{"id":7206,"date":"2016-06-08T20:59:44","date_gmt":"2016-06-09T02:59:44","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.jerseydevilpress.com\/?page_id=7206"},"modified":"2016-06-08T20:59:44","modified_gmt":"2016-06-09T02:59:44","slug":"dr-bruce","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"http:\/\/www.jerseydevilpress.com\/?page_id=7206","title":{"rendered":"Dr. Bruce"},"content":{"rendered":"

Z.Z. Boone<\/strong><\/p>\n

I am not comfortable with dentists. Not even my own, Bruce Costello, whom I\u2019ve been seeing since I was a kid. He\u2019s a storyteller, this guy, and some of his tales have proven to be less than factual. I\u2019ve even found a couple, recapped almost word-for-word, on an \u201curban legends\u201d website.<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve stayed away for over two years. Besides the physical discomfort, there\u2019s the expense accrued thanks to no dental plan. But that day at work when I bite into a pistachio and suddenly feel an unfamiliar sensation in one of my back teeth, I quickly pick up the phone and call Westport Dental Clinic.<\/p>\n

At the clinic, Dr. Bruce — as he insists on being called — tells me I\u2019ve cracked a molar. He says he can give me a temporary cap, but that I have to come back a week from tomorrow for the permanent. I apologize for being away for so long, but Bruce doesn\u2019t seem to care. He shoots me up with Novocain, straps what looked like a miner\u2019s light to his forehead, cranks back my chair. There\u2019s an attractive middle-aged dental hygienist named Holli — a woman I\u2019d never seen before — assisting.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo,\u201d he says. \u201cHow\u2019s things?\u201d<\/p>\n

Things have been shitty. Shittiest of all is the fact that my girlfriend has moved in with some veterinarian and taken my dog with her. The dog I can take or leave. My girlfriend I want back.<\/p>\n

\u201cThings are good,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s cool,\u201d Dr. Bruce says. \u201cA lot can change in two years. Hell. A lot can change in a day.\u201d<\/p>\n

Holli gives me a look like hold-tight-for-this-one.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou ever drive on the Merritt Parkway really early in the morning?\u201d Bruce asks. \u201cSix-fifteen, sun just coming up? It\u2019s like a ghost town. You might not see another car between here and Greenwich.\u201d<\/p>\n

His eyes shoot over toward Holli.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen was it? Last week?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWednesday,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n

Dr. Bruce pulls up a stool and takes a seat next to me while Holli arranges instruments on a stainless steel tray.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo I\u2019m driving north on the Merritt, lonely as a clam, when out of the corner of my eye I catch something. It\u2019s a car. A Kia. This weird color. Yellowish-green, like a lanced boil.\u201d<\/p>\n

I think to myself, doesn\u2019t he have another patient he can look in on until this Novocain kicks in?<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s pulled off on the shoulder and I\u2019m like, \u2018Hey. Thank God for cellphones.\u2019 Am I right?\u201d<\/p>\n

I make a noise that I hope sounds like agreement.<\/p>\n

\u201cExcept it hits me. We\u2019re on the Merritt. A dead spot every three miles. So I try my own phone and there it is. No reception. I think to myself. What\u2019s the last thing I need? A headline in some newspaper saying Medical Professional Blows Past Stroke Victim<\/em>. So I pull up behind the car and I walk up to the driver\u2019s window which is tinted almost black, and I tap.\u201d<\/p>\n

Dr. Bruce stops here and turns off his forehead light either to preserve the battery or add an element of foreboding. I\u2019m not sure which.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe window rolls down and there he is. Broad forehead, wide-spaced eyes, teeth gaped far enough apart he could floss with rope. We\u2019re not just talking ugly. We\u2019re talking circus ugly.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019d have taken off running,\u201d Holli says.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhich is what any sane person would do. Not me. I ask the guy if everything is all right and he tells me he\u2019s run out of gas and asks if I can give him a lift to this service station up at the next exit. He says he knows the guy who runs it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Bruce is on his feet now, his hands going, acting it out.<\/p>\n

\u201cImmediately I\u2019m thinking about those stories. You know the ones. Shovel to the back of the head, wallet lifted, shallow grave in the woods. But I\u2019m also scared to say no.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe road to ruin . . . \u201d Holli says.<\/p>\n

\u201cNext thing I know we\u2019re back on the road. The exit he wants is maybe three miles north, and we get there in no time. The guy gets out at the service station and he asks me if I mind waiting for a second. He pops inside and he comes out with this.\u201d<\/p>\n

Bruce takes out his wallet and removes a piece of paper folded in half.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a lottery betting slip and it\u2019s already filled out. \u2018Play this on the sixth,\u2019 he tells me. \u2018Not before, not after.\u2019 And he turns and starts back inside which is when I notice for the first time . . . \u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWait for it,\u201d Holli says almost to herself.<\/p>\n

” . . . that this guy is not wearing shoes and that he has no feet. He\u2019s like a goat. He\u2019s got these cloven hoofs he\u2019s walking on.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cProbably just the angle,\u201d Holli says.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know what I saw.\u201d<\/p>\n

For a few seconds, all I can hear is the gurgle of the spit sink.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo what are the numbers?\u201d I say, my lower lip already swelling to the size of a breakfast sausage.<\/p>\n

Dr. Bruce smiles and returns the betting slip to his wallet.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, I can\u2019t tell you that,\u201d he says. \u201cBecause suppose these numbers do<\/em> come in. Suppose I tell all my patients who decide it\u2019s worth a chance. The more winning tickets sold, the lower the individual payout.\u201d<\/p>\n

Bruce raps on my back tooth with the handle of one of those pokey things they use. I feel nothing. He looks over at Holli and she sticks that saliva sucker in my mouth as Dr. Bruce flips his light back on. They hover on either side of me.<\/p>\n

The sixth, I realize, is two days from now.<\/p>\n

The morning of the seventh, a Saturday, it\u2019s all over the local news. One of winning tickets was sold at The Beverage Boutique out on Old State Road. The winner has yet to step forward, yet to collect just under four million dollars. I figure there\u2019s no way, but I call the clinic where voicemail informs me that Dr. Costello isn\u2019t in, please try again during regular business hours, call 911 if this is a dental emergency. <\/em><\/p>\n

I hang up and go outside to run the weed wacker.<\/p>\n

Monday morning, at work, I get a call. My appointment for the permanent cap needs to be rescheduled. The receptionist says she can set me up at 4:30 on Friday with Dr. Addis.<\/p>\n

\u201cI always see Dr. Costello,\u201d I tell her.<\/p>\n

\u201cDr. Costello is no longer with us,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere did he go?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat information is unavailable,\u201d she says, and I get the impression this isn\u2019t the first time today she\u2019s delivered this update.<\/p>\n

\u201cMay I speak with Holli?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHolli is also no longer here.\u201d<\/p>\n

So I reschedule.<\/p>\n

Later, on the way home, when I stop at Gulliver\u2019s to pick up a take-out dinner, I see the headline on the front page of The Evening Advocate<\/em>: AREA DENTIST STRIKES GOLD. And there\u2019s this picture of Dr. Bruce grinning and holding a gigantic check with Holli standing maybe two feet off.<\/p>\n

My girlfriend, Kimberly, calls me that night. I\u2019m hoping that she\u2019s going to tell me that she\u2019s figured things out, that this whole deal with the vet was just a senseless fling and that she wants to come home. Be that the case, I won\u2019t hesitate to forgive her. But it\u2019s not. What Kimberly wants is half the money in our joint checking account. It isn\u2019t much — a little over a thousand bucks — but she has it figured down to the dime.<\/p>\n

I go dramatic. The spurned ex-lover from some Lifetime<\/em> TV movie.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs that what this is about?\u201d I ask. \u201cMoney?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d she says. \u201cPartially, I guess.\u201d<\/p>\n

She wants to know if I can write a check and leave it in my mailbox. She says she\u2019ll buzz by for it tomorrow while I\u2019m at work.<\/p>\n

I work as a claims adjuster for this grade-Z insurance company. You\u2019ve seen our commercials. The giraffe on the motorcycle? We stick our neck out for you<\/em>? That\u2019s us. My job keeps me on the road, and the morning after Kimberly tries to shake me down, I myself am driving north on the Merritt Parkway heading toward Stratford. It\u2019s raining and it\u2019s just after eight and traffic is heavy. I\u2019m on my phone when bam. Call dropped, GPS goes blank-screen.<\/p>\n

And immediately, I see it. A yellowish-green Kia pulled off on the shoulder up ahead. We\u2019re moving slowly enough that I have no trouble throwing on my flashers and pulling over behind it.<\/p>\n

Please<\/em>, I think to myself.<\/p>\n

I get out and approach — the rain beating down soaking my suit and flattening my hair like a wet shag carpet — but that\u2019s not what I care about. I can see white exhaust and the model name — Soul<\/em> — in chrome-plated script. I can see that the car is minus tags. I\u2019m close enough to almost reach forward and touch the tinted rear window.<\/p>\n

And then it takes off. Just pulls into traffic and in seconds disappears. I want to call out, but what would I say? All I can do is stand there looking.<\/p>\n

Follow it, right?<\/p>\n

Except that when I get back to my own car, it won\u2019t start. I pump the accelerator furiously, but nothing. A state trooper finally spots me and stops. I tell him the story, but of course, not the whole story.<\/p>\n

\u201cTry it again,\u201d he tells me. But the shitbox I drive refuses to turn over. \u201cFlooded,\u201d he says. \u201cGive it ten or fifteen minutes and try it again. I\u2019ll come by later and make sure you got off okay.\u201d<\/p>\n

He leaves and I wait and sure enough, the engine fires up.<\/p>\n

I ease into traffic. I\u2019m shivering, confused. My bad tooth is throbbing. I don\u2019t even have a goddamn dog anymore. I know who I am, but for a second — just for a second or two — I forget where I\u2019m going, why I\u2019m here, what I\u2019m looking for.<\/p>\n

Z.Z. BOONE<\/strong>‘s fiction has appeared in Jersey Devil Press<\/em>, New Ohio Review<\/em>, PANK<\/em>, Berkeley Fiction Review<\/em>, The MacGuffin, Potomac Review<\/em>, and other terrific places.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Z.Z. Boone I am not comfortable with dentists. Not even my own, Bruce Costello, whom I\u2019ve been seeing since I was a kid. He\u2019s a storyteller, this guy, and some of his tales have proven to be less than factual. … Continue reading →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"parent":7202,"menu_order":4,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-7206","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/P15duy-1Se","_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.jerseydevilpress.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/7206","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.jerseydevilpress.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.jerseydevilpress.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.jerseydevilpress.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.jerseydevilpress.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=7206"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"http:\/\/www.jerseydevilpress.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/7206\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":7224,"href":"http:\/\/www.jerseydevilpress.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/7206\/revisions\/7224"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.jerseydevilpress.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/7202"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.jerseydevilpress.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=7206"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}