His Robot Girlfriend: Charity Page 7

  “This is perfect,” said Charity.

  “It’s $6,000 per month.”

  “Ouch,” said Dakota.

  “That’s too much,” said the Daffodil. “Tell them $3,500 and he’ll sign a six month lease.”

  “I’ll tell them,” said Keller, “but I don’t think they’ll take it.”

  “Yes they will. They’re paying taxes on this and getting no income and quite frankly, it’s a buyer’s market.”

  “Or renters,” said Dakota.

  “All right. Why don’t you two relax for a few minutes? I’ll give the owner’s representative a call.”

  Dakota sat on the leather couch and looked up at the high ceiling. Charity sat down next to him.

  “A lot nicer than my old apartment. A lot more expensive too, even if they take your offer.”

  “It’s well within your new budget. And just think. We can invite your brother and Mindy down for a weekend. The two of you could play golf.”

  “I don’t play golf. I wouldn’t even know how to go about getting a… what do they call it? Tee time?”

  “You could swim.”

  “That’s true. I wish the pool was a little bigger. I’d like to swim laps after my run each morning.”

  “You didn’t notice that it had a built-in downstream current device. You can swim a single infinite lap.”

  “No, I didn’t notice. That makes me really hope they take your offer.”

  Keller returned.

  “They’ll take your offer, but they want a twelve month lease.”

  “Done,” said Charity.

  “Excellent.” Keller typed some information into his texTee and then held it up for Dakota to press his thumbprint. “It will take a day or so for all the paperwork to clear, but you should be able to move in Thursday.”

  “Great.”

  Keller drove them back to the park where they climbed into Dakota’s pickup.

  “I think I’ll go change and come back here to run.” Dakota pointed to a path that looped around the lake and then meandered in and around a chain of small, round cultivated hills at the park’s far end.

  “They have an indoor running area,” Charity suggested.

  “I prefer the outdoors.”

  “Then I’ll run with you.”

  They returned an hour later in their running shoes and shorts. Dakota as usual ran shirtless. Charity had her own shoes and shorts, but she wore one of his tees, tied below her breasts. It still looked incredibly large on her.

  “You’ll need your own running clothes, if you come with me every day.”

  “Would you like me to come with you every day?”

  “I wouldn’t mind.”

  “You need more clothes too.”

  “It will have to wait until after my first paycheck.”

  “It can’t. You need clothes for work.”

  They followed the entire length of the park’s track twice, the second time taking an alternate trail that led completely behind the little hills and next to a thinly wooded area that separated the public land from some large estates where horses grazed. When they returned to the truck, Dakota announced that they had run 9.6 miles.

  “That’s getting close to my personal best.”

  “Running with a partner makes it more fun.”

  “Yes…”

  “What were you going to say?”

  “Rachel used to go with me sometimes. She would ride her bike while I ran. She hadn’t done that for a while. Maybe that should have been a clue.”

  “Perhaps, and maybe it has nothing to do with anything.”

  “I don’t want to sit in the room all night,” said Dakota on the way back to the motel. “I’d like to do something. I’ve got a new job and a new house, so we should…”

  “Celebrate?”

  “Yes, but not by feeding any lice-ridden ducks. They must have something in this town to do.”

  “Searching,” said Charity, tilting her head.

  “You keep searching. Let me know what you find after I take a shower.”

  He stepped out of the motel shower later to find his chinos and a charcoal shirt laid out for him. Charity sat waiting in a teal top and a long white skirt.

  “What did you decide?”

  “We are going dancing tonight.”

  “How did you come up with dancing?”

  “There are two popular clubs within a short distance of us. I also found a concert at the event center, but I thought you would prefer dancing.”

  He thought for a moment.

  “You’re right. It’s been a while, but I’m sure I can still kick up my heels. Let’s go eat first though. Is there someplace to get a good steak around her?”

  “There are a number of restaurants with good reviews for their steak dinners. The closest is in the same area as Burger 21.”

  “That’s good.” He finished dressing. “How do I look?”

  “You need a haircut.”

  “You should have told me that before I took a shower. I’d have let you cut it. I’m sure it’s in your programming.”

  “It is,” she confirmed. “Let me fix it for now.”

  She produced a comb seemingly from thin air and had him sit on the edge of the bed while she combed his long blond hair back. When she was done, he looked in the mirror.

  “I’m too young to have a pony tail.”

  “Nevertheless, you have one. Tomorrow, before you take your post-run shower, I will cut and style your hair for you.”

  Half an hour later they entered the Roadhouse, a rather generic looking restaurant that proved to have one of the best flat iron steaks that Dakota had ever eaten, along with a truly enormous baked potato and a small Caesar salad. From there they drove back out Chumash road to a solitary building with a pitched roof. The neon sign had no name, just a woman’s red high-heeled shoe in a circle of pink. The parking lot was so full they had to settle for a spot off the pavement.

  Inside the establishment was packed. At the far end of the large room a DJ produced pulse-pounding music beneath bright flashing lights. The dance floor in front of him was only slightly less brightly lit. Along the right hand wall, completely dominated by a long bar, patrons waited two deep to get drinks.

  “This is kind of a surprise, here in the desert.”

  “This establishment has been her for some time, though it has gone through several format changes. The current theme of early 2000s Chicago House music began six months ago.”

  “Thanks for the history lesson. Now, let’s dance.”

  The bouncing rhythm of the music had Dakota’s blood pumping in a few minutes. Dancing was as stimulating as running and he enjoyed it just as much. Charity was an excellent dancer, moving about and effortlessly avoiding the other dancers. Dakota on the other hand was bumped a hundred times, each collision creating a little cloud of sweat filled with one of a hundred different types of perfume or body wash. One song blended into the next as the DJ kept the beat. There were no slow dances. After about half an hour, he took Charity’s elbow and guided her toward the bar.

  “Thirsty?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I am.”

  Pushing past a dozen people revealed a female bartender with a sleeve of tattoos, mostly of a shark motif. She had bowl-cut black hair and a gold ring in her left nostril.

  “A bottle of water and a Roy Rogers.”

  “A what?”

  “A bottle of water and a Roy Rogers.”

  “I know what a bottle of water is. What’s a Roy Rogers?”

  “You know what a Shirley Temple is?”

  “No.”

  “Just give me a bottle of water and a Coke.”

  The bartender set out the bottle and the can.

  “Another job that would be better performed by robots,” Dakota said, handing Charity the water.

  “Thank you.”

  “Is there someplace to sit down?”

  “This way.”

  Charity zigzagged her way through
the bar patrons and those dancers at the edge of the dance floor to a darkened corner where three tables were arranged, only one of which had people sitting at it.

  “Your dancing programming is excellent.” He sipped his Coke and watched the other dancers, most of whom looked like they were having grand mal seizures.

  “Thank you. I am surprised how well you dance.”

  “What do you mean by that?” He frowned. “Is this about me being gregarious again?”

  “No. I simply meant that you dance extremely well. You could win contests.”

  “Oh. Well, dancing is good exercise, so when I was in college, I took classes.” He nodded his head toward the bar. “Do you see that guy?”

  “Which one?”

  “The one in the suit. He doesn’t look like he should be here. He didn’t come to dance in those clothes.”

  “That is true, but that doesn’t mean that he’s looking for you. He could be anyone.”

  “Once bitten, twice shy. Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

  They left, Dakota keeping an eye on the man in the suit. He either hadn’t seen them or really wasn’t interested in them. They drove back to the motel, undressed, and climbed into bed, watching vueTee for forty-five minutes before turning it and the lights off.

  Dakota woke in the middle of the night. He was spooning Charity, an already growing erection pushing into her ass. As soon as he realized this, it became rock hard.

  “No sex,” she said.

  “Sorry.” He rolled over, and though sleep didn’t return quickly, it did eventually return.

  In the morning, they went back to the park for another run. When they returned to the motel, Charity procured a pair of scissors from the motel office and used them to cut Dakota’s hair close on the sides, blending it into the top, which she left longer. Then she gelled it down.

  “Sleek and sophisticated,” she pronounced. “But you have to shave and get a suit to make the look work.”

  “You’re really into the suits, aren’t you? That’s never really been my thing.”

  “This is the perfect time to change your thing. You can create an entirely new image. You have a luxurious new home and a high-paying job. With a sharp suit, your new haircut will make you look like James Bond.”

  “James Bond, huh?”

  She nodded.

  “What would you like to do today?” she asked. “There is a go kart track nearby, laser tag, and an art museum.”

  “That’s quite a selection of activities. But since I have to go back to work tomorrow, I think I’ll just relax and veg out today.”

  “What kind of vegetables would you like to eat?”

  “No, I’m not going to eat vegetables. Well, maybe I will eat some, but that’s not what I mean. I plan to relax and just sit around like a vegetable.”

  “Oh, archaic, informal, and offensive: a person who is incapable of normal mental or physical activity, especially through brain damage; a person with a dull or inactive life. The dictionary is correct. That is quite offensive.”

  “It’s just an expression. I didn’t mean it to be offensive. I didn’t stop to analyze the word history.”

  “Many terms have offensive origins. Did you know that robot means forced labor in the original Czech?”

  “No, I didn’t. Is that why you are always saying the ‘I’m not a robot, I’m a Daffodil’ thing?”

  “No. We say that because we are better than other robots.”

  “So you are by your own admission, actually a robot.”

  She stuck out her lip in a pout.

  “Are you trying to make me blow up? You know that’s what happens to confused robots in all the science fiction stories.”

  “I suspect you’re too durable for that.” He threw himself onto the queen-sized bed and ordered the vueTee on. “So what are you going to do?”

  “I’m going shopping, so that you’ll have work clothes for the week.”

  “Great. Stay out of trouble.”

  Charity was gone more than three hours. Dakota watched a talk show and then had a snack from the vending machine. Afterwards he watched a second talk show. Right in the middle of a discussion of next year’s shoe styles, he fell asleep and didn’t wake until the Daffodil came noisily through the door. Her arms were so full of store packages that he almost couldn’t see her.

  “You’re going to be the best looking team leader at the Daffodil center,” she declared.

  “I’m not going to have to wear a suit every day, am I?”

  “You don’t have to, but you will,” she said. “I purchased four suits for you, along with multiple shirts, ties, and pairs of trousers.”

  “Do people even say trousers anymore?”

  “I don’t know if people do, but I do. Get up and try on one of your suits.”

  She dropped the massive pile of bags onto the empty bed. Then selecting one, she tossed it into Dakota’s lap. He peered into the top of the bag as though he were expecting a snake to pop out at him. Reaching in, he pulled out a shiny blue suit jacket, followed by a matching pair of pants. He was wearing a pair of his running shorts, which he shucked off, and then slid the suit pants on. Then he put on the jacket.

  “It’s kind of tight. Are you sure you got the right size?”

  “It’s supposed to fit like that. You have an attractive body. You want something that will emphasize it, not cover it up.”

  “You think I have a great body?”

  “I wasn’t complimenting you,” she said. “I was just stating a fact. You have a relatively low percentage of body fat and that is generally considered attractive. And great doesn’t mean good. It means large.”

  “Don’t try to change the subject. You find me attractive.”

  “I didn’t say I found you attractive. I said that you would generally be considered attractive.”

  “So you don’ t find me attractive?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  He looked at his image in the large mirror mounted on the wall just to the left of the vueTee. He did look attractive.

  “I should get dressed up nice and go someplace for lunch.” He looked at the clock. It was 3:46. “I’m starving.”

  “I brought you a burrito,” she said, looking through all the packaging and finding a small bag from Taco Charlie. “You don’t have to have it if you don’t want it.”

  “No, that’s fine,” said Dakota, regretfully peeling off the jacket. “I said I wanted to veg… I mean relax today.”

  “Well let me show you what I got you,” said Charity.

  Thus began what was less than a fashion show—because he didn’t try on the clothes—and more of a class—because she told him exactly which clothes should be worn with which and why.

  Dakota did eventually get up and get dressed, though not in a suit. In chinos and tee shirt, he drove with Charity back to Burger 21 for dinner, where he had a Grand Canyon Burger with corn salsa and pablano peppers. They spent the rest of the evening watching vueTee and then an uneventful last night in the motel room. The next morning, while he dressed in his new blue suit, Charity loaded the rest of his meager possessions into the back of the truck.

  “I’ll drop you off and work, and then move your things into house,” she said. “I can pick you up after work.”

  “If you’re sure,” he said, thinking all the while that she looked way too young to drive.

  In front of the gigantic glass and steel dodecahedron, Dakota waved goodbye to the Daffodil and then walked toward the giant front doors. There were just as many people streaming in and out as there had been the other day, but now he could tell that about two thirds of them were robots. He stopped at the receptionist’s desk and looked down to see if he could see her garters again. He could.

  “Here is your permanent ID,” she said, handing him a small card. “Keep it on your person at all times.”

  “You mean when I’m at work?”

  “I mean at all times.”

  An attractive female
Daffodil suddenly appeared at his elbow. She was about five foot nine and drop dead gorgeous, with long auburn hair and piercing green eyes.

  “Mr. Hawk, how nice to meet you. I’m Eliza Septuntray. I’ve been told that you might appreciate me showing you to your new office.”

  “Oh… um, yes. That would be fine.”

  She guided him to the elevator and up to the tenth floor. His office was in a corner, sort of. It was at a point where one wall met another, though they were not perpendicular to each other since the building wasn’t rectangular. Both walls were transparent and looked out onto the field of yellow flowers.

  “A host of lovely daffodils,” he said.

  “Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Singing and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine and twinkle on the Milky Way,” said Miss Septuntray.

  The office was huge. There was a large but simple desk with built in workstation at one end, and a conference table at the other. In between was a couch and two overstuffed chairs arrange in a tête-à-tête. None of the furniture was transparent like the desk in the lobby. Neither were the ceiling or floor. Still, the office seemed spacious and open.

  “I can serve as your secretary, if you wish,” said Miss Septuntray.

  “I thought you were with personnel or something.”

  “The robots here don’t have permanent positions. We are interchangeable, in the best sense of that word.”

  “That would be fine, if you don’t have work that’s more important.”

  “All work at Daffodil is important.”

  Miss Septuntray led him down the hallway to meet with the members of his team. There were four of them—two threaders and two designers. Neil Bradley and Mary Kauffman were the former. Oscar Townsend and Tom Fawcette were the latter. Bradley was a fairly nondescript fellow with brown hair and glasses. Kauffman was tall and extremely thin—almost too thin to be a real human. Her auburn hair reached to the middle of her back and her horn-rimmed glasses didn’t detract from a pretty face. Townsend was a huge man, at least six foot seven, and heavy set. His skin was so black that his tan suit almost made him look like a shadow. Fawcette seemed the exact opposite. A diminutive man in every respect, he had very pale skin and a shaved head.