The first letter he practically ignored. John came home from work on a Tuesday evening and Sally was out shopping. After fixing himself a drink, he stretched out on the couch and turned on the TV. She had left the mail on the coffee table in the middle of the room and he grimaced at the envelope thinking it was another bill. He and Sally had been married for about a year and lived in a one-bedroom apartment an hour subway ride from downtown where he worked. It was all he was able to afford and every bill caused him anxiety, so he swallowed down a mouthful of scotch before proceeding.

The envelope was strange, he thought, as he had looked at his name through the cellophane window at the paper contained within. His last name, “De Wusse,” had been printed with a space between the “De” and the “Wusse,” which was the proper way in his opinion. None of his credit cards or utility bills printed his name in this way. This had been an active decision on his part as he would alter his name somehow when filling out applications. He always congratulated himself on his ingenuity when he received a piece of junk mail and could tell by the lack of the space, or a small case “W,” which company had sold him to their mailing list.

This letter had it correctly, the way it appeared on his birth certificate, passport, tax return, marriage license. He opened it up. Inside was a page with a lot of very fine print which made little sense. He noticed a lot of phrases, but made no attempt to connect them to each other. “Class action suit,” “do not lose this paper,” “you may be eligible for reimbursement,” “were you married between these dates?” were some that stuck out. He was startled when he saw that last phrase but assumed the letter was similar to one that he had received after buying a laptop computer. There had been a class action suit against the manufacturer for a defective floppy drive controller and after a year of letters, a settlement had arrived for $3.78 that he could have collected if he had been able to find his receipts and had filled out a form. He responded to this new letter the same as the other one, by crunching it into a ball and throwing it towards the cat to play with.

The second letter made more of an impact. It was about two years later and they had moved into a slightly larger apartment that saved him fifteen minutes a day in commute time. He had moved up a bit in the accounting firm that he still worked for and felt quite confident about his future. He came home and Sally said that a delivery had come but that the courier could not accept her signature. She gave him a handwritten form with the address of the service's nearby office and he stopped by the next day to pick it up. It contained a ten-page form and said that the class action suit had been successful. A procedure was outlined that consisted of filling out the form and providing all kinds of personal information such as notarized copies of his birth certificate and his marriage license, medical data he could have obtained only by tracing back numerous doctors' offices, and most recent medical checkups. And not only for him but for Sally also. What made this form infuriating was the way it consistently sidestepped explaining what there was to be gained from this settlement. He thought that perhaps he had been hasty in throwing out the original letter, but figuring this was all just some kind of clever sales promotion, he dropped it into a trash can as he made his way back to the subway.

---

John opened his eyes on a Saturday morning and looked at the clock. It was 11:30. He had slept longer than he had wanted, but could have easily fallen asleep again if he hadn't had plans for the day. He looked over at Sally who was curled up on her side with her back towards him. She still looked good, even after five years of marriage, but the mornings had grown cold over time. They had had a fight the night before, the same tired fight they had every few months or so. Simple conversation would escalate into subjects like the size of the apartment, children, time, or lack thereof, that they spent together. He would always explain that they couldn't afford a house yet, and that kids would take away their freedom. He would always regret using that word as that would bring about the most potent round of complaints. She would say she had no freedom, that she felt trapped and helpless, out of control. They would go to bed unhappy, wake up, avoid each other for a day or so, and then everything would be fine, at least for a while.

She stirred and rolled over. Her mascara was blotted around her eyes from crying and her eyes looked tired. “G'good morning,” she said and leaned over to kiss him. He responded out of habit, ignoring the stutter in her voice, and then they quickly turned away from each other. John climbed out of bed and Sally buried her head in the pillows and closed her eyes. To John it was a blessing in disguise. He showered quickly and with no distractions was out of the door in less than fifteen minutes. A friend from work had set up a private party at a bar in midtown. He had assumed he would not be able to go, but with the fight, he had an excuse. He would say he needed to be alone to think about what she had said the night before. She would accept this, or at least be too tired to fight anymore. A lot of women usually showed up at these parties and by the evening he would probably have his desire for her back. He felt pangs of guilt but consoled himself with the fact that in reality he was doing her a favor.

The tired look in Sally's eyes that morning had been magnified by alcohol, emotion, and lack of sleep, but on Sunday morning John really started to notice the change. “G'good morning,” she said.

“Why are you talking like that?”

“Wha'what do you mean?”

“You're stuttering at the beginning of each sentence. You do that occasionally, but now it's all the time.”

“Sto'stop making fun of me.” She rubbed her eyes and stretched out across the bed.

“It's ridiculous.” He started to laugh.

“Sto'stop it. You're always undermining me, making me feel small. I spend the whole week in this apartment and never see you. Then on weekends you go off on your own.”

“Once you get going you're okay, but every time you stop you do that thing.”

“Y'you're not listening to me.” He could see that she was starting to get upset.

“I'm sorry baby, but when you do that it is so cute.”

 

It was by sheer chance that John found the crumpled up piece of paper. He was in the middle of another fight with Sally several weeks later. Coming home late as usual after work, he had found her watching television. There had been no dinner prepared and he had been upset.

“I, I, nev, never know when you're coming home so I didn't bother,” she said.

“Will you cut that out? It's irritating.”

“I, I, c'can't help it.”

“This place is a total mess. I am at work all day. You have nothing to do except keep the apartment clean and you can't even do that well.” He started kicking at various small objects scattered over the floor. “What is all this stuff?”

“It, it's, ju'just some cat toys I found in a box we never unpacked from the move. I put them out because Moggy seemed bored.”

“Just like her mother.'” He started to pick up assorted balls and cloth mice filled with catnip. In the corner he noticed a wad of paper. It had an odd familiar look to it. “What's this?”

Sally looked over and shrugged, avoiding having to speak.

“I can't believe it. How did this get here?”

“It, it's, ju'just something that Moggy used to play with. I kept her toys in a shoebox and it's been in one of those boxes in the closet since we moved in here. I had nothing better to do so I went looking through things today.”

He was thinking to himself how idiotic it was to save garbage as he picked it up. Then he realized exactly what it was. “Remember that delivery that I had to go get, the one they wouldn't let you sign for? This had something to do with that. They said I was entitled to some reimbursement for something but I never found out what it was. I've always wondered and I wished I had read this letter more closely when I had the chance. I can't believe it has been around all this time. Isn't that amazing?”

He looked to her hoping she would empathize with his moment, but she turned away and continued to watch the television. He dropped the cat toys he had picked up and took the letter into the bedroom.

It was quite damaged and practically unreadable. He was able only to pick out a company name and a west coast city. It was already past ten, and even with the time difference it would still be past office hours there; nevertheless, he picked up the phone and dialed information. He was surprised to get a listing immediately and he called, not knowing what he would say if anyone answered. A typical automated voice service spoke.

“Welcome to Advanced Synaptic Solutions, the leader in synaptic technology. Your call is very important to us. Please enter the following information to help us serve you better. Please enter your social security number, followed by the pound sign.”

John entered digits one through nine and hit the pound button.

“Please enter your spouse's social security number.”

John thought it strange that they would assume he was married and entered digit nine through one.

“Please enter your date of marriage.”

John considered whether to enter it month-day-year, or day-month-year like the Europeans. He wondered whether he should use two digits for the day if it was less than ten and if he should use four digits or two for the year. Finally he hit the ‘1’ key six times.

The interrogation went on for a while and included questions such as his name and email address which were recorded as he spoke.

“Thank you. We are forwarding your call to a service representative. Please hold.”

A synthesizer version of “Home on the Range” started to play. He counted about six choruses before he decided to change out of his clothes. Finally a voice came on the line.

“Advanced Synaptic Solutions. Can I help you?”

“I was wondering what your company did. I have this letter about a class action suit and I was curious what it was all about.”

“I assume you are married and have held that status for between four years, eleven months and five years, four months.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Do you have the reference number on your Certificate of Reimbursement?”

“I don't know what that is.”

“Didn't you receive the reimbursement forms?”

“Yeah, but I didn't fill them out. I think I lost them.”

“In that case, this is not considered emergency service. If you give me your name and daytime phone number, a sales representative will contact you.”

He did so and then asked, “What's this all about anyway?”

“A sales representative will best be able to serve you. Thank you for your call.”

“Just a second. Before you answered I had to enter all of this information. What is that for?

“To help us serve you better.”

“But I entered my name and everything and you didn't know who I was so what is the point?”

“The information is entered into a computer which helps us assist you better.”

“What good is it? I put in fake social security numbers and a fake marriage date.”

“I'm sorry sir, I can't help you with that. Thank you for your call. Goodbye.”

 

The conversation with the salesperson the next day was equally cryptic. No real information was obtained but an appointment was made. The salesperson, a Randal Meyers, had been full of energy as he sidestepped the question as to what his company actually manufactured. During the conversation, John was able to extract the fact that they produced a product that was used in the home, but he still did not understand what it was or how he had come to possess it. The product apparently had defects, and some kind of service was necessary. Randal had insisted that the best way to approach the situation was to sit down over a drink and work out the solution, and as he would be on the east coast the following week so the timing was ideal. As John approached the bar where they were scheduled to meet, a surge of adrenaline went through him. He became nervous, but it wasn't out of fear. It was more like excitement, the feeling he had once had going on a first date with Sally or something like that. There was mystery in this circumstance, and serendipity in the way he had found the name of the company. He had little doubt that whatever Randal said would be interesting at the very least. He walked into the midtown bar and sat down. The room was dimly lit with a row of tables and chairs on the opposite side of the bar and a dining area in the next room. He ordered a whisky on the rocks and gasped only slightly at the cost. He was a few minutes early and looked around, feeling a bit self- conscious. About five minutes later a tall man carrying a briefcase entered. He looked to be in his early forties and was dressed in a gray business suit that seemed inadequate for the cold wave that had started that morning. John signaled with a wave of his hand and he came over immediately. “Excuse me, are you John De Wusse?” he said in a friendly and efficient manner.

“That's me. Are you Randal Meyers?”

“Randal Meyers, Advanced Synaptic Solutions. Nice to meet you. Damn weather. I'm not used to needing an overcoat where I'm from. Oh well, you think I would learn being that I'm out here every month. Let me buy you a drink.”

Randal motioned towards the bar. “I already have one.”

“I'm sorry. How long have you been waiting?”

“Not long,” John said a bit impatiently. “Listen, I don't have much time. I'd really like to find out what you people do. It's been a little bit difficult to get information.”

“I know exactly what you mean. However, sometimes information is no good unless you can get all of the information. That's what I am here to do. Give you all the information so that you can make an intelligent, informed decision. But first let me get some background data. What is your social security number?”

“You know, when I first called, I had to enter all of this information on the phone. What's the point if they don't tell you?”

“To tell the truth, we aren't told any of that, per se. Instead, all we receive is a kind of analysis, a profile if you will, of the customer based on his responses. Personally I think it's all nonsense. For example, my printout says to approach you by telling you what you want to hear, that you enjoy having your ego fanned, and that you will panic at the first sign of trouble. I can already tell just from our conversation so far that this is ridiculous. Obviously, you are a busy person. Let's cut to the chase. Has she started stuttering yet?”

John's surprise at the question was obvious in the way he sputtered out his response. “What...who... do you mean?”

Randal remained calm. “Your wife, of course. You wouldn't be calling us if you weren't having problems with her.”

“How do you know?”

Randal breathed in deliberately and slowly exhaled. The whole process seemed to take half a minute. Then, as if a tape machine had been rewound and switched into play, he began to speak. “Advanced Synaptic Solutions produces the software algorithms that help to control the behavior of young brides. In addition, we also manufacture the insertion tool as well as the transportable media for the program. So you see we are a truly full-service organization. Unfortunately, there was a batch of faulty insertion tools that made their way into the field several years back. The damage that resulted is minor and can be easily repaired, but it was a costly process to research and design the corrective tools. A lawsuit was filed to make the situation public. As a compromise, we made the corrective process available for free to all potential damagees.”

John interrupted, “Damagee?”

“We don't like to use the word ‘victim.’ These are sensitive times and you don't want this sort of thing all over the front pages of every tabloid.”

John stared at Randal and wanted to laugh, but the seriousness in the way Randal had stated this had him at a complete loss. Weakly, he replied, “No, of course not.”

Randal continued, “Then the question came up as how to deal with those persons who did not fill out their reimbursement forms. Technically, we are not obligated in any way, and many in the company wanted to recoup the R&D costs by charging exorbitant rates for the equipment. I was one who was against this. Finally, a reasonable price and financing options were established.”

John tried to swallow and felt as though his whole face was contorting as he did so. Finally he said, “How is this possible?”

“Without getting too technical, let's just say that the human body is a lot like a computer. It operates on a system clock, the same type of thing that keeps the date accurate on your home PC. Using breakthrough technologies, we are able to slow that clock down almost to a halt. Once in this state, it is an easy task using magnetic and ultrasonic waves to make slight alterations to the certain parts of the brain that govern motivation.”

Randal put his briefcase on the bar and opened it up. He removed a small metallic device the size of a VCR remote control. On the front was a series of buttons, an LCD display, and a compartment where it looked as though a miniature CD could be inserted. On the top was a cylindrical tube, about an inch long and a half inch in diameter. Randal handled it with a finesse that was reminiscent of something in between a game show model seductively displaying soap powder and a cowboy drawing his six shooter. “It's amazing how they fit everything into this little box. Brushed aluminium. It even looks sexy. You just set it up, press this part against her neck, and...”

John could not contain himself and broke in. “Is this legal?”

“Of course. Everything was done through the government. We even had our own bipartisan committee. It was decided that the rising rate of divorce needed to be addressed. What we do is perfectly safe. Our product doesn't change the essence of the woman, it merely encourages certain tendencies over others. The young bride has already decided she wants to be married. All we do is reinforce and encourage this natural urge.”

“Who administers this...product?”

“Originally, the officiant. It was done when you got married. Standard procedure. Why do you think officiants need to be certified by the state? It is completely painless and the woman never even knows what happened. Of course the repair is done by qualified physicians. But listen, I've been talking far too much. Tell me about yourself and your wife.”

Randal signaled to the bartender for another round and the alcohol started to take hold of John. He was cautious at first, but slowly he began to loosen. He talked about meeting Sally in college and admiring her beauty and energy. They had started dating and he had spent every moment possible with her. After they had graduated, they had decided to live together. He had bought her a kitten the day they had moved in which they still had. She had worked in the beginning, but after they were married, had found it difficult. She had said that her office had treated her as if she was expected to quit, and after several years of being bypassed for promotions and being given the worst workload, she finally had. John said, “It's at a point where she just sits around all day doing nothing. Before she had so much life, but now sometimes I feel like I'm married to a robot. So tell me, what does this thing do to her?”

“It helps her to become a true wife.”

“True wife?”

For a moment Randal stepped out of character, leaning into John like he had a secret to tell. “At the office we have a little joke we tell once in a while. Do you know how they came up with the word, ‘wife’? Washing, ironing, fucking, etcetera.” Randal laughed boisterously. John did his best to laugh along but was feeling extremely uncomfortable at this point.

“But me and my wife fight all the time,” he challenged.

Randal became himself again. “It is not as though we take away her free will. But believe me, no matter how bad things might get, she will never leave you.”

“And what about the stutter?”

“The first sign of the damage. Nothing really. At worst she may forget a thing or two. That's why the lawsuit never really got anywhere. The real problem is the threat to her self- esteem. And that's not really our fault when you think about it.”

“The stutter is really annoying. What does it cost to repair?”

“As I said before, a reasonable price was established. And since we are sponsored by the government, there are many financing options available that might not be possible if we were talking about, say, a new car.”

“So how much?”

“One-hundred thousand dollars.”

John almost choked on his drink. “You have got to be kidding. I don't have that kind of money!”

“I know it may sound like a lot, but there are factors you may not be aware of. For example, we could set up a payment program out of your paycheck at work. It would be like a tax bill. You have far more taxes withheld every week. You would get used to it.”

“And what if I have the repair done and I can't pay for it?”

Randal laughed, “I don't know. What do they do to you if you don't pay your taxes?”

 

Sally's stutter continued to get worse. At home it didn't bother John so much. He would ignore her until she stopped speaking. What was difficult was when any of his friends had a party. He had always considered Sally the most attractive of any of the girls that his friends had dated, let alone actually married. When he had started seeing her, he had felt as though his social position had moved up a notch, that he was finally being viewed with a degree of respect deserved, but never enjoyed. Even after five years of marriage, he could still detect signs of envy as a potential rival's stare would follow her across a room just a little longer than it should have. He would feel a great sense of victory when he detected a dejected look as that person would realize this prize had already been claimed. The stutter changed this. Sally no longer displayed the youthful exuberance that made people want to be around her. Instead she would sit by herself out of sight, often spending the evening scribbling frantically into a little book she had started to carry around with her. If someone did try to speak to her, she would nod yes or no, afraid to fight with the words that would not come out properly. John found that he was receiving less and less attention at these events, and would become angry with her for spoiling the party and making everyone who tried to talk to her feel uncomfortable. It was after one of these parties that he sat on his computer, refusing to go to bed with her, staring vacantly into the endless graphics that flashed before his eyes. He hadn't checked his email in several days and when he did, the usual flow of twenty or thirty junkmail messages popped up. One from an unknown sender caught his eye. In the subject column it read, “Is ASS getting you down?” He had seen several like this recently but he had deleted them along with all the others that appeared to be references to pornographic web sites. Tonight, something about the capital letters made a connection in his mind and he clicked on the message. A small paragraph of text appeared, a link to a website, and a ten digit number that was labeled as a password. The text read:

John clicked on the link and his heart started to race. His inner dialogue was preparing him for disappointment while he simultaneously hoped it would be a way around the dilemma that Randal Meyers had introduced. The A.S.S. repair tool was too expensive, but his life felt hopeless without it. A cheaper version would solve all of his problems. A prompt came up that said to enter his name and password. It surprised him that it returned errors until he spelled his name in the proper way. It was as if they knew who he was and it occurred to him that maybe Randal Meyers had passed his name onto these people. As the page opened, he couldn't believe his eyes. It was filled with graphics about how Advanced Synaptic Solutions had attempted to corner the market on marriage enhancement technologies, but in actuality, these technologies were available at a much more reasonable cost. All that was required was a credit card number and an address, and he would receive the kit to be used for a trial period of two weeks. If he decided to keep it, he would be charged only $2000. The kit would include a stock personality modifier, but if he ordered immediately, he would receive a bonus disk containing the latest set of enhanced personalities. Something about the page seemed to be missing, but a kind of delirium had consumed him, and he quickly typed in his information and hit the send key.

The kit arrived three days later. It had been delivered by another courier service that would only accept his signature. He came home to find Sally sitting on the couch with the television on. She was writing frantically in her book and never lifted her eyes from it when he entered the room. He was glad because it meant he did not have to explain the package, and he took it into the bedroom and closed the door. In it he found two small disks and a tool similar to the one Randal had showed him, except that this one was made of plastic. He read the directions carefully. They said that the first disk contained the basic repair software. The second was the bonus disk that held twelve enhanced personalities. The directions recommended testing each but had a warning that the final decision should be made within thirty days of the initial insertion. It explained that adverse reactions were possible if continued insertions were performed. John was impressed by the detail and ease of use of the manual. It even included an easy-to-use deinstallation procedure that could be performed if any aspect of the product was undesirable. This version of the insertiontool operated on two nine-volt batteries, and seemed remarkably convenient for use anywhere. John decided that the warning about future insertions was only the company covering itself. Obviously this unit was meant to travel, and therefore it would be okay to use long after a month. He familiarized himself with the process one more time and chose a particularly provocative personality from the list on the bonus disk packaging.

“Sally, slide over, will you? Would you like me to rub your back?”

---

Later, as he stared into the darkness towards the ceiling and listened to his heart beating, one thought repeated over and over. “I'll keep it…I'll keep it…” She had suddenly become infused with life. It was just as it had been when he had first met her, only so much better. She was asleep now, requiring no attention, no strokes along her back and neck, no soft reassurances of his love for her. She had turned off the television and encouraged him to go out for a while and have a drink. He had and when he had returned a couple of hours later, he found that she had spent the time cleaning the apartment and making herself up. She had sat him down on the sofa and rubbed his back and then led him into the bedroom. He had been amazed at her passion and creativity, as though all inhibitions had been lifted. Now he was free to sleep or get up and read, watch television, play on the computer. A feeling of confidence radiated from within. In a flash of honesty, he admitted to himself that he would never be able to sustain the pace of the evening over several months and that there would be times when he would need her to leave him alone. This prospect held no worry for him as he had done his homework. She was now running track six of the personality disk but he knew that track eight was submissive and shy. As he lay there, he started to classify the twelve tracks and match them to different circumstances. Office parties, parties with friends, going out together, home together, going out alone, staying home alone. They were all there plus extra, plenty of room for randomness and spontaneity. He closed his eyes, reached over and petted the back of her head allowing his hand to comb through her hair. “I love you,” he said as he drifted into a dream state.

---

It was about a year later that the first signs of trouble began to appear. John had done well at work and had received a small promotion, his first in four years. He felt as happy as he had his entire life and Sally seemed equally happy. In fact, the only negative carry over behavior she exhibited was her dedication to the journal that she had started. Once he had picked it up and flipped through it. It was filled with description of different days' events and seemingly nonlinear trains of thought. He had always thought of Sally as a bit scatterbrained, in a charming kind of way, and if she enjoyed writing things down he could think of no objection. Though he wanted to be interested, John realized that he genuinely wasn't and never brought it up in fear that she might want to read some excerpt to him.

She had started working again, part time, an interesting side effect of track ten, and John had encouraged it. It was convenient for her to be out of the house on certain days and evenings, as this allowed John more freedom without having to constantly keep changing her program. He had been a bit excessive the first three or four months in the number of changes he made. In those early times, he would perform six to seven insertions a week. After that, he began to find the process a bit tedious. It took fifteen to twenty minutes to complete, and during that time he had to hold her down to keep her from moving, and press the tool against the back of her neck. Even though she was technically unconscious there would be muscle spasms, twitches, like a dead frog hit with an electrical charge. If she moved too much and he slipped, he would have to start from the beginning. Otherwise she would be left in some bizarre half state where she couldn't complete sentences and would drive him crazy all day asking him to repeat things that he had said weeks before. The job significantly reduced the number of changes he required and this consistency in her personality allowed him to see the results the changes were having on her.

During this time, he realized that the personalities were not so discrete from one another as he had first thought. Even in the most submissive mode, a certain animal sexual behavior was still present. John wasn't sure if it had always been there, or if this aspect of different tracks had been absorbed by her body. In that case, he reasoned, if he continued to change her regularly, over a long period of time she would eventually absorb all of the traits of all of the tracks, and there would be no point in changing her at all. He concluded that maybe this was the original intention of the manufacturer, to create the perfect woman for all circumstances. He wished he had taken notes when he had first started using the device, or had another girl on the side to use as a test case for comparisons. He considered the downside to this perfect woman, as even she would become boring after a while. The solution was obvious, a new personality disk. He had not checked the website for months in his bliss. He went to his computer, but found that his password was no longer accepted. He went to the original box and looked through the manual. For the first time he realized that there was no company name, address, or phone number. The product had a fancy name, but no sign of a manufacturer. Even checking with his credit card company resulted in nothing but dead ends.

As the degrading changes came, he argued with himself that is was just his imagination, a paranoia that had affixed itself to him as a result of not being able to find any further information on the company. One day, Sally came home late. It wasn't a significant amount of time, ten to fifteen minutes, but up to that time she had been punctual to a point where you could set your watch to her arrival time. The lateness increased in frequency and she would often say she was tired and go to bed immediately. In one instance, he got her up and did an insertion of track six. The only effects were accusations that because he would not be able to satisfy her anyway, she had no interest in being with him. She became increasingly irritable and unmanageable, and after several months his patience finally reached an end. Sadly, he turned to the last page of his manual.

The page detailed the program deinstallation procedure. He had read it when he had first received the kit but had never really considered the possibility of having to do this after the overwhelming success of his original installation. It warned that once the deinstallation was through, the tool would be rendered useless and a replacement would have to be purchased. In this case, as he could no longer access the company, it meant reverting back to the old Sally, the one who stuttered and had no self-confidence, the girl who hid in corners and watched television all day. John wondered how she could have let herself go, how she could have gotten to that point. Before, when they had started going out with each other all those years ago, she had been the epitome of grace and confidence. He silently vowed to forbid her watching television alone as he called up the ‘Delete’ function.

He couldn't tell if the stutter had gotten worse or if it just seemed worse after the fantasy experience. He knew he could never live like this for long and placed a phone call. The familiar voice said that he was glad to see that John had made the right choice and that he would start the financial processing immediately. Some people took years to come to a decision, but the enjoyment of married life was far too important to be concerned with trivial financial restraints. John was assured that the payment would never increase so that as long as he continued to prosper, the deduction would come to seem natural and happen unnoticed.

The level of support was extraordinary. Numerous medical tests were performed, and on the day of the final procedure, a car arrived to bring both Sally and John to a special office equipped with a medical clinic. Of course, Sally was only told that this all was part of a new medical insurance plan being provided by his company. Once the procedure was through, Randal suggested that after John got Sally settled back at home, they should head out for a drink.

They sat down, in the same bar, in the same seats, and John ordered the same drink.

Randal started, “I know this must be a difficult time for you, but I wanted to tell you how much I admire your love for Sally. A lot of men would have been unwilling to make the type of sacrifices for their wives that you have.”

John replied, “It took a little thought, but I just can't imagine my life without Sally the way she was.”

“I understand. It is the weakness and the strength of men that they fall in love with women. The Greeks really had it right. It's like an arrow hits you and you are damaged, but you strive through the pain nevertheless. Imagine a world where love doesn't get in the way. Now there's an idea for a product. Totally unethical of course. It would destroy the essence of life. Look at you, despite the stutter and depression, you stuck with her and love her even more.”

“What?” John said suddenly realizing he had never told anyone about the cheap imitation kit he had been using. The question had never come up in any of the medical screenings so he had felt that it was not important and had finally put it out of his mind.

“I was saying that even though...”

“I have to be honest Randal. After our conversation last year, I tried one of those imitation repair kits. They sell them on the internet. At first it was great. I really thought Sally had been cured. But then I found she got worse, in another way. But for that year, it was as though I was in heaven. I would do anything to have her back like that again.”

Randal seemed to deflate. “You know, using those things without professional supervision is like sending people opium in the mail. It's like putting guns in the hands of children. Untrained people don't know how to handle this kind of technology and the results can be tragic. I'm afraid you might be in for some problems.”

“What kind of problems?”

“Those kinds of devices leave residuals. You can't expect to effect changes in a person without those changes becoming absorbed into the body. That's why A.S.S. products are government tested. They only make the slightest change necessary for the desired results. Anything more and the changes become unpredictable. You alter the person to such a degree that you may not recognize them anymore.”

“But Sally seemed okay. She was just like she used to be when I dropped her off tonight.”

“I hope so.”

 

John arrived home that evening a bit drunk. He had stayed out with Randal for many hours and many drinks. He looked forward to Sally's loving embrace. All the year's events were swirling around in his mind like a dream and he didn't quite know exactly who would be at home when he got there. He felt a slight nervousness, more like excitement than fear. It took him a moment to negotiate the key into the lock and open the door.

He had expected his dream to be transformed into beautiful reality, to see his wife there, waiting for him with open arms to comfort him. He wanted her to tell him that no matter how difficult things would be financially, she would always be there for him. He didn't care if she was the one with the animal passion, or the shy one who liked to be coaxed into affection. He didn't even care if she was the one who would be disinterested for days, as long as it would be her.

The apartment was a shambles. The sofa had been ripped apart, the chairs and shelves were in pieces, books and papers scattered everywhere. At first he though the place had been robbed and ransacked, but he found Sally in the bedroom quite calm. “What happened?” he asked.

“I tried to leave.”

He was slightly afraid and waited for her to continue.

“Did you know that it is virtually impossible for me to leave?”

“You can go out anytime you want.” “No, I mean leave, as in “leave you.’ Did you know that?”

“I don't understand.”

“What I am trying to say is that for the last several hours I have been trying to walk out of that door for good, and every time I get close I turn around and start washing dishes or pulling out the vacuum cleaner.”

John hesitated for a moment, then said, “So, what happened?”

“Instead of cleaning, I decided to break things. I seem to have no problem doing that. As you can see, I tried to leave several times.”

“What's going on?”

“Nothing you do not already know, not that I remember. I would write to myself, and every time I would read these things back it was as though it was a different person who had written it. It all started with those letters, and that company with the ridiculous name.”

“How did you know that?”

“I got an anonymous email around that time that said some pretty unbelievable things. It suggested I started keeping a journal. It said to do it so I wouldn't forget who I was.”

“What will we do now?”

“I will tell you what I am going to do. I am going to try to leave you everyday. And every time I cannot, I am going to destroy something in this apartment.”

“I will divorce you.”

“I don't think so. The government frowns on divorce. They assume it is the man's fault as a woman couldn't possibly leave her husband. The cost of what you have already done to me will be nothing compared to a divorce.”

John was enraged. “I want you out of here.”

Sally walked toward the door. She hesitated as she reached it. All energy seemed to drain out of her and she broke down in tears. She walked into the kitchen and took a glass out of the cupboard. When she threw it on the floor it sent tiny pieces of glass everywhere. Moggy ran for cover. There was a banging on the wall.

“You are going to get us kicked out of here if you keep making all this noise. Clean this place up.”

“No.” she said quietly and went on to the bedroom. “I am going to sleep. Alone. You will sleep out here.”

“I will throw you out.”

“That is illegal. I will have you arrested.”

“You will pay for all this damage.”

“I don't really have to work if I don't want to. You're the one who controls the money.”

“I will...”

“You will do nothing. You have no power over me. You have no choice.”

John looked at her and hated her as he had never hated anyone in his entire life.

Come here, baby,” she said and pick up Moggy. She turned to John, “Good night honey.” She carried the cat into the bedroom with her and closed the door.

---

John sat in the dark watching the television. It was an old one that he had found on the street the day before garbage collection. Sally had broken the nice one that she used to watch. He still had a few luxuries that he refused to give up. One was cable TV and another was the bottle of scotch. Sally wasn't home. She rarely came home anymore but he knew she would always return. At least once every week he would come home to find her, and she would look at him as if she couldn't understand what had brought her there. He wondered if that part of the program would wear off some day like so many other parts seemed to have.Ê She was working, doing better than he was actually, and he assumed she had a lover. Whenever he would see her, he would see all of the women she had been, all of the women he had forced her to be. Aside from her disdain for him, she seemed strong, independent, and genuinely happy. He still had anger for how she had treated him, but something about her now made him long for her even more. He wished he could make her love him again and often scanned through magazines and web sites looking for a new product that held the answers.

This evening was just like a hundred that had preceeded it. He sipped scotch and flipped through the stations. A public access station appeared, and an attractive young woman was being interviewed. The quality of the show was very low budget, but he appreciated the woman's hem line so he paused there. She was speaking. “It is amazing, the behavior of some men. They would rather attempt to live out a fantasy through a woman than deal with a person who is real, full of flaws but also full of wonderful beauty. It is as if they can never be satisfied. You place a dozen incredible, complex women in front of them and what do they do? They find it impossible to choose one and they have to try them all, like pairs of shoes. The irony is that often these same men are often incapable of change, and if they were on the other end of the situation, they would never be able to live up to their own expectations.”

The interviewer said, “Tell us about your company.”

“My company manufactures a product designed for the modern couple. You know the type. The man wants the perfect wife. The woman wants freedom. The perfect wife part is easy. Freedom isn't. We believe that only through exposure to certain behaviors, can women really understand their position, and gain the tools necessary to achieve their emotional, and eventually economic independence.”

“Aren't you afraid that if many men see this interview, it will undermine your objectives?”

“Actually, no. This is the beauty of it. The type of man we are talking about, if he is watching, is far more interested in my legs than anything I have to say. And given the choice of a fantasy woman who will leave him, and a normal woman who would remain loyal if treated as an equal, this type of man will always choose the fantasy. We put the warning right on the box yet the product still gets misused. Do you want to know the greatest irony? It's the men who purchase the product.”

“Your company doesn't advertise. How do you make sales?”

“It's simple, we contact married couples, and through profiles developed from automated telephone interviews, we develop specific marketing strategies. These types of profiles are always being done. When you slam the phone down on a survey call that happens during dinner, you haven't evaded the interview, you have answered the question. To an over-confident person we might offer a free upgrade. A person prone to panic, we might remove from our database. The behavior is quite predictable and the desired results are achieved. We have done studies and our client approval ratings are through the roof, not to mention profits.”

“Isn't this all a bit deceptive?”

“Not at all. We deliver what we promise. Fantasy for the man, independence for the woman. Everyone knows that fantasy never lasts forever, and independence isn't exactly a walk in the park.”

The interviewer faced the camera. “That's all the time we have for now. We'd like to thank Marcia Thorne, president of Advanced Synaptic Solutions, for being on our show. Good night.”

John turned off the TV, and went into the kitchen to refill his glass. The wave of confusion he felt made it hard to see straight. He sat down at his computer and turned it on. In his mind he kept repeating a story that he had read in college. It is preferable to suffer all the humiliation in the world for just one night with Aphrodite. He imagined himself an adventurer setting off for a new land, in search of his dream. He took a sip and started typing things like “marriage repair products” into a search engine.