The Butler - 14. Chapter XIV

And so the year began.

Even though I chose to not continue as a butler, officially accepting the will and its contents via notary, I ended up doing the tasks still.

Maybe it was because of automatism. It was what I knew best. It also didn’t help Gregory had run the maid off with his boorish behavior, either. She had worked for old Mr. Montgomery for close to ten years, coming in twice a week for a few hours to help with cleaning and dusting; one week with Jr. and she was out the door. The last I saw of her was a tear-stricken face. When I asked to replace her, he allowed some applicants; each and every one he dismissed as incapable. One hardly ever got into the interview; when he saw her, he turned around with a gruff “no.”

He’d given up all pretense of civility once the family had all left and I avoided him like the plague. Sometimes I didn’t see him at all, which were nice days. But then he froze the household account, which forced me to go to him, concerning the day-to-day managing in and around the house and ask for funds. The only answers I got were unresponsive grunts and after a while I stopped asking, using my own judgement, and funds, instead.

He moved back downstairs into his father’s old suite, having had a new mattress brought in to replace the (probably) still wet one. Computers were delivered, a fax machine, and almost daily, FedEx rang the doorbell and for the duration of about half a week, an electrician came by daily to install some mysterious looking boxes on the ceilings with blinking little lights all over the house. The phone rang off the hook almost 24/7 but that ceased once the telephone company arrived and made some changes. From that moment on, a phone rang almost continuously in the study instead.

Sometimes he also worked in the den until the wee hours of the morning; I knew because he occasionally left papers there, leftover cigars in an ashtray accompanied by a used glass. It usually had contained scotch, or vodka. Apparently, he worked like a dog, almost 18 hours a day, weekdays and weekends. Unhealthy, I thought. No wonder he was such a prick.

He went for a swim every morning, very early. I guess we did a pretty good job of avoiding each other. I took to swimming after 8am, knowing he’d be long gone and retreated into the study by then. He also ran and made use of the small gym, next to the pool, but it seemed he only did that when I wasn’t at the house. The only evidence I found were his sweaty clothes and used towels in the laundry.

If he wanted something, it came out like an order, barked, to the point and leaving me little choice but to do what he ordered me to do. Remembering his threat, I didn’t dare go against him.

The only good thing were William's short but frequent visits. Usually unannounced, which for some reason pissed off Gregory like no tomorrow; those days were always fun. William dragged me out of the house, sometimes for a fun-filled night out, other times we’d just take a long walk on a beach close by; one night he took me to a casino, which was fun but costly. I could definitely see why his father had kept him on a tight leash, and now Gregory, having taken over the role of keeping a close eye on his vibrant brother and his outbursts of fun. Upon return from the casino, the argument that ensued in the study could clearly be overheard while the door was closed. Afterwards, William had come out, smiling broadly like nothing had ever happened, but he bailed right away instead of staying the night.

I got a grilling as well, later that night, and a lesson in responsibility where finances were concerned. It was that next day that he'd frozen the household account, although I swore to him I'd never used any money from that account for private stuff. It didn't matter.

That's when I remembered William’s advice and the opportunity presented itself for me to pay him back in kind; if he thought he could treat me like dirt, then he could eat dirt because whenever I made lunch, dinner or even breakfast, I began to only make enough for myself. So I began buying food only for one (having thrown away the surplus; it’d felt wasteful but good, when I did that).

The first time I did that, he’d come out of his suite, fully expectant on being served. I rather enjoyed the look on his face when he found out he was going to have to go do it himself. But he just shrugged, after sending me a glare that bordered on lethal, and ordered in (I found the leftover mess in the dining room later that night).

It was fun, the first week. And a bit petty, I guess. But like me or hate me, there is a point where I break; I need human contact, interaction. Normality. Civility. I need to talk, and get a normal answer, I need to hear jokes, friendly jibing, sometimes even a hug or a hand on my shoulder saying thanks; I’m a people person. His father had never failed in that regard; always thankful, appreciative, even the occasional hug at times, and the warm hand on my shoulder, gently squeezing in thanks.

The tactic actually seemed to work because Greg became somewhat friendlier, when he asked things. If it was due to that, I didn’t really know, but I preferred to think it did. I still kept it up, though.

He’d ordered in, that first night. And the second, the third, and well into the third week. Until he forgot…

**********

February 2nd, 2011, Greenwich, CT

The smell drew him out of the study, I think; I'd gotten the groceries earlier that day, planning nothing elaborate; pork roast, baked potatoes, vegetables, and a nice dessert. I already decided to have dinner in front of the TV in my room when Gregory startled me, speaking from the doorway.

“That smells....insanely good...”

I sent him a quick glance, finding him almost devouring the roast, just out of the oven, with his eyes. He watched while I continued preparing the meal.

“Thank you. I believe it tastes great, too.”
Actually, I knew it did; I'd already had a little slice.

“I'm very sure it does. You’re a great cook.”
A compliment?

"Hungry?"
He perked up a bit. Yeah, not gonna happen.

“Starving.”
I nodded to the phone, on the wall beside him.

“Order in; I think you know the number.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked into the kitchen and I noticed the trousers were one of those I had bought. He also wore one of the pullovers as well, with a grey shirt. God, he still hadn’t picked up his dry-cleaning!? It’d almost been a month! Yet…these looked clean enough, as if they’d just been laundered.

“I see. This is stupid. You're denying me food, in my own house...”

He waited a beat, probably to see if I would bite on the 'my own house' comment and then took on a sarcastic tone when I didn’t react.

“Oh, that's just great. Thank you.”

“I'm not denying you anything. You know where everything is, so go make it yourself, if you’re hungry. Or order in.”

“You know I can't cook if my life depended on it. Which it does, now, because I forgot to order in this afternoon, and again for dinner. I’ve lived on take-out these past several weeks, had it up to here with it, and you making that is bordering on torture. And you've got more than enough there...”
He was right; there was enough for two and no, not on purpose. Damn. I’d have to adjust the recipe.

“Ah...well, hmm, I think MacDonalds is still open.”

“That’s not food. That is.”
He nodded at the roast. I shrugged.

“Suit yourself; you can still order in or starve, I could care less.”

“I don’t think I care for your tone.”

“I don’t think I care, period,” I replied in the same manner.

For a split second I thought he might try something. Surprisingly, he didn't....and then tried a different tactic. One of his brother's.

“Alright. I need you. You don’t need me. I get it. Is that what you wanna hear? Fine. I admit it; I could have been more...civil. I will be, from now on, if you include me in meals?”
He almost sounded sincere. I glanced his way.

“If I say please, would that help? If not, say so and I'll get out of your way... and starve to death in the study.”
He tried a conciliatory smile but I still kept my mouth shut, fiercely whisking a salad dressing.

“Right. I understand. I'll get out of your hair, then.”
He turned to leave.

“You called me a whore.” I didn't want to say that; it just flew out.
He froze, then inclined his head.

“Yes I did. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.”
He had the decency to keep looking me in the eye.

“But it is the truth. You were, once.”
I closed my eyes. How could I deny that? I had taken money in exchange for sex, at the lowest point of my life.

“Yes,” I admitted, “that…that was a long time ago. I was desperate. They needed the attention more than they needed the money and I needed the money to live. But I never, ever…with your father… never…”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because not doing so would desecrate your father's memory. He was a decent man.”
He looked away, his jaw muscles clenching.

“I thought wrong, didn’t I?” He asked, after a long silence.

“Yes.”

“You never…”
I shook my head and I could feel his eyes on me.
“Then I...”

“I’ll fix you a plate,” I interrupted. I didn’t want to hear what he had to say anymore. Yanking open a cabinet, I took out another plate.

“Chris, I need…”

“Chris is for friends. You are not. And I don’t want to hear it. I’ll include you in the meals. But that’s as far as I’ll go.”

“No, I want…”

“I don’t care what you want or need,” I cut in, furiously. “You want food? Then shut up, or use the phone to get some.”
He opened his mouth, once, twice…then he glared, but kept his mouth shut.

I continued fixing his plate while he watched and his constant oversight of my every move began to make me nervous and work faster. Which, in turn, resulted in a sudden stab of sharp pain when I cut myself carving the roast. I hissed softly, putting my thumb in my mouth and sucking it, putting the knife down.
It took him all of two seconds to appear next to me.

“Let me see.”

“It'b nobbing,” I said, thumb still in my mouth, turning away. I took it out and pulled a face. “Happens all the time.”
I put back the thumb because it was still bleeding. It was a shallow cut. Well, let’s just say I’d had deeper ones.

“Don't be an idiot; let me see.”

“Would you back off?” I burst out. “I said it was nothing. You’re driving me insane with your hovering.”

He frowned and then just took my wrist and pulled it towards him. He frowned deeper when he saw the rich amount of scarring on my fingers, especially the index finger and thumb.

“Jesus, what have you been doing all these years; filleting yourself? Go rinse it, and put a band aid on it; I'll finish this.”
Gregory took the knife, which gave me no other option but to comply. I went to the sink, rinsed and got a band aid on it.

I noticed him chewing when I returned. He handed me back the knife, handle first; from the looks of it, he'd gulped down at least two thick slices. He really was hungry. It somehow stroked my ego, to know that at least there was something I did that pleased him. Not much else I did around here even got a hint of appreciation.

Fine. There was enough and I doubted he'd allow me to throw out the excess; probably kill me if I tried.
He’d carved the whole roast already so I got another plate and I proceeded to finish, adding the potatoes and vegetables, and handed the finished plate to him.

'Gravy's over there.” I nodded at the pan sitting on the stove. “Enjoy.”
He sent me a confused look.

“Aren't we eating in the dining room?”
I shook my head, picked up my own finished plate, a fork and a knife, and went for the hallway.
“Where are you eating, then?”

“In my room. But you can go sit in the dining room, if you like. Dessert is in the refrigerator, second shelf. I’ll clean up once you’re done. Goodnight.”

With that, I left him in the kitchen, remembering the good feeling his baffled stare gave me, all through the evening.

Someone's got his own back.  
 
Edited: 03/29/2018
(Explanatory line added about the maid, few changes for clarity.)