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May. 7th, 2017 01:02 am"We make and sell women now." "What?"
It was the right kind of dark on the factory floor for the glints on the black silk cover to ripple like a starry night in a pond - something probably calculated. Probably a lone man casually inviting a lone man in at night as though to see a prototype was itself a marketing decision. Probably I wasn't the first or the hundred and first. Likely this would be as overwell-pitched to my precise, inane, predictable desires as my own daydreams and would prove just as dissatisfying, just as much a goad to wandering the streets yet again to be salespitched by strangers.
But I liked her. She was entirely ordinary but comfortably looking straight at me. That's all that it took. We shook hands and spoke a bit about ourselves and the hours flew by. I at last excused myself to find the bathroom, deliberately starting out in the wrong direction so as to have an excuse to glance behind her to see if maybe there were wires. There were. Many wires, thick wires, doubled, braided, diverging and spreading outward like fir needle sprays, like roads into cities, like high pressure showers. They'd been painted the shade of the floor - I could see now the need for the dark - but further back joined, and blended in, with furniture, with walls and windows, with the parking lot behind the factory, with its ceiling. Everything was painted wires. Everything converged on her. She noticed me noticing something but smiled and pointed at a men's room sign back near the entrance.
The men's room was part of the mesh of wires, the curtain maze. A men's room made of woman, I thought, bemused. I just washed my hands. The water fell like wires, dried like loops of wire unspooling into air at the touch of paper sheets of compressed, fine lengths of wiry-looking fibers. This was unsettling.
She hugged me when I returned and I gave over my life savings and married her. I received the exact figure back in a money order a week later. Apparently proof of my willingness to part with it was all the company had required. My wife seemed as surprised as I was. It was almost shocking how little they'd told her. If it weren't for the amount of attention she paid to her hair I'd have thought her not even aware of her world's worth of wire. When she brushed it before sunrise it would spark just like that cover had. A cover they washed every day, no doubt, in order to dupe the next male they'd judged fit for a part in this incomprehensible scheme.
It was the right kind of dark on the factory floor for the glints on the black silk cover to ripple like a starry night in a pond - something probably calculated. Probably a lone man casually inviting a lone man in at night as though to see a prototype was itself a marketing decision. Probably I wasn't the first or the hundred and first. Likely this would be as overwell-pitched to my precise, inane, predictable desires as my own daydreams and would prove just as dissatisfying, just as much a goad to wandering the streets yet again to be salespitched by strangers.
But I liked her. She was entirely ordinary but comfortably looking straight at me. That's all that it took. We shook hands and spoke a bit about ourselves and the hours flew by. I at last excused myself to find the bathroom, deliberately starting out in the wrong direction so as to have an excuse to glance behind her to see if maybe there were wires. There were. Many wires, thick wires, doubled, braided, diverging and spreading outward like fir needle sprays, like roads into cities, like high pressure showers. They'd been painted the shade of the floor - I could see now the need for the dark - but further back joined, and blended in, with furniture, with walls and windows, with the parking lot behind the factory, with its ceiling. Everything was painted wires. Everything converged on her. She noticed me noticing something but smiled and pointed at a men's room sign back near the entrance.
The men's room was part of the mesh of wires, the curtain maze. A men's room made of woman, I thought, bemused. I just washed my hands. The water fell like wires, dried like loops of wire unspooling into air at the touch of paper sheets of compressed, fine lengths of wiry-looking fibers. This was unsettling.
She hugged me when I returned and I gave over my life savings and married her. I received the exact figure back in a money order a week later. Apparently proof of my willingness to part with it was all the company had required. My wife seemed as surprised as I was. It was almost shocking how little they'd told her. If it weren't for the amount of attention she paid to her hair I'd have thought her not even aware of her world's worth of wire. When she brushed it before sunrise it would spark just like that cover had. A cover they washed every day, no doubt, in order to dupe the next male they'd judged fit for a part in this incomprehensible scheme.
