colorless serum into the inside of my cheek, which hurt just as much as Heinz-Peter’s uppercut. Within seconds I felt seriously stoned and indifferent to the clear fact of my imminent death. I felt myself slipping away, but my last thought before blacking out for the second time that hour was remarkably sensible: Are you supposed to lose consciousness during a routine dental visit?
Through a gathering fog, I watched as the dentist miserably poked an unlit cigarette between his lips and struck a match.
* * *
Here’s where I note that Sara had strongly counseled against my coming here.
I called her from the London hotel, told her the whole story, how all these years I never knew that my legacy actually involved a little piece of cilantro staining my smile. She seemed to consider the tale a sort of dark comedy—until I mentioned how I’d decided to modify my travel itinerary.
“That’s a very bad idea,” she’d said. “It’s dangerous, Teddy. You don’t see that?”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Look, I know you think you’re a bit of a tough guy, but having a temper doesn’t make you a badass.”
I hooted. Sara never used words like badass —she’d gone to Dartmouth—and she could only hope to sell it by attaching it to a cute little sneer.
It was rather unlike her to interfere. We tended to stay out of each other’s way. We shared an apartment and looked forward to the comfort of each other’s company at the end of the day, but we could go for long stretches where we were little more than apparitions haunting the same apartment.
“I’ll be fine,” I assured her.
“This is foolish, Teddy,” she charged, a siren of panic in her voice. “Traveling to some unfamiliar place to find some man you know nothing about? And then what?”
“Calm down, Sara.”
“It’s not me that needs to calm down. You’re angry now, but your anger will subside, probably just as you’re staring into this photographer’s face. You can’t stop people from saying things about you. You should have thicker skin.”
“This is different. It’s a cheap shot.”
“You can’t stop people from taking cheap shots at you either.”
“Sara—you’re making far too big a deal out of this.”
“Me?”
“I’m going to Switzerland to have a little chat with an artist. I’m not going to Bolivia to take down a junta.”
Having reached something akin to a crescendo, Sara sailed over the edge into a plane of helpless silence. Helpless silence was, in fact, her stock in trade. It greeted her first thing in the morning and planted its cold kiss on her each night. She had learned the hard way, maybe the hardest way, that life shouldn’t be frittered away on vanity and caprice. I was a former rock star, however, so vanity and caprice were my stock in trade, with a warehouse that never ran low on inventory.
“I’m not going to disappear, Sara. I promise.”
“Do whatever you want.” And she hung up.
How idiotic to promise someone you won’t disappear, as if vanishing were something you scheduled.
There was a degree of justice in my landing here in this dentist’s chair. The universe had witnessed my clamoring rage, and for my trouble had awarded me a prosthetic denture. Surely a perverse contortion of biblical justice, this tooth for a tooth. For Sara, there was no concept as meaningless as justice. She’d learned from experience that there was no justice, would never again be justice. That was as plain as day. But some of us needed to be hit over the head.
Literally.
* * *
The scenery wore the refreshed, vital colors of early evening when Heinz-Peter steered us back up the stone driveway. The day had begun to end.
A dinner invitation had been repeatedly extended—if he now considered me a friend, he had a rather twisted concept of the word—and roundly rejected. I’d survived H-P’s fist, his driving, and the handiwork of the village dentist.
Through a gathering fog, I watched as the dentist miserably poked an unlit cigarette between his lips and struck a match.
* * *
Here’s where I note that Sara had strongly counseled against my coming here.
I called her from the London hotel, told her the whole story, how all these years I never knew that my legacy actually involved a little piece of cilantro staining my smile. She seemed to consider the tale a sort of dark comedy—until I mentioned how I’d decided to modify my travel itinerary.
“That’s a very bad idea,” she’d said. “It’s dangerous, Teddy. You don’t see that?”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Look, I know you think you’re a bit of a tough guy, but having a temper doesn’t make you a badass.”
I hooted. Sara never used words like badass —she’d gone to Dartmouth—and she could only hope to sell it by attaching it to a cute little sneer.
It was rather unlike her to interfere. We tended to stay out of each other’s way. We shared an apartment and looked forward to the comfort of each other’s company at the end of the day, but we could go for long stretches where we were little more than apparitions haunting the same apartment.
“I’ll be fine,” I assured her.
“This is foolish, Teddy,” she charged, a siren of panic in her voice. “Traveling to some unfamiliar place to find some man you know nothing about? And then what?”
“Calm down, Sara.”
“It’s not me that needs to calm down. You’re angry now, but your anger will subside, probably just as you’re staring into this photographer’s face. You can’t stop people from saying things about you. You should have thicker skin.”
“This is different. It’s a cheap shot.”
“You can’t stop people from taking cheap shots at you either.”
“Sara—you’re making far too big a deal out of this.”
“Me?”
“I’m going to Switzerland to have a little chat with an artist. I’m not going to Bolivia to take down a junta.”
Having reached something akin to a crescendo, Sara sailed over the edge into a plane of helpless silence. Helpless silence was, in fact, her stock in trade. It greeted her first thing in the morning and planted its cold kiss on her each night. She had learned the hard way, maybe the hardest way, that life shouldn’t be frittered away on vanity and caprice. I was a former rock star, however, so vanity and caprice were my stock in trade, with a warehouse that never ran low on inventory.
“I’m not going to disappear, Sara. I promise.”
“Do whatever you want.” And she hung up.
How idiotic to promise someone you won’t disappear, as if vanishing were something you scheduled.
There was a degree of justice in my landing here in this dentist’s chair. The universe had witnessed my clamoring rage, and for my trouble had awarded me a prosthetic denture. Surely a perverse contortion of biblical justice, this tooth for a tooth. For Sara, there was no concept as meaningless as justice. She’d learned from experience that there was no justice, would never again be justice. That was as plain as day. But some of us needed to be hit over the head.
Literally.
* * *
The scenery wore the refreshed, vital colors of early evening when Heinz-Peter steered us back up the stone driveway. The day had begun to end.
A dinner invitation had been repeatedly extended—if he now considered me a friend, he had a rather twisted concept of the word—and roundly rejected. I’d survived H-P’s fist, his driving, and the handiwork of the village dentist.
Similar Books
