The Queen Gene

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Authors: Jennifer Coburn
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the background. They were talking about the price of real estate in Greenwich Village while also discussing “what a shame” something was.
    “Mother!” I shouted. “Hang up the phone!” No response. “It’s Lucy. Your dog is calling me again. Please hang up!!!”
    “Darling, it’s not like she was a young woman,” Anjoli said in the distance.
    “Hello! Hang up the phone!” I shouted.
    I heard Alfie’s voice return, “Well call me the bleeding-heart queen, but I hate to see anyone kick the bucket.”
    Oh my God, who died?!
    “Hello! Pick up the phone, please. Who died?!” I shouted louder than before.
    Aunt Bernice rushed into the room. “Lucy, stop tawking like that. You’ll frighten the whole building. It’s bad luck to tawk about dying in the condo.”
    It is?
    I heard Anjoli again. “She bought the place before I did, so I know she’s not carrying a mortgage. Four apartments. If I could buy it below market, it would be an incredible investment, darling. And think about how easy the property management would be with me right across the street! Maybe I could convert it to a co-op!”
    Alfie interrupted my mother’s real estate fantasy. “And why, pray tell, do you think her kids would sell you the place below market?” Pause. “Oh Jesus, they’re taking the body.”
    “Why would they put her into an ambulance like that, darling?” Anjoli asked.
    “Like what?” Alfie inquired.
    “Like dead, darling.”
    “I’m going to miss Mrs. MacIntosh,” Alfie said. “She was like an institution on your block.”
    “Me, too” was Anjoli’s empty return.
    So, Mrs. MacIntosh from across the street had died. When Anjoli bought her place, Mrs. MacIntosh was the first one to come by and give us an old-fashioned welcome to the neighborhood. She was the only one on the block who consistently provided chocolate for trick-or-treaters. She was the one I’d go to for the spare key when Anjoli accidentally locked me out.
    My mother was appraising the property before her dead body had been removed from her home. “Four apartments,” my mother said dreamily. I heard Alfie ask a question. “ That, my darling Alfie, is why I think I’ll get the place below market,” Anjoli replied.
    What was why? What was why?! I hated only being able to hear. Who had just entered stage left?
    “Lord have mercy, look at those bangs!” Alfie said.
    Whose bangs? They couldn’t mean Mrs. MacIntosh, could they? Were they really saying a dead woman was having a bad hair day?
    Alfie continued. “Oh God, I hate it when they cry like that. Honey, get a grip. Throwing yourself on the body is not going to bring mumsy back to life.”
    They’re making fun of a woman who just lost her mother?
    “Those bangs really are atrocious,” Anjoli added.
    I cannot believe what I’m hearing!
    “Tell me about it, she looks like Xena the Warrior Princess got married and moved to the suburbs,” Alfie added.
    “Xena is a lesbian,” Anjoli corrected.
    I stood in Aunt Bernice’s guest bedroom, unable to speak. Paz was silent too, presumably as appalled as I was.
    “Oh, sorry, love,” Alfie snapped. “How ludicrous of me to suggest that Xena might get married and move to the suburbs. Not like the other oh-so-realistic elements of that show. Bangs on a warrior, puh-lease! She’d have to get the damned things trimmed every six weeks. Have you ever seen a salon on the show?”
    “Hello!” I shouted. They continued.
    “So why do you think Xanax the Suburban Warrior is going to sell you the place below market?” Alfie asked.
    “Anyone with hair like that won’t have a clue what the place is worth, darling,” my mother said with satisfaction. “She’s the type of dullard who thinks experimental theater is Cathy Rigby crossing gender lines to play Peter Pan. Do you think it would be in poor taste to go over there now?”
    “To make an offer?” Alfie asked.
    “Uh huh,” Anjoli returned.
    “Very. Why don’t you go over and extend

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