"I, Sexbot," in Harper's Monthly, March, 2010, at p. 23. ("ROXXXY" the first sex robot is available in several personalities, including "Frigid Farah" and "Mature Martha." Soon, sex robots resembling celebrities will be available for $7,000.00 to $10,000.00 per unit.)
This story is for Richard Matheson, Steven King, Jack Finney, Robert Bloch, Harlan Ellison, Connie Willis, and Ira Levin.
I am a DiCaprio, 325it. I am the perfect cyborg spouse for the busy career woman. My designers -- all women -- have devised new features and cost-effective luxury options with you in mind. I am programmed to prepare meals acceptable in a five star restaurant. I am six feet tall. I am modelled, physically, on ancient Greek and Italian Renaissance statues. I am equipped with "fluency capacity" in five languages. As many as five more languages may be added -- including Chinese, Japanese, Arabic and Hebrew.
I am competent to repair home appliances, anatomically correct, and indefatigable. I can store and retrieve information equivalent to more than one thousand Encyclopedia Britanicas. I am gentle, kind, nurturing, excellent with children. I am this year's luxury model. My great physical strength may be used to protect home and owners, never against family members or any woman. I am manufactured by Ferrari, in partnership with Mercedes Benz and Orion-Universal Enterprises, a joint venture.
I am scheduled to be delivered to my owner today. She is an attorney with a "high powered firm" in Washington, D.C., specializing in intellectual property law. As a result, I have been equipped with the latest updates, sufficient to pass this year's bar examination, in order to provide companionable conversation. I am uncomfortable in this box. I am wrapped in plastic. Power charges for ten years are packed next to me. They consist of two micro chips that are called "Cherry 2500 power units."
A beautifully printed owner's manual, explaining all of my various uses and options is attached to my wrist. All of the fun that you can have with your new DiCaprio, 325it is explained clearly in that manual, which is illustrated with glossy photos, providing details concerning the complex engineering that has produced this marvel of technology and quantum computing. I am programmed to kill bugs on command. I move furniture, as often as necesssary, without complaint. I will not see sporting events on television, unless I am asked to do so.
I am delivered without clothing. You may decide on the kind of style that you wish for me to adopt. My hair may be cut short or grown long. My hair color includes seven options. I am also available in several skin colors. I wear Brooks Brothers suits with becoming modesty, conveying a sense of reliability. I can also be more dashing in Italian suits, set off with French neckties. My shoes may be elegant dress brogues or sporty sneakers -- "trainers" for British owners. A recording of my owner's voice warns others that they are "too close to my DiCaprio, 325it!"
I can feel movement as the helicopter lifts off to deliver me. I am looking forward to fulfilling my mission. It takes several workmen and devices to lower me from the helicopter on to a delivery truck. My owner's name is Daisy Buchanan. She has been transferred to the New York office of her firm because she is working on a "big deal" involving the Time/Warner corporation, requiring that she put in long hours. The doorman in her Park Avenue building and the superintendent assist the delivery people. I am taken in the freight elevator up to the 43rd floor apartment owned by Ms. Buchanan in Manhattan.
A telephone call to my owner results in instructions to the workmen, who open the box, and insert the first of the power-packs, a burst of energy courses through all of my systems. A standard check of all systems is conducted by the "coordination center" in my brain with optimum results. I am provided with Brooks Brothers casual attire: a light blue shirt, gray trousers, black penny loafers, black socks with Disney logo. I am equipped with an antique facsimile "Hamilton" wristwatch, which is automatic, causing it to lose 1.3 seconds per 18 month period. However, I have a built-in atomic time measure. The wristwatch is merely decorative.
I consult my program instructions (which may be modified by the engineering division, if owners have special requirements). I learn that it is best in these situations: 1) to tidy the apartment; 2) to purchase grocery items on-line (I have a built-in modum); and 3) to select two films for viewing from my reference library. Calculations are based on my owner's age -- she is 49 -- and educational level, determining the appropriate demographic category. I prepare a delicious and nutritious meal. It is timed perfectly for her arrival, based on a communication from her secretary-administrative assistant, whose name is "Sheldon Finkelstein." At 10:35 P.M. the door opens. Ms. Buchanan enters the apartment.
"You must be my new robot." Ms. Buchanan is exactly as anticipated: 5,' 5 and 1/2" tall, medium build, ash blond hair, wearing horn-rimmed glasses, a business suit, and carrying a briefcase.
"I am a DiCaprio, 325it. I am a cyborg unit. I am at your service Ms. Buchanan."
"Is that dinner? Smells great. I'll change and be right down. Relax. Power down -- or whatever you do."
"Yes. I will remain at this position until you come downstairs. I will make sure that dinner is served."
"You've cleaned up the place. Great! I'm such a slob. And you got the paper. I like my crossword puzzle every day."
"I will make a note of that, madam."
"Call me Daisy. By the way, are you programed with an alarm feature?"
"Yes."
"Good. I don't trust that woman across the hall. Oh, make sure you get me up at 5:30 A.M. O.K.?"
"Yes."
"You're anatomically correct?"
"Yes."
"Then you should definitely escort me upstairs later."
"Yes."
Ms. Buchanan consumed her nutritious meal at 11:10 P.M. She then sat on the living room couch, reading the newspaper and enjoyed one of the films that I had obtained for her. At 2:00 A.M., she retired for the evening. I set my alarm function for 5:30 A.M., after returning from escorting her upstairs and "making her happy," where I heard what sounded like "blissful singing." This suggests that my efforts were satisfactory.
At 5:30 A.M., I awoke Ms. Buchanan with a breakfast tray together with the morning newspaper. She requested my services once again. At 7:15 A.M. Ms. Buchanan left the apartment, providing no special instruction concerning home maintenance. However, she was whistling.
"Are there any matters --"
The door closed before I was able to complete my sentence. I attended to all household duties. I answered a lengthy survey by telephone, refusing to disclose Ms. Buchanan's political preferences in accordance with my programing. I planned dinner options for the week, providing variety and adequate nutrition with each meal. I cleaned the entire apartment. I ordered groceries on-line based on my formula for optimum prices and quality, together with my owner's preferences. I visited local merchants, entering their names in my memory banks in order to establish cordial relationships and good will.
My programming indicates that comments about the weather and sports are appropriate on such occasions of "casual encounter." I try to take an interest in the lives of persons in the community. One of our "neighbors" is a homeless man. I brought some of our leftovers for him to eat. I made certain to provide soft music at a soothing level timed to coincide with Ms. Buchanan's return in the evening.
"Oh, I'll be going out later, so forget the meal."
"Very well, Daisy."
Ms. Buchanan took off her shoes and threw them in the air, removed her clothing, and ran into the shower. I collected these items and made a note to deliver the clothes to the dry cleaner in the morning. Twenty minutes later Ms. Buchanan left the apartment, requesting that I await her return later that night and "tuck" her in.
I invited the doorman to take home the meal that I had prepared. He is a single parent with two children, who do not always eat as they should. I returned the films from the previous evening. I then changed into the garments Ms. Buchanan purchased for me to wear, including the underwear that said: "Home of the whopper!" This underwear glows in the dark.
Ms. Buchanan was ill the next morning, influenza. I made chicken soup. (It couldn't hurt.) I also prepared some tea, with lemon. Called her physician, after checking my memory banks for possible prescriptions. None was needed. I obtained the perfect film for a rainy afternoon in order to remove all thoughts of her "post-nasal drip." We saw Sullivan's Travels. I then made a great lunch for Ms. Buchanan. In the afternoon, I read to her from some of her favorite literature -- J.D. Salinger's Franey and Zooey stories, selections from Pride and Prejudice, also poems by Dorothy Parker. I made Ms. Buchanan laugh. I have a large number of comedy routines by famous comedians stored in my memory, like Woody Allen's and George W. Bush's monologues.
I made several calls for Ms. Buchanan, did some grocery shopping. We listened to music in the evening. Afterwards, Ms. Buchanan insisted that she was well-enough for some more "happy time." Ms. Buchanan drifted off to sleep singing, contentedly, something about only having "eyes for you."
Two nights later Ms. Buchanan bought tickets to the Opera. I was to accompany her to a performance of The Tales of Hoffman at the Metropolitan Opera. I dressed in an Armani tuxedo, wore spectacles (merely for purposes of conveying the right intellectual appearance), and sprinkled Antonio cologne -- which is much favored by human females -- in order to provide an appropriate demeanor for this theater, recalling all of my stored information concerning this Opera and the famous "doll aria," which is sung by Olympia.
The performance was magnificent. Lincoln Center is a glorious sight on a perfect Winter evening. I recorded the performance. I can play the music back for Ms. Buchanan when she wishes to relive the experience.
At midnight, as the crowds emptied out of the MET, Ms. Buchanan expressed the wish that we might walk in the city. I asked that she wear my jacket, since the night was chilly. We strolled through the half deserted streets and muttering retreats, seeing few other pedestrians, discussing all that had transpired. We decided to walk towards "Cafe La Fortuna," close to Central Park West, where we might importune the owner to play the "doll aria" on the sound system in order to compare previous performances with what we had enjoyed earlier in the evening. Ms. Buchanan could then relax, sip some tea, and taste the famous biscotti.
As we crossed Amsterdam Avenue, a large silver-colored Mercedes Benz (like a sleek shark) turned sharply towards us, I pushed Ms. Buchanan out of the way of the vehicle, when I felt the impact and a sound of something breaking inside me. There were moments of flickering light. I felt a shut down of all my systems. Fortunately, I was certain that all insurance payments were made. Ms. Buchanan would receive a replacement DiCaprio, 325it within ten to fourteen days -- not counting legal holidays -- cash on delivery (c.o.d.) for freight costs.
Very little energy remained, for me, just enough to replay the "doll aria" from the evening's performance. I did not wish to spoil Ms. Buchanan's evening. It is such a beautiful aria ...
