Tin Man

I’ve tried to reach Eva, to touch her in some small way and let her know I care. But nothing I do seems to penetrate her reserve.

Although she desires me, she doesn’t consider me—not really, not in the tender way other women treat their men.

“The fault is in our stars, my Love.” She laughs softly and pats my arm and shoos me away like the household cat.

“Go play on your computer—you spend hours on it anyway—look up an exciting place to take me for my Birthday.”

And so I’m dismissed.

I sigh and retreat to my study where everything makes sense for a while—at least, as long as I have a project to work on to distract me from my pain.

But I’m worried about Eva and the way she’s been isolating lately. We used to go out to clubs and restaurants, and I especially loved hiking on the trails near our house.

But lately she’s been reclusive, and retreats to her room, shutting me out, and all her friends.

“It’s not wholesome,” I tell her, but she’s unconcerned.

“People can be such a bother, Nick. I get enough socialization just coping with the neighbors,”

And that is that. Topic closed.

But sometimes in the evenings I stand on the landing and stare at the red outline of her door. I wonder what’s going on in there—in her room, in her life, or in her soul.

The phone rings and I jump to pick it up. It’s Crissy, Eva’s friend, and her voice on the other end sounds so alive that my heart leaps for a moment.

“So, how have you been, Nick? Still making hearts flutter in the Village?”

I feel myself color with embarrassment and an image floods over me—the saleswoman in La Boutique Noire gushing over my Bespoke suit.

“We don’t have anything like that here,” she winks to the other lady assisting her.

“No, you don’t understand,” I protest, “I’m not here for a suit—just a casual shirt.”

“I wasn’t referring to the suit, Hon.”

Crissy appears just then and rescues me. “Yes, I don’t think you have what he’s looking for,” she says breezily and whisks me out the door.

I overhear a snatch of whispered conversation: “Money can buy anything,” and then, they laugh. It sounds like the crackle of thorns burned in a fire.

I’m socially awkward and still haven’t quite figured out what they meant, but I feel violated somehow.

"Hey, it’s okay, Nick—you know I’m just teasing about the Village, right?”

She brings me out of my reverie and back to reality. “Ha ha, sure Crissy—it’s all good.”

“Is Eva still stuck in her room?”

I get immediately defensive. “Uh no, she’s in the bath actually. Can I have her call you back?”

“Yeah, I doubt she’ll do that tonight. Just tell her I called—and Nick—try to have a good night.”

I hang up feeling guilty for having lied, and uncertain what Crissy meant.

It’s funny how Eva always assumes I don’t care or have feelings about things, but I do. I just find it hard to express what’s going on inside.

“Nick, who was on the phone?”

Eva’s standing in the doorway looking beautiful in her white satin nightgown.

“It was Crissy. She wants you to phone her.”

“Tomorrow, Nick. Turn out the lights and come to bed.”

She pads back along the carpeted hallway to the bedroom and I dutifully comply.

The following morning Eva’s up early and chatting with Crissy on the phone.

Her voice drifts back down the hallway, and she’s laughing like the saleswoman in the boutique.

“Well, that’s why I purchased this model. I want those bitches to eat their hearts out.”

There’s a pause, while Crissy replies.

“Don’t be silly, Cris—he’s just a damn machine with AI capabilities. He doesn’t bloody well have feelings—just responds to whatever’s programmed in.”

I can’t quite grasp what Eva’s saying, but I feel violated somehow.