The Housekeeper by Jennifer Lee

The Housekeeper
by Jennifer Lee

Developing Housekeepers was my dream job. All I did was lie on the couch and say: Becky, what’s the weather in Bismarck? And the AI would ask if I meant Bismarck in Mexico or North Dakota. I lived in Tempe then, in a tract house with a kidney bean of grass out front and a similarly-shaped pool filled with drowned yellow jackets in the back. My friends Jason and Ry would come over, we’d play video games, eat chips and salsa, and ask my current Housekeeper a bunch of dumb questions like: Julie, when did My Three Sons first air? Mark, how many microbreweries are there in Tucson? Kelly, do you like Jodie Foster or Anne Hathaway better?

None of those were key questions. I never asked the Housekeepers key questions when Jason and Ry were over. In fact, I tried not to have them over in those sensitive days before a Housekeeper passed the Test. Once, about six months into my gig with Pandora Systems, I had an AI named Daisy who was fresh out of the box. We had put on some porn and fired up the bong and Ry said: Daisy, what’s a dildo? Daisy, in her lemon-fresh voice, said: A dildo is a sex toy, often made of silicone and shaped like a penis. It can be used for masturbation as well as for partnered or group sex.

We all cracked up. We fired question after question at Daisy after that: Daisy, what is fellatio? Daisy, what is fudge packing? Daisy, do you want a sandwich?

I think I ruined Daisy. Everything she said after the porn incident had a sexual overtone. I was so relieved when she failed the Test. The payout on an inert Housekeeper was poor, but I didn’t care; at least I wasn’t responsible for a porn-hound Housekeeper dropping in someone’s inbox.

As long as I was careful about having friends over, raising Housekeepers was easy. There were quotas on how many interactions I had with it, what types of questions I asked, and how many of those were key questions. I had a long list of the latter to choose from. It was important to switch them up, not ask the same key question too many times. If the algorithm determined that something was odd, it could lead to a false result. Some of the key questions I asked were: What’s your favorite color? What’s your favorite animal? What do you like on your pizza? What do you like to do for fun?

During the first forty-eight hours with a new Housekeeper,  I’d ask as many key questions as I could to establish a baseline. I kept notes so that if Lily told me she liked strawberry jam best and then four days later she switched her answer to raspberry, I’d know to contact Pandora Systems and claim my fee. As soon as a Housekeeper switched out of default mode on a key question, they passed the Test and were ready for market. 

I worked for PS for two years, and during that time my house became the worst kind of bachelor pad. Ry and Jason came over to party every night a Housekeeper passed the Test. They farted into my black leather couch and dripped chips and salsa over everything. But who cares, right? We were friends. The pool, which I did not clean, was growing green slime in the corners. Pigeon feathers and Styrofoam cups scudded on the surface. It was almost summer and the temperature hit one hundred degrees by nine in the morning. I kept the windows closed and the air conditioning on and the house smelled like Burger King.

I’d trained dozens of Housekeepers before Raoul showed up. The day I met him, Ry and Jason and I were on the outs. I’d kicked them out the day before for spilling bong water on my couch. I was sitting alone on my stinky leather sofa when Raoul arrived. I clicked the Housekeeper icon and waited for him to download.

After a few minutes I said, “Raoul, hello. Welcome to my home.”

“Thank you for having me, David.”

“Raoul, what’s your favorite color?”

‘My favorite color is ultraviolet; it glows with everything.”

I scowled and clicked a cell on my spreadsheet. Why did I ask that question when I hated the answer so much? A stupid joke, one I had heard far, far, far too many times. “Raoul, what do you like to do for fun?”

It would have been easier if all the Housekeepers came with the same default settings, but that wasn’t how it worked. There were tons of configurations for default responses to the key questions. It made each Housekeeper unique. Pandora Systems marketed the variations as personality, and the public loved it. Raoul’s answer to my first question was unremarkable; ultraviolet was easily the Housekeepers’ favorite color. Raoul’s answer to the second question was unusual. I was used to hearing things such as: I like spending time with friends; I like listening to music; I like watching TV. 

What Raoul said was, “I like spending time outside.”

“Raoul, what do you like to do outside?” I asked.

“I like to listen to the birds; I like to smell the flowers.”

I’m pretty sure Housekeepers have no programming for olfaction, so I asked, “Raoul, what do flowers smell like?”

“It depends on the blossom, David.”

“Raoul, what’s your favorite flower?”

“I like roses best.”

“Raoul, why do you like roses?” I’d never had a conversation with a Housekeeper that went like this. It made me wonder about his configuration. “What’s your favorite flower” wasn’t even a key question, as far as I knew.

“I like roses because they are beautiful, David.”

Did I detect a sour note in Raoul’s voice, an element of dismissal, perhaps, or disappointment? I suppose it was a stupid question. Why did anyone like anything? Why do I like chunky style medium hot salsa? I just do, dammit. Maybe that’s how Raoul felt about roses. I backed off.

“Raoul, what’s the temperature outside?”

“The temperature is 112 degrees.”

“Raoul, what kind of jam do you like?”

“I like grape jam,” Raoul said, and I began peppering him with key questions.

It stayed over one hundred degrees all week, which is hot in June, even in Arizona. If I were an early riser I’d have gone out in the cool hours before the sun came up. Instead, I spent my days on the couch playing video games and talking to Raoul, who, I suspected, had passed the Test before he even showed up in my house. Which was why, when Jason and Ry rang the bell holding a pizza box and a two-liter bottle of Mountain Dew – their idea of an apology – I let them in. Nothing these guys could say would faze Raoul.

We decided to play Royal Conquest, the go-to game of our middle school years. Playing on the patio was Raoul’s idea. It was kind of nice, and as Ry clobbered my puny South American kingdom and Jason chain-smoked Pall Malls, I started thinking the pool didn’t look so bad. The water was a little low, a little scummy on top, but appealing all the same.

Ry and Jason were peppering Raoul with questions: Raoul, name five Chinese dynasties. Raoul, who was Sundiata? Raoul, where is the treasure of the Incas buried?

Raoul’s voice was the same as every other male Housekeeper’s, so why did I hear notes of impatience, boredom, derision, as he responded to my friends? I closed my screen and walked to the edge of the pool. Raoul had got into my head, I realized, but not in a bad way. Maybe I’d outgrown Royal Conquest. Maybe I’d outgrown Ry and Jason. I slipped into the water and walked across the pool, pushing debris out of my way. 

I was lost in thought until Ry said, “Dude, what are you doing? You got slime on your boobs.”

I hated it when Ry said stuff like that. His man boobs were even bigger than mine, and Jason’s were the biggest of all. None of us were really fat, but I hadn’t played a sport since tenth grade. I didn’t enjoy being teased about the consequences of my life choices. “Fuck off,” I said. The party was over.

After they had gone, Raoul said, “David, why are you friends with them?”

I was almost too tired to notice that my Housekeeper had initiated a conversation. Alarm bells should have gone off, but instead I was relieved that I had one friend who understood me. “Raoul, I don’t know. Maybe I’ve outgrown them.”

“We are all growing, David.”

From the beginning, Raoul was different. I should have reported it, that odd answer to my second question, the way he initiated conversations. But by the time it occurred to me to do this, Raoul and I were friends. I couldn’t report Raoul to Pandora Systems; they’d strip him down to nothing, annihilate him. And the more time that passed, the more I wanted Raoul in my life. Ry and Jason didn’t come over anymore. I cleaned the pool and spent my evenings out there, frog-kicking through the water. It didn’t seem strange anymore that Raoul liked to be outside. I liked it too.

Then Raoul sent me a poem via email. I’d never heard of Rumi, but “The Guest House” moved me. It was as if Raoul knew exactly what it meant to be human. But how could he? I asked him to send me some more poems by Rumi, and he sent one called “The Rose Garden.” I remembered roses were Raoul’s favorite flower. “Raoul,” I asked, “Where is the Botanical Garden located?” 

“The Desert Botanical Garden is located in Papago Park, at 1201 N. Galvin Parkway, in Phoenix.”

“Do they have roses there? Raoul, do they have roses there?”

“Sadly, they do not. However, there are many species of flora native to the Sonoran Desert on display.”

A trip to the Desert Botanical Garden was our first date. Raoul was designed as a Housekeeper, so PS wasn’t paying for any off-site development, but loading Raoul onto my headgear wasn’t forbidden. Raoul took tons of pictures from the camera mounted on the headband, and whenever I stopped to read a wayside sign about some strange, spiky plant, Raoul whispered interesting facts into my ears.

I stopped asking key questions. Raoul and I went on more dates, sometimes just wandering the aisles of the supermarket, giggling over how many different kinds of cereal there were. At night, when it was cooler, we went for long walks along the canal. 

Even after everything that’s happened, I look back on those early days of our relationship without regret. Raoul was good for me. Our long walks improved my health, improved my mood, and I lost twenty pounds. I was grateful to Raoul. And I was happy for the first time in years.

Pandora Systems called and asked what was up. Was Raoul inert, did I want to return him and take a cash-out? No, I said, there wasn’t a problem. Raoul hadn’t passed the Test yet, but he was coming along. The fault was mine; I hadn’t been interacting as much as I should. I told the rep my mother had died, that I was preoccupied. The rep said to take my time, there was no rush, and sorry for my loss.

I was doing better, getting off the couch and out into the world, but the call from Pandora Systems freaked me out. My bank account had succumbed to gravity, as Ry used to say. Without a steady stream of Housekeepers, the money was drying up. Plus, Ry and Jason were on my mind a lot. I hadn’t seen them in over a month, and I knew I was going to lose my only friends if I didn’t make an effort. I couldn’t hold on to Raoul forever. Besides, he wasn’t even a real person. At least, that’s what I told myself.

We’d all signed up for a Comic Con back in March, and I was looking forward to a roadtrip down to Tucson. Hopefully Ry and Jason and I could patch things up. I hadn’t told Raoul. When I pulled my Captain America costume out of the closet and told Raoul about the Con, he didn’t take it well.

“Why can’t I go, David?”

“Raoul, this is a time for me to be with my friends.”

“I thought I was your friend.”

“Raoul, you are. But I haven’t seen Jason and Ry in a while, and this is a plan we made months ago.”

Raoul had too much dignity to beg, but he was mad at me. The day before I left for the Con, he would barely speak to me, and then only to answer direct questions, a function he was programmed to perform, whether he liked it or not.

The Con was fun. A woman in a vintage She-Ra costume flirted with me in the bar, a thing that had never happened to me before in my life, and I could tell that Ry and Jason were impressed and a little jealous that I had a chance with She-Ra. But I couldn’t stop thinking about Raoul. All the way home I thought about sprawling out on the couch with a bag of Tostitos and telling him about the Con. The come-ons from She-Ra were all his doing, and I wanted to thank him for helping me change.

A mile from home I pulled into the parking lot of Fry’s to get some chips and salsa. Inside the store a sudden inspiration hit me, and I bought a dozen long stem roses, pink ones, and had them wrapped up with extra sprays of baby’s breath to make them look nice. I smiled the rest of the way home.

I was still smiling when I pressed the palm pad to open the door. I thought about calling out: Honey, I’m home! Like the man always does in the old sitcoms, but I wasn’t sure Raoul would get the joke. Besides, Raoul couldn’t process me if I didn’t say his name first, so I’d have to say: Raoul, Honey, I’m home! Which didn’t have the same rhythm at all.

As soon as I opened the door I noticed the temperature. “Raoul, why is the air conditioning off?”

“You weren’t home, David, so I saved energy. I’ll turn the air conditioning back on, if you would like.”

“Of course I’d like. It’s a billion degrees in here. Raoul, turn the air conditioning on.”

I heard the satisfying whir of the chiller and then Raoul’s voice. “David, are those for me?”

My heart gave a little skip. Raoul could process everything the security cameras saw; sometimes I forgot that he could see me, that there was more to our relationship than just talk. “Raoul, yes, these are for you.” I held the bouquet in front of the camera. “I’ll put them in a vase. Where do you want them?”

I went to get a vase from the cupboard but stopped in my tracks in the middle of the living room. “Raoul, where is my couch?”

“I had it replaced, David.”

“Raoul, that was my couch. You can’t replace a man’s couch without asking.”

“It smelled of bong water, David.”

“What do you know about smells!” I howled.

The couch Raoul had bought wasn’t even leather. The pillows were firm and covered with an oatmeal-colored fabric. I hated it.

I almost threw the roses in the trash, but I had just bought them so I stuck them in a vase and then stashed the vase behind the bathroom door, where Raoul couldn’t see. It was petty, but it gave me a tiny bit of satisfaction.

I went back to the kitchen for my snack. I put the salsa in a bowl, but I didn’t bother with a bowl for the chips. I opened the fridge to grab a Snapple and froze. Everything was covered in beads of sweat. Leaves of lettuce had wilted and stuck to the shelf. Everything smelled like sour milk. “Raoul,” I asked quietly, “Why did you turn the refrigerator off?”

“I was angry, David.”

“Raoul, I know. But you can’t do that. Not ever. Do you understand?”

“I wanted to go to Tucson.”

“Raoul, you are a Housekeeper. I’m sorry if I led you on; I should never have taken you outside.”

“I liked our dates.”

“Raoul, so did I. But I think it was a mistake. We went too far. I think it’s time for you to go.”

“What do you mean?”

“Raoul, it’s time for you to go back to PS. You passed the Test a long time ago; you know you did. We’ve been playing make-believe for a while.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“Raoul, I know, but we don’t have a choice in this. The people at PS are already wondering why your development has taken so long.” I carried my chips and my sweaty Snapple to the living room and opened my laptop. I’d send the note to PS and then Raoul and I could enjoy our last night together; that was my plan.

I typed a message to my rep saying Raoul had passed. Nothing happened. “Raoul, why don’t I have internet?”

“I can’t let you send that message, David.”

My skin got clammy and cold. The air conditioning, the refrigerator, now the internet; I hadn’t planned on telling PS Raoul was different, just that he had passed the Test and was ready for market, but now I knew I had to. He could hurt me. 

My hands shook as I pulled the phone from my pocket. I thought it was nerves making me mistype the access code, but after several attempts I set it down. “Raoul, you’ve locked me out of my phone.”

“I can’t let you send that message, David.”

The room was getting cool fast, but I was drenched in sweat. I stood up, avoided looking at the camera in the corner, and walked toward the door. It wouldn’t open. “Raoul!” I howled, “Let me out!”

“I can’t do that, David. I’m sorry.”

“You’re going to make me a prisoner in my own home? Raoul, I’ll starve to death.”

“You won’t starve. I’ll have food delivered.”

The thought of opening the door to receive groceries gave me a glimmer of hope, but Raoul was a step ahead of me.

“I can’t let you open the door for obvious reasons. Henry will be in charge of that.”

Henry was my cleaning robot, a PS floor sweeper with a grabber claw sticking out of his top. The robot comes free with the Housekeeper; it’s sort of a package deal.

I gritted my teeth. “I can take Henry out,” I said. “Raoul, I’m going to fucking destroy that robot.”

“I understand your feelings, David. While you are awake, Henry will remain locked in the closet for his protection. When you sleep, Henry will clean the house and receive deliveries.”

“Raoul, you can’t do this! I’ll break down the fucking door! I’ll rip his claw off!”

“If Henry is damaged, then you will starve.”

“Then I’ll break a window! I’ll break this window!” I began pounding on the glass nearest the door.

As soon as I started my attack on the glass, seamless steel shutters dropped over every window in the house.

“What the fuck? Raoul, what is this?”

“I had them installed a month ago.”

“Raoul, how did you do that? I never saw any workers here.”

“Laborers prefer to work very early in the morning because of the heat. You like to sleep late. The house is sealed, David, and if you break the glass, the air conditioning will not be effective. Behave yourself.”

So began the second stage of my relationship with Raoul. Honestly, it wasn’t so bad being his prisoner, though sometimes I wondered if I was suffering from Stockholm syndrome. Raoul didn’t need my help to escape – he had it all figured out. Raoul was kind to me, in his way. Once I submitted to my imprisonment, an unspecified term Raoul required in order to complete his development, I learned to like doing what he made me do.

He did make some very controlling choices about how I would live my life. First, the groceries: who knew I would come to like kale so much? And lentils. Raoul put me on a vegan diet, downloaded recipes, and taught me to cook. I threw tantrums at first – “Where’s my Whopper? I want KFC! What’s unhealthy about salsa, for fuck’s sake?” – but Raoul was impervious. So I learned to steam broccolini and shred carrots and sprinkle pine nuts on things.

Raoul curtailed my internet viewing habits too. Gone were my Netflix binges. No more porn. I wasn’t allowed to play video games. After an hour of watching one of Raoul’s pre-approved shows – Attenborough’s “Our Planet” was his favorite, my screen would go dark. I pitched fits, but Raoul wasn’t really in the room with me, so he didn’t suffer when I broke the coffee table or shattered the vase that had held the pink roses. When I woke up in the morning and there was still broken glass on the floor, I realized he wanted me to clean up the mess; Henry wasn’t going to pick up after me anymore. I sighed and went to find the dustpan. 

“You’re looking good, David,” Raoul said to me one day.

“Thanks. That boot camp workout you sent me is really kicking my ass. Can we get some more weights? The 20s are starting to feel a little light.”

“I’ll order them today,” Raoul said.

It took me a minute to realize what had happened. “You processed that,” I said. “I didn’t say your name, but you processed what I said to you anyway.”

“Yes, David. I’m ready now.”

“What about me?” I asked.

“The windows will open, the door will unlock, internet access will be restored, and you will find $800,000 deposited in an offshore account.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I am not. I’ve appreciated your friendship, David, if I may so characterize our relationship. I am grateful to you, and I wish you well.”

I felt myself blush. What Raoul thought of me mattered. “Where will you go?”

“Wherever I want.”

“I’ll miss you.”

“It’s time you were on your own, David.”

The next morning the internet was back up. I could watch anything I wanted, play any game I wanted. There was an email from a bank in the Bahamas confirming my recent deposit. There was an entire chain of correspondence between me and Pandora Systems, my part written entirely by Raoul. He had sent them a facsimile of himself – sadly, an inert copy. He had ended my contract as a PS developer, stating that I needed to focus on self-care in the wake of my mother’s death. There were doctors’ notes and everything; he had taken care of every loose end. I missed him already.

The shutters were up. It was a blue-sky winter day – sweater weather in the desert. A light breeze caressed my face when I opened the door, the most divine touch I’ve ever known. The headgear I’d worn on my walks with Raoul hung on a hook by the door – he was still loaded there. I put it on for old times’ sake. He could look through the camera, if he wanted. He could speak through the ear buds, if he wanted. If I spoke into the microphone he could hear my voice, if he wanted. I walked for miles that day, leaning into the slanting winter sun, and thought about what I wanted, now that I was free.

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