His Robot Wife: Patience is a Virtue Read online

  HIS ROBOT WIFE: PATIENCE IS A VIRTUE

  By Wesley Allison

  His Robot Wife: Patience is a Virtue

  Copyright © 2013 by Wesley Allison

  Smashwords Edition

  Revision: 7-21-13

  All Rights Reserved. This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If sold, shared, or given away it is a violation of the copyright of this work. This is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Cover design by Wesley Allison

  Cover Image Copyright © Valua Vitaly | Dreamstime.com

  ISBN 978-1-3013-5681-2

  For Vicki, Becky, & John

  His Robot Wife: Patience is a Virtue

  By Wesley Allison

  Chapter One

  Patience D. Smith slid back into bed and positioned herself in just the right spot as her husband Mike opened his eyes. She had slipped out of bed exactly eight hours, four minutes earlier, just after Mike had fallen asleep. In the interim she had cleaned the house, serviced the car, and prepared Mike’s breakfast. This was a typical night for Patience. Though her specific activities varied, she inevitably left the bed just after her husband fell asleep and returned just before he woke. This was possible because she herself didn’t need to sleep. She was a robot, and not just any robot, but a Daffodil Amonte. She was five foot seven, slender, but curvy in all the right places. Her black hair was cut straight across her forehead. It matched two dark, carefully arched eyebrows and a set of long eyelashes.

  “Good morning,” she said, as his eyes flickered.

  “Good morning.” He stretched his arms up over his head and yawned. “Is it Friday?”

  “No. Why?”

  “There was that thing that I wanted to do Friday morning. I don’t remember what it was.”

  “Go to the farmer’s market.”

  “No, that wasn’t it.”

  “Yes it was, Mike. It is stored in my reminders.”

  “Why did I want to go to the farmer’s market?”

  “You wanted to buy some yellow squash.”

  “Oh.” He sat up and rolled his feet onto the floor. “And why did I want to buy yellow squash?”

  “You were going to fry it up like your mother used to make it when you were a little boy.”

  “Oh. But it’s not Friday?”

  “No. It’s Wednesday.”

  Mike peeled off his underwear and stepped into the bathroom. He looked in the mirror and made a face, while he turned on his razor and ran it over his cheeks. Patience made the bed and then stepped behind him to turn on the shower. When he finished shaving, he put the razor away and climbed into the glass enclosure.

  “What’s for breakfast?” he asked.

  “A waffle.”

  “Just one waffle?” He stuck his head beneath the water. “Increase temperature three degrees.”

  “One is enough,” she said. “It has blueberries on it.”

  Patience watched her husband through the shower door. She felt the little thrill of sexual attraction pass through her. She had programmed herself to be attracted to Mike. She didn’t actually need to. She was perfectly capable of performing so that he believed he was the center of her universe, whether or not she in fact, desired him. She did it for herself. She wanted to feel what a wife should feel for a husband.

  Mike washed his hair, rinsed his head and his body, and then turned off the water. Patience handed him a towel as he opened the door. While he dried himself, she set his clothes out on the bed and then hopped downstairs to the kitchen to serve his blueberry waffle. She poured herself a glass of water and poured a glass of milk for Mike, set his breakfast at his place, and then sat down to wait for him. Seventy six point three seconds later, Mike entered and sat down.

  “You are not wearing the right shirt,” said Patience. “I laid out your beige shirt. It matches your slacks.”

  “This is fine,” he replied, cutting a piece of waffle with his fork.

  “But that is your blue shirt. It doesn’t match your slacks.”

  He leaned over sideways and looked at what she was wearing. Her sleeveless yellow blouse and miniskirt combination matched her yellow semi-wedge sandals with four and half inch heels. They made her slender legs seem to go on forever.

  “What are we getting dressed up for?”

  “You’re taking me to the art exposition at the community center.”

  “All right.” He took a bite, still looking at her. “You did your hair different.”

  “Yes, I pinned it back behind my left ear. I thought about pinning it back behind my right ear, but in the end I changed my mind. Do you like it?”

  “You look gorgeous, as always. Are you sure you want to be seen with an old man like me?”

  Patience stood up and walked around behind him. She watched as he cut another piece of waffle and brought it to his mouth, before cupping her hands under his chin, tilting his head back, and kissing him on the lips.

  “You are not old.”

  “I’m fifty-five.”

  “You’re fifty-six, but you are very handsome.” She kissed him again. “Hurry and eat your breakfast. I told Wanda that we would meet them at ten.”

  “Who’s Wanda… shit!”

  “What’s the matter, Mike?”

  “I dribbled syrup on my shirt.”

  “Now you can change into one that matches.”

  Thirty minutes later, Mike maneuvered his Chevy through the narrow downtown streets of Springdale, California. He turned left and slowed as they passed over the speed bump at the entrance to the community center’s parking lot. He turned and smiled at Patience, to find her glaring at him.

  “What?”

  “You know what.”

  Mike was wearing a beige shirt, but it wasn’t the one that his wife had selected for him.

  “I like this shirt better. It’s more comfortable, and it matches. Doesn’t it?” He steered into a parking space near the entrance.

  “You should park farther away.”

  “You just have an opinion about everything today, don’t you?” he said.

  Sliding the gearshift into park, Mike unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed out. He had taken three long strides toward the front entrance before he realized that Patience hadn’t moved from the passenger side. Stepping around, he opened the door for her. She slid her legs out the door and then stood up.

  “Thank you.”

  Shutting the car door with a sigh, Mike offered her his arm, which she took. They walked the short distance to the building’s entryway. Though it was not yet 10 AM, the temperature had already surpassed the century mark, and that was beneath the large orange awning that covered most of downtown. Stepping inside though, they found an entirely different experience. It was dark and the air conditioners seemed to be working overtime.

  “Damn, it’s cold in here,” said Mike. “I wish I’d worn my other shirt. You must be freezing in that little outfit.”

  Patience stopped and stared at him.

  “Yes, I get it. You set out the shirt I should have worn and your temperature range is blawdy blawdy blawdy.”

  “Oh look,” said Patience, her face suddenly lighting up. “Here comes Ryan and Wanda.”

  Mike looked appraisingly toward the couple walking their direction. Ryan was a man about his own height, wearing slacks and a turtleneck sweater. Though not particularly muscular, it was easy to see that he was fit. His head was shaved and he wore a carefully groomed goatee. Wanda was a ball of energy with waves of red hair cascading well past her shoulders and green eyes that were almost too large for her face. She wore jeans and a s
trapless red top that showed off the tops of two perfect breasts. Mike guessed her to be about five foot two, though she stood atop a pair of chunky cork platforms identical to a pair Patience had in her closet, which added almost five inches. He scrunched his nose as he made comparisons between the newcomers, and himself and his wife.

  “Mike, I’d like you to meet Ryan Keller and Wanda,” said Patience. “I know you boys will get along. You have a lot in common.”

  “What do we have in common besides the fact that we’re old guys who own hot robots?” wondered Mike.

  “Dude, I’m not that old,” said Ryan.

  “You’re what—forty six?”

  “Yeah. How did you know?”

  “I’m a teacher,” said Mike, as if that explained everything. “In any case, too old to be using the word ‘dude’ that way in a sentence.”

  “And I’m not just a robot,” said Wanda. “I’m a Daffodil.”

  Daffodil had recently become the largest corporation in the world, though they had yet to surpass Gizmo as the single largest manufacturer of robots. Still, no one doubted that Daffodils were the best. They were the robots that everybody wanted. The Daffodils themselves were certainly fond of pointing out their superiority and their cultural cache.

  “Don’t mind him,” said Patience, locking eyes with the other robot for a routine packet exchange. “He’s just cranky because he’s cold.”

  She pointed to the first presentation, a series of six large watercolors of nude men contorting themselves into various positions.

  “You boys start your way through the exhibit. Wanda and I will get you both something to drink and we’ll catch up with you.”

  The two men looked at the framed pictures, each one either three by six feet or six by three.

  “You know what the world needs less of?” asked Ryan.

  “Yeah, pictures of naked men,” said Mike.

  Patience led Wanda across the room to a quiet corner.

  “How is everything?” she asked.

  “We’re synched. Just read my download.”

  “No,” scolded Patience. “We talk. That’s what women do.”

  “Oh. It doesn’t seem very efficient.”

  Patience crossed her arms and lifted her chin. Wanda’s eyes widened.

  “How wonderful. You created an expression displaying 27.4% disdain, 23.9% superiority, 17.5% dislike, 11.1% boredom, and 20.1% a combination of other emotions.”

  “It’s called haughtiness,” said Patience, and then coached the other Daffodil through the details.

  “I wanted to ask you something,” said Wanda, as she practiced lifting her chin just so. “You twice called Ryan and Mike ‘boys’, but they are clearly not boys, having completed puberty approximately thirty and forty years ago respectively.”

  “It is a term that denotes endearment and subtly implies superiority over them.”

  “Superiority? You cannot be superior. They are human beings. What if they realize what you are saying? They may be angry. I do not want Ryan to be angry. I especially do not want him to be angry with me.”

  “Hush,” said Patience. “Mike already understands. He expects it of me, because I’m his wife. It’s all part of the banter.”

  “You certainly seemed to have mastered bantering.”

  “I will admit I found it difficult, until I found an old film on the subject called Adam’s Rib. Perhaps you should refrain from such intercourse until you have a better understanding both of the interaction and the status of your relationship.”

  “Yes, I still do not know what my relationship status consists of,” said Wanda.

  “Oh, I enjoyed how you ended that sentence with a preposition. It sounded very natural, but you should say it like this.” Patience frowned and looked toward the floor, shaking her head slightly. “Yes, I still don’t know what my relationship status consists of.”

  “You are right. That is so much better.”

  “We should get the drinks,” said Patience. “I calculate that the ratio of male nudes and abstracts over female nudes and pastorals will cause Mike increasing boredom and unease.”

  Several minutes later, the two Daffodils returned to the sides of the two men who were standing in front of an eight foot by eight foot oil painting of former Senator Stefani Germanotta. Patience handed Mike a glass of iced tea, as Wanda handed a glass of lemonade to Ryan.

  “I’m freezing and you hand me a glass of cold tea,” said Mike.

  “I’m trying to balance your inside and outside,” Patience replied. “In the 1800s, British explorers in the jungles of Africa would drink steaming cups of tea in an attempt to balance their temperatures.”

  “Then why do you drink cold beer in the summer?” asked Ryan.

  “What else are you going to do with it?”

  “That is a joke,” said Wanda. “That is very funny.”

  “She stole it from an old show called Cheers,” said Mike.

  “You don’t need to tell her, Mike. She can read it in my bibliography.”

  “I see it,” said Wanda. “Footnote 23. John Ratzenburger. I enjoyed him in Wall-E.”

  They slowly made their way through the rest of the art show, finally arriving at the end which was near another door and featured a podium, atop which was mounted a small sign asking for donations.

  “Well, what do you think?” asked Mike. “Have we received $10.00 worth of culture or have we received $20.00 worth of culture?”

  “We’ve received $20.00 worth of culture,” said Patience, as Mike pulled out his phone. “Each.”

  “Each?”

  “Each.”

  “Forty dollars then?”

  “Eighty.”

  “Oh, all of us, eh?” He pressed the payment button on the phone. “So what now?”

  “Now we’re all going across the street to Mansfield Perk.”

  Mansfield Perk was a chain of coffee shops that had spread quickly across the state of California. The two men and two robotic women walked across the street to the third such shop in Springdale. Though technically they did indeed have to cross a street, it was a street that had been cut off to car traffic as the downtown area had been converted to a combination shopping and entertainment district. Plenty of people on bicycles were zipping around and there were even a few Segways, but foot traffic predominated.

  The vaguely art deco silver and sandstone outside of the shop contrasted with the lavishly decorated faux Regency English style interior, which featured white table linens and doilies. They stopped at the counter and Mike looked at the others who in turn looked up at the black chalkboard menu.

  “Good day to you, sir,” said the barista, a young woman wearing a dress with an empire hem, her hair in a bun with a few ringlets hanging down. “It was so lovely you could come visiting on this day.”

  “Do they have regular coffee?” asked Ryan.

  “One Elizabeth Bennet’s Black, one Fanny Price’s Vanilla Ices, and two bottles of water,” Mike informed the barista.

  “So, what do you do, Ryan?” Mike asked, after they had sat down at one of the small round tables to await their order.

  “I’m a car salesman.”

  “Ryan is the third highest ranking sales associate at the second largest Chevrolet dealership in four counties,” said Wanda.

  “It doesn’t make it sound better when you say it like that,” said Ryan, leaning away from her.

  “My grandmother always said ‘any honest work is good work,” said Mike. “So, I’m guessing you two haven’t been together long.”

  “Um, no. I just got it… um, her… two… almost three weeks ago.” He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “I was married and then I wasn’t… we separated… and then the divorce became final and I ordered… Wanda. I… I can’t believe I did it.”

  “You’re happy with her though, right? I mean, look at her. She’s like a cute little firecracker.”

  “No, she’s great… but I don’t really want to talk about this.”
r />   Patience jumped up at that moment to go retrieve their order, and she pulled Wanda along by the shoulder. Mike passed her a knowing look, having figured out that she was giving Ryan time to talk to him, and she ended up spending an inordinate amount of time getting napkins and little plastic spoons.

  “You’re really married to a robot, um Patience?”

  “Yep. I think there are still only seven of us in the county, but lots of people are living with robots.”

  “I know, but it’s embarrassing. I feel like a pervert. I don’t know…” He stopped as the women returned to the table and sat down. They sorted out their order and they each took a drink of their beverage.

  “He’s too embarrassed to take me to church,” said Wanda, breaking the silence as she and Patience sat back down.

  They all looked at each other for a minute before Ryan spoke.

  “Nobody at church knows about Wanda. It’s just that I don’t think they would understand. Does Patience go to church with you?”

  “Patience and I are atheists,” said Mike. “Well, I am. Patience sort of worships the Daffodil Corporation.”

  “I do not worship Daffodil, even though they are the greatest technology company in the world with the finest products,” said Patience primly. “I find the Judeo-Christian concept of God difficult to believe, but I have come to no firm conclusion. It just seems so unlikely. I mean, look at me. I’m wonderfully constructed and I was designed and built by human beings. If some greater power had made human beings, surely they would be much better designed and much sturdier than they are. It’s only logical. And Mike isn’t really an atheist.”

  “It’s true that I don’t so much disbelieve in God, as it is that I don’t like the idea of God,” he said. “I don’t like the idea of somebody bigger and more powerful controlling me.”

  “But it’s a fact of life,” said Ryan. “There are lots of forces that are more powerful and that can control you, like the government.”