Ma’s view of honest work was twisted, but she stuck by it, steadfast. She’d take a man’s wallet from his back pocket with a wink and a smile, and she’d use each of his credit cards until they went bust, but she wouldn’t ask the guy for a cent if we were a dollar short on laundry change for the week. You can’t sleaze your way to the top, bunny, she told me. Lie as much as you need to, cheat, con, get your tits out of your top and show ’em off, but never sleaze upward. Sleazes kiss asses for a living, bunny, and you can only kiss so many asses before you’re left with nothing but shit on your face.
* * *
One manfriend, an orthodontist, he took one look at my smile and offered me and Ma all she’d ever wanted. You know, he said, running a thumb under my two front teeth, we have a program set up to help kids like Kate. It’s called Route Canal. Free dental care for kids experiencing financial hardship.
I looked at Ma, eyes wide, dreams coming true.
Financial hardship? Ma said.
She hated charity. She hated giving to charity, and she hated receiving charity. Once, when we walked out of the supermarket, a teenager was set up with a foldout table and a red bucket, collecting donations. Donate a dollar for child trafficking? she said as we passed.
Why would I support child trafficking? said Ma. That’s awful.
I just mean that we could help, is all, said the manfriend, already eyeing his coat at the door. If you don’t want to do it, you don’t have to. I was just offering, is all. He backed up, reversed, closer and closer to being free from Ma’s gaze.
We don’t want to be your charity case, Ma said. I’ll pay for it. I can pay your full fee.
The orthodontist tried so hard not to scan our house for evidence to the contrary, the black mold freckling the ceiling, paint peeling off the walls like a sunburn.
I can pay full price, Ma said again. We can, can’t we, bunny, we’ve got all that money saved up.
For your treatment, I said. That’s not teeth money. That’s cancer money.
The orthodontist’s eyes widened. Ma never told manfriends she was sick because cancer wasn’t sexy. Cancer? he said.
I’ll bring her in tomorrow, is what Ma said. Give me your business card.
I don’t think I have one on me.
Give me your business card.
He gave her his business card.
We’ll be in at nine, Ma said. Ready to pay full price. Got it?
The man nodded and finally managed to close the door between him and us.
We can’t afford that, I said to Ma.
Sure we can, bunny. She smiled. Her smile was straight, teeth obedient, gums pink. I’m going to die anyway. You’re the one who has to live. Might as well live with a pretty smile.
That night I waited until Ma went to bed, took her metal nail file and a handful of painkillers, and sat on the edge of the tub with a mirror in one hand and the file in the other. Then I started to saw, back and forth and back again. Enamel rained down like snow. At first, it was a strange feeling, not unlike filing your nails, but then I hit a nerve and the pain was electric. I clenched my eyes, my jaw, and kept going until my front teeth were the same length as the rest of them. My mouth was a bucket of blood. I spit it in the sink and went to bed.
* * *
Ma loved a makeover scene. She’s All That, The Devil Wears Prada, Clueless—Ma loved any plot point that promised the character a better life, and Ma loved my new teeth. She told me to smile. She told me to keep smiling.
You’re going to be a star, bunny. It’s just a matter of time, now, she said.
She was sick and getting sicker. I asked for a promotion at Hobbes but was told I’d need a college degree to become a manager, and I was still at high school and college was not on my horizon. I begged Lacey to expand our repertoire of services at school.
“We’re not hookers,” she said.