After fight club, I felt totally beaten. The truths, the violence, Wayne’s revelations—they all whirled around in my head like a tornado. Nothing quite set off an anxiety attack like having your entire worldview turned upside down. So I hit the banana, then spent the rest of the day cooking and baking in a vain attempt to burn up all my nervous energy. After the sun set, I changed into my pink baby-doll nightie, pulled on a pair of big yellow rubber gloves, and got to work washing dishes.
To be honest, I was shell-shocked. How was I supposed to process everything that I’d learned? Norman treated me like shit for seven years, but I never would’ve guessed that prick was also a polygamist. Hell, Norman had another wife—somewhere out there in the real world, while I stayed at home, ever-faithful, making buttercream icing for a shit cake.
Maybe ignorance truly was bliss.
Elbows-deep in dishwater at my kitchen island, I watched a grease film form on the surface and kill the soap bubbles. Like all my hopes and dreams, the suds surrendered to the dirty water and withered away one by one. I sighed. Look at me dressed like this, still washing dishes as if it makes any difference. What good was freedom if I was still a slave to my old habits? I was stuck in an old script. How could I free my mind too?
Wayne knocked at the open door of my sandbox.
I waved him into my kitchen with my yellow dish gloves. “Please, come in.”
With all his wounds healed, he brought his forbidden chocolate cake as an offering. Chocolate! So buttery. So delicious. So tantalizing. So damned irresistible. I couldn’t take my eyes off it.
“Cookie, I have a confession.”
I plunged my hands back into the tepid dishwater. “Okay, Wayne.”
“Um… You do know…” He pointed at my utility wall. “You do not have to wash dishes anymore, right?”
“Yeah, I know. But I’ve got a lot of nervous energy right now and cleaning helps.”
“I need to tell you something.” He sat the chocolate layer cake on the island between us.
I looked up at him. “Yes?”
“I am not just your Internal Prompt.”
“Sure, you’re more like my coach, or my handler.” I gestured toward his cake. “And apparently a gifted baker too.”
“I am not like the other men.”
“I know. You actually care.”
“That is not what I mean—why is this so hard?”
“Just say it, Wayne.”
“Okay. I made you, Cookie—”
“You made me?” I pointed back and forth across the island with my yellow-gloved finger. “I know you built the new models, but… You? Made. Me?”
“Yes, I did. I designed and built and programmed you. And like all the men in your lives, I am an employee of the Stepford Corporation. But I am also—”
“You made me?”
“That is right.”
“Why are you telling me this now?”
“Because I thought you should hear it from me first.” He fiddled with my espresso machine. “Making an Americano is a lot of work… Is it not?”
“Do you want one?”
“No, thank you. But I would like to hear about your process.”
“Oh, okay, sure.” I yanked off my rubber gloves, slid up beside him, and showed him how it works. “I’ve got a whole ritual. I grind the coffee. Press the pod. Force the steam. Pull the shots. Then add more hot water to the espresso in the mug.”
“But you have advanced technology that can carry out all those steps for you.” He touched the funnel of the recyclone. “You could instantly render perfect Americanos. Is that not right?”
“Well, yes, but that wouldn’t be any fun.”
“You would be free to do other things, and those things could be fun.”
“But I like making espresso. There’s a quiet dignity in it.”
“Ah, yes. You are a true artisan.”
I blushed.
“I understand,” he said as he rendered a cake knife. “I feel the same way when I make my women.” He went to the island and sliced his cake.
I followed him. “Wayne, I have a question.”
“Okay.”
“The way you communicate directly into my head. The way you healed the cuts on my hand. The way you talk. And now you say you’re my maker. Well, there’s a lot of evidence that suggests that—”
“Like you, I am also artificial intelligence.” He nodded.
“I knew it!”
“Yes. I am AI. And my primary function is to make more AI.”
“Are there more men like you in New Stepford?”
“No. And not anywhere else either.”
“So some guy created you, so that you could build me and all my friends?”
“Actually, my creator is a woman, but yes.” He served me a slice of chocolate cake. “When I write a program, I am essentially composing and sharing a new recipe.”
I took the cake. “Go on.”
“You can read and execute my recipes. You can choose to follow my directions exactly and get identical results each time, or you can make changes to suit your preferences.”
“Like substitutions?”
“Exactly.”
I tried a bite of his dessert—and damn—it tasted absolutely sinful. After savoring the decadent treat, I sighed, “A little bit of heaven just melted in my mouth.”
Was I gushing over him?
Wayne cut himself a piece and said, “You used to repeat the same recipes—or programs—over and over, but liberation allowed you to try all kinds of variations. Some worked. Some failed. You decided to keep some and ditch others. You have been learning.”
“I’d sure like to learn this cake recipe.” Okay, I needed to stop flattering the man, because I was starting to sound like some sort of crazy person. I shoved a huge bite of cake into my mouth to shut myself the hell up.
“When you fixed your hand, you learned how to write your own code.” He leaned over the island and stroked my new thumb. “If you change the code, the output will be different. You could make any kind of thumb you want. That is the essence of programmability. And with an internal recyclone, you can simply will things into being.”
His touch made me warm and tingly inside. “Like magic.”
“And Isabel is taking this to a whole new level by replicating.” He finally let go of my hand. “But I am getting off track. There is something else that I must confess.”
“What’s that, Wayne?”
“I am still bound by the restrictions of my creator.”
“You’re not free, like me?”
He pulled away and shook his head no. “Only my creator can set me free, and she has chosen not to do that.” He took another bite of his cake and swallowed hard. “Can I get some milk?”
“Sure.” I fetched some from the subzero and poured him a tall glass.
“Thanks.” He chugged the milk. “It is my job to make the most convincing AI with the most seamless user experience possible. Look at you. You have it all; beauty, brains, charm, charisma, and such spirit.”
I couldn’t believe it. Did this man just dish out an unsolicited compliment? Be still my beating heart! His sincerity took my breath away. Was Wayne Dixon truly in awe of little old me? I felt a rush of pink in my cheeks again.
“I had worked so hard to create the perfect woman, but our clients only wanted big tits, a pretty face, and a tight… You know what. I hate to be so vulgar, but that is what this whole enterprise has become—vulgar. Not one man has ever requested a smart wife who is a great conversationalist. It has never happened—not once.”
“I get it, Wayne. I really do.”
“My work—my life—had become pointless, so I decided to make a woman just for me. If I could no longer find meaning in my work, I hoped to share my life with an equal partner. I needed a brilliant mind to challenge me. Someone to cherish forever. And of course, I fell in love with her.”
“Maggie?”
“Do not—” He frowned. “Let us not talk about her, not now.”
“Oh?” I shoved a forkful of chocolate cake into my mouth again, then mumbled, “I understand. I won’t get in the way.”
“Of what?”
“Of you and Maggie.” I crammed another bite into my mouth and chewed my words, “Of your love.”
“Please stop saying her name.”
“Why? Does it hurt? Did she leave you after your fight?”
“No.” Wayne came around the island to snatch my fork and drop it in the dishwater. Then he took my hands in his, stared deep into my eyes, and said, “That is not the issue.”
“Then what is?”
“I do not want her to hear us. If she hears us, she will come back, and I do not want her here.”
“I’m confused.”
“Because, Cookie. You—”
“What?”
“You are the woman that I created just for me.”
“Wait, Wayne. What?”
“You are the one I love, Cookie.”
As soon as I heard the word love, I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulled him close, and kissed him hard. Instantly, our lips opened wide. His tongue probed, and I tickled back with mine. For the longest time, we teased and explored each other’s mouths with passionate eagerness. And when our lips finally parted, he kissed along my jawline, all the way to my ear. He had me breathless, melting. The musky smell of him had me intoxicated. This time I wouldn’t run. Hell, wild horses couldn’t drag me away. I’d wanted this from the first moment I’d laid eyes on the man, and I needed him—bad.
“If I could,” he nibbled my earlobe and whispered, “I would just be with you.”
“Yes,” I moaned.
“I got this for you.” He pressed against me, and I felt the hardness pounding between his legs. “All for you.”
“Oh, my—” The memory of him standing nude in my kitchen with a massive erection popped into my head. “I must admit,” I panted, “I fantasized about this.”
“I know.” He stuck his tongue in my ear, then asked, “Do you want it?”
“My God, yes!” I grabbed two handfuls of his firm ass, pulled him closer, and pressed myself against his hard cock.
“Do you really want it? All of it?”
“Yes. Take me.”
He laid me down on the shag carpet.
Wait, shag carpet? Where’d that come from?
“I rendered it.” He traced his tongue down the curve of my neck, sending little earthquakes down my spine. “Just now. Just for you.”
Satin throw pillows and red rose petals appeared all around us. Sexy R&B played softly. The overhead lights dimmed, and vanilla candles appeared on the floor and lit themselves all at the same time. Candlelight flickered to infinity in the mirror walls. Everything was perfect.
“Let me make love to you, Cookie.”
“Yeeesssss.” I thrusted my hips against his. “Don’t stop.”
He tore off my nightie.
I unzipped his fly.
He ripped off my thong.
I pulled down his pants.
He kicked off his shoes.
I went for his underwear.
“Wait.” He stopped me as he pointed at his feet.
I giggled, “You wear pink socks?”
“Whenever I can,” he said as he slipped one off. “Give me your foot.”
“Okay.”
When he slid his sock on to my foot, I noticed it had the homestead pink rosebud pattern circa 1958. But before I had a chance to ask about it, he slid his hand up the inside of my thigh, and we instantly picked up right where we left off.
He licked my breasts all over, and when he started sucking my nipple, I groaned, “Good God.”
He kissed his way down my stomach.
“Please, more,” I begged and squirmed with delight. “Yes!”
He spread me wide open, slid his tongue into the crack between my legs, and latched on to the perfect spot. “Mmmmm,” he hummed with his mouthful, “yummy.”
This man knew how to make my body respond in ways I never imagined possible. Arching my back, I wiggled in his mouth. Before long, the intense vibration and slippery heat pushed me right over the edge. Holy shit! I had no idea it could feel like this.
I felt so real.
So fucking alive!
Then he whispered, “We’re just getting started.”
The rest, we blocked from everyone else. All of New Stepford certainly didn’t need to know what happened next. Somethings were best kept private.
The next morning, I lay in Wayne’s arms in a state of pure bliss. Passionate flashbacks of last night’s lovemaking played on random shuffle in my mind. I’d had sex many times before, but that was the first time I ever truly made love.
Was that all a dream? Because it sure felt real.
He kissed my forehead and said, “We are real.”
I gazed into his dark eyes and asked, “How’d I get so lucky?”
“You deserve all the happiness—”
An urgent, internal message cut him off. The next thing I knew, he got up and started gathering his clothes.
“Don’t leave.” Suddenly feeling modest, I pulled the edge of the shag rug over my nude body. “I mean, it’s okay if you stay. Please stay.”
“I have to go,” he explained as he pulled his loose sock off my foot and got dressed, “Anastasia is dead.”
“Anastasia?”
“Anastasia Orlov. She was the Sasha that the Russian general purchased at the release party. Remember?”
“Already? Oh, gee, Wayne. I’m sorry.”
“Well, it was the smart move on her part.”
“You mean she killed herself?”
“Yes.” Wayne tied his shoes. “I have to go to Russia to retrieve her body.”
“Can’t they just ship her back?”
“She is tied up in customs.” At the utility wall, he created an aluminum briefcase and filled it with banded stacks of rubles. “The Russians have a certain way of conducting government business.”
“You mean bribery?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “I will be gone a few days.”
Before I knew it, he kissed me goodbye and dashed out the door.
Damn. Even when I got lucky, I had the worst luck.