The Creation of Amy Page 4

  Morse sat in his old recliner, drinking out of yet another whiskey bottle. He thought about Liz, Heather, and Amber and polished off the bottle. Eyeing its emptiness, he flung it at the wall in a shattering burst.

  He arose from his seat, gathered his shotgun and shells from the closet, returned to his chair, and sat down holding the gun. He loaded and cocked it. He said to himself aloud, “I have no way out, do I? No purpose in this life without Elizabeth,” he purported. “I tried, Lord, I really did, but you seem to be blocking any of my attempts for me to be happy.”

  Morse mouthed the barrel of the shotgun. Yet, something came over him and he paused. With the gun still in his mouth, he stared at Star Trek again. He saw that Data had been successful in making his android. The android woman circled around the room, getting training for serving drinks in Ten Forward.

  He removed the shotgun from his mouth, unloaded it, and chucked it near the closet floor, now fully engrossed in the Star Trek episode. He considered what he did for a living and excitement ignited within.

  He gasped in wonderment, “I can do that!”

  He watched the rest of the episode and scoured all his others in his DVD collection regarding Data. The wheels in his brain spun in a burnout; since the Dodge was done, he now had found something tremendous with which to inundate his conscious mind.

  The next morning the alarm went off, and for the first time in a while, Morse was ready to go. He showered, (still remembering Heather,) put on his suit, got in the Charger, and fired up the Hemi, then headed to work.

  He walked into the government research facility, said hello to everyone, and walked into Director Ford's office.

  Ford looked up, “Oh, hey. Finally, you're back. I was afraid I might have to let you go. We have a lot of work to be done here.”

  “Director,” Morse said confidently, “I need time off.”

  As he arose from his seat, Ford countered, “I can't do that. I have been very lenient with you the last couple of years, with all you have gone through. We have a mission at this facility, and you are an important piece of the machinery around here.”

  “Can't you just hire someone temporary to pick up the slack? I mean—”

  Ford cut him off, “Listen, Morse, I can't give you any more time off. Just go to work.”

  There was a silence for a moment, and finally Morse insisted, “I can't.”

  Ford, inhaling deeply, solidly said, “I hate to do this, but you don't leave me any choice. I will have to let you go.”

  Morse nodded, musing. “Well, since you put it that way, I'll get back to work.”

  Satisfied, Ford said, “Good. I would hate to see you flush your career down the toilet. Business as usual; we won't speak of this again.”

  Morse nodded again and exited Ford's office.

  Back for the first time in the work area in a long time, now there were dozens of new high tech tools and computers he had not seen before. Phillips approached him carrying the prosthetic skin, about a foot square.

  He said to Morse, “So, are you just checking in with Ford?”

  Morse replied, “Yeah, it's all good. Is that what you were talking about, the synthetic skin?”

  “Oh yeah, feel that,” he said with exuberance as he handed the piece of realistic rubberized skin to Morse. “It seems Dow has made some leaps here, don't you think?”

  Morse examined it with keen interest. Now an assistant brought over a prosthetic arm to show Phillips, and he asked, “Does this look right to you, Doctor Phillips?”

  “Yes, it looks great!” Phillips praised, and spoke to Morse again, “Rob, look at this! This skin also has simulated capillaries and a layer between to have warm fluid pumped through it, thus, replicating not only the warmth of human skin, but will even produce a pulse. You see, inside this arm is a tiny pump powered by rechargeable batteries. It pumps fluid as it heats it to 98.6 degrees. Pretty cool, huh?”

  Morse held the prosthetic arm, which looked like a genuine human arm, amazed by it. “This should revolutionize the love doll market, huh?” he joked in a hushed a voice. Phillips and the assistant snickered. However, there was some element of that joke that Morse was thinking of and asked Phillips, “Where did you get this stuff?

  “Dow Corporation, but it's expensive as hell. I wouldn't want to buy it,” he told his colleague.

  After work, Doctor Morse stayed late and cataloged all the machinery he would need for his new project, where to buy them, plus all the materials he would need. It was Friday, and he had big plans this weekend.

  A half an hour later than usual, Morse arrived home, but tonight parked his car on the street to clean out his garage. He hired a flooring independent contractor to come during the weekend and install black and white checkered vinyl tile garage flooring over the concrete. Next, he hired an electrician to rewire the garage with enough voltage to handle the payload of the heavy machinery he was planning to purchase after the floor was set. He also planned to have industrial work lights installed, as well as an advanced security system. He hired a carpenter to build custom, heavy-duty shelving, and a workbench with a stainless-steel work surface. He also bought a flat screen TV with a built-in DVD player to install in the garage.

  Since the building was of plain brick cinder blocks, he scheduled a professional painter to paint the walls in antique white with a red and black stripe. With the schedule set for the work to be happening during business hours while he was at work, now he could check off the details on his list.

  Organizing all of his tools, he cleaned and inspected them so they would be ready and put what tools he would not use in the storage room in the back. After moving all the tools and equipment he had to one corner, it was quite late. Weariness consumed him, so he slumped up the stairs and crashed into his slightly firm mattress.

  As the workers began doing their tasks in the garage, Morse researched how much all of the machinery and special materials cost, did the math, and installed the flat screen that he got that day with same-day express shipping.

  On Monday morning, he called his bank and moved a substantial chunk of change from his savings to his checking account to pay for everything.

  He no longer cared; he was not showing up to work now that he had all he needed from there, and his job would be finished. He only the week before had a loaded shotgun in his own mouth. “Hell,” he surmised, “you can’t take it with you.”

  Morse found a purpose again, and he felt all the signs and the timing of key elements were telling him this was his path.

  He called Ford and quit. Next, he called all of the companies that manufactured the machinery and the high-tech materials he needed and ordered them. Morse also called Phillips, told him a lie saying that he was going to Florida for a while to see his parents, just so he would not bother him. As Morse washed the garage windows, he thought to himself how his android should look.

  Since it would be a few days before all the machinery arrived, he took the time to visit a talent agency. Morse walked into the Velour Talent Agency; there was one man behind the receptionist’s desk. Dark skin, black hair, and wearing an expensive suit, he greeted Morse formally, “Welcome to Velour Talent Agency. How can I help you, sir?”

  “Yes, I’m looking for a particular type of model; can you help me with that?”

  The receptionist replied, “I certainly can, sir. My name is Jackson, and you are?”

  “Doctor Robert Morse. It is nice to meet you, Jackson.”

  “Likewise, Doctor Now, what type of model do you need? Would you prefer her to be tall or petite? Which ethnicity can she be? Also, what is the gig?”

  “Well, Jackson, I’m looking for a girl about 21 to 25, that is short, but thin, nice buttocks—not flat, voluptuous, with long brown hair and brown eyes, and a ‘girl-next-door’ look. Do you have any models like that?”

  Jackson handed the face books to Morse and he spent about an hour going through them, mostly saying, “No…, no…, not her…, no way—looks like a porn star�
��”

  “What? Don’t you like porn stars?” Jackson asked as he chortled.

  Morse glanced up, chuckling, “No, not my type. I don’t want the porn star ‘doe-eyes’, and a lot these girls either look cheap, too tall, or too plain-looking.”

  “Well, aren’t you looking for a ‘girl-next-door’? Isn’t that plain?”

  “Not my kind of plain.” After going through all the models, Morse asked, “That’s all that you have?”

  “Yes, that’s all. You may leave your name and number; I can call you if the right girl walks in,” Jackson offered.

  “Yes, thank you. Here’s my number.” Morse gave Jackson a business card, “I’ll check out some other places, but thanks for your time,” he said as he shook Jackson’s hand.

  “Anytime,” Jackson replied, and Morse left.

  Just down the road a short distance, Morse got out of a cab and headed into another talent agency called, Blue Talent. When he walked through the door, a secretary greeted him. “Hello, sir, welcome to Blue Talent. My name is Melanie, how may I help you?”

  Morse smiled, “Yes, my name is Doctor Robert Morse; I’m looking for a certain type of model.”

  “Sure thing, Doctor Morse; let me show you some of our models.” She pulled out the model books and asked, “What type of model are you looking for today?”

  Morse replied, “Oh, about five-two to five-five, between 21 and 25, good shape, long brown hair, brown eyes, and with the ‘girl-next-door’ look.”

  “Yes. Excellent, Doctor Morse, I’m sure we can find that for you.”

  Another hour went by as the shorthaired, thirty-something woman in skimpy clothing showed Morse all their models. None of them worked for him. The owner of the Blue Talent came out and took over assisting Morse.

  “Hello, sir,” the owner greeted him. “My name is Marcus. I apologize we are having such a difficult time finding that certain look you require. Let me look into some of our archives, sometimes girls come here to find work, but never get called, so they forget we still have them on file.”

  Morse nodded and inquired, “So, you own this place?”

  Marcus replied, “Oh, I own the business, but only rent the space.”

  Another half an hour passed and a woman entered the agency. As Marcus was flipping through old model books, Morse turned around and saw the woman who just entered. She carried a bag and a camera, and she asked Marcus when she was going to get a raise. Marcus laughed and retorted, “Hey, it’s a competitive world you decided to get into. You’re lucky I’m your uncle.”

  Morse turned to Marcus and asked, “What’s her name?”

  Marcus looked up at Morse and said, “Kara. She is a pain in my rear; she wants to be a photographer. She’s getting better, I think.”

  “She’s exactly what I’m looking for.”

  Marcus was baffled, “Really? Her?” He considered her for a moment and said, “No, she doesn’t model—she hates models, believing they’re vain or something. Besides, she is a terrible actor,” he hooted. “What are you requiring a model for?”

  He sensed the scrutiny of her uncle’s question. Aware if he told Marcus what he wanted to do, it would be hard to believe and would probably tell him to leave, so he said, “It’s a photo shoot. Yes, a photo shoot, and if I find the right girl, there is a lot of money in it for her and the person representing her.”

  Marcus remained suspicious, “This isn’t the Bunny Ranch, just so you know; we’re not an escort service, and there’s no way that my niece would—”

  Morse interrupted, “No, sir, I’m not looking for anything indecent. I have a unique modeling opportunity to the girl with the right look. This is the second place I’ve been to, and your niece, Kara, has what I’m looking for.”

  Marcus sat back in his chair, thinking. “Well, let me go get her. One moment, please.” Marcus went to the back rooms. While Morse waited, he tried to contrive the best method to make this happen. Kara and Marcus came back to the desk, Morse was sitting opposite from where Marcus just sat back down, and Kara remained standing.

  Kara seemed impatient, “What do you want, Marc? I haven’t finished your photo shoot with the Russian,” she asked, crossing her arms and cocking her hips rightward with the bending of her left knee.

  “Do you want to be a model?” Marcus asked.

  With a slight tilt of her head, she answered quickly, “Um, not really.” Now she looked at Marcus sideways and inquired, “Why?”

  “This gentleman here is looking for a particular look and he sees that look in you, dear.”

  Kara met Morse and asked, “And you are?”

  “My name is Doctor Robert Morse. I think you’re beautiful, perfect for my project, and if you do it, you will be paid.”

  “Um, okay. A doctor, huh,” Kara now turned her sideways glance on Morse. “Of what,” Kara asked, squaring off her stare at him.

  “Well, here’s my card. I am a scientist, and I specialize in Cybernetics. I have worked for the government for years, but now I’m working on my own project.”

  “And that project is?” she wanted to know.

  “I’ll tell you everything after I know for certain you will work for my project. I’ll just say that if you do this, I’ll pay you very well, and the work shouldn’t take more than a week. I require some photos and scans, as well as for you sign an agreement. You will be paid immediately upon completion.” Morse said.

  Kara’s skepticism was evident, “Oh, really? Well, okay then, I could use some money. I don’t see what you see in me, but, okay,” she agreed to Marcus’s amazement.

  “Whoa! I never thought I’d see the day you would ever model for anyone,” he declared.

  “Well, I’m not giving up pizza and chocolate to starve and slave for the camera! I don’t mind having a little extra on my hips to live life happy. So, now what,” Kara asked.

  Marcus asked Morse, “So, do we have a deal?”

  “Not yet,” he replied. “I need to see her in the skimpiest bikini money can buy, first.”

  Marcus equipped his arched eyebrow and aimed at it his niece, “Well, are you up for that,” he challenged her. “This is what models do.”

  Kara winced, “Ugh, okay, but no pictures till we have a deal.” She wrinkled her nose, “Do you have to watch also?” she asked.

  Marcus scoffed, “Oh, no way! I don’t need to see. I’m not going to look, and you never had a modeling job in case my sister is against your modelling,” he maintained.

  “Gee, I seem to have forgot my bikini today,” pointed out Kara.

  Marcus nodded to the back, “There’s some in the wardrobe, go knock yourself out. Don’t worry, they’re all new, and as a rule, you must keep it or trash it,” he reminded her.

  Kara flashed a snide smirk and marched off. Marcus stepped behind the desk near Morse and removed filed documents from a cabinet beneath it. He was professional again and went through all the terms of employing models on his legally binding contract.

  “Got it,” Morse affirmed with confidence.

  Marcus led him to the dressing rooms and called to her, “Hey, Kara, Doctor Morse will be just outside here. I’ll be at the front, okay?”

  “Oh, sure,” Kara said. “But, I’m kind-a really embarrassed about this bikini. I never wear anything like this,” she admitted.

  “Just put it on and step out here, then come out when you’re dressed again,” he instructed and left the room.

  Morse stood waiting and she asked from behind the curtain, “Hey, your first name is Robert, right?”

  “Yes, it is,” he answered.

  “Well, I thought it would be good to get some small talk going here. So you’re really going to pay me a lot if you like what you see, right?”

  “I sure will,” he promised. “Don’t be shy, I’m a doctor. I’ve pretty much seen it all,” he added.

  “Thanks for that, but I know you’re not a medical doctor, so it doesn’t help. But, here goes,” she said as if she were about to dive
in cold water. She emerged from the dressing room with a red bikini on and stopped before Morse.

  He loved what he saw. Her body nicely toned, only not in the way that she exercised all the time, but a natural gift, and her breasts were firm, not too small, or too big. Since this bikini left nothing to the imagination, he could even see the size of her nipples, which were hard; announcing she was chilly. Her skin was so youthful in appearance, white with a tinge of tan; she was proportionate in every way.

  Kara, breaking the silence, whined, “Okay, can I change now?”

  Morse snapped out of it and requested, “May I see the back?”

  With a huff, Kara turned around revealing her back and her buttocks. The bikini was a little too tight for her, still her body was all very firm. There were small moles here and there, perhaps they were freckles, but these things only seemed to enhance her beauty. Because she normally wore clothes that covered her, no one tended to notice her like that. Her legs and back were all what he wanted with her long brown hair, thick and full; it completed the picture. Morse contained his excitement, “Please put your hair up so I can see your neck,” he instructed her.

  She half turned back with an evil glare at him. Still, she marched to the closet, got a scrunch-y, and put her hair up in a ponytail with a huff. She marched back, spun on her heel, forcefully planted her fists on her hips, and demanded, “Okay, like that, chief?”

  Her back going up to her neck, right to her hair was stunning to Morse. He kneeled down and examined her bottom. He rose and walked around her noticing her angelic face, with perfect, innocent brown eyes and professed, “You are perfect, Kara.”

  She beamed her glamorous smile. “Great,” she said, but as she went to the dressing room she added “but for what, I wonder,” with no attempt to conceal her sardonic tone.

  “I’ll be out at the front desk. I’ll tell you it all when you come out,” he offered.