"I wouldn't call her a chick, exactly. More like a Madonna by
Modigliani."
"Yeah, Francesca. She lives in Cape Elizabeth. I was in a yoga class with her once."
"I ought to take yoga," Oliver said.
"The ratio is good, man. Francesca. That was years ago. She married some guy who works for Hannaford's."
"I knew it," Oliver said.
"They can't help it," Mark said. "They have this nesting thing." Dancers came to Portland, walked around the block a couple of times, and met Mark. Six to eighteen months later, they married doctors.
"Did you ever think of settling down?" Oliver asked.
"I'm trying, man. Who do you like in the NCAA's? Duke?"
"No way. Robots," Oliver said. "Smug. Bred to win from birth."
"I got a hundred on them." Mark made money helping executives scale the job ladder. He was amused and ironic about it. They knocked themselves out; he got the dancers—for a time.