Impractically Perfect: A Romantic Comedy

by Genevieve Lerner

  Knowing I would be missed if I didn’t show my face soon, I finally slid into the seat next to Sven, subtly dropping the rest of the cheese and crackers under my chair. Leading the ferret right into the trap, I thought to myself maniacally, and then snorted out loud. God, what was wrong with me?

  Sven glanced over at my outburst, then did a double-take at my bloody forehead, mess of a hairdo, and crumb-covered hands.

  “What…what happened to you?” he asked in disbelief.

  “I’m…okay!” I said brightly. “No worries!”

  “But what…how…why?”

  I didn’t know how to explain…well, anything really. Not only did I not know where to start (“loose vermin!”) but I didn’t want to introduce the issue of Toby and make everything all confusing. Not right now. So I just said “I tripped,” and that was that.

  I really tried not to let it bother me that he didn’t even ask if I was okay.

  Meanwhile, Toby was loitering near the silent auction table, trying to stay out of the light, hoping nobody would notice his jeans and sneakers. I caught his eye, sent him a not-so-subtle wink and nod, and then turned my attention back to the emcee, who was enjoying his job way too much.

  “Ladies and gentlemen! Thank you all for coming out to spend this lovely evening together! We are here tonight to celebrate several important men in the industry—not just men, mind you, except, funnily enough, they ARE all men!

  Several people laughed at that, and Sven let out a loud snort before glancing at me and biting his lip.

  “This is a very special occasion because we are rewarding those who have given truly excellent care over the past year. The recipients of these awards will not only receive a large stipend for their practices, but will also be featured across several magazines for free, thereby encouraging locals to get their teeth cleaned, and to get them cleaned here.

  “And now, may I present to you…Dr. Harley Cooper of I Smile, You Smile!”

  From the wings, a very old and hunched-over man came shuffling out.

  “God,” Sven said into my ear, “he looks like he should be retired.”

  He really did. His glasses were so thick that I was sure they were magnifying everything at least by ten, and he looked about as shriveled up as a Craisin.

  The old man smiled vacantly as the emcee continued to babble on and on about his accomplishments, apparently in the oral surgery field. I knew I should care, but part of me was perturbed.

  How did they decide on the award winners? How did these dentists treat their hygienists? And how did their patients feel about them?

  Ever since I had learned about the whole Cyril-not-getting-paid thing, I had been thinking a lot about Dr. Booper. One thing I had started to realize was that over the years, his patients seemed really happy while leaving his office, pleased with the care they had received…but still, for some reason, we had trouble getting return patients. Sometimes I worried that I had accidentally done something to annoy them, but that couldn’t be it—oftentimes, when people called to cancel outstanding appointments, they told Bernard how much they loved me and wished that they could take me home with them. You know, in a non-creepy way.

  I had always chalked it up to an ever-changing world and a lot of dental practices having better websites than us, with fancy animated text and professional photos. But what if it was more than that?

  I ignored the champagne flute in front of me and took a long sip from the glass of wine I had gotten myself from the bar. Sven glanced at me.

  “Mmm, Moscato,” he said knowingly.

  Jesus. I had never liked sweet wines. How did he not remember this?

  “Yep,” I said, without making eye contact.

  All too soon, they were announcing Dr. Booper’s name, and he entered proudly from the wings, smiling and waving like a freaking celebrity. When he arrived at the podium, he made a show of adjusting his bowtie, and the audience hooted. He had a knack for entrancing people from the moment they saw him.

  “First of all, everyone, I can’t tell you what an honor it is to be here. But I have to say, I would not have made it this far without my beautiful hygienists, Penny and Cyril. Girls, get on up here!”

  What. No. Was this the surprise that Dr. Booper had been talking about earlier? That was not going to happen. I could not be in front of all these people. No way no how. Was he out of his mind?

  Across the table, Cyril was giggling as Lester helped her to her feet and she wobbled up the makeshift steps that someone had attached to the front of the stage for an occasion such as this. She must have had a bit too much to drink.

  This is what I would do. I would sit here and close my eyes and all this would go away. Everyone would forget that I had just been called to go stand onstage in front of everyone and they would go back to their normal business and everything would be just fine.

  But when I unsqueezed my eyes to peek if it was working, the spotlight was centered on me, along with all eyes in the auditorium. “Come on Penny,” Dr. Booper said, “what are you afraid of?”

  Oh nothing. Just the inescapable reality of my life.

  Downing the rest of my Chardonnay (not Moscato) for courage, I rose shakily to my feet, the squeak of the chair as it pushed out echoing forebodingly throughout the room. As quickly as I could, I made my way across the auditorium and up the stairs. You’re just walking in a line, I had to tell myself. Nothing special about where you are. Just you doing what you normally do. You’re fine.

  Somehow—I don’t know how—I made it up there, onto the stage, nestled beside Cyril, who was looking slightly squashed between myself and Dr. Booper. Memories came flooding into my mind, and I squeezed Cyril’s hand to counteract the tightness in my chest.

  It was here—this exact spot on this exact stage—that my life had changed for the worse. I had been on top of the world, so ready to succeed, so ready to be everything that I was destined to be…and I had flushed all that down the toilet with my stupid horrible mortifying mistake.

  The tension was building in me and all I could do was keep breathing, trying to fend it off. Cyril’s hand was sweaty—or was it mine?—and the audience looked like a sea of darkness. Was it actually that dark, or was I just blacking out?

  Everyone was listening to me, amazed by my technical skill, moved by my artistry. I had them in the palm of my hand. This was the piece I had been working on all year, and I knew I could play it better than some of the greats. That was the perk of being a prodigy—everyone always believed in you.

  ”I’d like to say what an honor it is to be up on this stage. Dentistry has always been an important part of my life.”

  My reed had split a few measures ago, but I wasn’t too worried about it. It wasn’t a huge crack, and I knew I had the stamina to keep it under wraps for the last two minutes of the song. But now, I could feel the crack growing and growing, getting longer, spreading the thin pieces of wood out beneath my tongue.

  “Cleaning teeth, drilling cavities…it is a thankless task, but one I take seriously.”

  What could I do? If I stopped and changed my reed now, I might lose the audience. So I waited. And here I was, finally at the last glorious crescendo, my beautiful last note…

  No. This couldn’t happen, not here, not now. But it was coming, I was sure of it, could feel the bile bubbling up, could hear my pounding heart. Everyone here was going to see me for what I really was—a woman who had failed at her life, who would never be the person she was supposed to be…

  And then I felt Cyril’s nails dig straight into my hand.

  I almost screamed out in pain, they were in so deep—I was sure I was bleeding. But it snapped me back to here, to reality.

  Here I was, standing on this stage, and I was…fine. I mean, I wasn’t fine, but I wasn’t dead or anything. And next to me, I realized, was a brilliant, capable woman, someone who had gone through what I would have considered in my life to be huge failures…and I admired her. Turning my head to meet her gaze, I shot her a qu
ick smile, which she didn’t return. She just looked…uncomfortable.

  Okay. That was weird. Cyril never failed to look completely ecstatic any time I smiled at her. Was she…okay? Was she feeling sick like me? Maybe something had happened to my dress. Her dress. That zipper had looked a little strained during our last conversation.

  I took a quick peek at her back, and instead of a bursting zipper, I saw Dr. Booper’s fingers trailing a definitely-not-just-your-boss path on her lower back. While he was standing here, giving a speech in front of all these people. And Cyril was clearly not happy about what was going down.

  Oh my god. Was Dr. Booper actually doing…that…to Cyril? No, that couldn’t be it. I had worked for him for years, I would have known, I would have…

  But Cyril’s face was speaking for itself. And precisely one second later, Dr. Booper started screaming.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Things Can Get Crazy!

  “I SAW A RAT! THERE IS A RAT!”

  Dr. Booper threw himself dramatically onto the floor of the stage and crouched there, with his arms over his head. What the hell? I had never seen Dr. Booper be anything other than friendly, warm, and collected.

  Oh boy.

  Dr. Booper was now in full-blown panic mode, crawling around the stage and screaming “SAVE ME, SAVE ME!!” Cyril looked torn between being relieved that he was no longer stroking her ass and slightly terrified of the phantom rat. I, on the other hand, immediately began squinting on tiptoe, searching the audience for Ferdinand. Where had Dr. Booper seen him?

  “IT IS COMING TO GET ME, I KNOW IT IS! OH MY GOD I CAN FEEL IT SCRATCHING AT MY THROAT!”

  Ferdinand definitely wasn’t scratching at Dr. Booper’s throat—nor was he anywhere near him.

  Then, there was a shout from someone in the audience, and without thinking, without even looking, I dove—straight off center stage, like I was joining a mosh pit. Naturally, this led to even louder screams. From across the auditorium, I spotted Toby, frantically crawling around on the ground, quietly calling out, “Ferdinand! Ferdinand!”

  Meanwhile, I was splayed on top of an older tuxedoed man with slicked-back grey hair, and his much younger, stunning, dark-haired wife. “Sorry,” I grunted, rolling off of them, trying to ignore their open mouths and shocked faces. They had cushioned my fall surprisingly well, and it didn’t look like I had injured either of them in the process. Unfortunately, I was no closer to finding Ferdinand than I had been while onstage.

  And then, it was pandemonium. Dr. Booper was still crouched in place, screaming his damn head off, and most of the guests had risen from their seats and were curiously looking under them. A few of them had joined in with the screaming, and one tall gentleman was standing on his chair with his eyes closed, hugging himself and bouncing on his toes.

  “Do you think it’s rabid?”

  “I JUST SAW IT, I SWEAR IT HAS THREE HEADS!”

  “You guys, it’s okay, rats are just like, night squirrels!”

  Cyril was still standing on the stage, and was now gingerly poking at Dr. Booper, who seemed to be frozen in rictus. Next to her, the emcee was trying to regain control of the room, but wasn’t doing a fantastic job, especially considering that he seemed nearly as afraid of the rat-that-wasn’t-actually-a-rat as Dr. Booper was. He was yelling into his mic, torn between smiling broadly for all of the cameras on him, and looking down at his feet with fearful eyes.

  The press, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying this more than anyone. Snapping pictures of all the terrified faces, the photographers seemed almost giddy. But even with all these cameras around, the only thing I truly cared about was finding that ferret and bringing him back to Toby.

  “Ferdinand!” I cried, lifting a tablecloth and peering under it. Nothing.

  When I stood up, I came face-to-face with none other than Sven. Of course.

  “Who’s Ferdinand?” he demanded, grabbing me by the upper arms. He had to yell over the din of screams, and I flinched back as spittle hit my eyes.

  “What?”

  “You were calling for Ferdinand…who is Ferdinand?” He was squeezing me now, and I wanted to take a step back but I couldn’t, he was way too strong.

  “He’s a ferret, Sven, relax.” I shook my head and expected him to let go of me, but he only pulled me in tighter.

  “You expect me to believe that?”

  I looked into his bright eyes, into his beautiful face, and said, “Uh, yes?”

  “What the fuck is a ferret, even?”

  From behind me, I heard a familiar voice. “This!”

  Oh, Toby.

  I spun around to see him standing there, Ferdinand on his shoulder, contentedly eating a giant cube of cheese. The ferret, not Toby. Instead of eating a cube of cheese, Toby was grinning, and a crowd of people were starting to gather around him, some in curiosity, some in terrified silence.

  “See? Not a rat, guys, relax.” In his shock, Sven released me, and Toby gently put his hand on my arm. Ferdinand hopped gently onto my shoulder and started nibbling on my hair. “Also, rats make excellent pets. There’s no reason to be so scared of them.” Alright, Toby, let’s not push it.

  “And who are you?” asked Sven, much more aggressively than he needed to.

  “This is Toby,” I cut in, smiling at him. “And this is Ferdinand. Say hi, Ferdinand!” Taking his tiny paw in my hand, I waved it at the crowd. There were a few muffled giggles.

  And then, there was the distinctive screeeeech of a microphone, and I heard yet another familiar voice.

  “Hello everyone! My name is Camille, and this is my sister, Candice.” What. The. Hell. “We are the producers of the podcast, Whispers of the Serengeti” —to my shock, a huge group of people applauded loudly— “and we have a few announcements to make based on some surprising research.”

  Camille looked calm and collected, standing center stage holding the mic. Behind her, Candice was pushing back a very adamant emcee, who seemed to be getting exhausted in his struggle to get to the microphone.

  “This man,” she said, pointing to Dr. Booper, still frozen on the floor of the stage, “is not who he says he is. This is actually a man named Randall McEvoy, and he has been masquerading as Dr. Booper for the past five years.”

  There was a collective gasp. Dr. Booper suddenly became aware of his surroundings, and gazed up at Camille in shock.

  “Dr. Stanley Booper was, indeed, a qualified dental practitioner, but he passed away a decade ago, and had very few friends and family. It was, it seems, a quiet affair.”

  Dr. Booper’s eyes grew wide. All the cameras turned toward him now. The photographers looked even more excited than they had about the ferret.

  “Randall McEvoy had been in and out of prison several times for laundering money from multiple businesses he owned. Unfortunately, his charming manner has helped him escape detection for far longer than would otherwise be normal. But he has been practicing not only under a false name, but a false license. That’s right, ladies and gentlemen: this man, Randall McEvoy, is not actually a dentist at all.”

  Um. What?

  Camille kept talking, but I didn’t register the words. For basically my entire professional career, I had been working for a fraud?

  And then, all at once, I put the puzzle pieces together. About how Dr. Booper—sorry, Randall McEvoy—had never given me a raise, and made me feel guilty for even asking. About how he would often find issues with people’s teeth that I hadn’t detected. About how patients would rarely return after their first few visits. Because they realized that he had done something wrong!

  With a sick feeling in my gut, my mind started spinning. How many tooth drillings had he performed that never needed to be done? How many crowns had he put on incorrectly? How much money had he taken from these poor, unsuspecting patients?

  But…how did we always have such an influx of new patients? How was the word not spreading? How was he keeping his true identity under wraps?

  I knew that the pr
actice had amazing reviews…too amazing, honestly. That was what kept people coming back—those five-star Yelp reviews, and Dr. Booper’s warm smiles.

  “All of this has come to light,” Camille was saying, and my attention snapped back to the stage, “due to the brave confession of one man—Bernard Jones. Mr. Jones, the office secretary, had access to Mr. McEvoy’s private information, and he eventually discovered his true identity. After he confronted him, Mr. McEvoy promised Mr. Jones that he would lose not only his job, but any possibility of opening a business, if he ever came forward with the truth.”

  Oh, Jesus. Poor Bernard. All he had ever wanted was to be an entrepreneur. Dr. Booper—or whoever the hell he was—was truly a master manipulator. Across the auditorium, Bernard looked ashamedly down at his feet.

  “Mr. Jones spent most of his time working at the office making up fake reviews, following up with patients, and doing all of the faux Dr. Booper’s dirty work.” No wonder he stayed there so long as a terrible secretary. The business would have crashed and burned without him.

  “Luckily, due to a fortuitous meeting between one of his dental hygienists—Cyril Correo—and ourselves, Mr. Jones learned about our podcast, and decided that he was going to come clean. He contacted us with much of this information. We have also discovered that Mr. McEvoy has been using extortion to keep Ms. Correo grossly underpaid. We are still investigating the matter.”

  Cyril, forgotten on the stage, marched up to Camille. “I’ll help you out with that,” she said, snatching the microphone from her hands. She was angrier and more impassioned than I had ever seen her. She had never so much as gently taken a roll of floss from me without asking nicely. “Hi, everyone. My name is Cyril Correo. Five years ago, I was hired as a part-time secretary for Dr. Booper. It didn’t take him long to convince me that he needed me to fill in as a hygienist, even though I was not qualified. I was young at the time, and didn’t know how much training such a job required. ‘How hard can it be to clean teeth?’ I thought.”