Video Art by William Mays

Braggarts

(from Sci-Fi Stir Fry buy on Amazon)

 

After years of behaving in a fawning and servile manner toward everyone important, Skywalk Frequent and his wife Lavinia were invited to a prestigious cocktail party.

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“If we make a good impression at the party, we will be accepted in high society,” Skywalk exclaimed.  “However, if we appear immodest, we will never again get an invitation to the good parties.”  He fretted, bit his fingernails and spit the pieces on the floor. “What shall we do to ensure success?”

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Lavinia dug her fingers into her scalp in despair, but then looked up with the bright light of inspiration. “Let's rent a Braggart.”

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“That's a great idea!  How will we find one?”

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“I saw a lot of good ones online!”

“Brilliant idea!”

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They did a search on CyborgCompanions.com and found a listing for Milo Remo, a companion who specialized in bragging. He was stylish looking in a tuxedo at a symphony.

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“Oh, he's perfect,” Lavinia said.

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“I agree,” Skywalk said, “I believe in being modest at all times, but it never hurts to have a Braggart to tell everyone how wonderful you are.”

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They chatted with customer service. Milo was a fourth-generation model. There were numerous versions, including a female Remo, who specialized in lady’s tea parties and other high society events. There were also children Remos who worked at children's birthday parties.

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Knowing they had found the right person for the job, Skywalk and Lavinia nodded in satisfaction to each other. Milo Remo was a little pricey, but the customer service rep offered them easy payments with only a twenty-five percent interest rate.

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On the night of the party, Skywalk and Lavinia dressed in their resplendent best for the party.  Skywalk wore a black silk shirt and silver sports coat.  Lavinia wore a long red dress and black feather boa.

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They drove their red convertible sports car to the party and picked up Milo on the way.  He was exactly as he appeared in his listing: stylish in every way.

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Milo rode in the rumble seat of the sports car.  The top was down and Lavinia’s boa whipped around in the wind and occasionally wrapped around Milo’s head.

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At the party Milo stuck close to Skywalk and Lavinia, but never spoke to them.  When a man in an expensive suit asked about one of Skywalk’s business deals, Skywalk displayed his characteristic modesty.

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“Oh it wasn't that big a deal,” he said.

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Milo pushed his way between the two men.  “Not a big deal!” he screamed in his whiny voice.  “It was the biggest deal in years.  Skywalk was brilliant.  Courageous.  Bold.  You've never seen anything like it!”

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“Oh, now, now,” Skywalk said, “it really wasn't all that much.”

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“Can you believe this man?”  Milo yelled so loud that everyone in the party turned to look.  “It was the biggest deal in town for years. Skywalk was brilliant.  Courageous.  Bold. Visionary.  And he's good looking too.  And his wife is beautiful.  Look at them.  They’re beautiful.  And their kids are beautiful.  Even Skywalk’s pets are good looking.  His Irish Setters are good-looking.  The fish in his fishbowl are handsome.  And he lives in a big fancy house and drives a red sports car!  This is one heck of a man!”

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Everyone clustered around Skywalk and Lavinia.  Milo retreated, ate the canapés, sipped the wine, and worked his way around the room.

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“That Skywalk,” Milo said to everyone he met.  “He’s really something.  Quite a man.  Quite a man.”

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That evening as Skywalk and Lavinia lay in bed, Skywalk said, “I think people liked us.  Do you think we will be accepted in high society?”

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“Oh yes, they were impressed.  I think we will be accepted.” She thought for a second. “You know there's one thing I really admire about you Skywalk.”

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“What's that Lavinia?”

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“Your modesty.”

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(Cyborg Companions | Sci-Fi | Satire. "Braggarts" Sometimes modest people need a little help. By William Mays.

Read the story and watch the video)

BUY SCI-FI STIR FRY

My Kidnapping

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It wasn’t until a couple of months after my mother died that I went through the closet in her office. She was a scrupulously organized woman with the intellect and drive to have been the CEO of a large company had she been born in a time and place where women could reach their potential.

There were boxes full of business papers. She made a lot of property deals, buying houses, cutting them into duplexes and triplexes. Growing up, I worked with her whenever there was a vacancy. Often, we went with my aunt and grandmother. Yiayia, grandmother, would pull weeds by hand from around the front of the house while my mother and aunt surveyed the inside. Often, the tenants left things. We’d go through and pick out what could be sold at garage sales and throw the rest out. Then, we’d start with painting, minor carpentry, and anything else that needed to be done. At the end of the day, we’d load up her old Chevy and head home for supper.

I hated it. I was the fatherless Greek kid who lived in a multi-generational household in an old house, while everyone else lived in a sleek, modern house with a nuclear family: one sibling, a mother who stayed home, and a father who worked in an office.

It wasn’t until years later that I appreciated how much she had done for me.

It was all for me.

Every sacrifice was made to advance me. Every humiliation she endured was to advance me.

A mystery remained, however.

My father.

They divorced when I was two. I have only one memory of him. He brought me a gift. He parked across the street and carried the wrapped package, but he never came into the house. It was a circus set with all manner of plastic figures. I played with it endlessly, but one day I arranged the figures too close to a space heater, and they all melted.

My father never came for visits. It was like he didn’t exist.

I did learn that he came for one visit—and didn’t bring me home. Mother called it a kidnapping. Somehow, she got me back, but never explained how. Since he didn’t exist, it wasn’t something that I thought about, and I never asked about the incident.

As I dug through the boxes, I looked for clues about the kidnapping. There were pictures of him, sure, but that didn’t solve the mystery.

I had almost given up when I found a dusty manila folder at the bottom of a box. It was the file on the divorce. The legal papers were ugly. He had been married before and had two children she hadn’t known about.

There were no clues about the “kidnapping,” if that is what it was. A piece of paper fluttered out from between the pages of the divorce decree.

It wasn’t a full sheet of paper. It was half a piece, torn from another piece. She was always doing that. Nothing went to waste.

It was handwritten, and it contained details about the kidnapping. It was dated. Comparing it to the dates on the legal documents, the incident occurred before the divorce decree was issued. We lived in Corpus Christi, but my father had family in Houston. She hired a Greek florist who also worked as a part-time private investigator. It had his phone number.

I dialed the number. It was disconnected.

There was a second number. It was for someone with a Greek-sounding last name. I dialed that number.

A woman answered. I told her the situation. She said that the number was her mother’s landline. She also told me that they were relatives on my father’s side. I asked to speak to her mother. She hesitated but said her mother was in the hospital. She was ill and not expected to live.

“I would really like to speak to her,” I said. “I can drive up there.”

The woman hesitated again. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I don’t want to do anything to upset her.”

“Can you ask if she’d be willing to see me?”

“Maybe. Let me think about it.”

“I am going to drive up there. I will get a hotel room and call you back.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“I am coming up there. If she doesn’t want to see me, I understand.”

I threw a change of clothes in a bag and hit the road. The sky was cloudy and got more ominous as I drove. Rain started to fall as I checked into my room. I called, expecting no answer or to be told not to bother them.

“She wants to see you,” the daughter said. “She remembers you.”

I headed to the hospital, which was across town. The rain grew heavier, accompanied by thunder and lightning. I didn’t know the area, but I managed to get there. I didn’t have an umbrella, and I was soaked by the time I got to the nurse’s station. The daughter was there, waiting for me.

“They’ll only allow you a few minutes,” she said. “She’s really not doing well.”

They led me to a room where a frail, old woman lay with an oxygen tube in her nose and IVs hooked up to her arm.

“So, you’re Billy,” she said.

“Yes, I found your name and number in my mother’s papers.”

She laughed. “Very organized woman, your mother.”

“Why was your name and number in her file?”

“When your father took you, he brought you to me. He left you with me while he went to work.”

Lightning flashed outside her room, and the thunder boomed.

“It was a night like this,” she said. “Lightning and thunder. There was a knock at the door. It was your mother and your aunt. They came in, apologizing about dripping on the floor. You were sleeping. I let them keep the blanket, and they bundled you up and took you. I didn’t fight with them or argue. You belonged to them. They were only in the house a minute, maybe two minutes.”

“How did they get to your house?”

“A cab. It waited for them. They said they had taken a bus from Corpus Christi, and it had rained all the way up. I stood in the door and watched them get in the cab and drive away.”

“How did my father react when he got back?”

“Oh, he accepted the situation. He didn’t get mad at me. He cried. I’d never seen him cry.”

“So, he loved me?”

“Yes, I’m sure he did. He said he’d made a mistake, but your mother wouldn’t take him back. She had caught him cheating with a girlfriend. He always had an eye for the ladies.”

A doctor came up behind me. “I think we’d better leave her alone.”

I went out and thanked the daughter and the doctor, and I drove off into the pouring rain, imagining my mother and my aunt bringing me home in the pouring rain.

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