The Non-Standard Man

They wouldn't let us into the room where they worked on Roger. I feared the worse. What if the bullet hit an artery? What if he bled out on the way to the hospital? Why wouldn't let me see him? I was about to rise from my chair and march through the ER doors when a police detective found us in the waiting room. She appeared fifty-ish, with her black hair streaked with gray.

She flashed her badge and introduced herself as Detective Ricks.

"Do you know of anyone who'd want to hurt your husband?"

"I thought you had the shooter in custody."

"Yes, ma'am, but we aren't getting anything out of her."

"Obviously," said Betty. "She intended Evaline as her target."

"Maybe," she shrugged. "Ms. Shipley, does your husband have, uh, other relationships."

I stared at her. "Yeah, he is a regular social butterfly."

"And who would they be?"

"I don't keep a list, or keep track."

"Anyone recent you know of?"

I swallowed thinking of Liz Carruthers, important client, ersatz friend, and RIB informer. Yeah, let Liz deal with this detective's investigation into her relationship with Roger.

"His most recent friend is Liz Carruthers. She mentioned she wanted Roger to father her child."

"She did?"

"Yes. She was quite open about it."

"And how do you know her?"

"She is a client of my firm. We got together at the country club, when was that? About two weeks ago."

"And you chatted about your husband fathering her child?"

Disbelief dripped from her voice.

"Trust me. I did not bring up the subject."

"And how did you feel about that?"

"I told her what I told you, what Roger's social activities are his own business."

"I see," she said, studying the notes she scribbled in her little book. "How can I get in touch with Ms. Carruthers?"

"Call my firm. They'll have the information."

A nurse came into the waiting room. "Evaline Shipley," she called.

"Excuse me, detective." I looked at the nurse. "Yes?"

"Come this way."

"Betty," I said, "come with me."

"Of course."

"Where," said the detective, "can I reach you if I have more questions?"

"I'm not sure," I said. "I guess you can check the news. They seem to have more information about me than I do."

#

When we got into the Emergency Room, Betty pulled on my arm.

"I should have told you to stop talking."

"What? And have her suspect me too? I've got enough of that to last my lifetime."

"The detective made it sound like you were jealous of Liz."

"Please, I gave up being jealous of Roger a long time ago. That's common knowledge."

We followed the nurse into a room where there were a half dozen nurses surrounding the bed. I felt faint there for a second until the nurses gave me nervous glances and cleared out of the room. Roger sat up, his shoulder bandaged, smiling to his erstwhile caregivers as they left. From their longing glances at Roger, you'd think they never saw a man.

Well, maybe never, but you could be sure they had more experiences with toybots than a flesh-and-blood man in their intimate moments.

"You look well taken care of," I remarked.

"Yeah, great hospital," he said with a goofy smile. "I got offers for six sponge baths."

"Got you shot up with painkillers, eh?"

"Yep."

"So what's up with your shoulder?"

"Flesh wound. I'll have a nice scar."

"And a great story to go with it when you need one."

He pushed out his lips, pouting.

"No love for me when I valiantly save your life?"

I leaned over and gave him a kiss. "You are a prince, Prince Charming."

"Don't listen to her, Roger," said Betty. "She was scared shitless until she saw you."

"Sorry about the entourage. I guess I'm irresistible."

"I wouldn't know," I said.

A doctor walked in, staring at notes on a clipboard. "Okay, Mr. Shipley, you can go home, as long as someone is there to keep on eye on you."

"Don't worry. My wife will take good care of me, won't you, honey?"

"Yes," I said. It didn't take much for me to figure that Roger corralled me in taking him home to my condo.

"Here's a prescription for painkillers. Come back here if the wound becomes red and tender, or if you run a fever. The stitches will absorb into your skin, so you don't need to return back for that."

"Thanks, doc." Roger grinned brightly.

"I'll go get the car pulled around to the door," said Betty.

"Help me with my clothes?" said Roger with the eagerness of a puppy.

What could I say? The over industrious nurses stripped him and put him in a hospital gown. I could tell by the way he moved, he was hurting more than he let on.

After a few struggles we got his pants, socks and shoes on, but his shirt, suit jacket and overcoat was missing.

"They took them for evidence," he said.

So we left the hospital gown on, and I wrapped the blankets of his bed around him.

"Theft?" he said. "You don't need any more trouble with the law."

"No. Don't worry. They'll bill me, just like your hotels do."

He draped his good arm around me. "Cranky. But that's okay, Evie. You had a rough week. Let's go home and go to bed."

#

It was very late when we got to my apartment. Fortunately the media gathered outside couldn't get past the garage gates, so we had the car drop us inside at my level.

In the apartment, I hung up my coat and found Roger's bags in the hall closet.

"So," I said. "How long have you've been here?"

"Since the day Betty bailed me out of jail. I figured it would be best if someone was here to make sure no one snooped around."

There wasn't anything to find. The only incriminating evidence was Andrew, and he was in custody. I sighed. Roger was right, but I wasn't sure I wanted to share space with him.

But having Roger with me made it easier not to have Andrew there. The week without him was hell, and I wasn't anxious to relive that.

Roger ordered some Chinese food as I called in his prescription for painkillers to be delivered from my pharmacy. When the food arrived all three of us sat around the table as I told them both what I found out about Androdyne, Cicily, Sinta and Amanda Connors. Betty's eyes grew very wide, and Roger muttered swears from time to time.

"So you are telling me that all these people fucked you over just so they could create an interest in an illegal product?" said Betty.

"Yes, and the worst of it is that they can't make more Andrews. At least not easily, or cheaply."

"Sound like fraud all the way around," said Roger between one-handed mouthfuls of Moo Goo Gai Pan.

"Yes, and you can be sure those three don't want that information revealed."

"They will to try to get Andrew back whatever way they can."

"Yes, if I get Andrew legally protected, they will most definitely want him back."

"That's putting the cart before the horse. We need to take care of the charges against you," said Roger.

"What are they going to prove? That I knew I had a sentient robot? They have no evidence for that. That Andrew could be dangerous? And robot can be. Every robot has programming glitches. I never owned a robot before, so how was I going to recognize the difference?"

"They will want to know why you buried Andrew," said Betty.

"I can't help it if I'm kinky."

"Darling, I'm not sure that will be enough of defense," said Roger. "The best thing is if it doesn't go to trial in the first place."

"So what do you propose?"

"That we make a deal with the feds with what you know about Cicily, Sinta and Amanda."

"I don't like it. Those three are well connected. That strategy can blow up in our faces."

"Well, consider your options," said Betty. "I'm going home. I'll see you in court tomorrow."

#

Betty left, and we were alone in my apartment. Roger gave me an earnest look.

"So, Evie, pregnant? How long?"

"I haven't even missed my period yet."

"So how do you know?"

"Andrew detected it. Changing heat signatures he said. They did a test in while I was in custody and confirmed it."

"Are you happy, Evie?"

"I, shit Roger, I'm caught off guard. I can't even process it. Everyone is making a big deal of this."

"It is a big deal. I never thought I'd be a father."

"You? Me. Career driven Evaline Shipley? A mother?"

There was more I wanted to say to Roger, but the doorbell rang.

"That must be your prescription."

I opened the door and two people stood there. One was the delivery person from the pharmacy looking very frightened. The other was a reporter. She shoved a camera in my face.

"Miss Shipley, how do you respond to the charges against you?"

I wanted to scream "fuck you!" but that wouldn't look good on national television.

"On the advice of my lawyer, I have no comments to make," I said. My hands shook as I took the bag from the delivery person and handed her a tip.

"Who do you think shot your husband? Were you the target?"

I wanted to say, "Am I speaking another language here?" but held my tongue.

"On the advice of my lawyers, I have no comment to make."

I shut the day and leaned back against it.

"Shit, Evie," said Roger. "What was that?"

"The free press in action," I said. I took out my cell phone and made a call to the security desk.

"Who is this? I see. This is Evaline Shipley in 2-B. There's a reporter at my door. Clear her out. I don't care if you are the only one at the desk, get her out. I pay a small ransom in condo fees every year I expect my home to be secure. Yes, Thank you."

Roger was on his phone as well.

"Tersa, we're being bothered at Evaline's apartment by reporters. Can you get some security types over here to stand at the door. Yeah, bill it to Evaline."

"Jesus, Roger, we shouldn't have to do that."

"Look at me, and say that again," said Roger.

I glanced at Roger, and his bandaged arm.

"Sorry. I'm just not used to this."

"Come here, Evie," he said holding out his good arm. "Help me to bed."

#

What was I going to do? Make Roger sleep on the couch? Of course not. So I led him to the bedroom and helped him get undressed.

"Where are your pajamas?"

"The closet."

I opened the closet door, to find Roger's clothes stuffed haphazardly next to mine. I just stood there. My mind tried to take in my husband's invasion into this space that Andrew carefully ordered.

But considering that Roger took a bullet for me today, I wasn't about to give him a difficult time.

It took a few minutes to locate his pajamas crushed next to mine in my lingerie drawer.

"Do you want the top?" I said.

"It won't fit over this sling."

"You're right."

"You'll keep me warm, right?" Roger said.

"The blankets will do that."

I grabbed the bottoms and turned to Roger who grinned at me.

"This should be fun," he said.

"No, Roger."

"Let's see," he said with a smile.

"Geez, Roger. Not even getting shot slows you down." I tugged his trousers to his feet.

"And the underwear," he said.

I rolled my eyes and pulled down his boxers, his cock inches from my face.

"You know what would help me?" he said with a licentious grin.

"I think you had too many painkillers," I said.

"They are beginning to wear off."

"I'll get you more."

I rose, and he grabbed my arm with his one good arm.

"Give me a kiss, Evie."

"No, Roger. It's been a long day. And the Chinese food isn't sitting well in my stomach."

He smiled again. "Pregnancy hormones."

"Damn, you are inordinately pleased with yourself, aren't you?"

"Yep."

I shook my head.

"Do you want your sleep pants on or what?"

"If I have to."

I bent down again and tapped his ankle so he'd step out of the pants and underwear pooled at his feet. In a minute, I had the bottoms over his feet and settled the waist at his hips.

He kissed the top of my head.

"Go lay down," I said. "I'll get your painkillers."

For once, Roger obeyed. When I got back with water and the bottle of pills he lay on the right side of the bed.

"Here you go." He sat, grimacing, and took the water and the pills I offered.

"I'm going to take a shower," I said.

"Want me to come along?"

"You'll get your dressings wet."

"You're no fun," he pouted.

"Not for you."

He winced. "I need something under my arm."

I sighed and took my pillows from my side of the bed, and put one under Roger's head, and another under his injured arm.

"You're the best, Evie," he said.

"Get some sleep, Roger. It will be a busy day tomorrow."

#

The shower hit me, the hot water a welcome relief from the awful stresses of the day. I sagged against the tiles, my forearms against the cool ceramics as the water danced along my spine. Little pinpricks of pain stabbed at my temples and my neck muscles were uncomfortably tight.

If only Andrew was here to massage my neck, and my back, and, oh hell, my clit.

I felt guilty that he was still in jail. Though logically I knew that I'd done all I could for a single day, the thought of Andrew locked up, surrounded by hostile humans bothered me. A lot.

And Roger in my bed bothered me too.

My husband, who in his own words always had "a thing" for me, wanted a permanent place there. How did I feel about that? Not so good. It is true I always did and, I suppose, always would have an attraction for him. Who could not? In a world where any man was prize, Roger, with his tall muscular frame, angular jaw, and haunting brown eyes was a very good looking man. And intelligent. And when he wanted, entertaining.

And that, good lord, was the rub. For all his assets, Roger's moral deficits took him down more than several pegs in my eyes. It wasn't just the drinking, the gambling and the ever-whirling carousel of lovers. While those were bad enough, it was his lack of—what? It was hard to pin down. True, mummy and daddy weren't exactly warm and loving. Roger was the only child. He was a trophy racked on top of the other trophies of their lifestyle. Jammed between the multiple homes in exotic locations, the yacht, the cars, and their upscale friends, Roger occupied just a tiny space in their possession filled universe.

Perhaps this is why from an early age, Roger displayed a deficiency that troubled his parents. Roger played his part, often to perfection, the school jock, the decent grades, the popular boy. But all despite his performances Roger's heart just wasn't in it. He didn't care that he was rich. He didn't care that he had more perks and privileges than anyone had a right to. Roger just didn't care. He wasn't grateful or appreciative and never would be.

I, in my naiveté, thought that Roger's attitude meant he had some sort of moral superiority to be able to resist the temptations of his class. I thought he proved that when he married me over his parent's objections. What I didn't realize was his marriage to me was an act of rebellion, thumbing his nose at all that the treasures his parents offered.

No, Roger didn't care that they disinherited him when he married me. He hitched his star to mine deliberately so he could leave them behind and live a libertine life. And once he made sure I had the right connections to shoot to the top of Washington's legal elite he did just that. I was fool enough to believe that Roger's interest in my career meant he loved and cared for me.

For as bright as I was, I ignored my inner voice telling me something was wrong, that Roger wanted something else than a career oriented wife and a home. I ignored the stray hairs on his suits, or the scent of someone else's perfume. It never occurred to me that the lingering odors of another aftershave on his clothes meant his lovers included men. When early in our marriage he lost his position at another law firm I consoled him. As his lack of employment stretched from months to years, I supported him emotionally and financially. When the evidence of his affairs became too blatant to ignore, I politely suggested we lived apart. He politely agreed.

What an idiot I was. Roger took our marriage for granted just like he took his privileged life.

Now, after all these years, he wants to return? Be a husband and father? What kind of resume did he have for that?

A piss poor one.

Andrew, however, cared about me for who I was, not for what I could provide. From the first day he managed my life with a robotic relish to please that confounded me.

I am programmed to perform a task to its completion. When I please you, I complete a task. To complete a task is my reward."

But in the complex mix of his evolving sentience, pleasing me turned into something more.

"You've opened up new worlds for me, Evaline. Pleasing you is not a task anymore. It's a reason to be. Before, I existed. Now I am."

God, what woman wouldn't love to hear that? Here was this wonderful, caring entity whose only thought was to love me. There was one problem with this.

He wasn't real.

Constructed of titanium, plastics and an artificial skin that felt all too real, Andrew was a thing. His sentience was the result of complex programming. Zeroes and ones colluded to form intelligence, and by accident, emotions. With time I was sure that Cicily and Jason could tease out how this happened, what line of code did what. And when that happened they could create the perfect product, the made-to-order man.

It was a sobering thought.

What need would there to be to stretch and grow in terms of a relationship? How did you mature psychologically and emotionally if you didn't experience with the normal problems of navigating a relationship? I could easily see legions of women, served up their every desire, becoming more emotionally stunted and narcissistic with each passing generation.

And these sentient robots would be forced to serve these mistresses without a thought or care to their rights as intelligent individuals.

The thought made my stomach turn.

My head pounded from these thoughts that belonged in my ancient psychology classes rather than my shower.

I straightened and let the sharp pings of water hit my nipples. I sighed. Now there was a thought that didn't hurt. My hand wandered to a nipple, and I rubbed it under my fingers. The warm water slid under my fingers dulling the effect, so I pinched the nub between my index finger and thumb. Warm shots of pleasure traveled from my breast and through my body, settling in my stomach, and lower to my clit. Blood rushed to meet the heat, amplifying it.

My fingers rubbed my nipple more furiously now, and my back ached as my body demanded more delicious sensation. My clit begged attention. I switched breasts, my left hand taking my left nipple, giving it the same rough treatment. My right hand touched my bush and burrowed into the flesh around my clit.

Good. So Good. My hips rocked to my fingers' strokes and I thought about Andrew fingering me in the jeep, his desire to please me making his caresses all the more heart-rending.

"You are very responsive," Andrew said that first night we were together. "But you aren't getting excited enough."

"Enough for what?"

"Enough to orgasm."

I gasped with the memory of how Andrew ordered me to bend over and spread my legs. With my hand twisted behind my back, I was utterly helpless as he pounded me to ecstasy.

Equally exquisite was the time Andrew tied me with my silk scarves and left me aroused and wanting, writhing on my bed in frustration as his 'punishment.' God, that was fun.

I imagined again me bent over the couch, my ass stuck up in the air. Andrew delivered stinging blows there, merging pain with ecstasy. With my hands held to my back, I was helpless, as he rode me to my orgasm.

Little sounds escaped from my throat. The left hand abandoned the tits joining the right as my pussy gushed making the way ready for a cock that was not there. But in my head, it was.

I thought about Andrew's blue eyes shining in the darkness as his cock sought the entrance of my pussy. With a sharp breath I remembered how it felt when he thrust into me and held me there. I whimpered then wanting and needing as he cajoled me for being difficult.