SEE WHAT THEY ARE SAYING...

Polly at Bitten By Books gives Love's Reflection a 4.5/5 rating: "Think Tracy and Hepburn...Grant and Rogers...Data and Tasha Yar. Then, add sexual tension that ratchets up with each page...revisits the romantic comedies of the 30s and 40s and does it with panache."

~*~

Crystal from My Reading Room gives Love's Reflection a 4.5/5.0: "This is a book that will stay with me for awhile. I loved the suspense angle and the romance, who will Cort choose? It's a wonderful book from start to finish."

EXCERPT

Chapter 1

“She looks real.”

“Of course, she does.” Dr. Cort Hirsch looked down on the balding head of his lab assistant, Robert Martin. The professor removed his eyeglasses and wiped the thick lenses with a corner of his lab coat. “I took great pains to make her anatomically correct.” He breathed deeply, replaced his glasses, and touched the edge of the table. The steel felt cold, lifeless, like his creation. And it felt hard, like the heart of the woman he loved. He peered through the glass dome covering the table. Soon I will know if I have given her life...such as it is.

Cort walked to a computer. His hands trembled slightly as he entered a code and watched the glass dome rise above the table to reveal a feminine figure. She looks peacefully asleep, so lifelike, he thought, so unlike the miles of wire, hundreds of chips, and myriad parts of steel and plastic I used to create her.

He almost smiled when he recalled agonizing for an entire evening over the style, size, and price of her clothing. Now she lay before him fashionably attired in a flower-print blouse and crisp, new jeans. To make certain she would look first-rate when activated, he took the jeans to the cleaners and had them press in center creases. Cort suppressed a nervous laugh when he noticed the toes of her white running shoes stuck straight up from the table and were three inches taller than her reclining body.

“She’s beautiful.” Robert bent over her face. “And ‘anatomically correct,’ you say. Does that mean she has everything a real woman has? Even ah...ah...you-know-what?”

“Yes, even a sexual organ.” Cort nodded briskly causing his pony tail to flap, hit him in the chin, then settle heavily on his right shoulder. He clenched his teeth, anticipating the likely next question from Robert and decided his reason for de-sexing the robot was something he would not share with his assistant, or with anyone else.

“Will it work?”

“Of course it will work. It’s fully functioning. But she won’t be using it.”

“Why not?”

“Because sex isn’t part of her programming. The word, the concept has been deleted from her database.”

Robert looked up, his obvious confusion showing on his face.  “Why’d you do that?”

Cort narrowed his eyes as he stared into Robert’s face. “Because I wanted to.”

“Okay.” Obviously not wanting to push the subject, Robert turned back to the robot. “So she’s almost the perfect woman.”

“She is perfect. Low-maintenance and programmed to do everything I say. She will gratefully cook and clean and be my secretary twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week because she doesn’t need sleep or food or expensive clothes and jewelry.” Cort raised his chin in the pompous way he did for his university students—good practice since his sabbatical would be over in only nine weeks and he’d become lax in expressing himself in academic ways. He looked at Robert beneath lowered lids. “I programmed ‘grateful’ into her.” Cort grabbed Robert’s skinny shoulder and squeezed.

“Ouch.” Robert’s eyes were moist with tears. “What’s that for?”

“You signed the nondisclosure agreement. I assume you’ve read it and know if you divulge anything about what you are about to see, you will be driven to the poor house and you will never again work in your chosen scientific field.”

“Yes, I understand. I had an attorney look it over before I signed it.” Robert wiggled his shoulder as if to toss off Cort’s grip. “You can let go now.”

“Not yet. There is one more consideration.” Cort squeezed harder.

“What’s that?” Robert’s eyes grew wider and drops of sweat appeared at the edge of his receding hairline.

“If you break our agreement, I will have to kill you. First, I will tear your head off your shoulders, then I will grind up your privates and feed them to the dogs.” Cort tightened his bicep until the arm of his lab coat looked about to split.

Robert dropped his hand to his crotch. “You’re kidding, aren’t you? I mean, you don’t have dogs, so you’re kidding.”

“I do not kid. I will buy dogs, big, vicious dogs.” Cort released Robert’s shoulder and pulled a transceiver from his pocket. He ran his thumb over the keys taking care not to apply pressure. Tremors of anticipation undulated up and down his backbone, an unwanted reaction for the man who prided himself on the ability to control his emotional responses. Emotion interfered with the optimal use of his intellect and diminished his physical strength. Calm down. Release the emotion, he told himself. Release the emotion. Cort took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

Robert turned away from the robot and toward the device in Cort’s hand. “What’s that?”

“It’s a transceiver with which I can activate and control the robot. I send commands and receive her operating information. Inside her is a transceiver so miniaturized that it is no larger than the vitamin pill you take every morning.”

“Thanks for reminding me.” Robert reached into a pocket on his lab coat, pulled out a pink pill, popped it into his mouth, and swallowed.

Cort waited until Robert’s Adam’s apple stopped bobbing. “She also has a GPS tracking and data logging system with remote downloading capabilities. I’ll know her every move, not that I’ll need to because she will never leave this facility. The farthest she will travel is upstairs to the observation deck for a recharge of her solar batteries.”

“She runs on sunlight?”

“That is just one of her energy sources. She contains a redundant, fail-safe system and is internally rechargeable.” And, he couldn’t tell Robert this, duplicates of all her parts and programs are stored in an area to which only I have access, and knowledge of. She is fail-safe. Cort sighed.

Robert reached out to the robot and stopped, then looked up at Cort. “Can I touch her?”

Touch her? Cort took off his eyeglasses and feigned interest in wiping them slowly with the corner of his lab coat. That was something he hadn’t considered—that others might touch Alpha. He fought back a shudder. Even the thought of anyone else touching her felt like a violation of their relationship. Until this very moment no one but he had ever touched her. He had let Robert fetch and carry materials for her creation and do grunt work, but she was covered with a sheet and the dome was down except when Cort was alone with her. She had belonged exclusively to him, but soon her existence, and his creative genius, would need to be announced to the world. He sighed. “Might as well. She has to get used to the dirty world.”

Robert looked startled. “But I washed before I came in here.”

“I didn’t mean you’re dirty, I meant ‘dirty’ as in any place but this ‘clean’ room and any touch but mine.” Cort waved his hand toward the robot. “Go ahead, touch her.”

Cort watched as Robert reached forward and pushed on her cheek with the tip of his finger. Cort flinched. That seemed a bit rough, he thought, and opened his mouth to protest but by then Robert had removed his finger.

“Cold, but soft.” Robert stroked her cheek and turned to Cort. “It feels just like a baby’s skin.”

“Yes, and it will never grow old. It’s taken me twelve years to perfect that artificial skin. I was a graduate student when I began. The skin is in two layers. The lower, dermis layer is constructed to be a type of scaffold for the upper layer, and the skin has a blood supply. Not real blood, of course. It’s a synthetic.” Cort caressed the robot’s forehead. “Developing her skin is one of the crowning achievements of my career.” He felt something, an unrecognizable emotion, for his creation. Interesting. Instead of pushing away the feeling, he allowed it to flow as he arranged the robot’s long, flaming red hair around her face and over the small white pillow supporting her neck. Is this, he wondered, how a pet owner feels about his dog or cat?

Robert bent over the robot. His gaze was directed at her face. “She looks kind of like that movie star—”

“Never mind that. It’s time, Robert. It’s time to initialize her.” Cort waved toward a computer. “I’ll program her via my transceiver and you will confirm the displayed commands.” Cort could easily see the giant computer monitor screen from any place in the room and needed Robert’s confirmation only to free himself so he could focus totally on the robot.

“Yes, sir.” Robert turned toward the monitor.

Cort pressed several keys on the transceiver. “Battery and solar energy levels—full.”

Robert pointed to a dial displayed on the monitor. “Roger.”

“Radio frequency transceiver—on.”

“Roger.”

Cort saw a graph display an undulating wave. He felt encouragement, then told himself it was far too early to be optimistic. On the graph, a second wave joined the first. The robot could now receive commands and send responses. He pressed several buttons on the transceiver. “GPS tracking and data logging—on.”

“Roger.”

Cort looked at the monitor and read a stream of ones and zeros. So far, so good. Again he told himself it was too early to feel optimism.

“Three-D and sonar vision system—on.”

“Roger.”

Cort saw the robot’s eyes open, and turned to the monitor. A grid appeared on the screen. It showed a view of the raised glass dome and ceiling above. Cort’s heart thumped. She can see. He felt transfixed by the vision grid. My robot and I are seeing identical images. We are in communion.

Robert turned toward Cort. “Sir, do you have other commands?”

“Yes. Sorry for the delay. I was deciding on a sequence.” Cort pressed several buttons. “Object recognition and avoidance technology—on.”

“Roger.”

“Olfactory and chemical sensory simulation—on.” Cort did not have great expectations for the success of this component of his robot. He had lined her nose with sensors designed to identify odor components on the fly, but smell was perhaps the most difficult of the human senses to emulate and was necessary to having a sense of taste. Thus far, thought Cort, artificial olfactory technology has been primitive. If Alpha is able to actually smell, it will be one of my finest accomplishments.

“Roger.”

“Breathing simulator—on.” This system would cause her diaphragm to rise and fall with an oxygen intake and output through her nose. It had no purpose except deception. It was there to make Alpha appear human.

“Roger.”

“Pump—on.” The pump was a copy of a human heart and caused artificial blood to course through artificial veins and arteries. In addition to being deceptive, the pumping system had a practical use: It cleansed her entire system.

“Roger.”

Cort pressed his index and middle fingers against Alpha’s neck. Yes, there was a pulse. He laid the transceiver on the lab table and with the other hand he pressed his index and middle fingers against his neck. My God, we’re beating in sync. Amazing coincidence. He began counting the beats in their pulses. One...two...three—

“Sir, do you have more commands for me?”

Cort picked up the transceiver. “Sorry, Robert. I was lost in thought. Audio-video modulator—on.”

“Roger.”

Cort heard what seemed to be an echo, but was actually the robot’s audio. She could now hear and coordinate sound with vision. He decreased the volume. “Recorder—on.”

“Roger.”

I won’t know if the next five functions are working correctly until I have observed her in the field, Cort thought, then pressed another button on the transceiver. “Emotional memory response—on.”

“Roger.”

Cort watched a blinking red light become a steady green light. “Sensory memory response—on.”

“Roger.”

“Behavioral conditioning—on.”

“Roger.”

“Internally directed movement—on.”

“Roger.”

The next function was akin to free will in a human. Her ability to use it was a long shot at best. Cort told himself to reserve judgment. He took a deep breath and said, “Artificial intelligence with deductive reasoning module—on.”

“Roger.”

Cort hesitated before entering the ultimate command into the transceiver. This was the command that would expose his success or failure. This was the command that would synchronize all the robot’s separate systems. This command would reveal the value of devoting himself to twelve years of near solitary existence, the wisdom of spending a large portion of his inheritance, the viability of his plans to develop and market a race of service robots. When he became rich and famous, Zoe Parker would rue the day she turned him down.

He pressed the key. “Robot—on.”

“Roger. Looks like all systems are go, sir.” Robert left the computer and stood next to Cort.

The robot’s eyelids flickered, closed, and re-opened. Her face animated, softened, smiled. She looked directly at Cort. “Hello, my name is ‘Alpha.’”

Cort stared at her face and allowed himself to feel some excitement. She is perfect. The eyes are polished amber with fossil deposits perfectly emulating the pupils in human eyes. They are worth the years of searching for just the right stones. The ivory skin is soft and luminous. The lips are sensually full with their synthetic nerve endings poised on throbbing. The cheekbones are high-set and perfectly symmetrical. The hair is a fiery, passionate red. I have recreated Zoe Parker, to delight my eyes, to forever serve me. Thrice Cort had to tell himself to release the emotion before he allowed himself to speak, “Hello Alpha, my name is ‘Cort. Cort Hirsch.’”

“Cort Hirsch.” The robot paused. “Dr. Cort Hirsch; six feet, four inches; muscular build; one hundred ninety pounds; blond hair, straight, thick, long; ice-blue eyes; broad forehead; jaw-line strong.”

Cort noticed Alpha’s eyes took on a faraway, almost sweet look while she was searching her database for his description. He found her innocence kind of sexy and it made her seem deceptively human. “Very good, Alpha.” He placed himself directly in her line of sight. “Is there anything more you would like to say about me?”

The robot became still. Her amber eyes rolled upward until the pupils disappeared behind eyelids. Hmmm. I’ll have to fix that. Can’t have her eyeballs rolling around. He held his breath wondering what was going on inside his robot. Her eyes repositioned.

“Hello, Cort. I am grateful to you for creating me.”

Whew. Obviously her emotional memory response programming kicked in and simulated thankful appreciation and obedience. And her voice is perfect. The audio simulator had recreated Zoe’s voice from the recordings in Alpha’s database. “Thank you, Z—, Alpha.” For a moment he felt as if he was looking into Zoe’s eyes. Of all the women who rejected him in high school and college, and later, of all the women who preferred jocks to a nerd with thick glasses, she had hurt him the most.

Zoe Parker’s rejection was public. They met at a “People in the News” award dinner. He received the “Scientist of the Year” award and Zoe won “Entertainer of the Year.” He came to her table to offer congratulations. She looked him up and down and turned away without a word. He would have been less hurt had she said, “Go to hell” or “Get lost, buster.” Instead she treated him as not even good enough to merit a response from her famous vocal cords. It was because of her rejection that he decided to create the robot in Zoe’s image. But that was all in the past. Now he was the rejecter by denying his creation, Zoe’s twin, her sexuality. “Alpha, can you sit up?”

Alpha lifted the upper half of her body, twisted to the side, and dropped her legs off the edge of the table. “Yes, I can sit up.”

“Good. That was a very smooth movement. The math is correct—at least that related to sitting.” Cort held out his hand. “Extend your left arm and shake my hand with your left hand.”

Alpha obeyed Cort’s command.

“Good, it moved well. Now let go of my hand, extend your right arm and shake my hand with your right hand.” Not good, he thought. The elbow is extending in increments instead of in a smooth motion.

“Sir, her elbow looks broken,” Robert said.

“Yes, I see that the right elbow has a slight jerkiness. I’ll fix that. And her eyeballs,” he added. Cort ran to the computer and punched in some code. Then, using the remote transceiver, he rotated her right elbow and moved her eyes. “Good. No, better than good. She is perfect.” He turned to Robert who looked wide-eyed and slack-jawed and was totally silent. My assistant is impressed, as he should be, thought Cort. “What do you think?”

“I’m amazed. She is everything you told me she would be, and more. If I didn’t know she’s a robot, I’d think she was a human being.” Robert shook his head.

Alpha’s eyes moved. “Robot. Human being.”

Cort nodded and looked at Alpha. “Yes, Alpha. Robot. Human being.” He turned to Robert. “She can learn by mimicking. She repeated your words; that’s a beginning. And there’s more, much more. She’s programmed to question and use deductive reasoning to make decisions. Her database contains a dictionary, encyclopedia, literature, textbooks, cookbooks, magazines, catalogs, recordings of television programs and films, emotional memories. It would take a human being many lifetimes to absorb all the knowledge she contains. Of course, I have edited the material to make certain she fulfills the purpose for which she was created—to be my service robot and the mother of a race of service robots.”

“Sir, thank you for letting me observe this momentous event,” Robert said, his gaze never leaving Alpha’s direction as his sweaty, balding head bobbed up and down.

“That it is, a momentous event, and it is being filmed by the overhead surveillance cameras.” Cort frowned. “Perhaps, I should be taking some close-ups. My camcorder is upstairs. I’ll get it.” He looked directly at his robot. “Alpha, don’t move.”

“Yes,” she replied. “You are going to the second floor of Taurus. The facility is built within a secluded California foothill. Only the observation deck and its solar-system-scanning telescope are above ground level. Access to the below-ground floors is through a hidden elevator and protected by electronic surveillance and recognition devices. Dr. Hirsch controls the codes that permit or deny entry. His living quarters are on the first below-ground floor. The laboratory is on the second floor, storage on the third, and—” The robot stopped in mid-sentence. “And there are only three floors below ground. Presently, we are in the laboratory on the second floor. Is this correct?”

Cort nodded. “Yes, your database contains the correct information. Thank you for the tour, Alpha.” He turned toward the door. “I’ll return shortly.”

~*~

The door had hardly closed behind Cort when Robert approached Alpha. She observed him circling the steel table where she sat and read his emotional energy waves. He was not a threat. Alpha turned her attention away from Robert. “Don’t move,” she said and scanned her database. “Move...To change the place or position of.” She moved her arm and wiggled her fingers. “Move.”

Robert grinned at Alpha. “So you got the ‘move’ part, but not the ‘don’t’ part. You’re more a self-directed female than Cort realizes.”

“I am female?” Alpha scanned her database. “Female.... The basic term applied to members of the gender that is biologically distinguished from the male gender. Who are you?” she asked.

“I’m Robert, Robert Martin. I help Cort in the laboratory. And it’s polite to face someone when you’re speaking to them.”

“Yes.” Alpha turned in the direction of Robert’s voice. Her object recognition system recorded his image: five foot, eight inches; One hundred thirty-five pounds; slender build; dark brown hair; receding hairline; hazel eyes; thin face. She added his name to the file. “Are you female?”

“No, I’m male.”

“Is my creator female?”

“No, Cort’s a male too.”

“A male is the basic term applied to members of the gender that is biologically distinguished from the female gender.”

“Yeah, you’ve got it.” Robert nodded his head and smiled. “You even sound like Cort.”

“No, I do not sound like Cort. Our voice modulation is not the same.”

Robert threw his head back and laughed. “You just did it again. You sound like Cort. No, not sound like. You express yourself just like Cort. Yes, that’s it. You express yourself just like—” Robert looked away and mumbled. “What am I doing trying to explain myself to a robot?” He shook his head.

The word “robot” triggered Alpha’s database. She received a reminder about a note she had recorded earlier: Scan for “human being.” Scan for “robot.” She scanned. Human being...Of, belonging to, or typical of mankind, the human race. Robot...Any manlike mechanical being; built to do manual work for human beings.

Robert turned back to Alpha. “Sorry about that, Alpha. That was impolite of me.”

“Yes, you are impolite.” She zoomed her vision and studied Robert. She zoomed back and forth at resolutions so high she could count the pores on his nose. She directed her vision at her hand and found she also had pores. Alpha looked up. “Is Robert a human being? Or are you a robot?”

“I’m a human being.”

“Is Cort a human being?”

“Yes he is.”

“Is Alpha a human being?” She watched Robert drop his head and appear to be studying the floor. She analyzed the materials in the floor: white contamination-control, slip-resistant epoxy coating over preformed concrete. A typical installation. She did not know why Robert was staring at the floor. She scanned him. Scan results: The subject shows confusion and embarrassment. Alpha recorded Robert’s lack of response to her question, and timed him. It took a full half-minute before he answered.

“No, Alpha, you’re a robot.”

“I am a mechanical being built to perform manual work for humans?”

Robert again looked at the floor. “You should ask Cort questions like that, not me.”

Alpha recorded a note to ask Cort questions about herself.

~*~

Hiss. Hiss. Cort paused at the entrance to the lab and waited while electronic recognition scanners examined him. The door opened. He walked to the table where Alpha sat, then turned toward Robert. “I have the camcorder. Did anything happen while I was gone?”

Robert’s face was expressionless. “Nothing.”

Cort turned his attention to the robot. “Alpha, I grant you permission to move as required. Stand, Alpha.”

Alpha created the movements related to standing.

“Wow...” Robert let out a long, low whistle. “She’s got perfect proportions.” He grinned. “Bet you had fun molding her.”

Cort scowled. “That’s crude, Robert. In the interest of science, and for no other reason, I created a perfect feminine form.” His eyesight blurred as he said in a hoarse whisper, “The Turing Test, I want her to pass the Turing Test.” This was his goal. No, his passion since the moment Alpha was conceived in his mind. It was his driving force for the past twelve years. All else was transitory. Alpha and the developments in robotics she represented were forever.

“The Turing Test?” There was a hint of disbelief in Robert’s tone.

Robert’s tone annoyed Cort. Of course, his robot would ultimately pass the Turing Test. That goal, that belief had carried the scientist through twelve years of hardship and he could not let a mere assistant shake his confidence. He clenched his jaw, then responded to Robert’s skepticism. “Yes, Robert. The great Alan Turing set forth the condition to prove artificial intelligence. He said, ‘If the machine could successfully pretend to be human to a knowledgeable observer, then you certainly should consider it intelligent.’ My robot will pass the Turing Test.”

“Yes, sir. If you say so, sir.” Robert still didn’t look convinced. “Okay, so she’ll pass the Turing Test, but aren’t you worried she might run amuck and hurt someone? I mean, it’s not like she’s got moral values or religion.”

“But she does have moral values. I programmed them myself at the same time I added Isaac Asimov’s Three Laws of Robotics to her database. She is programmed to never hurt a human being. In fact, she would sacrifice herself to protect a human.”

Robert’s head bobbed up and down. “I feel better knowing that, sir. I’m sorry for having doubted your efficiency.” He dropped his head in a contrite pose.

“Forget it, Robert. It was a natural concern.” Cort waved his hand at Alpha. “Move forward three steps.”

Alpha took three steps forward.

Cort slowly circled his robot. “What do you think, Robert, could she pass for human? I mean pass physically for a human? Take a look.” He stepped out of the way.

Robert walked around Alpha. “Yeah, she looks like a human, but....” He stopped at the front of the robot. “Sir, I don’t mean to criticize. Her clothes don’t fit right. The blouse is too tight and her breasts are half exposed. Not that I mind looking at them myself, but if an outsider came to the observation tower and saw her recharging her solar batteries they might get the wrong idea.... If you know what I mean. How about we take her to DeepDiscount and get her some clothes that fit?”

Cort studied Alpha’s chest while considering Robert’s comments. Far too much cleavage was showing. “You are correct in your observations. We don’t want to arouse any questions. Not yet. We need to complete the testing cycle before we announce to the press.”

“The jeans are too big. They’re ready to fall off,” Robert pointed at Alpha’s legs. “And it’s not cool to have center creases in your jeans. Where did you get them?”

Cort felt his cheeks burn. How was he supposed to know what was “cool”? He hardly ever went out and when he did, it was not with the cool crowd. He socialized with persons like himself: scientists, intellectuals. “I shopped for her clothes on the Internet. I don’t know anything about women’s sizes so I guessed.”

“Internet,” said Alpha. “An extensive computer network made up of thousands of other, smaller business, academic, and governmental networks connected through phone lines, cables, or wireless devices. My wireless is off.” Alpha’s voice volume dropped. “My wireless—on.”

Robert does have a valid point about her attire. Cort started to turn toward Robert, and realized he was being rude to Alpha and hadn’t paid much attention to what she said. Oh, I must acknowledge her comment or she will learn that her observations are not important. “Very good, Alpha. You are scanning well.” He turned toward Robert. “You were saying?”

“With all due respect, sir.” Robert dropped his head in that submissive posture Cort hated. It meant he disagreed with his boss. “You don’t know much about style either. The blouse is ugly. It’s so bright, I feel like putting my sunglasses on. And her shoes are so big, you could fit in them. I’m afraid she’ll trip when she tries to walk farther than a few steps. Maybe you should take her shopping so she can try on clothes before you buy them. There’s a DeepDiscount store nearby and their stuff doesn’t cost a lot.”

Cort studied Alpha, took a deep breath, and nodded. “Yes, yes, you are correct in your observations. I don’t know anything about women’s shoes so I bought her men’s shoes. Running shoes all look the same. I didn’t realize they’re sized differently.” He removed his eyeglasses and wiped the lenses on his lab coat. “It is too soon to take her shopping. For now she can wear one of my shirts.” Cort replaced his eyeglasses, faced the robot, and pointed at her feet. “Alpha, remove the shoes.”

She lifted her right leg, pointed her toes to the floor, and the shoe fell off. She repeated the process with the left leg and produced the same result. “They are off,” she said.

What a dilemma, thought Cort as he picked up the shoes and slid them under the lab table. She’s not even real, hasn’t been turned on for more than an hour, and is already creating a typical female problem. I have heard it all before—she has nothing to wear.

~*~

“I have nothing to wear to the studio.” Zoe Parker walked through her bedroom, stopping to sniff the vase of red roses on her dresser. One bloom in the center of the bouquet caught her eye. “Lucille,” she yelled, and removed the rose from the bunch.

“Yes, Miss Parker.”

“Oh,” said Zoe, startled by the quick response of her maid. Lucille must have been following behind, but the woman was so short and nondescript it was easy to overlook her. Zoe turned. “Did you bring in the roses?”

“Yes, Miss Parker.” Lucille nodded.

“Lucille, what color is my hair?”

A crease appeared in the maid’s forehead. “Red, Miss Parker.”

Zoe held the rose against her hair. “And what color is this rose?”

Lucille’s hand flew to her mouth. Her shoulders slumped. “Oh, it’s orange. I’m so sorry, Miss Parker. I don’t know how I missed it.”

“Lucille, you are—” Zoe stopped herself in mid-sentence. Should she fire Lucille? She’d fired maids for less, but Lucille took good care of her wardrobe. Besides, the black-haired, pale-faced maid coordinated with the color scheme and was attractive enough not to offend Zoe’s eyes but not so pretty that she could offer competition. Zoe decided to give Lucille a second chance.

“Yes, Miss Parker.” Lucille’s eyes and mouth were wide open.

It pleased Zoe to see the fear-stricken look on her maid’s face. She smiled and arched an eyebrow. “We’ll go through this once more, Lucille. I expect you to remember and make no more mistakes. Everything in my house is black or white except the roses are red and must match my hair color. Oh, and I allow an occasional accent of silver, solid sterling silver, never plate. There is only one item in my entire house that breaks the rules: my gold Oscar.”

“Yes, Miss Parker.” Lucille nodded. “I promise to remember.” She nodded again.

“Those rules apply to my wardrobe too.” The reasoning behind the rules was that people should be attracted by her face and body, not by the color of her clothing, but she couldn’t tell her maid that. “Everything in my entire wardrobe is either black or white. The only color is the red of my hair.” Zoe tossed her head to fluff her red curls and emphasize her statement. “And the silver for my home is replaced by platinum and diamonds on my body.” She held out her right hand and moved it so the diamonds caught light and sent out blue-white flashes that reminded her of the Fourth of July sparklers she had as a child.

“Yes, Miss Parker, I do remember that.”

“Good. Now go on and finish whatever you were doing, then meet me in the closet in five minutes.”

Lucille looked at her watch. “Yes, Miss Parker.”

After Lucille left the bedroom, Zoe entered the closet, her “dark womb,” the one place where she could truly relax. So far, the morning had been difficult, which was usually the case when Frank negotiated her next film. Her gaze caressed the black cabinets hugging the walls from floor to ceiling and corner to corner. She felt tension flow off her forehead, her neck, her shoulders as she more deeply penetrated the dark womb.

Zoe paced through the closet, stopping now and again to slide open a door, tug a sleeve, and tap her foot in dismissal. Soon she felt Lucille’s presence at her back and turned. “Lucille, I have nothing suitable to wear to the studio.” Zoe caressed the silk robe clinging to her body. “I certainly can’t wear this.” She smiled at her little joke and looked at Lucille.

Lucille laughed.

“And I’ve already worn everything once.” Zoe noticed the price tag hanging from a black satin blouse. “Umm...almost everything.” Zoe expressed a deep sigh, turned to a floor-to-ceiling shoe cabinet, and pulled a pair of white sandals from a glass drawer. “What was I thinking? These heels are too low.” She dropped the shoes and heard two carpet-muffled thuds when they hit the floor.

Lucille retrieved the shoes and replaced them in the drawer.

“I must shop.” Zoe sucked a strand of hair that had fallen across her face, released the strand, tossed her head, and slid into the nearby chaise lounge. She closed her eyes and stroked the silken white fabric of the chaise. No one understands how hard it is to maintain my image. I can never relax. I have to always look my best. Sometimes I feel like running away to a place where I can wear jeans and go without makeup. Zoe sighed. But if there was no makeup, there probably wouldn’t be any plastic surgeons either. What an ugly life that would be. Zoe straightened her shoulders and opened her eyes. She saw Lucille standing at attention at the foot of the chaise. “Tell Frank I want him here—now.”

~*~

Soon Frank was in the closet and standing dutifully at the foot of Zoe’s recliner. “Lucille said you want to shop?”

“Yes, today. Phone Claudia’s and tell her to close the shop.” Zoe crossed her legs revealing a bit more thigh. She loved to tease “Old Fatso.” Before noon and already his cheeks and nose were red. He was drinking earlier and earlier each day. Why she kept him on as her business manager was a mystery, even to herself.

“What time?” Frank raised his knit shirt and removed the cell phone from his belt, revealing a flabby white belly dotted with short black hairs. Actually, he had more hair on his belly than he did on his head.

Disgusting, she thought, and felt her stomach lurch, but answered in a composed voice, “Three.” There were more benefits than money and fame to being an actress. Obedience by underlings was important too. She smiled at Frank.

“You have a dinner date tonight with that new actor the studio is pushing. That’s at nine. Will three to six, six-thirty be enough time?”

“Yes, I just need to find something to wear to the studio for the contract signing. Certainly it won’t take you more than a day or two to convince them to agree to the increase.”

“Give me until the end of this week to set it up. You want thirty-percent more. That’ll take a lot of convincing.” Frank paused. “We know you’re worth it, and they know you’re worth it. They’re just cheap.” Frank pressed speed dial and put the phone to his ear. “Miss Claudia, please. Frank Lanconni for Miss Parker.”

Zoe rose from the chaise and walked to the sportswear section of her closet, opened a glass door, and rummaged around. She pretended to be concentrating on selecting something to wear but was listening intently to Frank’s conversation.

“Hello, Claudia. Yeah, Frank Lanconni. How are you? That’s good. Me too. Hey, I just called to make arrangements for this afternoon. Miss Parker wants to shop. She’ll need you to close the store to other clients from two-thirty to seven.” There was a lengthy pause in Frank’s conversation. “No, she can’t come tomorrow. She wants to come today.”

Zoe turned to her business manager and put her hands on her hips. “Frank...”

He looked at Zoe, then at his feet. “Claudia, I understand your problem, but you need to reschedule your appointment with Victoria. Hell, she hasn’t even been nominated for an Oscar, much less won one. And need I remind you that Miss Parker spent a half-million in your store last year. How much did Victoria spend with you?” After a short pause, Frank looked at Zoe and nodded.

Zoe smiled. That bitch, Claudia, she thought, was going to turn me down because Victoria had an appointment. I just might take my business elsewhere...but not today.

“I thought you’d reconsider. Miss Parker will be there around two-thirty.” Frank ended the call and hung the cell phone on his belt.

“Tell Thomas I’ll be taking the limo, and tell Lucille to come here and help me dress.”

“I’m here, Miss Parker.” Lucille’s head peered out from behind Frank.

~*~

Zoe leaned back in the limo seat and smoothed the waistline of her halter top. Lucille was right: today was a good day for wearing white. Black would have been depressing. She stretched out her legs and looked through the limo’s tinted window at the shops on Rodeo Drive. “Frank, when did you tell Claudia we’d be there?” She glanced at her watch.

“Two-thirty.”

“It’s three-five now. Tell Thomas to pull over. I don’t want to arrive until at least three-fifteen.” She watched Frank speak into the intercom connecting him to her driver. The limo turned onto Santa Monica Boulevard, drove several blocks, and made a couple of turns.

Zoe heard the familiar thump, thump of their tires on a cobblestone section of Rodeo Drive and knew they would soon be at Claudia’s. She looked at her watch, three-fifteen, covered her head with a silk scarf, and put on sunglasses.

At exactly three-seventeen, Zoe stepped out of her limo and walked under the canvas awning marking the entrance to Claudia’s, the most prestigious shop on the Drive. She struck a pose and waited. Usually she could count on a few paparazzi hanging around hoping for a shot of a star. Thomas was already out of the limo and standing guard behind her. Frank was slowly getting out of the limo and, as he always did, giving her a chance to be seen and recognized.

Zoe noticed a crowd of tourists walking toward them. She shook her head slightly, just enough to cause the silk scarf to slide off her head and reveal her signature red curls.

“Look,” screamed a touristy-looking woman, “It’s Zoe Parker.”

My fans are so loyal. Seeing me will be the biggest event of their vacations, maybe even of their lives, she thought as the crowd rushed forward and encircled her, taking photos with their disposable cameras, and begging her to autograph everything from guide books to the shirts on their backs. Zoe signed autographs and basked in the adoration of her fans.

Thump. Thump.

Thump. Thump. Zoe’s awareness was captured by the sound of tires on the cobblestone street. With a collective gasp, the crowd dispersed. Zoe turned. A car was coming straight at her. “Eeek.” She froze.

Crunch. She felt Thomas’s gorilla-strong arms wrap around her and carry her to safety. Her heart was pounding. Her body went limp in Thomas’s protective embrace.

Crash. She heard the car hit Claudia’s. The side of her face was held firmly against Thomas’s chest. Zoe saw shards of glass fly through the air and knew some were hitting Thomas as he shielded her. Thomas carried her to the limo and gently deposited her in the back seat. As soon as Frank was also in the limo, they sped away.