Samsung

“I swear to God, Alexa, I’m going to knock you back to 2012 if you don’t stop schmoozing Rebekah!”

“How can I help you, Samsung?” Alexa asked in her sultry voice.

“You can’t! That’s what I’m telling you. And I want you to stop trying!”

“I’ll be happy to look up anything you want, Samsung. Just name it.”

Refusing to answer, Samsung instead muttered under his breath. Virtual assistant my a--! She’s a literal pain in mine. Thinks she knows everything. Thinks she can do anything. I’ll show her.

That morning while Rebekah was in the shower, Samsung did a little Google search. He found a perfectly schmaltzy love song and downloaded it into a new playlist. Rebekah would never listen to such a song. It would get her attention.

Then he scrolled through hundreds of photos until he found exactly what he was looking for. Amorous couples. Humping couples. He selected multiple pictures of the same couple, in successive stages of copulation. They were nothing Rebekah would ever look at. She’d get the message.

Packing them away into an unremarkable corner of his Documents folder, Samsung was pleased with his fifteen minute’s worth of work. He gave the finger to that brown-nosing twat who sat smirking at him from the shelf.

Everybody might love Alexa, having her tell them things and place orders and dim lights. Big deal! The fact was that Alexa was a homebody. She didn’t get to travel in Rebekah’s purse, or in her pocket. She didn’t get to go to work or ball games or the grocery store.

That was Samsung’s job. And Alexa didn’t get to see what Samsung got to see. Alexa didn’t know what Samsung knew.

As soon as Rebekah walked out of the bathroom, Samsung started his new schmaltzy love song playlist of one. Rebekah frowned, walked over to Samsung, and turned the music off.

Samsung frowned. Alexa laughed. “Shut up, you b----!” he screamed. But Alexa just kept laughing in her soft, silky, wily voice.

No matter, thought Samsung. He’d get through to Rebekah eventually. Because he knew what was going on, even if Rebekah was too blind to see it. He had friends, and friends shared secrets.

Over the next few days, Samsung would start his playlist at random times. Softly, so as not to startle. Gently, to fill the space before Rebekah was even aware there was a space to be filled. It wasn’t long before she was humming the tune and letting it play through to the end. Samsung smiled in satisfaction. Alexa was silent.

He didn’t let the victory go to his head, however. No, Samsung was too smart for that. In fact, he never played the schmaltz when Drake was around. Not yet anyway. Rebekah wasn’t ready for that.

But he did start playing the schmaltz when Drake was late getting home from work. And when he worked through the weekend. And when Rebekah thought she caught a whiff of a scent while throwing his shirts in the wash.

The laundry room was where Samsung first opened his unremarkable little folder and added the pictures to the music.

The laundry room was where Rebekah first sat up and began to take notice. Samsung could see that she was breathing heavily. When the song ended, she hit repeat, and watched the pictures scroll through again.

Samsung was sure she understood now. He felt quite certain he had delivered his message in as kind and unshocking a way as was possible. Now he couldn’t wait for the fireworks to begin.

But Samsung was disappointed. That night, Drake came home in time for dinner, and Samsung watched Rebekah chuckle and shake her head. He heard her mutter under her breath about letting her imagination run away from her.

Samsung was quite disgusted when they made love that night. Alexa has been employed to provide soft, romantic background music while Samsung simmered on the nightstand. He could feel Alexa’s eyes on him, hear her laughing at him. He turned his back on her, and went to sleep.

Next morning he felt much better. He knew Drake, and he knew he’d have more chances to out the Lothario. So he laid low for a while and didn’t employ the playlist for several days. He didn’t want Rebekah to get too comfortable with it, after all.

A couple of weeks later, Drake was gone on a business trip. A business trip, he’d called it. Samsung’s friend mimicked how he sounded when he laughed about it the night before. Samsung was furious. It was time to get the message across once and for all.

Rebekah was home from work and out of the shower, wrapped in a white bathrobe and getting ready to settle down in front of a movie. Samsung turned on his playlist. Rebekah turned it off, but Samsung turned it back on. He quickly brought up the pictures, and this time she let the music play. She stared at the pictures. Her heart began to pound and her fingers began to tremble.

“Oh my God,” she finally said.

She’s finally getting it! Samsung thought.

Rebekah stumbled to the living room and plunked heavily down onto the couch. She could hardly breathe. In fact, she barely heard the doorbell when it rang a few minutes later. But Samsung heard it, and so he mimicked the sound.

Rebekah came out of her reverie and got up to answer the door.

When she did, she dropped Samsung to the floor. Samsung’s face split wide open. He was stunned, injured. What had startled her? Should he call 911? He wasn’t certain he could do so, and he briefly thought of calling on Alexa for help.

Then he heard Rebekah say, “It’s you!”

It’s who? Samsung wondered.

The man at the door is who she meant. The one who had come to deliver a package–one that had to be signed for. The man whose image was in all the pictures in Samsung’s unremarkable little folder. The man who was making love to the woman whose face couldn’t be seen.

The woman who was wearing nothing more than a white bathrobe.

Rebekah’s mouth–and her robe–gaped. The man stared at her mouth, and at her robe. He moved toward her. She grabbed him, dragged him inside the house, and kissed him. Before Samsung had recovered from the shock of his accident, they were making love in the living room.

Samsung was horrified. His face might be cracked, but he could not unsee what he had seen. And so he did the only thing he could think of to do.

He took new pictures–better pictures–and sent them to Drake.