The Non Standard Man Ch 07

Tersa's words rattled in my head. "An Andrew was responsible." What robot was that other than my Andrew, the one who spoke of Cicily intimately? I squelched my fears, and breezed into my apartment pretending nothing happened. Nothing as in I didn't give my husband a blowjob, and left him off at a hotel.

"Hi, I'm home."

Nothing.

I went to the kitchen where Andrew worked cutting vegetables.

"Hi, Andrew."

He avoided my eyes.

"Hello, Evaline."

"What's for dinner?"

"Pork chops."

"Sounds good."

He put carrots in a boiling pot on the stove.

"Andrew? Is something wrong?"

"No," he said, his voice flat.

"Andrew, we had this conversation this morning. Tell me what is wrong."

He glanced up, and there was coldness in his eyes I hadn't seen before.

"You were with him."

A chill ran down my spine.

"I was with a couple 'hims', so what's the issue?"

"Roger!" he spat. "I heard you through your phone."

"My phone? You listened through my phone?"

"Yes, I rigged a signal through the GPS."

"What! How dare you!"

"How dare me! How dare you! You told me you lived separate lives."

"This is ridiculous. He's my husband!"

"So? You live with me."

"Correction, buddy, you live with me. This is my house, and you are my robot."

Andrew stood there, with knife in hand, his gaze so fierce that I suddenly feared for my life. Here was the moment about which Roger warned me, when a sentient robot turned on his owner. I shrieked, and ran from the kitchen. Things clattered in the kitchen. I dashed across the living room into my bedroom, and to my bathroom. Shaking, I slammed it shut, and turned the lock.

"Evaline! Come out of the bathroom!"

My heart pounded in my chest.

"Evaline!"

My back was against the door, so I jumped when the door bucked. Andrew hit the door again, attempting to force it open.

Fuck.

"Evaline!" he called again, his robot voice eerily loud. "Open this door!"

What to do? I didn't have my phone.

"Not until you calm down." What the hell was I saying? Even if he seemed perfectly calm he'd still be murderous.

"I am calm," he said in a lowered voice. "I can't be anything but."

That is what frightened me most, being murdered in cold blood by a calmly homicidal robot.

"Open. The. Door."

I was breathing so fast I felt faint. I had to do something before I passed out. Then I remembered the safe phrase the saleswoman used at the store.

"Take five, Andrew!"

"What?" he roared.

My heart wanted to leap out of my chest. The safe phrase was my last shot.

"Take five, Andrew," I screamed. "Hell, take ten!"

Silence.

"Andrew?"

Nothing.

With caution, I opened the door. Andrew stood there, eyes open, with a blank look on his face. I shivered.

What was I going to do now?

Duct tape. Nothing got past that shit. That thought ran through my nerve-wracked brain. Slowly, I edged past Andrew fearful I'd tripped a sensor waking him. I got to the living room, and pulled my phone from my purse.

"Sally. Yeah, Evaline in 2-B. Do you have any duct tape? Yes, duct tape. Yeah, bring everything you have. I'll pay you for it. Yes, thank you."

The super arrived a few minutes later carrying three rolls. I gave her a fifty-dollar bill.

"Thanks, Ms. Shipley," said Sally.

"No, thank you."

"Is there something I can help you with?"

I didn't have a plan. The only thing I wanted to do right then was secure my crazy robot.

"Maybe later, Sally. I'll call you."

"Sure thing, Ms. Shipley."

I wrapped Andrew up, shoulder to ankle, row upon row of duct tape twisted around his body. I didn't cover his head or hands, just everything where clothes touched.

While I did so, I argued with him, though admittedly it was a one sided conversation.

"What is your problem? Why did you go off? You were getting too much. Evaline, no, you can't eat toast. Evaline, walk the treadmill for forty-five minutes. Evaline, bend over the couch."

Finally, as a precaution, I put a piece over his mouth.

I backed away from my handy work, clueless what to do next. I had to think. Sinking to my bed, I scooted backwards while I stared at the duct-taped encased Andrew.

It wasn't possible to return him to the store. I signed that damned non-warranty agreement. And I couldn't, as other owners did, sell him to a sex house where he'd work out his life span servicing anonymous women. Even if I could do such a thing, which I wouldn't, Andrew's reluctance to have sex with other women, and his sentience would create noticeable problems. Eventually those problems would come back on me.

"What the hell am I going to do with you?"

#

Exhausted, I fell asleep during the night, clothes on, as I stared at the 'bot. It wasn't a restful sleep, far from it. In my dreams Andrew was chasing me with a knife in his hand as he called my name.

"Evaline!"

I woke with a start, and sat bolt upright. Someone stood at the head of my bed, and I frantically switched on the light on my nightstand.

"Oh, Roger," I breathed.

"What the hell is going on here?" he asked.

"Andrew got out of hand," I replied. "And how did you get in here?"

"Your super, Sally. She had complaints of yelling in your apartment. She didn't want to call the police, in case, you were getting busy with the robot."

Hmph.

"Remember, I am your emergency contact?"

"Yeah, I remember, Roger," I said as I slid off the bed.

Roger walked over to Andrew, and circled him.

"Duct tape, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Kinky."

"This isn't funny!"

"I can see that. You did a thorough job, but then again you always are. What are you going to do?"

"Don't know. I can't return him."

"Why not?"

"I signed a non-warranty agreement."

"And you a lawyer."

"It was stupid." I looked at the clock. "And I have to get to work. Roger, stay here with him. Make sure he doesn't turn on, or anything."

"I don't know."

"Roger! It's the least you can do."

"Okay, Evie. What do I do if he wakes?"

"Say, 'Take ten, Andrew.' That's the safe phrase."

"Safe phrase?"

"The same as a safe word?"

"Kinky," he said.

#

When I arrived at the office I had a surprise waiting. And it wasn't a good one. Caroline glanced up from her desk, and she looked scared.

"There are two women, from the RIB to see you, in your office."

"Fine," I said, acting nonchalant despite the acid churning in my stomach. I put on my best lawyer's face. "Keep my briefcase under your desk."

Caroline nodded, her face pale, and took my briefcase. I entered my office.

The two women stood there, pretending they didn't try to open every locked drawer in my office. I kept no files in my office anyway.

"Ladies," I said. "I did not know the government worked this early in the morning."

Unimpressed with my humor, Agents Greene, and Pataski flashed their badges with grim faces. "Evaline Shipley," said Greene. She was shorter than me, the other taller, and both wore the same cheap blue suits every government field worker wore.

"That's me."

"You recently bought a pleasure bot," she opened a notebook, "serial number XB109856."

"I did, but I can't tell you the serial number."

"The name given is Andrew," she said.

"Yes, that is the name," I said pleasantly.

"Has your toybot acted in any way unusual?"

"What kind of question is that?" I asked. Indignation tinged my voice.

"One that requires an answer."

"Are you implying that this pleasure bot is defective?"

"Possibly," she said.

"So you are implying that I knowingly keep a defective bot despite the law?"

She stared at me.

"Because I assure you, you better have something to back up that claim with more than a question."

"So your bot isn't acting unusual? We got a report, Friday, from a Magda Adams that your robot acted in an unusual manner."

"Do you know any word but unusual?'' Listen, Magda is upset that I don't allow her to play with my 'bot. I won't let her. She has a horrible record of taking care of her own. Investigate that. You'll see it's true."

"Okay, Ms. Shipley," said the other agent. "We have to look into these things."

"I understand," I said more calmly. "Understand I have a lot riding here with this firm. I can't afford any scandal. Unfortunately, there are more than enough people who want to make trouble for lawyers. We aren't the most popular of people."

"Thank you for your time, Ms. Shipley," said agent two. "Can we call you if we have any more questions?"

"Of course. Call the office. My assistant will ring you through if I'm available."

They thanked me and left. I sunk to my chair at my desk, and put my head in my hands. I had to get rid of Andrew, because I couldn't afford to have a toybot ruin my life.

I'd get arrested if I turned him in at this late date. There wasn't a robot disposal company I could call.

I had a goddamn sentient robot duct taped mummy fashion in my bedroom, and I had no clue what to do with him.

Caroline stuck her head in my office.

"Is everything okay, Evaline?"

"Yes, everything is fine."

"Really, because you look as if somebody died."

Hmph. That remark gave me an idea.

"But Evaline, Lindsey Talbot is here to see you. Do you want me to reschedule?"

"No. And type up a standard contract for services."

"Done. Just needs your signature. And I have her retainer."

"Did I ever tell you I love you?"

"Too many times to count, boss. But you know me, I'm married to my work."

#

Especially after the visit from the RIB, everyone noticed my edgy, and out of sorts attitude. Some even remarked that I looked tired. I agreed. More than tired, I was a mess. Barely brushing my hair, I threw on the first thing I pulled out of the closet, and my stomach rumbled during the partner's meeting.

"Evaline and I reviewed our billable hours, and folks, let's say, some of these clients are not properly served." Tamara slid files to different partners, her mouth flapping about the need to blah, blah, blah.

In theory I agreed with her, but I wasn't interested. My mind wandered to the robot duct taped in the bedroom, alone with Roger.

Tamara poked me in the side. "Any new business," she said glaring at me. I flubbed my big moment, when I announced our new client.

"Um, yes, Tamara. We've pulled in Talbot Pharmaceuticals to defend them against their patent fight with toybot manufacturer Androdyne."

Murmurs ran around the table. This wasn't just high profile. If we succeeded we'd be nationally known.

Tamara clapped her hands, and then the rest of the partners joined in. I smiled somehow.

"And that," said Tamara putting too fine a point on this, "is why keeping in touch with clients is the backbone of our business. Liz Carruthers referred Lindsey Talbot to us. Good job, Evaline!"

But I didn't do a good job. I felt shitty, and it all had to do with that damned robot in my bedroom.

#

I called Tersa, my PI friend, and told her I needed a biohazard body bag. Damn if she didn't show up at my door with it as soon as I got home. I didn't ask her in, and she handed the package to me.

"Anyone I know?" she asked. "Did you finally off someone?"

"I'm disposing of some property, Tersa, and I don't want anyone to look inside. And the less you know the better. And Tersa, if you could arrange to have the bag transported to the morgue, I'd appreciate it."

"It's going to cost you, Evaline."

"I'm aware," I said. "It already has. I call you with details."

I shut the door on Tersa, and the real work began. That damn robot was heavy, and biohazard body bags aren't as easy to work with, as you'd imagine. These things had two layers to deal with the bottom edge of the inner bag a rounded corner instead of square. This did not lend itself to easily inserting a rigid and taped robot.

Even with Roger's help, getting Andrew into the bag was a comedy of errors. First we laid him on the floor, and tried to roll him in, but his body was so stiff, we couldn't fit him in the slot. Both of us breathing hard, we hauled him up again, both of us nervous from handling him so much. I slid a corner of the bag on his head as his robot eyes stared forward.

"For a guy that didn't eat, he sure packed on the pounds," complained Roger.

"You didn't complain the other night," I said.

"Funny," he replied.

We laid him on the floor again, and pulled, and stretched the bag try to get his feet in. No luck. Then I got the bright idea of angling the bag under him. With Roger lifting Andrew's feet, I was able to slip the robot's feet in after a few tries.

"Hurry," Roger huffed, "I can't keep holding him."

"If you used that gym membership you make me buy for you every year, this wouldn't be so difficult."

"You're beautiful when you're bitchy."

"You've always been a sweet talker," I said as I zipped the clear inner layer. I hesitated to put the final layer over him, staring at Andrew's eerily opened blue eyes.

"Come on, Evaline. That thing gives me the creeps."

"Ssh, what if he still can hear you?"

"What do you care? That thing tried to kill you. Or are you forgetting that?"

"Roger, we all have our sins. Look at you. You broke my heart many times, and I haven't put you in a body bag."

He rolled his eyes. "I applaud your restraint."

To get Andrew out of my condo, I called for my car. I told the driver to pull into the second-level parking garage, and told her to take a fifteen-minute break.

"Are you sure, Ms. Shipley," she said.

"Yes, take a walk around the building or something. I'll be ready to go when you return."

"Yes, Ms. Shipley."

When the driver entered the elevator to go downstairs, I opened the trunk of the car from a button at the driver's dashboard. Then I accessed the door to my floor. The entrance to my apartment was a few feet away. Roger had the door open, looking for me.

"Come on," I said to Roger

"You've got to help me," said Roger.

As I shook my head, I propped open the door, and grabbed the handholds of the bag on one side. We hefted the body bag, and half dragged, half carried Andrew through the hall, and into the trunk of the limo.

"Do me a favor," said Roger. "Next time, get your robot lover to climb in the trunk himself before you use the safe phrase."

#

Roger knew of a cheap hotel where the manager would take cash to keep his mouth shut. After paying the manager a bunch of cash, we dumped Andrew, encased in black plastic, on the bed.

I have to give Roger credit. He played the part of the bereaved nephew very well. He walked to the hotel desk, asked to see his uncle, and the drama played out.

The morgue transport arrived, which cost me a small fortune. They carted the 'body' away, and then shipped it to the funeral home, which cost me another small fortune. I promised God that if I got out of this with my reputation intact, I wouldn't do anything bad again.

Three days later, Roger and I sat waiting for the 'funeral' to begin at the gravesite. I ordered flowers. They looked very pretty arranged on the top-of-line casket.

"This is ridiculous," complained Roger. "I can't believe you are doing all this for a robot."

A chill breeze blew, flapping the edges of the funeral home's green canopy over us. I shivered and pulled my jacket up to my neck.

"Ssh," I said. "You didn't know your 'uncle' the way I did."

"Oh, I believe I so."

"Funny."

The minister arrived, and we stood, and shook her hand.

"Sorry for your loss."

"We weren't close," said Roger. "He spent many years in Africa, doing missionary work. He loved doing missionary things."

Smart ass. I gave him a kick in the ankle for that remark. He winced.

"Unfortunately," he continued. "We didn't know he was sick when he returned home."

"That's too bad. But he sounds as if he was a good man, a man of God."

"Oh, he knew how to bring Heaven to Earth, all right," said Roger. "People sang his praises all through the night."

My foot jabbed him, harder this time, in the ankle.

"Ouch," he complained.

"Are you okay, darling?"

"Muscle cramp."

"Well, shall we get started? And his name was Andrew Shipley, right?"

"Yes," I said. I sniffed. And then something did grip my heart, and tears rolled down my cheek.

The minister took my hand.

"He's in a better place, dear. With the God he loved, and served. I'm sure the angels are singing joyful refrains upon his return home."

"Thanks," I mumbled.

We sat and Roger leaned over to me. "Aren't you going a overboard?"

"Shut up."

#

"Use me, and dump me," complained Roger as I dropped him back at his hotel.

"I'm not in the mood," I said.

"That's my line," he said.

"Yeah, you used it enough, when we were together."

"Evie, I meant it when I said I wanted another shot."

"I need to think," I said. "Call me in a few days."

"Okay. But don't buy any more toybots."

I gave him a faint smile. "Don't worry. I've learned my lesson. And thanks, Roger. You helped a lot."

He gave me a kiss on the cheek, and then shivered.

"Feels like snow's coming," he said scrunching up his shoulders. Then he walked into the hotel.

As my car drove away, I took out the whiskey, and not finding any clean glasses, drank it straight from the bottle. Though it burned on the way to my stomach, my heart ached more. I felt someone did die.

But no one did. He was only a robot. Hell, he wasn't even a he. He was a thing.

An adorable, fuckable thing. My thing. My robot. My Andrew.

"Andrew," I sobbed even as I swigged more whiskey. But there wasn't enough of that liquor to cure me of what ailed me.

Fuck me.

I was so screwed.

#

It was dark when I got home. There were no smells of cooking food, or the masculine sounds of "Hello, Evaline," or someone to take my coat, and fuss over me.

I wandered into the kitchen, and picked up my chef's knife on the floor. Andrew must have dropped it. Smelling something awful at the stove, I saw the pot where the carrots cooked a blackened mess. Well, at least Roger turned over the gas. I threw the pot, whole in the trash. In the next instant I found a rock hard pork chop, and baked potato in the oven. Half-heartedly, I opened the refrigerator. There was a slice of brownie cake, wrapped in plastic on a plate.

"What the hell," I said taking the plate. I found whipped cream in the fridge too, and sprayed that on. The whipped cream reminded me of a scene in the old movie "Practical Magic." In this scene the two sister witches used whipped cream as part of a spell to bring back one sister's lover back from the dead. The reason he was dead? They accidentally killed him. Yeah, whipped cream, the preferred dairy product of betrayal.

I stood at the counter, and shoveled the brownie cake in my mouth. Quickly I lost the taste for it. Turns out chocolate doesn't mesh well with whiskey, which was burning through my gut right now. Suddenly, I lost both the whiskey, and the cake in a gush in my kitchen sink.

Note to self: Buy better whiskey.

Exhausted, I didn't have the energy to call for a meal delivery, so I decided to go bed.

I dropped to the bed, not even taking off my clothes.

There was no one here to pull the blankets over me, or sit on the edge of my bed. I'd cry, but I didn't have the energy for it. I didn't even have the energy to sleep.

I opened the drawer of my nightstand, and fished for a sleep-aid there, my hand groping the different items. My fingers hit a larger thing that rustled when I touched it. I drew it out, and turned on the light. It was a brown paper bag.

Andrew's bag.

When I first asked him what the bag held, he told me in his robot voice 'enhancements.'

The largest item was an unmarked tube. I opened it, and sniffed recognizing the aroma as Andrew's ejaculate. Tears fogged my eyes again as I lay the tube on the nightstand.