the man

Janet had been out of touch for quite some time, leaving her closest friends to theorize on the cause of this absence over the telephone.

“She’s too embarrassed to be seen after what happened with John,” said Sue.

“She’s not embarrassed, she’s depressed. Haven’t you ever been depressed?” said Amy. 

Maryanne and Sue hadn’t. So when Maryanne received a handwritten invitation to a dinner party at Janet’s cottage home, located about an hour south of the city, she called Sue immediately.

“Did you get an invitation in the mail?” Maryanne asked.

“You bet your shorts I did,” said Sue. 

Maryanne said goodbye to Sue and called Amy.

“I bet she got the cottage in the divorce,” said Amy.

The three women agreed to share a cab and split the fare to to Janet’s cottage. Sue wasn’t comfortable driving in the dark, and neither Maryanne nor Amy felt confident navigating the southern neighborhoods without their husbands, Alan and David. They met at Amy’s apartment and climbed into a waiting cab.

“I bet she’s got a new man,” said Sue.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” said Maryanne.

“How she could ever want a man again is beyond me,” said Amy.

As the cab pulled up to Janet’s cobblestone driveway, the women admired the cottage. Its white brick façade, chipped with age, was draped in vines that clung to the gutters and shutters. It exuded a quiet charm, as if time itself had made a story of its simple structure.

Maryanne knocked on the door. They waited anxiously, listening for footsteps and the creaking of hinges. Janet appeared, her jet-black hair pressed into loose coils and her eyes painted black as a cat’s.

“Welcome,” said Janet with a smile. “Do come in.”

Janet looked radiant.

“Thank you for having us over. How have you been?” Sue asked.

“Excellent,” said Janet. “I have never been better.”

Sue shot a glance at Maryanne.

“Oh?” said Maryanne, removing the shawl she’d draped over her shoulders. “Do tell.”

“Why don’t we sit down first? There’s a meal,” said Janet.

Janet directed each of her three friends to their respective seats, four perfectly placed settings of white plates and freshly polished forks, complete with white taffeta tablecloth and matching embroidered napkins. 

“How fancy,” said Sue, “What’s the occasion?”

“Just some good news,” said Janet.

“The divorce— is it over?” asked Amy.

“Oh, the divorce? That ended ages ago,” said Janet, dismissively. “I’ve moved on.”

Sue leaned forward. “So, does this mean you have found a new man?”

The three women stared at Janet expectantly, their faces illuminated by candlelight. The flickering light made the atmosphere feel slightly eerie. Maryanne, sensing the tension, buttered her bread and snapped, “Leave Janet alone. The last thing she needs is the three of us biting at her heels.”

“He’s here, isn’t he?” Sue pressed.

Janet nodded, a mysterious smile spreading across her face.

“Get out! Where is he hiding?” they demanded, in unison.

“Brendan,” Janet called, clapping her hands twice.

A tall, slender man with a peachy complexion stepped into the doorway, holding a fresh pitcher of iced tea. He was immaculately dressed, perfectly clean-shaven, and exuded an uncanny grace.

“Girls, this is Brendan,” said Janet.

“What a lovely name,” Amy murmured.

Brendan approached the table in order to carefully refill each individual glass. Then, without a word, Brendan disappeared back into the kitchen.

“Now, hold on,” said Maryanne, half joking. “Is Brendan your boyfriend or your butler?”

Janet laughed. “You might say he’s a little of both.”

“Are you saying he’s paid?” Sue asked, eyebrows raised.

“He isn’t paid. He’s paid for. He’s… compensation for damages,” Janet said. “He’s an Artificial Man.” 

The women gasped.

“He looks so real,” Maryanne exclaimed. “Can I touch him?”

“Yes, you may,” Janet said with a wink.

Upon being summoned, Brendan returned. This time, Janet instructed him to join them at the table. Brendan did so without question. In this lighting, he looked a bit like an actor the girls had seen in a film, though they couldn’t remember which one.

Maryann rose from the table nervously, brushing the wrinkles from her skirt. She circled the table and stood silently behind the man. She placed her hands on the man’s forehead, kneading his skin with her fingertips. His face felt smooth, pliable, yet eerily lifelike. She touched his shoulders, his chest, and his forearms, marveling at their solid weight and warmth.

“That’s enough for now,” said Janet.

Maryanne returned to her seat, her face flushed pink. “He’s just amazing,” she said.

After dinner, the women moved to the sitting room to sip wine and nibble on scones. Janet dimmed the lights and turned on the faux fireplace. The floral wallpaper matched the coral pink couches perfectly, a detail everyone silently noted.

“Can he sing?” Sue asked. “I want to hear his voice.”

“Yes, he can,” Janet said. “Brendan, sing us a song.”

Brendan began to sing, his deep voice carrying a haunting melody:

“Love, love will tear us apart, again…”

The women fell silent, captivated.

“That’s enough,” said Janet.

As the evening wore on, Amy let out a yawn. Sue called a cab, and the three women began gathering their belongings. Maryanne lingered near Brendan, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Janet, do you happen to have that scarf I let you borrow last October?”

While Janet was upstairs searching for the woven scarf, Maryanne leaned in and unzipped Brendan’s trousers. She slipped her fingers inside the dark opening, exploring briefly. Then she withdrew her hand, zipped him up, and shrugged.

“Maryanne, I can’t believe you!” Whispered Amy, horrified.

“What?” Maryanne replied.

There was a tap on the ceiling above, then the sound of Janet’s footsteps descending down the stairs toward the sitting room, where the women waited quietly with their coats and bags.

“I found the scarf,” said Janet. “It was hiding in the back of my closet.”

“Thanks for returning it,” said Maryanne.

The women then said their goodbyes, kissed each other’s cheeks and left. Janet stood for a moment, taking in the silence. Then she turned to Brendan.

“Brendan,” she said.

“Yes, dear?” He replied.

Janet gazed into the man’s dark and hollow eyes.

“Don’t yes dear me. I saw you eying Sue’s breasts.”

“I did no such thing,” Brendan protested.

“Are you calling me a liar?” Janet howled.

“No, my darling,” Brendan said, reaching out. Before he could touch her, Janet slapped him hard across the face. His expression twisted into a sorrowful frown.

“Go to your box. I’ll come let you out in the morning,” said Janet. And as always, the man did as he was told.