Police searching for skin doctor to the stars Stanley Burke make an unexpected discovery – and an off-the-scale connection.
Dr Stanley Burke had an undeniable gift for skin. In Guardian City’s elite circles, he was the specialist for chronic dryness, eczema, and stubbornly flaky complexions.
His signature moisturiser, Burke’s Dermis Repair, boasted an aggressive marketing campaign: “Stay blemish free – for life.” But beyond the branding, Burke, 72, had built a loyal clientele among the city’s most scrutinised, and occasionally acned, faces.
Socialite and style influencer Calliope Vance credited him with saving her career after a bout of stress-induced eczema threatened her dewy aesthetic. Actor Lysander Helt swore by Burke’s proprietary serum after an unfortunate allergic reaction left him looking “like a poorly upholstered handbag”.
Even fashion mogul Allegra Montrose, a woman known for publicly declaring dermatology “snake oil salesmen,” had been seen discreetly exiting Burke’s office more than once with her notoriously flaky first-born Galamp.
The doctor goes missing
So when Dr Burke failed to turn up for his morning appointments last Tuesday, Guardian City’s glitterati grew anxious.
By Wednesday, his clients were panicked. By Friday, police were combing through his Scriven’s Yelp townhouse, searching for any trace of the good doctor. What they found in his basement was unexpected.
Neatly arranged beneath rows of startling gas lanterns sat a sprawling collection of terrariums, each home to a rare and highly illegal reptile. Pythons coiled in glass cases. A trio of chameleons regarded officers with suspicion. A Hula monster flicked its tongue against the glass. It was an operation of astonishing scale, suggesting that Burke’s interest in skin went far beyond human dermatology.
Milking equipment sat nearby.
A strange experiment with scaly skin
Meanwhile, across town another poikilothermic mystery was brewing.
At the Guardian City Reptile House, zookeepers were observing with astonishment the strange morphing of Handsome George, the facility’s prized python, who, they suspected, was pregnant.
The zoo, forever short of cash, has mounted a huge marketing campaign selling the idea of the first born-in-captivity mini pythons.
There was a particular appetite for tickets because George is not only an icon of the zoo but male. And had not encountered a member of the opposite sex, ever.
Or so they thought.
Is it George or Georgina?
So is it Handsome Georgina now?
The Guardian City constabulary was working closely with reptile experts on the safe removal and disposal of Dr Burke’s collection when a thought occurred.
After a further examination, biologists concluded that, yes, George was male. He was also full.
Dr Stanley Burke, dermatologist, entrepreneur, and clandestine reptile hoarder, had seemingly snuck into the reptile house and somehow fallen foul of George’s appetites. A disgorged tin of Burke’s Dermis Repair provided vital evidence.
Who will scratch the itch now?
Meanwhile, the City’s elite is reeling – and itching. “He was the only one who understood my particular skin needs,” Calliope Vance told the Style section of the Grizzle. “I mean, this is obviously tragic, but what am I supposed to do now?”
The reptile house, for its part, has declined to comment on Handsome George’s future, except to confirm that he “seems to be doing fine” and probably won’t feed again for three months.
Ticket sales have since soared as people pay to sit and watch the sedentary snake hanging from a tree digesting the city legend. Burke’s famous moisturiser remains in stock at select pharmacies, though its slogan now carries a slightly more ominous and hollow ring for the disgraced doctor’s spoiled legacy: “Stay blemish free – for life.”