Free The Queen Gene by Jennifer Coburn

realtor.”
    “You told her this at the funeral?” I asked.
    “Don’t be ludicrous, darling,” Anjoli said. “I waited until the reception.”
    “The reception?”
    “You know, darling. The reception. It’s where we all cram into someone’s house, and they put out a crumb cake, some cheese, and coffee,” Anjoli said.
    “So you approached her about real estate at her mother’s funeral?” I asked.
    “I said it was at the reception!” Anjoli defended. “Anyway, she promised she would call me, and the next thing I know, I hear that Mrs. MacIntosh bequeathed the damned place to NYU.”
    “Wow, what inspired that?” I asked.
    “I don’t know,” Anjoli sighed. “Apparently Mrs. MacIntosh is an alum there and wanted to ‘give something back’ to the university.”
    “That’s incredible,” I said, astounded. “That place has four apartments. It’s worth a fortune.”
    “You’re telling me !” Anjoli said. “Are you ready for the worst?”
    “I always am, Mother.”
    “Sit down for this one, darling,” she said.
    “I’m sitting,” I lied, as I browsed the selection of sheets and duvets, wondering if an artist would find floral prints appealing or pedestrian.
    “The leases run out this summer, and they’re turning the place into student housing — for girls! It’s going to be a goddamned sorority!”
    Even I felt for Anjoli this time. Here was a woman who made unthinkable sacrifices to maintain her youthful appearance. She drank 10 glasses of purified water and four ounces of wheat grass juice every day. Anjoli ate organic vegetables and legumes, avoided all meat, wheat, sugar, honey, gluten, and dairy. She did yoga, tai chi, and spinning class religiously. Vampires had more contact with the sun than Anjoli. She had hats with brims that could double as umbrellas. The idea of her opening her window every morning and seeing bouncy co-eds bopping down the stairs of the old MacIntosh house was Anjoli’s version of Dante’s Hell.
    “Oh, Mother, that is hard,” I said, careful not to address the real issue. “I know how noisy students can be. What will you do?”
    “What will I do? I’ll do as I have always done, darling. I will go on. I will survive. I shall overcome.” It’s tough to manage sounding like Scarlett O’Hara, Gloria Gaynor, and a one-woman civil rights movement all at the same time, but Anjoli pulled it off with aplomb.
    “You’re a true inspiration, Mother,” I said.
    “You think I’m something? You should see your cousin Kimmy. She got herself all dolled up and took the train up to New Haven this afternoon. She could pass for a 25-year-old,” Anjoli said with admiration. “She obviously paid attention to all of those makeup artists from her modeling days because she looked smashing. Anyway, she packed a small purse with nothing but lipstick and a change of panties. She said she wasn’t returning to the city without an Ivy League zygote. How’s that for determination?”
    “Wow, she’s really going through with this whole baby thing?” I asked.
    “Uh huh,” Anjoli replied. “She said we’ve inspired her, darling. Isn’t that touching?”
    “How did we inspire her?” I asked.
    “You with little Adam, and me with Paz, I mean, Spot,” Anjoli said. “Between us, Lucy, I detest this new name. Who would name their dog Spot?”
    “Dick and Jane?” I suggested.
    “Precisely,” she said. “Do I strike you as a Jane? Do I even know a Dick?”
    “So change it back to Paz,” I suggested. “How is he anyway? Has he stopped chewing his fur?”
    “No, his front legs look like raw chicken,” she said. “It kills me to see him chewing, chewing, chewing the way he does. Kiki thinks I should give him a colonic.”
    “Mother, do not give that dog an enema!” I shouted, noticing shoppers staring at me. I suppose this is not the sort of thing they’re used to hearing while selecting pillowcases and towels. I lowered my voice. “If you do that, I’m going to