Originallypublished in Playboy, February 1997. AN OFFICE ROMANCE by Terry Bisson The first time Ken678 saw Mary97, he was in Municipal Real Estate, queuedfor a pickup for Closings. She stood two spaces in front of him: blue skirt,orange tie, slightly convex white blouse, like every other female icon. Hedidn't know she was a Mary; he couldn't see which face she had. But she heldher Folder in both hands, as "old-timers" often did, and when the queuescrolled forward he saw her fingernails. They were red. Then the queue flickered and scrolled again, and she was gone. Ken wasintrigued but he promptly forgot about it. It was a busy time of year, and hewas running like crazy from Call to Task. Later that week he saw her again,paused at an open Window in the Corridor between Copy and Send. He slowed ashe passed her, by turning his Folder sideways--a trick he had learned. Therewere those red fingernails again. It was curious. Fingernails were not on the Option Menu. Red was not on the Color Menu, either. Ken used the weekend to visit his Mother at the Home. It was her birthdayor anniversary or something like that. Ken hated weekends. He had grown usedto his Ken face and he felt uncomfortable without it. He hated his old name,which his Mother insisted on calling him. He hated how grim and terrifyingthings were outside. To avoid panic he closed his eyes and hummed--out here,he could do both--trying to simulate the peaceful hum of the Office. But there is no substitute for the real thing, and Ken didn't relax untilthe week restarted, and he was back inside. He loved the soft electron buzz ofthe search engines, the busy streaming icons, the dull butter shine of theCorridors, the shimmering Windows with their relaxing scenes of theexvironment. He loved his life and he loved his work. That was the week he met Mary; or rather, she met him. Ken678 had just retrieved a Folder of documents from Search and was takingthem to Print. He could see by the blur of icons ahead that there was going tobe a long queue at the Bus leaving Commercial, so he paused in the Corridor;waitstates were encouraged in high traffic zones. He opened a Window by resting his Folder on the sill. There was no air ofcourse, but there was a nice view. The scene was the same in every Window inMicroserf Office 6.9: cobblestones and quiet cafes and chestnut trees inblossom. April in Paris. Ken heard a voice. he said, confused. Two icons couldn't open the same Window,and yet there she was beside him. Red fingernails and all. she said. She pointed to her Folder, stacked ontop of his, flush right. <-did you do that?> he finished because it was in his buffer. Shehad the Mary face, which it so happened was his favorite. And the redfingernails of course. shesaid. Ken said. she said. Ken showed her his Folder trick even though she seemed to know it already. he asked. she said. She held up ahand with red fingernails. Ken said. she asked, smiling that Marysmile. Ken tried to think of an answer, but he was too slow. Her Folder wasblinking, a waitstate interrupt, and she was gone. A few cycles later in the week he saw her again, paused at an open Windowin the Corridor between Copy and Verify. He slid his folder over hers, flushright, and he was standing beside her, looking out into April in Paris. she said. he said. Then he said what he had beenrehearsing over and over: she said, smiling the Mary smile. Ken678 wishedfor the first time that the Ken face had a smile. His Folder was flickeringbut he didn't want to leave yet. heasked again. she said. She was exaggerating, of course, but in a senseit was true. She told Ken she had been at City Hall when Microserf Office 6.9was installed. Ken678 calculated in his head. How old did that make Mary--Fifty-five?Sixty? It didn't matter of course. All icons are young, and all females arebeautiful. Ken had never had a friend before, in or out of the Office. Much less agirl friend. He found himself hurrying his Calls and Tasks so that he couldcruise the Corridors looking for Mary97. He could usually find her at an openWindow gazing at the cobblestones and the little cafes, the blossoming chestnuttrees. Mary loved April in Paris. she said. Ken said. But in fact he couldn't. He didn't like toimagine things. He preferred real life, or at least Microserf Office 6.9. Heloved standing at the Window beside her, listening to her soft Mary voice,answering in his deep Ken voice. she asked. Ken told her he had been hiredas a temp, transporting scanned-in midcentury documents up the long stairwayfrom Archives to Active. he said. Mary said. Ken admitted. And he told her how wonderful and strange it hadfelt, at first, to be an icon, to see himself as he walked around, as if hewere both inside and outside his own body. he said. Mary said. And she smiled that Mary smile. Several weeks passed before Ken got up the courage to make what he thoughtof as "his move." They were at the Window where he had first spoken with her, in theCorridor between Copy and Verify. Her hand was resting on the sill, redfingernails shimmering, and he put his hand exactly over it. Even though hecouldn't actually feel it, it felt good. He was afraid she would move her hand but instead she smiled that Marysmile and said he said. She moved her fingers under his. It almost tingled. The Browser was a circular connector with no Windows. Ken met Mary atSelect All and followed her toward Insert, where the doors got smaller andcloser together. she asked. Ken said. he said. she said. They met in the Browser three times that week. Three times Ken678 heardthe horse, three times he watched the red lace brassiere falling away, fallingaway. That week was the closest to happiness he would ever come. Mary97 asked.They were standing at the Window between Copy and Verify. A new week hadbarely restarted. In April in Paris the chestnuts were in blossom above thecobblestones. The cafes were empty. A few stick figures in the distance weregetting in and out of carriages. Ken678 said, though it wasn't true. He didn't like towonder. said Mary. When they met a few cycles later in the windowless room off the Browser,Mary put her red-fingernailed hand on the third card and said Ken didn't answer. He felt a sudden chill. she said. Ken said, though it was a lie. The third card was the ace of spades. As soon as it turned up, Ken knewsomething was wrong. Something felt different. It was the cobblestones, under his feet. It was April in Paris and Ken678 was walking down the boulevard. Mary97was beside him. She was wearing a low cut sleeveless peasant blouse and a longfull skirt. Ken was terrified. Where was the Window? Where was the windowless room? he asked. Mary said. Ken tried to stop walking but he couldn't. hesaid. He tried to close his eyes to avoid panic, but he couldn't. Mary just smiled the Mary smile and they walked along the boulevard, underthe blossoming chestnut trees. They passed a cafe, they turned a corner; theypassed another cafe, turned another corner. It was always the same. The sametrees, the same cafes, the same cobblestones. The carriages and stick figuresin the distance never got any closer. Mary said. She looked different somehow. Maybe it was the outfit. Her peasantblouse was cut very low. Ken tried to look down it but he couldn't. They passed another cafe. This time Mary97 turned in, and Ken wassitting across from her at a small sidewalk table. she said. She was still smiling thatMary smile. The table was heart-shaped, like the table in the windowless room.Ken leaned across it but he still couldn't see down her blouse. Mary said. Ken said. Mary said, opening the menu. <-are blinking like crazy> he finished because it was already in hisbuffer. A waiter appeared. He wore a white shirt and black pants. Ken tried tolook at his face but he didn't exactly have one. There were only three itemson the menu: WALK ROOM HOME Mary pointed at ROOM and before she had closed the menu they were in awedge-shaped attic room with French doors, sitting on the edge of a low bed.Now Ken could see down Mary97's blouse. In fact he could see his two handsreach out and pulled it down, uncovering her two plump, perfect breasts. Hernipples were as big and as brown as cookies. Through the French doors Kencould see the Eiffel Tower and the boulevard. he said as she helped him pull up her skirt. Smiling thatMary smile, she lay back with her blouse and skirt both bunched around herwaist. Ken heard a familiar clippity-clop from the boulevard below asMary spread her plump, perfect thighs wide. she said. Her red-tipped fingers pulled her littleFrench underpants to one side and He kissed her sweet mouth. he said. Her red-tipped fingers pulled her little French underpants to one sideand He kissed her sweet red mouth. he said. Her red-tipped fingers pulled her little French underpants to one sideand He kissed her sweet red cookie mouth. he said. A gendarmes's whistle blew and they were back at the sidewalk cafe.The menu was closed on the heart-shaped table. Maryasked. Ken said. Mary shrugged. Ken didn't know she could shrug. She washolding a glass of green liquid. Ken opened the menu and the faceless waiter appeared. There were only three items on the menu. Before Mary could point, Kenpointed at HOME, and the table and the waiter were gone. He and Mary97 were inthe windowless room, and all the cards were face down except for the ten ofdiamonds. Mary said. Ken started, but he never got to finish. His Folder wasblinking insistently, waitstate interrupt, and he was gone. Ken678 insisted a few cycles later, when hejoined Mary97 in their usual spot, at the Window in the Corridor between Copyand Verify. She smiled that Mary smile. Ken said. Mary97 said. Ken said. Mary said, and he did. And shedid. And he did and she did and they did. He met her three times that week andthree times the next week, every spare moment it seemed. The cobblestones andthe cafes still made Ken678 nervous but he loved the wedge-shaped attic room.He loved Mary's nipples as brown and as big as cookies; loved her blouse andskirt bunched around her waist as she lay on her back with her plump, perfectthighs spread wide; loved the clippity clop and her red-tipped fingersand her little French underpants pulled to one side; loved her. It was, after all, a love affair. The problem was, Mary97 never wanted to come back to Microserf Office 6.9.After the wedge-shaped room she wanted to walk on the boulevard under theblossoming chestnut trees, or sit in the cafe watching the stick figures get inand out of carriages in the distance. she would say, swirling the green liquid in herglass.