Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine. Vol. 40, No. 6, June, 1995

“What I told Mark-Skip-here, about how great you are and how you give people a hand, was only half of what I always thought. You are one, excuse me, hell of a goodlookin’ woman who’s as sharp as a tack and no fool, either. I can see why you get yourself up in black like that, scaring the bejeezus outa the idiots in the area. You need some kinda protection, livin’ way out here all alone like you do, fishing and lobstering for a living. Oh, I saw the pots and tackle, and the diving gear, too. No use pretending.”

The witch looked at Aisa in alarm.

He chuckled. “That’s wonderful. That’s just wonderful. A fisherwoman!” Aisa’s chuckles escalated into a wheezing howl. “God, I’m sorry, Ernie. It’s just that—” He howled some more, helplessly.

Aisa wiped his eyes as he finally calmed down. “Well, that was wonderful, as I say. But, my dear man, I regret to inform you that she most definitely does not fish for a living.”

“What does she do then?” asked Skip, bewildered.

“None of your business,” snapped the witch. Color was high on her sharp cheekbones.

Unfazed, Ernie stubbornly continued. “Well, I still say you are one hell of a woman. I’d give anything to be good enough for you, but frankly, ma’am, I’m not. And I don’t know who is. If I do, I’ll run him over your way, but until then, I claim the privilege of bein’ at your service any time.” He drank the rest of his wine in heady triumph.

The witch looked to the heavens and sighed. “Dear Lord,” she said.

A Loaf of Bread, a Jug of Wine, and Sixty-four Megabytes of RAM

Robert Loy

Julia is the exception, but ordinarily I would much rather interact with computers than people. I know they’re supposed to be complicated and complex, and I guess in a way they are. But they have this advantage over human beings: once you learn what makes a computer tick, you know forever what makes a computer tick. It won’t change on you next week and start thinking and acting in totally different and incomprehensible ways like people do.

Especially female people. I like female people and everything, but I’ve just about given up on ever figuring them out. Part of the problem is I’ve never really been involved with one long enough to study how they process data and react and so forth. And part of the problem is that they’re just not consistent like computers. Their basic input/output system is erratic.

My brother Marty now, he’s just the opposite of me. He can’t do much with a computer other than sing its praises, but he can talk to people all day long and never run out of cute and clever things to say. Maybe that’s why our little two-man computer business is still thriving while most of the other independent little guys have either been bought out or bulldozed.

Our strengths complement each other is what I’m trying to say. I build the systems in the back while Marty sells the heck out of them up front. We have our own little brand name I’m sure you’ve never heard of, but everybody who has heard of it will tell you they are sweet machines. Then down the road Marty will either sell them a new faster upgraded model or I’ll fix the one they’ve got. I’ll even make housecalls, which is something I can guarantee Compaq won’t do for you.

It was on a housecall that I met Julia. I’ve certainly never believed in love at first sight. Biologically and chemically speaking, it just doesn’t make sense. But if I didn’t love Julia at first sight — and I’d be willing to swear that I did, or at first scent (she smelled incredible) — then I definitely loved her the first time I heard her laugh.

Julia works at a law office downtown, Fregosi, Walters and Fregosi. A law office that buys all their hardware, software, and peripherals from us. Julia’s internal modem went on the blink and it was throwing off the whole network, so I hopped in my Hyundai and headed downtown.

Usually people don’t hang around when I’m working on their system. They go and drink coffee or smoke cigarettes or gossip with some co-worker whose computer is still working. Once in a while someone will stay and try to carry on a conversation with me, but like I said, sparkling repartee is not what I do best. I’m pretty clever, I think, I’m just not quick. In fact, I have a tendency to stutter when I’m nervous, and I am always nervous around women. At night after I go home to bed I can think of all kinds of witty and charming things I should have said. But in the spotlight like that, my brain freezes up like a computer trying to boot up with a non-system disk.

Julia wasn’t there when I started working on her machine. I was screwing the rear cover back on — I had opened her up just to check everything out, but it wasn’t actually a hardware problem, just a couple of characters missing in her initialization string — when the cubicle was filled with the sound of high heels and the smell of expensive perfume.