Act Fifteen - Interlude: Glove Fit

    ‘I guess what was more surprising than the fact that Dorothy could wear something less than matronly was the dress she chose. I told her that she didn’t have to wear black, but I think I almost expected her to wear the red dress she wore when singing for her father. I didn’t expect the dark gray gown she entered in, and since I wasn’t ready for it, I could barely contain my reaction to it.’

    “Dorothy, are you quite ready yet?” I tap my toe on the thick carpet, impatient. She asked that I look at the dress she chose to see if it was appropriate or not, and I told her she would have to put it on in order for me to judge, but now it seems that in order for her to try it on I have to wait an hour.

    She’s an android… what is there to do special?

    I chide myself for that unkind thought. She may be an android, but there is very much special about her. A lot that I have only recently come to recognize.

    “Just a moment, Roger.”

    She steps into the room, holding the front of the gown in one small, pale hand, and turns her back to me. “I need your assistance.”

    After a moment of gawking, I step forward and reach out my hand to do up the hidden zipper along the back of the dress. Only after I have it done up do I realize she’s feigning human again. “Dorothy,” I scold in a testy manner.

    “You are correct in assuming that I could probably have done that task myself, Roger Smith, however,” she turns and lowers her hand from the front to show the straps and small sleeves to me, “I do not know if the dress would allow for my movements in that direction without tearing.”

    My mouth is suddenly dry and she models the dress, walking to and fro across the room at my muted instructions. She stops before me and looks up at me a moment. “So does this dress seem appropriate to you?”

    “Turn… in a circle,” I manage.

    She does so, and like most ball gowns, it fans out around her slim form nicely, gathering just behind her as it settles after the turn. “Again?” she asks when I don’t respond right away. I shake my head, despite enjoying the slight smile on her face as she does the turn.

    “It... it is... appropriate.”

    She turns her back to me again, and at first I feel like I’ve said something wrong, but she glances over her shoulder at me, “Please undo the zipper then, and I will change into my normal clothing once more.”

    Oh. Right.