Stuart Kaminsky: Now You See It

My brother opened the door, and Violet looked up from the telephone. She hung up the phone and said,

“What happened?”

Violet is a dark beauty who regularly took my money on bets I made with her about a variety of sporting events, mostly boxing. Until I met Violet, I had thought I was a near expert on the fight game.

“Someone in there with Minck?” Phil asked.

“No,” said Violet. “Tooth?”

“Yeah,” said Phil, moving to the inner door.

“You sure you want to see Dr. Minck?” she said.

“Emergency,” said Phil.

“It’d have to be,” said Violet.

We went in. Shelly was sitting in his chair, listening to the radio. Something classical was playing, and Shelly was eating a sandwich with his left hand and conducting the orchestra on the radio with his right, which also held a half-finished cigar.

He looked up, got up, and Phil put me in the chair.

“What happened?” Shelly asked.

“Tooth,” said Phil. “Fix him up enough so we can get him to a real dentist.”

“I am a …” Shelly began indignantly.

“Fix him,” said Phil softly, looking at Shelly who nodded.

“Get rid of the sandwich,” said Phil. “Get rid of the cigar. Go wash your hands.”

Shelly adjusted his glasses and waddled over to the sink where he dropped the sandwich and cigar in the trash.

“Soap,” said Phil.

Shelly turned on the water and picked up a bar of soap, showing it to Phil.

I think I groaned. The door was about ten feet away. I knew I could make it that far. I didn’t know how much further. I closed my eyes and heard the water running.

“Those instruments clean?” Phil asked.

“Violet cleaned them this morning,” Shelly said, his voice quivering.

“Move,” said Phil.

I considered opening my eyes and decided not to. I could smell garlic and tobacco as Shelly leaned over me.

“Open your mouth, Toby,” he said.

I refused.

“Open up,” Phil said.

I opened and felt Shelly’s pudgy fingers entering where I thought they would never enter.

“Wow,” he said. “That must hurt like hell.”

It was a great diagnosis.

“I’ve got to give you a shot,” he said.

How many screams had I heard from this chair when I sat in the little office a few feet away where Pancho the phantom screenwriter was probably now seated pencil in hand searching for something creative to say about the man who was about to do mortal damage to my mouth?

I closed my mouth. Phil told me to open it. I considered defying him. Then I remembered the last time I had defied my brother when he was close enough to reach out and grab me. I opened my mouth.

“Don’t hum,” I whispered.

“Huh?” said Shelly.

“Don’t hum. Don’t sing,” I managed to get out.

“Okay,” he said. “Keep your mouth open. This is going to hurt a little, maybe.”

My mouth already hurt more than a little, and there was no “maybe” about it.

“There,” Shelly said.

I opened my eyes.

“You okay?” Shelly asked.

“Didn’t feel it,” I said.

Shelly was sweating. Shelly was smiling. He leaned over his tray of tools of torture, squinting at them through the super-thick lenses of his glasses. He started to hum.

“No,” I said.

He stopped humming. I looked at Phil who stood with his arms folded.

“Open wide,” Shelly said.

He had something in his hand. I didn’t want to look at it. Then I heard the familiar sound of the drill. I think I passed out.

I had a dream. Violet was sitting in my lap. She smelled like oil of cloves. She was putting five-dollar bills in my pockets and smiling as she said, Zale, Galento, Louis, Tenn Hoff. In the background, Vaughn Monroe was singing I’ll Walk Alone . I was afraid Violet’s husband Rocky would come through the door in uniform, drop his duffle bag when he saw his wife in my lap, and then kill me. I hoped that death didn’t come from a right to my molar.

No one came through the door. Vaughn Monroe kept crooning. Violet kept putting money in my pockets and then there was darkness.

“Toby?” I heard a definitely worried voice. “You there?”.

I tried to open my eyes. They refused.

“Toby,” came a different voice. My brother’s. “Come out of it.”

I forced my eyes open and saw Shelly. His cheek was twitching. Behind him stood Phil.

“Are you alright?” asked Shelly. “How does it feel?”

I felt my tooth with my tongue. It was smooth, no piece missing.

“I got rid of the decay and gave you a gold filling,” said Shelly.

“Tobias,” said Phil.

“Feels fine,” I said, still running my tongue over my tooth.

I looked at Shelly, who was blinking madly and wiping sweat from his face with his sleeve.

“You’re kidding?” he said.

“No,” I said. “Feels fine.”

I sat up. I was a little weak, but there was no pain, no throbbing, nothing but normal feeling.

I stood.

“Can I smoke now?” Shelly asked.

“Go ahead,” said Phil hand on my arm.

“I’ll be damned,” I said.

“Eventually,” said Phil.

“I feel fine,” I said. “It didn’t hurt.”

I looked at Shelly. He was fishing in the pocket of his jacket, which was on a hanger near the door to what had been my office. Shelly beamed at me.

“What do we owe you?” Phil asked.

Shelly found a cigar and waved his arm.

“No charge,” he said. “Anytime.”

“Thanks Shel,” I said.

“Nothing,” he said, sticking a fresh cigar in his mouth. “See you at the Roosevelt later.”

Phil and I moved into the reception area where Violet sat waiting for us.

“You’re alright?” Violet asked.

“Perfect,” I said.

Violet looked at Shelly’s door and then at us.

“That’s the first time since I’ve been working here,” she said.

“We’ve got work to do,” I said to Phil.

“We’ve got work to do,” I agreed.

Alice Pallas Butler and her husband were standing just inside the ban-room door when Phil and I arrived. Jeremy wore dark slacks, a white shirt, and a tie. I wondered, and not for the first time, what his collar size was. It wasn’t much larger than his wife’s. Alice wore a black dress that covered her ample arms, went down to her ankles, and left just enough room at the neck for a string of pearls.

They were talking to Jimmy Clark, who wore what looked like the same flannel shirt and dark slacks I had always seen him in.

There was no one else in the room.

Phil nodded and began his search of the room, which, except for the lack of table settings, looked exactly the way it had when Calvin Ott had been killed.

“Toby,” said Jeremy. “How is your tooth?”

“Do you believe in miracles?” I asked.

“Yes,” Jeremy answered.

“Me, too,” said Jimmy.

Alice didn’t answer. I had a feeling she didn’t believe in miracles. She believed in Alice and Jeremy.