Interpol Romance-Entry for 2008 Short Story Challenge

Interpol Romance

A pediatric dentist obsessed with visiting the Interpol’s website finally begins living her life when she finds herself listed among the most wanted.

Interpol Romance

She couldn’t remember how her obsession started. She had heard about the website on a television program once and had searched her name innocently enough. Of course, she was not among the wanted. She then looked for others and found the picture of a woman who looked like the kind of mother who made a mean turkey at Thanksgiving and could be counted as one of the best hostesses for any occasion not as a criminal listed among the most searched in the Interpol website.

She would get back from a day at work and find herself searching the internet for deals on a pair of suede boots she had seen at Macy’s or the puffy jacket she liked on one of her patient’s mothers. And, if it was a lonely night, she would find herself on the Interpol website once again, looking for herself (why?) and gazing at the picture Janet Hubbard, the chocolate chip baking mom. She was wanted for Parental Abduction.

Nothing ever changed in her life, until that day. It began like all others. She had little Bruno in the morning who was a breeze to treat. He had been lucky to be born with “good teeth” and even though she knew he was not always very thorough with his toothbrush and certainly was not using floss (yes, a lot to ask of a seven year old) he had not had even a small glimmer of a cavity. Bruno also seemed to enjoy sitting in her chair and letting her soothe him with her soft intonation. Her last patient, however, had taken away all her serenity—Julia. She was a sweet enough twelve-year-old, but her previous dentist had used fear tactics to get her to cooperate and now poor Julia had an aversion to the seat that was not to be tamed. Even trying to approach her mouth would make Julia’s stiffen her whole body and clench her jaw. Simply peaking inside took five times what it should. Thankfully, she had no cavities. Still, Dr. Smiles (the name she used to market herself in her cards and on the banner in front of her office), or simply Wilma, was exhausted as she buckled up in her car and started the familiar drive home. On other days, questions such as, “Are you married to Fred?” “Is your last name Flintstone” produced a chuckle. Today, they bothered her and even though she chuckled, she was faking it.

She got home and defrosted a portion of lentil soup from last Sundays’ big cook off. She was a lady of rituals and one of those rituals included cooking 10 portions of the same freezable soup. Last weekend she had made a batch of lentil and one of minestrone. She did not feel like watching television. Instead, she got out her laptop and went to the familiar website that now became her friend. Would they finally stop listing this poor innocent looking woman? It was possible, since she had not been on the site for a couple of weeks. She found Janet Hubbard smiling at her probably thinking of the PTA meeting she had to cater and the hockey uniform that needed bleaching. What would she do if her picture, a single pediatric dentist, showed up next to Janet’s?

She searched for her name, and the strangest thing happened, this time the computer seemed to be loading up something. And there, as if her thoughts had made it happen, her face was looking back at her. The picture was one she remembered using on a dating website two years back. She rubbed her eyes; she got closer to the computer screen. She looked at the name under the picture, “Dr. Wilma Noonan”. Underneath that, it just said, “Wanted”. What crime had she committed? Could there be a similar looking lady with her name? She had not committed a major crime, other than lying to Hugo that he would not need more fillings, for now, when she had seen two cavities and a possible root canal. She, Dr. Smiles, was not Interpol material. If they had found her terrible match.com picture, where they looking at her right now? Was her apartment bugged? She had to leave her apartment immediately and be with people. They would not pounce on her if she was in a crowded place.

She rarely visited the local pub but that was as far as she felt she could venture. She sat at the bar and ordered a Pinot Grigio. She took one sip and started looking around. If they found her picture, they would know where she lived. If she was wanted, they could find her. She had decided she was not going to put up a fight, but she had to somehow investigate what she was wanted for. If she knew this, she could find a way to defend herself, at least.

She was deep in thought, drinking her Pinot just a tad too quickly, when a tall handsome man, the kind that never sat next to her, sat down. He smiled, “Good evening” and ordered a Pinot Grigio.

“That is what I am drinking,” she said, smiling into her now empty glass.

“What a coincidence”, the man said, and smiled. Now, there is no faster way into a dentist’s heart than a perfect well spaced, white, tartar free smile.

“You have good teeth,” she said, before she knew what was coming out of her mouth.

“Good taste and a keen sense for details. That is very good in my line of work.”

“Well, I’m a dentist, so a good smile is in my line of work,” Wilma said, not knowing why she was being so bold. It had been a very long time since she had gone on a date. In fact, her last date she met on match.com and it had not been pretty. He had been obsessed with drinking whole milk throughout the date and insisted on attempting to kiss her when they had not even been talking for ten minutes. “So,” she just didn’t want to lose this opportunity. Knowing that she might be imprisoned had made her ignore all her mother’s advice about being a lady, “what do you do that requires details?”

“Well, I’m a detective of sorts.” He said, looking down at his glass and taking a gulp.

“Now that sounds interesting,” Wilma said, crossing her leg and feeling relieved that she was wearing a skirt. Her legs, she felt, were among her best feature.

“Not as interesting as teeth. I’ve been meaning to get a new dentist. Maybe I will come see you,” he said, taking another gulp of his wine, as if it was a cheap beer, Wilma thought, and not a good Pinot.

“Well, there I can’t help you. You don’t fit my patient parameters. I see only kids.”

In the next hour Wilma found out that his name was Peter Parker, which sounded vaguely familiar to her and she wondered if there was a kid in her high school with that name, that he loved kids, loved them, he repeated, and that he also loved being a detective. “You would be surprised what you find out about people, when you dig a little,” he said, looking at her intently.

Wilma was becoming bolder, either it was the Interpol thing or the Pinots she was downing, but she thought he, Peter Parker, was the right man to help her find out why she was being investigated. After her fifth glass, she felt like she knew Peter so well. She knew the name of his first dog, Benji, the name of his favorite Nanny, “Mary”, the name of his best friend, “Clark Kent”. She knew he liked to take photographs as a hobby, and as part of his job. She KNEW him. And this knowledge, plus the Pinots told her that it would be perfectly alright to ask him to come with her to her small apartment so she could show him the website that had not left her mind. Peter agreed, “If I can be of help.”

She stumbled to open the door, as she had seen so many other heroines in movies do. She offered him more wine, though all she had were wine coolers. He declined the offer, “I’ve probably had enough.”

Wilma went over to her laptop and opened it. She had not closed the browser, and it was the first thing you saw when it came out of sleep. “Look,” she said.

Peter asked several times, if it truly was her. She said that it was but she could not, for the life of her, understand why it was her. Well, have you any connection to the Interpol or the website, he asked. None, none she repeated several times, until, unexpectedly she began to sob. Peter’s shoulder seemed so strong and so soothing. She was wiping her runny nose on his suit, but she just could not stop. All the lonely nights, her sadness for Janet, and her uncertain future as a fugitive came pouring out of her like Niagara Falls. Peter did not know what to do with his arms but he finally settled in holding her close and this calmed Wilma.

Peter lead her to the couch, and the two sat in silence. She noticed Peter staring at her pictures. Mostly, they showed her mom and dad, her sisters and her childhood dog, Tin Tin. “Who is Janet? Is that your sister?” Wilma must have mentioned her name as she was sobbing. “No, I don’t know who she is exactly. She is wanted, like me, but her picture just does not look like a criminal. Her picture is the one that I visit most often, wanting to know why someone who looks like a baker of cookies and a maker of pies would be on a wanted list. It is how I got started with my interest in the Interpol. Curiosity, really.”

She told Peter about feeling alone, about coming home to an empty apartment, about wanting to be a mother, about a love she left behind for fear of interrupting her career, about times she stayed home when she could have gone on a trip to Egypt, or River Rafting in Colorado. No, she had always chosen to stay home, to floss every night, to go to bed at a decent hour. But, now, here it was: her very own adventure.

“Well, then I will help you find out why you are on that list. First, we will have to go to a very special library. You will have to dress up as an agent, to get in. I have a friend of a friend who can get us in, but you will need a suit, to look the part.” Wilma had, in the back of her closet, a gray pant suit which Peter deemed perfect. He waited in the living room while she changed. “I’ve called my friend. She will allow us access, just this one night, to the library. So, let’s go.” They decided to take public transportation, so as not to be too noticeable. They pretended not to know each other. As she looked slyly over at Peter, she could feel that her heart was falling in love. Finally, she was being rescued by a knight in shining armor.

The library was an unremarkable building. Once inside, Peter flashed a badge and vouched for her. He was so calm, as if he visited this building every day. She kept her cool looking ahead but not meeting the guard’s eyes either.

In a room with a few books that could hardly be called a library, they found a big computer with a huge 24 inch screen. “This is why we came here. We will look you up and find out why you might be wanted.” A few taps on the keyboard, a password (did he work here?), and Peter had a whole page on information about her: Never been married, Pediatric Dentist, two Sisters, parents still alive, grew up in Michigan, college in Chicago, working in Boston, has had in the last year, an inordinate number of visits to the Interpol website.

“There you have it, you are an Interpol junkie, are you SURE there is no reason for this other than curiosity?” Peter said, looking at her straight into her pupils.

“NO. None. Promise.”

Relieved, he swept her in his arms and kissed her like Wilma had only seen women being kissed in Romantic Comedies. And, somewhere mid-kiss, she gave in and started being the heroine of her own story and stopped being a projection of one in her mind. They made love in that strange little room with a passion that Wilma had not yet felt. When they left the building, a couple of hours later, they decided to part ways but to meet again for a Pinot the next night.

Wilma breezed through her patients the next day. Before going to the pub she dared to wear a red halter dress to meet Peter, but, after two Pinots she understood that he was not coming. She nodded when a handsome man sat next to her, offering to pay for her Pinot, and ordering a scotch on the rocks for himself. She accepted the drink, feeling hopeful when he too flashed a perfect tartar free smile. She had checked the website one last time before leaving the house, and she was no longer wanted, but she had never felt more desirable.