Read Online The Egg Code by Mike Heppner - Free Book Online Page A

filing in awkward clumps through the revolving doors. A black maintenance man with a pear-shaped afro and wiry sideburns stood smoking near the entrance. Hiding her purse under her jacket, Donna asked for directions to the Derek Skye Action for Life Seminar and Hot Lunch Buffet. Tossing his cigarette into a bucket of mop water, the man pointed at the escalator and said, “Well, you gonna wawna ride up to the fourth flow-uh, ’n’ then you gonna wawna make a right turn, past s’cur’ty, ’n’ then you gonna wawna open a door, mark Conference Room T, ’n’ then you’re all set.” She smiled, marveling at this other language.
    Pushing through the crowd on the fourth floor, she stared at the mob of young women who had turned up to hear her husband speak. During the first years of their marriage, she’d never questioned Derek’s loyalty. There were temptations, yes, but he was faithful and that was the end of it. Something else bothered her about these people. Why couldn’t they appreciate their many blessings? Life in the United States was good enough. Donna knew from her own experience that things could only get so bad. She had a solid man, a safe home, a decent upbringing and many more years left to live. These women all had children and she did not, yet she loved her marriage even as the months went by with more blood and no babies. So what was
their
problem?
    “You look like you come alone, like me.”
    A middle-aged groupie emerged from the crowd, holding a half-crumpled box of Pop-Tarts. Stepping sideways, she blocked Donna’s path with her body. “I told my husband, it’s for our own good. You come or you don’t, either way.” Pleased with herself, she pushed an unbaked Pop-Tart into her mouth.
    “You must be here for the couples retreat,” Donna said. Pressed up against the edge of the balcony, she looked down at the mass of men and women streaming up the escalator. Patient, hopeful faces, fresh from the fights.
    “Only one left!” the woman bragged, thumping her chest. “I done all the rest. I was at the one they had last winter. They give you a rock, say ‘Break it.’ ”
    “Oh, I know that one. It’s not really a rock.”
    “It’s not really a rock. And then they give you the booklet. Check, check, check. I told the man, ‘I can’t do this sort of thing.’ They don’t care, they’ll throw you right in.”
    “I guess I’ve never seen the one with the booklet,” Donna said in a soft, halting voice. The booklet. Derek’s idea. Standing beside this proud fanatic, she felt oddly at a loss. Tell me about my husband, she wanted to say. What’s he really like?
    “Give you a booklet,” the woman repeated as they crossed the reception area. “You get a check for every person you say hello to. They check it themselves, so they know you ain’t cheating. They’re real disciplinarians about it.”
    By this time, they’d reached the front of the crowd, where a line of guards kept the people from storming into the auditorium. Near the door, a woman carried a hand-drawn poster: Derek the Great, rendered in neon Magic Marker. Donna recognized the man in the picture. Everything matched up—his mustache, his deep-set eyes. Yet this was not her husband. This was a totem, a satanic Kewpie doll. And these women had stolen him, taken his spirit and projected it as something garish and candy-colored. The real Derek was dark, covered with bruises. She’d held the real thing, held his soft, leather-burnished genitals in her hand, and they were not orange or purple or shocking pink; they were his own color, Derek-dark, the color of their strange marriage.
    “I hope these meetings are helpful,” she said, taking her eyes away from the picture.
    The woman frowned; her lips were gummy with jam. “They’re helpful if you keep coming back and buying the books, and then you gotta get the tapes. I got ’em all. I listen to ’em sometimes when I’m outside, doing things. I stand out by the garage,