A Novella Idea by Mike Bozart - HTML preview

It was a cold, overcast, foreboding February day with an occasional fluttering snowflake at the midtown Charlotte office when I got a text from an unsaved New York City phone number.

Any ideas for my next screenplay?

I was smartly dumbfounded and paused to consider the source. Who in this wacky world could this be? Wait … ideas ... screenplay. That must be Al Niño [Agent A~O] Yeah, it’s got to be him. He must have a new number.

I texted him back.

Screenplay ideas? Why yes, Al, as a matter of fact I do have a few novel notions clanking around in the old cranatorium. [sic]

He texted back just one minute later.

Cranatorium. Ha. You crack me up with your neologisms, Michael. [He insists on calling me Michael for annoyance reasons.] Let me guess, Michael, you’re writing a novel about an insane asylum.

I returned textual fire two minutes later.

Close, but no green cigar, Al. No, it’s a novella involving sex robots.

Five minutes went by. No reply from Al. Maybe he thinks that I’ve totally lost it and doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore. He’s living the good life now, jet-setting between New York and L.A. If I were him, would I want to get entangled in my nonsense? Probably not.

Then, twelve minutes later, he replied.

Sex robots? Well, I must admit, M. van Tryke, [my nickname and art-name] you completely lost me there. But, please do expound on the interface.

I paused to ponder his text. On the interface? Does he want graphic details about the robots’ genitalia?

Al, it’s set in the year 2080. All of the sex robots are just like humans. They’re very advanced. Anatomically identical. No plastic holes or lead pipes.

Three minutes later, Al’s reply popped up on my small smartphone’s screen.

Lead pipes? Michael, we’re already way beyond metal Frankendongs. [sic] Have you been in a sex shop lately?

I looked out my left window as a lone, tiny ice crystal swirled around in the air, and then disappeared when it contacted the asphalt parking lot. I composed a reply to Al.

Yes, Monique [Agent 32] and I were in one last November. You know, for research reasons. Well, let’s just say that the latex-hybrid creations 64 years from now are much truer to human actuality.

Al’s rejoinder was immediate.

Can I call you now, sex-robot-man?

Wait ten minutes, Al.

Why, still cleaning up?

Very funny, Al. Hardy-har-har-har. No, the boss will be gone then.

Al then called sixteen minutes later.

“So, sex robots, Michael,” Al said teasingly. “Does Monique allow you to have one? Do you guys have threesomes with it – or her?”

“Always the comedian. Always a zinger. No letup. And, no, we don’t own a sex robot, Al.”

“Well, how does a novella revolving around sex robots get into your head, my dear friend named Michael?” This Michael stuff is already getting really old. But, I’m not going to let him know that it is grating on me.

“Al, I got the idea while watching a news report on CNN last October. Malaysia was banning sex robot conventions.”

“They actually have sex robot conventions?”

“Apparently so.”

“Do prospective buyers get to try them out for free?”

“I have no idea, Al. I’ve never been to one.”

“Oh, you can tell me, Michael. I won’t tell anyone.”

“No, I haven’t been to one yet. Is that adverb good enough for you, Al?”

“Carry on.”

“After seeing the news report, I did some research online. Some of these higher-end sex robots are already up to the manikin level in appearance. I image that in six decades, with such rapid technological advances and tactile improvements, they will be hard to tell from humans. It will be a very strange world. Maybe very isolated.”

“I see where this is going. I sniffed your angle out, Michael. We will find out if most men are content with just an artificial female. Is that it? Is that the thrust of it?” He laughed.

“No, Al, that’s an angle for your book. Remember that one you promised to write, All You Need to Know about Women: A Guide for the Single Guy. And, how far have you gotten on it, if I might ask?”

“It’s been tabled for the time being, but I must say this gives me some ideas.”

“I’m sure it does.”

“Well, tell me more, Michael. Will the novella be told from the perspective of a sex robot?”

“That’s a great idea, Al. Very sci-fi there. However, I was thinking of telling the story from a couple’s perspective.”

“Oh, so in 2080 it won’t be unusual for every adult to have a sex robot?”

“Well, I don’t know about that.”

“Well, what do you know about your sex-robot saga?”

“Well, it starts off with a very ordinary human couple, male and female, heterosexual relationship, both in their late 20s.”

“Ok, when do the robots come out of the closet?”

“Come out of the closet? You’re not missing any hanging curveballs. You must be on your fifth cup.”

“No, I don’t drink coffee anymore, Michael.”

“Fifth bowl of weedies [sic] by chance, Al?”

“Fourth. Back and forth. Reciprocating motion.”

“Ok, Al, do you think you’re coherent enough to hear the rest of the synopsis?”

“Fire away, Michael. Aim high, shoot low.” Yes?

“Well, our average American couple splits up for one common reason or other. I haven’t figured out the exact issue just yet.”

“Ok …”

“The guy then decides to experiment with a sex robot. He likes it. A lot. So much so, in fact, that he decides not to date anymore.”

“Woah. I already see the hate mail clogging your inbox. Here come the zero-star ratings.”

“Yeah, maybe so, Al. Maybe so. But, in my tale the young lady gets word through mutual friends about what her ex is doing. And, you guessed it, perhaps: She decides to experiment with a male sex robot. She likes it, too. Though, she still wants a real male in her life. Maybe for a future baby.”

“Woah, woah. Let me stop you right there, Michael. You’re making a big false assumption. Women – 99.99% of them – would never be completely satisfied with just a sex robot, no matter how good the orgasms were, or whether they wanted a baby or not. There’s just no drama with a robot. There has to be ongoing human turmoil behind the sensations.” Huh?

“Al, are you saying that women require drama? Can I quote you on that?”

“Sure. Go ahead. My girlfriend knows it.”

“You know that I record everything for future short stories, right?”

“I suspected as much, Michael.”

“What about you – are you recording me now, Al?”

“Uh, you’ll know later.” Huh?

“What?” Who knows where this conversation will end up? Probably in one of his screenplays.

“Well, Michael, what is the climax of your sexbot [sic] tale?” Sexbot? Wow, I’ll have to use that word in the novella. Of course, I won’t give Al credit. Internal chuckle.

“Amazing one, the climax of the story occurs when all four of them – the couple and the two sexbots – get together one evening. I will just leave it at that.”

“You will just leave it at that? I thought we were friends, Michael. Now, please, do tell.”

“We are friends, Al. But, let’s be honest now; we would scoop each other in an instant. You’re a crafty enterprising fellow.”

“Listen, Michael, I’m not going to screenplay what you just told me and sell it. Well, not this year.” He chuckled.

“See, I have already told you too much. If you run with my idea, I’ll sue you. Of course it will be nothing personal.”

“Oh, go fuck your bot, Michael!” 

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