"Mr. Williams?"

"Right here!"

"Keep your seat, I’ll join you."

"Mr. Williams, I’m Dr. Freeman, the plastic surgeon."

"I thought you said it would only take any hour."

"Mr. Williams, I’m afraid I have some bad news."

"It didn’t work out like you thought at first?"

"Mr. Williams, Mrs. Williams had an allergic reaction to the anesthesia. We took heroic measures, but she died on the table. We never started the procedure."

"Died on the table? This was a simple face lift. That’s what you said."

"These things are very hard to predict. Maybe one in ten thousand."

"What about your promise?"

"Mr. Williams, that is out of the question now."

"Is she still on the table?"

"Well, yes, for the moment. But arrangements have to be made."

"The only arrangement that has to be made ix for you to keep your promise."

"That’s not possible."

"Dr. Freeman, that had better be possible. I’ve collected a lot of money and a lot of influence by living eight-eight years. I wouldn’t hesitate to destroy you."

"I’ll see what I can do."

Waiting room? Waiting for what? Some waiting to hear of new life. Some waiting to hear of death. Neither of those do I want to be around. This dang fool face lift idea of Martha’s has cost me four hours in here. Was supposed to take only one. Doctor probably had to play a round of golf first.

"Mr. Williams?"

Finally. I look up. A middle age man in surgical scrubs and hair net is scanning the room. I stand up with a wave and start toward him. "Right here!"

He puts a stop gesture on my movement with a hand signal. "Keep your seat, I’ll join you," he says as others in the room search for what my news will be.

He takes the seat next to me in the corner of the room. Several people in the room watch closely to see what kind of news I’ll get. "Mr. Williams, I’m Dr. Freeman, the plastic surgeon."

I don’t know why he thinks he must introduce himself. I’ve met him twice in his office. "I thought you said it would only take any hour."

He stares at the floor. "Mr. Williams, I’m afraid I have some bad news."

What can be bad about a face life. Maybe Martha didn’t come out like the computer drawing said she would. Maybe her chin wouldn’t tuck. "It didn’t work out like you thought at first?"

He looks at me with words in his eyes, somewhere between fear sorrow. "Mr. Williams, Mrs. Williams had an allergic reaction to the anesthesia. We took heroic measures, but she died on the table. We never started the procedure."

"Died on the table? This was a simple face lift. That’s what you said."

"These things are very hard to predict. Maybe one in ten thousand."

My God, I’ve lost my Martha after forty-six years. There wasn’t a sick bone in her body. All she wanted was a few things done so she would look good for her friends at her funeral someday. This lousy bastard promised. "What about your promise?"

"Mr. Williams, that is out of the question now."

So he does remember. He said she would lay out beautifully. Well that’s the way it’s going to be. I owe her that. "Is she still on the table?"

The look in his eye shifts more to the fear side. "Well, yes, for the moment. But arrangements have to be made."

Other people in the waiting room have drifted into the hall. They can sense my news is not good and they don’t want to be part of it. "The only arrangement that has to be made is for you to keep your promise."

He shakes his head nervously. "That’s not possible."

It’s time to remind him who I am. "Dr. Freeman, it had better be possible. I’ve collected a lot of money and a lot of influence by living eight-eight years. I wouldn’t hesitate to destroy you."

The fear is now full blown. He starts for the exit, shuffling in the cloth covers on his shoes. "I’ll see what I can do."

I wonder if insurance covers promise keeping.