Just as Richard predicted, Margaret began receiving newsletters from Dr. Lipi. They touched on dental implants, the controversy over fluoridated water, adhesion techniques, base and noble metals, acrylic and porcelain, treatable anatomical deformities, as well as total etch, "wet field" dentin bonding, and intraoral plating. She kept the letters in her dresser drawer among her socks, taking one out and perusing it occasionally as if it were a billet-doux. But her favorite remained the first, a letter sent routinely to all new patients, an introduction of sorts, entitled "Enlightened Dentistry."
NEWSLETTER #101
Dear Patient:
I am a dentist, it is my job. But in the United States, at the dawning of a new decade, "to dentist" is more than an occupation. With the most recent technological and scientific progress in oral health care, Americans, indeed all of modern mankind, have the opportunity to reach higher than ever before toward dental achievement. Perfection is no longer an unattainable myth, but a real possibility. Dentistry, for me, is a search for that perfection for my patients, for patients everywhere.
A natural contract exists between each of us and his or her teeth. Each has a responsibility to the other. Man was born with an innate ability to care for his teeth—saliva. Saliva is nature's own cleansing solution. But it is through observation and education that we build on nature's gifts. Observe, keep in touch with your teeth. Listen to what they have to tell you. If you were to pay half as much attention to your teeth as I do, thousands of teeth could be saved each year. A tooth is a terrible thing to waste. Visit your dentist, periodontist, or oral-maxillofacial surgeon for regular checkups.
And remember, I am here for you twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Your teeth don't take vacations. Neither do I.
As patients, all of us can play a role in the realization of universal dental health.
Your dentist and fellow patient,
Dr. Samuel Lipi
AT LUNCH WITH LILY, this time in the park, Margaret sat on the bench trying not to lose control of her tuna fish sandwich and wondered if love would improve her memory. Could she recall Dr. Lipi's voice? His words? The curve of his neck, the hue of his skin? Perhaps. She wasn't sure, so overwhelmed were all her thoughts of him by simple desire, her own desire.
The person who is completely deprived of a good memory feels; but he does not judge: judgment implies the comparison of two ideas.
"I'm in love with my dentist," she said.
Lily looked at her attentively. Her mouth was full.
"I think I got married too young. I showed a lack of judgment. Judgment requires comparison."
"Margaret, you can hardly claim a dearth of experience," Lily said.
"Yes, but a person completely deprived of a good memory feels but cannot judge. I am completely deprived of a good memory."
"Judgment is tyranny, Margaret. Anyway, Edward is so sexy."
"Yeah," Margaret said. She ate her sandwich and silently admired the green of the new grass, the warm air, the pink flush of Lily's cheeks, the highly intellectual nicotine stains on her fingers, the rough whisper of her starlet voice.
"I like you, Lily," she said, embarrassed by her earlier confession. "You listen to any old crap I feel the need to say." And I to you, she added silently, as Lily happily wondered if the homeless men camped in the tunnel over there had chosen it because of its vaginal resonance.
Dr. Lipi was in her thoughts. Margaret daydreamed like a teenager. They would go to the beach and walk, the way teenagers went to the beach and walked. They would ride in a car and talk, earnestly, with the radio playing. They would hold hands in the park. In all of these fantasies, Dr. Lipi wore a white dentist's shirt, suggestively unbuttoned, then abruptly removed.
"Richard," she said to her editor on the phone, "I'm in love with your dentist. Our dentist."
"Oh, yes, so was I. You'll get over it."
"No I won't. Will I? Why will I?"
"When the bill comes."
"Richard, I'm not joking. I have a burning crush on Dr. Lipi the dentist," Margaret said. She meant to seem as if she were joking, or could be joking, but there must have been something in her voice that betrayed her.
"What does Edward think of your new interest in dentistry? Planning caps, dear? Laminates, perhaps. Margaret, behave yourself."
"Why?"
"Open wide!" Richard said, laughing.
Dream on, Margaret thought, but she couldn't quite bring herself to say it.
"Margaret, finish your dirty book, for God's sake," Richard was saying. "Is your husband neglecting you?"
"No. Edward doesn't neglect anyone. Not even me."