You've Got Male

Chapter Two:

The Accidental Catfish

"I don't understand," said Mr. Burns. "It's been a whole month, and each woman I've 'smiled' at has blocked me. My photos are sexy, aren't they?"

"The sexiest, sir."

"And my profile description – it's witty and charming, isn't it?"

"The wittiest and the charmingest – I mean, most charming, sir."

"Oh, I see how it is. You're my magic mirror telling me I'm the most beautiful in the land, only you're too gutless to tell me I'm no Snow White anymore." He turned his back to Smithers, clasping his hands behind him as he stared through his office window. "Perhaps this was a fool's errand. It's time I face facts: I'm too old for love. Maybe at one time I had the chance for true love, but that time has long passed me by."

"That's not true, sir. You're still young enough for love."

"Don't patronize me!"

"You don't have to be young to be young enough for love. It's about how old you are in the humors, not on parchment, right?" He cautiously smiled. "That's what you've always told me, anyway."

"Does it matter if I'm still young enough for love when none of these women see it that way?"

"Sir, I –"

"I don't want to hear it! Get out!" He threw his MyPad at Smithers' head. "And take this dratted appliance with you!"

"Yes, sir," he said, scooping up the device and scurrying to his office. He sat at his desk, elbows pressed against the desktop as he ran his hands in opposing spirals across his forehead. "Poor Mr. Burns...if only I could tell him." He dropped his hands to his lap. "Maybe it's time I told him." His hands trembled slightly and his heart began to race. That's not going to cut it, Waylon. You'll just chicken out and take it back like you always do, and that would only make things worse.

Burns' MyPad chimed. He unlocked the sleep screen and saw an alert from the WannaWife application. He tapped the icon, as trepidatious that it would be something positive as he was that it would be something negative. He opened the inbox:

In your dreams, grandpa.

He wasn't sure whether he was more relieved or dejected as he deleted the message as he had deleted so many others before Mr. Burns had had the opportunity to read them. He also felt an irrational anger toward the women for squandering their opportunity to be with Mr. Burns even as he was glad they had made that decision. Like a homeless person watching Mr. Burns throw out his Thanksgiving feast. I wish I could tell him. He needs to hear it. He scanned through the pictures of Mr. Burns he'd posted to the profile, his aesthetic enjoyment short-circuited at the intruding thoughts of Burns' psychic distress. You need to hear it.

He searched through his digitized photo album for an old photograph of himself dressed as Liza Minnelli for a Halloween party. A few of his friends who had accompanied him that night had experience performing in drag and had been able to do a fairly convincing job assisting in his costume.

He clicked on the button to set up a profile.

I am a loyal, fun-loving woman looking for a man with a strong mind and fiery spirit. I am a hard worker and admire men with business prowess. I enjoy going for picnics and bike rides through the park. Films I enjoy watching include romantic comedies, martial arts movies, classic films, and westerns. I collect Malibu Stacy dolls and am a big fan of musical theater. I can't stand laziness or stupidity. I am driven and eager to please, but only for a man who is really worth it.

He posted the profile using the alias of Stacy Smart and 'smiled' at Burns' profile. He took Burns' MyPad into his hand and walked back to his office, rapping cautiously at the door before entreating entry. "Sir?" he said. "Sir, I think you'll want to see this."

"I told you to stay out!"

"A woman smiled at you."

"What the devil are you talking about? There's no woman in smiling distance of me."

Smithers chuckled. "No, I mean your dating profile."

"Come in."

Smithers did as he was told and eagerly brought Burns' MyPad to his desk. "Here you go, sir." He handed the device off and leaned in with wide open eyes, anticipating that rare look of unbridled joy he relished seeing.

He waited in vain. "You may go now," said Mr. Burns, looking into his MyPad and waving him away.

"Are you happy?"

"I'll be a lot happier once you cease asking me such inane questions and get back to work. There's lots of work to be done around here, you know. Nuclear fission isn't all peaches and cream."

Smithers slunk back into his office and shut the door behind him. "I guess I'll have to muster the courage to tell him, after all. If that didn't lift his spirits..."

His MyPad chimed. He looked at the notification alert: "You have a message from Morty." He opened the message.

"You're a beautiful young woman." Smithers swooned. He thinks I'm beautiful...wearing a wig and heaps of make-up and tape, but still... He continued to read: "Your personality sounds just as lovely. How would you like to go out for a cup of coffee?"

"That sounds lovely...but I'm afraid I can't. My schedule is very busy."

"Very well. I can take a hint. But know this: you'll rue the day you rejected Montgomery Burns!"

"No! I really do want you, I do. It's just that I'm painfully shy, especially around handsome men like you. I would make a fool of myself, and I wouldn't want you to see me like that."

"What would it take to overcome your shyness?"

"I guess I would need to take more time to get to know you."

"Let's begin with our real first names. I'm Monty. What shall I call you?"

"You can call me Wanda. Wanda Smith."

"Wanda, eh? So, tell me, Wanda, have you been married before?"

"Once, but it didn't work out. I never had real feelings for him."

"My marriage was similar. I worked so much, I even missed our wedding. At the time, I said it was only because I needed to maximize my profit, but the truth is I never loved her."

"Work was what divided me and my ex as well. I was in love with my work."

"You worked? So I presume you are from one of the lower classes."

"Yes, my family is middle-class."

"Where did you work? In textiles, a tin mine...?"

"Actually, as an office assistant to a wealthy entrepreneuse. Mostly secretarial stuff."

"Who was your employer?"

"Ms. Boyd. She's the current president of the Malibu Stacy Division of PetroChem Petrochemical Corporation, which makes the Malibu Stacy dolls."

"What a coincidence! My assistant is deeply enamored of those dolls. I will never understand their appeal to him."

"Perhaps it's the same reason I like them – they embody beauty, fantasy, and possibility."

"I've never seen someone speak so rhapsodically about a child's plaything before – besides Smithers, that is."

"Your assistant has good taste. What do you think of him?"

"He is my most capable and loyal employee. I also count him as my best friend."

"He sounds like a good catch." He hastened to add, "Not as good as you, though. I love your pictures, and your mind sounds as sharp as your hip bones. I could spend all day looking at your gorgeous physique."

"I could say the same about you. It's a pity you don't have more photographs on display."

"I don't have any other nice clothes. That's why I only have the one photo."

"I will have to remedy that, then. Send me your dress size and your address, and I'll lavish you with the finest of finery."

Smithers' face froze. My dress size? My address? "I wouldn't feel right letting you spend all that money on me when we hardly know each other."

"Then I'll just have to get to know you better."

A couple weeks passed, the two of them spending most of their work days on either side of their shared office wall conversing with each other online. They discussed current events, tax policies, the frustrations of dealing with shiftless employees, the music they enjoyed, the plays they had seen.

"Smithers and I saw this dreadful production of Guys and Dolls at a local dinner theater. The only thing that saved the evening was when someone attempted to kill the mayor. That was riveting!"

"It was a pretty abysmal production. Half the songs weren't even from the musical!"

"Oh, so you were there?"

"Yes. I told you I'm an aficionado of musical theater. When I was in Albuquerque last year, I had the pleasure of seeing your assistant's musical – the one about Malibu Stacy."

"Oh, yes. I don't know what possessed him to work so hard for so long on a play that stood as much a chance of becoming a hit as a play about a child's train set or one about an assortment of dancers auditioning for a part."

"Actually, there are acclaimed musicals with those premises: Starlight Express and A Chorus Line."

"What did you think?"

"Of what?"

"The show. What did you think?"

"I enjoyed it. It's about a young Stacy with aspirations to live in luxury, so she moves to LA and tries to be a starlet or at least land a wealthy husband. She procures the material wealth she sought, but finds her life hollow without love, so she risks everything to be with Tad, her true love who is her servant."

"Sounds like a delightful romp."

"It was pretty fun. But it wasn't just fluff. The story really moved me and helped me continue to believe in true love. The number that moved me most was when Stacy and Tad sang about how fate seemed to keep them apart, but they'd found each other nonetheless – Sold Separately. It was all I could do to keep from crying."

"It's really that good?"

"I think so."

"It's a shame I didn't get to see it."

"You could always ask your assistant for a copy of the cast recording. I'm sure he'd be delighted to give it to you."

"I just may do that."

Later that morning, Smithers entered his office to deliver a report from Accounting. "This quarter is one of our best, sir. We're looking at record profits."

"Ah, excellent!" He took the report into his hands and rapidly flipped through the pages before setting it on his desk. "Smithers, remember that musical you wrote?"

"Do I!"

"I'd like to listen to an audio diskette of it. Do you have any copies left?"

"Of course, sir! I have one in my office. I'll get it for you right now," he said, running out to his office. He rushed back into Burns' office and handed him the CD recording. "I signed the booklet," he said, opening the case and flipping open the booklet inside. It read: For Mr. Burns, the man who continues to inspire me – Waylon Smithers. "I hope you enjoy it."

"Yes, yes, now get back to your bean-counting." He waved Smithers away, and he went back to his office. Once Smithers had gone, Burns opened his drawer and retrieved a headphone set and CD player, plugged it in, and secured the set around his ears. He listened as he reviewed financial reports. It began with an upbeat opening number about Stacy's dream life. Well, it certainly is catchy.

As the songs went on – Thoroughly Modern Stacy, Anything Clothes, and Wishing for the Hat – he followed Stacy's journey of becoming one of the wealthy elite in Malibu and partaking of the material rewards of her newfound station. Her avaricious pursuit really speaks to me. Her trek to stardom faced a few bumps in the road when her dance skills proved to be lacking compared to her looks in the number Looks: Ten; Dance: Three, and he felt moved by her expression of dejection in the next song, I'm Not That Doll. The first act closer, A Night in the Park, was what really plucked at his brittle heartstrings. Her loyal servant Tad invited her for an evening stroll in the park, and she realized she wasn't content being the fiance of a wealthy man she didn't truly love.

The next act began with Stacy dithering over her choice in romantic partners, and whether she cared more for true love or for wealth. Tad sang of his hopeless infatuation in You Could Drive a Person Stacy, followed by Stacy deciding a night of romance didn't justify throwing away her chance at living her dream life in Forget About the Toy. In the next song, she attended a party with her fiance and Tad, and she snuck away to the car, where she met up with Tad and they sang of their feelings of being apart in Sold Separately.

Smithers stepped inside and stood beside his desk, unbeknownst to Mr. Burns, who was lost in the music as he stared through the papers in his hand, thinking not of finances but of infatuation. Smithers stood there smiling, reluctant to disturb his boss, surmising that Burns was enjoying the score to his musical. When Burns' eyes drifted to the side as the song concluded, he spotted Smithers and paused the CD player.

"Enjoying my musical, sir?"

"It's pretty standard fare."

"Oh. Well, I have the latest safety inspection reports," he said, sighing disappointedly. "I thought you'd like to review them before I forward the NRC their copy."

"Set them on my desk."

Smithers did so and remained standing by his side. "Is there anything else I can do for you, sir? Freshen your coffee?"

"Yes, thank you."

Smithers took his half-empty coffee mug and left, not for the employee break room, but for their private executive break room where Burns would retreat to take a relaxing bath. There resided a French press which he filled with freshly ground beans of the highest caliber. As he waited for the coffee to be ready, he scanned his MyPad, hoping to distract himself from Burns' cold reception of the project he'd poured his heart and soul into for years. Maybe he could spend the night with someone and take his mind off the way Mr. Burns time and again rejected every facet of him he offered up. Dewey Largo was usually up for a night of passion on short notice – oh, but he had a boyfriend now. So many of his friends were settling down, and here he still was, doing all the emotional work of being a husband without getting any love in return. He had just opened his Grindr app when he heard a notification from the WannaWife app.

You have 1 unread message from Morty Barns.

He clicked it open.

"Wanda, you were right. I never knew Smithers possessed such depth of feeling. Enough to make me feel for a doll! I am listening to it as I write this, but I am nearly through. What struck me was that she initially seemed satisfied with the perks of material wealth, but she remained deeply unsatisfied because she was missing love. As am I. Darling one, read my words and hear my heart speak of a love soft and undying: a love that will be with you always."

While in a way delighted that Burns had plagiarized his love note back to him, Smithers felt almost insulted at the way his deep feelings were cheapened by the comparison. How could Burns possibly feel this way about somebody he had never even met?

Except they had met and known each other for decades. But he doesn't know that. While he stood, wondering what to reply, another message came in.

"I long to have you near me. We can find the happiness that Stacy and Tad found for each other. I shall give you nice clothes so you can send me more photographs. You have no need to be shy around me, my dear. Give me your dress size and postal address, and I will purchase and mail them posthaste. They should arrive in a day or so."

He thought back to the dress he'd worn for his costume, which he'd squeezed into after cinching his waist to give him a more feminine figure. "I wear a size 12 or 14 dress. Oh, and if you want to send me some shoes, I wear a 12 double E. You can send them to P.O. Box 76484377, Springfield USA."

"Excellent."

He looked in his phone's address book and called Julio. "Hi, Julio, I hope I'm not bothering you."

"No, not at all," he said in mild annoyance in his photography studio. "Not like I'm busy; I'm just photographing the hottest firemen I've seen in my life for a sexy calendar."

"Sorry, but I need a favor. I need to dress in drag sometime in the next couple days, and I need to look like an actual woman, and you have more experience with drag than I do, and it's really important I look convincing, so–"

"Sure thing, but what's the big rush? Why do you need to look like a woman all of a sudden?"

"It's...I'll tell you later."

"It's for Mr. Burns, isn't it?"

"Yes... Anyway, I'll call you when I need you. Thanks. Bye."