The fleshy, rubber face moved from one expression to the other, showing happiness, sadness, fear, contempt and surprise. A man in a suit wearing a name tag approached Rick and Margaret, and asked them what they thought. 

“I see that the pleasure models are more expensive,” Rick said. “The domestic models cost thousands less. How come?”

The man pointed up, grinning, and asked Rick to touch her. Rick moved his hand to the arm of the unit and touched it. The skin on the android developed goosebumps. She pulled the arm back slightly, looked at Rick and smiled. 

“The P models have seven processors instead of two. It has synaptic receptive rubber in about ninety percent of the body, including her tongue, which means she can feel your touch and has the latest version of intuitive cognition.”

“Intuitive cognition? What’s that?”

“Artificial Intelligence. It learns.”

Rick could not help but stare at her eyes when Margaret elbowed him on the side.  

“Keep wishing,” Margaret said. “We’re here for a domestic model. That’s all. It’s what our budget can allow.”

The man in the suit smiled at Margaret and pointed to the side to a different unit that moved in a jerky way.  

“How much can this one lift?” Margaret asked.

“It can easily lift a man.”

*

On their way home Rick drove while Margaret looked at the traffic. In the car next to them, a man read a tablet. In another vehicle, a woman leaned back with her eyes closed. A couple stared at each other in a blue vehicle. Margaret dreamed that someday they could afford an autonomous vehicle, but with her job, she was exhausted when she got home and what she needed was a domestic model. Alfred, their current bot, was old and limited in what he could do. 

“I can't believe that the PM-7000 costs as much as a car,” Rick said, breaking the silence. 

“Yeah, I saw you looking at her like I wasn’t even in the room.”

“Marge, it wasn’t like that. You know I don’t look at other women. It was more like looking at a new car.”

“Keep trying.”

“It’s just like car dealers do. They get you looking at the sexy, expensive red sports car and when you find out how much it costs, you settle for the minivan.”

“We didn’t even buy the minivan.”

“The domestic model is too expensive. Wait until I get my performance review and my raise. Then, we’ll get it.”

*

Alfred helped carry the groceries inside and placed them in the cabinets and refrigerator. Margaret wanted the domestic model, even though the skin was simply plastic. It had no expressions, but it did a hell of a lot more than Alfred did. She shouldn’t complain, Alfred had a metal body with arms and legs, a monitor with round anime eyes and a smile. Alfred did a good job vacuuming, picking up dishes, and loading the dishwasher. Yet, with failing motors, his dusting, washing or folding clothes was not that good. The domestic model, even with plastic skin without expressions could do a lot more than Alfred.

There was a time, long ago, at the beginning of their marriage when Rick would give her a hand cleaning the house, but as his hours at work got longer, he eventually stopped. Yet when she had to add more hours to her job, no help came from him. She felt cheated and stuck.  

One thing that PM-7000 could do that neither Alfred nor the domestic model could do was cook, or so the salesperson had said as he pointed to a video of the creature mixing ingredients in a bowl, placing a casserole in an oven, sautéing on a frying pan, tasting the food, then serving it to her happy humans, all while making eye contact with the camera. In that respect, she could use the P model; perhaps she could carry on a conversation as well besides the myriad of facial expressions. 

*

When they settled in bed, Margaret imagined what the unit might do to her husband to please him? She moved closer to Rick and ran her fingers along his arm up to his neck.

“Marge, mmmm.”

She pressed closer and kissed his ear.

“Marge, I can’t. I have this big presentation on a recall tomorrow and I keep running the numbers and information in my head.”

Margaret sighed, gave him a quick peck on his cheek and moved away. 

“This weekend,” Rick whispered. 

Margaret rotated away and stared at the darkness in the window. She remembered when they first got married, and how much sex they had. They did it everywhere and there was a mischievousness to what they did. Then she got her job at the Plastic Surgery Center, first as a receptionist and later on after she went back to school, as an advanced practice registered nurse.  Eventually, her hours increased, and because she had to stand most of the day, when she got home she was wiped out. Then they went through the period when she wanted to have kids, and Rick did not want any. They cost too much money, what about their careers, they would need to move to a bigger place. Perhaps he didn’t trust her but that was when their sex began to fade. Can I still have kids? She thought about it. Now in her late forties, she could have complications, so she felt it was too late.  

*

Alfred developed a limp, and when he stretched up to put food in the pantry he missed and sometimes dropped cans. It wasn’t until he dropped a couple of plates that Margaret decided to take him to the shop. 

She arrived at the store with Alfred, showing him which direction to go.  

The salesman that had helped them when they were looking at the domestic android approached her. “Oh my, an Alfred model, that’s a classic. This model was like the iPod to us, while the PM-7000 is the iPhone 25. You’ve taken excellent care of it. Let me point you to the service counter.”

Margaret walked Alfred to the service window. They would tell her the cost of the repair after they ran the diagnostics in a day or two. On her way out, she walked to where one of the Pleasure Models stood, displaying a variety of expressions. Margaret realized that she was both enchanted and immensely envious. 

The salesperson walked toward Margaret and asked if she had any questions.  

Margaret was going to say no, but then something occurred to her.

“She’s mesmerizing. I can stare at her for an hour and not be bored. Why is she so hypnotic?”

“Great question,” the salesperson said. “You see, we took video expressions from Mae West, Nicole Kidman, Audrey Hepburn, Lauren Bacall, and about two hundred other famous actresses and created a composite. Then we showed those composites to test groups of about 3500 people and scanned their reactions, and from there, created her algorithm.”

“My God, I could never compete with that.”

“Well, you’re not competing. It’s just an android, while you’re flesh and blood.”

“Flesh and blood and defects.”

They laughed. Margaret studied the PM-7000 and began to imitate her expressions.  

“You wanna see something cool?” the salesperson said to Margaret. “Let me put her in interactive mode.”

The salesperson touched a spot behind the ear and the model stopped making repeated expressions. “Enjoy,” he said, walking away to a new customer looking at another unit.  

Margaret looked at the P model’s arm, how the skin even had follicles. The P model moved her eyes, turned her head, and smiled at Margaret. 

“Hello, friend," the P model said in a voice that did not sound fake or robotic and was a bit more raspy than most female voices.  

“What’s your name?” Margaret asked.

“I do not have a name yet. Once I am paired, my new partner can give me a name.”

“I would name you…Olympias, like Alexander the Great’s mother.”

Margaret asked her all kinds of questions and studied her expressions as she talked. The salesman was right, there was something magnetic about her, and she felt that uneasy attraction that she once had in college toward one of her female friends.  

The salesman finished talking to the other customer and came back to Margaret. 

“What do you think? Are you taking her home now?”

“I wish," Margaret said, noticing that the P model followed the two of them with her eyes and blinked and made little movements of her mouth just like a real person would. 

“Look, I remember that you were looking for a domestic model. Realize that she has all the features of the D model, plus skin sensitivity, and two of her CPUs are dedicated to interpreting human interactions and emotions.”

“Do you have a male version?” Margaret asked.

“We do. But we hardly sell any of them to the heterosexual population, so we don’t keep them in the store.”

On the drive home, she started to repeat to herself how Olympias responded. Margaret moved her face in a particular way, made a different expression in the rear-view mirror, and even tried to emulate the way Olympias talked. She laughed about it, which made her feel better. 

She cooked dinner that night and asked Rick to help her with the dishes.  

“What?”  he responded with surprise. 

“Alfred is in the shop.”

“Oh, I see.”

It annoyed her that she even had to ask. It was like he was not a partner, a husband, but a child that needed to be taken care of – lost in his own learned helplessness. 

In bed, Rick marked up a work report. Margaret sat on her side of the bed, gave Rick a look that Olympias had done when she talked to her. Rick noticed and asked her how she was doing. She told him about her day at the clinic, about applying this one instrument to one of the ladies that dissolved fat so they would not require liposuction. As she talked, she modified her expressions and made her voice deeper. Rick put his report to the side, and as he had not done in a long time, slid closer to Margaret and gently brushed some hair from her face. Soon they were kissing, removing their clothes and making love. 

*

The next day Margaret wondered what had happened. Had their marriage become that stale? Was Rick attracted to her or to Olympias, the P model? It couldn’t be. Last night in bed, she had imitated Olympias, and it’d felt good. More than likely he’d had no idea what she was doing. 

On her drive back from work, Margaret stopped by the store to check on Alfred. She was told that fixing Alfred was going to cost some money. He needed a major overhaul. They could fix one thing and then the next until he would continue to make too many mistakes. Still, the overhaul was cheaper than the domestic model. She was bummed. She told them to keep Alfred there until she had a chance to talk to her husband and decide. On her way out, she noticed Olympias. Margaret hardly noticed before, but this time she became aware that she wore a tight latex white dress with huge red polka dots. Olympias was brunette but had that stark artificial white body. She was in interactive mode, talking to a customer. To Margaret, it appeared that she was flirting with the man, oozing sensuality out of every pore, an eyebrow, a slight grin, a look of embarrassment. She was more human than human, as the man asked her slightly lascivious questions, she responded politely and respectfully like Siri on the iPhone. The man laughed and commented to the salesperson that his wife would kill him if he brought her home. He was there just for supplies for a domestic model. The salesperson and the man walked toward one of the counters, laughing and talking.  

“Olympias,” Margaret called out. Olympias turned her head and looked at Margaret. “Marge, how are you today?”

The name recognition took her by surprise. She sensed the type of emotions that she would feel when making eye contact with someone she may desire. Margaret asked her what she knew about men, about what they wanted. Olympias responded in a cryptic way, that it was important not to pretend to be a good listener, but to honestly pay attention, and read the meaning, not just the words. 

At one point the salesperson came back. Margaret told him what had happened to Alfred and that they were going to have to decide soon since Rick was not exactly a lot of help around the house. 

“Let me ask you something. Why do you sell a Pleasure Model here? This is more of a homecare type of store.”

“Marketing. When we originally bought the technology for the P model, it was going to be the ultimate domestic. And we couldn’t sell a single one. It almost bankrupted us. Then marketing suggested turning her into a companion or partner, so we modified her slightly, introduced new programs and algorithms and bingo. Now they sell like hotcakes.”

*

At home, Rick and Margaret climbed into bed. She followed the moves and expressions that she had learned from Olympias and Rick quickly responded. She kept one of the nightstand lights on so they could watch each other. In the past Rick liked to do his business and then go to sleep. This time, he slowed down and asked her what pleased her and worked on her until she was able to achieve an orgasm.   

They stared at the ceiling. Margaret grinned, Rick looked serious.

“I could never be substituted by a machine,” Rick said. “My job is in quality control, recalls, it’s too analytical for a machine to take over. But look, elevators used to have an attendant, now you just tell them the floor.”

Margaret leaned over and gave him a juicy kiss right below his ear. 

*

Margaret never got around to talking to Rick about what to do with Alfred. Should they spend the money and have him fixed? Should they buy the domestic model instead? But as she drove to the store, she fantasized about bringing Olympias home. How could these thoughts cross her mind? She realized that she could have as easily called and told them to go ahead and start the work on Alfred, but she wanted to tell them in person, that way she may be able to spend more time with Olympias and study what made her so tantalizing.  

She went to the service window and told them to go ahead. They had to order some of the smaller parts and it would take maybe a week before they arrived. On her way out of the store, she saw the salesperson talking to another customer about one of the domestic models and saw Olympias doing the automatic expressions close to the entrance. Margaret reached her and placed her finger right behind the ear and activated the interactive mode. 

“Hello Marge,” Olympias said with a pleasant smile, changing her expression to one of concern. “You look stressed.”

Margaret was surprised that Olympias said that, but again, she was extremely observant. Margaret then asked her a barrage of questions. Why was she so white? How did she charge?  Her mouth looked moist, did she need water or food? Did she go to the bathroom? Did she lubricate?

Olympias produced a pleasant smile and responded that those were very logical questions that needed answers and told her that they could select any skin pigmentation her future partner desired, plus they could change her nose, her hips, and her breasts. She emulated breathing, but got recharged with a mix of solar energy through her skin and consuming some special liquid that gave her lubrication, moisture, and an additional source of energy. Plus, in case of an emergency, she could place her hand on a charger and in an hour, she would be recharged. Olympias opened her hand and offered it. “Marge, what is your purpose?”

Marge held Olympias’s hand, feeling the softness.

“Purpose? I…don’t know. I am…”

Images flooded her head: bouncing on the shoulders of her father, her first kiss, being in love, a smile on her patient’s face. She paused, looking at Olympias’s wet eyes and told her about herself.

Olympias listened intently, blinking on occasion. Marge felt a strange sense of longing and desire, a tingling sensation going through her whole body. Olympias smiled and her pupils seemed to dilate, pulling Marge even more. The salesperson approached. Marge jerked her hand back.  

“Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” the salesman said. 

“No. I’m the one that’s sorry. Don’t apologize! Here I am conversing with Olympias and we can’t even afford her.”

“Olympias?”

“Oh. I’m so sorry again.”

“No. No. Look, we welcome interaction with the P models. Olympias? I like that name. It’s good for sales. Don’t feel bad. When we find them a home, they get a quick flash and their memories are back to zero.”

As she drove, all she could think about was what the salesman had said last – and it terrified her. 

Back to zero.  

When she arrived at her garage she hyperventilated. What had happened to her? She had friends, she had girlfriends as well, but somehow, she had never communicated at a deeper level than she had with that android. They, whoever created her, had put algorithms, programs, information, stuff that made her speak like an oracle, in metaphors, in sayings that sounded more like some Zen saying, yet so right on the money. But the reality was simple, even if she could find an excuse to get her, that she would handle the jobs of a domestic, they could not afford her. 

*

Margaret went to the store about once a week to check on Alfred. The service department would tell her that they were trying to locate one part, or that they were working on his hydraulics. It would be another couple of weeks tops before they would finish with him. As usual, on the way out, Margaret stopped and conversed with Olympias. Sometimes, Olympias would ask Margaret questions that left her thinking for days, like “Why do humans covet? What is happiness? Why do you feel sad?”

We want to feel relevant? Marge thought as she drove home, questioning some of her off-the-cuff answers. 

*

Margaret was growing exasperated, tired from work, every day she had to cook dinner, or get takeout, then clean up, and do the wash while Rick sat around and drank his beer, and then disappeared into the same report. Every time she asked for help, he would tell her that the report was driving him insane. Nothing was working. Nothing made sense. And the deeper he went the stranger the things he found, and if he issued a vote for a recall, their most important product would be off the market.  

One night, Margaret, feeling bloated and cranky, sat on a chair and relaxed going through a social tablet. Rick got home, looked around, and asked when would they have dinner. She fished inside her head for something that Olympias would say in one of her cryptic responses. “Nourishment is not only energy, it fills the soul.” She looked up at Rick, turning her head at an angle, smiled, then continued to peruse through the tablet.

Half an hour later Rick asked her again about dinner while holding his before-dinner beer in his hand.

“You have fingers. You have a voice. You have a phone. You can call and get us something. Why does it always have to be up to me?”

“You’re cranky, Marge. Take it easy. I will order something. Where do you usually order from?”

“Ahhhhh, I’ll call.”

She ordered the food. The food arrived. They ate. He pulled out his report and left for the den. She’d had it. 

“Rick, I can’t do this. Alfred is in the shop. The parts are back-ordered. You were going to tell me if we could get the domestic model and you have not said a thing. In the meantime, I do everything, clean, wash, cook, order food, pay the bills, while all you do is obsess over that report.”

“Things are bad. There are issues at work not adding up."

“But Rick, that is what you’ve always done. You bring work home, you’re not present and I am, I am nothing but your domestic model. This has to stop.”

A few hours later they went to bed. This time Rick touched her arm, then snuggled closer to her.  

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

He kissed her below the ear. She remembered that was the spot that turned Olympias on and off, fake expressions for the world to see, or interactive mode with intuitive theatre-like expressions, and deep, deep observations. 

“I’m exhausted. I have to get some shut-eye,” she responded.

Rick sighed, hugged her and pulled away. 

*

She called the shop and asked what was going on. What was taking so long?  She had to do all the cleaning, well, not all of it, but she had to tell Rick to help all the time as if he were some teenager. She constantly felt exhausted and cranky. Then a lightbulb went on in her head. She hadn’t had her period in, what? She was past due. That would be a catastrophe. Rick, a long time ago had unequivocally stated that he did not want to have kids. She wanted to call her mother, but her mother had passed away many years back. She wished she had brothers and sisters to talk to. She conversed on the phone with several of her friends but she could not get herself to even ask the questions. Am I pregnant? And what is Rick going to say?

*

Rick arrived home one afternoon drunk. His tie was askew. He opened a beer, sat on the couch, mumbled, and every now and then sang “fuck you,” into the air. 

Margaret heard him, was still pissed off at him. She had postponed telling Rick about the pregnancy. She had been folding laundry since she arrived from work and didn’t want to talk to him, or even console him. Whatever happened, he needed to grow up. 

He asked what was for dinner. She sat in front of him. Gave him an Olympias look and thought of something cryptic to respond, but nothing came out, so she just smiled.

“Fuck, I’ll order food," he said.

She smiled. 

He gave her a serious look, filled with anger. 

“I got laid off,” he said. “Really, fired. Artificial Intelligence, some fucking algorithm is going to do my fucking job. They think…Fuck them.”

Margaret’s eyes went wide.

“I’m pregnant,” she said. And it echoed in her head. Had she just said that? Could he believe her? Could he accept it? She had lied to him for the last few years when she stopped taking contraception and simply timed it. It was not like they were having a lot of sex, so it didn’t matter. But now, since Olympias, things had changed.  

“You’re what?” Rick said, staring into nowhere, turning his eyes, giving a quick look at Marge. 

“I’m sorry, I should have told you. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Rick's face contorted.

“Fuck me. What an idiot I am.”

“I am so sorry,” Margaret repeated. 

He took a deep breath and looked at Margaret first with suspicion, then with anger, then his expression softened. He caressed her arm, then pulled her close and hugged her. As they embraced, warm tears fell on her shoulder. They held tight but said nothing. There were no words. 

*

“Look, Ma’am. We are sorry. This is not company policy and because of that, we are not going to charge you anything. There are just too many parts that are no longer made or available.  So, we’re giving you back the Alfred unit. We are so sorry that we took so long. Here’s a coupon for thirty percent off on any unit you purchase from us. No questions asked. We want you to be happy.”

The clerk pulled out Alfred. He moved as before, the limp was still there, but he moved with integrity. To one side of the showroom, Olympias stood in her polka dot dress. Margaret approached her and pushed the button on her neck to activate her. 

“Hello, friend,” she said.

That felt odd and it was not Olympias’ voice. 

“Olympias, how are you doing?”

“That is a lovely name.”

The salesperson came to Margaret and tapped her on the shoulder. 

“Hey, Olympias is gone.”

Margaret looked at the salesperson, short of breath. She could not believe how much it bothered her.

“A family came. They even accepted her as Olympias and they bought her, I mean, they adopted her.”

“So she’s the Pleasure Model for some married dude?”

“No, she’s going to be the nanny to their children. I think you taught her so much they didn’t even want to erase her memory.”

Margaret smiled at the salesman. She offered her hand to Alfred. Alfred extended his metal fingers to Margaret and walked alongside her out of the store.