The 2:00 appointment arrived. Simple cleaning. Thirty minutes. $120.
By 4:00 PM, we'd seen seven patients.
Total revenue: $2,340.
Against the weekly target of $3,900, we were at 60%.
One day down.
Linda was closing the appointment book when the door chimed.
We both looked up.
A man walked in. Mid-twenties. Muscular build. Holding his jaw.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't have an appointment. But I think I cracked a tooth. Is there any way you could look at it?"
Emergency slot. Built into the schedule for exactly this.
"Come in," I said.
He followed me to a treatment room.
"I'm Joey," he said. "Joey Tribbiani."
Joey.
One of the six friends.
Of course.
"Barry Farber. Let's take a look."
He sat in the chair. Opened his mouth.
I examined the tooth. Upper left molar. Filling partially dislodged. Not cracked, but close.
"What happened?" I asked.
"I was at an audition. They wanted me to do a stunt. I said yes because I need the work. I fell. Landed face-first."
"Did you black out?"
"No. Just hurt like hell."
"The tooth isn't cracked. But the filling is failing. I can replace it today if you want."
Relief flooded his face. "Really? That would be amazing."
"It'll be $300. I can do a payment plan if you need."
He hesitated. "How does that work?"
"$50 now. $50 per month for five months."
"Seriously?"
"Seriously."
"Why would you do that?"
Because I knew from the show he'd struggle financially for years. Because helping him cost me nothing but time. Because building goodwill now might matter later.
But I couldn't say any of that.
"Because you need help," I said simply. "And I can provide it on terms that work for both of us."
Joey's eyes got slightly wet. "Man, you're a good guy."
"Let's fix the tooth first. Then you can decide if I'm good."
I replaced the filling. Twenty-five minutes. Solid work.
Joey tested his bite. "Wow. That feels way better."
At checkout, he pulled out a crumpled fifty-dollar bill.
"This is all I have right now."
"That's the down payment. You're all set."
"I'll pay you back. I promise. I don't forget people who help me."
"I believe you."
He shook my hand. Firm grip. Genuine gratitude.
After he left, Linda appeared.
"You just took a $300 procedure and turned it into $50."
"Investment."
"In what?"
"Reputation. Word of mouth. Goodwill."
"That's not how business works."
"Maybe it should be."
She shook her head. But she was smiling. "You're either brilliant or crazy."
"Ask me in six months."
I locked up at 5:30 PM.
Linda had already left. Marcus, the assistant, had cleaned and prepped the treatment rooms for tomorrow.
The clinic felt different.
Not because anything had changed physically.
But because it felt alive again.
I walked toward the subway.
Passed Central Perk.
Through the window, I could see the evening crowd. More people than this morning. A group on the couch. Laughter.
I recognized Monica. Ross. The blonde woman—Phoebe.
And Rachel.
She was wearing a waitress apron. Carrying a tray. Moving between tables with the uncertain grace of someone still learning.
She looked... lighter. Less polished than at the wedding. More real.
Our eyes met through the glass.
She froze.
I raised my hand in a small wave.
She waved back. Tentative smile.
I kept walking.
Not ready to engage yet.
Not until I had my own foundation solid.
Behind me, I heard the door open.
"Barry!"
I turned.
Rachel stood in the doorway. Apron stained with coffee.
"Hi, Rachel."
"I'm sorry, I don't mean to bother you. I just—when I saw you, I wanted to check. Are you okay?"
"I'm okay."
"Really?"
"Really. Are you?"
She glanced back at the coffee shop. "I'm working. For the first time in my life, I'm actually working. It's terrifying and exhausting and I spilled coffee on three people today."
"But?"
"But I feel like I'm doing something real. Even if it's just carrying coffee."
"That matters."
"Does it?"
"More than you know."
She smiled. Genuine this time. "Monica said you'd say something like that."
"You talked about me?"
"She saw you walk past yesterday. Asked who you were. I told her you were my ex-fiancé who's weirdly well-adjusted."
"Weirdly well-adjusted?"
"Most people would be a mess. You're just... moving forward."
"What else am I supposed to do?"
"I don't know. But whatever it is, it's working." She checked her watch. "I should get back."
"Good luck with the coffee."
"Good luck with the teeth."
She went back inside.
I continued to the subway.
Felt lighter.
The conversation hadn't been awkward. No lingering tension. No unresolved feelings.
Just two people who'd made a difficult choice and were living with it.
Progress.
END CHAPTER 3 (2)
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