Skin Deep

Despite appearing on the cover of just about every glamour magazine in the world by the age of fifteen, Vienna Ritz was not happy with her looks. Her breasts weren’t big enough. Her Bum was too big. Her legs were short, her thighs were fat, she needed a tummy tuck. Her lips were thin, her cheeks were flat, and her nose was too square. The list seemed never ending. She was heiress to a family fortune, so was not without the means to do something about her looks. However, much to her chagrin, until she was eighteen, she could not access her fortune apart from an allowance. That was barely enough to keep her in Gucci and skiing holidays for the year. Nor could she legally undergo enhancement surgery (not cosmetic surgery, that was just sooo tacky^*without her parent’s permission. At least not in this country. She knew because she had researched this.

However, Vienna’s time had soon come. She was booked in for her breast enhancement the day after her eighteenth birthday. She would have done on the day of her birthday, but her big party on the yacht had been organised for that evening. Even though she had known it would be a total wash out, as daddy had set the limit at only 300 people. Some nonsense to do with safety standards and maximum capacity. So, she had demanded he buy a bigger yacht, but daddy had only mumbled something about waiting lists and building time. God he could be selfish, she never got anything she wanted.

These thoughts still ran through Vienna’s mind as she climbed behind the wheel of the red Ferrari her father had given her for her seventeenth birthday. Did daddy realise how embarrassing it was having to drive around in such an ancient car. All her friends had the latest model. This, this heap, was already a year old. Praying that none of her friends would see her, Vienna screeched away from the curb and headed for the clinic. She did have friends who would have taken her, but she had wanted to surprise them all with her new look.

Sure enough, the next time she hit the scene, she was the focus of all the paparazzo’s cameras. And her enhanced breasts were on the front page of all the top fashion magazines. Soon, however, interest waned and Vienna’s discontentment with her body increased proportionally. Before long, she was on the phone to her surgeon to book in for a nose job and collagen injections. As soon as was physically possible, Vienna had completed this new round of surgery

She unveiled her new look at the next movie premier she attended, and both sides of the red carpet were a wall of flashlights as she walked it. Once again, her visage adorned the covers of glamour magazines worldwide. Some were cruel about her enhancements, but she put those down to obvious jealousy. Some dried up old hag of an editor sitting in a dim, smoky office somewhere wishing she could be just like Vienna.

It was around this time that Mercedes Godsend hit the scene, and Vienna’s ego. Mercedes was a blonde bombshell, virtually perfect in most people’s eyes. Except Vienna's, of course. With Mercedes hogging the cover of just about every magazine possible, Vienna had been relegated to the gossip pages, alleged sordid trysts with B-list celebrities and drunken parties. Vienna was convinced that Mercedes was behind most of these rumours, but she had no proof. The only thing to do was go back under the knife and out do the bitch.

And so it was, that three months later, Vienna was back on the scene. She had been enhanced to within an inch of her life. Tummy tucks, chin shaping, cheek pads, eye bag removal, liposuction, thigh reduction and many, many, more. At the end of her stay in Puerto Rico, Dr Fandango had cautioned her emphatically about her surgery. .

“Mees Reitz, you ‘ave ‘ad some very extreme and very, very experimental surgery. Some of the procedures used ‘ave never been carried out before on a human being. It is imperative that you avoid any intense heat. The underpinning ‘as been completed using revolutionary new plastic adhesives and they must be allowed to bond to your body for a minimum of six months. No stress, no physical exercise, no extreme heat. Do you understand?”

Vienna sat on the edge of her bed, nodding agreeably. The swathe of bandages covering her face hid the vacuous, far-off look she wore from the doctor. She was away in dreamland, imagining her triumphant come back to the catwalk, or the red carpet. Mercedes Godsend was a mere dot on the horizon, or even better, one of her supporting staff, answering to her every whim. Without a seconds thought of her surgeons warning, she returned to the red carpet three months later. This was the OSCARS, the social event of the year and one she refused to miss. To add to the temptation, she had been asked to present an award, something little miss goody two shoes Mer-fucking-cedes Godsend hadn’t been offered. Okay, it was only a minor award, one that probably wouldn’t even be televised, but it was her chance to show off her new look to the world. Predictably there were jealous whispers that the only reason she’d got the gig in the first place was because of her father’s share in one of the major film studios. But that didn’t matter now. Bedecked in an exclusive Versace creation she erupted from the stretch limo and made the red carpet hers. Vienna pouted and preened for all she was worth in front of the rabid photographers.

She was the centre of attention and loving it. She had also recruited one of the main contenders for best supporting actor as her date. This sent the attending media into overdrive, shouting questions over the top of one another, trying to be heard. No-one need know the only reason he was with her was because she had incriminating photos of him with one of the other contenders for best supporting actor. She just clutched his elbow, and muttered under her breath, “Just smile and wave pretty boy. This is just the beginning.”

Once inside they started making their way towards their table, Vienna acknowledging all of those she knew on the way, and many she didn’t. She also made a point of ignoring all of those who had slandered her over the years. She spotted Mercedes Godsend at a table in the centre of the room and made a beeline for her, dragging her begrudging date in her wake. This was her chance.

“Hi honey,” she almost shouted into the woman’s face, “Shame your seated so far back, you might not see me when I go up to present my award.”

“Hi Vienna. Surprised to see you here so soon after all your plastic surgery. Looks… lovely.” Mercedes responded equally loudly, with pointed hesitation

Initially flustered, Vienna was regained her composure and responded.

“Oh that,” she replied nonchalantly, “Blown out of all proportion by the media as usual. I was in South America helping with a charity appeal and got involved in some gunfire at an orphanage. I had to have a little touch up to hide the scar. You know how hard all this charity work can be. Oh wait, no, you probably don’t.”

Both women stared at each other acerbically, then Vienna spoke. She had won rounds one and two, now she was going in for the kill.

“So, are you going to introduce me to your date? I don’t seem to recognise him.” She smirked as she said this, and continued, “But wait, how rude of me, I haven’t done mine yet,” she said, turning to her companion, “this is, well of course I don’t need to tell you, next winner of the best supporting actor OSCAR of course!” In truth, Vienna had forgotten his name, but that was not the point here. Mercedes’ face was like thunder. Smiling sweetly, she finally replied.

“Well, actually Vienna, this is...” Before she could finish, Vienna interrupted.

“Sorry dear, got to fly. I think I see Brad and Angelina waving, byeee.”

With this and a little wave over her shoulder, she was gone. Vienna was ecstatic. Everything was going to plan. Once she got up on the stage, she would put all these so-called starlets to shame with her looks, in front of a world audience. Still glowing from her exchange with Mercedes Godsend, Vienna, and her partner for the evening (whatever his name was) made their way onwards to their table. Due to both of their involvement in the evening’s proceedings, they were seated near the front, on a table with several well-known faces. Vienna was floating on cloud nine. This was it. This was her from now on. A- list celebrity, champagne and caviar all the way.

The night progressed well. Vienna was sure she had managed to get into several of the television cameras long range shots of the audience. She had flirted with all the right people, made intelligent small talk with all the top stars and now her moment was here. An attendant arrived and informed her she need to come backstage for make-up before her presentation. Making one of the most flamboyantly noticeable discrete exits in history, Vienna headed backstage, “accidentally” walking across the shots of as many of the T.V. cameras as she could.

The auditorium had been warm, but bearable. The dressing room was warmer still. Vienna did not sweat. Most of her sweat glands no longer functioned due to her surgery. She didn’t even flush. But she knew she was getting warm. She had little time to ponder this however, as, in a whirl of frock changes and touch ups, Vienna was standing at the side of the stage waiting her introduction. She could see very little beyond the blazing stage lights, which was all right by her. At least she wouldn’t have to look at all those phony Hollywood faces gawping up at her.

The host made his announcement and she positively flowed onto the stage, smiling widely into the lights, and waving as she went. Behind her, a six-metre-high screen mirrored the action in front of it. Vienna could see her giant image from the corner of her eye and boy did she look good! She took the podium and gave the cameras her best sexy, smouldering look. Normally, the award presenters did not give a speech. That was regarded as the domain of the award receivers only and most presenters merely muttered a few respectful words and opened the envelope. Vienna Ritz was not most presenters however, and this was her time to shine.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for asking me here this evening. It is very humbling, and I know it is as much an honour for you as it is for me.” Vienna broadened her smile for the cameras, taking the silence from the audience as a sign of agreement. Although she was brimming with energy and positively radiating beauty, Vienna began to feel an itching under her skin in several places. Hoping to disguise her discomfort, she sashayed and wriggled like an exotic dancer, as she tried to relieve the irritating sensation.

“It has taken many years for me to attain this lofty position which I am sure you will agree, I truly deserve. Many are jealous of my achievements and natural beauty, and I...” Vienna was distracted for a moment by some muttering from the audience. It was not a complimentary muttering and she realised she had become very hot under the intense studio lighting. She also thought she could feel sweat forming on her forehead, which hadn’t happened to her since three surgeries ago. Mortified by this unfortunate timing, Vienna casually raised a hand to brush away the offending moisture, attempting to disguise it as brushing hair from her face. However, as she wiped her hand across her brow, she felt something shift. On moving her hand away and back into her line of vision, she was horrified to see blood smeared across the back of her white glove. Several gasps rose from the audience and one solitary shriek, as Vienna Ritz began to melt before their eyes. The revolutionary plastic glue that had been utilised in so many of her procedures was losing its battle with the stifling temperature and with gravity. Her face was virtually liquefying as they watched. Her forehead had shifted to one side as she wiped it and was now sliding down her left cheek. This in turn, along with the right cheeky had slipped down under her skin of her jaws, forming a huge dangling jowl under her chin. The weight of this artificial wattle was gradually pulling the rest of the skin from her face. Her lips had deflated and hung in flaps of skin on her chin, making her speech sound like a rude party favour.

Her breasts, unrestrained by a brassiere, were travelling slowly, but steadily, downwards, slipping across her torso. It was as if they were trying to fulfil a lifelong ambition to become knees. Due to the skin in most areas of her body detaching itself from the muscle and bone beneath, it began to collect in large folds in the wider areas of her body. As the process progressed, what stood before the shocked audience in a puddle of its own body fluids was barely recognisable as human. She looked somewhat like the water doused wicked witch of the west, as painted by an impressionist. Peering out at the now shell shocked, silent audience, Vienna Ritz tried to speak. Holding her deflated lips apart to make herself understood, she uttered her final words, before turning to leave the stage.

“No-one can truly be considered beautiful, until they have exposed the very essence of their being, as I have here tonight.” Then, remembering the contractual obligation she had to fulfill to get paid, she finished, “By the way, the winner of best cinematography is some loser with a bad toupee called François Duboir, as if anyone gives a toss.” With this parting shot, and as much dignity as she could muster, which really wasn’t very much, Vienna tried to affect a graceful sweeping turn as she exited the stage. Unfortunately, her feet became entangled in the skin that was gathered around her ankles, and she slipped in the puddle of her juices falling flat on her backside.

That was when laughter started.