Fran Ross - Oreo

“Christie.”

“A Miss Christie.” He chuckled. “She says you just gave her a ‘prescription’ and told her to fill it.”

Oreo could hear what sounded like angry barking at the other end.

Irving held the phone away from his ear. “Okay, okay, sir. You can’t be too careful in these cases, you know. Just wanted to double-check.”

“I work fo’ ’em,” Oreo said petulantly when he hung up. “Send me fo’ ’scriptions all de time,” she added, just loud enough to lead him to believe that she had not meant him to hear her.

“I have to run this through the computer,” said Irving. “Only take a minute.” He left the room.

Oreo counted the dots in the wallpaper design while he was gone. She got to 381 before he returned. She would have to tell Louise to play it.

“Now, just as a last, final check, what’s the name of account number 865-30-2602?”

“Huh?” said Oreo dull-normally.

“The people you work for, what’s their name?”

“Now, what Mr. Sam’s las’ name?” she asked herself. “Begin with a S . Don’t tell me. I get it shortly.” She bit her lip. “Schwartz,” she said triumphantly. “That what it is — Schwartz.”

Irving smiled his unseemly potato smile. “Good girl. It never hurts to check.”

“Ain’t it the truth,” said Oreo, smiling her cookie smile.

Oreo leaving GI

She walked out of Generation, Incorporated, swinging her cane and whistling “Hatikvah.” When she tired of that, she switched to “Lift Ev’ry Voice and Sing.” A special shipping container, about the size of a bread box, knocked against her leg as she walked. In the container were sixty vials of frozen sperm.

The story of Helen and Samuel, Oreo’s version

Piecing together all she had learned from Hap, Marvin, and Edgar, what she had known and now knew, Oreo’s scenario went like this: Helen and Samuel meet in college, lust after each other, make out like minks, get married, and make out like minks. In a moment of calm (while the sheets are being changed), they determine to give the world human evidence of their endearment. Jacob would shep such naches from his first grandchild, he would forgive, forget, and make a new will. “At the rate we’re going, it’s a wonder I’m not pregnant already,” Helen says. “It’s understandable, sweetheart,” Samuel says, “up to now, we’ve been taking precautions.” “Of course,” says Helen, “what are you using, honey?” “What am I using? I thought you were using something.” Gravid pause. They decide to have checkups. “Low sperm count,” says the doctor. “Sorry about that.” Samuel is desolate. Then he sees an ad for New York City’s first research center for artificial insemination. Samuel fills vial after vial with semen. GI centrifuges, concentrates, and freezes the issue in liquid nitrogen at minus 321 degrees Fahrenheit. Superimpositions of symbolic swiving and sets of vials being defrosted . Nine months later: “It’s a girl!” But Jacob does not forgive, forget, or make a new will. In fact, he says, “This you call my aynekel ? In any war between Israel and Egypt, may all the Arabs have eyes like you got.” Perhaps a boy? They try — getting and spending and thawing for days on end. In the fullness of time, Jimmie C. is born. But even before that, Jacob has made clear: “Kosher kinder or you’ll get makkes .” And even before that , Helen and Samuel have split up. Solely over Jacob’s gelt ? Perhaps, perhaps not. In any case, Samuel determines to make his own fortune. Montage of Variety headlines of the “O’s Pop Top Flop” genre .

After years of floppolas, Samuel meets Mildred. Miraculously, his luck seems to change. He starts pulling down heavy change doing commercials. He marries his luck. He can qualify for Jacob’s loot as soon as Mildred has a totsicle. What a bulba : Jacob hates her. Make that two bulbas : Samuel hates her. She’s weird, with her arm in the air and her Lucretia Borgia lab. Samuel reasons: Why should I risk making another boo-boo and lose all that mazuma? Luck or no luck, I’ll give her grounds for divorce. I’ll even let Jacob pick my next wife. Why take chances? I have a potential fortune stored there at GI. All I need is the right oven and — hoo-ha! — bread!

Clues, shmues

One of Samuel’s flops must have been a play about Theseus — hence his legendary clues. Of course, the clues had been meant only to make Oreo think of the legend of Theseus. They had had nothing to do with any of her actual adventures. But since from the beginning she had determined what each item on her list signified, she would complete her task and ascribe meaning now, at the end. She took out her list and crossed off “Lucky number” (865-30-2602); “Amazing,” which she felt should have been “A-mazing” (trying to find her way through the labyrinth of the subway); and “Sails” (her black headband and its mirror image). The last she crossed off a bit sadly.

Samuel had chosen to style himself “Aegeus.” Perhaps he had played the part. Oreo had refreshed her memory of the legend in the library. (She had also found the newsmagazine story on artificial insemination — an invaluable guide to making the withdrawal from the GI sperm bank.) Theseus could be said to have had two fathers — Aegeus and Poseidon. Oreo and Jimmie C. could also be said to have had two fathers — Samuel at room temperature and Samuel frozen. Had the freezing process brought to Samuel’s tsedoodelt mind the god of flowing waters? His brains had definitely been in his tuchis —definitely.

Oreo planning her next move

Jacob deserved a few days to mourn in peace. Meanwhile, she would deposit Samuel’s semen in the sperm bank of her choice. There was no rush. The frozen tadpoles would keep for at least five days in their special container. She had been tempted at first to destroy the vials. But she was not ready to see Samuel die twice in two days. She thought of her mother. Helen would probably say, “Your father’s dead. Let him rest in peace,” and urge her to spill the seed. Her grandfather James would probably tell her to soak Jacob for every cent she could get in return for the vials.

But why not give Jacob an opportunity for what she was pleased to call a Judeo-Négro concordat? He was, after all, her paternal grandfather. They shared misfortune. Perhaps, in these circumstances, he would greet his granddaughter as a zayde should, with love and affection. If he did, she might give him the vials as a present. It was no skin off her skin. If, on the other hand, Jacob’s greeting was not all that she felt a grandfather’s should be, well, then… She would have to think about how best to impress upon Jacob the full import of her actions, how make him appreciate her fleeting possession of divine caprice as she poured the last of his strain down the drain. It was all up to Jacob, of course. The way he acted would in large part determine the way she acted. She would allow for his still fresh grief, his shock when she told him who she was and how she got there. Yes, she would cut him some slack. But, for all that, she would not forget herself completely.

Oreo put her package down at the intersection, resting one sandaled foot lightly on top of it as she waited for the light to change. She idly twirled her walking stick, smiled her cookie smile, and whispered slowly and contentedly to herself, “ Nemo me impune lacessit .”

Pandion and Pylia beget Aegeus. Pittheus and wife (let’s call her Neglectedea) beget Aethra. Aegeus visits old friend Pittheus. On the same night, both Aegeus and randy sea-god Poseidon sleep with Aethra. Aethra conceives. Who’s the father? Generous Poseidon to Aegeus: “I’ve got enough kids — he’s yours.” Aegeus to Aethra: “Well, I’ll have to be getting back to Athens now. Send the kid to me when he can lift this rock and recover the sword and sandals I’m leaving under it.”