Saturn's Return to New York Page 12

  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.

  Chapter 17

  The first time I was in El Elohim I
was seven. My father had just died and I went into a state of shock I wouldn’t speak and I wouldn’t eat. They fed me through an intravenous tube and psychiatrists came in with little hand puppets and tried to make me talk. Finally I came to see that all I had to do was open my mouth, open just a little, let them push food in and pull words out and I could leave.

  The second time I was twenty-seven. I had been back from Miami for two months I had left Florida with that one-way ticket and a rush of righteous indignation, back in the city I wasn’t quite so strong and sure. I didn’t have a job, because I didn’t know what I wanted to do I didn’t have an apartment, because I wasn’t sure where I wanted to live. What I was doing was sleeping on Veronica’s couch in Brooklyn Heights and going out almost every night

  The night that ended in El Elohim started off at a bar on Third Street with an old friend from Tompkin’s Square Park, Jessie, and a few other girls I knew, drinking gin and tonics and taking trips to the bathroom in twos and threes to do a little coke It was close to Christmas, December 23, and everyone was happy For the first time in a long time I was almost enjoying myself. Everyone knew I had been down and the girls rallied around me, telling me silly little stories about work and dates and nights on the town to cheer me up

  Then one of Jessie’s friends, Jenny, mentioned Quaaludes. Officially the tranquihzers had gone out of production in 1976, but every once in a while a dealer claimed to have a cache They were made in a basement, the rumors went, or they were European imports, or they were still sold over the counter in Mexico. Now Jenny was saying she had a source, a reliable source in the form of a dealer named Electric Dave who everyone knew and everyone trusted, and Jenny swore they were real

  I wanted them I knew of Electric Dave but I had never met him, so I offered Jenny two if she would take me to his place. Ten dollars a pop It was a deal.

  Electric Dave answered the door of his ritzy lower Fifth Avenue apartment in ripped jeans and no shirt. His skin was inked with heavy metal fantasy tattoos, goblins, princesses, warriors. A girl was sitting on the couch in boxer shorts and a T-shirt Introductions were made all around. I told Dave what I wanted—ten pills—and the girl fixed us drinks while Dave disappeared. Someone put Metallica on the stereo. Dave came back out, the exchange was made, and we had a few more drinks and small talk before we split. In a cab back to the East Village I gave Jenny three pills instead of two, feeling generous. We each popped one and by the time we got back to the bar we felt relaxed and velvety and soft. The other girls were gone but a few guys we knew were hanging out at the bar so we joined them One of them, Julio, I hadn’t seen for a few years and he wanted to know where I had been. I told him about Miami and asked where he had been. Prison, he said, for dealing dope A few hours passed and Jenny and I each took another pill The guys offered us a little coke and we each took a taste When four o’clock came around we debated an after-hours club and decided, yes. Why not after-hours?

  Frankie’s was a mob-run little hole-in-the-wall a few blocks away, on Stanton and Ludlow The best thing about Frankie’s was that you never knew who you would see there Businessmen, call girls, rockers, club kids—give anyone enough coke and they’d end up at Frankie’s at four-thirty. I saw a girl I knew from Livingston Books and we got into a deep conversation at the bar. Her boyfriend had just left her and she felt like crap

  “I just got dumped too,” I said, and as I said it I felt sick to my stomach. It was so mundane, a woman dumped by a man. Pathetic. My spirits couldn’t go back up after that. I left without saying good-bye to anyone. A gray dawn was breaking, and I got a cab and tried not to cry on the way to Brooklyn. Back at the apartment I was alone. Veronica was spending the night at a boyfriend’s and wouldn’t be back probably until early afternoon. I took another Quaalude, but the coke kept me up I lay on the couch and drifted in and out of consciousness I liked the unconscious better than the conscious so I took another pill, and then maybe a few more.

  The next thing I knew Veronica was screaming and slapping my face Then I was in the emergency room of El Elo-him. The lights were bright and a crowd of people in scrubs and lab coats were around me. I tasted vomit in my mouth. Someone was saying my name I felt like I had been run over by a truck.

  I had failed

  After they pumped my stomach they kept me in El Elohim for a forty-eight-hour psych evaluation and medical observation. Like Dr. Tracy said, nice people. On Saturday I told the social worker who came to interview me that I had never taken Quaaludes before and didn’t know they were dangerous She believed me On Sunday I passed my neurological exam with aces No permanent damage On Monday morning I was given my clothes and released, with a five-thousand-dollar bill for treatment, room, and board that I would never pay, since Veronica had been clever enough to check me in under her third cousin’s name.

  Before I checked out I found the E.R. doctor who had pumped my stomach. He was about my age, a myopic WASPy guy in khakis and a plaid shirt and those funny doctor’s clogs who, I imagined, had seen more of the world during his time at El Elohim than he had in the prior twenty-seven years combined.

  I asked him if the Quaaludes were real. He took off his glasses and laughed, but he wouldn’t tell me.

  “Just be more careful next time,” he said. “You’re young No one wants to lose you yet ”

  I promised that I would, and I checked out and left.

  Now I’m back to get my tooth pulled, for free, from a last-year dental student Dr. Tracy was right—it is a separate entrance from the psych ward, although of course I don’t remember the entrance, only the exit Dr. Tracy was also right about the doctors—they’re young, they’re nice, they’re unflappable What he did not tell me is that the El Elohim dental clinic is where guests of the New York City prison system are taken for dental work. So for an hour in the waiting room I’m kept company by three handcuffed prisoners and six correctional officers. One of the inmates has tears in his eyes When my name is called I whisper to the doctor that the crying man can go ahead of me. No one says anything, we all just nod, and I wait another half hour.

  Shanaishwaraya.

  Finally my name is called again and then I’m in the chair. Like the E R doctor who so dramatically saved my life, the dentists in the clinic are world-weary. One young man gives me a skillfully quick shot of novocaine. Another takes a small horrific chrome tool, puts it in my mouth, wiggles a little, and that’s it It’s gone. I can’t resist a jab with my tongue and there’s nothing, a hole with a small wad of gauze plugged in. I jab again. The hole seems wrong.

  And I miss that tooth I am flooded with regret. Why didn’t I Save The Tooth? Why do I have to lose everything? When the dentists have their backs turned I reach into my mouth and feel the hole with my finger, it’s bloody and pulpy and empty. It’s wrong. Something is missing. A lot is missing Everything is missing It’s like the dream that you’ve gone to school and forgotten your clothes; a moment of irrevocable shame. How did I end up in El Elohim again? I’m choking on blood and tears and they’re calling my emergency contact. I am terrified that they will put me into psych again; I explain to the doctors that I am not crazy, I just miss my tooth. Maybe they can put it back? The young doctors are nonplussed. This happens a lot, they say, with extractions.

  My emergency contact is Veronica. She bundles me up and gets me in a cab and takes me back to her apartment. On her couch I feel better, if utterly pathetic. Veronica is kind enough to act as though this is normal.

  “I’m not surprised,” she says “This had to happen some time. We were just talking about it the other day.”

  “Who?”

  “Me and Jessie And some other people. About how you were going to flip out sometime soon It’s too much: the life you’ve had, now with your mother, and Austin coming back, and this woman stalking you at work It’s too much ”

  For the first time I think, Goddamn, I have had a hard life No wonder I’m so fucked up. “So this is it? I’m losing my mind?”

  “Nah. You’re just
losing your shit a little bit It’s totally natural In the long run you’ll be fine.”

  “How do you know?” I’m thinking, maybe I won’t be Maybe I’ll give up the struggle and spend the rest of my life in a refrigerator box on the Bowery

  “That’s the other thing we were talking about You’ll make it You could make it through anything ”

  Chapter 18

  Lately I visit my mother three or four days a week to check in. I call the day before to let her know I’m coming. I call again before I leave home to remind her. Today she swears I did not call yesterday, that in fact I have not called in weeks There’s no point in arguing And when I get to Commerce Street she’s no longer angry at me for my neglect. It’s almost as if I just called yesterday.

  Sometimes she’s here, sometimes she’s not. On good days she goes by the GV office for a while Kevin is overwhelmed by his new job and he’s happy to have her help On good days she does all the fun things you imagine a retired person would do. She meets Erica for lunch, she goes to galleries, to readings, to movies, and she remembers these things and tells me about them. On bad days she tries to stay home. She’s still well enough to know a good day from a bad day; she says if she wakes up with a headache she knows it’s a bad day and tries to stay home. She tries to hold on to the thought, I must stay home today Sometimes it doesn’t work and she goes out looking for the past. She walks over to Jefferson Market and wonders when it closed (it moved across the street ten years ago), she tries to have lunch at Pere Francois and cannot understand how it’s turned into a McDonald’s overnight.

  I come by with take-out from Empire Szechuan and it’s a bad day and she’s confused. But at least she’s happy to see me.

  “Honey, you’re back from school!”

  “I’ve been out of school for years, Mom I brought dinner. Cashew chicken ”