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Old 09-19-2005, 12:22 PM   #1
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A Story Without Me 11

A Story Without Me 11: Baby Talk.

Disclaimer: Besides writing this chapter and telling herself yet again to spend more time writing her resume and searching librarian job postings, Author jobob is packing for the first leg of her Tour of the Vertigo Tour. Maybe she and the partying Plebans will meet their favorite band in Chicago? She will pack her laptop in case inspiration strikes in her hotel room or she has an "I met Bono!" story to tell. (VP, I must hear yours!) This is fiction. B's more or less like Bono. Most Bonophiles should know Bob Hewson's bee story. I ripped it off ... uh, *adapted it* for my purposes. This is going to be a short chapter. Want more? There is an extended scene. (Email me at jobobsemail-u2stuff@yahoo.com if you want it. Yes, I know I'm hideously behind in sending them out.) Unos, dos, tres, eleven.

Vertigo Tour Request: Guys, please play "Fast Cars" in Chicago. Keep playing it while you're in North America. Let fans who didn't buy the Deluxe HTDAAB or The Complete U2 enjoy that most excellent song. Edge, play that flameco guitar. Adam, there could be a funky bass line or second guitar in there somewhere for you. Larry, it doesn't have drums, so you get a short break. And Bono? It's a great beat, I want to see you dance to it. You know you want to. And don't you worry about your mind.

After you let B nap in the hammock, you awaken him with a kiss. You're lying in his arms, in the sun. It's late afternoon. You're wide awake, for once.

"Good afternoon, love. Sleep well?"

"I fell asleep on you? Sorry."

"It's all right. You know I've been sleepy enough lately."

He thinks for a monent, then says: "As I said this morning, m'lady, we have many important matters to discuss related to the queen's situation. However, Lord B hardly knows where to begin."

"You may begin anywhere, my lord."

"Does the queen believe she is expecting a prince or a princess?"

"The queen's lover is so virile that we cannot see him as the sire of a girl-child."

"The queen can be so womanly that her lover can easily imagine her carrying a girl-child."

"Really, B? I've always wanted to have a daughter."

"And you think I'd only father boys, J? I've always wanted to have a son."

"Every man wants a son. But not every woman wants a daughter. One of us will get what he or she wants. Unless I have boy-girl twins." You look into B's shaded eyes.

"Oh, please, not twins! One will be enough!" B looked a bit green when your doctor told you that because of your age, you had a higher chance of having twins.

"My sentiments exactly. One child will be enough for me. One child is one more than I thought I'd ever have."

"Just as long as we have a healthy baby, right, love?"

"You know, when they hook me up to The Machine That Goes 'Ping!' for my ultrasound to see if I will have a healthy baby, they'll be able to tell what sex our baby is. Do we want to know that ahead of time?"

"Ah, yes, The Machine That Goes 'Ping!' " B's a Monty Python fanatic. He talked you into watching "Monty Python's The Meaning of Life" again with him shortly after you told him about the baby. You laughed nervously at the "Birth" scene where the Pythoners are doctors who are far more interested in the delivery room's equipment than they are in the laboring woman. "If your doctors act like that in the delivery room, I'll tell them, hey, that's my wife hooked up to that machine that goes 'Ping!' Pay attention to her!"

"Your wife?" Why is he calling you his wife?

"Maybe that's what you'll be by then? And it's more socially acceptable than 'Hey, that's my babymomma hooked up to that machine! Pay attention to her!' "

"So you'll fight for me in the delivery room?" You hug him closer to you.

"Of course."

"That's so sweet of you, B."

"Isn't that supposed to be what a father does?"

"It would be hard for you to just wait around for nine months and pass out cigars afterwards. But since you do enjoy cigars, and cigar smoking is fashionable, it would be sweet and funny for you to pass out cigars after the baby's born." You make a mental note to go to the cigar and tobacco store tomorrow and buy B the very best cigar you can afford. Just tell the clerk it's for your husband to celebrate your new baby. "Let me ask you again: Do we want to know the sex of the baby before it's born?"

"Sex? You just said sex! For the second time! You lose the bet, J." B kisses you.

"Not that kind of sex, B. I'm still the queen of the castle. You know I meant the sex of our baby, my dear, silly boy. Do you want to know ahead of time if it's a boy or a girl? Or would you rather wait and find out when I give birth? They'll find out the baby's sex from the ultrasound and the other tests I need to have. They can keep it from us, or tell us, whichever we choose. If we know ahead of time, it would make it easier to pick names. And to buy clothes and to pick the paint colors and decorations for the baby's room."

"Let's find out ahead of time. But let's let it be our little secret. Let's let everyone else guess. Let them find out when the baby's born."

"Brilliant! I love it! People are way too obsessed with a baby's gender -- before it's even born! So you think it's going to be a girl, B?"

"Yes, but I admit, I want a boy. I want to have a son."

"Call it women's intituion or a mother's instinct. I really feel it's a boy. Whenever I think of the baby, I think of a boy. Whenever I dream about our baby, I always dream it's a boy. This Chinese test I found on the Internet says that based on my age and the month I got pregnant, I should have a boy. I just cannot imagine you, as masculine as you are, fathering a girl. So I bet it's a boy."

"I'll bet it's a boy too. Because I want a boy. Even though you'll be outnumbered, J. And if we're right?"

"We get a baby boy."

"Even if we're wrong, we wouldn't lose. We'd have a beautiful baby girl."

"Well, B, if we have a girl, I think you'd like being around a woman and a baby girl."

"If we have a girl, I'll send her to a convent from her 12th birthday until she's 30. I want to keep her from boys and men who act like I often acted -- or how I wanted to act -- around young, attractive girls."

"Oh, B! Every father I've ever met says pretty much the same thing about wanting to lock up his daughters. I'll bet you were good to most of the girls and women in your life, even at your womanizing worst. What were you like when you were a little boy, B?"

"Well, my Dad would tell you I was 'The Devil Child' because he couldn't cope with my endless questions, my teenage rebellion, and my sadness over losing my mother. But Dad also loved to talk about how they gave me the nickname Beekeeper. When I was a child, I loved to play in our family's garden. One spring Saturday, after my third birthday, Dad and Mum were sitting across the garden, watching me watch bees pollenate their rosebushes. I was trying to get a bee to land on my fingertip. And one did! I'd never seen a real bee before, only a "B is for bee" drawing in my alphabet book. I didn't know about bee stings. I was fascinated with the little yellow and black creature on my fingertip. "B!" I said to my parents as I looked at the end of my finger. "B! Bee!" They were shocked. They were terrified I'd be stung and I'd be allergic. Mum prayed for the bee to fly away. After the longest minute of my mother's and father's life, all the bees flew away, without stinging me. Afterwards, they started calling me their little Beekeeper. When I was a teenager, my mates shortened Beekeeper to Bee, and, finally, just to B, for their nickname for me. And for my stage name for the band."

"Wow! So that's how you got to be B. And why you smile whenever I call you my honeybee. However did you get a bee to land on and stay on your finger? And do you know if you are allergic to bee stings?"

"I have no idea why that bee landed on me. Perhaps it was my Irish charm? Or my childhood naivite? As for why I didn't get stung, maybe the bee didn't know it wasn't supposed to land on a boy without stinging him. Remember when my new doctor gave me allergy tests a few months ago? He said I'm not allergic to insect stings. He still can't quite figure out why I'm so allergic to red wine but not to white, though. How about your name, J? Were your named after your Aunt Josephine?"

"Everyone asks me that once they find out she and I have the same first name. Yes, Mom named me after her younger sister, and her favorite saint: Josephine Therese. Naming me Josephine is the only thing Mom ever did that I hate. Most people, except for you, call me Jo because I can't stand Josephine. How many women my age have such an old-fashioned, masculine-sounding name? If we have a girl, I want our daughter to have a modern, feminine name. And if it's a boy, our son's name should start with the letter B."

"After his father?"

"Why, of course!" After a father curious and charming (and navive) enough to catch bees when he was a little boy. And who grew up to be an adult who's never forgotten the boy inside of him. B kisses you, deeply. When it ends, you whisper in his ear: "You know, B, I think we're both losing our contest. Would you like to go inside? To my bedroom?"

"Yes, very much. And then I'd like to go to the Tigers game on Monday afternoon."

"Since we're both losing, I'd like to go out to the movies tonight or tomorrow. 'Broken Flowers' is at the Main Art Theatre." You hope B doesn't freak out when he finds out it's about a man who discovers he fathered a child years ago with one of his old lovers, and his friend urges Murray to find his child and reunite with the women.

"That's the movie where Bill Murray's character finds out he has a child by one of his old lovers, right?" B must read the same reviews as you. He probably does; you both love serious, dramatic art films as well as silly comedies.

"You'd still be okay with seeing it, considering?"

"I'd like to see Bill Murray in another leading dramatic role. He should have won the Oscar for 'Lost in Translation.' Yes, it would be an interesting movie for us to see right now, considering."

You kiss B again.

He gets out of your hammock, then helps you out of it.

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Old 09-19-2005, 01:05 PM   #2
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I love this story (please send me extended versions please evita@tds.net)

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Old 09-19-2005, 02:49 PM   #3
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God that story is AWESOME!!!!

Would like me too the extended version...if possible!!!
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Old 09-19-2005, 02:56 PM   #4
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Good chapter (me too Targon1991@hotmail.com)
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Old 09-19-2005, 11:38 PM   #5
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Great chapter! sharebear14@hotmail.com - please and thank you!
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Old 09-20-2005, 07:51 AM   #6
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I love this story... purplesparkyspecs@yahoo.co.uk please?
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Old 09-20-2005, 07:55 AM   #7
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Me too, please? Dark_Wear@gmx.de
Thank you!!!!
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Old 09-22-2005, 05:24 AM   #8
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Old 09-23-2005, 07:10 PM   #9
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Remember how I started this thread by saying:

Vertigo Tour Request: Guys, please play "Fast Cars" in Chicago. Keep playing it while you're in North America. Let fans who didn't buy the Deluxe HTDAAB or The Complete U2 enjoy that most excellent song. Edge, play that flameco guitar. Adam, there could be a funky bass line or second guitar in there somewhere for you. Larry, it doesn't have drums, so you get a short break. And Bono? It's a great beat, I want to see you dance to it. You know you want to. And don't you worry about your mind.

And what did I shout to Bono as he was signing autographs outside the United Center on Tuesday afternoon? "Play Fast Cars."

And I'll be dammed: They played it on Wednesday!

Bono does indeed dance very well to Fast Cars.

I hope they keep it in the set so you can all hear one of my favorite U2 songs.
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Old 09-24-2005, 03:13 AM   #10
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My friend went to the Chi-town show on Tuesday and told me they played it. And now I just read your story and you said to play it. That's so cool. Maybe they're on to us

oh yes, could I have the extended scene as well? allybug13@yahoo.com

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