«Design for me a special computer system based on my individual needs and desires,» Branley commanded the young engineer. «Money is no object.»
The engineer looked around the apartment, a scowl on his fuzzy-cheeked face. Branley sighed as he realized that the uncouth young man would have to spend at least a few days with him. He actually lived in the apartment for nearly a month, then insisted on returning to California.
«I can’t do any creative work here, man,» the engineer said firmly. «Not enough sun.»
Six months passed before the engineer showed up again at Branley’s door. His face shone beatifically. In his hands he held a single small gray metal box.
«Here it is, man. Your system.»
«That?» Branley was incredulous. «That is the computer you designed for me? That little box?»
With a smile that bordered on angelic, the engineer carried the box past an astounded Branley and went straight to his office. He placed the box tenderly on Branley’s magnificent Siamese solid teak desk.
«It’ll do everything you want it to,» the young man said.
Branley stared at the ugly little box. It had no grace to it at all. Just a square of gray metal, with a slight dent in its top. «Where do I plug it in?» he asked as he walked cautiously toward the desk.
«Don’t have to plug it in, man. It operates on milliwaves. The latest. Just keep it here where the sun will fall on it once a week at least and it’ll run indefinitely.»
«Indefinitely?»
«Like, forever.»
«Really?»
The engineer was practically glowing. «You don’t even have to learn a computer language or type input into it. Just tell it what you want in plain English and it’ll program itself. It links automatically to all your other electrical appliances. There’s nothing in the world like it!»
Branley plopped into the loveseat by the windows that overlooked the river. «It had better work in exactly the fashion you describe. After all I’ve spent on you…»
«Hey, not to worry, Mr. Hopkins. This little beauty is going to save you all sorts of money.» Patting the gray box, the engineer enumerated, «It’ll run your lights and heat at maximum efficiency, keep inventory of your kitchen supplies and reorder from the stores automatically when you run low, same thing for your clothes, laundry, dry cleaning, keep track of your medical and dental checkups, handle all your bookkeeping, keep tabs on your stock portfolio daily—or hourly, if you want—run your appliances, write letters, answer the phone…»
He had to draw a breath, and Branley used the moment to get to his feet and start maneuvering the enthusiastic young man toward the front door.
Undeterred, the engineer resumed, «Oh, yeah, it’s got special learning circuits, too. You tell it what you want it to do and it’ll figure out how to do it. Nothing in the world like it, man!»
«How marvelous,» said Branley. «I’ll send you a check after it’s worked flawlessly for a month.» He shooed the engineer out the door.
One month later, Branley told the computer to send a check to the engineer. The young man had been perfectly honest. The little gray box did everything he said it would do, and then some. It understood every word Branford spoke and obeyed like a well-trained genie. It had breakfast ready for him when he arose, no matter what the hour; a different menu each day. With an optical scanner that it suggested Branley purchase, it read all the books in Branley’s library the way a supermarket checkout scanner reads the price on a can of peas, and memorized each volume completely. Branley could now have the world’s classics read to him as he dozed off at night, snug and secure and as happy as a child.
The computer also guarded the telephone tenaciously, never allowing a caller to disturb Branley unless he specified that he would deign to speak to that individual.
On the fifth Monday after the computer had come into his life, Branley decided to discharge his only assistant, Ms. Elizabeth James. She had worked for him as secretary, errand girl, sometimes cook and occasional hostess for the rare parties that he threw. He told the computer to summon her to the apartment, then frowned to himself, trying to remember how long she had been working for him. Severance pay, after all, is determined by length of service.
«How long has Ms. James been in my employ?» he asked the computer.
Immediately the little gray box replied, «Seven years, four months, and eighteen days.»
«Oh! That long?» He was somewhat surprised. «Thank you.»
«Think nothing of it.»
The computer spoke with Branley’s own voice, which issued from whichever speaker he happened to be nearest: one of the television sets or radios, the stereo, or even one of the phones. It was rather like talking to oneself aloud. That did not bother Branley in the slightest. He enjoyed his own company. It was other people that he could do without.
Elizabeth James plainly adored Branley Hopkins. She loved him with a steadfast unquenchable flame, and had loved him since she had first met him, seven years, four months, and eighteen days earlier. She knew that he was cold, bitter-hearted, withdrawn, and self-centered. But she also knew with unshakable certainty that once love had opened his heart, true happiness would be theirs forever. She lived to bring him that happiness. It had become quite apparent to Branley in the first month of her employment that she was mad about him. He told her then, quite firmly, that theirs was a business relationship, strictly employer and employee, and he was not the kind of man to mix business with romance.
She was so deeply and hopelessly in love with him that she accepted his heartless rejection and stood by valiantly while Branley paraded a succession of actresses, models, dancers, and women of dubious career choice through his life. Elizabeth was always there the morning after, cheerfully patching up his broken heart, or whichever part of his anatomy ached the worst.
At first Branley thought that she was after his money. Over the years, however, he slowly realized that she simply, totally, and enduringly loved him. She was fixated on him, and no matter what he did, her love remained intact. It amused him. She was not a bad-looking woman: a bit short, perhaps, for his taste, and somewhat buxom. But other men apparently found her very attractive. At several of the parties she hosted for him, there had been younger men panting over her.
Branley smiled to himself as he awaited her final visit to his apartment. He had never done the slightest thing to encourage her. It had been a source of ironic amusement to him that the more he disregarded her, the more she yearned for him. Some women are that way, he thought.
When she arrived at the apartment he studied her carefully. She was really quite attractive. A lovely, sensitive face with full lips and doe eyes. Even in the skirted business suit she wore he could understand how her figure would set a younger man’s pulse racing. But not his pulse. Since Branley’s student days it had been easy for him to attract the most beautiful, most desirable women. He had found them all vain, shallow, and insensitive to his inner needs. No doubt Elizabeth James would be just like all the others.
He sat behind his desk, which was bare now of everything except the gray metal box of the computer. Elizabeth sat on the Danish modern chair in front of the desk, hands clasped on her knees, obviously nervous.
«My dear Elizabeth,» Branley said, as kindly as he could, «I’m afraid the moment has come for us to part.»
Her mouth opened slightly, but no words issued from it. Her eyes darted to the gray box.
«My computer does everything that you can do for me, and—to be perfectly truthful—does it all much better. I really have no further use for you.»