I’m taking a leave of absence from Intelligentsia, starting next week. A category reviewer—not Annette, a nice young man named Michael Chan—will write the “Spotlight” column while I’m gone. The original reason for the leave was to spend more time with my mother. Now that I’ve got two days left in the office, however, the reasons not to come back multiply like rabbits One big reason, the angriest reason, is that it’s inhuman to spend a third of your life working to make someone else rich (I like it when I think like this—I feel like a punk again). The most practical reason not to come back is, my job is boring as hell, and the last thing I want to do is move up in this company. If writing about crap books is mind-numbing, what kind of a life would it be to manage writers who write about crap books? There’s not a whole lot for me, here at Intelligentsia
An excellent reason not to come back is Annette. On my last day she comes into my office, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed She doesn’t know I’m leaving I tried to tell Chris, my boss, about Annette and he laughed I tried to tell his boss and he told me to go to Human Resources The Human Resources lady told me to speak to my boss I have gone through fear, amusement, and boredom with the Annette situation, now I’ve lost my patience all together and I’m in a state of rage
“What the fuck do you want, Annette?”
She smiles “Mary, I heard you telling Chris about your tooth And I have to tell you, I know a good dentist And he’s cheap. Not like that Jew on Park Avenue you went to”
“I’m going to get it pulled,” I tell her. “And stop eavesdropping “ As I say this I have an image of myself going to a black-market dentist on Avenue D and catching HIV from a dirty needle And hepatitis C. And Ebola I think, I will have this tooth forever.
“Good,” says Annette, not listening. “I’ll give you his card. Did you read that book yet?”
I tell her that I haven’t gotten around to it.
“Good. I’m so glad it’s helping How’s your mother? Better?”
I tell her my mother is worse. I tell her my mother is dying
“I am so happy things are going better for you, Mary I knew it would all work out I’m going to get your job soon, and I want you to be happy Oh! That reminds me! The thing I was supposed to tell you1 I got a promotion’ I’m a reviewer now A real reviewer.”
“What were you before?”
“Assistant. I was an assistant reviewer before. It sounded so awful It was like I was making coffee for the reviewers. It was like I was doing laundry for the reviewers. It was like I was the reviewers’ slave I’m a real reviewer now. Isn’t that exciting?”
“It’s fucking thrilling, Annette “ I’m looking at the creamy business card she’s slipped out of her purse and onto my desk. Dr Edward Tracy, D.D.S. Next to his name is a drawing of an anthropomorphized molar, a tooth with stick arms and stick legs and big clownish hands and feet The tooth is smiling. Annette is smiling. I’m jealous of both of them
The waiting room in Dr Edward Tracy’s office on Fifty-ninth is like a subway car. No one wants to be here, and there’s way too much religion I see a Hasidic Jew, a priest, and a woman reading aloud in a soft private voice from a King James Bible.
I’m scared I’m scared of shots, I’m scared of pain, I’m somehow even scared of the medicinal smell wafting through the door from the examination rooms. I chant shanaishwaraya to myself silently. I’ve been waiting too fucking long—shanaishwaraya They’ll put in the needle—shanaishwaraya.
“Mary Forrest?”
A young man in aqua scrubs shows me in to a clean little examination room. The smell of novocaine is sickening
“You’re nervous,” he says
“A little ”
He smiles. “Relax.” He puts his hand on my shoulder. “I’m here “ He moves his hand farther down on my shoulder. Too far down.
“Easy,” I say, and shake him off He takes back his paw and leaves.
Shanaishwaraya.
A young woman, also in scrubs, comes in to take x-rays. She speaks when she needs to, telling me to bite here and open there, and then she leaves. I’m alone for a few minutes before two more people come in, a thirty-ish woman and a fifty-ish man in white lab coats The man is holding the x-rays and the woman is holding a manila folder with my name written in black marker across the front
“Hello,” says the man His voice is deep and country-club rich “I’m Dr Tracy.”
“I’m Stacy,” says the woman She has a Staten Island accent, nasal on the vowels and hard on the consonants.
“I’m your dentist,” says Dr Tracy. “I’ll be helping you decide on a course of treatment so we can save your teeth “ He smiles
“And you are?” I ask the woman.
“I’m Stacy,” she repeats, annoyed. Dr. Tracy clips the x-rays onto the light box and they huddle together to look.
“We need a crown here,” says the doctor Stacy jots this down in the manila folder
“We need a bridge here, across twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-three, and thirty-one” Stacy jots
“And another crown here,” the doctor says. They look at each other and spin around to face me “Yes?” I say Fear is morphing into rage
Stacy says, “Well, Marcia, you need two root canals, two crowns, two fillings, and a bridge.”
The rage is crawling up my spine, and I’m fighting to keep it down “This is some kind of mistake. I came in here for an extraction ”
“But with our payment plan it’s so easy for us to save your teeth, Marcia,” says Stacy “Don’t you want to keep that pretty smile?”
Somehow they’ve gotten the idea that I’m both stupid and have money. “Just pull the tooth,” I tell her.
Stacy looks horrified. “Well there’s nothing to get upset about, Marcia. You don’t have to get angry. We’re just trying to save your teeth here ”
“I’m not upset, and my name isn’t Marcia. Just pull my tooth.”
“You need to relax,” she says “You need to take it easy “
The rage grows and it’s all I can do not to strangle Stacy. “Are you going to pull my fucking tooth or what?”
“You’re out of control,” she snaps. She slams the manila folder on the counter and stomps out of the room. Dr Tracy looks embarrassed “I am not,” I say to him, “that nuts.”
“No, no,” he says. His voice is softer now, more honest. “Stacy—she doesn’t like it when things don’t go according to plan She likes the hard sell, and you know, it’s a tough one. It’s tough.”
I ask him if the hard sell really works on anyone.
“Oh, sure, sometimes. Sometimes. Not like it used to,” he admits. He sits down in the doctor’s chair and looks nostalgic for the good old days. “I hate to criticize her, though. She’s a sweet girl. But she does come on pretty strong Me, I like a lighter touch ”
“Managing people is difficult,” I sympathize. “You don’t want to hurt their feelings.”
“Oh no,” he agrees “It is hard.”
We’re silent for a moment. Dr Tracy looks pensive.
“Anyway. My tooth?” We’re on the same team now, Dr. Tracy and me.
“You sure you want the extraction? You don’t want to save it?”
“I want it out.”
“Go to the clinic at Beth El Elohim,” he says. “They’ll do it for free.”
“I do not want to go to El Elohim,” I tell him.
“Been there before?”
I nod.
“Rehab?” he asks
I shake my head.
“Psych ward?”
“Yep ”
He smiles paternally. “Don’t worry, it’s in a different building. Good people there Good doctors I really think it’s the best teaching hospital in the city.”
“I agree. Couldn’t you just pull it out yourself? It’ll only take a few minutes.”
“Quite frankly,” says Dr. Tracy, standing up, “I’m not in the mood I’m going to O’Reilly’s for a scotch. Care to come with?”
“Thanks, it’s a little early for me ”
“Understood” The doctor pats me on the shoulder, smiles, and leaves. I’m alone in the examination room with my rotten tooth The cabinets along the wall are disappointingly free of controlled substances so I fill my purse with cotton balls, gauze, long wooden-stemmed swabs, and some dental epoxy for a chipped Fiestaware teacup I’ve got in my kitchen.
Austin calls at ten thirty that night. My sinus is throbbing When I hear his voice I slam the receiver back into the base. Then I pick up the whole telephone, pull the cord out from the wall, and throw it out the window.
I feel better than I have in days. Until I have to go down four flights to the filthy, glass-strewn lawn, with a flashlight, to look for my phone.