Knockout Mouse Read Online Free Page B

considered asking him if he planned to pass the arrogance gene on to his children, but decided to stay out of it.
    “Evolution doesn’t care how we feel at all,” Sheila said. “In fact, maybe if we were built to be more naturally content, we’d be less inclined to reproduce. There must be some explanation for why it’s so hard for us to be happy in our lives.”
    This brought an uneasy silence. The table stared at Sheila as if she’d admitted an embarrassing hygiene problem. These go-getters weren’t about to admit any such weakness. Weakness made you—and your genes—an undesirable commodity.
    Sheila’s shoulders hunched. She wound a ringlet of hair around her finger, tighter and tighter, and looked down at herplate. The tangy voice I’d heard earlier had disappeared. I was amazed at how quickly her demeanor changed. She withdrew as I watched.
    The conversation veered back to the subject of where to raise one’s children, a hypothetical prospect for everyone there. Their faces were clear and unfurrowed. I didn’t pay much attention. I was watching Sheila. She didn’t look well. Her eyes were watery, her face was puffy, her neck red. She kept scratching the back of her hand.
    “Are you all right?” I asked.
    “I’m fine,” she said, squeezing her temples. She attempted a smile. “Just allergies. Excuse me.”
    She disappeared into the bathroom. Other people moved into the living room. After helping Jenny clear the table and make coffee, I passed around a tray of coffee cups, while Jenny offered milk.
    I wedged myself into a corner and watched Jenny keep her contacts warm. She chatted with each person about everything and nothing. It came naturally to her, which was good, because her business depended on it.
    I wasn’t much of a mingler, and no one chose me as a networking target. After a while I went into the dining room, where Marion and Wes were cocooned in a private conversation.
    “Have you seen Sheila?” I asked. “She wasn’t feeling well.”
    “Sheila went home,” Marion said.
    “Was she all right?”
    “Should be. Just some overactive mast cells.”
    Wes found this funny. “That’s a relief. I thought she was crying because Fay said something to her. It was kind of weird. Fay was irate.”
    “When was this?”
    “Just as Sheila was leaving,” Wes said. “She and Fay were by the door to the closet. Marion was telling me about mutated fruit flies that had their eyes in their asses.” He laughed again.
    I walked through the kitchen and out a door that led to a small back porch. In between the branches of the eucalyptus trees, stars twinkled feebly in the Silicon Valley haze. I thought about the guests in the living room. Was I just getting old? Everyone in there was close to Jenny’s age, thirty. Only a handful of years separated me from them, but it felt like a chasm. Except for Sheila, they all seemed so sure of themselves, so entitled, so on the make. But then, I’d been out of step with the world around me for months. I wondered if I was beginning to fall out of step with Jenny, too.
    I closed the door and went back into the living room. It was almost eleven. Some people had left already, others were saying their goodbyes. A few were going back to work, I suspected, and others out to clubs. Bed sounded good to me, though. I was glad I wouldn’t be spending an hour on the freeway back to my flat in San Francisco.
    Marion and Wes were the last guests to leave. Marion was not shy about giving him her card and planting a kiss on his mouth. As soon as I closed the door, Jenny and Fay commenced a review of who was there, how much funding this one’s venture was getting, how soon that one’s startup would crumble. The dinner party was judged to be a success. They were particularly pleased by the sparks flying between Wes and Marion.
    “I’m glad he latched on to Marion,” Fay said. “She’s much better for him than Sheila.”
    “What’s wrong with Sheila?” I