Baby For The Bear

Samantha knew what was in store for her: the writing and rewriting of a resume; the hours spent going through job listings online. The cover letters, the E-mails and phone calls going back and forth. The interviews—God, that whole process of interviews! The insufferable questions: “Tell us about yourself,” for which she would need an “elevator speech” prepared; “Where do you see yourself in five years,” for which she would need something to say that would make her sound properly bright and motivated. And the questions she would have to ask them, the “right” questions that made it sound as if she were really interested and really wanted to make the prospective new employer’s business the be-all and end-all of her life. Yes, the interview process, which would call upon her to become an actress and convince someone that she was ready and willing to turn over her life to the service of some new corporate entity.

And in the time between now and whenever her command performances for job interviewers paid off, what was she to do? In school, Samantha had worked temporary jobs through agencies for which she had gone through the process of screening for skills—and then the clients of the temp agencies still wanted to put her through an interview process. Maddeningly, the clients hired a temp agency to find them screened, tested, and qualified workers for jobs that were understood not to be permanent positions, and still they wanted to interview people rather than trust the agency’s judgement, having screened and tested all their people, and just work with whom they were sent! There was just no escape from any of it. Samantha had thought she could just stay settled in where she was for a good long stretch and spend some time building her skills and her reputation before having to face again any of what awaited her now. So she had thought. But life had mocked her expectations.

“Screw you, life,” she muttered to her reflection in the mirror. Then, remembering her groceries, she went to collect the bag from the sofa and take it to the kitchen. All the while, she clutched that unemployment check for dear life.

After dinner, Samantha settled down on her bed with her MacBook and brought up the Internet, and there she began to go through job placement listings. She needed to set herself up with some interviews soon, if for no other reason than to be able to show the unemployment office that she was actively looking for another position to keep the checks coming. She was educated. She was smart. She was personable. She was experienced. She was aggravated. Nothing was jumping out at her. Samantha was seriously considering another option: Civil Service work. Both of her parents had worked in State agencies. They had remained in positions from which only a charge of high explosives could blast them out; bland, ordinary, humdrum, run-of-the-mill jobs that at least had the virtue of being backed by unions and hard to be fired from unless you were a total incompetent and an absolute screw-up. They had kept a roof over the family’s head and paid for a few extras. They had afforded Samantha a good education. But they represented a life of slogging and plodding through a bureaucracy, which Samantha found neither challenging, exciting, nor terribly interesting. They paid well and they offered great benefits, but they were otherwise in every way undistinguished jobs. Samantha had prepared herself for more than that. Would she really have to go the way of her parents? Really?

Perhaps, Samantha thought, she was looking in the wrong places. Perhaps she ought to try thinking a bit less conventionally. If the regular job listings and the State postings were not moving and motivating her, what else might there be?

On some impulse or whim, she brought up the website of the local alternative newspaper. It was a long shot, but perhaps… Finding the link to the paper’s classified section, she decided just to have a look.

She found the Jobs section and began to scroll her way through one item after another for which she was unsuited, or was obviously a scam that the paper should have vetted more carefully, or that sounded suspiciously like a multi-level pyramid scheme or a door-to-door sales job, or was otherwise wholly unappealing. After several long and thoroughly disheartening minutes of perusing the regular text advertisements, Samantha was ready to move on to some of the job boards in hopes that something there might be at least a little less demoralizing. That was when she advanced from the text postings to the display postings—and something on that page jumped out at her.

Samantha actually squinted at the peculiar display ad, scrutinizing it closely to make certain she was reading it correctly. A bemused look came over her face at what the bold lettering said: WEREBEAR NEEDS HEIR. Wealthy Ursine metamorph needs to have a cub to retain his inheritance. Seeking attractive, intelligent, educated, professional female under 30 to serve as surrogate mother. Ursines and humans only. $75,000 fee for successful IVF. Stipend paid until fertilization accomplished…

The ad continued with contact information for E-mail responses and a request for a headshot to accompany all E-mails. The rich shape-changing male who posted the ad wanted to see in advance what he was getting in a prospective mother for his cub. He had standards, and with his kind of money he was in a position not to settle for less than the best.

Amazed at what she had just read, Samantha looked up, bewildered, from the screen of her laptop. Was this person, whoever he was, serious? Was this wealthy man who was sometimes a bear—or this wealthy bear who was sometimes a man—really looking to secure his place in his Ursine dynasty by hiring some female, possibly human, to have her eggs combined with his bearish seed and carry his cub? Why go to such lengths, such measures? Why would he not just find himself a suitable wife of whichever species and start a family?

She could imagine a number of reasons. A normal courtship would take time, perhaps time that the prospective Papa Bear did not have; though that begged the question of why he hadn’t planned ahead. And then there was the distinct possibility of not falling in love with the object of his courtship, or falling out of love after marriage and having issues with custody of the cub and perhaps a very costly divorce settlement. Even if Mama Bear were to have signed a prenup, it could still set him back. It was all a very pragmatic idea, really. Not a terribly romantic idea, to be sure: hire a woman, pay for the in vitro procedures, pay for all of her prenatal care and the delivery, pay her for the use of her body as a living incubator, collect the cub and his inheritance. It was all neat, clean, and tidy that way.