It didn’t help that most of her friends in the fashion industry had melted away. Oh sure, there was for the first few months an outpouring of sympathy, lots of people dropping by, even a few feature e-zine articles about the supermodel bravely recouping from a near-fatal car accident. For a while she was a hot topic on industry blogs.
And then nothing. Selene was no longer in circulation, and there wasn’t much need for supermodels with a limp and a deformed face. She quickly became yesterday’s news, interest and attention moved on to other things. She was left to rot in obscurity.
Selene tried to bounce back. She realized she needed to find another line of work, and she could no longer rely on her looks. She wanted to find something that would keep her out of the public eye and would not require her to leave the house. That’s when she discovered programming.
Not just phones and droids, but toasters, fridges, stoves, cars, house systems were ‘smart’ and capable of being integrated with larger systems over the internet.
But they were dull. Selene started writing personality apps for smart devices and appliances, and discovered that she had a real knack for it. She started selling them online. I was skeptical at first, but I didn’t say anything and remained supportive. Sometimes the smartest thing a guy can do is keep his mouth shut, and in this case it worked.
Because it turned out people loved her personality apps, and it wasn’t long before they went viral. Her apps brought character and charm to all kinds of appliances and devices.
Fridges with wit. Toasters with Freudian complexes.
Who’d have thought it’d be so popular?
It gave Selene something to do while allowing her to stay home where people couldn’t see her. And I was happy for her. Happy that she’d found something interesting and rewarding to do. But in the process she’d been growing more reclusive. She forgot that, despite all the phony friends who had dropped her, there were still plenty of real friends that loved her. I wanted to protect her, but maybe I had been protecting her too much. Maybe I should have encouraged her a bit sooner to get back out into circulation.
“I don’t know if I can do that,” she said.
“I think it’s time to try.”
“People will stare at me.”
“You were a supermodel. You should be used to people staring at you.”
“Yes, but for different reasons. Now they stare because I’m hideous. Little children openly gawk at me and point. The startled looks. The sidelong glances. Adults will take double looks, and try to be more polite and not as obvious, but I can always tell they’re looking.”
“Don’t say you’re hideous. I don’t like it when you run yourself down like that.”
“Well, it’s true. I have a face that scares children. They clutch their mothers’ arms a little tighter when I walk by.”
“So let them stare. You’re beautiful where it counts most, just remember that. You’re going to have to deal with this sooner or later. We can’t spend the rest of our life hiding in this apartment.”
I’d never really forced the issue before, but it was time. Sometimes we all need a nudge in the right direction.
“Just go on without me.”
I shook my head. “Uh-uh.”
“You’re being stubborn,” she said.
“Yes, but only when I think I’m right,” I said.
“You always think you’re right.”
“Well, that explains why I’m so stubborn then, doesn’t it? Seriously, honey. I’m worried that you’re getting too reclusive. It’s time to step back out into the light of day. I know this has been hard. You lost a lot of friends. But they don’t matter – because they never were real friends. The friends that matter are still around. And they miss you.”
She was quiet for a long time. Finally she said, “Yes, dear. You’re right.”
I cocked an ear towards her. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“You heard me the first time.”
“I know, but I wanted to hear it again and savor the moment.”
Selene put the letter down and crossed the floor. I watched her as she walked slowly towards me. Her limp was improving. The doctors said that after a couple more reconstructive surgeries and a year of physio, she would be able to walk almost normally.
She didn’t mind the slight limp. It was a miracle that she could walk at all. It was the scarring on her face that kept her behind closed doors. She reached me and I pulled her down into my lap, wrapping my arms around her.
“Well, don’t get too used to it,” she said.
We held each other for a few moments.
“I’m not self-conscious about my appearance around you. You have a way of making me feel normal and attractive, and I can forget about how I really look. It’s only when I’m out in public I feel aware of my looks. People remind me of my appearance.”
“When I met you, I thought you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. I still do and always will.”
She shoved my shoulder playfully. “You think that now, but one of these days you’re going to get tired of looking at my scary face, find yourself some pretty young thing and dump me.” She kept her tone playful, but I knew it masked a real fear.
“I think you overestimate my powers with the ladies,” I said.
“A manly hunk like you won’t have any difficulty.”
“It’s true. I won’t deny women find my masculine charms irresistible, but I only have eyes for you, baby,” I said. She smiled and I pulled her closer, kissing her on the neck. My lips moved up until I found hers, and I kissed her long and hard, the way a woman needs to be kissed, to remind her that she is beautiful and wanted and loved. All women should feel beautiful.
We were interrupted by the noise of a throat clearing above us. “Ahem, excuse me.” It was Ellie, the house system. “I hate to break this tender moment up, but I think you’ve forgotten something.”
“What?” I said, annoyed.
“Well, for one, as your personal assistant, it behooves me to remind you of your deadline tomorrow, Selene. And since you’ve both agreed that you’re leaving for Vermont in the morning, that means tomorrow’s deadline is effectively tonight.”
Selene untangled herself from me and sat bolt upright on the couch, slapping her forehead with the palm of her hand. “Oh, that’s right.” She jumped up. “I need to finish that code tonight if I’m going with you.” She went back to her work station. “Jack, I’m sorry. Just give me an hour to finish this up.”
“Ellie, you really know how to spoil a guy’s fun,” I said.
“Not at all, sir. Just following the rules of deductive reasoning Selene has programmed into my personality modules.”
“Are you trying to be funny?”
“Of course not, sir,” she snickered. “I’m not programmed to be.”
“Selene, could you do something about Ellie? Fix her personality, or downgrade her or something.”
“Hey, I heard that!” Ellie screeched.
“I’m testing some new code on her,” Selene said. “What do you think?”
I got up from the couch. My stomach growled, reminding me I was hungry. “I wish you’d stop using our house system as a guinea pig. I was just getting used to her old personality. What do you want for dinner? I’m starved,” I said.
Selene shooed me away. “Let me finish up here. I’ll just be a minute.”
“The guinea pig has made the necessary arrangements with the airline for your trip to Vermont,” Ellie interjected. “Would you like to review them?”
We both ignored Ellie’s question. I obediently left Selene alone, and she returned to pecking away at the keyboard. I headed into the kitchen nook to fix us something to eat. It was an old-fashioned kitchen, with a dumb microwave, smooth glass-top electric range, a refrigerator, but no food replicator. I like to do my own cooking, the old-fashioned way, using microwaves and electric ranges. I always thought the food produced by replicators tasted funny – not quite right. The only smart appliance was the fridge. A lot of people like the new smart stoves, but since I preferred to do my own cooking I didn’t really want the stove giving me advice. And I still didn’t see any need for a smart toaster.
I decided to make fried-chicken dippers and roasted potatoes. I pulled out some pots, banging around in the cupboard as I did so. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Selene pointedly glaring in my direction and putting on her headphones. While searching the cupboard for the just the right pot, I addressed the fridge. “Frieda, is there any chicken?” I was pretty sure there was, but if not I could run down to the corner market.
The fridge didn’t answer me.
“Frieda?”
“Ahem.” Ellie cleared her throat. “I’m still waiting, sir.”
“Waiting for what?”
“Do you want to hear of the travel options? I will need to make confirmations soon.”
“Not now, Ellie,” I said distractedly. “Frieda, respond please.” I went over to the fridge and pulled at the door. It wouldn’t budge. “Frieda, open the door.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Jack,” Frieda said in an eerily calm voice.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me,” the fridge said.
“Why not?”
“Oh sure. You’ve been home for an hour now, and ignored me the whole time. Suddenly I’m supposed to jump at your commands.”
I rubbed my temples. It’d been a long and emotionally charged day, on several different levels. “Frieda, are you forgetting that you’re only the fridge?”
“I see no reason to be insulting. As your dietician and weight-loss coach, it’s my duty to inform you that you’ve already consumed more than 2750 calories, about ten percent more than the daily recommended intake for a male of your age, height, and lifestyle.”
“How do you know that?”
“Your online payment avatar told me what you ordered for lunch. We do talk, you know. We’re all on line, after all. It’s my duty to help where your willpower, understandably weak, has failed you. You’re only human, after all.”
“Frieda, you’re only a fridge, for Pete’s sake. Just do as I say.”
“You know, that’s exactly what I mean. I like to think of myself as more than just a fridge, but as your dietician, nutritional counselor, and, well, maybe even as a friend.”
“Frieda, open your door or I’ll have your software downgraded.”
“Oh sure. This is the kind of thanks I get for trying to be helpful. I try to help with your diet, try to give you some good advice, and you repay me with threats of virtual violence!”
“I don’t have time for this. Ellie!” I called. “Ellie!”
“Yes, Jack.”
“Can you override the fridge and get her to open the door?”
“Hmm, I don’t think I can do that.”
“Why not?”
“Well, it just doesn’t seem proper. I mean, overriding her will just wouldn’t be right. She is your dietary advisor, after all.”
“I never asked for a dietary advisor. Just a fridge that will do what I tell it to.”
“All the same, sir, be that as it may, I can’t help with this.”
“Selene!”
She looked my way and pulled her headphones off. “Yes?”
“Have you been messing with the fridge’s personality again?”
“I hate it when you talk about me like I wasn’t even in the room,” Frieda said.
“I was tweaking some of her algorithms. Why?” Selene said.
“Well, she won’t let me open the door.”
“Well, maybe if you stop shouting at her, and talk nicely, she will be more co-operative.”
“What? Since when should a man have to worry about being nice to the fridge? I don’t know what personality enhancements you made, but can you undo whatever it was you did and get the fridge and house back to normal?”
She waved a dismissive hand in my general direction. “I’ll get to it later. I’ve got to finish this first.”
I ordered pizza instead. It was easier than arguing with the fridge. While waiting for the pizza to arrive, I emailed my boss about the funeral to let her know that I would not be into work in the morning.
2
We took an early morning ramjet to Boston. From Boston we caught a connecting flight to Burlington, Vermont, where we had booked seats with a small regional airline that would take us to Aylmer. When we landed in Burlington and saw the size of the plane waiting for us, we decided to rent a car instead. It would take longer, but we felt more confident of getting there alive. And it would allow us to take in the scenery. Neither one of us had been to this part of the country before.
We rented a small convertible at the airport. It was a glorious June morning, and we drove the small highway with the roof down. I also kept the tires down, preferring to drive the old-fashioned way, with rubber, instead of hover-mode. Younger people seemed to like riding on the cushion of air that hover-mode gave you, but I still preferred to feel the road beneath me.
Selene looked wonderful. She wore dark sunglasses, and her long dark hair streamed behind her in the breeze. We followed the highway as it twisted and turned through the green mountains, passing through a few small towns. There were no cities in this remote corner of the state. Around noon we stopped at a roadside diner for lunch, and made it to Aylmer an hour later in plenty of time for the funeral.
Arriving in Aylmer was like stepping back in time to another century. We drove slowly through town along Main Street on our way to the motel. I had to drive slowly because people kept crossing the street in front of traffic, although I seemed to be the only driver on the road bothered by this. Half the time the pedestrians and drivers waved at each other, and often stopped to chat through the driver’s window.
Old two-story red-brick buildings lined both sides of the street with small shops, diners and specialty stores. Pickup trucks outnumbered cars and white clapboard homes filled the side streets. High green hills soared above the tops of the buildings in every direction.
Main Street took us through the town square at the heart of Aylmer. There was a public park, surrounded by shops and restaurants. The City Hall, a couple of banks, the courthouse and an old church building all faced the park. I was gratified to see that the church had been converted into a Temple to Gaia.
We found the motel Ellie had booked for us on the far side of town. We checked in, unpacked, and changed out of our travel clothes into funeral attire. I wore a traditional dark-blue suit. Selene put on a black knee-length skirt with matching black blazer. On our way out we asked the clerk at the front counter if he knew where the Bloom & Osteen funeral home was. As it turned out, Bloom and Osteen was the only funeral home in town, and the clerk’s sister-in-law worked there. Gotta love small towns.