Double Take

As the days passed, his strength gradually returned. The first time his bandages were removed, the nurses recoiled in obvious horror at the sight of his smashed nose. Sandy Lane had been blessed with classic California good looks, and with his shoulder-length blonde hair and slight physique, he had sometimes been mistaken for a girl. Now his perfect nose was plastered all over his face, and his cheekbones and eye sockets were still badly swollen from the impact of Buster's fist.

The doctors assured him that surgery to repair his face would be scheduled as soon as the swelling went down enough for them to operate. Sandy spent endless days lolling in his hospital bed, bored out of his mind and overwhelmed with despair over the end of his surfing season. At twenty-four, he did not have that many good years left in him, and whatever money he had managed to save was going to be eaten up by his hospital bills. One thing was for sure, the meager income which he used to make from modeling wetsuits and board shorts would dry up when his sponsors got a good look at his face.

Even his return to pro surfing was in doubt, since Buster Cruz had made veiled threats that if he ever ran into Sandy Lane again, he would finish the job. Cruz had lost most of his sponsors, and was facing a possible jail term, all on account of Sandy Lane. If Sandy did make it back on the tour, he knew that Cruz would be laying for him.

A few days before his facial surgery was scheduled, Sandy had a visitor. She was tall, thin, high-strung, and well-dressed. She surveyed his broken face with professional interest as he studied her card. Her name was Darla Palmer, and she was an Assistant Executive Producer for a Hollywood studio. Sandy was surprised when she took a digital camera out of her purse and snapped a picture of him.

"Casting for a new horror film?" he asked her. "I can play the monster without any makeup."

"Not quite. When are you supposed to get your nose fixed?"