very sparse, just a large couch in the centre of the room along with a desk, behind which, sat an extremely pale woman.
Large vases of Roses lined every wall emitting an overpowering scent that couldn’t mask another underlying unpleasant odour in the background. Marcie seemed not to notice.
'Oh, Cordelia,' gushed Marcie addressing the woman behind the desk,'this is my friend Petra.'
Cordelia, ignoring Marcie, looked up at Petra. 'Welcome,' she intoned, an attempt at a smile on her long narrow face did not quite reach the dark flat eyes. Handing Petra a clipboard with a form attached to it. 'Please fill and sign,' she ordered.
Petra read through the usual information, including a disclaimer about undertaking at own risk, but it was the strange hieroglyphics just above the signature box that made Petra hesitate. 'What is this?' she asked.
'Oh, nothing to worry about,' Cordelia replied flippantly, 'It’s our logo.' Petra shrugged her shoulders and signed her name with a flourish.
Cordelia retrieved the clipboard, 'I will see if Dr Brighterson is available.' Stepping from behind the desk, Petra was surprised to see how tall Cordelia was, and with thick black hair coiled into a bun, this only extenuated her height. She headed through a door that Petra had not noticed before. 'Dr Brighterson is ready for you,' Cordelia called, holding the door open.
'Go on, you won’t regret it,' Marcie giving her friend a small push. Entering the room, Dr Cyril Brighterson towered over Petra; taking her hand in his long fingers, he kissed it with overly red lips. 'Enchanted,' he said, leading her over to an examination bed in the centre of the room.
She looked up into his face, his black eyes drawing her in, her head began to swim.
Twenty minutes later, Petra found herself sitting next to Marcie on the couch, feeling a dull pain in the back of her neck.
'What happened?' she said.
'Isn’t he incredible,’ said Marcie dreamily. 'So handsome, so talented, you will see a difference very soon and want more.'
Back in the house, she had shared with Davis for the last twenty-five years, Petra stood in front of a full-length mirror in her walk-in wardrobe, surrounded by the outfits and shoes she simply had to have, though most had never been worn.
Petra was amazed; she looked ten years younger, her stomach and breasts were firm, her buttocks lifted and no sign of the crow's feet that had appeared recently around her eyes.
Davis entered the room. 'You need to cut out all that exercise,' he advised,'you’re getting thinner.' His idea of a workout was the walk to the golf cart. He enjoyed good food, good wine and good company. His overzealous wife drove him mad with her mouthful of food, and I’m full attitude. Good job, Alice, set up in a luxury flat in central London, loved the same things he did.
Petra adored how she looked and basked in the comments from friends.But the effects did not last long; like Marcie, she actively encouraged others to get their free shot from Dr Brighterson and always accompanied them. Each time finding herself and her companion sitting in the salon, with no clue how the shot was given but results far outweighed the apprehension she felt.
Amelia was the only person she could not persuade to get her free shot.
'You should try it,' Petra enthused. 'You will feel wonderful,' as they sat sipping black coffee in Crowley’s cafeteria.
'Please stop, Petra,' pleaded Amelia.'That so-called treatment is making you look ill.'
'Jealously, is so unbecoming,' shouted Petra, storming off, leaving Amelia red-faced as everyone turned to stare, first at Amelia, then at the incredibly thin woman leaving in a temper.
Petra sat home alone, Davis away on yet another business trip. Pulling apart a small sandwich, always watching what she ate, she seemed to have lost her appetite these days.
Answering a frantic knocking on the door. Petra was confronted by George James, Marcie’s husband. 'She said you can help,' he implored, 'Please come quickly.'
Petra followed George to the house next door. 'She’s upstairs in her bedroom; I’ll phone for an ambulance.'
Climbing the ornate spiral staircase, Petra had a foreboding sense of dread. The door to the bedroom was slightly open, pushing it wider; Petra went inside.
The blinds were drawn, and the room had a strange odour that was somewhat familiar. As her eyes become accustomed to the gloom, she noticed the bed. 'Marcie’, she approached, 'it’s me, Petra.'
The covers rustled, a hand reached out and grabbed Petra’s arm. Leaping back in fright, Petra almost screamed.
Was that Marcie’s hand? It looked like a wizened claw. 'Petra,' croaked Marcie trying to sit up, 'Help me, I need a shot'. Petra could not believe the change in Marcie; the once fine-boned face with large china-blue eyes was now shrunken and grey and gave her a corpse-like appearance.
As a siren rang out over Cedarwood Park, everyone came out to watch George crying over the wasted figure of Marcie being loaded into the ambulance by two shocked looking paramedics.
Watching it speed away, Petra felt real fear. 'Was it the treatment that caused this? How could something that made you look and feel so wonderful do this?' She had to find out.
Making her way to the shop, she pushed open the door. 'I must speak to Dr Brighterson,' Petra demanded.
'He cannot be disturbed,' Cordelia said disdainfully. 'Come back tomorrow.'
'But Marcie is sick; I must see him.' Petra headed for the door leading to his treatment room. Cordelia suddenly appeared in front of her blocking her way. Petra stepped back.
How did she get there so quickly?'
Dr Brighterson is not available,' she hissed, towering over Petra, her piercing eyes seeming to bore into her, 'Now leave.'
'Marcie needs help. She is very ill.'
'She signed the contract,' Cordelia ushered Petra out onto the street and locked the door.
Making her way home, people stopped and stared at this gaunt figure.
'How can you let yourself get like that?' she heard someone remark to her companion.
'Were they talking about me?'. She headed to her bedroom, removed her clothes and stood in front of the mirror, recoiling in horror at the figure facing her, her face and body had shrunk. to skeletal proportions. Her eyes wide and staring.
'No,' she screamed. Kneeling on the floor, she rocked backwards and forwards in rage and fear.
Her name being called jolted Petra out of her trance. She panicked; no one could see her like this. Peering through the bedroom window, she caught the eye of George, looking up red-eyed and distraught. 'My Marcie’s dead Petra,' he cried, 'please talk to me.' When he realised Petra would not come down, George trudged despondently home.
Petra did not sleep that night. She thought about calling Davis but decided against it.
The next morning, wrapping herself up in layers of loose clothing, a wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses, Petra headed to the town’s small police station.
Detective Morrison was assigned to her case. As she dictated the events leading up to Marcie’s death, she realised how incredulous it sounded. Vain self-obsessed women looking for their own fountain of youth.
Detective Morrison, feeling sorry for this obviously distressed woman, after she signed the finished statement, offered to drive down to the salon to see if there was any truth to this incredible story.
As they pulled up outside, Petra could not believe her eyes. Gone was the elaborate front, in its place a derelict shell, boarded up windows and a door hanging on a hinge.
Petra leapt out of the car, 'No,' she cried. 'this is not possible.'
'Are you sure this is the place?' the Detective peered through the dirty glass.
Pushing against the broken door, it crashed to the floor; She rushed past him, 'Be careful,' he called. 'That floor looks rotten'. Petra stared in disbelief in the middle of the dilapidated shop; the desk was there, wood split and decayed. The couch lay on its side stained and torn, and of the door that led to the treatment room, there was just a mildewed brick wall.
Petra collapsed to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.
'Let me take you home.' Detective Morrison helped her to her feet. He could feel her bones through her clothing. She is wasting away, he thought, shaking his head sadly.
In a large van with tinted windows heading to the South-East of England, the driver and his companion made a strange sight with their long pale faces, bright red lips and intense dark eyes.
'Where are we heading?' Cordelia gazed at Cyril with adoration.
'A little place called Thorpe Bay,’ he laughed.
'I believe there are more ladies in need of our special treatment.'