by Trixie More
“Is that what you think we’re doing?”
“Isn’t it?”
“Dad,” Derrick floundered. Words. Where were the words? He tried again. “Think about your operating room.”
“I am, Derrick,” he said. “I think about it all the time. The machines. There’s more of them every day, each of them with a person to operate it and an instruction manual as long as the bible.”
There it was. The insight Derrick had failed to understand before. David was a doctor, he was on the same side as their father. To them, Derrick was on a different team. Team Robot.
“Dad, if you develop a tremor in your hands, can you still operate?”
His father scoffed. “That’s not happening.”
“Hypothesis, Dad. What if?”
“If? Well then no, I can’t.”
“But you still know exactly what needs to be done, right?”
“If I’m not senile.”
“Just a tremor,” Derrick said. “So still smart? Still got all that brain doctor knowledge, right?”
“Yes. But I can’t operate.”
“What if you had a magic scalpel that wouldn’t shake?”
“Problem solved.”
“OK,” Derrick said. “That’s a robot.”
His father looked skeptical.
“Not toys, not the enemy. Tools, Dad, that’s all they are.” He looked at his father and had a sudden insight.
“Dad? You know we’re the same, right?”
“In what way?” his father asked, eyes alert and intently curious as if he’d been looking for just this answer.
“We both have nerves of steel, Dad.” His father blinked. “What you do is the riskiest possible surgery, the most delicate, the most nerve-wracking, right?”
“And you?” his father asked. “You’re on the raising gang.”
His father knew that? Derrick set down his cup, stood and stretched. The place looked good. “I’m going to go find Tessa and say goodbye. You want to have dinner with my girlfriend and me if I can get her back?”
His father’s eyes narrowed. “The bitchy one?”
“Exactly.”
Chapter 24
“I completely embarrassed your family!” Allison hollered over the sound of the water. It was after eight o’clock and Dorothy was still in the shower. The woman was getting to work later every day. They were arguing about the ill-fated night of Er Ted and the late cake. Dorothy’s parents, undaunted, had found yet another event for Allison to cater. This time Allison would need more than one rent-a-waiter. She’d need an army. She couldn’t understand why the Johansens had done it, but this time, she thought she might just say “Thank you.” Maybe.
Dorothy called out to her. “They don’t care! What I want to know is, you have a mother. In New Mexico and she’s alive. And you don’t call her.”
The water stopped.
“Is there a question?” Allison asked.
“I think it’s obvious.” Dot’s voice was getting louder and softer as she moved around behind the door. “You and I have to set up a video call with her this weekend.”
“Don’t you have a job you’re supposed to show up to on time?”
Dorothy opened the door, wrapped in a big gray towel. Allison went in and sat on the toilet. She could feel her hair soaking up the humidity.
“Ugh, I’ve got the stupidest slam in the world to get ready for. Don’t think I don’t know you’re changing the subject. Every time I think of my slam, it gets harder to go out the door.”
“What’s it for?”
“Bimbo Shoes.” Dorothy combed her straight hair and turned on the blow dryer.
Dorothy worked for a marketing firm and slams were some kind of competition between the junior staff. They sounded imperative, but Allison only saw Dorothy working on them the night before they were due.
“I never heard of that brand,” Allison said earnestly. She wanted to see her friend succeed and it seemed like Dot needed to start these things earlier.
Dorothy laughed. “It’s not a brand.” She finished her hair and started to brush her teeth, trying to talk while she did it. “I fks wut.”
“What?”
Dorothy spit. “My folks want you to do well.”
“Why?”
“Because they love you!”
“They don’t know me!”
“Duh, they know me.” Dorothy flipped makeup onto her eyes like it was her job. Seconds later she was glam. She pointed at Allison’s feet as she left the bathroom. “I have cream you can use.”
Her bedroom door shut.
Allison trailed behind her. She put her hands on Dorothy’s door and started to yell. “If you follow that logic, everyone who knows you …” The door opened, and Allison caught the doorjamb to keep her balance.
“What?” Dorothy was already headed back to the bed, pushing shoes, a purse, some papers into a carryall. It matched her skirt.
“Then everyone you know should want to help me.”
“Exactly. And the wrecking ball. Which, by the way, is a way better name.”
“What?” Allison’s head was spinning.
Dorothy pushed past her, shoving her feet into the pink sneakers she grabbed from the shoe rack.
“Do you have stockings on?”
Dorothy looked up. “Yes?”
“Who does that?”
“They look good, right?”
Allison rolled her eyes.
Dorothy continued. “Look, Allison.” she slung her bag over her arm. “I’m late. I have to go.” She gave Allison on a kiss on the cheek. “This couldn’t be easier. Everyone I know will want to help you. Your boyfriend is a wrecking ball, and everyone he knows will want to help you too. Just start setting it up. We’ll get the whole mother thing worked out on Sunday. That’s important.”
With that, Dorothy was gone, the scent of her perfume the only thing left of her.
Great. Well. Allison cast around for her train of thought. It seemed to have left with Dorothy. Her thoughts settled on Derrick. Even though Dot refused to believe that he wasn’t Allison’s boyfriend, she did have a point. His family did seem to love her.
Derrick pulled the truck up to the garage door, his eyes widening at the yellow and orange graffiti on the doors of the building. The rounded characters spreading from one door to the next. The tagging wasn’t elaborate, just simple figures scrawled hastily, which made sense since it had gone up in just a couple hours during broad daylight. Derrick sat for a minute observing the surroundings. He didn’t see any cars with people in them and anyone walking around appeared to be moving along. He did a double take as a heavy set man, thinning on top, black hair thick on his arms, crossed the street. He didn’t look like a graffiti artist, but there was something about him. The man turned the corner and disappeared. Derrick left the windows barely cracked and the AC on for MW, and got out of the truck. A quick scan of the interior of the garage revealed nothing out of the ordinary.
“Shit,” he muttered. The cloth covering the Torino was splashed with orange paint. Looking to the back, he could see the high window on the wall was broken. He pulled the truck into the garage and shut the door. On the floor around the car were broken paintballs. Someone had been shooting into the garage, getting some shots through the bars on the window. He’d have to get some boards to block the window with. He went and pulled the cloth off the Torino. The paint had soaked through, and the trunk of the car was orange and damp.
“Shit.”
He got some rags and tried to wipe the paint off, unable to tell in the dim light if the car was damaged. Regardless, he was going to need to get the car moved out of the garage and find another place to park his truck. He called the police and waited for the second time for them to come, giving them his report. He brought MW home and took the bot upstairs.
It was several hours before he had everything done, the Torino moved, and the windows boarded. There was a commercial lot about three blocks away. Derrick bought the truck t
o the lot, walked back just about the time Ben was coming down the street, tool bag in his hand.
“What happened to the front of the garage?” Ben called as he approached.
“Got tagged,” Derrick said. “Shot up the inside with paintballs. Trucks up at Smithy’s lot.”
“Where’s the Torino?”
“Garage a mile east. Owner told me where to tow it.”
“You talked to them?” Ben was opening the door to the loft.
“Yeah,” said Derrick. “Police too.” He shut the door to the loft, set the cat on the floor and plunked down on the couch. “Long day.”
“Ya think?” Ben grabbed a beer and tossed one to Derrick. “Gets worse, ’Rick.”
“How’s that?” Derrick popped the beer, the cold iciness sliding down his throat.
Ben tossed an envelope in his lap.
“Found that?” Ben paused. “In my fucking tool bag when I went to drag up today.”
Derrick opened the envelope and took out the sheet of paper, the note printed at the top of a blank white page. A chill chased over his arms.
Debts don’t just disappear like people do. You’re officially the cosigner. $96,643.75 past due.
“This can’t be real,” Derrick said.
“That orange paint look real to you?” Ben asked. “Those bruises you had looked pretty real to me. My brother and his family gone? That’s pretty damn real. My mother is hysterical over this.”
“You showed her this note?”
“No, Der. But she sure noticed that George, Debra, and her grandchildren dropped off the planet. I had to tell her and Dad.”
“And?”
“And she wants Dad to get a second mortgage and pay them off.” Ben got up. “I just wanted to let you know. There’s nothing you can do about it, Derrick.”
He disappeared into his room and came out fifteen minutes later.
“Look, I’m going to stay at my folks’ house. I’m worried someone might try to do something to them.” Ben dropped his bag by the door and walked over to where Derrick was sitting. Derrick stood, and Ben threw his arms around him, then let him go.
“Look, thanks for doing all that shit with the garage, and what you did the day you found George. I’m wondering if he’d even be alive still if it weren’t for you.”
Derrick looked around, and then back at his friend. “They want money. He would be alive.”
Ben nodded and walked over to the door, picking up his tool bag and his overnight bag. He stopped for a minute, looking back. “Um, look, man, if Sophia asks where I am, let her know?”
Derrick kept his face blank. “Sure, Ben.”
Ben opened the door, stepped through and then Derrick was alone, trying to figure out what he should be doing next. Between his father and the shit with Ben, he was at a loss. He decided Christopher Robot would be a good distraction. By seven p.m., Derrick had the robot cleaned up and working. It walked around the apartment, opening doors, picking up things, surprisingly good at the small tasks. When he’d been working on it so intensely, all he’d seen was all the things it couldn’t do, how slow it was going upstairs, how hard it was to get a precise angle for the fingers. Right now, it was still remote control, but later, this design could be the perfect container for AI. He walked it over to the dresser in his bedroom, watching Christopher Robot’s progress on a monitor. It wandered into his room. Derrick spied the yellow item on the chest of drawers. The memory of Allison arose, one hand holding all that hair up, the other spearing it with the pencil. Her thick hair had hung suspended like magic. Kinda like the way her ass stayed up.
“Fuck.” Derrick walked the robot back out, the pencil in its mechanical hand. MW hissed as the bot clumped past him to drop the writing instrument on the worktable. Derrick turned it off. There was no point in waiting another minute. He wanted Allison, and his grandmother had told him she was back at the shop. He had absolutely nothing to gain by staying here. He picked up the bot and headed out to get his truck.
“Your original premise was flawed.” Sophia pulled a tray of cupcakes out of the cooler. She placed it on the worktable, her lovely hands encased in white latex gloves. Her hair was in a messy bun, a net pulled over it. She still looked beautiful.
Marley, wearing a bright yellow shirt with Rosie the Riveter on it and her ponytail bag with the velvet bow, starting placing little replicas of books made out of icing on the top of the cakes while Sophia added live flowers. Live flowers in the garnishes were becoming the symbol of Allison’s Kitchen. Allison was taking little cheese triangles out of the oven, the last of the hot snacks for the library book club.
“Might have been,” Allison said. The bells out front tinkled, and one of the kitchen crew from Mastrelo’s came through the door, now open between the bar kitchen and hers, and went out front. He reappeared in a flash.
“Here for the book people, told ’em you’ll be right there.”
Allison was energetically crimping the edges on the aluminum pan. “Anybody over there able to help carry it out?”
Angelo strolled through the door. “I can.” He grabbed the bags of utensils off the table and went out front. Allison could hear the bass of his voice rumbling. A small cry of surprise from a woman aroused Allison’s attention.
“No ‘might’ about it,” Sophia said. “You thought if your business failed, it would drag down Derrick and my grandfather. I don’t see how it could have.” Sophia started plopping the cakes into the delivery tray. “Flawed premise, therefore, your action was incorrect.” She closed one plastic case and started loading up the next one.
“Well, the action was incorrect, that’s for sure. I don’t think I saved Derrick from anything and I don’t think I can live without him. Too bad being with me is going to be tough on him.” Allison flashed a smile at Sophie. “I thought I loved him enough to let him go. Now? I just want him back. I just have to figure out how …” Allison’s sentence was interrupted when the kitchen door opened. Angelo was whistling and clapping out front. The female voice laughing and cheering with him must belong to her customer. However, there was only one person the robot coming into the kitchen could possibly belong to.
Five foot tall, three-fingered, with a short bit, kind of like a tail, protruding from the back, the open work metal robot clumped into the kitchen, its football-shaped head had eyes, a nose, and a smile painted on it in white. A camera was mounted to the top of its head. As it moved, the head turned right and left, like it was hamming it up for the crowd. In its three-fingered hand was a red rose, a bit of paper around the stem. From the doorway, Rose and Lorenzo stuck their heads in, Rose clapping her hands and bouncing on her toes.
“He’s back! My boy is back!” She craned her neck like she expected to see Derrick. Colored wires ran inside the metal of the legs, body, and arms. The whole thing lurched crazily toward Allison.
“Can it see me?” Allison looked around at Sophia. Sophia was grinning like a loon.
“He’s been home,” her voice was awestruck. “He had to go home to get that.”
Allison looked at her in confusion. “He doesn’t go home?”
Sophia’s eyebrows quirked. “Not like this. I put that in the garage at our parent’s house. He had to go there to get it.” She looked up at Allison. “That rose has to be for you.”
“Hey, girl, the customer’s waiting!” Angelo was calling to her. Allison had to turn her attention back to the trays. She started covering the trays of pinwheel sandwiches, and Sophia finished loading up the cupcakes. Marley raced in and out with the trays. The robot came toward Allison and set the rose down. She wanted to be standing still, appreciating the miracle that was Derrick reaching out to her, a bossy, mean, coward of a woman, but for now, there were the coffee boxes to pack into a crate and carry out. She had to hurry down the street to catch up with Angelo and Marley. After thanking the woman for her patronage, thanking all of Angelo’s staff for their help, Allison picked up her feet and ran back to the shop, looking along the block for
Derrick. She didn’t see him. She pushed into the shop. No Derrick, no robot. The kitchen then, she couldn’t wait to see him, to toss her arms around his neck, to ask him to marry her if that’s what it took. She laughed to herself at the thought. In the kitchen, her shoulders slumped in disappointment. No man, no bot.
“Rose! Rose! Did he come in there?” she called through the door.
“No, cookie!” Rose had the wooden pizza paddle in her hand.
Allison headed to the alley. Nobody. Disappointed didn’t begin to describe her feelings. She returned to the kitchen and picked up the rose. Sophia came in behind her.
“What does it say?”
Allison swallowed. “Oh no, Derrick.”
“What?” Marley was now grabbing at the paper. She ripped it out of Allison’s hand.
“I love you. I think you love me.” Marley rolled her eyes. “Please follow Christopher Robot and let me tell you myself.”
“Argh!” Allison yelled. “Where the hell is that bot?”
So that was it. Derrick loaded Christopher Robot into the truck.
“It’s not your fault, buddy,” he said as he patted the back of the machine.
It had been a wild shot, and he hadn’t put much thought into the message. He’d been too excited to just get over there and send the bot in. Watching from a block away, through the monitor, he’d laughed to see the look on the customer’s face, and he’d been thrilled to see his grandfather waving and fist pumping as the bot went by. None of that compared to the view through the camera as the robot pushed into the kitchen. So much beauty. His sister, Marley and then finally, Allison came into view, followed by Rose and even Lorenzo. It seemed like everyone he loved was at the shop. Allison had smiled, so lovely, as her eyes lifted and she saw the robot. A jolt had run through him, seeing her looking right at the camera was like having her looking right at him.
Today, at his father’s, when all those thoughts and images seemed to flood him, he felt he couldn’t wait any longer for her. He’d already known he was going to try once more to get her to recognize what they had. This was it. He held his breath, she looked right at the camera.
