The clinic was located in a mission-style ranch in Topanga Canyon, a structure that was detailed with heavy beams of horizontal oak supported by a crazy quilt of irregular stones. The windows were all multi-colored Mondrian-like stained glass. It was just another multi-million dollar residence like the ones that were perched throughout this lush meandering Los Angeles crevice. Meg Ryan parked her dark green Land Rover in one of the empty stalls that lined one side of a gravel driveway. The building was surrounded by palms and twelve-foot manicured hedges. Meg got out of the Rover wearing black loose lycra slacks that were too long, draping over the sides and back of her white Nike running shoes. Her top was also black, with long tight sleeves that belled neared her wrists and covered the back of her hands. Her sun glasses were large, and her hair uncharacteristically disheveled, unlike the hair style that she almost uniformly dons in all movies and public appearances. She carried a weathered navy blue Lands End canvas brief over her left shoulder, a cell phone grasped in her right hand. Meg pushed the large oak front door open.
She entered the waiting area she had remembered last time. A young attractive blond sat behind wood counter. She was chewing gum. There was one problem. A big one. A woman, one Meg recognized, sat in a chair reading a magazine in the waiting area, an area meant only for one person. The woman was also smoking a ciagerette. Meg had been promised no overlap of appointments, no crossing of paths between visitors. Meg approaches the receptionist.
"Hi. Ms. Ryan. Name's Bev."
"Hi Bev. What is she doing here?" Meg points to the woman reading a magazine and smoking.
"Yes, Lara Flynn. No one is supposed to be here," whispered Meg, with mock emphasis on the 'Flynn.'
"Ms. Boyle had an emergency" said Bev as she continued to chew gum.
"An emergency? That's ridiculous. Plus she is smoking. You let people smoke here?"
"We let Lara smoke here. She is a frequent visitor. Plus she has a Betty Davis thing," Bev said.
"A what?" Meg asked, then said, "Forget it. Listen, I made this appointment a month ago. I really want to keep it. But I can't stay with Lara. It violates both of our privacies."
"Lara doesn't care. Plus she is in a crisis. I mean, look at her lips. They are drooping. She has a show. You don't have a show right now, and her lips are drooping. She clearly has an emergency," said Bev.
"Her lips are bigger than her fucking head, for chrissake," said Meg in a loud exasperated whisper.
"Now, that is not very nice. She said she wanted the big juicy ones, and so we gave her what she wanted. They just need a little support. And you are here for what, again?" Bev asked.
"Well, I thought I needed a little reduction. I am getting remarks that they look fake."
"Of course they look fake. Isn't that what you want?" Bev asked in all seriousness.
Meg removes her sunglasses for the first time and glares at Bev. "No, that is not what I want."
Bev is gazing at Lara as she says "Look at Lara. Lara Flynn Boyle. See how fake she looks. See how her lips look like they came from a different person, a different species, even. I mean jeez, her lips are bigger than her breasts. Well, her original breasts. Yet, she has a show. She is happy. She has a show. And she is fake. She had an affair with Jack Nicholson, you know." Bev looks at Meg.
Meg puts her shades back on. "Tell the doctor I will call." Meg turns and walks out of the building.
"Bye," Bev said to the departing Meg, as she makes a note with her purple Flair pen on a pink pad of paper.