Being the survivor of a happy union, ’til death do us part, would have been less painful than the daily combat of annulment crossfire. I flipped through my soon-to-be ex-husband’s proposed divorce settlement with a feeling of loss, disappointed that decades of a life together would end in acrimony. Why should I be expected to settle for less than I deserved? The deadline to sign was approaching.
***
A producer at the other end of the video link called out, “on air in three, two, one…” I pushed the papers aside, looking up from the desk towards my laptop camera. My aging face appeared on a split screen in front of a large studio audience.
‘MOSQUITOES WITH STINGERS DISCOVERED SWINGING IN POND’ read the caption on Olen Live, the hit pop culture show.
“Welcome Professor Elaine Jones,” Olen Luftkopf announced boisterously. “We are so happy that you are with us today. I’ve watched your nature show since I was a teenager and hoped that we would meet one day.” Applause erupted in the studio audience. “Tell us about this naughty new mosquito variant that you found.”
“Nice to be with you,” I replied, taking my eighth interview of the day. “Your heading should read ‘swimming in pond’, not ‘swinging in pond’.”
A close-up picture of two male mosquitoes appeared on a screen in the studio. Stingers, like those of bees, protruded from the bottom of their abdomens.
“Professor, these two bad boys are up to some hanky panky. Tell us more about this stinger.”
“The Anopheles stingulus variant evolved that organ so males could inject venom into other males. They’re trying to sting each other in your photograph, not pass on their genes.”
“Oh là là,” Olen said, looking surprised. “That’s horrible.”
Gasps from the studio audience followed.
“Males use their stingers to fight other males to ward off competition for females. Their venom stops other males from releasing pheromones that attract potential mates. The victors get to procreate.”
“Do these variants sting people?”
A side shot of a male and female Anopheles stingulus mosquito appeared on the screen.
“No. Each sex has a proboscis, that long thin tube below their head. You see that the males also have the stinger and the females don’t. Male mosquitoes only feed on nectar. They never go near humans. Females risk their lives to feed on humans, but they can’t sting because they don’t have a stinger.”
“I’m so relieved that they won’t attack people,” Olen gushed. “Professor, it’s been a tremendous pleasure to have had you today. Perhaps we could do it in person next time.”
“I would be delighted.”
‘FIVE-TIME RAZZIE WINNER TRYSTY DALLIANCE CAST AS IVANA IN A REMAKE OF THE SPY WHO SHAGGED ME,’ read the new caption on the screen, as I faded to black.
***
There was a knock at my office door.
“It’s open.”
Sylvia joined me at the window overlooking the University’s lush, spacious gardens. Fragrances from flowers sent by well-wishers filled the office air. “Finished speaking with the attention-deficit media?”
“Today, or permanently?” I asked.
“Let’s start with today.”
I turned to Sylvia, a younger, more ambitious professor than I was at that age. “What’s their problem with science? Anopheles stingulus is a story about evolution not how a mosquito variant can harm people. Daytime news wonks stiff me every time.”
“Every time? It’s more like some of the time.”
“Let’s agree on much of the time.”
“When it comes to you and science-challenged media personalities, remember who won the UNESCO science prize for biosphere management and the L’Oréal prize in science.”
“I prefer visiting schools to talk about new discoveries. Something about young inquisitive minds refreshes me.”
“Me too,” Sylvia agreed. “Some tier one science journals have requested meetings with you. I’ll set up proper interviews.”
“Good idea.”
“Maybe we brought this chaos on ourselves by replying to every media outlet that wanted to speak with you.”
“Look on the bright side. People know more about mosquitoes today than they knew yesterday.”
“More people saw your sophisticated manners and debonaire looks,” Sylvia said.
“I suppose it’s better that I look younger than my age, instead of the alternative.”
Sylvia started fondling my half-marathon winner’s trophy from a few weeks ago. “Don’t be so gloomy. That last guy you spoke with was kinda flirty.”
“Gorgeous too, but I’m probably not his type.”
“Meow,” Sylvia purred. “Want me to get his number?”
“Don’t be silly.”
“Counting down the days to being single again?”
“Not really.” I picked up the latest edition of Prevention Magazine from my desk. “This is what replaces Cosmo when you get to my age.”
Sylvia scrunched her nose.
“I just want the nonsense to end so that I can move on. Are we still doing dinner tonight?”
“Six o’clock, sharp. The whole team is going to be there to celebrate.”
“Make sure that the restaurant we go to doesn’t serve insects,” I insisted. “Perhaps you can give me some tips about being single again.”
“Let’s bail now and start the evening early with some cocktails.”
“I can’t.”
Sylvia stood by the window pouting.
“I have a few e-mails to catch up on. Funding requests. Donation pledges for our citizen science charity. Won’t take long. Come get me in an hour.”
Sylvia closed the door on her way out.
Awards and commendations on the walls of my office surrounded me, yet the comfort they once gave have been replaced by a nagging fear that being relevant had an expiry date. “Really?” I muttered upon seeing the latest addition to my inbox, braced for another impromptu e-mail duel with the soon-to-be ex.
Thursday; 4:05 PM
Elaine,
You were on all of the news channels I watched today. Compliments on your wonderful discovery. I closed the biggest deal of the year today, yet most of the correspondence I’ve received has been congratulations, Mr. Elaine Jones, what type of mosquito repellent should I use? Finding a new bug species isn’t the most valuable contribution to science; it’s not like you discovered a cure for cancer. Self-inflicted destruction of your reputation by reporting such a trivial matter takes courage. You have my full support. Perhaps a new social media thread to that effect is something I can help with.
Best, Randall.
PS. What’s taking you so long to sign?
Thursday; 4:11 PM
Randall,
Your veiled threat couched in terms of endearment is sweet but unnecessary. It saddens me to think that you’ll never be comfortable in your own skin. You don’t need public recognition to validate your work. Neither do I, though it’s a consequential benefit in my field. I’ve never meant for my public persona to make you feel that your work has lesser value. I differ from your position on scientific contribution. New scientific knowledge is always inspirational and must be shared regardless of whether laypeople judge it important or not. Jealousy of my professional success seems surpassed only by your disdain that our divorce settlement, as currently written, grants me full ownership of the summer house. I can do better than that!
E.
PS. I withdraw my request for the dogs. Keep them. I want the chalet, too.
Attachment – More Evidence.MPEG-4 (NSFW)
Thursday; 4:19 PM
Elaine,
You discovering a pest that has evolved a stinger seems appropriate under our circumstances. Why wasn’t it named after you? Living in the spotlight of your success challenges me no end. Your notoriety as an award-winning scholar and past president of environmental protection groups rarely goes unnoticed by my clients. Today when I completed the acquisition of a clean energy producer by a leading oil company one of the CEOs asked, ‘Does your wife approve?’ I just made the guy a fortune and that was the first thing that came to his mind! As your security cam video inferred, Trysty Dalliance is a new neighbor at the chalet, which you won’t get even if you make this video go viral! I’ll deny everything.
Somewhat irritated Randall.
PS. Persistence is futile. Facts are flexible.
Thursday; 4:32 PM
Randy,
Anopheles stingulus males who use their stinger effectively are guaranteed to get it on. That may amuse you, as a fifty-something-year-old investment banker who’s screwing a B-movie actress half his age. However; our discovery of a secondary variant is most interesting. Approximately eight percent of Anopheles stingulus males have only one wing, not two. All of the females have two wings. I reference this finding because there is a high probability that you are outnumbered, at least two to one, by females you are currently aggravating.
E.
PS. Rethink the chalet. Facts aren’t flexible, even under duress. #Galileo :)
Attachment – Housekeeper on top in guest room.JPEG
Thursday; 4:44 PM
Elaine,
I refuse to cower just because you have ‘evidence’ supporting your claim that I’ve been intimate with other women. I have reasonable explanations for each encounter. Increasing your demands, at a time when I offer to settle, isn’t a winning strategy.
Are you in the middle of a hot flash? Randall.
PS. You’re just being greedy!
Thursday; 4:48 PM
Randall,
Pasante Unique has the only skin I know of that’s thinner than yours. Call me greedy? I agreed to settle weeks ago, but you refused. How does changing your mind at the last minute, to hold out for my grandmother’s collection of rare Baccarat paperweights, feel now? One more thing. Technically, mosquitoes with stingers are insects, not bugs.
Anopheles stingulus secondary variants vaguely remind me of how you’ve changed in the past few years. They are males that only have right wings. We are at a loss to explain why this provides evolutionary advantage, since they can only fly in circles.
The venom delivered by Anopheles stingulus is non-toxic. Rather than killing their victims, the males inject neurotransmitters that disrupt cognition, which alters how their victims’ brains process stimuli. In layperson terms, the venom suppresses sex drive, and makes victims wonder if facts are true.
Since right-wing mosquitoes can’t fly away quickly from predators their longevity is doubtful. Potentially applicable to you, given the size and competence of my lawyer’s firm.
E.
PS. Please put the insect nets back up at the chalet.
Thursday; 4:51 PM
Elaine,
I never fully accepted being Mr. Elaine Jones but have managed to tolerate it for sometime. I have felt smothered these past few years. Sign the agreement. Let’s move on. I fail to see how a bug variant reminds you of me and do not wish to be enlightened.
F’kin hell. Randall
PS. Still not budging on the chalet.
Thursday; 4:59 PM
Randall,
I grow tired of your stubbornness, and must leave for an appointment. We expect that therapeutics to reverse the confusing effects of ‘alternative facts’ will benefit society. Clinical trials of an antidote to the venom are underway. We also discovered that all Anopheles stingulus variants detect cancer in humans. So much for your dig about my discovery being trivial.
E.
PS. Forgot to forward this when it arrived at the house last week.
Attachment – Randall Bigwanker – Tax Avoidance.pdf
Sylvia poked her head into my office. “Time to go.”
“Already?”
She handed me a piece of paper with Olen’s phone number. “In case you change your mind.”
“Meow.” I glanced at a text that just arrived. What’s next? Take the chalet and the paperweights. Revised agreement is on its way. SIGN! R
“Do you need to respond?”
“Would I look out of place driving a cherry red convertible? It would be electric.”
Sylvia cocked her head, raised one eyebrow and lowered her bottom lip.
“Never mind. Forget that I brought it up.”
“Are you going to reply?” Sylvia asked more firmly.
“I’ll wait ’til later. Let’s paint the town.”
————
Dave Lovell writes speculative fiction and local history. Some of his sci-fi short stories have appeared in One-Shot anthologies produced by the Toronto Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers Group. Regarding tales of local interest, he recently co-authored “Perseverance and Glory – The History of the Argonaut Rowing Club.” Once upon a time, Dave worked in research centres and commercial laboratories in North America and Asia where he authored scientific journal papers and patents.