Carol Clark - Laced

They dressed in blue jeans and sweaters, grabbed their all-weather coats, which was the optimistic way to describe a raincoat in Ireland, locked up the house, and went out to the car.

“You’d better drive,” Bobby whimpered. He had put Vaseline around his stub, but it was sensitive to cold air. “I can’t believe how sore it feels.”

The high from having ruined Jack Reilly’s honeymoon had been wiped out by a pebble.

“Don’t worry,” Anna said soothingly. “We’ll get you a new cap, and you’ll be fine.” I hope, she thought. With the little enthusiasm she could muster. “You look completely different. It’s a disguise we’ll have to try-going toothless,” she joked.

“That’s not funny,” Bobby whined as got in the car, put the seat back, and closed his eyes.

Good, Anna thought. Let him sulk. I’ll have some peace. She flicked on the radio to a station that played jazz. Forty-five minutes later, directions in hand, she turned onto Dr. Sharkey’s street. Her heart sank. From the look of the old row houses on the block, one wouldn’t imagine that Dr. Sharkey had a booming business. If he had any celebrity clients, they certainly didn’t need a private entrance because no paparazzi would venture here. The street was dreary and deserted. She located the house where Dr. Sharkey hung his shingle. Under his name was a red smiley-face and the words “The Smile Center.” She parked the car.

“Where are we?” Bobby asked, his voice rising as he opened his eyes and sat up. “This doesn’t look like Galway.”

“I didn’t say the dentist’s office was exactly in Galway,” Anna answered, trying to maintain a positive attitude. “We’re near Galway.”

“But this looks like the dentist’s house I went to when I was six years old! My mother said he should only fill potholes. And Dr. Favorman’s office in Los Angeles is so plush and nice.” Bobby was panicked.

“Do you realize how many dentists I called before I could find anyone to fit you in today? Besides, it’s not as if you’re getting a root canal or a tooth pulled. He’ll just fix you up with a temporary cap. How much can that hurt?”

“A lot.”

“If this doesn’t work out, we’ll find another dentist. We’ll drive to Dublin if we have to.”

The entrance to the office was on the side of the house. Anna and Bobby walked along the cracked sidewalk to the door, rang the bell, and, as the sign above the bell instructed them, walked right in. The tiny waiting room, with its three orange velour folding chairs, cracked linoleum floor, and drab paneled walls, was ghastly. The sound of a whirring drill pierced the air.

Bobby immediately turned to leave, but Anna grabbed his arm. “I want to go home,” he whimpered. “This place even smells exactly like that dentist office I just told you about.”

“It’ll be okay,” Anna promised.

A birdlike woman, who had to be at least eighty, was seated at a makeshift reception desk. Engrossed in a television soap opera and eating mysterious gruel from a tin can, she gave no indication that she was aware of their presence. Anna walked over and rested her purse on the raised Formica countertop above the woman’s desk where people presumably forked over the money to be tortured. The “receptionist” remained riveted to the screen as two gorgeous young girls started screaming at each other about a man. One of them tried to slap the other, missed, and in two seconds they were rolling around the floor, scratching, clawing, and pulling each other’s hair. In the middle of such high drama, the show cut to a commercial. Soap operas are the same the world over, Anna thought.

The old woman shook her head disapprovingly, mumbled, “He’s not worth it, girls,” and then looked up at Anna. “Are you here for the cap?” she croaked. Her gray hair was pulled up in a bun, and frameless glasses rested on her pointy nose. Her Irish eyes were unsmiling. She wore a simple maroon jacket over a white blouse, and a garish rainbow pin was attached to her left lapel.

“Yes, we are,” Anna answered, anxious to make everything go smoothly. “I love your pin,” she lied.

“It’s a gift from my son,” the woman answered, not a shred of maternal pride in her voice. “Dr. Sharkey is with a patient. I have some forms for you to fill out.” She put down her spoon, opened a drawer, then another, and on the third try finally retrieved a clipboard with a cheap pen dangling from it on a ratty piece of string. “Here,” she said, handing it to Anna. She then reached over to a shelf on the wall. “And here are the forms.”

Anna frowned at the sight of all the questions on the first page. “Do we really have to fill these out? We just want a temporary cap to tide my husband over, and we’re paying cash. Our dentist is in the States.”

The woman stared up at her. “You’re paying cash?”

“Yes.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Just have a seat then.” Picking up her spoon, she turned her gaze back to the television.

The folding chairs proved to be as uncomfortable as they looked. Seated next to Bobby, who again had his eyes closed, Anna picked up a dusty magazine from the table next to her. It was dated three years ago. She dropped it back on the table.

The sight of Bobby looking so vulnerable was distressing. She didn’t blame him for being a wreck. She certainly wouldn’t have wanted to be in his shoes right now. Gently placing her hand on his, she leaned toward him. “Sweetie, we’ll do something fun and exciting after this,” she said softly, talking to him as if he were a child.

“Like what?” he asked somberly, opening his eyes

“I’ll think of something.”

The drill, which had mercifully stopped, started up again. Whirrrrrrrr. Pause. Whirrrrrrrrrrrr. Pause. Whirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Bobby squeezed her hand hard.

These walls must be made of cardboard, Anna thought.

Several excruciating minutes later the door to the treatment room flew open. A bearded man with tufts of gray hair spouting from the sides of his otherwise bald head emerged with the air of a general triumphant in victory. “Mother,” he said jovially, “let’s make another appointment for Mr. O’Leary, shall we? We made a lot of progress today. Yes, indeed!”

Mother? No wonder she doesn’t have to worry about customer relations, Anna thought. But what’s even more frightening is his taste in jewelry.

Mr. O’Leary stumbled out. Big, bulky, and middle-aged, he was attired in jeans, a red and black flannel jacket, and work boots. Watching him walk haltingly to the desk was like witnessing a baby taking his first steps. Anna wondered if he was the patient who hadn’t been to a dentist in twenty years. If he is, I bet it’s another twenty before he comes back, she decided.

Dr. Sharkey turned to Anna and Bobby and smiled. “Next victim!” he bellowed, then laughed heartily. “I made you smile, didn’t I? Welcome to the smile center! I understand it’s the gentleman who is here to see me.”

What a nerd this guy is, Anna thought.

Bobby nodded gravely, stood, and followed the cheery Dr. Sharkey into the treatment room. Before the door shut, Anna got a quick glance of a dentist’s chair that needed serious reupholstering, a tray lined with sharp metal utensils, and a tank of what she suspected might be nitrous oxide. She turned and watched as O’Leary took his appointment card, tried to locate his pocket but missed twice, and exited as though he’d just downed six beers. That must be nitrous oxide in there, she thought. And judging from Dr. Sharkey’s behavior, the tank must have sprung a leak.

Mother Sharkey had switched the TV channel to the news. She poured tea from a thermos as a reporter for a local station gave an update on the fire at Hennessy Castle.