Her Perfect Smile

“You have to be a model.”

She laughs, waves me off the way girls her type do. A shrug of the shoulder, cock of her head, everything reads bashful, but her eyes read pleased. “I told you, I work at my dad’s dealership.” She smiles.

God, her smile- her smile- her smile. Perfect white teeth against bright red lips. Dazzling. Just a hint of gumline- not too much. It’s ugly when there’s too much.

“You should be a model. You have a great smile- You got that look, that Kim Kardashian- No, but you’re better. Way better.” I laugh, bite my lip and keep my eyes locked on her. She fidgets, but that smile doesn’t cease. “I mean, you wouldn’t need a sex tape. Just smile- Here, I’ll even record it now.”

She waves me off again, a playful roll of her eyes. She’s eating this up.

My phone vibrates and I look. I don’t recognize the number. “Hold on a minute.” My finger hovers over the ‘answer’ button, but then I send it to voicemail. I have eight new voicemails. I tap to open it, and all but one of them are from the same number. The other is my Father.

“Are you ready for the check, Sir? Or have you two decided on dessert?”

Her green eyes peek over the menu at me. Then she lowers them with a smirk.

“You want something?” I ask.

“I shouldn’t.” She answers. There’s that bashful smile again. She plays the cute game, and God, it works. She’s perfect.

I laugh and look up at our waiter. “We’ll take a bottle of red. Dealers choice.” I look back at her. She doesn’t say anything and I shake my head at her childish cute girl antics. She wants daddy’s approval. “Bring the lady whatever she wants.”

She points to something on the menu. “Two forks.” She adds in quick.

I laugh. “One fork. We can share.” I give her a wink and direct my smile back at the waiter. I’m not a homosexual, but I can tell by the way he’s looking that he’s into me. We are probably the best-looking couple he’s had the pleasure of serving. I’ll give him a big tip.

The waiter parts, and she sips her wine. She doesn’t smudge her lipstick. She’s a classic beauty, pristine, and unspoiled. Not like other girls, who leave lipstick stains, and chalky face prints on white linen pillows. I’m not stupid, I know she's wearing make-up, but she is so well painted and set. So put together. A masterwork. Gifted from God himself and seated before me. I’ll take a bite of this fruit. No doubt she is extravagant with sex-tossed hair and a moan on her lips.

“What?” She asks when she sees me bite my lip. She gives a coy smile, glances over her shoulder as if I could look at anyone but her. “What?” She asks again.

“My condo has the best view of the bay. I was just thinking how much better it would be with you standing on the balcony and a wine glass in your hand.”

“I guess you’re going to have to wait and see.”

Her smile gives me chills, “I suppose I will.”

The waiter sets a plate in front of her, removes the lid on a decadent chocolate cake. Her eyes light up at it. She’s thin. She’ll have to do cardio for an hour to get the calories balanced from this- but I enjoy the thought of her sweaty and running.

The waiter pours both of us wine, and I drink as I watch her get the perfect wedge onto her fork and take out her red iPhone 12 for an Instagram picture.

“Let me know if there is anything else you need.” He says, and I wave him off as I drink and watch her. The bottom layer is soft fudge. The top is a spongy chocolate cake separated with a layer of cream. A perfect flower in chocolate buttercream and dark chocolate chips pressed into the frosting on the side. She takes a bite, and her eyes close in complete bliss. I feel myself getting hard. That’s how she will look later.

“That good?” I ask.

“I don’t really like sweets.” She lies and gives a little laugh, “But this is so rich and-” Whatever she says after is like noise underwater. Her beautiful smile, perfect white teeth are covered in shit. Fudge caked up on the gumline of her front teeth. Chocolate chips broken and melting in saliva, smeared like diarrhea slime. It’s disgusting. Revolting. Dog shit sprayed with a garden hose, running over concrete. I go soft.

Whatever she was saying, it was over. She wipes her mouth on her napkin, and I see it. A slight pink stain on the white cloth. She picks up the wine glass, sips, and a chill goes down my spine with the thought of blood mixed with shit, swilling in her mouth. I almost gag.

She doesn’t even glance back at me and takes another bite. She's like a fucking animal- a sow on a farm fattening up. Shoveling shit in its mouth. That’s what the cake is- a thick layer of cow shit topped in dog shit, rabbit pellets pressed into the side, a fluffy dollop of goose shit on top. Her mouth opens wide, and the tremolo of violins in the restaurant warps to the humming of flies. All I can see is a gaping maw into the abyss as she shoves in more shit.

“Are you okay?” She askes, and- fuck, I don’t know how long I’ve been staring. I stop my hand that’s incessantly tapping, and I pick up my glass and drink. It buys me time, and I force control and give her the best calm smile I can manage. It seems to put her off. “Mark, is everything alright?”

No, I’m disgusted- fucking horrified. I’m watching you eat shit. Literal fucking shit. You disgust me. “Everything is fine. I’m just… feeling a little sick.” She reaches a hand towards me, and I jerk back. Disgusted that she would try to touch me, but I play it cool, take my wine and drink again, and that seems to deflect some of the hurt.

“Should we leave?” She askes.

“Yes.” It comes out too quick, and she’s disappointed.

“Are we still going back to your place?”

I try to smile at her, but she looks different. She is some kind of human-animal chimera. Or maybe a primitive protohuman, dressed in black and painted to trick me again. It makes me angry, and my foot begins to tap on the tile. I calm that with another sip of wine. “You’re going to need to call an uber,” I say.

“W-what? I- Did I do something wrong?”

Yes, you inhuman sow. I can’t stand you. I can’t stand looking at you- watching you eat. Shit on your teeth. Ruined. All of you are ruined. There can’t be one good thing, one pure thing. Constantly degrading themselves. “No. I’m just not feeling up to it anymore.”

She looks like she's about to cry.

I stand up, fold my napkin on the plate. “Finish your cake. I have to bounce.”

“W-what? I- Do you want me to walk you out at least? Say goodbye?”

She’ll want a kiss if I let her walk me out. I almost vomit in my mouth. “No.” It’s harsh and cold, and it shuts her up.

“The bill?”

“The waiter knows me. It’s fine.” I linger a moment, get the stomach to look at her again, and- shit, it’s vile, and my mouth waters. How could I not have seen what kind of beast had been in front of me all night? I don’t say anything else, and I head for the exit. She’s crying.

I flag down the valet, tell him to bring my car. My phone begins to vibrate while I wait, probably her, but I look anyway. It’s that number, the one I don’t recognize. I hit ‘answer’ and bring it to my ear and hear a sigh of relief on the other end.

“Mark, it’s doctor Robert Benson. You missed your appointment again. You need to come in tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock. If you miss again I… I’m going to have to report it to the DA.”

“What?” Anger clenches my jaw, and my mind flashes to her, shit-covered teeth, disgusting likes some grotesque horror. “Listen, I don’t know who you are or what you’re talking about.”

“...Mark, It’s your doctor, Robert Benson.” He says slower like that will make me suddenly remember. “...have you been taking your medication?”

“Medication?” I remember flushing medication down a toilet and an empty prescription bottle sitting on the counter. “Mark? Mark?” He snaps me back.

“Sir? Are you alright? I was told you became ill was there-” It’s the waiter.

I hold up a hand to silence him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You have the wrong number.” I hang up. Look at the waiter. “The food was perfect. It was that woman.” My car arrives. It’s a Lamborghini Roadster- worth every penny for how it stuns people silent. I take my keys from the valet and get in.

“Sir… the bill?”

“She ruined my evening plans.” Disgust raises in me again. “Let her cover it.”

I hit the gas and go.