About half an hour later, Wolf sat amid the backyard greenery, looking trendy in a black shirt, white tie, and, thanks to Goodwill, a secondhand Panama hat slanted dashingly over his right eye. He and Ruthie would get along just fine; Wolf didn’t bear grudges, not even against the owners of very bad dogs.
The Manny Ranch
One evening, while goofing around, I dressed Wolf in a red paisley cravat and the gray smoking jacket that I’d given Harry as a honeymoon gift that he refused to wear. I switched on a DVD, pressed my cheek to Wolf’s, and danced him across the living room, singing my own version of the Percy Sledge song playing on the stereo: “When a manny loves a woman, she can do no wrong.” Part way through the tune, Lisa Smith, whom Wolf had already met, tapped on the front door.
“Hi, I just came up to tape a keep-closed sign on the fire escape door. I heard the music, and I just had to take a peek.” She came inside, shut the door behind her, and set her role of adhesive tape on the console. “How’ve you two been getting along?”
Showing off, I did a bit of fancy footwork, dipping Wolf and pushing him back and forth in time with the music. “Care for a drink?”
“Make it a white-wine spritzer,” Lisa said.
On my way to the kitchen, I heard her talking to my manny in a low, seductive voice. By the time I returned to the room with wine glass in hand, Lisa had managed to engage Wolf in a sultry tango.
“He really can move, can’t he?” she said, circling him around.
“I just greased his wheels.” I set her drink on an end table next to a small can of household oil.
“Wouldn’t it be nice if he were a bit more mechanical?”
“You mean automated?”
After a quick review of Lisa’s previous interests in androids, I guess I should have known that sooner or later, she’d find her way back to the subject of a better-endowed, more sexually active manikin.
“Somewhat. But only to a degree. We wouldn’t want him getting up and walking off, would we?”
“No, we wouldn’t. That’s why I like him the way he is—a low-tech one of a kind.”
“I envy you, Judy.” Lisa placed the back of her hand on her forehead and made a swoony dance move. “If only I were lucky enough to have a manny as a companion.”
“I don’t see why you can’t have one.”
“Ernie would never go for it,” she said as the music came to an end. “My apartment is the manager’s office. It’s like public property. People come and go, paying the rent, picking up packages, making requests, and lodging complains. What would they think if a pair of mannys resembling Siegfried and Roy sat down there as if forever on duty?”
“Siegfried and Roy?” To each her own. I watched Lisa lift my manny from his stand and hold him in a passionate embrace.
“I’ve always had a thing for them, like together. Not that anything’s wrong with Ernie. He’s always there for me, provided there’s something in it for him.”
Since a manny wasn’t required to resemble a spouse, and since nothing would be in it for Siegfried and Roy either, I saw no reason to argue with her.
Lisa dragged the manny over to the sofa and sat next to it. “If I got one, much less two, of my own, I’d have to explain that the whole idea was yours. Before long, rumors would fly. And it all could be avoided, if only you’d let me borrow this one for awhile.”
“I don’t know, Lisa. It would be like lending you Harry.”
Then Lisa pulled out the big guns. “As you know, your lease allows for only two occupants. Should someone or something else move in with you, I’d have to increase the rent.”
“You wouldn’t! It’d be like charging for a statue.”
Lisa reached to press her hand over my lips. “Hush your mouth. You know better.” Her eyes again on the manny, she smiled.
All at once it hit me. One dance and she was hooked. “Lisa, believe me, it’s all a matter of perception. You start imagining Wolf is real, and you’ll begin to believe he is.”
“It’s much more than that, Judy. Wolf has a certain je ne sais quoi, that’s French for ‘I don’t know what,’ which doesn’t mean that I in particular don’t know what.”
I glanced at my manny, concerned that if I didn’t let her borrow him, she’d follow through on her threat to raise my rent.
“You understand that while my manny has oodles of those I-don’t-know-what qualities, he’s missing too many vital parts to possess raw sexual energy.”
Lisa nodded, her adoring face close to Wolf, sitting beside her, looking suave, though empty headed. The woman seemed infatuated with him and, as I rid my mind of visions of her tossing him in her car and taking off on a wild cross-country spree, my own wheels began spinning.
“Tell you what,” I said. “For twenty bucks, you can borrow him for, oh, up to two hours. I’ll just excuse myself, fold the laundry, and take a shower.”
Lisa rooted through her skirt pockets and handed me a twenty. This time, accepting money for the use of Wolf should have made me feel like a pimp, but it didn’t. On the contrary, I’d begun to realize that I had stumbled upon a promising new financial endeavor. I fancied myself a fledgling entrepreneur in something remotely akin to the sex industry. Not for a moment did I anticipate operating anything like a Nevada-style bordello staffed by dummies. Those desert dives with their tacky western décor couldn’t hold a candle to what I had in mind. My operation wasn’t only legal in every state; it was also exceptional—the ultimate in fantasy. I’d start out small, right here in the Pacific Northwest. I’d run it like a doll shop. A client comes in, chooses her own manny, and spends quality time alone with him. No questions asked.
My head filling with the idea that asexuality sells, I returned to the kitchen and toyed with a few names appropriate to my new establishment. Judy’s Joint. Hmmm, catchy but squalid. Wolfgang’s Woodies? Too suggestive and very misleading. For the time being, I settled on The Manny Ranch.
While Lisa appropriated Wolf, I worked out the pros and cons of my new business plan. Forget the problems connected with infidelity, none of it can happen. Forget the difficulties linked to sexually transmitted diseases, none of it ought to happen.
My business acumen peaking, I grabbed a pad and pencil and began scribbling notes. Let’s see. Wolf cost what? Six hundred bucks plus a few extras. Rented out about four hours a day—for starters, I figured I’d work him only part-time—at twenty bucks a stint…that’s eighty a day times five days a week…that’s—Whoopee! In less than a year, I could buy enough mannys to staff an entire brothel and quit pretending to look for a day job.
I began trying on the managerial titles appropriate to my new enterprise. The word madam didn’t fit me any more than the word pimp had. I could no more envision myself donning a feathered headdress and waving a jeweled cigarette holder than I could see myself be-bopping to hip-hop behind the fur-covered steering wheel of a purple pimpmobile. I was about to launch a career in the world’s newest, not its oldest, profession. I therefore had to come up with a more sophisticated name. Rather than leave it TBD, to be determined, I settled for CEO— that’s chief executive officer for the uninitiated.
I then ran my mind over some of the derogatory terms often applied to the employees of customary houses of ill repute. Wolfgang might be something of a no-account, but never could I think of him as a hooker, a floozy, or a slut. In his new position, he would at the outset be the chief moneymaker. So I elected him CFO, or chief financial officer.
Moving right along, I mulled over a list of the pejorative labels for customers of traditional establishments. My venture was to be strictly on the up and up. In lieu of calling my female clients johns, I preferred to think of them as patrons. Sexual fantasy is, after all, more of an art form than an activity.
Standing only a few yards from where the ever-dopey, but now somehow debonair, Wolf was plying his trade, I began to see him in a whole new light. He wasn’t only an unassuming minimalist; he was an investment. Nothing but good could come
from our mutually rewarding relationship. And it was clear to me why.
Wolfgang had the Midas touch, something that appealed to the gold digger in me. Wolf was more than an oversized version of Barbie’s boyfriend Ken. He was the stuff of fairy tales with a well-buffed patina.
I eyed Wolf’s athletic outfit atop the folded clothes in the laundry basket, and went over what the well-dressed mannys-to-be might wear. In thinking of a mannys’ wardrobe, something I’d already begun to purchase secondhand, I was struck by what a low-overhead operation manny-pushing would be. Mannys require no food, water, or medicine. They have no need for heat, light, you name it. And here’s where it really gets cool: their parts are interchangeable.
A couple of hours later, as I left my bedroom to drink a glass of milk before turning in, I heard Lisa switch off the stereo. “Goodnight,” I called through the living room doorway.
In the foyer, Lisa retrieved her tape dispenser and started out. “You say nothing about this, got it?”
“Our lips are sealed, right, Wolfie?”
As the front door snapped shut, I smiled at him sprawled in his recliner. About customer confidentiality, clients should be treated with the utmost discretion. There would be no little black books, no credit-card receipts, no videos of the action made on the sly. All procurements at The Manny Ranch would be done quietly on a low-key, cash basis only.
Welcoming Harry Home
The day before Harry’s four-month-long tour was over, I had my hair frosted and cut in a style that, to my dismay, made me look like a wilted yellow chrysanthemum, one with freckles and an overbite. That done, resplendent I stood in a colorful Hawaiian muumuu and silvery flipflops, waving a small American flag and waiting most of the afternoon for Harry to gangplank off the destroyer at the Everett Naval Station. Though thrilled he was back home, I felt a sense of sorrow. Spouses often change when separated for long periods. As with other tours, I worried he might have cooled toward me.
“Not in the least,” Harry assured me, when I related my concern. “You’re the one more likely to stray, always here alone.”
“Thanks to the manny, you know that thing I told you about on the drive home?” We were now in the apartment, and I watched Harry nodding as he neared the manny on the recliner. “It always kept you close by.” I braced myself and mumbled, “Sort of.”
His eyes on Wolf, Harry circled him with caution. “Is that a sex surrogate or something?” He glanced from Wolf to me.
“He doesn’t have the hardware.”
Harry again stared at his imitation. “You think I look like that? He looks like a cartoon. I don’t look like that.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the way he looks.” Now that they were together, I saw how much Harry differed from the exaggerated caricature of him. His ears didn’t stick out nearly as far as Wolf’s.
“He looks like a stiff the Italian navy forgot to consign to the deep.” Harry examined Wolf’s outdated uniform. “He must have gotten this at a military surplus store, the antique section.”
“His costume may not be authentic,” I said, aware that nothing about the manny could be construed as copied. Mr. Gippo’s creations were supposed to be unique.
For some time, Harry stood, stroking his neatly trimmed mustache. Then suddenly he yelped, “Six hundred bucks! I can’t believe you blew six hundred dollars on that…that dumbass dingus.”
To my mind, the wooden dingus was worth every penny I’d blown. He was an investment, the returns of which ought to be manifold. Yet I empathized with Harry. Now that we both lived wholly on his military salary, a mere pittance by any stretch, squandering hundreds on an oversized doll was an extravagance.
Harry flared his nostrils as he reached out and snapped Wolf’s beanie upward. “What’s his ship? The Pinta, the Nina, or the Santa Maria?”
Harry’s show of aggression troubled me. Despite worrying that any moment now he’d challenge the manikin to a fight, I tried to see Wolf through Harry’s eyes and concluded that only a mother could love that funny little face.
Harry checked the manny’s uniform for patches. “I can’t figure his rank.” He yanked the braided red string from the manny’s pocket. “Judy, he’s got a boatswain’s pipe.” Harry blew the high-pitched whistle. “All hands on deck. I guess that makes him a petty officer too.”
“See, he is a copy of you—somewhat.”
I went on to explain that Wolf was made from a snapshot of Harry himself, but Harry interrupted to point out that pictures are flat and two-dimensional. And you can’t make much of a full-body replica from a photo.
“Obviously, it’s a replica with a few slight differences, an artist’s rendition, the best that Mr. Gippo could do on short notice,” I said.
“It’s not me,” Harry insisted.
“Of course it isn’t.”
“Being replaced feels strange.”
“You’re not being replaced,” I told him. “You’re being celebrated. All the great lovers in history have been celebrated.”
Allowing that I was right, Harry steered me into the bedroom so that I might show him my appreciation.
“What about Wolf?” I asked.
“He stays out in the living room.”
Minutes later, in bed with Harry, I grew antsy and unable to partake in marital bliss.
“Poor Wolf, out there in the dark alone.”
“Where he belongs,” Harry said.
“It’s not like I’m cheating on you. It’s more like separation anxiety. I feel like a child who’s lost her security blanket.”
In Harry’s absence, the manny filled a void; he made me feel less empty. Now that he was gone from the room, I began to miss him almost as much as I had Harry.
“I’m back now, so just forget him.” Harry sounded resolute.
“I tried, but it’s just not the same.” Seeing Harry tense up, I spoke faster. “Wolf cheered me when I felt down in the dumps. He’s been a loyal companion while you were off to…to who knows where. And we thank him by abandoning him. I’ve got to go get him,” I said, throwing the covers back.
“No!” Harry seized my arm.
“He doesn’t take up much room.”
“Judy, he’s as big as a man; he’s not a toy.”
“Oh, you take everything so seriously.”
“And you don’t take anything seriously.”
“Just for tonight,” I begged.
Wrenched free of Harry’s grip, I slid from beneath the sheet and padded into the living room. I gathered up my manny and returned to the bedroom where I sat him on a cushioned chair.
“Now, isn’t that better?” I said, smiling at Wolf’s adorable face.
“Not for me,” Harry groused, now sitting upright.
I crawled back into bed, reminded of how inhibited Harry was. He did just fine when involved in passionate sex. Getting him involved was the issue. Harry was slow to arousal, a trait I’d ascribed to months aboard ship surrounded by buttoned-down service people. Harry’s restraint resulted from his squeaky-clean conditioning.
I snuggled closer to Harry. “In a way, with him watching, sex feels naughty. You know, a kind of guilty pleasure.”
Harry grimaced, making it evident that I had said the wrong thing. Voyeurism aboard ship was difficult to avoid when cramped into close quarters.
“Sometimes,” I resumed, hoping to get my foot out of my mouth, “if you’re not creative, things can get kind of ho-hum. But if you add some spice, it sort of beef’s things up, so to speak.”
“An idle mind is the devil’s workshop.” Harry crossed his arms over his chest. “And having that manny join in on our conjugal relations proves it.”
“What are you talking, idle mind?”
I pushed up onto my elbow, recalling how busy I’d been since acquiring my manny.
“I’m talking about the depravity you’ve apparently gotten into since I’ve been away,” Harry said.
“Just because I think getting down and dirty could be fun, you t
hink I’m depraved?”
“And you think it’s perfectly normal to perform in front of that… that wooden Peeping Tom?”
“Perform?” I was beginning to get it. Harry must have been alluding to performance anxiety—as if the manny could experience a vicarious thrill and grade him on it. “This is not a test. Wolf can’t cheer you on. If anyone around here’s acting kinky, it’s you.”
Actually, I knew better than to toss his accusation right back at him. Harry was as principled and proper as a stuffed shirt with a starched collar. It was unwise to tinker with his emotions.
“I’m sorry,” I said, groping. “Let’s kiss and make up.”
By way of punishment, Harry gave me the silent treatment.
“This night, my first night at home,” he said at last, “and you prefer that goofy-looking dummy.”
“That’s crazy.”
“Okay, okay, just one thing.” He got up, whipped the top sheet off the bed, and threw it over Wolfs head. “That’s more like it,” he said, again snuggling next to me.
“Wow, swabby. Permission to come aboard granted.” My amorous words indeed had the desired effect.
Publicity
The next morning, I was preparing a cheese omelet for breakfast, when Harry came bounding back into the apartment with the newspaper clutched in his hand.
“Half the tenants in the building are down in the manager’s office laughing their asses off over this.” He slapped the newspaper down on the table and jabbed his forefinger at two cowpokes in western outfits against the backdrop of a high school marching band. “Is that you?”
I read my name in the caption beneath the photograph in the entertainment section, of all places, not on the front page as the reporter had promised.
“Is that you, parading in front of a million people while tied to that dummy?”
I examined the colored photo, struck that Señor Kin had appeared rather silly in his gigantic sombrero, but I doubted a million people had been on the parade route. Though after doing a rough calculation on how many saw us in the papers and on TV, a million got darned close.
Me and My Manny Page 3
