The Butler - 15. Chapter XV

February 10th, 2011, Greenwich, CT

This went on for over another week. I cooked, he came in for a plate, gave me hassle about not eating in the dining room and for the rest of the evening, there was peace and quiet. He didn’t try to talk any more or apologize for his obvious mistake of misinterpreting the relationship between his father and me. Then, on a Friday night, he came into the kitchen (he had an uncanny way of knowing just when to come in, before I was done cooking), just as I was finishing up making a dish I picked up from a cooking program. In silence he watched. By now I was used to it, or at least tolerated his presence without getting nervous. Then, when I set his finished plate aside and picked up my own, he spoke up.

“I see you're going to be unsociable again, as usual?”

Yes I was. ‘The Sound of Music’ was coming on, and it had been ages since I'd seen it.

“There's a movie I want to see,” I explained. “So yes, I'm going upstairs to watch it while I eat. I suggest you do the same.”

I went into the hall and was about halfway up the stairs when I realized he was following me. Frowning, I halted. He did as well, looking up questioningly.

“What?” he asked.

“What do you think you're doing?”

“You said; 'I suggest you do the same', so that's what I'm doing. Is something wrong?”
Seriously? He grew a funny bone all of a sudden?

“You know perfectly well I meant for you to go eat in the dining room, as usual,” I replied, aggravated.

“What movie is on?” The answer came, ignoring my suggestion.

“What? Go find out yourself.”

“Come on; we've been doing this for a week now and we've hardly spoken two words. I tried to apologize, you weren't having it. Fine. Can we get past that, then? We’ll have to do this for a year. At some point, we will have to talk. An hour, two hours, each day. What do you say?”

I didn't see any reason why, especially with him but I sighed and shrugged. I didn't feel like fighting right now.

“Fine. There's a TV in the den. We'll eat there, then.”
He blocked my way down, refusing to budge.

“Are we talking?”

“No.”

“Chris…”

“topher. Christopher.”

“Yes, yes, I’m not your friend, I want your promise. Two hours. Every day.”

“Gregory,” I began, exasperated.

“Greg.”

“Whatever.”

“Promise,” he demanded.

“Fine. Den. Move.”

He shot me a triumphant, smug grin and went back downstairs, making his way to the den. Sitting down, we were just in time; the first scene of the movie had just started. He raised an eyebrow.

“The Sound of Music?”

“If you don't like it...” I flared up.

“Not at all; it's been...hmm, ten years since I saw a movie? Thirty when I last saw this one.”

“Great, then you’ll have no problem watching, since you saw it before I was born, and forgot most of it. Just eat and watch.”

“Damn, you’re prickly.”
I rolled my eyes. Would he just shut up?

“We can go back to icy, if you wish. Now would you just eat? I thought you were starving, but this incessant yapping…”

“I do not yap. You agreed to two hours and that we would talk.”

“Not during a movie. You know what; I changed my mind.”
I got up in a huff.

“Sit down!” he suddenly said sharply. “There’s not going to be any changing of minds. We're going to eat,” he continued, gluing me to where I stood with a hard look. Gone was Mr. Funnybone. I rather preferred him, then.
“We're going to watch this damn movie. Together. Two hours.”

I sighed, exasperated but sat down.

“You know; I'm a very patient man. Very easy as well.”
I somehow found my tongue again.

“Yes. Do what you want, and all is well, correct?”
He ignored it.

“Tonight I'll make an exception, but from now on we'll have dinner together, as well as breakfast and lunch, and we'll be having it in the dining room. Not upstairs, or anywhere else…”
A protest formed on my lips.
“Shut up. I haven’t finished. This crap has gone on for as long as I can take it. We’re here, and there’s nothing you, or I, can do about it now. I made a mistake. I tried to apologize, you don’t want any of it. Have I been unfair to you? Yes. But I’m not the only one here.”

Mumbling an objection, which drew another warning glance, I shut up, put a little distance between us, and began to eat.

“Good. Now eat, and watch.”

**********

For some reason, I couldn't enjoy the movie anymore. Or the food. And whenever he laughed beside me, I had to fight the urge to stick my fork where it definitely didn't belong. In my mind, I began sticking it in his eyes first, then his throat and then, and this was rather amusing in my mind, I'd nail his manhood. That'd teach that overbearing son of a...

“Oh come on, that was funny,” he suddenly spoke, after an amusing scene.

To avoid another argument I produced a small smile.

In the meantime he'd finished his plate and bent forward to set it on the table. In my mind's eye, I immediately proceeded sticking my fork repeatedly into his broad back, producing expanding dark-red spots in his white shirt. It was a satisfying thought. Creepy, yes, and a bit disconcerting, but satisfying.

I guess that particular thought had brought a genuine smile onto my face because when he moved back, and glanced sideways, he frowned when he found me grinning evilly, raising an eyebrow.

“What?” he demanded, suspiciously.

“Nothing,” I replied.

He held the look for another few heartbeats; then his eyes traveled down to my plate, which was still half full. I wasn't very hungry. And I didn't really like this recipe. Scratch that one from the archives.

“Aren’t you gonna eat that?”

Following his eyes, I looked down, and then shook my head. I went to put it down on the table, but stopped when he held out his hand.

“Hand it over, then.”
I frowned but gave it to him, trying to lift my fork from the plate.

“Leave it, it’s fine.”
He took it before I could even suggest he take his own.

“Thank you,” he said, returning his gaze to the TV and proceeded to eat the rest.

**********

About halfway through the movie, I got up and picked up both dirty plates, happy to be able to retreat for a while. When Greg raised an eyebrow, about to say something, no doubt to tell me to sit down again, I quickly told him I was getting dessert. I felt his eyes burn into my back as I left the room.

Once back in the kitchen, I started to rinse the dirty dishes and cleared the counter of ingredients and items I’d used. I was almost done when Greg re-appeared in the kitchen.

“I thought you wanted to see this movie?” he rumbled, clearly irritated. “And you said you were going for dessert.”

“Someone has to clean up this up,” I replied somewhat snippily, pulling the top rack out of the dishwasher a bit too fast; the dishes already in there rattled loudly.
He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

“Movie’s not done yet.”

“This doesn’t just magically get done, you know...”

“Then do it after. Get the desserts.”

“Don’t order me around!”

“Someone has to; you’re far too independent around here and do as you like. Well, I don’t like it and I need to be included.”
Son of a bitch!

“That’s unfair. I tried asking, several times, but you didn’t seem to want any of it.”

“I never said that. You assumed.”

“Oh yeah, getting grunts in response is really inviting.”

“Alright, enough. Since you seem to have a problem with sharing, why don’t I make it real easy; you’ll transfer all responsibility concerning the house to me.”

“What?! You can’t do that.”

“I just did.”

“But…”

“I won’t be ignored any longer. I won’t allow it. This…relationship, you and I; we need to go forward. If you can’t see that, then we have a real problem.”

His terming this a relationship really didn’t sit well with me. The idea alone was too horrifying.

“Right," I huffed, "forward on your rules?"
He ignored it.

"We are together in this. This is not a hotel; it’s a home. I want to feel home. I have needs. So do you. We should at least try to do it. Is that too much to ask?”
Needs? What needs? And do what…

“No, I guess not,” I replied, evenly. What needs was he talking about?

“I didn’t think so. So can we try?”
I frowned. Oh god, he wasn’t actually suggesting…

“Try what,” I asked, carefully.

“To co-exist, on friendly terms?”
Oh jeez, thank god. For a minute there I thought he was proposing something entirely different.

“I’ll…try,” I promised, be it with difficulty. I didn’t want to promise anything.

“Good. And maybe you’ll even be surprised and find I’m actually easy to talk to."

“Yeah, as long as it's on your…”

“Don't start again,” he interrupted, sharply.

“Ok…”
That was going to be a major adjustment.

“What?” He asked when he saw my frown. “C’mon, out with it. We might as well start now.”

“I was thinking it’s going to be an adjustment, to not …”

“Shoot into defensive mode?” he finished, nodding. “Yes, it will be. But we have to try this, or we’ll both be miserable. And hungry.”
That one almost drew a grin from me.

“Well, you would go hungry. I won't.”

“Yes, that was cute,” he replied, dryly. Then he jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “So…we going to finish this movie, then?”
We missed about thirty minutes of it but…

“Sure."

"And dessert?"

Right.