Sex Robot Cuddle Party

by David Raffin

  I begged Bartleby. “Please! Please! I must know! What is behind that green door? Why does it spark even my desires?”

  As the day turned inexorably into night Bartleby was tempted again and again. Whilst he repeated his goal, as a mantra, that he “preferred not to,” as dawn broke he bowed at last to desire and found, in the light of the new day, in the glow of his open heart, that he preferred to after all. And he let me in. He let me in through that great and mysterious green door, to what lay behind. Beyond and behind that great behind. It was another world. It was eternal bliss. Elysian fields spread before me, welcoming me to come. And it was for everyone. Even me, one of the most undeserving. But that was the old world. And it is easily forgotten, as its nightmares fade, as it becomes a simple warning, a story, a dark fairy tale. An echo of a time which might have been, once. If I remember it right.

  “Smut!” Danger said. “Nasty!”

  “I haven’t had time to read all of it, but that seems a nice magazine,” Rain said. “Good clean fun. And I liked the pictures of Dick. It’s you who are nasty!”

  “You know, Mitch,” said Richard, “You don’t have to read it.”

  “I don’t,” Danger said. “I just look at the pictures. Words are a device for deception. Books are dangerous. Science fiction is the worst. Manipulative dreams. Making people question. The system. Sexuality. The very binary nature of good versus bad.”

  There was a knock at the door. Danger motioned to Rain, “Get rid of them.”

  Rain went to the door, fuming mad.

  Outside there was a young man in swimming trunks.

  “Oh, hi Billy,” Rain said. “I’m afraid this a terrible time.”

  “Oh, sorry Miss Day,” Billy said. “I was just home alone again this week and was wondering, I thought I’d let you know. In case you wanted to use the pool.”

  “Thanks, Billy,” Rain.

  “And I know you never have a suit and I just wanted you to know ahead of time this time I’m cool with that.”

  “OK. Good to know. Maybe later. Timing is everything, you know.”

  “Anytime,” said Billy as Rainy closed the door on him.

  “Foolish youth,” said Danger.

  “I hate when people say nasty things about younger people,” said Rain. “Billy’s a good kid.”

  “He’s a sex pervert,” said Danger.

  “He thinks about sex exactly as much as he should at his age,” Rain said.

  “Ugh. Save all that fucking situational moralizing for the dupes,” said Danger.

  There was another knock at the door.

  “Grand central f-ing station. In July,” said Danger. He motioned for Rain to get the door.

  There were two ladies dressed in cheerleader outfits. “Hi! I’m Rikki and this is Annie. We’re doing odd jobs to help send our cheer-mate Debbie to Dallas to try out for the team. We already washed the car out front, that’s why we’re all wet.”

  “Oh,” said Rain. “Sorry, but that’s not my car.”

  “Oh,” said Rikki. “Do you have any odd jobs we could do inside?”

  “Can we borrow a towel?” Annie said. “We’re awful wet.”

  “Have a heart, let them in,” Danger said.

  “Hypocrite!” Richard said. Danger stared at him in disgust.

  The ladies came in as Danger pocketed his pistol.

  “Oh, my,” said Annie, “Almost everyone is naked!”

  The two cheerleaders looked at each other and shrugged. “If college cheerleading teaches anything it is the importance of being flexible in the moment,” said Rikki. Both whipped off their wet translucent t-shirts.

  “So,” said Frankie, “I assume the cuddle party is still on?”

  “This is a cuddle party?” said Annie.

  “Neat-O,” said Rikki.

  “Don’t get too excited ladies,” said Rain. “We have a party pooper.”

  “There’s always at least one,” said Sunny.

  “Now,” Danger said, “Lets not be extremist in our views…”

  “Hypocrite,” Richard said.

  “Traitor,” said Danger. “Always a traitor.”

  “Anyway, we’re just out fundraising,” said Rikki.

  “You know,” Annie said, “doing stuff for money.”

  “Commendable,” Danger said. “Capitalistic.”

  “Hypocrite,” Richard said.

  “When there is money involved,” Danger said, “its different. Then it’s about the economy. Putting people to work. We all have our place in the system. Some places are better to be than others. But it all serves the purpose of finance.”

  “Sick,” said Rain.

  “I don’t make the rules,” Danger said. “I just live at their edges. And I’m happy. Because the system favors me. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “Ladies,” Rain said, “You look hot.”

  “Oh, we are,” said Rikki.

  “Working out is hard work, even when your efforts are selfless,” said Annie.

  “I appreciate that,” Rain said. “But. I wonder if you would be happier next door. There’s a pool.” Rain was always concerned about other people’s happiness. It is her way.

  “A pool!” The ladies said in unison.

  “Yes,” Rain said. “A pool. And the neighbors don’t mind if you swim nude in it. And there’s a place to hang your wet clothes to dry. And there’s Billy, over there all by himself, about your age. By himself. So lonely.”

  “That is so sad,” said Annie.

  “It really is,” said Rikki.

  “I’d go over and take care of the situation myself but I have all this going on,” Rain said, sarcastically motioning to Danger. “But that’s where the fun is. Maybe you should go over there. It’s what I would do if I were you.”

  “Now ladies,” said Danger.

  “Yeah,” said Rikki, “I think we ought to go over there. We can swim, play board games, cheer up the poor fellow.” The Cheerleaders walked to the door.

  “You all be safe,” said Annie as they closed the door.

  “Hey,” said Sunny, “they left their shirts behind.”

  “Where they’re going” said Frankie, “They don’t need them.”

  “Ah,” said Rain, “Youth.”

  “You’ve twisted their natural inclinations,” said Danger.

  “Mitch, you’re an idiot,” said Richard, “You always were.”

  “No, Richard,” said Danger, “I’m an opportunist.”

  “That is not a good thing,” said Rain.

  Danger pulled his pistol. “Miss, I find it weird you are the only one still wearing underwear. Take them off.”

  “Pig,” Rain said, taking off her panties and throwing them at his face. “Happy?”

  He plucked the panties from his forehead and tentatively sniffed them. He gave them a good looking over. “Well, these are clean. You’re clean as a whistle. I thought you might be hiding something in them.”

  “You’re a pervert who is overly concerned with the perversions of others,” said Richard. “There is nothing so special about you.”

  “You can say that again,” said Rain. “He’s a creep.”

  “Totally,” said Sunny.

  “Big creep,” said Frankie. “Kind of guy even the creeps shun.”

  “I’m not here to make friends,” Danger said.

  “Well, you’ve succeeded,” Rain said. “Next time set your sites higher.”

  “You know,” said Theodore, “If you bought those panties on the free market that would be one thing. But this. Panty freak.”

  “The capitalists only believe in the free market when it suits them,” said Richard. “It is an ideology of total self-interest.”

  “Disgusting,” said Rain.

  “You people have learned nothing,” said Danger. “These are dangerous times. We all have to be wary of changing the social system. It is easy to say you want change but hard to dial it back when it goes too far, and it always does go too far. Free Lov
e is a requirement, we know from Wilhelm Reich33 and his Orgone energy machine34 and the theoretical work of the lusty physicist Richard Feynman35, for the realization of time travel, which must not come to pass. For one thing it would cause an environmental nightmare, as people would try to send garbage into the past and never give a moments thought to the fact that it must necessarily return thereafter, and, even if it takes millions of years to do so, its return will be nearly as instantaneous as it is disastrous in the present day. We are trying to protect you. That is all. That is public service. I am a hero ma’am.” He tipped his hat.

  “Bullshit,” Richard said. “What’s in it for you?”

  "Of course," said Danger, “there is always endless opportunity in any situation for those in the know when it is a time of disaster or potential disaster. For one thing, many of us in the intelligentsia own collections of paintings by Adolf Hitler36. And they are currently undervalued. This makes it a great time to acquire. They are not nearly as bad, as paintings, as you would believe. Because they are tainted with who the man is. But, in fact, they're fine paintings. They're certainly better than what the average Joe could do. Think of what would happen if time travel were invented and invariably some fool, or many fools likely, were to go to the past in a poorly thought out, and they are all poorly thought out, assassination plot. These paintings, undervalued as it is, would end up having no value at all. What a blow to those of us in the know who took the initiative to acquire them? So we have an entire division of the FBI dedicated to discouraging people from developing time travel, by putting a stop to Free Love, which is simply a steppingstone to opening time wormholes which will destabilize the art market. One of the best things we've done is spread the rumor that going back in time to kill baby Hitler is impossible because of Chaos theory. When really we’re just talking out our ass. What's really going on is the oligarchs who rule the state own almost all the Hitlers. And we intend to protect their investments, be they Democrats or Republicans.”

  “Eww. Even more disgusting,” said Rain. “I didn’t think you could do it.”

  “I know about you,” Danger said. “A feminist. Free spirit. Rebel.”

  “Guilty,” said Rain.

  He looked at Richard, “Traitor.” He pointed at Sunny, “Egghead, twisted by the communist tinged public education system. Reading books. Dirty books. Speaking her mind. Voting.”

  “And I’m a non-standard non-binary social revolutionary,” said Frankie. “Loved. Hated. No matter. I gotta be me. I have nothing to be ashamed of. I reject shame. I’m on the right side and you’ll never understand that even as you inevitably lose the fight you insist on having, wasting your time as well as ours. In the end you will still lose.”

  “And a dirty clown,” said Danger.

  “Hey!” said the clown, who started fussing and pacing about the room, ending at the lonely buffet table, muttering under his breath.

  “I like you fine, clown,” said Frankie.

  “Me too,” said Sunny. “But I think I got some clown in me.”

  “Damn right,” said the clown. “Lots of people do.”

  “I,” said Frankie, “I admit I got a little thing for clowns.”

  “And I got a big thing for clowns,” said Sunny.

  Rain looked at Mitch. “It’s a sexual desire, sir. It is no business of the state what consenting adults do with each other. It is between each person and Eros the god of love!”

  The FBI man sarcastically placed his hand on his heart and looked at the ceiling. “The counterculture confuses sex with love. People like me know these are two completely different things. I divorce them. People like me know the best sex is actually with people we hate. Hate sex.”

  “Gross,” Sunny said.

  “Dirty ceiling,” Danger said, “People never think to clean them. Seconds later he jerked, gasped, and choked. He dropped his pistol and then his body crumpled to the floor revealing behind him the fury in the eyes of Theodore the clown, a carving knife in his hand covered in Danger’s deep red blood which dripped on Rain’s white plush carpet.

  “It is at times like this,” said Sunny, “I am glad for my contacts in the underworld. I know a guy. A cleaner. They clean up after parties. Film shoots. And crime scenes. Very discrete.”

  “I think,” said Rain, “You ought to call them.”

  And she did. Even though this was not the sort of action anyone was looking forward to, they all understood that the elimination of Mitch Danger from the party was a relief.

  After she placed the call from Rain’s princess phone, Sunny said, “They’ll be here soon. Pluto’s cleaners are the best. I’ve used them a lot. I go to a ton of parties and we all know cleaning up is a drag. Best leave it to professionals.”

  Richard said, “This whole thing gives me deja vu37. I mean, it feels like everything is repeating, even though this is the first time.”

  “Can you have pre-mature-deja-vu?” said Frankie.

  “Please,” said Rain, “I think I hear echoes of the past.”

  “As a scientist, I can assure you anything is possible,” said Richard. “Except pre-mature-anti-fascism. That is impossible. One is either anti-fascist or not. There is no middle ground, no concept of ‘too soon.’ It’s like Peter Pratfallovitch’s book Estrangements which makes no sense if you have not read his book Entanglements and vice versa. I mean, they both make sense but only upon reading the second book are the themes and motives made whole. But it is like Karl Marx said, ‘History occurs first as a tragedy and later as a farce.’”

  “I have always considered sci-fi reactionary,” said Sunny.

  “Oh, no!” said Rain.

  “There are some reactionary writers,” said Richard. “But they are dwarfed by progressives voices. In the dark times of the 1950s it was there progressive voices took root, science fiction and children’s literature. Without them many progressive writers would have starved. It gave them freedom, though the money was poor, they were not.”

  “I love it,” Rain said. “Exploring other worlds, other ideas, other plains of existence. It’s a literature of hope. Even though it is filled with dystopias and glued together fix-ups.” She looped her arm through Richard’s and he did not shy away but looked at her lovingly. “You can do things in it you cannot accomplish in plain literature where you are forced to accept the world as it is rather than confronting it. And fantasy is the oldest type of literature. People crave novelty as much as ideas, more, as so often new ideas must be offered as fantasy. No one notices that after some time fantasy tends to become reality. People choose the reality in which they live.”

  “And few choose to remember,” said Richard, “How the Earth was destroyed totally by atomic warfare in the Martian Chronicles38, though that is what the story is about.”

  The hifi speakers crackled to life because Sunny put on the new Disco single More More More by the Andrea True Connexion. “She’s my favorite actress/singer,” said Sunny. “If you want to know how I really feel, get the camera rolling.” The mood in the room was a cross between somber and shocked. But Andrea True was helping, as she did so often for so many39.

  Sunny danced by the hifi. The clown lay in the fetal position on the couch. The bloody knife on the floor by Danger’s body, ruining Rain’s carpet.

  “We must soldier on,” said Rain. “We can’t stop now. We have to keep going for the sake of the future. I guess the carpet will have to be removed. I can live with a bare floor.”

  “Pluto’s cleaners will do it,” Sunny said. “No worries.”

  “Are they named after the god of the underworld?” asked Frankie.

  “Yeah,” Sunny said. “Mob connected. Clever. You know, Andrea True had a lot of names. Sandra Lips, Singe Low, Inger Kissin. Pseudonyms. Even Andrea True is a false name, though it is her true name. I think I’m going to change my name to Sunny Day.”

  “Sisters!” Rainy Day said.

  “Sisters,” said Sunny Day.

  There was a knock on the door.r />
  Rain opened the door to find a short man in blue coveralls. His name stitched over his heart was Rick.

  “You got a situation here, lady? Called cleaners?” Rick said.

  “Inside,” said Rain.

  Rain led the cleaner to the body. “Bloodstains,” he said. Tricky. Better to pull it up. Roll it up. Burn it.”

  “Can you do it, Rick?” asked Rain.

  “No problem,” said Rick. “But call me Fred. It’s short for Frederick.”

  “I assumed it was short for Richard,” said Richard.

  “Nah,” said Fred. “There are a hell of a lot of Richards in this world, but I’m not one of them Dicks.” He rolled the body in sheet plastic. This is all going to take a little while. Why don’t you folks just go on with what you were doing, but over there. Don’t mind me. It’s like I wasn’t even here. If anyone asks.”

  Rain grabbed the television and moved it to the dining room table. She flipped it on and the Robyn Bird show was already in progress. Fred started pulling up the stained carpet, whilst whistling the hit tune More More More.

  Robyn Bird was sitting in a chair wearing a crocheted bikini which would be no use if one was trying to swim. But that was the point of it. It was purely ornamental. If it weren't for that she'd be wearing nothing at all. And that would be fine with her. Fine with the viewers. But the office bigwigs, spoilsports, weren't into it. They were always worried about the complainers, the one percent who always had a problem with what other people were doing. Or not doing. Who could not keep their own morals to themselves. People who were unashamed about their own shame. That is shameful. The bikini was named for the atomic test bombing of the Bikini Atoll. Which is also shameful. America was having a sordid love affair with the bomb.

  "If you're just joining us," said Robyn Bird, "I am here interviewing the son of the famous Russian science-fiction author Peter Pratfallovitch. Richard Pratfallovitch.”