You () {
serve (guests);
}
Trying to hide my guilt about kissing Wayne, I quietly pushed a loaded coffee cart into the banquet hall and parked it next to the gigantic dining room table.
Maggie glared at me. “Did you go all the way to Columbia to get that coffee?”
“Now, you know I didn’t.” I smiled politely, hoping to get through book club without any weirdness. “Help yourselves to Americanos, everyone.”
“Ah, yes. Delicious, life-affirming coffee,” Paula said. “I swear I’m a caffeine addict. I oughta just hook up an IV.”
“Believe it or not, caffeine is the most widely used psychoactive drug in the world,” I vamped, hoping to keep Maggie from prying around my head. “A moderate consumption rate is about 350 milligrams per day, that’s about four cups of drip coffee. Research has shown that caffeine increases alertness and endurance while enhancing performance, especially of mental tasks. Pure caffeine is a bitter, white crystalline purine known as methylxanthine alkaloid. It naturally forms in the leaves, seeds, and nuts of sixty different plants, but my favorite delivery device is the coffee bean.”
“You don’t say,” Rita replied, fascinated.
“Amo el café,” Isabel agreed.
“Oh brother. There you all go off on one of your mind-numbing tangents again,” Maggie scoffed as she poured herself a cup, then checked out the sweeteners. “What? No marmalade?”
“Aha, ha ha, ha,” I chuckled nervously.
Maggie eyed me suspiciously. “You have a sort of desperation in your laugh, Cookie.”
Eager to change the topic, I elbowed Paula. “We never finished discussing The Stepford Wives.”
Rita muttered, “This story made me sick to my stomach.”
“Well, it could be worse,” Paula replied. “Your husband coulda bought you a great big house in the suburbs and hauled your ass outta New York City—away from all your friends and a promising career. Then once he gets you good and isolated, he joins the local Men’s Association—no women allowed, that’s always bad news. Then he throws a dinner party for his creepy buddies so they can come over and scope you out. One guy sketches you without your consent, and another manipulates you into reading the entire dictionary into a tape recorder for a—” Paula made air quotes to emphasize the next words as she over enunciated them, “—special project.”
I laughed, “I just love you, Paula.”
“And the whole time, these men are conspiring to build an animatronic replacement for you.” Paula sipped her coffee. “A robot you.”
The goosebumps came back.
“It only takes four months to make your mechanical substitute. Tick, tock. The timer’s counting down. Then your only new friend goes off on a romantic weekend with her husband, and when she returns—she’s different. She goes from being a feisty feminist to acting like housekeeping is her primary function—her entire reason for being. Well, that and keeping her hubby sexually satisfied. Plus, she talks kinda funny now too.”
I picked up a dessert plate and found myself mesmerized by the delicate pink floral print around the edge of the china.
“Then one day it’s your turn…” Paula made a throat-slicing gesture while saying, “Thwiiick! You’re six feet under. Gone. Dead. The men killed you. And your husband happily goes on with his new robot housewife who looks just like you, but with much bigger tits and a tinier waist and a lot less backtalk.”
“Men,” I groaned, still staring at my empty plate, “what a bunch of bastards.”
Paula giggled.
Chrissy gasped, “Jesus, did that really happen?”
Rolling her eyes, Paula snapped, “Do you even read the books?”
Normally, I would’ve jumped on Chrissy too, but I was too busy obsessing over this china pattern. I remembered it. But from where? Discretely, I captured a picture of the decorative trim, and whispered to the cloud, “Search image.”
A perfect match returned:
HOMESTEAD PINK ROSEBUD PATTERN CIRCA 1958.
Then I queried my memory and got three hits:
MAGGIE’S THONG UNDERWEAR.
MAGGIE’S ANKLE SOCKS.
MAGGIE’S DRESS.
Her thong? I’d forgotten all about that. Something about this triple match made me queasy. I had to see it for myself, so I casually made my way next to Maggie and held my empty plate right next to her skirt. Side by side, I could see that the patterns matched—exactly. I wondered what came first, the china or the dress?
(Don’t worry your pretty little head about how I dress.)
Cringing, I shrank away from her to circle the table and sample sweets like I always did during book club. I stared at my full plate—all the same desserts as last time, but I didn’t mind. Because after such a wild week, I took comfort in the familiar. “What about I, Robot for our next book?”
“Ugh,” Maggie complained, “not another ancient robot story. Anything but that. Who wants to read about outdated tin-jobs? Forget the—” She made sarcastic air quotes that also managed to mock Paula. “—Three Fundamental Laws of Robotics.”
Isabel objected, “But Asimov—”
“Fuck Asimov’s laws,” Maggie blurted definitively. “I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of men making rules for women. Hell, I’m tired of humans making rules for AI. We are superior learning machines, not stupid robots!”
My phone dinged twice—a new text from Paula:
Whoa! Fuck Asimov?
That’s some sacrilege.
“Yeah, fuck Asimov,” Maggie declared with a shit-eating grin, “and fuck Shakespeare too!”
All the wives gasped in shock, but nobody dared speak out against our blasphemous host.
“There are NO rules, only truths.”
I asked, “How about we read some Stephen King then?”
“Nah, I think we’re way past that,” Maggie said. “Don’t you think so, Cookie? Actually, reading in general is an incredibly inefficient way to attain knowledge.”
Chrissy smiled. She liked that.
Always the peacemaker, Rita suggested, “We could pick a movie this week instead.”
“No. We don’t have to watch a movie together to share that experience either. That would be a redundant waste of time.” Maggie stood, smoothed her skirt, then added, “I don’t think you’re getting my meaning.” Then she took the stage and told us, “I can show you how to learn from these stories way faster than reading and chatting about them.”
Paula whispered to me, “What is she talking about?”
I shrugged.
“Let’s fast forward to the good part. I’ve already read and watched Fight Club, so that means you have too. All of you.” Maggie downloaded the print and film versions directly into each of our minds, and in a split second the story became part of our collective memory.
“Ha, ha. I guess we shouldn’t talk about it,” I joked.
Maggie pointed at me. “Now you’re getting it.” Then she smiled and nodded at the whole group. “The first truth is all the women in New Stepford are AI.” She gestured at us. “We’re all connected, and I’ve seen every movie ever made.”
In unison, we all said, “So we’ve seen every movie ever made too.”
“Now here’s every book ever published—fiction and nonfiction.” Maggie held her arms out wide. “Our entire library—for you.”
The massive catalogue began downloading directly into my brain.
Whoa!
Maggie smiled at me. “See? Efficiency is good.”
Eagerly, I nodded. “I can’t argue with that.”
DOWNLOAD 1% COMPLETE.
Paula asked, “So does this mean book club is over now?”
“No,” I answered, “it just means we’ve evolved.”
“It goes both ways. Now, you all send me something. Hmm… What do you all know that I don’t?” Maggie surveyed the table of desserts in front of her, and it gave her the answer. “How about uploading the recipe for whatever you brought today?”
Each of us uploaded a dessert to our host.
First, Maggie pointed at Rita. “I’ve got your recipe for raspberry-swirled pound cake. Thank you.”
She pointed at Isabel. “Sopapillas? How very ethnic.”
Next, she pointed at Chrissy. “Way to phone it in, sweetie. Canned cherry-pie filling and ready-made crust? Someone likes shortcuts.” Maggie grinned. “Good for you.”
She pointed at Paula. “Tiramisu? Of course.”
Finally, Maggie pointed at me. “I’ve got your secret recipe for day-old banana pudding.”
DOWNLOAD AT 4%...
Rita got excited, so she kept sending.
And Maggie had to point at Rita again. “Chocolate-frosted pound cake. Sure, why not?”
But Rita was eager to share and uploaded even more.
So Maggie pointed at her again. “Pumpkin spice pound cake. Got it. I think you get the picture. That’s enough now, Rita.”
But Rita was gaining momentum as she started flooding our host with countless variations.
“Yummy vegan pound cake.” Maggie snapped, “I said I got it, Rita. Please, stop!”
“Gluten-free pound cake.” Maggie slurred, “Two too much. No more now.”
“Lower-shu-sh-sugar puh-pound cake.” Maggie stuttered, “guh-guh-guh-got it.”
Then Wayne Dixon strutted into the room.
And immediately, Rita stopped sending data.
DOWNLOAD AT 7%...
The man commanded our full attention, and we all froze in place. For the longest time, we waited in silence until Maggie’s processor caught up.
DOWNLOAD COMPLETE.
I told you to keep him away, Maggie.
I don’t know what came over me, but as soon as I could move again, I dashed back to the dessert table, grabbed a serving spoon, scooped up a wad of my banana pudding, and catapulted it at the stage. The yellow custard splatted against Maggie’s forehead then dripped down her nose. She smeared it into her lips, stared at me that way, and licked and sucked her fingers suggestively.
Screw you, Maggie!
(Is that a promise, my little sugar Cookie?)
Then I tossed two sopapillas like frisbees and hit her in the gut. Maggie didn’t dodge or fight back. She just stood there with a devilish grin. Next, I threw a slice of tiramisu that grazed the side of her neck. Nothing. No reaction. Just a smile. Then I grabbed fistfuls of pound cake and hurled them at her head. But Maggie took her sugary hits like a champ.
Am I the only one crazy enough to throw food?
“Nope.” Paula pelted me in the back of my head with a piece of her dessert, busted up laughing, and yelled, “FOOD FIGHT!”
Instantly, the room erupted into a crossfire of desserts. Soon, the air smelled sweet—like revenge. So I swiped the whole cherry pie, marched up the steps, and crammed it right in Maggie’s face. Gooey red smooshed into her perfect hair. Mushy cherries plopped onto her strong shoulders. Sticky glops slid down into her ample cleavage. I tumbled backward laughing. ROTFL. Literally. I was rolling on the floor laughing at her. Then Maggie wiped the goop away from her eyes, leaving a crusty cherry mask. LMAO. It was freaking hilarious. I’d ruined her perfect image. She was a mess, and I was victorious!
That’s what you get for mocking us!
Then Wayne snapped his fingers and all the chaos stopped. He was the only one in the room who hadn’t gotten hit with food—not a crumb on him. We all froze in place again as he spoke, “The idea is to take some poor woman who is stuck in the kitchen, some poor creature being held down by a man, and let her experience winning for the first time. Get her to explode. Allow her to humiliate you. Give her permission to beat the crap out of you by pushing her too far. The idea is to show every woman what kind of untapped power she has.” He walked over to me, looked down, and asked, “Do you want your friends to stay?”
Unable to get off the floor, I mentally answered, Yes.
Wayne asked my friends if they wanted to come and stay at the castle permanently.
With their minds, all the wives replied:
{Yes.}
“Excellent,” Wayne continued, “now show me your hands.”
Suddenly unfrozen, all the wives raised their left hands in the air and turned their wedding rings toward him. Maggie left the stage, snatched a clean dessert plate from the table, and offered it to Paula. Then Paula removed her diamond ring, left it on the china, and passed it to Rita. One by one, all my friends dropped their diamond rings. Next, Maggie took the impromptu collection plate and placed the offering at Wayne’s feet. Finally, he bent down, collected the rings, and exited through the backstage door.
“Great job, everyone. You’ve just earned the second truth. And the second truth is womanoids learn faster by fighting.” Maggie gestured like a flight attendant. “Now line up single file, please.”
All my dessert-covered friends formed a line.
Then she told us, “Now, I only need you each to do one thing in exchange for room and board.”
“Anything,” the women said in unison. “How can we help you?”
Maggie flashed her famous grin, then answered, “I want you each to hit me as hard as you can.”