Pre-Molar
Images from the previous thirty-six hours fluttered through his consciousness. These images were as baroque as the fabric adorning the chaise-longue upon which some of the most startling, and to his mind elegant, acts had been committed. He felt exhaustion it was true, but it was the exhaustion of the artist-facilitator. He could hardly imagine the physical state of some of those who had been most vigorous in satisfying their lusts for the full day and a half; and then of course there were the young casualties. It still remained to contact his friend in the teaching hospital and arrange for the collection of the two or three boys and the single girl who had served so well. An hour or so under the knife would remove any evidence of the appalling debaucheries which had been inflicted upon their bodies.
It was seven in the morning and Frank surveyed the colourful selection of Parisian society which thronged the cafe. One or two members of the decayed aristocracy present at the orgy were having a petit-dejeuner of brawn pie and beer before retiring for a day or two. Street walkers and students drank cognac and clerks fortified themselves with croissants and bowls of coffee. Frank lifted a small glass of iced absinthe and winced as the liquid touched the stump of a tooth on the lower left side of his mouth. He had been putting treatment off for weeks because of the work necessary in making sure the orgy went to perfection, but now it was time to act. Keeping his tongue firmly pressed against the tooth he drained the glass, left an extravagant tip, and swept into the narrow, cobbled street in the shadow of Gare Austerlitz.
He knew exactly who he needed to see, and he quickly arrived at the crumbling facade. The brass name-plate was worn away by the passage of the thousands of visitors to the warren of offices which made their homes in the ancient building. Frank looked at the attenuated relief of the letters and was reminded of the eroded epitaphs to pre-enlightenment society in the nearby cemetery. The ache in his jaw spiked and he felt the drag of mortality; the resonance of the pain.
Jean-Louis Meaursault, Dentist.
Frank had gained entry to Parisian society by providing narcotics to the enclosed order of international rakes who fed on the cadaver of decadence it continued to represent. He had quickly expanded his commercial enterprise to servicing the elite creators of fashionable Eau de Toilette and finally to undercutting the official manufacturers of ether for the surgical professions. He had many dentists as clients, but Meaursault was something of an outsider, because unique amongst the dental surgeons Frank supplied, he was not also a user of some of the more diverting narcotics he provided. This meant that Frank would have to pay for the services he needed, and that made him feel a confidence; even something of a camaraderie with the eccentric dentist.
“M. Kørner, What brings you to my surgery so early in the day?” The dentist was standing behind him, the key to the office held loosely in the right hand while the left adjusted his monocle to bring his visitor into focus. Frank managed a taut grin and tapped his cheek.
“Of course. I am flattered that of your many professional clients you choose me for this. Come in, let me see what needs to be done.” The dentist stood back, allowing Frank to enter the surgery before him. The Wilkerson chair dominated the space, with the Morrison foot-treadle resembling a mechanical dwarf about to go fishing alongside. Frank inspected the crude mechanics and immediately saw several modifications that would increase efficiency and bring down costs. These thoughts were filed away for possible later use as he was settled back into the chair and opened his mouth for inspection. He smelled the dentist’s breakfast of toast and camomile tea and reflected what the latter must be making of the heavy fumes of absinthe which rose to greet him. Of course a dentist in this city must be inured to the most disgusting smells and sights in his patients. He noted an idea for a sterilizing water with which people could wash the mouth before and during treatment.
“I am afraid we will need some of your excellent gas, M. Kørner. There is a large abscess in the pre-molar and I expect the root system is quite decayed. The standard treatment is extraction and draining of the infected liquids; but I have a method of removing the roots and the purulence and then capping with a ceramic top which is quite revolutionary, although rather pricey.” Meaursault let the sentence hang discretely in the air, but there was no question about expense in Frank’s mind. His fee for the orgy and his complicity was staggering; the blackmail potential gargantuan. In addition the thought of carrying a blemish albeit hidden from all but his most intimate contacts was abhorrent. He nodded assent and the dentist, like a priest opening the tabernacle, prepared the ether.
