Free Breed by Chase Novak

God, yes, by all means,” Arthur says, rising from his seat. He is a well-turned-out man in his early sixties, in an English suit and expensive shoes, with a full head of kinky white hair and merry blue eyes. He takes Leslie’s hand and gazes at her in his fatherly manner, though he is also inspecting her, wondering if he might discern some visible sign of madness that would cause Leslie to take a serious nip out of a doctor’s hand.
    When Leslie is out of the room, Arthur sinks back into his seat. “This is not going to be easy, you know,” he says. “I mean, she actually did bite that woman.”
    “Is that a question?” Alex asks.
    “No, it’s not a question. The woman was bitten, and she has Leslie’s teeth marks on her. Teeth marks are more identifiable than fingerprints.”
    “I’m sure they are.”
    “Alex. What is going on?”
    “I don’t know. Pregnancy? It changes women, everybody knows that.”
    “Yes, that’s true. But Leslie is the first pregnant woman I’ve known to bite a dermatologist. Look, the pregnancy thing is a card we can play, and I’m sure I can get this settled with probation and community service. There’s no way they are going to lock up a woman of Leslie’s stature, pregnant or not. But we’re going to have to cop a plea. You understand? We’re going to have to hammer out some sort of agreement, and I promise you this doctor is already using her good hand to dial some bottom-feeding personal injury lawyer and she is going to hit us up in a civil suit.”
    “You just do what needs to be done, Arthur,” Alex says.
    “You still haven’t answered my question, Alex.”
    “There are things that happen, Arthur. In people’s lives, their bodies, their marriages; private things. But whatever it is, I’m sure it will pass.”
    “What does her doctor say? And who is your obstetrician, by the way?”
    “Oh, this Dr. Blah-Blah, who the fuck knows? It’s a practice with eight doctors and we see someone different each time. It’s strictly a moneymaking outfit, but we’re fine where we are. The last thing we want is some helicopter obstetrician hovering over us. Listen, Arthur, we’ve waited a long time for this and now the only thing that’s important is to keep her safe and comfortable and for us to have this child.”
    “I realize that. But this Dr. Blah-Blah or any of his colleagues, they haven’t noticed anything… untoward in Leslie? Nothing out of the usual?”
    “What are you implying?”
    “I’m not implying anything, old buddy. I’m just asking.”
    “Do you see something out of the ordinary in Leslie?”
    “Other than her practically eviscerating her dermatologist?”
    “Not funny, Arthur.”
    “Not meant to be. But something’s going on. If you don’t want to get into it, we can just drop the subject. But if there’s anything you want to let me know, this is the time to do it. Right now. You’re on the clock anyhow.”
    “Actually,” Alex says, clearing his throat, “it looks as if it might be more than one. We might be looking at twins. And there’s an outside chance of triplets.”
    “Oh my God.”
    “Why do you say that?”
    “I don’t know. It just came out.”
    “You don’t think we’ll be good parents?”
    “I didn’t say that.”
    “But you said ‘Oh my God,’ as if some catastrophe were on the way.”
    “It popped out of my mouth, Alex. No offense intended.” He finishes his vodka, places it on the end table with some finality, and stands up to leave.
    Alex thinks how amusing it might be to pounce on Arthur, to shove him on the chest and bring him to the floor—not to hurt him, just to remind him who is boss, who is on top and who is on the bottom. Who is paying the bills. Who is paying the cost to be boss. Yeah!
    And here Arthur comes, his arms open for a comradely embrace, his stout belly pushing at the middle button of his suit jacket, his cuff links winking in the overhead light. He puts his arms around Alex, pats him