Requiem for a Heavyweight Ch. 05

She nodded her head in agreement.

"Okay, Kenny, let's see what happens after we get some food. Only, let's go to my place first. I need to freshen up, too," she said.

She stood while waving her arms and feigned an exaggerated cough.

"Are you okay?" He looked at her as if she was about to faint. "What's wrong?"

She laughed.

"What is your cologne, Eau-de-Overwhelming?"

He laughed too.

"Sorry, I guess I put too much on. I never know how much is enough to apply. I'm not used to entertaining a woman," he said with a laugh.

He stood and stretched.

"Before we go, I'd like for you to meet someone." Roxanne gave him a surprised look of shock. "I wish you could see the look on your face," said Ken.

She shrugged him an answer.

"Well, what do you expect? Meet someone? What do you have a small child squirreled away in the closet or a dog under the bed? I thought there was no one here but us? Suddenly, I hear the music to Psycho and wonder if you're going to wheel in your dead mother sitting in a rocking chair from the bedroom," she said laughing.

He laughed too.

"You don't have to worry. Trust me. I'm no Norman Bates."

* * * * *

Ken pulled a remote from his pocket and Roxanne turned to the whirring sound and watched as a robotic, little man headed their way. Looking like a snowman encased in a silver garbage can, the mechanic man was cute in a metallic sort of way.

"Kenny, what's this? This is so awesome. Did you build it? Can he talk? May I touch it? How does it work? Does he have a name? What's his name? Is this what you do, I mean, your occupation? Do you build robots?"

"It's a robot," he said with a laugh. "Yes, I built it. No, he can't talk. Not yet. Yes, you may touch it. How it works is electronically complicated. Yes, he has a name. His name is Bartholomew, Bart for short. Yes, this is what I do for my work. I'm an electrical engineer. I build robots," he said with a laugh. "Whew. That's a lot of questions," he said laughing again.

She returned his laugh with her laugh.

"Sorry, but I've always been fascinated with robots. I built one with my brother's erector set and Legos when I was a kid, but nothing like this. I've always loved television shows and cartoons like Rhoda, My Living Doll, Rosie on The Jetsons, Data on Star Trek, K-9 from Doctor Who, R2D2 from Star Wars, Johnny 5 from Short Circuit, and Lost in Space that featured robots. Do you remember those TV shows?"

Ken shrugged while tinkering with Bart.

"I don't watch much television," he said with seriousness. "Between working and tinkering with my robot and my other inventions, I don't have the time to watch TV. This is the first day I've gone out shopping for clothes, and shopping for a girlfriend in a long time," he said with a laugh. "It's good that I bought a car. It's even better that I found a girlfriend, but not just any girlfriend. I found you. Now that I have a car, when I buy anything, like all the clothes that I bought today, I won't have to have them delivered," he said with a laugh.

She gave him a naughty look.

"And now that you have a girlfriend, you won't have to masturbate," she said with a laugh. "I can do that for you."

He looked at her with as much shock as he looked at her with sexual excitement.

"It's always nice to have something to look forward to," he said with a smile.

She gave him a sexy smile and smiled with her confession.

"I'm a TV junkie," she said walking around Bart. "So, what can he do? Can he serve me a drink? Can he vacuum, do the grocery shopping, and do laundry? I'd want one if he could make my life easier by doing household chores," she said. "I hate doing housework and I see by the mess in your condo that you hate doing housework too," she said laughing.

She had a melodious laugh. Ken loved her laugh. Her laughed was so endearingly sexy. Yet, careful not to answer her question in electronic jargon, careful not to be condescending to her obvious intellect, he explained what Bart can do without going into great and boring detail.

"I've only programmed simple functions, such as, moving forward, backward, and side-to-side. I had him talking simple phrases but removed that until I can implant him with artificial intelligence. I want to make him sound more like Hal in 2001 Space Odyssey than the voice on a telephone answering machine," said Ken.

Roxanne gave her new boyfriend a smile.

"I loved that movie. Hal was the hero and the villain," she said.

Ken continued fiddling with BART.

"I hope to give it more human-like movements, but electronically transmitting those to be interpreted by computer circuits is more difficult and takes an artificial intelligence that he doesn't possess, yet and one that I'm unsure how to create for him to do what I want him to do."

Roxanne looked at her new boyfriend impressed.

"Wow! He's awesome, Kenny. So, what's the problem? You live practically across from the computer Mecca, the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Go ask one of those geeky nerds to help and pay someone if you need to do that to save you the time to do other things, such as date me," she said with a laugh.

He returned her laugh with his.

"Yeah, well, I have already. Besides, I'm one of those geeky nerds. I hold a bachelor's and a master's degree in Electrical Engineering from MIT," he said with pride.

She looked at him again even more impressed.

"You did? You are? You do? Well, I'm impressed," she said laughing again. "So, what's the problem, then?"

As if he had a headache, he flattened back his hair with both hands in the way that he did when he was indecisive about buying the car.

"Well, the problem is my lack of knowledge of the anatomy, particularly the operation of joint movements. I can't seem to make his movements flow like that of a human. He looks too mechanical. I've been working on a computer, hologram graphic to overlay his image with that. I need to make him from something other than metal," he said with a laugh.

She stared at Bart with as much astonishment as she stared at the robot with curiosity.

"Cool," she said.

He smiled his thanks of her compliment.

"Also, I'm building a robot on a shoestring budget, while trying to keep the cost down with future mass production in mind. Imagine a robot in every home in the same way they envisioned personal computers forty years ago and in the way that you imagined a robot doing your daily, household chores."

Ken fiddled with Bart as Roxanne walked closer for a better look. She took a step back from the robot and put her hand to her chin.

"What about animation?"

She said it with such assured confidence that he looked at her with startled interest.

"Animation?" He looked at her with confusion albeit interest. "What do you mean by animation? Cartoons?"

As if he was being too quick to dismiss her idea of animation, she made a face when he said cartoons.

"Animators have developed computer programs that—"

Then, he looked at her as if she had insulted him. Impatient with her response, he looked at her as if she didn't understand what he was trying to do. Interrupting her, Ken voiced his offense.

"Do you mean cartoons," he asked again? He looked from her to look at BART before looking back at her. "This isn't a joke, Rox," he said. "Although he may look a bit odd, there's nothing funny about my robot," he said defending his mechanical friend.

She laughed at him taking umbrage over BART and defending him instead of siding with her.

"If ever we were to marry, after we've had an argument, I imagine you sleeping on the couch with your mechanical friend," she said with a laugh.

He returned her laugh with his.

"Now that's funny," he said.

As if she was going to lecture him, she stood in front of his blackboard what was filled with equations as if he was the next budding Einstein.

"No, similar, but not quite," she responded. "The premise is the same, but the methods are different. Animators are doing creative work with computer programs that I think you may find of interest. I have friends that are involved in special effects for a movie production company that you may find helpful," she said. "After their work is done, perhaps, they could take a look at BART. I'd be happy to arrange a meeting, a collaboration to share ideas. I'm sure they could help you as much as you could help them," she said.

Ken thought about her suggestion without answering. Instead of responding to her, he opened a panel in back to tinker with BART's circuits.

"The problem is, that those special effects robots cost millions of dollars and I'm trying to find a way to make this an affordable robot suitable for mass production and affordable for the average consumer to buy," he said.

* * * * *

They left Ken's condo, hopped on Storrow Drive to Route 93 North, and headed for Roxanne's apartment in Medford. She parked her car out front and passed through the gate of a freshly painted, white picket fence and continued along the cement path to the front entrance steps. A two-family house on a tree lined street in a quiet neighborhood, Roxanne occupied the second floor. In good condition, the yellow house with white trim was about 130-years-old and owned by Italian immigrants, Mario, Angela, and their four children.

"Why are we in Medford? I thought you lived in Southie?"

She gave him a smile.

"I did. I mean, I was born there and grew up there but I moved five miles north of Boston after college. I still think of myself as living in South Boston, even though I live here now and have for the last decade. Do you know what I mean?"

He laughed.

"Trust me. I do. I grew up in the North End and even though I live in Back Bay and have for the last 15-years, I still think of myself as a North Ender."

Just home from his construction job, Mario sat on the front steps sipping a beer and relaxing while waiting for his wife to prepare supper. Before setting the dinner table, Angela was on the back porch stretched out over her clothes line taking in and folding a freshly dried wash of laundry.

"Hello. How are you?" Mario greeted his tenant and her friend in broken English.

Roxanne smiled a wave in his direction.

"Good Mario, how are you?"

He shrugged, nodded his head, and smiled while eyeing Ken.

"This is my friend, Ken."

The two men shook hands.

"Beautiful day," Ken said to Mario.

Even though he had lived in America for the past 30-years, he had a limited grasp of English. Instead of answering Ken, Mario nodded, smiled, and returned to sipping his beer. Angela called him in for supper and yelled out the window in Italian for the children. Double stepping the stairway up, Ken followed behind Roxanne. She opened the front door to her six-room flat to reveal a spacious apartment with high ceilings, hardwood floors, an abundance of oversized windows, and plenty of woodwork to dust.

"This place is enormous. It's twice the size of my condo," he said. He looked at her as if she was hiding a brood of children. "Do you really need all this room?"

She shrugged her answer.

"I had a roommate, but she moved out when she married her boyfriend last year. Besides, this big apartment cost half of what I'd pay in Boston for a much smaller place. Yet, now that I'm alone, it's great living by myself with so much space. I can spread my possession out over the five rooms and the apartment never appears cluttered. I don't ever want another roommate," she said smiling at Ken. "Female, that is."

She laughed.

"This is fantastic!"

Ken walked around the reception hall while staring up at the ten-foot ceiling.

"What do you mean?"

He laughed an insane laugh as if he was crazy.

"Today is great! It's as if we're having six dates in one day. First, we had the introductory date at the restaurant. Then, we had a date while shopping for my car. Then, we had a date at my condo. Now, we are having a date at your apartment. Later tonight, when we go out to eat, drink, and dance, we'll have the official date. Finally, and hopefully climatically afterwards, we'll have our sixth day when we—"

Roxanne laughed her melodious laugh.

"Calm down, Ken. Remember your hormones. They're in overdrive now. You're going to hyperventilate," she said laughing at his excitement. "You really need to get out more." She escorted him to the living room. "Sit somewhere and I'll fix you a special drink."

She busied herself in the kitchen and returned with glasses containing a clear, fizzy liquid, garnished with a cherry and an orange slice and decorated with paper umbrellas. She handed him one.

"Is this my special drink in the way that my special car was a Lincoln Town Car Limousine Executive L?" He laughed. "What is this, a Shirley Temple?"

She returned his laugh with her laugh.

"Taste it."

He took a small sip before taking a bigger sip.

"It's delicious, but really sweet," he said trying to excavate the cherry with his straw. "I like it. What is it?"

He took another sip while looking up at her.

"They're vanilla cokes." She took a sip of the drink with her straw. "I love vanilla cokes and raspberry lime Ricky's. Unless you find an old soda fountain, you can't buy either anymore."

She smiled her affection for vanilla cokes.

"Don't Coke, Pepsi, and Dr. Pepper have vanilla cokes?"

She made a face as if he had insulted her.

"They don't taste nearly the same as these. It used to be that every corner drugstore used to serve vanilla cokes, sarsaparillas, and lime Ricky's from their soda fountains, but when have you seen a drugstore with a soda fountain last?"

She gave him a questioning look.

"Not for years. So, where'd you get these?"

She looked sad before responding to his question.

"My friend," she said sitting across from him and leaning forward in her chair and speaking with the excited fervor of a neighbor about to impart some juicy gossip over the backyard fence. "He bought a soda fountain. He installed it in his cellar and he keeps me supplied. In the summertime, he passes out ice cream cones to the kids and makes wild, alcoholic sundaes for us adults. Do you want to know what my favorite ice cream is?"

Ken looked at her with curiosity.

"What?"

She smiled as if she was already having her favorite ice cream.

"Black cherry spiked with rum. Oh, my God. It's so yummy," said Roxanne.

Obviously figuring that she was going to say chocolate, he looked at her surprised by her answer.

"Black cherry spiked with rum. Wow. A liquor spiked for adults only ice cream, that sounds interesting," said Ken.

She looked at him with curiosity.

"What's your favorite ice cream? And don't tell me vanilla. That's so boring."

He laughed at what he was going to say next.

"Vanilla," he said with a laugh, "but with jimmies, chocolate jimmies."

Compared to her favorite ice cream, his favorite ice cream was boring.

"Jimmies?" She smiled. "What are jimmies?"

He couldn't believe she never heard of jimmies.

"Some people call them sprinkles. They come in all colors but I like the chocolate jimmies the best," he said.

She shook her head obviously that his favorite ice cream was plain vanilla.

"Anyway, his specialty is coffee ice cream with Kahlua and vodka. He calls it his bold and cold Manhattan coffee. After eating two of those, you'll not only be fatter but also a little drunk. He's such a sweet man," she said nodding her head.

"Should I be jealous of the ice cream man who owns a soda fountain and keeps you supplied with your favorite beverage and ice cream?"

Ken laughed and Roxanne giggled as she blew bubbles in her drink with her straw. She looked up with a fretful smile.

"He lost his hands in Vietnam and didn't leave his house for three years after he came home. When he finally ventured out, his mechanical hands scared the kids. He sought help to learn how to live with his disability and that's why he bought the soda fountain. Now, rewarding the kids with kindness and generosity, and fattening up and intoxicating us adults, the kids accept him and are now quite fond of him. His name is Carmine, but they call him Buddy."

Ken looked at her with admiration by her sensitivity.

"Wow, I can't compete with that. I guess I'll be leaving as soon as I finish my vanilla coke to make way for Buddy," he said with a laugh.

She reached for tissue from the coffee table.

"I'm sorry," she said putting her drink down to wipe a tear from her eye and to blow her nose. "The Vietnam conflict, much like the Gulf War, and the Iraq and Afghanistan Wars on terrorism are all useless conflicts and their veterans were never appreciated for what they endured. So many have returned dead, broken, and forgotten, and have received little support for our government who sent them there in the first place."

Ken nodded his head in agreement.

"Yeah I had friends who were killed in the Iraq and Afghanistan Wars."

She gave him a sad look.

"We'll be the cause of our own destruction. We have enough nuclear weapons stockpiled to destroy the planet a thousand times over," she said. "It will be an accident, or an act of terrorism, and not a war that will be responsible for global annihilation. Life with so many things incomprehensibly intangible seems out of our control," said Roxanne.

As if mourning the dead, they sat there in silence for a minute.

"Well, you are quite the party girl, I must say." Impressed by her concern for humanity, but feeling uncomfortable with her doomsday prophecy, Ken watched as she stabbed at her cherry in her drink with her straw. "Before I'm totally depressed, how about a tour of the mansion?"

He stood ready to leave the living room for the dining room.

"Sure, but keep in mind that I wasn't expecting company." Instantly changing her mood from sullen to energetic, Roxanne jumped up from her chair. "I'm not much of a housekeeper. I find housekeeping boring. Besides, I don't have the time and when I do have the time, I don't have the inclination." She laughed. "I'm hoping you'll make a robot to do my housework for me."

He laughed at the neat condition of her apartment.

"Well, your apartment appears neat to me. If this is how it looks when you're not expecting company, I can't imagine what it looks like when you are."

Roxanne returned his laugh with her laugh.

"Well, unfortunately, Ken, if we use your place as the standard of cleanliness, then my place is spotless," she said with a laugh.

He laughed too.

"I'll have you know that the disarrayed condition of my condo is merely a reflection of my cluttered mind," said Ken with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

She picked up a piece of lint from the dining room carpet.

"If you see any dirty laundry, look up, and step over it," she said.

He laughed.

"That depends on the laundry. If I see any panties, I'm putting them in my pocket," he said.

She looked at him as if she had just swallowed a bug.

"Eww," she said with a laugh.

He laughed too.

"Just kidding," he said returning her laugh.

Following her in the way a perspective buyer follows a real estate agent, Ken took the dollar tour. Done in varying shades of blue, the living room rug was purplish blue, the draperies and window blinds were lighter shades of the same color, and the pastel wallpaper had pink and purple flowers on a pale blue background. Reproductions of Picasso inspired abstract paintings splashed with vibrant blues, purples, and reds that complemented the couch, loveseat, and armchair all done in a grayish-blue.

"I guess you like blue, huh?"

He looked at her pale blue blouse and navy-blue skirt.

"As you can see, I love blue. Blue is my favorite color," she said looking down at herself.

He looked at her with curious interest.

"So why didn't you buy a blue Mustang instead of an orange one?"