Russell, grinning, still staring at Ben. Reached his right arm down. Put his hand around the car's right headlight. Massaging it. "Yeah, pretty soon, you know what? She even kinda, sorta likes what you doing. Likes that shame. Once you break her spirit, you only got to climb on her, put a sugar cube in her mouth, and you can ride, ride, ride that crying little bitch. And you got another one to cross off your list."
"Why aren't you taking off your tee-shirt?"
Russell looked embarrassed. "I don't know. I thought maybe we'd try it with my tee-shirt on this time. Mix it up."
Vickie swung her head around. Sat up on the kitchen floor. "Russell, don't bullshit me! Why aren't you taking your tee-shirt off? Come on, Russell! Why aren't you taking it off?"
"I, I…I just thought…"
Vickie reached behind him. Pulled his tee shirt up over his back. Yanked it off his close-cropped head.
"Vickie, listen, I–"
Vickie sucking in air. Alarmed look. "What's that! What's that, Russell?"
"What's what? I just–"
"You have a scratch on your back! Let me see it! Russell! Let me see it! Oh my God! It's a fingernail scratch. It's a fingernail scratch!"
"Vickie, honey, listen–"
"Who gave you a fingernail scratch on your back? It was her, wasn't it?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." Bare chest, frightened face. "I work with cars all day. Crawling under them…" Difficulty swallowing. "Climbing inside them. The back seat. The front seat. Writing up invoices."
She got to her feet. Hand reaching out. Steadying herself with a grasp on the top front of the microwave. Curled back her lips. Glaring down at him, still naked on the kitchen floor. Knees, hairy chest, big shoulders. "Did you have sex with her? Did you?"
"No! I don't know why–" Sitting bare-assed on the tiles, he pulled on his pants. Like a little boy. Fumbled with the belt buckle. "Why would you–"
"You had sex with her!"
"No! No, Vickie. I don't–"
The front doorbell rang.
"Shit!" She swung her head around.
"Baby, Vickie. Listen. I–"
"Get dressed! I have to show this house! Don't ruin this sale for me, or…"
He stood, up, frantic. Shoving his arms into the sleeves of his shirt. "Honey, listen–"
"Don't honey me! Run out into the backyard, and get dressed out there. On the side of the house away from any of the windows. Then get the rake and start raking the leaves in the backyard. Go!"
He stumbled forward, almost fell. "I am! I am! But Vickie, please, listen–"
The doorbell again.
She bent her head forward. Hands clapped over her ears. "Go! Go!"
The door off the small waiting room opened. It was Claire. "Mrs. Dobbs? The doctor will see you now."
Vickie followed her down the interior hallway. Passed a room where a girl in shorts was getting her teeth cleaned. Eyes shut, bright spotlight on her rows of teeth.
She was led to a room at the back, window looking out at the parking lot. Brown grass, bare trees.
Claire gestured at the reclining patient's chair.
Vickie lay down on the cushioned chair, looking up at the drop ceiling.
Claire snapped up the two padded side arms. "What are we seeing Dr. Tubock about today?"
"I have a back molar I'd like the doctor to pull."
Claire clipped Vickie's most recent full-mouth x-ray up against the illuminated screen next to the wash basin. In the gray mist of the x-ray, the smile of a ghost, teeth looming larger than real life. "Have you been having trouble with it?"
Vickie batted her eyes. "I'd like to discuss that with Dr. Tubock."
"Okay."
After a minute's wait, Dr. Tubock came into the small room, followed by Claire. Back turned to Vickie, he washed his hands in the sink. With the side of his right wrist, turned off the spigot. Shook both pink hands above the sink, like dogs. Claire handed him a paper towel.
"Well, Ms. Vickie! How are you today?"
"I'm doing fine, doctor."
"You have pain in one of your molars?"
"No. I'd just like to have the molar extracted."
"Let me take a look. Which one is it?"
"I thought the one all the way at the back, in the upper row, on the left side." She opened her mouth.
Bending over in his white jacket, he maneuvered his small round mirror inside, a stainless steel dental pic. "This one here?"
Vickie, mouth stretched open, nodded. Looked to the left as he examined it.
"Is it hurting you now?"
"No."
"Does it hurt when you eat?"
"No."
"You say you want it extracted?"
"That's what I want. Yes."
"Do you think it's infected?"
"I just want you to pull it, then give it to me."
He glanced at Claire. "Are you going to put it under your pillow? I can think of a lot less painful ways to get a dime."
"I just want it pulled."
Using his stainless steel pic, he tapped along both sides of the tooth. Pressed the side of the pic against the gum line. "It appears to be sound. I'm not seeing an infection. Claire, take an x-ray of it, please."
"That's not necessary. Just pull it and give it to me."
He rolled his stool over. Sat down on it, facing Vickie. "What's up?"
She blinked, long face getting impatient. "There's nothing up. I'm asking you to perform a service for me. I want you to pull that molar, and give it to me."
He placed the stainless steel pic back up on the tray. "That's an unusual request."
"It's my business."
"Well, you own the teeth in your mouth. But I can't, in good conscience, pull a tooth that seems perfectly fine."
"When is your lease up on this space?"
"Claire, why don't you make some more reminder calls for our patients scheduled for later this week? I'll call you if I need you."
"Don't go too far. He's going to need you in a couple of minutes."
Dr. Tubock rested his forearms on his upper thighs. "I think it's in eight months. I'd have to check. Do you want me to check?"
Vickie vigorously nodded her head up and down. Eyes angry. "It is in eight months. I gave you a significant discount last time around. I may have to rethink that. I could get a lot more for this space with a new tenant. That would be fine for me. But not so good for you. You'd have to find a new space in town–-if you can. Move all your equipment. All your files. Throw out all your printed materials, since the address would no longer be any good. Hope most of your patients will go to your new site, wherever it is. Hope most of your staff will agree to commute every day to the new site."
"Vickie, I–"
"Oh, you will pull it." She glared up at him. "You will pull it."
"I bought half a dozen bags of candy. They're still in the trunk."
Emily pulled down the sheet on her side of the bed. Instead of the bra and panties of their first months together, she was wearing a green nightgown that ended at her knees. He had noticed she put on a little weight. But didn't know how to bring it up. Or if he even should bring it up.
He reached over, across their bed. Put his hand on her shoulder, his usual overture. Leaned in for a kiss.
His hand still on the back of her neck, he asked, "Are you okay?"
"Yeah! Just a little, you know. Tired."
"Is it all right if we make love?"
"Yeah! Sure."
After some more kissing, his hands sliding around her body, getting her out of the nightgown, he moved himself between her thighs.
Reached down, positioned the head of his cock. Pushed forward. Again. "Sorry."
"That's fine!"
Again. "I don't want to–"
"I'm just a little dry."
"Do you want me to–"
"It's fine!"
"Is there anything I can do?"
She said nothing for a long time. About fifteen second
s. A long time, in that situation. "Do you want to spank me?"
"Spank you?"
"Would you?" She rolled over onto her stomach. Face turned on the pillow away from him.
He spoke to the back of her head. "This is new."
"Yeah."
Looked down at the cheeks of her bare ass. "Just…start spanking you?"
"Is that okay?"
"If that's what you want." He raised his right hand above her ass. "Tell me if it's too hard."
"I will."
Slapped his hand down on her left cheek. "Too hard?"
"Could you do it harder?"
Slapped down again, harder.
"Maybe harder?"
Raised his hand higher. Whipped his hand down against her ass.
Face buried in the pillow, her voice came out muffled. "Don't neglect the right cheek."
After five minutes, she asked him to put his hand around the back of her neck. Hold her in place.
"Wanna put it in me now? From behind? Please?"
He slid up inside her.
Soaking wet.
Ben lay on his back, one arm across his chest, snoring.
Emily, next to him, listened to him snore. The red numbers on her digital clock went from 10:41 to 10:42. Whatever she was thinking, in the dark, in their bed, she thought alone. 10:43. She almost fell asleep herself. Woke with a jerk of her jaw. 10:43. Memories come back, sometimes. She was just a little girl, and a boy she had never seen before sat down next to her on the concrete half wall. Waited until she had opened her mouth, then snatched the hot dog out of her hands. Crammed it into his own mouth, laughing around his chomps, pointing at her, then leaned forward and let the whole masticated brown and yellow mess drop out of his mouth. He hadn't even eaten it himself. He just didn't want her to eat it. 10:44. She didn't own a gun. She wondered how difficult it was to buy a gun. Can you buy a gun over the Internet? If you're an adult? 10:45. Next week, she'd go shopping for drapes for their living room. There was that. 10:46. Five minutes. He wasn't waking up. He was in deep sleep.
Lifting the sheet off her naked body, she slipped out of her side of the bed. Tip-toed in her bare feet to the door. Turned around, looking back at him. Still snoring.
Out in the kitchen, she clicked on the light over the stove. Enough to see by. Got down on her knees at the cabinet under the kitchen sink. Quietly swung open the door. Pulled out dishwasher detergent, two-tone sponges, carpet cleaner, Draino, setting each item down on the moon-lit floor beside her.
Reached in, way back.
Pulled out a clear plastic bag, cupcakes tumbling inside. Each cupcake had a square of wax paper across its top. The square flattened the swirl atop each cupcake, but at least kept the frosting in place.
Like they were oversized peanuts, she crammed one after another in her mouth, chewing, swallowing, sitting on the kitchen floor, sad eyes above her moving jaw.
Ouch!
Broken tooth.
Spitting cupcake into her palm.
How do you break a tooth on a cupcake?
Horrified, she ran her tongue over her upper teeth. Lower teeth.
Heart beating, checked again.
It was one of her front upper teeth.
Tongue tip feeling a big jagged gap on the side of the tooth.
Sitting alone on the floor, cupcake mess in her palm, she started crying.
Went over to the microwave. Bent her knees, smiling at her reflection.
Yup. There it was. Big chip in her front tooth.
Balled her right fist. Felt something hard in it.
Went through the cupcake mess in her palm.
Another tooth. A whole tooth.
Grinned again, frightened, at her microwave reflection. The chip in her front tooth, but no other tooth missing.
Looked down at the tooth in her palm.
Whose tooth was this?
Emily sat at their kitchen table, staring at the angel and devil salt and pepper shakers. While Ben prepared breakfast.
He turned around with the metal spatula still in his hand. Country boy grin. "Hey, you know, I thought maybe after our eggs we could take a drive out to old Rashom's place, maybe go swimming. I could pack a picnic for us. You like Underwood devilled ham sandwiches?"
She stayed hunched by her cup of coffee, steam rising. "Yeah. Sure."
"You okay? You're acting kind of funny."
Sat back in her chair. "I am so fine! Sounds like fun!"
He set her plate in front of her. "I scrambled the eggs, because I don't know how to fry them. I can fry them on one side, but then when I go to flip them over? To fry them on the other side? Sunny-side down style? The yolks always break."
She picked up her fork. "These look great."
"I sautéed some chopped-up onion to put in the eggs. I like them that way."
She brought a yellow forkful of scrambled eggs to her mouth. Held the forkful there.
"Vickie, she was telling me she's getting some sports reporter from the Dallas News to come out to my next race. She thinks he may want to do a story on me, maybe even with a photograph of my face. I don't know, it sounds too good to be true, but…"
The forkful of yellow eggs stayed in front of her mouth. Steam rising from the yellow curds.
Ben looked up from his plate. "Are you smelling your eggs? They're good. I smelled them already."
Her panicky eyes.
"You okay, Emily?"
Horrible grin on her face. She tried pushing the forkful of eggs against her teeth, to get her teeth to open. Didn't work.
"Emily?"
"I aving a oblem."
"Emily? Sweetheart?"
He left his half-finished plate, got into some clothes. Holding his arm around the back of her shoulders, he escorted her out to his car, the passenger side. Made sure she had her hands and feet inside the car. Stretched down her seat belt for her, clicked it into place. "We're going to get you help. Don't you worry."
Backing out of their driveway, heading towards the highway. His worried eyes looking back at him from the rearview mirror.
He wasn't allowed behind the swinging doors at the rear of the Mt. Tyson emergency room. Sat on a long dark bench against the white wall with other people worrying and praying, until a half hour had passed.
Emily was in a curtained cubicle, no nurses or doctors in sight.
He stood on one side of the bed, holding her hand. "Did they say what they think it is?"
Looking up from her pillow, eyes red, jaw clamped shut, she shook her head.
After a while he rolled over a stool by extending his leg, hooking his foot around one of its wheels. Sitting down on it while still continuously holding her hand. As if–-who knows?–-if he let go of her hand, even for a moment, it might worsen her.
Around ten o'clock in the morning a doctor in a long white jacket came in. Smiled at Ben, but in a way that said, Don't say anything.
The doctor focused his attention on Emily, looking down at her as she lay in the white bed.
He felt both sides of her jaw.
"Well, it's a lot like lockjaw. Except worse. She can't open her mouth. Did she step on a nail, or anything else that was rusty?"
"I don't believe she did, no. She came down for breakfast like always. We don't have any nails in our home. Not on the floor, at least. I have a couple of boxes of nails out in the garage."
"She can breathe between her teeth. And she can breathe through her nostrils. So it's not life-threatening." He stared down at her, thinking. Ben stayed quiet.
"She has some mobility in her jaw. So she probably could eat food that doesn't require her to separate her two rows of teeth by more than an inch or so. We'll test her while you're here, but I suspect she would be able to eat ground beef. And soup."
"She couldn't eat her scrambled eggs."
"Well, that was probably because she didn't know what was going on, and was afraid. There's no point in her being admitted, which I'm sure would be upsetting to both of you. Especially since y
ou live all the way over in Wayside. Meanwhile, we'll run some blood tests, some bacterial studies based on what we swabbed from her mouth. I'm going to have a home health care agency come out to your home, to teach you how to feed her. Until she gets better."
"Sure thing."
The nurse from the home health care agency was waiting in Ben's driveway when he and Emily got home. Which was reassuring. She had a big, friendly smile, even more reassuring. And a large cardboard box tucked under her left armpit.
Ben led her into the living room. "I didn't get a chance to clean up."
The nurse winked at him. "You should see my place. Can I set this down on the sofa? It's heavy."
"Absolutely." He watched as she transferred the cardboard box from under her arm to the sofa's middle cushion.
"What have you got in there?"
That did surprise the nurse. "It's the Maxilla-Mandibular Muscle Motion Monitor."
"The what and what?" Uneasy grin.
She opened the top flaps of the box. "Didn't doctor tell you? We need to monitor your girlfriend's muscle motions, so we can pinpoint what's causing her paralysis. This device monitors the motions of the muscles around the maxilla and mandible. Could you pull it out, please? My spine's hurting."
He reached into the box. Backs of his hands sliding down the interior cardboard sides of the box, bowing them out. Palms descending around a large, hard plastic shape. Once his fingers were at the bottom of the shape, he pulled up. But the box came up with his effort.
"Let me help." The nurse held the outside of the box in place. He lifted again, white Styrofoam peanuts falling out as the shape within emerged.
He held it out in his hands, studying it. "Looks like a football helmet."
"That's what everyone says!"
Emily, sitting on the sofa next to the now-empty box, glanced up in alarm at the size of the helmet.
The nurse dug around in the Styrofoam peanuts at the bottom of the box. Pulled out a handful of round discs, long wires trailing from their centers.
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