IRIS IN BLOOM

            Although a decade older than the millennials who grew up on tablets and cellphones, Nick Sutton treasured his iPhone and spent hours navigating its many features and intricacies.

             In particular, Nick often held extended dialogues with Siri, the information maiden – peppering her with queries on a great variety of topics and savoring the breadth and accuracy of her responses. Though he disputed the allegation, several of his pals claimed that Nick’s penchant for holding his lady friends to Siri’s high standards of knowledge – standards the women found impossible to meet – was largely responsible for his mid-30’s single status.

             In recent months, however, Nick had come to realize that Siri failed to provide total satisfaction. It nagged at him that her stupendous knowledge was limited to factual information – Who won Super Bowl XXIV? What’s the longest river in Bhutan? When did the world’s population first exceed one billion? Where’s the nearest Starbucks? Good stuff, to be sure, for Jeopardy participants and such – although he felt that, with a little extra effort, much of it would be obtainable through a Google search (or even, in the old days, the pages of a competent almanac).

             Nick was aware that Apple (which owned Siri) and other tech companies were looking for ways to advance artificial intelligence and robotics to better meet human needs. One promising development, he’d heard, was to input the user’s speech patterns and emotions into the system to provide individualized results. But even that wouldn’t satisfy Nick’s yearning.

  Although realizing that what he had in mind exceeded the capacity of current technology, he wanted to receive advice that would help him strategize about issues he’d be facing in both his personal and professional lives – some choice tidbits he could put to good use in his daily affairs. So far, every attempt by Nick to obtain those sort of judgmental insights from Siri had been routinely rebuffed – in fact, rather coldly, or so it seemed to him.

             Still, Nick’s life was by no means stunted. He had a good job as a management consultant, with less extended travel than many of his colleagues; and his relative affluence enabled him to reside in a comfortable Manhattan high-rise. This year’s girlfriend, Diane Brock, was smart, shapely and fun – while seemingly amenable to the prospect of more serious days ahead. Nick also had some close friends – in particular, his buddy and frequent companion, Peter Waring.

             One bright Saturday morning in October, Nick remained in bed after he woke, punching letters and numbers into his iPhone at random to create a complex but memorable password for future reference. All of a sudden, and much to his surprise, the screen lit up in an unfamiliar configuration, and a low-pitched female voice said, “Welcome, stranger.”

             Nick bolted upright, checked his surroundings to ensure that the husky voice could only be coming from the cellphone, and said, “Who’s talking to me?”

             The voice seemed to emit a chuckle before replying. “You’re speaking to . . .” – at which point the screen flashed a single word in large caps:

 “IRIS”

A moment later, the voice – which sounded to Nick like something from the soundtrack of an early Debra Winger movie – came back on. “It’s IRIS – I, R, I, S – that’s me.”

             “Hmmm,” mumbled Nick, “for some reason your name sounds familiar . . . .”

             “It should,” she replied – “it’s ‘Siri’ spelled backwards”.

             Now it was Nick’s turn to chuckle. “Well, whaddya know – I seem to have stumbled onto a non-robotic-sounding Siri competitor.”

             “Not exactly,” said Iris, “although I don’t mind the ‘non-robotic-sounding’ description. Look, Siri gives you factual information. She’s very good at such stuff – with all that Apple corporate money behind her – and I wouldn’t even try to duplicate her ability in that sphere. But with IRIS, I’m offering a quite different service.”

  She paused, as if deciding whether to put all her cards on the table, and then proceeded to do so. “Or, at least, I’m hoping to be able to offer it. Full disclosure: I’m just getting started – and it’s all on my own nickel, no corporate backing. As a matter of fact, you’re my first potential customer. . . . By the way, what’s your name?”

             Nick had always been wary about giving out personal information requested in emails or over the internet. But this seemed innocent enough, so he said, “I’m Nick Sutton. Listen, Iris, I do want to hear about the service you offer, but first tell me how I happened to venture into your parlor.”

            “Well, I’m sure it was accidental on your part, but the particular sequence of numbers and letters you struck happens to be my call sign. I haven’t publicized it yet, or applied for a simpler tag, because I want to try out my service first with a few select customers – just to make sure it works and to resolve any kinks before opening it up to all comers. Frankly, I’ve been wondering about how to get started – so I’m delighted, Nick, that you arrived here by accident at just the right time.”

             The apparent serendipity of his arrival bothered Nick, who considered himself a rational soul, leery of encounters bearing the label of “coincidence”. But he tucked away that concern and posed the obvious next question: “Okay, Iris, so what’s the service you provide?”

             Her reply came without hesitation. “I give you insights into what’s going on in the minds of other people – people that you know and deal with daily. I’m convinced that many human problems can be traced to one person misreading what’s going on in another person’s mind – or simply having no clue as to what someone else expects from him or her. IRIS will help my clients close that gap.”

             Nick couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This was exactly the kind of significant information he’d sought from – but been rebuffed by – Siri. Since I’m in bed, he thought – maybe I’ve fallen back to sleep and am having a wish-fulfillment dream. To test this, he cuffed the side of his head vigorously with an open hand, hard enough to shake off any lingering dose of slumber – but his screen still read “IRIS.” And here came that throaty voice again: “Does that make sense, Nick?”

  It did, but he wasn’t ready to respond just yet. What Iris was offering sounded sufficiently bizarre that he thought it might just be a sales pitch for the equivalent of a visit-homes-of-the-stars bus ride. This had to be tested. “By the way, Iris, do you also have insights into celebrities? You know, what’s Taylor Swift looking for in a guy – or could you have told me which NBA team Kevin Durant would end up playing for?”

             Her reply was immediate and unequivocal. “No, no, I’m staying away from celebrities for the time being – I need more of a data base in place before even thinking of a venture into that area.”

             He continued to probe. “What have you done professionally before this? Do you have any references?”

             “What’s past is past – I’m not getting into that. But just so you know, I’m not in any kind of trouble with the authorities.”

             Her answer was evasive, but Nick pressed on, “Well, Iris, what you offer sounds like it could be useful. But just how do you go about getting those insights?”

             Now her voice became more businesslike. “It’s pretty simple. You just tell me who it is that you want to know more about, and what the information is that you have in mind. I’ll just need some basic info about the person – her address, perhaps a social security number if you know it, his title within a company, and so forth – so I can find him or her and go to work.”

             “And, if I may ask, what does ‘going to work’ entail?”

             “Ah, Nick, that’s my secret, the key to my powers of intuition – I can’t let you or anyone know just how it’s done. But I do get results – why don’t you try me out?”

             Nick was plainly intrigued. Not only was the service Iris offered right up his alley, but he’d never before conversed with an artificial intelligence system where the voice, far from being robotic, was warm, casual, and seemingly unscripted in advance.

             Still, Nick exercised the caution he always applied before signing on to a new venture. “What’s this going to cost me? And can I get out if I’m not satisfied with the service?”

              “Hey, Nick, here’s the good news – it’s a freebie for you, since I’ll be fine-tuning my skills along the way. In fact, I’m willing to work with you exclusively at first, to see how things go before expanding. And, of course, you can exit IRIS whenever you like.”

             It was time, Nick realized, for him to make a decision. On the one hand, the whole idea was clearly outlandish. If a management consulting client of the firm were to seek his advice on whether to sign on with IRIS, Nick – adopting his usual rational approach – would probably advise the client to take a pass. But the meshing of her concept to his yearning, their clear-headed dialogue, and that husky voice won him over. And though his expectations that anything positive would come from this were modest, it didn’t seem to hold much downside.

             Moreover – and perhaps most significant of all – he happened to have a current personal problem, on which he could use this kind of help. “Okay, Iris, I’ll give it one try – but I don’t want to commit to more until I see how it works.”

             “Good boy. So what’s my first assignment.”

             “Let’s try it out on my current girlfriend, Diane Brock – I’ll give you her address and a few other facts so you can locate her. Today happens to be her birthday, and we have a date tonight. I need to buy Diane a present this afternoon – gifts are always a last minute thing with me – but I don’t have a clue what she’d like to receive. Also, I haven’t decided what restaurant to take her to for dinner.”

             Iris sounded pleased with the assignment. “That’s a perfect start – simple and straightforward. Give me some clues to locating Diane, and I’ll be back to you real quick with the goods. Just check your messages in an hour or so – when you see a call from IRIS, hit the reply button.”

             After they hung up, Nick showered, dressed and ate breakfast. Sure enough, in under sixty minutes, the word “IRIS” popped up on his phone, and he promptly made the connection.

             Her voice sounded both precise and confident. “I’ve checked Diane out – no offense, but she’s pretty easy to read. In terms of a gift, what she’d really like is an engagement ring – but she’s realistic enough to know that’s not in the cards as yet. But she recently saw a pair of large hoop gold earrings in Tiffany’s window that would do quite well for now. They ain’t cheap, though – is that in your budget?”

             Nick winced. “Let’s just say it’s pricier than what I had in mind . . . . Did you happen to hone in on any less expensive yens on her part?”

             “Well, she’s keen on one of those small but powerful wi-fi speakers, so she can listen to her Pandora selections while cooking. . . . If you want some unsolicited advice, Nick, I’d only step up to the earrings if you’re serious about her.”

             “Hey, you sound like the older sister I never had.”

             Iris replied, in her full-throated tone, “That’s not the relationship I’m coming from. . . .”

             Nick pondered that response for a moment, but decided to let it pass. “Okay,  I’ll make a decision between those two gifts. By the way, did you pick up a restaurant preference?”

             “I did. She’d like something romantic – not your usual bistro.”

             “Any thoughts?”

             “How about trying the River Café? It’s not my favorite venue, but she might go for it.”

             “Good idea. I’ll get in touch with you tomorrow and let you know how things work out.”

             In fact, Saturday evening with Diane worked out quite well. The River Café proved to be a suitable spot for Nick to unveil the wi-fi speaker. If Diane was disappointed that the gift didn’t attach to her earlobes, she didn’t show it.

             Nick contacted Iris the next day to report. Before he could say anything, she asked – her voice sounding a little anxious – “How did it go with Diane?”

            “Just fine,” Nick replied, “Diane complimented me on my choice of the River Café; and although I followed your advice and passed up the earrings, she seemed genuinely enthusiastic about the speaker. Iris, you did great work.”

             Iris replied in tones tinged with emotion. “Oh, I’m so glad to hear that.         Oh, yes, yes. . . .” She seemed to squeal, then gasp, after which her voice trailed off – all Nick could hear was some heavy breathing. After a short interval, Iris cleared her throat and asked, in her normal voice, “Do you have another assignment for me?”

             What was that all about? thought Nick briefly, but then moved on to what lay ahead. Her initial performance fully justified  a second assignment, and he gave her one – more of a challenge this time, requiring her to operate in real time.

             “Here’s the thing, Iris. I’m going to be playing chess this evening at my apartment with my buddy, Peter Waring, who’s quite good at the game. I’ll give you more info on him in a moment, so you can connect the dots. I want you to observe the match . . . . By the way, do you know anything about chess?”

  Her voice took on a huffy tone. “I’m insulted by your question. The fact is, I know something about almost everything.”

  “Okay, don’t pout. So anyway, at a crucial moment – when I’m about to make a move that Peter will likely have anticipated – I’ll excuse myself for a toilet break. Then I’ll contact you from the bathroom – wearing earbuds so Peter can’t hear anything from your end – and ask what Peter is contemplating as his counter to my likely move.”

  Iris purred. “I get it, and I see what you’re up to. If his counter is weak, you’ll make the move; but if it’s strong, you’ll try something different.”

  Nick was pleased with her grasp of the situation. “Exactly.”

         “I like the challenge,” said Iris – “give me Peter’s business address and email.”

             The chess match with Peter that evening was roughly even well into the middle game. Then Nick spotted a certain move he might make that was bound to be controversial. If he paused prior to moving, the possibility of his proceeding in that fashion would likely trigger advance planning in Peter’s mind as to the best response. It was the perfect moment for him to contact Iris. Nick excused himself from the table, went to the bathroom, inserted his earbuds, and made the connection.

            Iris spoke up immediately. “Peter thinks you might move your queen’s knight’s pawn up two squares.”

             “Bingo! That’s exactly what I’ve thought about doing.”

             “Don’t do it, Nick. Take my word for it – Peter has devised a devastating response, pinning your rook and capturing a bishop.”

             “Dammit, Peter saw the ideal counter! Okay, I’ll go another way. Thanks, Iris – by the way, you’re damn good.”

             Nick returned to the board, made a different move, and went on to checkmate Peter in twelve minutes. Later that night, after Peter left his apartment, Nick contacted Iris.

  “Hello, Nick – how did it go with Peter?” she asked, in that same anxious voice he’d observed when the subject was Diane’s birthday.

            After he told her of the game’s successful outcome “thanks to your insight,” Nick heard a replay of her reaction to his report about Diane. “Oh, I’m so glad to hear that. Oh, yes, yes. . . .” followed by a squeal, a gasp and some heavy breathing.

             That’s an odd coincidence, Nick thought, but then signed off with Iris for the evening. “I’m tired now – but I’ve got a tough project that I’ll get back to you with tomorrow.”

             The next morning, as Nick was preparing to contact Iris, he thought about the “you’re damn good” compliment he’d tossed her way the night before. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t hand out such high praise to someone who was providing services to him – his fear being that the price of those services would then rise commensurately. But this was different, he realized – it’s a freebie. I can say anything I feel.

             When he reached Iris, he put the biggest test yet to her. If she can handle this one, then I’ll be a true believer.

             “Iris, I’m negotiating a deal to sell a small tract of Long Island real estate I own to a guy named Charlie Lee – I’ll give you more info on the guy. We’ve been going back and forth on price for weeks, with another meeting scheduled at four this afternoon.

  “I’ve got a pretty good sense of how Charlie negotiates. My gut tells me that he’ll increase the price he’s willing to pay by a small amount and then say something like, ‘That’s it – that’s my top number. Take it or leave it’ – you know the drill.”

             “It’s a familiar tactic,” she said.

             “Here’s how I feel about the situation. Iris. If that’s really his top price, I’ll accept it. The reason is that if I reject it or counter Charlie’s bid and he walks, I don’t know whether I can find another buyer. But if he’s bluffing, then I’d like to keep the negotiations going. He seems to want the property and would probably be willing to pay somewhat more.”

             “I understand.”

             “So, if Charlie does what I think he’ll do, then before responding I’ll excuse myself for a minute, put in the earbuds, and make contact to ask you whether he’s bluffing.”

            “I got it, Nick,” Iris replied – “lead on.”

             Sure enough, that afternoon Charlie did just what Nick expected him to do – increased his offer by a small amount and then made the speech about this being his top price. Nick excused himself, went to an adjoining room,  put in the earbuds, and connected with Iris.

             “Charlie’s bluffing, I guarantee it,” she said before Nick could even ask. “He’s got another five percent price bump in his back pocket.”

             Nick thanked her – “You’re a doll!” – removed the earbuds, and returned to the other room, where he made this response to the prospective buyer. “Well, Charlie, if that’s your top price, then we’re through talking – I’ll just contact some of the other guys interested in the property, who I’ve been holding off while dealing exclusively with you . . . . On the other hand, if you really want to make a deal – without taking the risk of someone else stepping up to the plate – then you need to preempt the negotiations by adding something between five and ten percent to your offer.”

             A lot of back-and-forth ensued, but by the end of the afternoon, Charlie bought the property at a price five percent over where he’d started out earlier in the day.

             When he reported the favorable results to Iris, her response – complete with squeal, gasp and heavy breathing – were in line with what ensued following the successes she’d achieved on the Diane and Peter assignments. But Nick, now hooked on the service IRIS provided, took little notice of it.

             The next few weeks were replete with more choice assignments that Iris fulfilled. A number of Nick’s requests involved his friend, Peter, about whom she seemed to be especially insightful.

             Meanwhile, on another front, Nick found himself growing ever fonder of Diane, while at the same time facing an increasingly troublesome problem that he’d never discussed with her. What had become clear to him was that Diane didn’t seem to be deriving as much enjoyment out of their sexual encounters as he did. This, in turn, led him to fear that unless he “upped his game,” she might lose interest in him over time.

             So, in an insightful moment, Nick came up with a challenging assignment for Iris, which he contacted her about.

             “This may be beyond your powers, Iris, but let me broach it anyway. I’ve heard that many women have special erogenous zones, and that a man who pays some tactile attention to such a zone can create great delight in his sexual partner. I’d really like to know if there’s something I could do along these lines that would enhance the experience for my girlfriend Diane – but frankly, it’s a something I’m afraid to pose to her directly. Can you help me out?”

            Iris hesitated a few moments before replying – something she rarely did – and delivered her response in an uncharacteristic businesslike tone.

  “I understand what you’re asking, but it’s something that would be difficult for me to ascertain in the abstract. I’m sure you can see what I mean – if Diane indeed has a neglected erogenous zone, she’s unlikely to be reflecting on it while at work or cooking in her kitchen.”

  That’s a fair point, thought Nick. “I get it – the timing has to be while the zone is something that’s on her mind.”

“Right.”

  “And that would probably be while I’m making love to her – that’s the time when you’d have your best chance of coming up with something useful.”

  Iris paused, then said, “Yes, that seems logical, but . . . . oh, shit.”

  “Hey, I didn’t realize you knew how to curse.”

  “I’m just testing it out.”

  “Look, Iris, I know what you’re thinking – that being heavy into coitus is a tough moment for me to whip out a cell phone to contact you . . . . It’s not quite the same as during a chess match or a negotiation.”

             “Exactly” – at which point their conversation turned to other subjects.

             But Nick didn’t abandon the concept, and after a few days came up with a plan of attack – not riskless, to be sure, but at least feasible. When he made contact with the IRIS website, she wasn’t immediately available to talk, so he left her this message: “Stand by for an erogenous zone mission at eleven pm tonight.”

             At 10:45 that evening, Nick and Diane slipped beneath his sheets. For five minutes or so, they mumbled sweet nothings. Then for ten minutes  Nick ran through his paltry bag of foreplay tricks, rather off-handedly – not really trying to arouse her, just “phoning it in,” you might say. As usual, he could tell that Diane seemed jaded about the whole thing.

            At precisely eleven o’ clock, Nick grunted and raised himself into a sitting position. “I know what’s wrong, Diane. It’s that damn musty odor emanating from my armpits – that would turn anyone off. I’m going to fix that right now with some potent deodorant.”

             Then – ignoring Diane’s quizzical rejoinder, “I don’t smell anything” – Nick bolted from the bed and strode to the bathroom, where he’d stashed his cellphone and earbuds. Tap, tap – and Iris was on.

             “Well?” Nick whispered.

             Although the words she spoke were as perceptive as ever, Iris delivered her nostrum in a wooden tone – almost as if she felt forced to provide useful advice by her professional obligation, although it went against her better judgment. “I’m getting a loud and clear signal that there’s a special spot just above Diane’s right heel and below the ankle – you’d be well-advised to get down there pronto with your thumb and forefinger.”

  “Many thanks,” said Nick, terminating the call, spritzing his pits liberally with a noisy aerated deodorant, and returning to the bed. His itchy fingers now probed the depths of Diane’s odd erogenous zone – an exploit that, as Diane later confessed to him, engendered for her the most satisfying sexual union of their months together.

             But when Nick contacted Iris the next day to exult over the results of her erogenous zone prescription, he failed to notice that her guarded response was quite unlike her ardent reactions to his reports of success on previous assignments. Perhaps his observational myopia was due to the time pressure he was then feeling – the firm had decided to send him out-of-town that day on a high-pressure management consulting assignment. He told Iris about his projected absence and said he wouldn’t be able to contact her the rest of that week.

             When his assignment was completed and Nick returned to town, he noticed some unusual things happening.

             The first occurred at a restaurant where Nick was having lunch with his good friend Peter. The last time they’d dined together, Nick had picked up the whole tab. So, Nick reasoned, this one should be on Peter. But I know Peter too well. He’s a good guy, but deep down he’s cheap. At best, he’ll offer to split today’s charge. . . . Needless to say, Nick was surprised when Peter snatched the check from the waiter’s hand and paid for the entire lunch.

             What happened next came as even more of a shock. Peter’s parents provided him with seasonal opera tickets, and each year he’d been taking Nick for a night at  the Met.  Although Nick disliked opera intensely, he never said so to Peter, usually gushing appreciation instead. But this year, as the time came for his annual Met ordeal, Nick heard nothing from Peter on the subject. Shortly after, a mutual friend of theirs told Nick that, for the first time ever, Peter had invited him to the opera.

             Meanwhile, on several occasions during this period, Nick’s attempts to reach Iris were unsuccessful – and when they did connect, she asked to be excused from performing any service right then because of some important matters she had to take care of.

             But the thing that really got Nick thinking occurred two days later. There was one aspect of his friend’s personality that really annoyed Nick – the fact that Peter was an inveterate name-dropper. You know the sort of thing: “Derek Jeter was just saying to me the other day . . . .” “Did I ever tell you what happened on my third date with Jennifer Lawrence . . . .” “So I emailed Barack about the situation . . . .”

  Nick never mentioned to Peter how much these references irked him – rather, he’d just nod appreciatively as each came his way. But on the day in question, when they spent five hours together, Peter didn’t drop a single name . . . .

             That’s when it hit Nick – a combination of Iris’s unavailability and Peter’s unusual behavior. At home that night, he made contact with Iris; and before she could say anything, he tore into her.

             “Goddamit, Iris, I just figured it out – you’ve started working for Peter! The man is reading my mind . . . . Sure, the results are favorable for me, but I don’t like being on the receiving end here. And anyway, I thought I had an exclusive.”

             Iris voiced an audible “son of a bitch” as she prepared to face the music. “Well, I won’t deny that you’re right about my working for Peter. But you’re wrong about the exclusive. I didn’t say I’d never take on other clients – just that I hadn’t done so yet. Well. now I have.”

             “But why did you do it – abandoning me for Peter?”

             “I haven’t abandoned you from going after other targets – just not after Peter.”

             Nick wasn’t satisfied and told Iris so. “How could you give Peter information about me for his benefit? I thought we’d developed a strong relationship.”

             “Okay,” said Iris, her voice tinged with resignation, “you deserve a full confession.”

  “You’re damn right I do.”

  “First, some background. You’ve never asked me, but have you ever wondered why I perform these services – what’s in it for me?”

             “The question has crossed my mind, but it just seemed to be none of my business. . . .”

             “The payoff for me is the exultant feeling I get when I’ve successfully fulfilled an assignment. You’ve undoubtedly heard the sounds I emit upon learning that my advice worked – the “yes, yes,” the squeal, the gasp, the heavy breathing.”

             “Now that you mention it, I have wondered about that.”

  “Well, it happens to be the closest to something hormonal that we bots ever get to experience – you might describe it as the robotic equivalent of what humans term an orgasm.”

             Of course, Nick realized, that’s just what it sounds like. “Oh, I get it. This reminds me of how Woody Allen reacts in his movie Sleeper, after a session with that big sparkling ball – I think they called it the orbitron.”

             “That’s a good analogy. We call our reaction a robogasm. Anyway, I was achieving them regularly on the assignments I performed for you – that is, until I had to handle that thoroughly distasteful erogenous zone mission. Sure, I performed it flawlessly, and you gave me full credit – but for the first time, I didn’t register a robogasm. It made me worry about whether the bloom – my bloom, you might say – was off the rose with you.

  “And then when you left town for the week, I was in serious need of some stimulation. I’d grown fond of Peter from all the jobs you’d given me involving the guy. So I bowed to the pressure, called him one day on his cellphone, told him about the IRIS service, and persuaded him to give me assignments.

             “I won’t go into detail here, Nick, and I don’t mean to hurt you, but the successful completion of these services I’ve performed for Peter have provided me with some of the best robogasms I’ve ever experienced.”

             It was indeed a blow to his ego, but Nick nonetheless made an effort to stay positive. “I’m happy for you, Iris – I don’t begrudge you some cheap thrills from Peter’s assignments. But here’s the question I have – why have you stopped doing stuff for me?”

            Her voice, usually so self-assured, now betrayed a lack of confidence. “The reason is my worry that because so many of your assignments involve insights into Peter, it might sabotage the whole emotional thing for me.”

            This was a lot for Nick to take in, but ever the realist, he decided to make the best he could out of the situation. “Okay, Iris, I understand – but can’t you keep working for me so long as any insights I seek don’t involve Peter?”

             She was ready for that question. “I thought you might bring this up, so I discussed it with Peter yesterday. He’s willing for you to use my services on assignments not involving him as long as they don’t result in robogasms. I guess he doesn’t want any competition on that front. I feel compelled to respect his view – but then I need a different rationale for working on your stuff. So if you want to continue. I’ll have to charge you.”

             Now Nick became wary. “How much are you talking about?”

             “Well, I’ll need a hefty annual retainer, plus something between one and five thousand bucks for each assignment, depending on the degree of difficulty.”

             Nick let out a shrill whistle. “Wow, that’s really steep. Look, Iris, I’d like to stick around, but I can’t afford anything like that . . . . So, all I can say is, I hope you two will be very happy.”

             Her voice now became overwrought, betraying an uncertainty he’d never heard from Iris. “I hope so, but it’s troubling to put all my eggs in one fucking basket, and with someone I still don’t know that well.” There was a pause while she continued to muse on the subject. “As you know, I can sniff out what all my targets are thinking, but not my client – it’s an odd limitation that I’m stuck with. I don’t know what Peter’s thinking – especially his thoughts about me, on which he’s been silent. It leaves me very vulnerable and uncomfortable.”

             Nick didn’t speak for a few moments, and then an idea came to him. But is it fair for me to do? To a friend like Peter? On the other hand, Peter snatched Iris from me, which pisses me off. And, as they say, all’s fair . . . .

             “I’ll tell you what I’m willing to do, Iris – sort of a barter arrangement. If you’ll drop the fee you want to charge me for using your services, I’ll let you use my service for free – my service being that, upon your request, I’ll furnish you with insights into what Peter is thinking, especially as it concerns you.”

             Iris didn’t hesitate. “It’s a deal! Now the first thing I want you to find out is how Peter feels about me sometimes using four-letter words . . . .”