Read Online The Egg Code by Mike Heppner - Free Book Online
Authors: Mike Heppner
Tags: Fiction
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his latest publication.
If I Say You Can Do It—You Can Do It!
Such long titles. Well, that was the business. She remembered the picture on the back jacket. She had chosen the tie that morning—another sleepy nine a.m. photo session. Rooting through the closet, she said, “Derek, you wear the yellow one.” Derek held out his hand and took it from her.
So this was Derek’s favorite scarf.
She’d found it under a pile of junk in the basement—old college textbooks, ice skates, unfamiliar boxes that seemed to originate from a previous owner. Couples and their garbage. The Skyes had been married for seven years. Their apartment was too small and soon they would have to move. She missed her old home in the suburbs. Nothing against the minorities, but there were too many of them. Still, she was certain that she’d never go back to Hedgemont Heights. The business would win, as it always did. This was best for everyone. In a roundabout way, she was very happy.
Donna wadded the scarf and hurried upstairs. Derek would need his favorite scarf.
He would appreciate this thing she had done for him.
Swiping up her car keys, she glanced down at the kitchen counter, where a book of note paper sat near the telephone. For Derek’s thirty-third birthday, she’d purchased an expensive answering machine, though she normally turned it off during the day because her father did not approve of it. Bartholomew Hasse did not approve of a lot of things. He believed all telephone conversations should remain the personal property of the party placing the call. He believed that once a voice was committed to tape, it could never be removed, no matter how many times you recorded over the original track. Thinking it over, Donna relented and agreed to use the machine only at night. Mr. Hasse regularly contacted his daughter in the morning, when Derek was out of the house. Since his requests sometimes crossed the line of what a disinterested third party might consider prudent, she was willing to keep their conversations a secret.
The drive to the convention center was short, just a few blocks down River Street and then north through the commercial district, where the road ran a tight course between buildings. Donna generally stayed away from her husband’s lectures. In many ways, they led separate lives. Her friends, in general, were not his friends. Hers were mostly old high-school acquaintances, but as Donna was not yet thirty, she supposed that this was not so unusual. Few of these women had ever lived outside of Hedgemont Heights, and they all thought her quite brave for staying in the city. She tolerated their admiration, shrugging off questions about pickpockets and curbside parking. It was their pity she could not stand. Her friends all had children, and she did not. Their husbands, like their fathers before them, were all successful in a harmlessly anonymous sort of way. They were lawyers and surgeons and advertising executives, and no one out in the great world beyond gave a damn about what they said or did. They were competent functionaries: dependable, loving, accepted by their peers. Derek was a superstar. He traveled ten months out of the year, and made regular appearances on the Johnny Carson show, and once an apparently demented woman sent him a refrigerated parcel in the mail, and inside the box was a glass tube containing her most recent ovulation, along with a note reading: PLEASE DEREK SKYE IF YOU COULD JUST FERTILIZE THE CONTENTS OF THIS TUBE WITH YOUR SEED AND KINDLY SEND IT BACK TO ME SO THAT I MAY PLACE IT INSIDE MY UTERUS DEREK SKYE I WANT TO BEAR YOUR CHILDREN AND I PROMISE NOT TO DISTURB YOU AGAIN NOR WILL I EVER ASK YOU FOR MONEY!! Derek did not have many friends. He had agents, admirers, handlers, contacts, accountants, partners, advisors, secretaries and drivers. And one wife. This made Donna feel very special. She craved the power of the definite article.
A well-behaved mob jammed the lobby of the convention center,
If I Say You Can Do It—You Can Do It!
Such long titles. Well, that was the business. She remembered the picture on the back jacket. She had chosen the tie that morning—another sleepy nine a.m. photo session. Rooting through the closet, she said, “Derek, you wear the yellow one.” Derek held out his hand and took it from her.
So this was Derek’s favorite scarf.
She’d found it under a pile of junk in the basement—old college textbooks, ice skates, unfamiliar boxes that seemed to originate from a previous owner. Couples and their garbage. The Skyes had been married for seven years. Their apartment was too small and soon they would have to move. She missed her old home in the suburbs. Nothing against the minorities, but there were too many of them. Still, she was certain that she’d never go back to Hedgemont Heights. The business would win, as it always did. This was best for everyone. In a roundabout way, she was very happy.
Donna wadded the scarf and hurried upstairs. Derek would need his favorite scarf.
He would appreciate this thing she had done for him.
Swiping up her car keys, she glanced down at the kitchen counter, where a book of note paper sat near the telephone. For Derek’s thirty-third birthday, she’d purchased an expensive answering machine, though she normally turned it off during the day because her father did not approve of it. Bartholomew Hasse did not approve of a lot of things. He believed all telephone conversations should remain the personal property of the party placing the call. He believed that once a voice was committed to tape, it could never be removed, no matter how many times you recorded over the original track. Thinking it over, Donna relented and agreed to use the machine only at night. Mr. Hasse regularly contacted his daughter in the morning, when Derek was out of the house. Since his requests sometimes crossed the line of what a disinterested third party might consider prudent, she was willing to keep their conversations a secret.
The drive to the convention center was short, just a few blocks down River Street and then north through the commercial district, where the road ran a tight course between buildings. Donna generally stayed away from her husband’s lectures. In many ways, they led separate lives. Her friends, in general, were not his friends. Hers were mostly old high-school acquaintances, but as Donna was not yet thirty, she supposed that this was not so unusual. Few of these women had ever lived outside of Hedgemont Heights, and they all thought her quite brave for staying in the city. She tolerated their admiration, shrugging off questions about pickpockets and curbside parking. It was their pity she could not stand. Her friends all had children, and she did not. Their husbands, like their fathers before them, were all successful in a harmlessly anonymous sort of way. They were lawyers and surgeons and advertising executives, and no one out in the great world beyond gave a damn about what they said or did. They were competent functionaries: dependable, loving, accepted by their peers. Derek was a superstar. He traveled ten months out of the year, and made regular appearances on the Johnny Carson show, and once an apparently demented woman sent him a refrigerated parcel in the mail, and inside the box was a glass tube containing her most recent ovulation, along with a note reading: PLEASE DEREK SKYE IF YOU COULD JUST FERTILIZE THE CONTENTS OF THIS TUBE WITH YOUR SEED AND KINDLY SEND IT BACK TO ME SO THAT I MAY PLACE IT INSIDE MY UTERUS DEREK SKYE I WANT TO BEAR YOUR CHILDREN AND I PROMISE NOT TO DISTURB YOU AGAIN NOR WILL I EVER ASK YOU FOR MONEY!! Derek did not have many friends. He had agents, admirers, handlers, contacts, accountants, partners, advisors, secretaries and drivers. And one wife. This made Donna feel very special. She craved the power of the definite article.
A well-behaved mob jammed the lobby of the convention center,
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