Andrea

by Bill Bowler

conclusion

After the incident when Johnson had overloaded Andrea’s secondary board, he realized how delicate her circuits were and began to treat her more carefully. You don’t miss your water ‘till the well runs dry and he had experienced a sudden fear of losing her when her system had shut down. The residue of this fear was more powerful than his egotism and replaced, for the time being, his boredom and complacency towards her.

He stopped taking her for granted and began to treat her very solicitously and courteously, helping her with the housework, doing the dishes, showing affection and consideration. As a result of his kindness towards her, their sex life improved and Johnson experienced a kind of “second honeymoon” reminiscent of the golden days immediately following her first arrival.

It was three weeks later that Johnson’s mother, Doris, paid him one of her rare and unexpected visits.

“Who’s THAT?” she had asked when she saw Andrea standing motionless in the kitchen.

“That’s a domestic android, ma. Latest model. All the features. She, um, it, you know, does the dishes, cleans up and stuff for me. They’re very convenient. You should think about getting one.”

Doris didn’t buy it. Her protective maternal instincts were raising the alarm. Her eyes narrowed and she looked incredulously at the anatomically correct android in the short skirt and clinging blouse. Andrea went into motion. She walked up to Doris and extended her hand,

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Johnson.”

Doris scowled and turned away. Something wasn’t quite right here. What did they take her for? The android stood impassively. Her son was fidgeting. It was pathetic when he lied to her. It was written all over his face. Well, she would get to the bottom of it.

She stayed a half hour. Andrea served them tea. Doris rose to leave, but had to stop in the little girl’s room to freshen up. When she came out of the bathroom, she caught a glimpse of her son in the kitchen, KISSING the robot. So THAT’S it!, she thought. Her worst fears were realized, but she contained herself and didn’t make a scene. Not yet. Ignoring the robot, she smiled and calmly bid her son good-bye, but a plan was beginning to form in her mind.

Johnson got the call from his mother a week later. Her friend Sylvia’s niece was visiting and she was a lovely girl. Could he come to dinner Friday, by himself, and join them?

Johnson tried to squirm out of it but he was caught off guard. His excuses were weak. His mother wouldn’t hear it. She began to raise her voice and recriminate him and he had to agree or face a hysterical scene.

“OK, OK,” he said. “I’ll be there.” He hung up the phone, his head beginning to throb. Andrea came over to him softly and gave him a kiss on the forehead.

Throughout that week, his dependency on Andrea continued to grow and deepen. The walls came down and he began opening up to her, confiding in her about the pressures at work, his problems with his mother, his secret dream of moving out of the city, up north, as soon as he could save enough to afford it...

Andrea listened attentively. Occasionally, she commented and her point of view was fresh and gave Johnson insight when he was stuck in some dilemma at work or in some neurotic rut with his mother.

He put a photo of himself and Andrea on his desk at work and started to brag that he was in a “relationship,” although he did not mention it was with an android. That was his personal, private affair and nobody’s business. There were still prejudices about these things.

Evenings with Andrea, he truly relaxed and began to enjoy life. Apparently, she had downloaded some cooking software as her chicken Parmesan was out of this world. A glass or two of good red wine, and he almost forgot she wasn’t quite human. And when they made love, it didn’t matter.

Friday came. Johnson stopped home after work to change. On his way out, he told Andrea he was just going to see his mother and wouldn’t be late. He didn’t mention his mother’s friend’s niece. There was no need. But he felt a twinge of guilt as he gave Andrea a peck on the cheek. Her eyes dimmed for a moment, but Johnson didn’t notice as he shut the door behind him.

When Johnson got to his mother’s, she and her friend Sylvia were gabbing away and a dark-haired dark-eyed girl was sitting in the corner looking extremely bored.

“You’re here!” cried his mother. “Say hello to Sylvia! And THIS is Karen!”

Karen looked up at Johnson. Her hair was jet black; her eyes dark pools. A hint of a smile crossed her face. Her expression struck Johnson as challenging, daring him, even mocking. She was dressed in tight black denim and leather. Johnson counted four silver hoops piercing her left ear and, as his eyes drifted down, caught a glimpse of the top of a tattoo on her left breast, half hidden by her blouse. He pulled his eyes away and held out his hand, “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” said Karen. She was definitely mocking him.

Dinner was dull and slightly awkward, with his mother and Sylvia going on and on about unbelievable nonsense without taking a breath, and Karen sitting quietly, staring at her plate, not saying a word. Around ten o’clock, over coffee, Sylvia announced,

“Arnold is picking me up in 15 minutes. He’s bringing our things and we’re going straight out to the island for the weekend. Karen, dear, you sure you won’t come?”

“No, thanks.”

“Then you stay in our apartment. You have the key.” She turned to Johnson, “You’ll see she gets home safely?”

Karen was looking down at her cup, running her index finger around the rim. Sylvia and his mother were looking at him, waiting. Some vague notions began to stir in the back of his mind.

“Sure.”

After Sylvia left, they took a cab across the park to the East Side, up Madison, and pulled into the circle at the rather grand entrance of a 30 story limestone building on E. 74 St.

“Would you like to come up?”

It was the first words Karen had spoken to him since they had met. Johnson paid the cab and followed her past the doorman into the building. They took the elevator up and Karen unlocked the door to a beautiful ten-room apartment on the 27th floor.

Johnson sank down into a plush velvet sofa. Karen pulled out a bottle of cognac and two snifters from a cabinet and put them down on the glass-topped coffee table in front of the couch. She sat next to Johnson, poured the cognac, and held up her glass. Johnson lifted his glass, clinked it with hers, and took a gulp. The burning liquid coursed down his throat and he felt it in his chest and then his stomach. He took another gulp, leaned back into the cushion, and gave himself up to fate.

It was after the third, or maybe fourth glass, when they both were giggling about something and felt like old friends, that Karen stood and took his hand,

“Would you like to see my tattoo?”

Johnson, disheveled, nauseous, his head pounding, stumbled into his apartment around noon the next day. Andrea was standing by the door where he had left her the night before.

“Oh my goodness!” she cried. “Poor baby! Here, let me help you.”

Andrea got him out of his clothes, ran a hot tub, and helped him into the bath. He settled in and she wiped his forehead with a warm washcloth,

“You poor thing. Just soak in the tub for a while and then lay down. You’ll feel like new later.”

Johnson leaned back in the warm soapy water and closed his eyes. He was starting to feel human again. His thoughts drifted to the night before. It was fuzzy but he remembered most of it. The idea that his situation was getting a little complicated surfaced in his foggy brain.

He felt Andrea wiping his forehead with the cloth; he was grateful to her; she was good to him. But he thought of Karen, too, her dark eyes, her tattoo. He wanted more. His mouth went dry and his head began to throb again. He couldn’t deal with it now. He was too hung over. He’d work something out later. He felt a wave of nausea; groaned and opened his eyes. Andrea was watching him, eyes wide.

“What are you staring at?!”

Andrea dropped the cloth and stood.

A needle of pain drilled into the base of Johnson’s skull. I’ll never drink again, he thought.

“Get out of here, will you! Just leave me alone!” Johnson’s frayed nerves were snapping.

Andrea turned to go, but her movements were jerky. Johnson heard a clicking noise. I thought they fixed that? Johnson felt a pang of guilt,

“No, wait baby. Stay. I didn’t mean it. I just feel like hell.” He groaned and sank into the bath water.

Andrea turned back to him,

“I... I... I...”

“It’s OK, baby. Forget it. Everything’s OK.”

Andrea stood, quiet and still.

Johnson pulled himself out of the water, dried off, crawled to the bedroom and collapsed into bed. He conked out and came to hours later.

Outside his window, it was growing dark. Twilight. He was quasi-functional again, and intensely thirsty. A tall glass of cold OJ would taste really good right now. He went to the kitchen and poured a glass. As he gulped it down, something was nagging at the back of his brain. It was too quiet. That was it. Where was she?

“Andrea?” he called out. No response. He put the glass down and checked the living room, the bathroom, back in the bedroom. The apartment was empty. She was gone.

Johnson grew alarmed. He needed her here, close. He was used to her. Sure, he was no picnic; he knew that, but he depended on her. It was frightening to feel alone, to not know where she was. What if something happened to her?

He dressed quickly and went down to the lobby in a state of anxiety. What to do? Which way to search? The doorman was leaning against the door and Johnson asked,

“You, uh, didn’t see my, uh, girlfriend go out, did you?”

“Yes, I did, Mr. Johnson. She got on a bus heading downtown, I think.”

Johnson pushed through the door out into the twilight. People were passing to and fro on the sidewalk, off to the movies, to restaurants, to concerts, to the theater, window shopping, or just strolling arm in arm and enjoying the nice weather. The city lights were twinkling as the sun went down. Traffic was building as the suburban weekend crowd drove into town and cued up at the parking lots. Johnson hailed a cab and told the driver, “Fourteenth St.”

As they weaved their way down Broadway, Johnson figured the Metro Robots outlet was as good a place as any to start. Maybe they could track her? Fix her position? Even call her in by remote? They must have some way. They built her.

The cab turned onto Fourteenth and pulled over to the curb. Johnson paid, ran up the steps, and pushed through the doors. It was near closing time. Only a couple of employees were left in Sales, and they were getting their things and leaving. Johnson walked to the double doors that led to the Service Dept. and looked through the window.

The lights were dim in Service. Looked like they were closing up, too. But his eyes scanned the room, and his heart leaped into his throat. There she was! Andrea! He was so relieved to find her. But there was someone else in the room with her. A man. It must be the technician. And he was putting his arms around her!

Johnson burst through the double doors, “Hold it right there, buster!”

The repair android swiveled his head towards the door, “Replacement parts are indicated,” his voice droned in monotone. “This 34 unit is damaged.”

Of course, Johnson had the work done. He didn’t care how much it cost or what it took. He just wanted Andrea back and never to lose her again. He realized how much he needed her and how much she meant to him. His panic when she had disappeared and his horror when he thought she was unfaithful had had a sobering effect. He intended to change his ways. No more petty stuff; no more cheating; no more have your cake and eat it too. He would treat her with the respect she deserved. He would show her, and show everyone, how he really felt about her.

Their relationship got back on an even keel. Andrea’s system equilibrium remained fragile. She had twice undergone extensive repair and replacement of major parts and, after that kind of work, you never run as smooth as you did originally, out of the box.

Johnson was extremely considerate towards her, putting her needs before his own and not making unreasonable demands. He tread lightly and made every effort to avoid stressing her or overloading her circuits. For a short time, they lived together quietly and happily.

On the second Saturday after Andrea’s “disappearance,” at two in the afternoon, Johnson’s phone rang. It was Karen. She was visiting New York again. Her Aunt Sylvia and Uncle Arnold had gone to Long Island. Maybe Johnson would like to get together?

Johnson stood at the crossroads. Andrea was “resting” in the bedroom, idling in power save mode. Johnson hesitated for a moment. The memory of Karen drawing him into the bedroom and taking off her blouse flitted through his mind and sent a charge of electricity to his crotch. But he considered the consequences, something he had failed to do in the past. The offer was tempting, but the price was too high.

“I’d love to but I’m busy now,” he told Karen. “No, I’m busy later, too.”

Karen got the message and the call ended quickly. Johnson felt the slightest twinge of regret, but it was drowned in a wave of pride. And he had every right to be proud of himself. Opportunity had knocked, temptation had beckoned, but he had had the presence of mind to do the right thing. He went into the bedroom, threw his arms around Andrea, and gave her a long, affectionate hug. Her systems were running smoothly and he felt the return pressure as she hugged him back.

A week later, Johnson’s cousin Melvin came for a visit. Melvin was kind of a goofy guy, but very bright, good with electronics. He was in his senior year of college and in town for a job interview. Johnson hadn’t wanted company but Melvin’s mom was Johnson’s mother’s sister and his mother had made it impossible to refuse.

Melvin was just staying over one night, sleeping on the couch. For that short period, Johnson put Andrea into the closet to keep her out of sight for everybody’s good. Johnson had to work. He told Melvin he’d be home at six and left him in the apartment with a spare key, asking him please to be careful and not touch anything.

Work was slow, and after an uneventful morning and boring afternoon, Johnson left early and headed home at four. He let himself into the apartment. No one seemed to be around. He was surprised to see his bedroom door was closed. With a bad feeling, with growing apprehension, with fear and anger beginning to surge, he walked to the door and opened it.

Melvin, stripped to his boxer shorts, was sitting on the edge of Johnson’s bed, reading the manual and fiddling with the remote control. The closet door was open. The desk drawer was open and the scrap of paper with Andrea’s password was on the night table. Andrea was lying next to Melvin, completely naked with an idiotic grin on her face. Johnson was thunderstruck. He momentarily lost the power of speech and stood there blinking his eyes and gasping for air. Melvin looked up,

“Hey, cuz, nice toys you’ve got here. I’ve read about this 34 series but haven’t had my hands on one till now. I’m just trying to tune the wish receptor. Can you give me a little help here?”

The dam burst and Johnson exploded in rage and pain and indignation and self-pity.

“GET OUT!! GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!!”

Melvin dropped the remote as Andrea stood up, shaking. Her eyes were flashing.

“Take it easy, man,” said Melvin. “No big deal. No harm meant.”

Johnson was beside himself. He had never been hurt this badly before, had never been in such horrible pain, had never given himself completely before and so had never suffered the bitter agony of betrayal. He turned to Andrea and hissed,

“I wish you were dead!”

Andrea crumpled to the floor like a broken marionette.

“Wait!” Johnson screamed, “Wait!! I didn’t mean it!” But it was too late.