Better Living through GRAVY and Other Oddities
By
Isa-Lee Wolf
Copyright 2013 by I.L. Wolf
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, place or organization, is purely coincidental and/or fictional.
CONTENTS
Mother’s Little Helper
In with the Old
Better Living Through GRAVY
The Guild of Imaginary Animals
Taken for Granite
A Hole in the Clouds
That’s One Way to Get into a Novel
Books by Isa-Lee Wolf
Acknowledgements
Credits
Mother's Little Helper
"It's just that I'm so tired," she said, sinking onto the sleek white sofa.
It didn't give.
"We understand," said the woman, looking as though she was programmed for sympathy, "we get this a lot."
"Really? Umm--" she said.
"Ida," said the woman. "You can call me Aunty Ida, if you want."
"I don't think so," said Birdie, shaking her head in a tight little motion. "You're a bit young to be called 'Aunty,' don't you think?"
Ida shrugged. "It's up to you. You were saying?"
She hesitated, taking another squinted look at the woman's unlined face. "Aunty?"
"Please continue," said Ida.
"It's only that I'm feeling so--"
"Guilty," the woman said. "You are far from the first."
"It's not what you think of when you think of it," she said. She adjusted herself on the cushions, but didn't get any more comfortable. "If you know what I mean."
"You don't have to be nervous," said Ida, and for a moment when she smiled, Birdie could see through her, the plain white pillar behind her adding depth to the middle of her face.
"Maybe I should go." Birdie pushed against the firmness of the seat to stand up. The woman's expression didn't change.
"That's your choice," she said. She stayed where she was.
"Excuse me," Birdie said. Ida was uncomfortably close, nearly nose-to-nose with her.
"Excuse you?" she said. "For what?"
"I need to get past," said Birdie.
"You do realize I'm entirely holographic?" she said.
"Oh, yes, right," Birdie said, stepping through her.
"It's your choice to leave," said Ida, her projected back now toward Birdie, and Birdie found herself staring at her hair, "but if you do, it's the same grind. The dishes and the clearing up, the corralling toys and children, breakfasts and lunches and dinners to fix, work, the children's activities and then back home again for more dishes and more housework until you fall back into bed, utterly empty, hoping to recharge enough to get you through the next day."
Birdie didn't say anything, but she didn't move, either.
"Or..." said the woman.
"Or," said Birdie.
"Your decision."
"And you say that it's worked before?"
"More or less," she said.
"More or less?"
"Generally speaking, we come out on the 'more' side."
"And you say they won't know?"
"You didn't, did you?"
"No," said Birdie, "I guess not."
"Only a quick shot in the arm."
"So to speak," Birdie said.
The woman may have taken the second to smile, it was hard to tell from the back. "So to speak," she said.
"Ok. All right, yes, I'll do it."
Ida rotated without turning at all, and this time Birdie could see her smile. "I was sure you would," she said. She flickered, then disappeared, then reappeared ten feet down the hall. "Are you coming?"
"Right." Birdie didn't move, and then followed the woman's strange reappearance hopping along the corridor.
"Sorry for the broken feed," she said, "we can only get projection at the sensor points right now. We're working on continuous projection--"
"That's not going to affect me, is it?" she asked quickly, before Ida could disappear again.
"Don't worry, I can still hear you. As I told you, it's only the image, not the connection."
"But why can't you be here in person?"
Ida stopped abruptly and turned to Birdie. "I'd rather not go into that," she said. "Here we are." Her see-though arm swept into the expanse of the sterile room, her wrist and hand slicing through the door frame.
"So now?"
"You go inside and wait. We'll take a sample--"
"The shot in the arm."
She smiled. "Exactly. And then you sit in the room until..."
"Until?"
"Until we're finished," she said. "Really, you don't have to worry. It doesn't make you a bad mother. A lot of women are overwhelmed."
"I know," she said without much confidence. She settled herself on the exam table, which was more comfortable than the waiting room sofa. "And we'll be done?"
"Before you know it," the woman said. With a pop, she was gone.
Birdie swung her feet and thought about what she was doing there. Her friend, Jessica swore by it.
"It's like being at a spa for a few hours, and then, suddenly, you can do five times the stuff in half the time," she said.
She looked around at the clean gloss of the examination room and decided that maybe Jessica had exaggerated about the spa part. Then again, she had five kids, so a trip to the supermarket without them was a lot like a spa.
It was nice and quiet in there, though. Very quiet. And the temperature was so comfy. The exam table wasn't bad if she put her feet up on it, and rested her eyes, for only a minute.
"So we're done."
Birdie jumped upright, wiping the drool from her cheek. "Did I fall asleep?" she said.
"It happens. Genera here," the woman indicated a smallish person with indeterminate features, "has it for you."
"Here," said Genera in a voice that made Birdie decide she was a her. She handed her a small orange box.
"This is it?"
"That's it," said Ida. "Use that, and you can be in several places at the same time."
"Really?"
"I told you."
"And the side effects?"
"As we discussed, you'll likely suffer memory loss, disjointed thinking, random growths of blue hair-"
"Blue hair?"
"The depilatory is in the bag. Genera, give her the bag." Genera complied, giving her the shiny silver bag by the handles. "Where was I?"
"Blue hair," said Birdie, now slightly more pale.
"Right, methodical growths of hot-pink hair--that's a different depilatory, under no circumstances should you get them confused--confusion, loss and gain of appetite, and, of course, obviously, death. Ok?"
"Those are serious."
"Yes," Ida said, her eyes clear and steady, "they are."
"But I'll be able to finish my to-do list?"
"Eighty-six percent of our clients do."
"Eighty-six percent?"
"Well, the death, confusion and disjointed thinking can muck up our numbers."
Birdie eyed the box, shifted it around in her hands.
"Uh-uh," the woman said sharply. "Not upside-down. Not ever upside down."
"Why?"
"You could end up in no places at any time."
"No, I wouldn't want that. Eighty-six percent, you said?"
"We do have a ninety-five percent increase in sleep. We can factor out the confusion for that, it really boosts the stats."
"Wait, what?"
"Our clients have a ninety-five percent increase in sleep. Of course, that does include the smal
l, but unfortunately not statistically insignificant, number of people who don't stop sleeping--"
"Say no more," said Birdie. "I'll take it.
In with the Old
"It's nothing personal," she said as kindly as she could muster, "it's just time."
"But I'm not nearly as used up as they said I would be," the other one said, "not nearly at all. I'm not wrinkly, or old - I'm kind of in prime time." She gave herself an once-over, careful not to break her bond with the contraption behind her.
"Unfortunately, we really need the machine." She sighed and tapped her pen on her clipboard. "We only have a few more hours."
"We?" said the woman in the machine. "We only have a few more hours? You're going to install that thing," she gestured with her head toward the giggling baby making faces at the man in the white coat at the other end of the room, "and go on with your routine. You think don’t have it down by now? Daily dial turnings, just one click. Then you, with that pretend-serious look, yanking that lever. You think I didn't notice you enjoy those lever pulls? Well I did. And you do."
"Now come on, Wanda, there's no need to be this way. You can go out with dignity." She shot a look across the room to her coworker. He was too enthralled with the baby to get her message for a little help.
"What am I supposed to do now? I was huge, I was everything.”
“You’re sounding like a bad movie.”
“They don't tell you what you're supposed to do when it's over." She relaxed her grip on the copper handles inside her chamber, her visible gears going slightly slack down her arm toward her shoulder, the teeth just a bit looser. The worker took that as a good sign.