Gwen and I looked up at the crystal doors we approached. They must have been twenty feet high and twelve wide, and emblazoned across them, the letters IT in that famous logo. Without a whisper, the doors opened. That’s not the right word. They simply vanished. I saw no movement: they were there before us and then they weren’t. As we stepped over the threshold, a breathy voice floated above us: Bienvenue á L’Intime Toujours. The antechamber was filled with fragrant trees and bushes, small beds of flowers, none of them familiar to me.

“It feels like coming home,” Gwendolyn said. “It always looks like Florida.”

“Or maybe a rain forest in Costa Rica,” I said.

Gwen paused a moment, looked at me, and said, “I’ve never been there.”

We walked up to the semicircular counter where a man sat, smiling at us. His name tag read, Tom.

Gwen said, “Hello, Tom.” He wore a neatly pressed, high collar blue uniform with a discreet company logo on the chest.

“Hello, Gwendolyn.” He smiled at her and then at me. “Hello, Lewis. You two are right on time for your appoint.”

“Yes,” I said, “two o’clock. Our monthly check through.”

His fingers tapped the screen embedded in the counter with an amazing display of dexterity. “I have you registered, and Mrs. Patterson will be out in a moment.”

“Thank you, Tom,” Gwen said.

Immediately, a door to the right opened, and a woman in a mauve medpro suit stepped out and motioned to Gwen. “If you'll go with Mrs. Patterson, Gwendolyn.” Tom extended his hand toward the woman.

“Hi, Mrs. Patterson,” Gwen said. “It’s good to see you again.”

Gwen blew me a kiss as she walked with Mrs. Patterson into the inner sanctum.

“Have a seat, Lewis.” Tom motioned toward the wait zone.

Three other men sat in chaise salons covered in maroon faux leather. Their fingertips tapped away at their handevs. One of them put down his dev and picked up a minmag with the newest two-person AntiGrav on the cover, sleek and shining silver.

I went back to the counter. “There's something else,” I said quietly.

“Yes?” Tom looked up attentively.

“I have a question about changes, improvements. Perhaps I can make an appoint to come back with her.”

“That may not be necessary.” Tom tapped the screen a couple of times. “Follow me,” he said, as he picked up another Pad. “We can confer back here.”

As we went through the door, I caught sight of another staff member taking his place at the counter.

I sat beside Tom in a Spinny chair like his. “Don’t get me wrong,” I said. “I have no complaints. I mean, she's wonderful.” I paused.

“Our very best.”

“Absolutely. We have so much in common. We talk for hours about everything imaginable. The sweetest girl I've ever known. She’s the inspiration for all I do. But I know changes are possible.”

“Is it cuisine? Social interaction?”

“Personal interaction. With me. In the bedroom. Her responses, I guess you could say. And actions.”

“We are most adept at enhancing boudoir behavior. Let me pull up your transdata on this Zingpad.” His fingers swiped and danced on the screen. “You would like to change Gwendolyn’s affective behavior?”

“I think that would be it.”

“Her reactions and expressions in the boudoir?” Tom looked up expectantly.

“Yes. You see, when I was collaborating with the designers in the beginning phases, I asked for a shy girl, naïve and inexperienced, a bit afraid to express herself . . . fully. And their creation is splendid, let me assure you. Gwendolyn is precisely what I hoped she would be.”

“But now . . .” Tom said, “you would like for her to be . . .”

“More demonstrative. More openly expressive. With unbridled passion, as they said in books long ago.

 “Don’t worry, Lewis, we can make refined and precise adjustments from what you tell us on this Pad.” After scrolling and tapping, he turned the Pad so I could see. “In the Loving Response and Performance section, you may pick attitudes and behaviors you want us to add.”

He assured me that Gwendolyn’s innocence, and other foundational traits, would not change, that she would remain the same Gwendolyn. The process would not take anything away; it would only add and enhance behaviors.

“I will bring up her Impulse option menu . . . and the Imagination menu,” he said, as he showed me the screen. “You will find many behavior additives to fulfill your wishes quite well. Your choices will help us make the slight modifications necessary to help Gwendolyn follow impulses more freely and respond to stimuli more openly.”

He led me to a small room where I could work in privacy. “Take your time,” he said. “And help yourself to the bevs and tasties. When you are finished, come back to the station, and I will send the information back to Mrs. Patterson. She should be able to take care of it today, if you don’t mind waiting a little longer than usual.”

I told him I didn’t mind at all and settled down with a Beebee Bar and a Sparky. I breathed deeply to absorb the soothing synth music surrounding me. I looked at the menus of options, amazed at the creativity of wording in many of the items. In the section on vocalization, I found a variety of expressive phrases, from Husky Breathing, Piquant Whimpers, and Throaty Groans, to Intense Interjections. I always like variety, so a number of times I selected All of the Above. Going through so many descriptions in all the sections was quite an exciting experience, because in my head I pre-lived everything, even the ones I left unchecked, the ones that seemed ungainly, unseemly.

I returned the pad to Tom and thanked him.

“If you find that any changes we make today need to be modified in the future, please come back, and we will fine-tune further. La perfection is our motto and our goal. And we achieve it best with the help and cooperation of our collaborators, as you know. We do all in our power to perfect your loved one.”

“Thank you so much, Tom. You and all the staff have always been most helpful.” I returned to the wait zone and picked up a minmag about bot zoos, sliding through a few pages before putting the device on the table. Every time I come here, I can’t think of anything but that first day.

L’Intime Toujours provided rooms called Chambres d’Actionnement to give couples privacy for their first encounter, their first date, so to speak. Beautifully furnished with two neo-retro pillow-chairs for get-to-know chatter. Between them, a floating table hovered, with apertasties and a panel with taps that delivered a wide variety of bevs.

As Gwendolyn walked through the circular door, I thought, She isn’t beautiful like the images they showed me; she’s stunning. She wore my vintage-style sun frock, as they were once called – a white, mid-calf cotton dress, covered with sunflowers. Her accessories were simple: A necklace and bracelet of yellow beads, a small white purse, and matching sandals. Gwendolyn began a new phase in my career in haute couture – retro revivals I called Timeless Romance, and this dress was the first in the Gwendolyn Collection.

Gwen was what my great-great-grandmother would have called, SS and G – sweet, simple, and girlish. She was the embodiment of my dreams, as the designers I worked with said she would be, with her modest figure, delicate features, blue-green eyes, and a sweet smile that set my heart aflutter. The girl in that ancient book under the stairway in Grand Pete’s mansdwell stood before me, alive.

“Lewis,” she said in a clear, sparkling voice.

“Gwendolyn,” I said. “You are so lovely.”

She lifted the skirt of the dress to reveal a slender knee and curtsied. In the lovely music of her voice, she said, “Thank you.”

It was as if we had known each other since childhood.

My reverie was interrupted before I could replay that first nervous kiss. Mrs. Patterson came into the wait zone. She smiled and said, “Please come with me, Lewis.”

She led me to a small conference space for the review. Along one wall was a huge but thin aquarium. Last time, a large screen vidded exotic fish. This aquarium teemed with real fish. Or were they? Mrs. Patterson set down her pad. While she pulled up the report, I examined the fish more closely. Maybe they weren’t real after all.

“Some are, some aren’t,” Mrs. Patterson said, smiling. “Can you tell the difference?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Good. We never stop experimenting. And it is a quite a playful endeavor. We all enjoy our work. As you know, our motto is la perfection.”

 “It’s all incredible,” I said. “My Gwen is the most incredible of all.”

“Indeed, she is. And I’m pleased to tell you that Gwendolyn is progressing splendidly. We found no concerns that need to be addressed. Except for the alterations you requested today.”

“I’m so glad to hear that. She has always had straight A’s on her report card.” Mrs. Patterson tilted her head. “As they used to say,” I added.

 “Yes,” she said. “In fact, Gwendolyn has done so well in all her check throughs the past year that she is actually ahead of schedule, so we are shifting her to quarterly.”

“That’s swell,” I said.

“You know, of course, that you may return at any time for subtle adjustments like the special ones we did today.”

“Yes, of course,” I said. “I’ve been assured of that.”

Mrs. Patterson reviewed the routine tick-lists and then the additives and modifications.

“We want to keep you informed of everything we do to enhance Gwendolyn’s development toward absolute perfection,” she said. “That way, you will be better able to guide us in making future adjustments. All of today’s data has been transmitted to your home handev.” Then she went to fetch Gwen while I waited and watched the fish darting and drifting in their tank.

When Mrs. Patterson brought her in, she looked radiant and lovely, in my green, old-fashioned A-line in a ditsy floral pattern. It brought out Gwen’s sweetness with its puffy sleeves and hem ruffles, and the tight bodice and thin shoulder straps gave it an alluring, sexy zing. Gwen was my ideal companion, lover, and friend, my best model, and my one and only muse.

Gwen greeted me with a lyrical “Hi, sweetheart.” She turned to Mrs. Patterson. “Thank you, Rebecca. You are always so kind and gentle with me.”

“You’re most welcome, Gwendolyn. It’s always my pleasure.”

With my arm around her waist, we turned to go. I had the impulse to kiss her bare shoulder. I resisted. Then I gave in to the impulse.

“Ooh, how nice,” she said. She took my hand. “Let’s go home.”

As Gwen and I walked back into the main antechamber, Tom waved. “Thank you, Tom,” Gwen said. “Mrs. Patterson was very good to me. And I feel like a new person.”

“Goodbye, Gwendolyn. I am happy to hear that. It was pleasant to see you. Goodbye, Lewis. Have a frilly day.”

As we turned to go, she kissed me on the cheek, then pulled me toward the invisible doors. When we got to the vatorlifts, she said, “Just you wait. I've got some yummy ideas for tonight.” She breathed her melodic laugh.

“Wonderful, darling. You know how I love surprises.”

The Lightning Vator was closed for repairs, so we took the Stop-by. Three men and a couple leaned against the walls. The couple, standing near the console, seemed to be ignoring each other. Regs, I thought. The three men stared at the door and the numbers above.

We went to the back corner. Gwen stood in front of me and leaned back against my chest.

I put my hand on Gwen’s hip, and in a few moments I felt the palm of her hand press against the placket of my trousers. Then her hand moved down and she gripped me. I was so startled I had to bite my lip. I stood leaning against the right side of the vator, my arm out of sight, so I slipped my hand down to her cupcake bottom. Well, I thought, why not? No one can see. I squeezed, and she tightened muscles in reply.

This is thrilling, I thought. And scary. I nuzzled her ear.

“Mmm,” she said, with a pat.

 I whispered, “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

She said over her shoulder, “Why not?”

“We’re in a public space.”

“I know,” she said. “It’s so exciting.”

I wanted to say yes, but I was afraid that would embolden her. Then she began humming quietly. We often began love sessions humming together.

“No, Gwennie. Wait.”

“I can’t.”

Had my finger accidentally touched PDA on one of those lists? I didn’t remember even seeing it.

The reg couple still stared in different directions. One man was scrolling and flicking; others stared at the ceiling or console. Everyone seemed oblivious.

Gwen turned around and kissed my cheek and neck, then turned back and gave me a hard squeeze. Involuntarily, I caught my breath.

An older woman who had just joined us glanced back with a sour look. A man coughed, trying to stifle a laugh.

“They know,” I whispered.

“They love it,” Gwen said. The man with the handev looked up, rolling his eyes. A woman smiled at him. The reg couple had straightened up, and she rested her head on his shoulder.

“Nice,” said the smiling woman. “We need more of this in our world.”

A man in the corner opposite us said quietly, “Vive le différence.”

Gwen leaned back. “See? It’s catching.”

“You’re right.” I kissed her bare shoulder.

As we got out of the vator, people exited and scattered in all directions.

In the foyer Gwen said, “That man with the dev. His wife is one of my tribe.”

“But there was no one with him.”

“Her name is Quinlen. Isn’t that an odd name?”

“Well, yes, I guess it is. But how did you know?”

Gwen laughed, shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. It just came to me . . .”

“Out of the blue?” I asked.

She put her finger beside her mouth, the way she did when lost in thought.  “Yes. Out of the sky. My surprises are like that, too. An idea to do or say something will fall out of the sky.” She laughed. “It’s a surprise for me too. That’s the best part.”

We decided to walk home since we lived close by.

Gwen took my hand as we strolled along and said, “Wasn’t that the funnest escapade, Lewis?”

“I’ve never done anything like that ever before,” I said.

“Me either.”

“One of your surprises?” I asked.

She nodded. “I’ve been watching you, lover man. You’re becoming bolder and more adventurous.”

“Thanks to you, sweet girl.”

“I thought I should become more daring,” she said. “To keep up with you.”

We walked on in silence a few moments, then she turned to me. “Is it all right?”

“Is what all right?”

“When I have ideas that fall out of the sky. And then say them. Or do them.”

“It’s perfect, darling,” I said. “La Perfection.”