TEETH
339
social theory and literary allusion rose rankly to her nostrils, a
festered lily.
That night her jaw throbbed in sympathetic misery. Her know–
ledge, her research, her opium, what were they now in the dark,
stranded by her needs, errors, miscalculations, her muddled self–
interest? In agony, Miss Wilmott reached for the phone and called
Dr. Hobbie's home number. Four, five, six rings. The receiver was
on its way down when she heard his "Hallo."
"Oh Dr. Hobbie. Thank goodness. Forgive me for calling you.
I wasn't even sure you were back. It's Miss Wilmott. I'm in awful
pain."
It was right to call him, said Dr. Hobbie, he'd just gotten in,
he was barely asleep. He'd meet her in twenty minutes at the office,
no, better, he'd pick her up in fifteen minutes. Yawn. That too quick?
"I don't want you to have to do that. I'm just being nervous.
It
probably was knowing that you'd come back that made me tooth–
conscious.
If
you were in New York, I probably wouldn't have
noticed."
"We'll take a look anyway, Ethel. See you in a few minutes.
Bye now." Click.
He'd called her Ethel. Bye now. Bye now. By now he was taking
pajamas off his long, pale body, slipping into underwear, pants, shirt.
She dressed in a flash, a blue cotton with her initials figured in
the lapel, EAW, an unfinished word. Downstairs, she waited at the
door, her nose blob flattened further against the glass, waiting.
The first car brought her out to the stoop, but though it paused in
mid-career, it was not Hobbie, and went on. Few neutral cars would
stop for Miss Wilmott.
There was a bite to the air. Miss Wilmott was starting up the
stairs for a sweater when Dr. Hobbie's open Dodge pulled up in
front of the house. She ran down and climbed in beside him.
Oh, how gay she felt. "It's wonderful of you to do this."
Behind his glasses, beaked the soft face. "I'm kind of proud to
get a night call. Doesn't happen more than twice a year. Makes me
feel like the old man."
Suddenly, Miss Wilmott was in a stew: there was not a splinter
of pain left in her body. Nothing. Yet it had been genuine. Her whole
head had gone out on strike with pain. There was no question
