Dreams of a Robot Dancing Bee Read Online Free Page B

having a pretty rough time of it himself these days, out of work, recently separated from Josie. “It just all seems too good to be true,” he said, stubbing out another Lucky.
    â€œYeah,” I concurred, “Dan did tell me they were humping like bunnies to try and conceive right away to coincide with his paternity-leave, or whatever it’s called. Can you imagine that, the man taking off ’cause the woman had a kid?”
    â€œI guess you and I are living in the dark ages still, hey John?”
    It’s not as though I was completely caught up in Dan and Mary’s every move. Weeks, even months, passed without my giving more than a passing thought to their situation. But I was curious about this business of Mary’s biological time clock, as they say. Who is “they”? I don’t know, it’s just a phrase I don’t remember hearing much until recently. Now I hear it all the time. Everybody’s clock is running out, an exhausted species. And also Mary had said to me at the wedding reception—it comes back to me now—she said to me that she wanted to have a baby to prove to her friends—presumably the hordes of Herbalife gentry—“that she could do it all.” And this had stuck in my craw.
    When a year had passed without a single invitation to their new home, I pretty much let go of Dan in my mind. Mary was calling the shots, and Dan jumped when she said jump. I knewfrom Patrice—our Nigerian Marxist philosopher friend—that Mary was not pregnant, that Dan had postponed his paternity leave, and that Mary had traveled to over seventy-five cities to deliver her pitch since they were married. Beyond that, he didn’t know much, except that they were still trying to get Mary pregnant at every possible pit-stop. And Dan was in charge of overseeing all the elaborate renovations of the mansion while Mary traveled. Given what I knew of Dan’s lack of domestic experience and his hitherto faulty sense of responsibility, my imagination strained to complete this picture.
    And then late one night Dan called. I didn’t feel that warmly at first, but when he announced that Mary was finally pregnant I let down my protective shield and tried to match the jubilation in his voice. “Congratulations, Danny-boy, you’ll make a great father.” There was a moment of silence, then a kind of sardonic laugh. “Thanks, John.” It seemed we didn’t have that much to talk about—the house, Mary’s travels, the baby. Dan asked about my work, but I didn’t feel like dwelling on it, what with the importance of his own news. So, rather clumsily, we apologized for not being in touch, promised to change all that now.
    I ran into Dan’s mother at the supermarket some time after the call. I congratulated her, I don’t know what for, for bringing Dan into the world, I guess, for playing her part in this birth-chain. Dan was an only child, and of course she was pleased and proud, but seemed to dwell more on Mary’s success and the impressive cost of their new house, the changes and lack of change in her son. She had seen them only twice since the wedding and seemed pained by this, but would have never admitted this. Dan hadsponged off his parents well into his thirties, and this sudden flaunting of riches must have stirred mixed feelings. Nonetheless, all bitternesses aside, she was to be a grandmother at long last, she had nearly given up on Dan ever settling down. There had been some sweet and attractive prospects along the way, but Dan had always let them go, had always insisted on his right to have some “sidekickers,” as he called them, to complement his current “main squeeze.” But now, Mrs. Jacobson fully believed his claim of complete loyalty to Mary and all that she stood for. At this point I couldn’t help myself and asked, “And what does she stand for?”
    Mrs. Jacobson took the question,