Damn. Why can’t he be real?
He followed her into the bedroom, and she turned on the light.
“Stay there.”
“Aight.”
She opened her walk-in closet and placed her shoes in a wooden rack. She walked past the clone and opened the top drawer of her oak dresser, removing a pair of panties and a pink cotton nightgown. Normally, she’d feel embarrassed about pulling out such intimate items in front of a stranger, but she didn’t feel nervous around Rapsilico. She went inside the bathroom and closed the door. She showered before getting dressed for dinner, so she stepped out of the black dress and changed into her nightclothes. She washed off her makeup at the vanity adjacent to the bathroom, staring at the clone in the mirror. He was standing in the doorway where she’d ordered him, facing the wall behind her poster bed. She knew Rapsilico was self-cleaning, and she wondered what would happen if he got wet.
I’ll finish reading the owner’s manual in the morning. Shawnetta knew to activate the White Man for the first time, she only had to speak his name. To shut him down, she used the phrase, “Time to close your eyes.” It was a silly command, since the clone couldn’t lower his eyelids all the way. The deactivation phrase reminded her of something she might say to a fussy child refusing to take a nap.
“I like that nightgown on you. That’s a real pretty color.”
“Thanks, Rapsilico.” She gestured to the armless accent chair next to her armoire. She had purchased the chair because the chocolate velvet coordinated well with her bedroom furniture, and she wanted another comfortable place besides her couch to read. But she ended up doing all of her reading in bed. She spent most of her time in bed. Alone. “You can sleep here.”
“Solid.”
Rapsilico reclined in the chair, his hands on his legs. He didn’t have a change of clothes, and there was nothing she could offer him to sleep in – no pajamas or even a tee shirt left behind by a former lover. They would have to go shopping in the morning. She turned off the light and climbed in bed.
“Goodnight, Rapsilico.”
“Night, Shawnie.”
“Time to close your eyes.”
The clone fell silent. Light from the street lamp streamed through her vertical blinds, bisecting his torso. Shadows hid one side of his face, but she still saw his unblinking blue eyes.
Shawnetta drove east on Wilshire on her way to Claudine’s house. It was Saturday morning, and she called her friend an hour ago to ask her to accompany her and Rapsilico on their shopping spree. Shawnetta was eager to show off her White Man, even though she knew Claudine only had eyes for men with dark skin. But her clone was so handsome and polite, he could win over the most militant of black women. She needs to keep her options open.
Earlier, when Shawnetta arose, she nearly tumbled out of bed at the sight of the upright figure in her accent
chair, hands on his legs, lids at half mast. It took her a moment to realize that he was not an intruder. She decided to shower and dress before activating him for the day. While he was still in resting mode, she raked a wide-toothed comb through his hair, patting the yellow tresses into place. She straightened the polo shirt and shook a few drops from a sample cologne vial in his general direction. Then she called his name.
Now they cruised down Crenshaw in her Jetta, the White Man’s arm resting on the window ledge.
“I love sunny days. It’s so beautiful outside, isn’t it, Rapsilico?”
“Word.” He turned toward her with a grin. He would look even sexier wearing a pair of designer shades. “Not as beautiful as you, though.”
Shawnetta fumbled for a CD in the case attached to her visor. “What kind of music do you like to listen to?”
“Oh, I listen to whatever – Jay-Z. Snoop. Ice Cube. Whatever you like, Shawnie.”
“So, you’re a hip-hop head?”
"I always have hip-hop in my head.”
I wonder how black they made him. Shawnie signaled to get into her left lane. Claudine’s street, Adams Boulevard, was a few blocks away. A Latino selling oranges near the freeway on ramp turned to watch as they passed. Does he only have a superficial hood knowledge, or is there some soul in his DNA?
She said, “I loved hip-hop growing up, but now most of it is so commercial. Some ugly, tatted up, gold-teeth fool is always bragging about his money and his bitches,” she said. “But we had real music back then – Public Enemy, Digable Planets, Salt-N-Pepa, De La Soul.”
“Black Sheep. Eric B and Rakim.”
Shawnetta curled her lips in disbelief. “What? You don’t know about Eric B and Rakim.”
“I know Eric B and Rakim.”
“Okay. Whatever.”
The blond Man smiled. Then nodding his head, he rapped:
“I came in the door, I said it before
I never let the mic magnetize me no more But it's bitin' me, fightin' me, invitin' me to rhyme
I can't hold it back, I'm lookin' for the line …”
“Wow.” Shawnetta shook her head as she inserted her CD. “Color me impressed.”
She was silent for a few minutes, digesting the experience. She felt more attracted to him now. They liked the same artists. Or was he only reciting from an extensive catalog of rap music that had been preselected for him? Her White Man continued to nod in rhythm to an imaginary beat, and she turned up the volume on her Elton John song.
A few minutes later, Shawnetta pulled up in front of the pink bungalow Claudine rented. Three or four kids played catch in the middle of the street. They separated to let her car pass, and then continued to toss the ball to each other.
“I’m going to get my friend. Stay here, Rapsilico.”
“Aight.”
As she opened the gate and headed up the walkway, Claudine poked her head out the front door. She must have been watching from the window. She locked the door, then turned toward Shawnetta with a wide grin.
“If it ain’t the Colored Girl and the Clone.”
“Good morning to you too, Claudine.”
“You know I’m just messing with you, girl.” Claudine chuckled, zipping up her sweater jacket. Although September was still considered a summer month in Los Angeles, the morning was chilly. “Can’t wait to check out your new man. How’s he treating you?”
"He just came in the mail yesterday, but so far so good,” Shawnetta said as they walked toward the car. “We went out to dinner last night.”
“That’s nice. Who paid?”
“He did.”
That wasn’t exactly true. The NNI Companion came equipped with a wallet in his back pocket, but the debit card he used to pay for their Mexican food was pre-loaded with Shawnetta’s money. He would continue to “treat” her with the card, but she had to check the balance and deposit more money when the funds ran out.
Claudine whistled, opening the gate. “That’s what I’m talking about. I need to get me a White Man. I always heard they don’t mind coming out the pocket.” She paused, staring at the pale arm hanging from the window of the Jetta.
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