“Ayahee.”
“And don’t get me started on Don Young.”
“Ooh?”
“I said don’t get me started. One person’s miracle is another person’s disaster. I could hear the groaning from my backyard. But both Baltimore patients had answered question sixteen much as you did, Victor, and I could see in each, along with the loneliness, a certain overwrought sensitivity. They were, perhaps, made for each other. But how to get them together, how to get them past the blindness of their politics?”
Another press into my jaw that sent my neck into spasm.
“I think we’re pretty much done,” said Dr. Bob. “How does that feel, Victor?”
I rubbed my neck, took a deep breath, gently rested my tongue against the now dressed wound, pressed harder. “It feels fine,” I said, slightly shocked that it actually did. “The pain is gone.”
“That’s the point. It’s rather simple, really. Now, try not to disturb the dressing, though I know it might be hard for someone such as you. And under no circumstances should you eat lamb’s bladder.”
“Why? Will that hurt the wound?”
“No, but it’s disgusting, don’t you think?” He laughed, I winced. “And now, Victor, it’s time to decide how to handle the missing tooth on a more permanent basis. What I’d like to do,” said Dr. Bob, “is to drill into your jaw.”
“Oh, I bet you would,” I said.
“I would drill a hole and screw in an implant. If all goes well, the implant will graft solidly into your bone, something called osseointegration. After about three to six months, depending on the success of the integration, atop the abutment I would attach a restoration, which is that part of the implant that looks like a tooth. It is the most permanent solution. It’s also the most painful and most expensive.”
“Why am I not surprised? And it takes six months?”
“Some dentists will put the restoration on right away, but the chances of failure are higher that way.”
“What about option two?”
“A fixed bridge. It’s easier, less painful, less expensive.”
“That sounds right by me.”
“But its long-term prognosis is not quite as good.”
“Still, I find myself strangely attracted to easier, less painful, and less expensive. Am I alone in seeking in dental reconstruction the same traits I look for in a woman?”
“I noticed you don’t have dental insurance.”
“That’s right,” I said.
“Still, you mustn’t think of dental work the way you think of suits, Victor. Cheaper is not always better. But okay, then. We’ll go with the bridge. Next time we’ll get started with the grinding.”
“Grinding?”
“Don’t worry, Victor, it’s relatively pain-free.”
“Relatively?”
“I’d like to take another set of X-rays to see how the bone looks without the tooth. Tilda,” he called.
She appeared quick as a ghost in the doorway, her huge hands dangling like boiled hams at her side.
“A set of bite wings and a periapical X-ray, please, Tilda. Make sure to get a good shot of the lower right.”
“Of course, Doctor,” she said. “Anything else?”
“No, that’s it, thank you,” he said, standing. He ripped off his gloves, tossed them into the container, took up my chart, and started scribbling his notes. “Victor, I’ll see you in another week.”
“Thanks for taking me on such short notice.”
“We all must do our part,” he said.
“What happened to them, the Baltimore people?”
“Married,” he said. “Two children. They’re as happy as mussels. Don’t you find the mussel a far more cheerful bivalve than the clam?”
“How did you get them together?”
“Oh, you know. I have my ways. What’s the Latin expression? Minutus cantorum, minutus balorum, minutus carborata descendum pantorum.”
“We didn’t learn that one in law school.”
“It means: ‘A little song, a little dance, a little seltzer down your pants.’ I push here, pull there, I reach in and help mold the clay of reality. It is what I do when I am not molding teeth. I slip horizontally through people’s lives and change them for the better. Check your shirt pocket, Victor.”
I patted my pocket, reached in, pulled out a slip of paper. On it was written “Carol Kingsly” in script and then a phone number.
“You saw her in the waiting room,” said Dr. Bob, “remember? She’s a lovely woman, with very refined tastes, not your normal cup of tea, I suppose, but a woman who, fortunately for you, also answered question sixteen in the new-patient questionnaire with a no. She’s waiting for your call.”
“My call?”
“Yes, your call, Victor. Do try to be pleasant, won’t you? And take my advice, dress sharp and never ever talk politics on your first date.”
As I watched him leave, Tilda stepped forward. She draped my chest with a heavy lead apron. I pulled it low enough so that it covered my groin. Tilda noticed the gesture and shook her head.
“What kind of men do you fancy, Tilda?” I said.
“Hockey players and prison guards,” she said.
“I guess I’ll have to lose a few more teeth.”
“It can be arranged, bucko. Now, open up, ja.”
I opened my mouth. She slipped a white piece of plastic-covered film over my teeth.
“Close.”
I closed. The edges of the plastic bladed painfully into the floor of my mouth. Tilda wrapped my face in her muscular hands and twisted my head until my neck cracked.
27
Inside the old YMCA building that served now as the district attorney’s offices, I pulled at my lower lip to expose the gap in my teeth. Beth, sitting next to me, grimaced at the sight. Mia Dalton leaned over her desk to get a better view.
“It’s gone, all right,” said Mia Dalton. “What’s the brown gunk in the hole?”
“A dressing. I accidentally removed the scab and exposed the bone.”
“Does it hurt?”
“It did, like someone jabbing a red-hot knife into my chops. But not anymore. My dentist took care of that.”
“He any good?” said Detective Torricelli, standing behind Dalton’s desk. “I might be in the market for a molar masher.”
Detective Torricelli was short and round, with the pug nose and swollen eyes of an angry porker. He had looked at my display with enough interest, and he was running his tongue along the inside of his cheek with enough determination to indicate that he might indeed have dental problems of his own.
“Oh, he’s terrific, Detective, absolutely,” I said, putting on my most trustworthy expression. “And painless, too.”
“Painless?”
“Oh, yes. Painless. Such gentle hands. You should give him a try.”
“Tell me why I don’t swallow the painless part, Carl?” said Torricelli.
“Because you are a cynic with an irrational fear of dentists.”
“I might be a cynic,” said Tommy Torricelli, “but ain’t nothing more rational than my fear of dentists.”
“Do you mind if we get down to business?” said Beth. “We want to know if you’ve given any consideration to a plea offer for François.”
“What are you looking for?” said Mia Dalton.
“Something that would take into account the constitutional violation that underlay his prior conviction,” said Beth, her voice stellar with righteous indignation, “that would take into account the years he spent in jail as a result of the unjust conviction only a few days ago reversed by Judge Armstrong, that would recognize the price he has paid and allow him to walk out of jail with a sentence of time served.”
“Yeah,” I added, “something like that.”
As Beth spoke, Mia Dalton began hunting around her office, as if she had misplaced an item of great importance.