August 17, 2004
Fiction
LovePets
Melissa chewed her fingernails as she studied the application form on her deskscreen. Carefully, she keyed in her responses.
Name: Melissa Farrell
Age: 35
Sex: female
Marital Status: divorced
Which type of Faithful Friend would best suit your needs?
(Check one box only, please.)
___ Child substitute
___ Bodyguard
___ Companion
_x_ Other
Sex of Faithful Friend:
_x_ Male
___ Female
Who referred you to Faithful Friends: Amy Saunders
Relationship to you: friend
What prompted your decision to purchase a Faithful Friend?
Be honest, Amy had said. Let them know what you want and you’ll get it.
Melissa trembled slightly as she keyed in her response: All men are shits.
She filled out the rest of the form rapidly, and then thumbed the screen until it beeped. She watched the screen clear, the cursor blinking. A message appeared: Credit transaction completed. Thank you for your payment. Please allow 4-6 weeks for delivery.
Melissa hit Return and leaned back in her chair, chewing her fingernails as she stared at the blank screen.
•
Buzz.
Melissa yanked the receiver off the hook. “What?” She said harshly. “I told you, no calls.”
Silence. Then a controlled voice: “It’s Mr. Anderson,” said her secretary.
You idiot, Melissa thought to herself. “I’m sorry, Cathy. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that.” As she spoke, she keyed a small square to appear on her deskscreen and typed “Flowers for Cathy—Apology” in it. “Would you put him through, please?”
A sigh. Then the click that meant the call had been transferred. Melissa amended the note, exchanging “Roses” for “Flowers.” Mental note: peach colored with baby’s breath. “Drew?” Melissa said.
“What are you doing for lunch?”
Melissa bit her lip. “I have to go home to sign for a delivery.”
“Oh. I was hoping we could get together to talk. I broke up with Nancy.”
Damn it, she thought. Damn damn damn. You lean on Drew all the time, he listens to all of your problems, and what happens when he needs help? You can’t be there for him. Good, Melissa. Good move.
“Oh, Drew honey,” she said quietly. “What happened?”
“We went out to dinner last night and she said she just wasn’t interested in me anymore. I think she’s been seeing someone else. Can’t you have someone else accept that delivery for you?”
Her life was cursed. She could do nothing right—today, at least. “No. I have to be there. It’s important.”
“More important than letting me cry on your shoulder, huh?”
“Come on, Drew. That’s not fair. How about tonight after work?”
“I’ve got to be on a plane to London at 4:00.”
“How about this afternoon? After lunch?”
“Have to be at a meeting about feather lashes—which reminds me, we haven’t received a thing from Cincinnati yet. Would you mind lighting a fire under somebody out there?”
She keyed in another square in the opposite corner of her deskscreen: Drew—Cincinnati—feather lashes. “You got it. Hey—when are you coming back from Europe?”
“Six weeks. Maybe I’d better get myself on your dance card while I can. What do you say? Lunch six weeks from today?”
“Sure. Call me when you get back?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’m sorry, Drew. About Nancy and everything. I know how you feel, believe me.”
“Yeah, well. We all go through it, I guess. Thanks for listening.”
Melissa smiled at the cue, ready to respond the same way she had for the past five years. “Thanks for talking to me.”
“Any time, kid. Take care of yourself, all right? And call me if that delivery falls through.”
“Yeah, sure, Drew,” she said, knowing it wouldn’t. “I’ll do that.” She hung up the phone.
Sitting on the other side of the desk, Amy Saunders pressed her lips against steepled fingers and raised her eyebrows. “That was an interesting conversation.”
Melissa laughed. “It’s not what you think.”
“Oh?”
Melissa walked around the desk and sat in an armchair next to Amy. “Yeah. Drew is wonderful—he’s a good listener, he’s fun to be with, he’s incredibly nice—and the only kind of woman he goes out with is tall, ditzy, and stacked.”
Amy laughed. “God, that’s the story of my life. The jerks chase after me, and the good ones think of me as one of the guys.” She smiled secretively. “So today is the big day, hmmm?”
Melissa glanced at her watch nervously. “Eleven-thirty this morning. Two hours and counting.”
“What does he look like?”
Melissa pulled an envelope from her skirt pocket. “Here’s a picture. He was a college student who had an aneurysm.”
Amy whistled. “You lucked out, kid. He’s adorable.”
“I had to wait seven weeks.”
“It’s worth it, believe me. You’ll go through a few weeks of taking him back for adjustments, but the results are excellent.” Amy laughed. “When I applied to get King transferred, I sat down and said to them, ‘I’m here because I want a man who’s big and dumb. And I mean really stupid.’ Whoever came up with the idea of putting a dog’s mind into a man’s body was a genius.”
“Yeah,” Melissa said. “It’s a great idea, but I still feel weird about it.”
“You’ll get used to it fast,” Amy said, smiling. “Real fast.”
•
Warranty
1. Hardware: 15 years.
2. Software: 20 years. Adjustments in behavior may be made at any time at the client’s request.
3. Biological: None. Client should consider buying a health policy insuring the Faithful Friend for illness, accidental death, and/or dismemberment. Available from Faithful Friends, Inc. Should the Faithful Friend die before the age of 50 as a result of terminal illness contracted or developed after the purchase is made, a replacement will be made available to the buyer at a pro-rated price.
Ask about our Upgrade-of-the-Month Club.
•
Melissa put the warranty in her purse. Later, she would put it in her safe deposit box.
The delivery men left the large plastic box in the middle of her living room. The sides of the box were solid and gray. The top was a metal wire grid. Inside, a man slept, curled up.
“Here’s your LovePet.” The delivery man winked.
“Thank you,” she said.
“He’s been toilet trained,” the other delivery man said. “And he’s been programmed to walk, eat at a table, and wear clothes. He dresses himself and everything. There’s a list of commands on the kennel.”
The kennel. The large gray box. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
“Sometimes they don’t remember the commands right away. If that happens, you can lock him up in the kennel.” The delivery man grinned. “They really hate that.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said evenly.
After they left, Melissa glanced at the list of commands and pocketed it. She opened the kennel, breaking the bright red seal reading “Tranquilized.”
He was large and bony, with big red hands and long legs. He wore soft, gathered pants with a drawstring waist and a sleeveless gray sweatshirt.
Melissa stroked his black hair, soft and fine. “Riley?”
He moved, groggily. He raised his head, hesitated, then looked up at her. His eyes were human, dark and almond-shaped, but the look in them was Riley’s. Bright, but limited understanding. He grinned as he recognized Melissa, panting, tongue protruding slightly from his lips. Then he went back to sleep.
Melissa cooked dinner, ate, and washed the dishes. She put the leftovers in the refrigerator and stopped cold at the sight of Riley’s water and food dishes on the floor. That afternoon she had filled them out of habit, forgetting he’d be able to eat at the table with her.
She heard him whine. Melissa ran toward the living room and saw the kennel, empty. “Riley?”
He whined again, standing by the front door.
She reached into her pocket for the list of commands. “It’s all right, Riley.” She made her voice a soft, soothing sound. More than ever, the list had noted, tone of voice is imperative in communicating. She reached out and took Riley’s hand.
He stared at her, then jerked it back. He whined again and scratched at the door.
“Riley!” Voice firm and loud. She took his hand and held it firmly. “Come.”
He followed her to the bathroom, letting her position him in front of the toilet, lid up. Melissa leaned with her back to the sink, studying the command list. She flipped her hand over, pointing toward the toilet. “Potty.”
He whined and looked mournfully at her.
“Potty!”
A wet stain spread along his crotch.
“Oh, Honey,” she said. Quickly, she pulled the drawstring loose, let his pants drop, and guided him over the toilet. When he finished urinating, she praised him, flushed, and closed the toilet lid. “Sit.” She struggled to remove his pants. “I’m sorry. That was my fault. I should have helped you pull your pants down.” She balled the pants up and put them in the hamper. When she turned back, she looked at Riley. Impulsively, she put her arms around his shoulders and hugged him. He was limp in her embrace, and gradually she released him.
All men are shits. They lie to you, they sleep around, they use you.
She stroked Riley’s face gingerly. When her hand reached his mouth, he licked it. His tongue was slow and deliberate against her palm. Melissa closed her eyes.
He stopped, and she stroked his hair. He leaned forward and buried his nose in her crotch, sniffing. She pushed him away gently. “No, Riley. Down.”
He dropped on all fours. He sniffed at the toilet, then at the wastebasket.
Melissa watched him. Riley was a man now, not a dog. He looked like a man and he would learn to act like a man. With the loyalty and heart of a dog.
She unzipped her pants.
He would protect her and give her companionship without breaking her heart. In return, she would feed and clothe and support him. She pushed her jeans and panties down to her ankles and sat on the edge of the toilet.
It wasn’t unlike an old-fashioned marriage: the man supported the wife and she let herself be taken care of.
She eased her thighs apart. “Riley. Come here.”
He walked over on hands and knees, looking at her expectantly. “Come here,” she said again. He rested his head against her thigh and licked it. She touched his head and gently guided it up between her thighs. She closed her eyes as he sniffed her, and opened her mouth when she felt his tongue, soft and moist. She stroked his hair, then let her hands drop to his neck, his shoulders. “Good boy, Riley,” she murmured. “Good boy.”
•
It was different because for the first time she was in control. She didn’t have to run around for the man, changing her live so that her gears meshed with his. She wasn’t inconvenienced to suit his schedule. She didn’t have to drop what she was doing to run to his call—or feel guilty because she didn’t. For once, she wasn’t the one who was more giving, more caring, more loving.
It was wonderful.
The next day, Riley ate with her at the table. He couldn’t use a knife or fork or even a spoon. Melissa had made macaroni and cheese, and she watched Riley carefully lap up the spoonfuls she had dropped on his plate.
“I don’t know what to do with the Cincinnati division,” she said to him. “Do you realize the problems they’re going to have if they don’t clean up their act?”
Melissa had always found complaining to be a most effective way to unwind after work. There was always plenty to complain about. Riley just sat there and ate, as if he were listening.
It was just as good as Amy had said it would be. Better.
Afterwards, Melissa changed into a black silk teddy. She posed in front of a mirror, admiring herself. She opened the bedroom door and called Riley.
He trotted into the room, looking from side to side.
She snapped her fingers and he looked directly at her, panting slightly. Melissa smiled. “Time for bed, Riley.” She gave him the command to undress himself.
It took twice as long as it should have. Nothing in Riley’s had buttons—it was mostly large, loose-fitting clothing with elastic bands or an occasional zipper. Riley fumbled as he tried to pull his feet from the sweat pants, puddled around his ankles. Melissa helped and praised him warmly. She took his hand and guided it along the smooth texture of the teddy. “Doesn’t that feel nice?” Her voice was as soft as the silk. She guided his hand to her breast, squeezed, and released it.
A siren came up from the distance. Riley ran over to the window, stared outside, and barked.
“Riley! No!”
He growled as the fire engine passed by.
“Come here!”
Riley sat on the edge of the bed, as she commanded.
She slipped the straps off her shoulders and let the black silk teddy fall to the floor. Slowly, she stepped out of it.
Riley closed his eyes and yawned, his mouth stretching as far open as possible. His tongue curled, and when he finally closed his mouth he blinked sleepily and shook himself.
Frustrated, she stalked off to the bathroom and brushed her teeth. When she came back, calmer, Riley was trying to lick his chest.
Failing, he licked at his shoulders and arms. Knees bent, he lifted one leg up but couldn’t get his head near his lower body. Whimpering, he kept trying. He looked hopelessly at Melissa, tears in his eyes.
“Sweetheart,” she said, stroking his chest gently.
He lifted his leg once more and bent over. He cried softly as his anatomy failed him.
Melissa leaned over, put her head in his lap, and licked his body the way she had seen him do it, before. She looked up and saw his face take on a calmer expression. Then one of intense concentration as his human body responded to her touch. When he was fully erect, Melissa stopped and sat up.
Riley growled, his voice low and throaty.
She eased back, slightly. “Riley—”
He bared his teeth, and the muscles in his face and neck and arms and chest tensed with anger.
Riley was growling because he didn’t want her to stop and she had stopped. Melissa couldn’t let him control her—she had to hold the upper hand. At all times.
Melissa leaned to one side, reaching over the side of the bed. There was always something on the floor by the bed—a book, a glass, a plate.
Riley kept growling, his eyes dark and mean.
Melissa’s hand touched something useful and she rolled it up quickly. Then she hit him sharply with a newspaper.
Riley barked, teeth bared.
She hit him again, harder. Twice, three times.
Riley whimpered and jumped to the floor. He edged away from her, sideways, on all fours. His back was arched, head and backside tucked. His eyes were filled with remorse.
She pressed her lips together and hit him again.
Riley rolled onto his back, still arched, holding his arms in front of his chest, bent at the elbows and wrists like paws. His knees were bent and legs spread slightly apart. He held her gaze meekly.
She held the rolled-up newspaper with a cocked wrist, as if she might strike again. Her voice was as low and angry as his growl had been. “Don’t you ever do that again.” She looked at the kennel, placed in one corner of her bedroom until she could find a place to store it. She pointed toward the bedroom door, the anger lessened but still lacing her voice. “Go to the living room. You’ll sleep there tonight.”
•
A month later, Melissa went to the Professional Women’s Breakfast Club with a smile on her face. Amy Saunders laughed and sat next to her. “You look happy.”
Melissa nodded as she ate her muffin, the smile still plastered across her face. “Um-hmmm,” she said.
Amy poured a cup of coffee. “I don’t suppose this would have anything to do with Riley, would it?”
Impossibly, Melissa’s smile widened.
“You know,” Amy said. “You can take him in for a tune-up whenever you like.”
Melissa put more butter on her muffin. She’d been putting more butter on just about everything, which translated into more pounds just about everywhere. She wasn’t fat . . . yet. Just a little pudgy. It didn’t matter. Riley didn’t care what she looked like. “A tune-up? What are you talking about?”
“Didn’t you ever check into the upgrades?”
Melissa shook her head.
“They can add to his programming to make him do different things. Or do something better. Or longer.”
Melissa lowered her voice. “Do you mean if there’s something I’d like to teach him how to do, and I’m not having any luck, they can program it into him?”
“Sure. Once I asked them to make King talk. Nothing major, just light conversation. The problem was that once he started talking he became kind of uppity. He started acting like he wanted to tell me what to do. I don’t know. Maybe the problem is all those male hormones. Testosterone poisoning.”
“Why didn’t you just get rid of him?”
Amy stared at Melissa, then laughed. “What do you mean? Let him run away? Drive him out to the country and leave him by the side of the road?” Amy giggled. “I couldn’t let King run around wild in a pack.” Then her voice took an edge. “I wouldn’t want him to end up in some bar, sniffing the crotch of a strange woman and saying, “Take me home, take me home.”
Melissa forced a laugh. “I didn’t mean it like that. You can return him and get some of your money back, can’t you?”
Amy stared at her, coldly. “Sure. But why should I? King never hurts me—he’s never given me a black eye or thrown me down a flight of stairs.” Amy stopped suddenly and looked away. “Or hurt my feelings. King loves me.” The edge came back in her voice. Bitter. “After all, I’m the one who feeds him.” She laughed again, the sound of it shallow. “I mean, Honey—some things are better than reality.”
Melissa nervously licked her lips, anxious to change the subject. “So what did you do when King talked back to you?”
Amy shrugged and lit a cigarette. “I took him back and said I liked him better the way he was before.”
“And they changed him back?”
“Yeah, no problem. After all, a satisfied customer makes for the best advertising—word of mouth. You know that.” Amy leaned toward Melissa and spoke secretively. “So—what do you want them to teach Riley?”
“Oh, nothing much,” Melissa said, looking away. “Nothing important.”
•
They said it would take two days. It took two weeks.
The day she took Riley in, Drew Anderson called from Paris, frantic. “New York tells me I’ve the customers coming in the store every day asking for feather lashes. Cincinnati tells me they’re running behind in production and we’ll get the next shipment. The customers say that every other store in town is sold out but at least had the product in stock. I haven’t seen one shipment yet.”
“Look, Drew,” Melissa said, setting her deskscreen to Search for a phone number. “The only other division that’s making feather lashes is Kyoto. I’ll call them right now and have them send a batch to New York Same-Day Air.”
Hesitation at the other end. “I don’t want to get stuck with the cost for shipping.”
Melissa laughed and leaned back in her chair. “Come on, Drew. You know I’ll pick up the tab. Be real.”
A sigh. “I’m sorry. You know how wired I get.”
“Are we still on for lunch tomorrow?”
“Absolutely. Do you want me to come by or meet somewhere?”
“How about meeting at Anthony’s around 11:30?”
“You got a date, Sweetheart. See you then.”
Melissa hung up the phone slowly. A date with Drew. She smiled at the thought, then shrugged it away.
•
They sat at a window table overlooking the harbor. Drew finished his drink and ordered another.
“There’s something I’d like your advice on,” Melissa said. “When you went to Europe, something happened.”
Drew stared out at the water, absently swirling the ice cubes in his empty glass. “Something happened to me, too. I decided Nancy was never right for me.” He shook his head. “I found out she had been sleeping with her old boyfriend behind my back. She lied to me, she cheated—the woman has no morals. So I figure I’m lucky Nancy dumped me.” He paused, examining an ice cube. “Do you know how it is when you’ve got a friend that you’re attracted to, but you’re afraid to say anything because you don’t want to lose the friendship?”
“Yeah, I know,” she said, softly. Drew had met someone in Europe. He was always meeting someone in Europe. “Who is it this time?”
He looked at her, studying her expression. Seriously, he said, “It’s you.”
Her world stopped. No, it couldn’t be. “Stop it, Drew. I’ve got enough problems. This isn’t a good day to kid me.”
“I’m not.” He laughed. “I thought you knew. Hasn’t it always been obvious?”
“What?”
“What. Melissa, I’ve been flirting with you outrageously for about three years now.”
“You do that with everyone.”
“Not like I do with you. What about all the passes I’ve made?”
“Passes?” Melissa stared at him. “What passes?”
Drew looked up at the ceiling, back at Melissa, and held her hand gently. “The passes I’ve been making right and left for the past three years.”
“You’ve been making passes? What kind of passes?”
He looked deep in her eyes. “You don’t know? Haven’t you ever suspected?”
Melissa shrugged. “I thought it was just my imagination. I never thought I was what you wanted.”
For the rest of the afternoon, he showed her the passes he had made, and invented some new ones.
•
When Melissa had divorced, a friend expressed no surprise. “I never saw any passion between you two,” she said. “There has to be passion.”
Now there was passion. It was unlike anything she had ever felt before.
The first time they slept together, he held her throughout the night. She tried to ease out of his arms, but he moaned in his sleep and held onto her firmly. She paused, then leaned into him. It was the first time she had ever felt wanted. A few men had desired her, but they made her feel like nothing more than something convenient. She had never felt as if she really mattered to anyone. Until now.
She shifted back, nestling her back against his chest, and stroked arms as they held her, softly.
•
A few weeks later, they had just walked into Melissa’s apartment when the doorbell rang. She opened the door, and two men carried the kennel in.
Melissa froze, unable to do anything but stare at them. She had forgotten about Riley.
The delivery men smiled as they left. “He’s all set, Ma’am. Give us a call if you need anything else.”
Melissa stared at the kennel, Riley curled up and sleeping inside. She couldn’t move.
Drew peered inside the wire grid at Riley. “What is this, Melissa? Some kind of joke?” Riley raised his head, groggily. “Jesus Christ!” Drew said, stepping back. “Catch those delivery men, Melissa. They brought this thing to the wrong place.”
Melissa stared at the floor.
Drew went to the front door, opened it, and called out. “Looks like they just got on the elevator. We can probably catch them downstairs.” He took Melissa’s hand. “Hey—that looks like a delivery slip. We’ll show them . . .”
Drew read the delivery slip, frowned, then read it again. “Melissa . . . this is a mistake, isn’t it?”
When she finally looked up at him, there were tears in her eyes.
Drew looked at Melissa in disgust. “I’d expect this from Nancy,” he said quietly. “Not from you.” He turned and left.
The next day, Melissa called him. No luck. A cold, young woman answered and would not connect Melissa to him.
Melissa sat at her desk and stared into space, imagining scenarios. In one, she called Drew and begged his forgiveness. In another, they bumped into each other on an elevator somewhere, then the elevator stopped between floors and they were the only once on it and—and it was no use. It was over and there was nothing she could do. She had lost not only a lover but a friend. She felt lost and alone.
It was all Amy’s fault for talking her into it. It was Faithful Friends’ fault for selling her a LovePet.
Riley grinned when she walked in the door and licked her face. “No,” she said, pushing him away. She put her briefcase on the coffee table and pulled out the Cincinnati paperwork.
Riley barked happily and licked her face again.
It was Riley’s fault.
“I said NO!” She shouted.
Riley backed off, shifting anxiously from one foot to the other. He watched her eagerly.
Anger became frustration. She liked the way Riley watched her. She removed her clothes, slowly, and liked the way he kept watching her. She dropped to all fours and walked on her hands and knees toward Riley.
Something convenient. Melissa liked Riley because he was something convenient.
“Here, Boy.”
Anger and frustration and hopelessness mixed and intensified within her.
Riley sniffed her quickly, almost frantically.
When he mounted her, her smile was cold and callous. When she climaxed, it was out of determination.
Amy was right. Some things were better than reality.
Riley shuddered and rested on top of her.
Melissa’s heart slowed. Better. Much better. She noticed the Cincinnati paperwork spread out on the coffee table. “I’ve gone there twice in the past eight weeks. What else can I do? I’ve got to go back and try to talk some sense into the plant manager. Kyoto’s performance is twice as high, and the place is half as big.” She began to withdraw from Riley.
That action triggered something in his mind; his ears would have pricked up if possible. It was a call to do something he had never conceived of doing before that moment. A signal. He responded automatically, not even coming close to understanding his action. He put his arms around Melissa and held her close.
Melissa frowned. “Not now, Riley. Let me go.” She tried to push his arms away but couldn’t. He was too strong.
It was why Melissa had sent him back for behavior adjustment, because it was something she couldn’t teach him. It was what they had programmed him to do. It was a small thing, unimportant, but it was all she had ever really wanted.
“I mean it, let me go!” She panicked. The new command list was on top of the kennel and she couldn’t reach it. She did not know how to make him release her. He held on tight, oblivious to her words. He sat back on his haunches, bringing her into a sitting position with him. He kissed her shoulders.
“Please,” she whispered, trembling. “Not this. Please don’t do this to me.”
Riley cradled her gently, not knowing why, and Melissa cried helplessly in his arms.
is a freelance writer who has been selling fiction since the ‘80s and non-fiction since the ‘90s. After escaping far too many years of technical writing, Knight vows to never return to the computer industry.
