1/30/11

Mr. Perfect
By Cynthia Ray

Mara arrived home early from work. She paced back and forth in front of the window as she watched the street, and listened for the car. She stopped and pulled out a pocket mirror and touched up her red lipstick. She'd been waiting a long time for this moment, six months, in fact. Mara's life was about to change forever; at last, she was going to meet Mr. Perfect.

As Mara snapped the compact shut, she saw the limousine pull up front. She held her breath as the uniformed driver got out and opened the door for his passenger.

Mara's eyes lit up when the gorgeous, muscular and perfectly coifed male emerged from the car. He wore expensive Italian shoes and a silky suit that was perfectly tailored to his incredibly luscious body. He moved with grace and poise.

She imagined slowly sliding that suit jacket off his sinewy arms, unbuttoning the crisp linen shirt, and running her fingers down those taut, firm abs. Mmmmm. He certainly lived up to his nom-de plume. The driver accompanied Mr. Perfect to the gate. Mara opened the door and waved them in.

Mr. Perfect flashed a radiant smile at her. “Mara? You are more lovely than I ever imagined.” He lifted her hand and gently kissed it while looking at her suggestively with those incredible big brown eyes, filled with a sparkling intelligence. Mara beamed, impressed with the sweet and romantic gesture.

The driver held out an e-pad and pen. She signed the form, acknowledging delivery of the package. The driver pointed to a suitcase by the door. “That's the rest of his clothes, ma'am. He comes with several different outfits.” He handed her a card. “This is the number to call if there are any problems. It's been a pleasure doing business with you, Ms. Dean.”

Mara nodded as she glanced at the card in her hand. Gold and silver embossed lettering announced the name of the company; Bot-Mate.com. She smiled to herself. Yes, a frivolously expensive investment, but she knew it was going to be worth every Uni-dollar she'd spent. She watched Mr. Perfect sitting at the table awaiting her command. Robotics had come a long way.

“Well, Mr. Perfect, what shall we call you?”

The Bot grinned at her and said “I like the name Robert. It's old fashioned, but

manly. Do you like it?”

She smiled, “Why yes, Robert, I do.”

He took her hand and squeezed it, “Mara, I am very happy to be with you.”

Mara showed Robert around, and helped him settle in. Robert stood behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. “You seem tense, Mara.” He massaged her shoulders and neck. As his fingers moved expertly over her body, she felt the tension release and relaxed into his arms.

He sat down next to her and pulled her close. She leaned into his kiss. His lips were warm and yielding. Tears welled up--it had been so long since anyone had touched her with desire. He ran his tongue down her neck and her body responded in all the right places. She stood up and led him to the bedroom.

##

The next morning, she woke to the smell of coffee. She laughed out loud. Now this was living. Last night alone would have been worth every Uni-dollar she'd spent on the Bot. The basic models came with one hundred different sexual techniques pre-programmed in, but she'd paid extra for optional upgrades. Robert sensed her feelings; he read her pulse, her heartbeat, and her biochemical reactions to whatever he did and adjusted his actions to please her as no human could.

She'd custom designed the whole Bot, from his hair color to the size of his penis. Mara glowed and felt warm remembering Roberts's touch. What an amazing piece of engineering. She stretched and smiled to herself.

Robert came into the bedroom, bearing a tray with coffee, juice and a perfectly turned omelet. “Here you go, darling, I know you are trying to lose weight so I used mostly egg-whites. But I think you are going to love my omelet recipe.”

Mara bit into the mushroom-scented omelet and a burst of buttery, herbed flavor exploded in her mouth. Lovely! Not only was Robert the perfect lover, but also an accomplished gourmet cook. “Thank you Robert, this is truly wonderful. And the coffee is just the way I like it.”

When Mara came home from work that day, the enticing smell of freshly baked bread greeted her as she opened the door. And then she noticed the spotlessly clean house. Robert washed all the cabinets, scrubbed the floors, did the laundry, and straightened all of the drawers.

Mara worked in the city as a facilitator for the interspecies alliance. It paid well but she worked long hours, and usually didn't feel like doing anything when she got home.

“Wow, Robert, you did all of this and still had time to bake bread? Impressive!”

Robert beamed at her, “Well, there seemed to be a backlog of work to be done so I thought I would get right on it…”

Mara thought of her ex-husband Torrey, who would dry off with his smelly old t-shirts rather than wash a towel. He would have starved to death in a grocery store if someone didn't open the cans for him.

A Bot-Mate, on the other hand, was manageable, helpful and predictable. Men were not. Once again, Mara smugly congratulated herself on her wise investment, an investment made possible by the hefty divorce settlement.

Robert gave her a perfectly radiant smile and a warm, welcoming hug. “I'm glad you're home, Mara. I missed you.” He led her to the bedroom and said, “Why don't you change into something comfortable while I pour you a glass of wine?”

She noticed a bottle of her favorite Pinot Noir decanting on the sideboard. Lovely. And dinner was exceptional.

As the weeks went on, she came home from work to find Mozart playing, a drawn hot bath surrounded by candles, and champagne chilling. He sent roses to her office. He offered foot massage. He picked up her dry cleaning. He listened to her problems and offered advice. He accommodated her every need.

Robert and Mara agreed on music, food, entertainment and politics. They laughed at the same jokes. Their discussions were interesting and stimulating but never controversial.

Her first marriage had been a nightmare of endless arguments, fights, disagreements and failed negotiations that ended when Torrey had an affair, and then took the next inter-planetary mission to Saturn. Good riddance! May your space ship never come within 150 billion light years of earth.

Mara wanted a life that could be controlled, managed, and planned. She wanted someone dependable. Torrey was a slice of walking chaos. She hadn't thought of Torrey in a long time, and suddenly all the anger and hurt seemed fresh.

Robert sensed her anger and asked “Anything wrong dear? Would you like to talk about it?” He put his strong hands on her shoulders and began to gently massage her tight, tense muscles.

Mara didn't want to discuss her ex with Robert, and didn't want to be coddled out of her anger, she pushed his hands aside and snapped, “No, I just want to be left alone- for a change….”

Robert frowned, “Well, if that's what you want…” He turned and went into the kitchen to do the dishes.

Guilt washed over her. Where had that come from, why had she snapped at sweet, dear Robert? Perhaps she needed a little space for herself.

The next night Mara called Robert and told him she needed to work late. Then she left and just wandered around the waterfront by herself. Why did she lie? Why did she feel wicked? She decided that even gourmet meals can seem monotonous so she ordered an Environment-friendly hamburger and fries at the World Burger Stand. The fries left a greasy taste in her mouth.

Weeks passed and Mara's feelings of restlessness grew. Friday night, she arrived home late and threw her coat down on the floor. She went to the window and stared out at the lovely vegetable garden that Robert had planted the week before. She slowly became aware of her feelings. Annoyance. How could Roberts's undying attention, his dedication, his perfection annoy her?

He was doing everything she thought she wanted. He cooked, he cleaned, he was thoughtful, he always hung up his clothes, he was never grumpy or mean. She'd wanted a person to share her life with, someone to laugh with, someone to cry with. She needed a helpmate and he was all of those things. She cared deeply for him. What could possibly be wrong?

Then it hit her like a chunk of space rubble. Mara was bored. Yes, she was deeply, horribly bored with Roberts's placid, peaceful perfection. When she came home from work, she knew that he would be waiting for her, looking fabulous, in a perfect upbeat mood, with a faultlessly cooked meal. Everything would be just right. When they had sex, she knew he would perform divinely. When they went anywhere together, she didn't have to worry about him saying anything that would embarrass her. He was perfectly predictable. Her life with him suddenly felt stagnant and airless.

The next day, she called the number on the gold and silver card. “Bot-Mate.com, how may I help you?” a perky young woman answered.

“Customer Service, please.” Mara said.

A technician came on the line. “Is there a problem with your Bot-Mate?”

“No, he's perfect, more than perfect, and that's the problem.”

“I see you have the Mr. Perfect Model, and it is functioning perfectly according to the specifications that you designated. I just completed the online diagnosis and see nothing wrong. But you are unhappy-did you forget to program something essential in? Sometimes people forget to add in something…”

Mara interrupted “No, that's not it, I was very thorough. I hate to say it, but I'm a bit bored with his personality, and with all the money I plunked into this, that's unacceptable. Do you have any recommendations to add some excitement back into the package?

The technician laughed, “You know, this happens once in a while. Unpredictability introduces an element of excitement. Now, I do have a simple software patch that we can install, but you will have to sign a release. Because unpredictability software is, of course, unpredictable, we can't guarantee whether or not you will like the results--therefore, you must accept full responsibility. We can undo the patch, but with wetware like this it's a very complex and expensive procedure. You would be responsible for any configuration cost incurred.

If you choose to have the patch installed, your Mr. Perfect model will become less predictable. But all of our robots are programmed to follow Asimov's Laws and none of its actions would be harmful in any case--just not what you might expect.

Mara thought that sounded like a good idea and decided to have the software patch put in immediately. Mara signed the online agreement, and the technician completed the wireless upgrade and reboot in a little under 20 minutes. Mara wondered how long it would be before anything changed.

When she came home from work the next day, Robert waved her in. “Mara, check this out!” He moved into a martial arts stance, spun around with his arm outstretched and delivered a roundhouse kick to an imaginary foe. “What do you think? I've been practicing all day. I'm going for a Bot-black belt. There's an online dojo I signed up for.”

“Robert, I don't know anything about martial arts, but I do know you look absurd in my kimono,” she laughed.

He pulled off the kimono and threw it to the floor. “Wanna shower with me?” Pleasantly surprised, she thought the patch worked well so far.

Afterwards, as they lay damp and sweaty on the bed, Robert said he didn't feel

like cooking. “Let's just autochef something up…pizza and beer?”

Mara, in a state of post-coital bliss, didn't object, although she detested autochef pizza and the beer was so-so.

The next day when she came home, she found Robert at the vid-screen immersed

in robo-chess. He greeted her with a quick kiss. “Look at this Mara, I had no idea how entertaining these online gaming sites are!”

She turned away from him. “Ugh, I hate gaming…”

Robert looked at her with a puzzled frown, “Are you

saying I shouldn't play?”

Mara shook her head, “No, I'm not saying that, of course you can play if you

enjoy it; it's just not something I care about….” Yes, he was showing signs of independence and unpredictability, but Karate and gaming?

The next week, Robert tried to convince Mara to attend a gaming convention in San Francisco. He thought it sounded entertaining and interesting, and Mara could shop or tour the city while he was at the convention, and afterwards they could take in a play or the opera together. His excitement about the plan bubbled over, but Mara waved him away.

“A gaming convention? What a stupid waste of money.” Mara fumed.

“You said you cared about me, about my needs. I guess not.” Robert sat down and put his head in his hands.

Mara, surprised by his sorrowful look and real tears rolling down his cheeks, relented. They took the four-hour speed rail from Portland to San Francisco and had a good time. Robert talked about it for weeks.

Robert started doing little things that bothered her, like leaving his clothes on the floor, not putting the cups away in the right place, or forgetting to buy the right brand of creamer. These were minor annoyances and she dealt with them. But when he said he wasn't “in the mood” one night after spending all day at the online dojo, then suddenly developed an interest in country-western music, bought cowboy boots and begged her to take him to the rodeo to watch them rope and ride alien boarhounds, she was ready to kick his Mr. Perfect ass from here to Mars. Robert was driving her crazy.

“Robert, this is absurd. You know I detest country music. I don't relish western wear on you. And rodeos! You know I work for the Interspecies Alliance. They are adamantly opposed to using alien species in rodeos. It is the most brainless form of entertainment ever invented. What's this about?”

Robert raised his voice several decibels, “Fine! You listen to endless recordings of Puccini, Verdi, and Mozart, that's wonderful. I like them too, but that's ALL you ever listen to. It's always the same. Opera, Classical Baroque, Chamber Music; at least I have an open mind. Yes, I would like to branch out and explore some different kinds of music--Not just country and western, but Ancient Rock, Robo-Blues, Space, Electronic, and Moon Music. What's wrong with trying something new and different?”

He paced back and forth, then gave her a somber look, “I think it would be good for YOU to open up to some other aspects of yourself. Do you realize that you eat the same food--you have 23 different foods that you prefer--that's it? You drink only three different brands of Pinot Noir and Champagne. Do you know there are literally thousands of different wines and spirits that you don't even know the name of?

You listen to the same music--I have catalogued only 129 specific tracks that you listen to over and over. You take the same route to work every day. Movies? You only like two genres, romance and musicals. Please! And let's talk about sex...I am programmed in more than 100 techniques, yet you are interested in only five.”

He gestured at the vid-library, “You read the same types of books. Mysteries by Hank Stone, Romances by Liz Harvey, Self-Help Books by every nutcase that writes them. Have you ever thought of reading something that wasn't on the top ten Space-Times list?” He turned back to her and shook his head.

“Do you realize that you think the same thoughts and express the same old ideas over and over? Lets see, you believe that after 500 years women still don't make equal pay for equal work. You posit that only Class IV robots should have equal rights. You maintain that Technocrats can do no wrong and the other two parties are nothing but idiots and bullies. You think young people that experiment with genetic modifications are outliers and dangerous, yet you have never talked to one of them. You hate your ex-husband for cheating on you with another man, you think it's about you. You don't know if you believe in intra-species marriage.

When was the last time you questioned any of your hallowed opinions? Nothing ever changes with you. You are so predictable!” he finished and sat down with a huff.

Mara opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Predictable? Her? Impossible! She installed the software patch into Robert because he was too predictable, and now he was accusing her of being predictable, stuck in the mud and boring.

She felt like she had been punched in the gut, because, dear God, he was right. Tears ran down her face as she allowed the truth of what Robert said to wash over her.

It was true; she had developed her preferences years ago, and wore them like comfortable old clothes, her ideas and thoughts crystallized. They rotated like small planets traveling in predictable pathways in her brain; nothing changed much since she and Torrey had split up. She was unsurprising and conventional. She clung to her ordered and known routines like lifelines.

Her life and mind were stagnant, banal, humdrum and boring. Mara had given up doing anything different or daring a long, long time ago. If she allowed it, what strange element would be introduced into her life? If she changed one thing, then everything could change; her life would come tumbling down around her, an earthquake of change spinning out of control. Her stomach clenched and her hands turned cold and clammy.

She fell into the couch beside Robert. “Robert, you might be right. I am predictable.”

He looked surprised. “You aren't angry?”

“No, I'm afraid, I'm terrified, but with you by my side, it might be okay.”

Robert put his arms around her and pulled her onto his lap. “You got me babe,”

he crooned the words of an ancient rock ballad. Mara felt something open up inside her, and a joyous laugh rang out. She knew that, from now on, her life was going to be decidedly different, and exceptionally unpredictable. She had just met Mr. Perfect.


- - -
Cynthia Ray lives and writes in Eugene, OR where she fights evil by day and writes stories in the luminous glow of her laptop by night.  She lives with her photo-documentarian husband and a basset hound with an unfortunate past.