Good Housekeeping

Chapter 1: Mr. MontgomeryWhen my father told me I’d be working for a Mr. Montgomery, I had always envisioned that old white guy from It’s a Wonderful Life; angry, crusty, and mean for no reason. Now, I’m staring at one of the most beautiful men that I’ve ever seen in my life, and my father is standing beside me calling him Mr. Montgomery as if he’s going to steal all the money from the bank and put the town into an economic depression. I feel like an i***t. I let my father convince me to gel back my hair, and what did I care? If it made this abominable old guy happy, why wouldn’t I gel back my stupid hair? But now, belatedly realizing that this is the man that I’ll be serving for the next—however long he lives here—I’m realizing that I’ve made a catastrophic mistake. I might be a butler, but I’m not usually this up-kept. I press my suit, wear white gloves, and carry a silver tray, but I don’t typically go so far as to flatten each one of my hairs onto my head as if I’m afraid they will run away if given the chance. My father wears his hair the same way, though it’s longer, reaching almost his mid-back. He ties it with a ribbon that looks like a bow tie, and the primary reason I keep my hair above my collar is so that he doesn’t make me wear one, too. Then again, that won’t be a problem in a few days when he moves on to the mansion down the road, and this place becomes mine to service until my dying breath—according to my father, anyways. Father this, father that, I am awfully tired of being trodden on by his overly polished shoes, and I’m ready to take charge of the staff here. Me, a maid, a chef, a driver, and…him. Mr. Montgomery. The one we are all servicing as he lives his life of luxury doing whatever job he does that provides him with so much money that he can afford all of this. My father came with the house—he served the man who lived here before (apparently Mr. Montgomery’s godfather), then when Mr. Montgomery moved in, he adopted the line of service workers without question or complaint. But now, Father is moving on, and this is the place that he wants me to have now that I am no longer a butler in training. He’ll be showing me the ropes here for the rest of the week, and then…he’s gone. Or—at least—he’ll be several houses away and I won’t have to talk to him all the time. I’ve actually been working in this house for quite a while now—maybe a few months—but I’ve never once spotted Mr. Montgomery in all this time. I wasn’t even that interested, to be honest, as I was simply chuffed to finally have my own service. But now, as I’m nearing the end of my training, it’s time for us to make the gentle shift from one butler to another as if passing off a sleeping baby from your arms into the crib without waking him. But, Montgomery is certainly not a baby. Hell, he looks like a retired athlete who’s fresh out of a press conference. He’s wearing all of the expensive clothes, but nothing is put on correctly; his tie is crooked, his waistcoat unbuttoned, and the left sleeve of his shirt is missing a cufflink. It makes me want to go over there and straighten him up—but maybe that’s simply the rigorous butler-training talking. My father is explaining something to him and I’m not listening even though I should be. Instead, my eyes skim the surface of his messy desk, seeking any information as to what this guy’s job is. I glance at the walls of his office, but other than a few decorative paintings, there’s nothing to distinguish any type of university degree. My hands are behind my back, shoulders straight, just as a proper butler should stand in the presence of his host. I glance at the side of my father’s face—at his long nose and pointed chin that is far too similar to mine. I think to myself that this Montgomery guy might not have even noticed us swapping out if my father hadn’t told him. Then, I look at him—Montgomery—because I want to inspect his poorly assembled outfit, and I realize that he’s staring at me. I lift my chin and glance at my father because I think that he’s speaking about me, but when I listen, I realize that he’s not. I curiously look back at Montgomery, and his green eyes shift from my face to my shoulders, then pointedly up to my gelled-back hair. I feel my face heat and I swallow, straightening my back as I ignore him. Perfect. Our first interaction and I’m already embarrassing myself. Will he be like this all the time? Silently judgmental and cruelly attractive? As a butler, I’m not allowed to speak to or interact with our hosts unless they interact with us first. Even when dropping off tea, or bringing them something they’ve asked for, the rule is to stand and wait to be acknowledged, or lay down whatever it is that they are receiving and leave as silently as possible. In other words, we strive to be invisible, and to make our other staff invisible, too. That will be difficult if he finds my stupid hair amusing, or if I’m too gay to stop analyzing his disgruntled clothing. I sigh minutely and glance at the ceiling, wondering how much longer my father plans to explain to him who I am, why I’m here, what I’ll be doing, etcetera, etcetera. Again, it’s the tradition to pass on from one butler to another. My family has been in the buttling service for decades, and my father is determined that it will not end with me. And, it won’t because the thing I’m best at is this; seeing what others need before they know it themselves, gathering and retaining information, and silence. I’m very good at silence, especially at work. I have all the traits of a good butler, and that’s why I’m not paying attention to what my father is saying. I already know it all, and what I don’t know, I’ll learn quickly. I glance at Montgomery again, but he’s looking over his shoulder out the window, and I can tell that my father is wrapping up. With a few more words, my father bows his head and turns to leave, pausing while I do the same. As I lift my chin again, I see that Montgomery has returned his attention to me, and I keep my face impassive as I leave.