3:AM Magazine

By Jessica Patient.

My gums were receding like melting ice caps. Brushing too hard, too vigorous, too often for that perfect smile, designer smile, celebrity smile.

“They’ll be gone by the time your twenty five,” the dentist said, dragging her long bony, latex covered, condom smelling gloved fingers across my sore, inflamed gums.

The choking smell of disinfectant filled up the small virgin white walls. The instruments of pain, no strike that out, torture looked freshly sharpened and polished. The harsh blaze of light from the ceiling strip-bulb gave them an extra glimmer.

“It’ll cost you a lot to fix this problem,” she said. Her voice all muffled through the masked covering her face.

Her teeth, unnaturally white and straight like a ruler were probably paid for by unsuspecting victims like me. In my mind shopping bags full of sequinned scarves, natty necklaces, slinky shoes and jingly jewellery all disappearing as the dentist rolled off a four figured sum. A number that huge should only appear on price tags from London, Milan and Paris.

I had a feeling she was conning me out of valuable shopping money so she could have a super slim, super fast, super sleek sports car. She talked about how her dream as a child of owning one and she even had a picture on the ceiling for her victims to stare at while being tortured. So, seeking out a second opinion from a dentist’s whose surgery was off the high street, away from the shiny shop signs, hypnotising window displays and gazing eyes of mannequins, I reluctantly forced my way through crowds of shoppers with the bulging bags full of high priced, new priced, fashion priced clothes. Those are my comrades, who battle to stay ahead of fashion and not slip behind into out-of-date, sale tagged, slash priced rags. Not even a seductive scarlet bag, fresh from the catwalk, now nestled in the shop window had the strength to take my mind off the steam-rolling pain that travelled across my gums.

The clip clopping of my leather laced-up boots echoed around the side alley and vibrated up the high walls. Discarded merchandise overflowed from the bins. Designer cut-offs mangled with trash. A mental note for later: I would be back for those neglected garments.

Streetlamps choked every so often with a flickering of light. The surgery’s neon light shone bright like a lighthouse beacon and gave the alleyway a pink hazy glow. Wedged between a pole dancing club and a poker society, all three businesses has the same opening hours – after the shop shutters go down.

“Oh, my lovely, this is a gold mine,” the dentist said as he soothed my gums with a massage.

His rugged hair poked out of his dental cap with stray stranded clinging to this mouthwash stained white t-shirt. His stonewashed jeans were something from a 1984 film. His clothes were faded and cheap with a hint of convenience store quality. Everyone has faults but I was not going to blame a dentist with a pine tan, bulging muscles and dark chocolate brown eyes. Not the sort of rough tasting chocolate from a supermarket but the luxurious assortment box that dissolves on the tongue. The sort you would smuggle across a checkpoint, the sort that hypnotises, the dribbling sort.

“Worth a fair penny or even more.”

Eagerly nodding, I could not speak as his fingers still gently caressing my gums.

A nurse tottered around the broom cupboard sized room and set out more candles. Her longing draping brunette hair and bulging cleavage made her look like she was on a break from the dancing club. She handed over a shot glass of vodka tasting mouthwash. Immediately I spat it back into glass but mostly into my lap. My mouth was on fire from the pain.

“How much?” I finally said, twisting the white gold ring around my finger. It was a recent purchase but still had twenty-four payments left to pay.

“Hundreds,” he said, his fingers gently caressing the tops of my shoulders.

“Even thousands,” the nurse said, striking another match and lighting a bigger, brighter candle.

“It depends on the market. At the moment there are more buyers than sellers.”

“I got these,” the nurse said, groping her breasts, “Because of these.” She opened her mouth and revealed several small, neat gaps in her mouth. Tucked away at the sides, the holes were none of the public view teeth but the less showy, less desirable, chunkier teeth.

“And replacements are cheap,” he said stroking my cheeks, “but we’ll require a deposit.”

“To secure a buyer,” the nurse said quickly. She smiled, showing only her sparkly front teeth.

“And so we can also acquire your replacement dentures.”

“Oh yes, yes,” the nurse said. She was getting over excited like a door-to-door salesman about to make a breakthrough sale.

The nurse pulled back the curtain. Shoppers on their way were walking past with bulging designer bags of shopping. The bag in the window with a glittering price tag seemed to be fading away. The deposit would drain my purse of gleaming coppers and simmering silver pennies. The deposit would surge the credit card to the max and tip it over into the abbess of bank charges, red letters and debt, debt, debt.

“As yours don’t look too bad, I reckon a thousand per tooth, minimum,” he said, running his fingers through my hair. “Big fat bankers like tooth-pearled necklaces to keep their wives sweet while their mistress hides in the wardrobe.”

I could change the throwaway teeth to match with the fashions. Have sparkles for the holiday period, encrusted gems for the summer and gold teeth for first dates. A girl needs to show she can hold her own. But that gorgeous, blood red bag, the one on everyone’s arm, the one calling out to me from the window. Well, there would be another next season.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jessica Patient is the winner of the Worldskills UK Creative Writing competition 2008. She has had several flash stories published on Six Sentences, Pygmy Giant, Hackwriters and poems published in anthologies. Jessica is currently working on several short stories and is trying to write a novel. She lives in Bedfordshire, England.

First published in 3:AM Magazine: Thursday, August 6th, 2009.