Chapter 8

"Good morning, GAL"

by Chris Dec

Reid was uneasy. He had been nervous since Stacy pressured him into hiding her separate financial transactions from Henry and his lawyers. California, after all, was a community property state, and Reid wasn’t clear about his legal liability if there were a divorce. He was also unsure of his ethical requirements around representing both their financial portfolios while working one against the other. And morally, well, he was feeling guilty about his secret desire to help the split widen, making Stacy available to him, now that he and Elena were just not happening. This kind of behavior from him was not a fair game, and his conscience began the slow process of waking up.

It was clear to him that Stacy must come clean with Henry about all finances, if only to protect herself from real legal trouble. He, as their investment counselor, should facilitate the conversation. But he didn’t want to talk about this with either of them on an unprotected phone line. He twirled his keys for a few seconds and then bound out the door, pulled the car out of the drive, uncertain about where he should go first: The club to work off this anxiety by hitting some squash balls, to Henry’s home office or to Stacy’s drone factory.

* * *

Henry sat in his kitchen with a cup of coffee and pondered the last few months, the stupid marital agreement that sent his wife into the bed of that damned Cavanaugh who was now suing him for his simple jealous fit and, ok, yes, for shoving him into a hot tub. How had it all come to this? Whose idea was the agreement to ‘take a break’ from marriage? That was not part of the marriage vows. He didn’t want to be with any other woman, and he certainly did not want to lose Stacy.

Maybe he could make one more attempt to revitalize and repair their marriage, while they jointly handled the business of getting rid of the lawsuit. Stacy had been spending less time at her mother’s, which Henry interpreted as a sign she wanted to get back to their marriage. Just as he was mentally setting the stage for a romantic lunch, with chilled wine and soft music, his cell rang with his Stacy ring tone.

“Hank, let’s move faster on making this offer to Cav right now. Some things have come up. Can you meet me at Griller’s for lunch?”

Wow. What timing. He calmed himself so he wouldn’t sound too eager. He had to finesse her back into romantic reconciliation.

“Sure, Stace, but why not meet here at the house? I have to be here to get a client’s check from FedEx,” he lied. “I’ll make us lunch… it’ll be ready when you get here.”

“OK, I can be there in an hour. Hank… one more thing… Cav is claiming his squash game and his earning ability as a teacher have been compromised by an injury to his right wrist when he landed in the hot tub. The whole arm is dressed for court in white tape and a sling. His lawyer is contemplating a few million more in damages. We have to make this offer really good, and right away. We should sweeten the deal with no closing costs.”

That piece of shit. I just saw him slamming some powerful balls with a steady racquet, and he’s been fine for a week. All of a sudden he has an injury?!

Henry was pissed at this arrogance for a minute, but then got his focus back on the bigger picture of a tidy resolution, peace and reconciliation. He would just get on with it and get the bastard out of his life. It was easy really, to hand over a remote piece of property whose value in the real estate world was questionable, to avoid a costly and nasty battle. Maybe he could even make Cavanova himself go away, along with this stupid lawsuit—away from Stacy and away from their marriage, fragile as it was. Deport the asshole back to New Zealand. Did we ever deport people back to New Zealand?

“Okay. Let me think about that a little more, Stacy. See you in a bit.”

When they hung up, Henry checked the contents of the fridge for available ingredients, and looked around the place. She was going to be there in an hour to finalize the plan, so he didn’t want her distracted by kitchen mess. Plus, after serving her his famous curried tuna salad in avocado and a glass of her favorite wine, he might have a better chance of getting to the romantic part of lunch. Some good sex and an earnest plea to try marriage counseling, pledging his commitment to a new start, reminding her of Finn’s stage in life and how a divorce would hurt him… how could she resist at least another try? He sniffed his armpits, combed his fingers through his hair and began tidying.

But Finn and Jethro, still at school until 4, had taken over the dining room table for the past week with their upcoming science fair project. After their tour of the Drones R Us factory, and a few spare parts from the assembly room floor, courtesy of his mom, light bulbs went off in the boys’ heads about the possibilities of cannibalizing a few prototypes, adding them to their already awesome killer bot vehicle, and taking first prize. They were getting quite skilled with the workings of the new and improved GAL 9000. Parts were everywhere on the living room floor, dining room table, and in the den: circuit boards, wires, tiny hovercraft bodies, little cameras and tiny recording devices.

What a mess those little geeks made! He had to smile at the thought of the slight boy, unsure of his place in the world of competitive sports, suddenly discovering a working brain that opened another path in his life. He was momentarily awash with love for his child. Henry was now exercising at the gym with him and influencing his interest in the game, but whatever Finn chose to do in life—jock or autobot genius—he would support him.

Henry bound up the stairs to the master bedroom, playfully slam dunking his underwear and socks into the hamper from five feet.

“And the crowd goes wild as number eleven scores again!” he shouted to the air.

“You are a winner.” The air answered.

“What the… ?” Henry spun around to see a talking member of the GAL 9000 team glide into the room and hover behind his head.

“Where’d you come from?”

“I am GAL 9000. I am a voice activated selfie drone for your convenience. I am the latest in high tech personal mobile devices from Drones R Us, an all woman-owned enterprise.”

He chuckled as he recalled that Finn had been playing around with the blasted thing down the hall the other day. The kid abandoned her as soon as he heard “The Simpsons” theme song blare from the downstairs plasma.

“Well, hi, GAL 9000, what else do you have to say?”

“Retrieving…”

“…get your butt to bed, Finnster… “

‘‘…g’night Dad, night, Mom.”

[gargle]

“…coffee’s made, I have to get going… that meeting in Long Beach.”

“…bye, Finn!”

[slam]

Listening to the comings and goings of the last 24 hours of his household, Henry was a bit aghast, as well as twistedly amused, at how this creepy little electronic spy could be awake and silently mobile, and record every sound she picked up within a fairly wide radius. Stealth Selfie Drone… just like a female.

He plucked the still whirling sneak out of the air and inspected the control panel at her underbelly. He almost expected her to squeal: Unhand me, you brute! But Gal 9000 went still, silent, and compliant. He pressed a button labeled with a universal symbol for something he didn’t recognize. She resumed her recitation with cutting edge clarity and superior sound quality:

“…get your lawyer to hurry up with the suit against Henry… propose the property next to the drone company… a dry plot of land near the desert over a multimillion dollar settlement… a limited partnership, me in the background, silent… a 51%-49% split, you reap a 2% reward…”

“…Reid has been a big help… Hank has no idea I‘ve been separating my investments. I’ll take away the bulk of my drone money and hide that, too, before I serve him with the divorce papers…”

“…will ya come to the land down unda with me, Stacy? We can spend some of our profits, buy a house together…”

“…oh, Cav…” [murmur] “…oh…”

Henry stood motionless and stunned for several minutes, then felt a searing sense of betrayal radiating from his brain down through his body, and as GAL 9000 chattered away with the afternoon’s audible and intensely embarrassing details from the master bedroom, he barely heard the car that was pulling up into the driveway.