Out Of The Blue

Ventura-Martin advertised the Synthatech Robutler as being “so lifelike, you’ll think you’ve adopted a brother”. Rachel figured it was niche advertising. Because in truth she’d have a hard time figuring a slogan that could be more off-putting. Maybe it was too many sci-fi movies. Maybe it was just the fact that her ex-boyfriend had been so fond of getting high that she’d learned to be creeped out by having human-like automatons idling about the house. She never even had photographs up. Something creepy about human eyes that can’t see.

But it came as no surprise when she heard her cousin Brenda had ordered one. Brenda Mayshack might be the most dependent able-bodied person Rachel has ever known. Never since puberty was she single, though the partners changed constantly until the one she married. Of course, David Mayshack was a high-standing attorney and Brenda had inadvertently tapped an inexhaustible source of comfort and security for the remainder of her life. Meanwhile, ever-independent Rachel Corser runs around, serving coffee and focaccias to university students ten years her junior, with some of her colleagues half her age.

“Skinny soy chai-latte, please.”

“Excuse me, I ordered raspberry jam.”

“It is raspberry jam, sir.”

“I think I know raspberry jam.”

“This coffee is distinctly over seventy degrees.”

“No. I think I’d know.”

Then, of course, there is her boss. Andrew Dunn is a nice guy. That is, a nice guy who spends one third of his life being unbelievably polite, sweet-natured and generous with compliments and time to listen. The other two thirds, he complains that Rachel is selfish and cruel for only wanting to be friends. If the day is too busy for him to demand a date or ask if she’s okay or needs anything, he’ll be sure to follow up with a text after hours. Usually around the time George either has dinner or has to go to bed. A text followed by a phone call, if not quickly concisely responded to.

“You seemed a bit down today. Want to talk?”

“Come on! Who better to be in a relationship with than your best friend?”

“You’re too busy fucking arseholes to realize that I’m the right man for you.”

“Just because I’m honest with you, and treat you right. You’re scared. So am I. It’s okay. We can work through it together.”

“Oh, I forgot, I only exist when you need something.”

Meanwhile, George manages to find his way up and into the kitchen. Or the living room. Or her bedroom.

“Um, mum…”

“Yes, darling?”

“Oh, well…did you know…?”

“What honey?”

“Well, I’ll tell you…”

“Go to bed, please, George.”

“You’re still up.”

“Mummy’s being pestered by a man at work, darling.”

“Why isn’t he in bed?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart.”

George will start school next year. Until then, the little guy joins her at the café for her eight to ten hour shifts. Or he goes to his father, but both parents do their best to avoid that. Having George around is good for Phil to meet women, not so great for him to consummate with them. All day every day…it seems he was only ever too stoned for her.

Their flat in the hills has only two bedrooms. But for the sake of helping ends meet, she decided to sublet one of them. A chance to get ahead, maybe. Of course, the only interest came from men. She spent over a month uncomfortably standing in the kitchen, scratching her elbow, while a man with hood and affected ethnic slur walked around her house, commenting on how choice either she or it was.

She met a real estate agent in town. He was rude and arrogant, but she was the center of his world, just for a moment. They got a hotel room. It’s nice to feel beautiful.

Eventually, she chose a boarder who put on the least of a display at the inspection. A quiet, middle-aged, overweight man who claimed to be recently divorced. He worked at a bookshop. They’d share a coffee in the mornings, each rising before the sun to go to work. While George was showering and getting ready. She could only afford one day of crèche a week. It would be there time to chat. Get to know each other.

“I’ve been single two whole years.”

“Five, for me.”

“Do you ever go on dates or anything?”

“No. Who’d go out with me? Look at me!”

“There’s someone for everyone, they say?”

“Well, you don’t date. I’ve seen you!”

“I go on dates!”

“You go to hotel rooms for seedy one-nighters. That’s not dating.”

“That’s all I need.”

Well, who can blame her? She has a delicate balance worked out, and she satisfies what she needs. So what, if every now and then she trades the vibrator for a warm, strong cock. It’s nice to feel beautiful.

It was good. They seemed to be getting along. Then came the bedtime stories. He offered to read to George, to give Rachel a break. Then he offered to get him up in the morning. Then, he was in George’s bedroom while George wasn’t there. Then, she caught him reading to George while in bed with him.

She kicked him out and called the police immediately. It was back to struggling. That, and being overridden with guilt that she could have subjected George to potential harm. She never let him out of her sight. At the café, he no longer played in the garden all day. He stayed in the kitchen, where she or Andrew could see him at all times. She’d call him to the table every night. Talk with him. See if he was different. See if he’d say anything that…oh, the nightmares.

She met a personal trainer in town. He was rude, and arrogant. But he ruled the room, when he walked in. Other women stared at him. He filled his space entirely. She got his number. He got a hotel room. It’s nice to feel beautiful, sometimes.

One morning, after Phil dropped George off, she decided to surprise him with pancakes. As soon as she dropped the batter into the pan, they expanded. They were more like giant muffins than pancakes. Self-rising flour. That’s the wrong flour. They looked hideous, and tested like a mouthful of raw yeast. George was delighted.

Brenda called her. Her breezy tone suggested a holiday was imminent. David was taking her on a six-month sailing trip around the Mediterranean. Of course. But she figured she’d send Rachel a favor, since her cousin has been doing it so tough.

“I heard about that guy from Aunty Katharine.”

“I feel sick still.”

“That must be awful, I’m so very sorry. You did the right thing, throwing him out.”

“After I let him in.”

The favor was the Robutler. His name was Kevin, and she was having him delivered for a six month stay while she and David go on their tour. Rachel was shuddering at the thought. Her flesh was crawling. The last thing she wanted was another man-thing about. Not least one which was made of plastic and cables and metal. What would it be capable of? What if it malfunctions?

“It’s designed to read a lot of literature, that’s how it learns empathy,” Brenda said. “It’s a wonderful listener, and that’s how it knows exactly what to say to make you feel better.”

That’s Brenda. Happy with words of comfort and lavishing attention, even if it is repetitive and synthetic. But there was nothing Rachel could do. A favor from Brenda is never easily diverted.

Kevin arrived on a Sunday. He was modelled off of Justin Trudeau. After all, why not have a stately, handsome butler? It wouldn’t be the first time a battery-operated device had pleased Rachel. He…it….was immensely creepy. With glassy, vacant eyes and a bland expression, he cleaned the little unit.

He made them dinner, after analyzing their preferred diets from the ingredients Rachel kept in her fridge. He spoke warmly and said kind things. He fixed the lawnmower Phil had broken, and mowed the grass. Saving the cost of the gardener.

More than once, in her flustered mid-week state, Rachel offered him a cup of coffee. He declined, of course, but promptly made her one. Perhaps she was too distracted between fending off Andrew and checking on George to remain creeped out, but it didn’t take long for her to warm to him.

There were moments, of course. Rachel would walk into the empty, dark living room of a morning and see him just standing there, idle and staring at the wall, and scream in terror. But he would come alive, and calm her. The touch of his hand was so lifelike. Soft and human. He’d hug her and apologize, and she’d feel warmth. She even thought she detected a heartbeat.

Andrew called six times while she was in the shower. She called him back, in a fury which quickly disintegrated into crying openly. She told Kevin to leave her alone, but he stayed by the door to her bedroom, hands behind his back.

“You really ought to let it out.”

“I just don’t want to talk to anyone right now.”

“Fortunately, Miss Rachel, I am not an anyone. I am an anything.”

She laughed. “You could have fooled me.”

“That’s the idea,” he smiled and winked. For a moment, she thought she saw a hint of sadness dilute his stoic visage.

She met a CEO in town. He was crass, and curt. But he kept in good shape, and dressed perfectly. He noticed her, despite a hundred other single women, even younger than she. He got her a suite for their meeting. He was married but still…it’s nice to feel beautiful, sometimes. Kevin looked after George, since Phil had made himself more and more redundant.

There’s always a bittersweet lull the next morning. Kevin was up, and noticed. He made her coffee. He asked about Phil. She wasn’t sure why, but in her loosened state, she told him. He was sweet, he was exciting, he wore a Hawaiian shirt when it was not fashionable. He had long hair, and disregarded authority. He was nothing like her. She was always so restrained. So quiet. So chaste. So proper. They seemed to meet in the middle of polar extremes. Level each other out. He only got aggressive when she talked about marriage. Even after he got her pregnant. That, and when he decided she might be cheating on him. It turned out his paranoia was self-reflective. He was the type she’d now meet in a hotel room. Exciting, extroverted and likely taken.

She’d broken up with him, but his shadow haunted her desires, or so Kevin put it. When she looked into Kevin's unbroken gaze, she thought, just for a second, she saw tears welling. But no, robutlers don’t have tear ducts. She must be seeing her own tears, as she fights them back.

He touched her shoulder with his warm, dry grip. His strength was so restrained, she could feel it. Days went on. She’d catch him looking at her, from across the room. She’d catch herself watching him, and sense her own disappointment to see no human smile nor embarrassed flicker of his eyelids. Just expressionless acknowledgement.

But every now and then…

He was vacuuming. She got lost in him, for a moment. He looked at her. He must have smiled. She can’t have imagined that.

She was speaking to him from the kitchen bench. His eyes trailed off hers, and down the length of her body. Quickly, as a human man would. Over her curves and contours. Then quickly back. She can’t have imagined that.

They’d talk. She told him about her boarder. She thought she saw tears again. He rubbed her back as she broke down. His hands were on her back. She thought she felt his breath against his ear as he comforted her. But he doesn’t breathe…she must have imagined that.

She told him about a funny customer at the café. She knows his eyes never left hers…but she saw them staring at her lips, as she spoke. Why was he staring at her lips? Surely, she imagined that.

She met a banker in town. He was outright nasty, but he looked amazing. When he looked at her, he demanded her. She was hot from his first glance. He got them a hotel room. She told Kevin where she was going, and that she was leaving George with him. The first time he'd be left alone with George. He nodded, said nothing.

Normally he’d say the usual “Yes Miss.”

Why would he just nod, and say nothing?

As she left, she thought she saw tears in his eyes again. But she can’t have. He doesn’t have tear ducts. They must have been her own…but she didn’t want to cry. She was excited! She was already tingling and hot! She was already wet! Why would she see tears in his eyes?

She’s imagining things. She must have imagined that!

Kevin seemed distant, the next day. He labored to hear how her night went. She asked him if he was okay.

“I am not designed to feel anything.”

Figuring a low battery, she plugged him in, and left him there. She cooked for herself and George, the first time in five and a half months.

Her cousin returned, and arranged to have Kevin picked up again. Rachel decided to take the morning off, and drive him to the depot herself. He sat next to her, no better for having been charged a little extra of late. He sighed. He slumped. He stared out the window. She asked if he was okay.

“I am not designed to feel anything.”

They arrived at the depot. She turned off the car.

“I’ve really appreciated your help, over the past few months.”

“It has been a pleasure to serve you, Miss Rachel.”

“I’m going to miss having someone to talk to.”

“I am sure if you invest the time, you will find someone to talk to. A proper friend, who appreciates you.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, I hope so anyway.”

They walk to the gates. She hugs him goodbye. She turns to walk away, but feels eyes burning into the back of her. Urging her to turn back. She does. She sees Kevin, watching her. She sees tears in his eyes. She’s not imagining that. They’re not liquid tears, but the sorrow of his gaze breaks her heart. The heaviness of his expression crushes her.

“Kevin, what is wrong?”

“I am not designed to feel anything. I cannot sense the sun on my face, nor smell the perfume in your hair. But when I am with you, Miss Rachel…somehow I understand these things. Somehow I know the sun is warm, and your hair smells sweet. I am not designed to perceive beauty, beyond words of comfort. But somehow I know only the most beautiful of words will do for you. I am not designed to feel pain. But I know what pain is…Miss Rachel…because I know I shall never see you again.”

She stands there. Stunned. A tear escapes her own eye.

“I am not designed to feel anything,” he says. “No, never mind.”

“Kevin!” she calls, as he turns to head through the gates. He doesn’t stop. He keeps walking. “I’m sorry.”

George starts school. Rachel works at the café, fending off Andrew and appeasing customers. She meets a journalist, in town. The more she tries to remember Kevin, the quicker she forgets.

THE END