CROWNING ACHIEVEMENT by William Hartel (fiction)

Charlie Tilson stomped heavily on the "Welcome" mat in Dr. McCrea's waiting   room, clumps of snow falling from his boots.
     "Still coming down?" Dr. McCrea asked.
     "Sure is," Charlie said. "Looks like I may have to bring the plow around tomorrow to clear off your parking lot, Doc."
     "That won't be necessary Charlie," Cheryl said. "We'll be on vacation next week. The office will be closed."
     The waiting room was empty and Charlie stamped his feet a few more times before removing his coat.
     "Here, let me take that for you, Charlie," Cheryl said. She took his blue parka and hung it on the corner coat rack.
     "I'm sure glad you could fit me in before you left town, Doc," Charlie said. He extended a beefy hand to the doctor who shook it firmly.
     "I couldn't leave without finishing up your case," Dr. McCrea said. "I've been looking forward to this day since we started six months ago."
     "You know, sometimes I can't believe how lucky I was to meet you, Doc.” Charlie said. “Just think, I found you at the exact time you were looking for someone to fix up your office. I got real worried when you said you had to cap all my teeth. There's no way in hell I could've paid for all that, after my divorce and all. I don't know what I would've done if you didn’t suggest that I could work off the treatment. I just hope you're as satisfied with my work as I am with yours."
     "We're very pleased with your work, Charlie," Cheryl said. "The office is always so clean. Just look at the floors -- the tile sparkles, and the carpets look cleaner than ever."
     "And the carpentry work and the painting on the trim around the windows looks terrific," Dr. McCrea added. "Better than when the building was new."
     "Kind of like my teeth," Charlie said as he sat in the dental chair. "Better'n when they were new." Cheryl pressed the switch to tilt the chair back.
     Dr. McCrea pulled a blue face mask over his head and positioned it over his mouth and nose. He snapped a pair of latex gloves over his hands and flexed his fingers.
     "I'm going to use a little anesthetic so your tooth won't be sensitive," Dr. McCrea said. Cheryl handed the doctor a loaded syringe. 
     "I know, I know, just like last time and the time before that. You're going to ask me again if I'm allergic to anything, right?" Charlie said. He turned toward Cheryl. "Every time its the same. He always asks me, and every time I say 'just penicillin.' Your husband's memory must be fading, huh," Charlie said with a wink. "You're not going to shoot me with any penicillin are you, Doc? They said that could kill me."
     "No, Charlie, I didn't forget, and no, I'm not going to shoot with any penicillin," Dr. McCrea said, with a shake of his head. "I always ask that before I give an injection -- its just an old habit of mine after fifteen years of practice." He gently inserted the tip of the needle into his pink gum tissue. Slowly he expressed the fluid and removed the needle.
     "Man, I didn't feel a thing," Charlie said. "You're the best dentist I ever saw. Absolutely no pain."
     "Thank you, Charlie," Dr. McCrea said. "That means a lot to me."
     "Most dentist's don't care if they hurt you. I saw this one guy to yank out my wisdom tooth. I swear he was standing on my chest."
     "I've never once had to stand on a patient's chest to get a tooth out," Dr. McCrea said. "Kneel, yes, but stand, never," he added, a smile playing about his eyes.
     "I kid you not," Charlie said, holding his hand up as though taking an oath.
     Dr. McCrea flipped open the lid of the small plastic box that held Charlie's new crown. He removed the porcelain tooth, its gently curved surface and smooth edges glistening as he turned it over in his gloved finger tips. He lowered magnifying loupes over his eyes to examine it. "These new pressed ceramic crowns are incredible. They are so much nicer than the old porcelain on metal crowns we used to do." He raised the magnifying lenses back to the top of his head.
     "They're so lifelike that Doctor had his own teeth crowned with those last year," Cheryl added.
     "Really?" Charlie said, turning toward Dr. McCrea. "You're making me the same kind of caps you got?"
     "Absolutely," Dr. McCrea said. "Wouldn't have it any other way. Is that staring to feel numb yet?"
     "A little -- it's not quite dead yet."
     "We'll I'm in no hurry," Dr. McCrea said. "Unless you are..."
     "I'm not in a rush. I got no where to go and all night to get there." Charlie pinched his upper lip. "Who does all your dental work, Doc?"
     "I've been a patient of Dr. Weber since I was a kid," Dr. McCrea said.
     "Didn't I just read about him in the paper? He helped identify those people who died in the plane crash."
     "Yeah, that's Bob Weber. He works with the medical examiner from time to time," Dr. McCrea said. "Is that starting to feel more numb."
     "Deadern 'a doornail," Charlie answered. "Just let me know if I start drooling."
     "Well, let's go then," Dr. McCrea said. "Crown remover, please."
     With an instrument which resembled a pair of scissors with curved tips at the end, Dr. McCrea carefully slid the plastic temporary crown off the stump of Charlie's tooth. "The tissue looks very healthy," Dr. McCrea said. "You're doing a fine job taking care of all these crowns."
     "I want them to last the rest of my life."
     "I guarantee it," Dr. McCrea added. Cheryl rinsed the tooth stump with a stream of water, then dried it with a short blast of air. "Any sensitivity?"
     "None at all," Charlie said.
     "Great," Dr. McCrea said. "Let's see how the shade of the new crown matches." He held the new tooth beside the crowns in Charlie's mouth and studied the color. "Perfect, wouldn't you say Cheryl?"
     She moved her head so that she was directly facing Charlie. She tilted the overhead light so that it illuminated his teeth, then tilted the light away. "Dead ringer, I'd say."
     "After 23 crowns you'd think I'd be able to get it right," Dr. McCrea quipped. " Ready to mix the cement?"
     "I'm way ahead of you," Cheryl said. She carefully expressed one drop of liquid from a glass syringe into a depression in a ceramic dish.
     "Man, that stuff smells like airplane glue," Charlie said, fanning his hand in front of his nose.
     "This is much stronger than airplane glue," Dr. McCrea said as he placed a small bit of the creamy mixture inside the crown. "It's the strongest cement in dentistry." Dr. McCrea placed the crown on Charlie's tooth and pressed it into place with his gloved finger.
     "The strongest and most expensive," Cheryl said. "This little syringe cost almost $200." She held up the glass and metal cylinder.
     "Why so much," Charlie tried to ask, although the doctor's fingers in his mouth made it difficult.
     "Because it's so extremely flammable that it has to be made in small batches," Dr. McCrea said. "It contains tri-butyl borane, an ingredient in some rocket fuels. But don't worry, when used according to the instructions, it's very safe."
     With a sickle-shaped instrument Cheryl carefully removed the excess cement while Dr. McCrea held the crown in place.
     Dr. McCrea placed a strip of dark blue paper between his patient's front teeth. "Close your teeth together, Charlie," Dr. McCrea said.
     Charles tapped his teeth together on the paper then opened. With a small round mirror, Dr. McCrea examined the blue marks made by the paper. "The bite looks right," Dr. McCrea said, rolling his stool away from his patient.
     "Feels perfect, doc," Charlie said. He turned to Cheryl "How does it look?" He smiled broadly.
     "It looks perfect, too," Cheryl said. "See for yourself." She handed Charlie a mirror.
     Charlie held the mirror close to his face and used his free hand to lift his lip. He examined his new front tooth. "Wow. Fantastic."
     Dr. McCrea handed Charlie four white tablets. "I'd like you to take these pills -- they'll ensure that you won't have any discomfort later." Cheryl handed a cup of water to Charlie who swallowed the pills in a single gulp.
     Charlie held the mirror further from his face and examined his lopsided smile. "Man, I gotta hand it to you both. My teeth look terrific. Better than ever. I promise I'll keep your office in ship shape until my debt is paid if it takes me the rest of my life."
     "I'm sure you will, Charlie," Dr. McCrea said. "I trust you."
     Cheryl started collecting the instruments. 
     "Where are you two going on vacation," Charlie asked. "Somewhere warm I hope. Florida?"
     "No, we'll be heading to Mexico for awhile," Dr. McCrea said, removing his latex gloves with a snap.
     Charlie cleared his throat and took another drink of water. Then he examined his smile again in the mirror. His lip quivered. "These look great."
     "They do indeed," Dr. McCrea said slipping the mask over his head. "In fact they look better than great. They look just like mine." A smile crossed the doctor's face. He rolled his stool so that both men could examine their reflections in the hand mirror. "You see the way the midline slightly tilts to the right?" Dr. McCrea asked, pointing to the line between his front teeth. "And see how that side tooth is rotated ever so slightly?"
     "Hey, yeah," Charlie said. "I can see that." His brow furrowed a bit and he cleared his throat again. "Hey, you mind if I sit here another minute? I'm feeling kinda warm." His voice crackled while tiny beads of sweat formed on his forehead.
     "No, please do," Dr. McCrea said. “I want you to be comfortable.” He stepped to the sink and washed his hands.
     "Hey doc?" Charlie asked, his voice becoming hoarse. "I ain't feeling so good..." He tried to clear his throat again, emitting a labored, raspy sound.
     Cheryl was busy returning instruments to their proper drawers in the cabinet.
     "What kind of pain pills were those you gave me, Doc? I’m getting woozy," Charlie strained, his voice barely more than a whisper.
     "Those weren't pain pills," Dr. McCrea said. "I said that they would ensure that you don't experience any discomfort later."
     Dr. McCrea handed Charlie the empty pill bottle. His eyes were swelling and he could barely make out the label on the bottle. “Penicillin 500mg tablets.” His throat let out a pathetic squeak. Charlie's face was flushed and his body quivered. Futile attempts to draw breath caused the muscles in his neck to bulge.
     Dr. McCrea removed Charlie's parka from the coat rack and forced his arms into the sleeves. He turned toward Cheryl. "What do you think dear? Is it me?"
     "I don't think you'll need it once you get to Mexico City," Cheryl said. "Paper said it was 80 degrees today." Dr. McCrea slid his billfold from his pocket and placed it on the desk.
     Cheryl removed her white coat, hung it in the closet and closed the door. She put on her overcoat and fastened the buttons. "Have we forgotten anything?" she asked.
     "I don't think so," Dr. McCrea said, checking his watch. "Opps!" he said, removing the Rolex from his wrist, shaking his head. "I always loved this watch." He stepped into the treatment room where Charlie’s body convulsed in the dental chair. He lifted the patient’s limp wrist, removing Charles Timex watch. In its place, he strapped the Rolex.
     "You can buy a dozen of those expensive watches with the insurance money," Cheryl said. "I'll call you next week after the funeral."
     "From a pay phone, like we planned. ‘Charlie Tilson,’ Hotel Del Sol, Mexico City," Dr. McCrea said. The doctor embraced his wife and gave her a long kiss and patted her on the rear. "See you soon, dear."
     "Or whenever the insurance check arrives," Cheryl said.
     Charlie drifted in and out of consciousness. First he thought he smelled the odor of paint thinner, or maybe airplane glue. Then another, stronger smell crept into his nostrils. Smoke. The office was on fire. He drifted out of consciousness for the last time as the flames reached the room where Charlie sat, motionless, and, just as the doctor promised, he felt no discomfort at all.