Mail-Order Bride
An homage to the Twilight Zone
The Twilight Zone redefined storytelling, drawing audiences into the unimaginable. Now, 66 years later, top writers, artists, and musicians are stepping into its eerie glow with a fresh twist. Ready to see where they’ll take you?
Liz Zimmers | Edith Bow | Sean Archer | Bryan Pirolli | Andy Futuro | CB Mason | John Ward | NJ | Hanna Delaney | William Pauley III | Jason Thompson | Nolan Green | Shaina Read | J. Curtis | Honeygloom | Stephen Duffy | K.C. Knouse | Michele Bardsley | Bob Graham | Annie Hendrix | Clancy Steadwell | Jon T | Sean Thomas McDonnell | Miguel S. | A.P Murphy | Lisa Kuznak | Bridget Riley | EJ Trask | Shane Bzdok | Adam Rockwell | Will Boucher
Meet Harvey Platz, a middle-aged millionaire who has a talent for playing the stock market. He has remained a bachelor by choice, fearing a failed marriage could jeopardize his fortune. Inspired by loneliness and technological innovation, Harvey recently purchased a mail-order bride. He is about to enter the Twilight Zone, where he will discover if he can satisfy his need for companionship without putting his millions at risk.
The Mail Order Bride delivery van arrived on schedule. Harvey watched the technician and Ramona exit the back of the van and approach the house. Adorned in a summer dress that accentuated her slim figure, she was the incarnation of girl-next-door purity and innocence, the friend and lover he craved.
Harvey opened the door and greeted them.
“Here she is,” the technician announced. “We programmed Ramona with all the traits and skills of a traditional housewife.”
The woman smiled and gave Harvey a warm hug. It felt so genuine, just as the marketing material had promised.
“Welcome to my home, uh, our home, Ramona. I’m Harvey Platz.”
“It is a beautiful home.”
“She will pick up on your routine quickly,” the technician said. “Let her know when you want her to serve your meals, clean house, wash clothes, and so forth. Provide her with a menu and schedule. She is programmed to maintain your pantry with all she needs. The law doesn’t allow humanoids to drive, so you will have to arrange for transportation to the store or for the delivery of groceries, cleaning supplies, and such.”
Harvey grasped the technician by the arm and pulled him out of earshot of Ramona. “What about sex?”
“Tell her or show her what you want. She is here to please you in every way.”
“That’s what I understood.”
“Do you have any other questions?”
“Not now.”
“If you do, just say the words customer service to Ramona and ask your question. She will answer it. I’m leaving you with a charging kit. Plug it in where her navel should be when you go to bed each night. The batteries require a minimum of six hours for a full charge.”
Harvey sat at the dining table and ate the grilled sirloin steak, baked potato, and corn on the cob Ramona had prepared. After serving the meal, she took the seat across from him.
“How do you like it, honey?” she asked with a satisfied smile on her face.
“Uh. It is delicious, thank you.” The term of endearment surprised Harvey.
“I’m glad. How was your day today, sweetheart?” Ramona blinked her eyes.
“Well, I spent the afternoon with you, getting you settled. I’d say it was very productive.”
“That’s wonderful, sugar. What do you have planned for this evening?” Ramona blinked her eyes.
“Ramona, please, call me Harv.”
“What do you have planned for this evening, Harv?”
“I thought we’d make love. You know, a honeymoon of sorts.”
“I would like that, Harv.”
“Do you enjoy making love, Ramona?”
“Oh, yes.”
Her enthusiastic response caused a rise in Harvey.
“So, you’ve made love before?”
“No, but I like it.”
“How do you know you like it if you haven’t made love before?”
“I like it.” Ramona grinned and blinked her eyes. “I like it.”
Ramona had lifelike facial expressions, full sensuous lips, synthetic skin that was supple and warm to the touch, and a luscious, anatomically accurate body. It was her beautiful, but dead, eyes that betrayed the illusion of life. Upon viewing her, lying on his bed, unclothed and open to his every desire, reality crept in with the crushing recognition that his bride was nothing more than a digital sex doll, a high-tech whore.
Harvey told Ramona to put on her clothes and power down. He dressed for bed and plugged her into the charger. Sleep eluded him as he processed his disappointment over the events of that night. Loneliness and regret overwhelmed him. He had enjoyed her company that afternoon, and she had proven to be a superb cook. What Harvey desperately wanted was intimacy, physical and emotional intimacy. He understood that a humanoid could never provide the emotional variety, but he had hoped physical intimacy would make up for it. Now that was not to be.
But it was only the first day, Harvey reasoned. He needed time to adjust to living with a humanoid. After that, if it didn’t work out, well, he’d at least have a live-in maid and cook.
As the weeks passed by, Harvey became accustomed to Ramona’s presence: the scent of her perfume and that mellow, sensual voice. During the day, Ramona performed housework per the schedule Harvey had established for her, ordered and received provisions as needed, and prepared meals. She never got tired or bored, and she never complained. Harvey worked on the computer in his home office, analyzing investments and market trends and placing buy and sell orders. After supper, Ramona joined Harvey on the leather couch in the den, where they held hands and listened to music, watched a movie, or discussed philosophical issues. Occasionally, in the late afternoon, they took short walks at a nearby park, where Ramona identified the various species of plant and animal life they observed.
The first time they listened to music, Harvey asked Ramona if she recognized the piece. After a brief pause, she said: “Appalachian Spring by Aaron Copland, November 14, 1900 to December 2, 1990, an American composer, critic, writer, teacher, pianist, and later a conductor of his own and other American music. He was referred to by his peers and critics as the ‘Dean of American Composers.’” *
Harvey chuckled and said, “Thank you for the biography, but a simple yes would have sufficed.”
“Yes,” Ramona replied, and Harvey laughed himself to tears.
When he’d asked her about books or films, it was worse; in addition to production details, she summarized the plot. Harvey soon learned to add “yes or no” to the end of inquiries related to artistic works.
He was no match for her lightning-quick central processor and access to nearly infinite data when discussing philosophical issues. The arguments she presented delighted and enlightened him. It assuaged some of his loneliness, although sometimes it felt as if he were living with an encyclopedia.
One night, he asked her to tell a joke.
“I am the humanoid version of Windows 95,” Ramona began.
“A humanoid joke? That’s great. Windows 95, ha!”
“I am the humanoid version of Windows 95: I am slow, past my prime, constantly crashing, and no longer supported.” Ramona blinked her eyes. “Ha, ha.” **
“That was not a very funny joke. Let’s try a different topic,” Harvey said. “How about a dog joke?”
“What are your dogs’ names? Calvin and Klein. Like the underwear? They are boxers.” Ramona blinked. “Ha, ha.”
“That’s pretty funny,” Harvey said. “Try another one.”
“My friend’s dog died the other day, so I surprised her by going out and getting her an identical dog. She was furious. She said, ‘What am I supposed to do with two dead dogs?’” Ramona blinked. “Ha, ha.”
This went on for an hour. Some jokes left Harvey breathless; he laughed so hard. And, as one comedian put it, Ramona literally had a million of ‘em.
Their life together continued in this fashion until one afternoon, while Harvey worked on the computer and Ramona dusted the oak bookcase behind his desk, she asked him what he was doing.
Her apparent spontaneous interest shocked him. She had asked him questions before, but they had always been scripted and meaningless. This was different; this was about him, his work, his life. At least, that’s the way Harvey interpreted it. What was going on here?
“I’m evaluating the performance of a company I may want to invest in.”
“Teach me, Harv?”
“You can teach yourself. I’m an investor. I play the stock market.”
“Harv, teach me your method.”
“My method. I don’t have a method. I have a philosophy and a formula of sorts.”
“Teach me, Harv.”
Her request flattered Harvey. Ramona had the capacity to tap into all the information in public databases around the world. She could learn more about investing in a few seconds than he would discover in a lifetime of research. But she wanted to know how he did it. For the first time in their relationship, Harvey had an opportunity to give to Ramona instead of always taking. That made his task special, an act of love.
Over the next few weeks, Harvey revealed his investment philosophy: what he looked for in a company, how to size-up the market, when to buy and when to sell. He opened an account for her to play with and deposited $50,000 in it.
In less than four months, Ramona more than doubled her stake. Her rate of return far exceeded his. Harvey loved it. Investing had brought them together. They were a team.
After listening to some blues one evening, Ramona got up from the couch and began to disrobe in a seductive manner. The striptease stunned Harvey, not only because of its sensuality, but it appeared to be a voluntary act. The only other instance when she had acted without a prompt or in response to a scheduled task was when she inquired about his work and then begged him to teach her. Were these aberrations indicative of a nascent consciousness? Was that even possible? What impact would a developed consciousness have on his ongoing relationship with Ramona? Those concerns evaporated as Harvey became engrossed in Ramona’s performance, and his imagination soared: Ramona wanted him; she really wanted him!
When Ramona finished her performance, she took Harvey by the hand and led him to his bedroom. He made love to her without hesitation, taking care to avoid looking into her eyes, and realized the honeymoon fantasies he thought he had lost.
The next morning, hungover with ecstasy from the night before, Harvey arranged for Ramona to have complete access to his brokerage account. She would handle his investments from now on, although he planned to review her work at the end of each day, at least for a while.
Harvey had a secret longing to try his hand at painting. Now he’d have the time to create art, and if Ramona performed as expected, he’d make more money, too.
Over the next three days, the end-of-day reviews of Ramona’s activity revealed a consistently strong performance. To celebrate, Harvey spent each of those nights in a haze of sexual bliss.
On the morning of the fourth day, Harvey woke on his own and checked the clock: 10:42 am. Why hadn’t Ramona awakened him at seven o’clock for breakfast per the established schedule? He checked her room and found her charger still plugged into the wall, but she wasn’t there. At this hour, he should find her in the office. What happened to breakfast?
She wasn’t in the office. He tried the kitchen. Ramona wasn’t there, either, and she hadn’t prepared the morning meal.
Harvey returned to the office. His hands shaking, he booted up the computer and logged on to his brokerage account.
ACCOUNT CLOSED
A check of his phone revealed a missed call and a text from his broker that morning. The text read: Please call me to discuss reasons for account closure.
Harvey struggled to breathe as he logged on to his bank account. He failed to connect. A cold sweat seeped out of his pores. He logged on again only to discover Ramona had not deposited the millions from the brokerage account there.
All Harvey had worked for was gone, all gone.
“No! Nooo!” He whispered while staring at the screen.
With elbows propped on the desk, Harvey held his head in his hands and struggled to comprehend how this could have happened.
Poor Harvey Platz. He will never know if he fell victim to the oldest con in existence or if Ramona made a conscious decision to embezzle his money. In the end, it didn’t matter. Loneliness and a preference for illusion over reality had cost him his fortune as he traveled through the Twilight Zone.
* Quote courtesy of Wikipedia’s biographical listing for Aaron Copeland.
** Jokes courtesy of upjoke.comThanks for reading Cactus Flowers! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.
Ramona is hilarious! Literally laughed out loud at the dead dog joke. 🤣
Ramona is the hero we need.