Chapter Four

Burns adjusted Smithers' bow tie as they stood by a gazebo in Springfield Park. "Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

"Absolutely."

"Do you really think it will work?"

"There's only one way to find out," he said, kissing Burns on the cheek and stepping up to the podium. Staring into TV cameras and a throng of people chattering amongst themselves, Smithers positioned himself before the microphone and cleared his throat. "Thank you, all, for coming to hear me speak. I really appreciate this groundswell of support for me. Your spirit has helped restore my faith in this great state of ours.

"But I have a very important announcement to make. For you see, I am following one of the oldest dictates of governance, namely, to put one's own house in order before taking on the task of directing the state. Well, my house is Springfield, and it is far from 'in order.' That is why I am dropping out of the gubernatorial race and running for mayor of Springfield." Gasps of dismay rippled through the crowd. "And in my stead, Rainier Wolfcastle will be running for governor."

He stood aside and clapped as Wolfcastle took to the podium. Someone shouted, "McBain rocks!"

"Yes," said Wolfcastle, "I am the one who does the rocking."

Smithers stepped off the stage and rejoined Burns. "Now, time to take on Quimby."

"Thank you for meeting me before class, Mrs. Simpson." Mr. Burns dragged a black leather portfolio behind him as he took a seat in the empty art classroom.

"It's no trouble at all." She sat upon a tall stool and clasped her hands over her knees as she leaned forward. "You wanted to show me a painting?"

"Ah, yes," he said, opening his portfolio and grunting a bit as he pulled a 16 by 20 inch oil painting on canvas. "I wanted you to see it before the others arrive."

"Mr. Burns, this is phenomenal!" said Marge, taking the painting into her hands.

"You really think so?" he said, voice deliberate and subdued, concealing any hint of desperation for approval.

"Of course I do. See, this is what I meant about finding your passion." It depicted Smithers on his knees, a rose in his mouth as he gazed warmly and pleadingly straight upward and out of the canvas. The gloss in his eyes and glasses each entranced with the clear reflection of brazen desire and unflinching loyalty.

"Mr. Burns, there's an art contest next month, and I want you to enter this painting in."

"This?"

"Yes. It's the best work I've seen you do."

"Mrs. Simpson, I appreciate your laudation, but this piece is... well, personal."

"You didn't have a problem with people seeing the nude portrait I painted of you. If you're okay with Springfield seeing your ding-a-ling, why would you have a problem with them seeing Waylon's face?"

"Because that look is for me and me alone." He took the painting back in his hands and turned it around to look at it. "I don't want him to look at anyone else like that."

"You know Waylon wouldn't look at anyone else the way he looks at you. He cherishes you more than anyone in the world."

"I realize that, but still... I don't want anyone else to see him like that."

"The grand prize is a thousand dollars."

"Where do I sign up?"

"How does my costume look?" said Burns, turning around as Smithers smoothed his tie and adjusted his brown fedora and phony IRS badge.

"Adorable." He cradled Burns' head in his arms and held him against his neck until, feeling the scowl forming on his face, jumped back and said, "I mean, bone-chilling," as he withdrew. "I mean –"

"I know what you mean."

"You send a tingle down my spine," he said, taking his hand and squeezing it briefly before letting it slip away. "Just wait until you see my costume." He left for a changing room and came back out a short while later. "Well, what do you think?"

"What the devil are you supposed to be?" He scanned Smithers head to toe, scrutinizing the colorful cardboard boxes and plastic utensils splattered with red paint that were affixed to his clothing.

"A cereal killer. See, I have the boxes of cereal with plastic knives stuck in them."

"Oh, that's original."

"Come on, let's go." They left in Burns' classic limousine, Burns sitting in the back as usual as Smithers drove them to Dewey Largo's house. He guided Mr. Burns along the walkway, a hand on his shoulder. A few feet from the door, a decorative ghost sprang up, an audio recording saying "Boo!" and startling Mr. Burns. Smithers lowered his hand and squeezed his arm below the shoulder. "It's all right, Monty."

Burns scoffed. "As if such childish pranks would rattle my nerves." He chuckled nervously.

Smithers kissed the bridge of his nose just between his eyes. "Of course they wouldn't." He rang the doorbell, which triggered a spooky voice recording of "Nobody's home... Go away!"

Dewey Largo opened the door, wearing wig and assorted garb reminiscent of Beethoven. "Happy Halloween! Waylon, nice to see you! Monty, come right in."

Burns looked to Smithers and whispered, "He has the gall to address me as Monty?"

Smithers took his hands and faced him directly. "These are my friends; we go way back. Try to be friendly to them, for me?"

Burns sighed. "Very well."

"Thanks," he said in a whisper, then gestured toward Dewey. "Monty, this is Dewey; Dewey, you know my husband Monty..." He relished how those words, words he had never thought he'd ever have the occasion to utter, had become so normal.

"A pleasure to meet you," said Burns, shaking his hand. "I've heard a lot about your collaborations on the elementary school musical productions."

Dewey raised an index finger. "Don't get me started."

They moved inside to greet the other guests. "Stuart," said Smithers. "Good to see you."

"And what are you supposed to be?" said Burns, eyeing Stuart's robotic costume. "Some sort of male Maschinenmensch?"

"Iron Man, actually."

"It's a popular comic book and film franchise," said Smithers, anticipating Burns' lack of recognition.

They heard Grady's voice as he approached from the kitchen. "Do I make you randy, baby?" said Grady, dressed as Austin Powers.

"Great Halloween costumes," said Smithers, turning around to see Julio at his side, dressed as Dr. Evil.

"And you are...?" said Burns to Julio.

"I am Dr. Evil."

"I believe I roomed with a Dr. Evil at Yale... oh, wait, that was Prescott Bush."

Grady turned to Julio and said, "Why don't you fix them some drinks, Julio?"

Burns' pupils narrowed. Julio – that name sounded so familiar. Was he thinking of the time he'd met with the Costa Rican president in the twenties? No, he was thinking of something much more recent. Something much more personal. Smithers asked him what he wanted to drink, and although he replied, he was not cognizant of his own response.

John walked in from the kitchen, dressed as the robot from Lost in Space as Julio handed them their drinks. "Who's ready for Spooky Laser Twister?" Grizzly Shaun, dressed as a polar bear, followed behind with a handful of candy corn.

At hearing John's voice, Burns suddenly recollected why the name Julio was so familiar to him. He turned sharply to Julio and said, "You tried to steal Waylon from me." The partygoers gasped.

"B-but I didn't, I swear it."

"Don't try pulling one over on me. He told me all about your escapades in Cuba."

"Oh, that," he said, waving it off with a sigh of relief. "Relax, Monty. That was before you two were together."

Grady said, "The gay community is pretty small here in Springfield."

Julio said, "Yeah, we've all slept with at least someone in our social circle. It doesn't mean we're gonna get hitched."

"Wait," said Burns to Smithers. "Have you slept with all these men?"

"No, no! I think..." said Smithers. "Oh! I haven't been with him." He pointed to Grizzly Shaun. "Or Grady."

Seeing how nervous Burns was, Stuart turned to him and said, "Don't worry, Mr. Burns – he's so loyal and so madly in love with you, he'd never cheat on you." Smithers and John glanced at each other briefly before guiltily averting their eyes.

"Tell me about it," said Julio. "The whole time we were in Cuba, Waylon couldn't think of anything but him."

"One time," said Dewey, "when we went to see Mahler's Symphony No. 2, he spent the whole intermission talking about the first time he'd seen it performed with Mr. Burns."

John said, "A couple of years ago, when we'd been dating for awhile and I was trying to talk him into moving in with me, he'd change the subject whenever I brought it up and began to work longer hours. Sometimes, he'd come over, we'd fool around, and then right after, he'd leave to fix you a midnight cup of tea or something."

"He did that with you, too?" said Dewey.

"And he took every chance he got to go on and on about how lucky he was to work for such a remarkable man as Mr. Burns. And then wondered why I started making excuses and avoiding him."

"You see?" said Julio. "You have nothing to worry about, Monty. He has a passion for you that none of us could inspire or keep aflame."

"Of course," said Mr. Burns, chuckling sheepishly. "Waylon wouldn't leave me."

"Of course I wouldn't leave you," said Smithers, kissing his forehead.

Stuart said, "You should've seen how he was showing off his ring when you got engaged. I've never seen him so happy."

Grady said, "Sometimes, he would just start crying, then hug you and say, 'I'm marrying Mr. Burns!'"

"Okay, guys," said Smithers. "I think he gets the point."

"So," said John. "Who's up for Spooky Laser Twister? It's the same as regular Twister, except you play in the dark with a laser disco ball."

Julio, Grady, John, and Dewey volunteered, and the others watched as the contenders sipped drinks between turns, Waylon and Monty reclining on adjacent navy blue chaises. Julio won the first round.

"Waylon, why don't you play?" said John.

"No, thanks. I'd rather sit here sipping my Zombie with Monty."

Burns said, "Sit and sip if you must, but I want to try it."

"Are you sure that's a good idea, sir? Remember that time you tried yoga?"

"Oh, yes. It was hours before they could straighten out my spine." He sipped his Bloody Mary, and the others commenced a new game while Smithers engaged him in small talk. After a few minutes, Burns needed to use the bathroom, and the newly disqualified Grady sat in a gray lounge chair beside Waylon.

"Hi, Waylon."

"Hi, Grady. Having fun out there?"

"Yeah. Are you having fun out here?"

"Of course I am. Having a drink, talking to my husband, watching my tipsy friends try to balance on a Twister mat – I'm having a blast."

"But you're just watching us. And you can talk to your husband any day of the week. You don't feel like he's... slowing you down?"

"Hey, wait a minute... Homer warned me about you."

Grady's lips tightened. "He did, did he?"

"Yes, he did. And I'll tell you that nothing is better than knowing Monty wants me, and I cherish our every moment together. It has nothing to do with his money. I've loved him just as much when he's been broke."

"Whoa, hey, I wasn't trying to come on to you. I'm back together with Julio, now."

"Yeah, and you were with Julio when you kissed –"

"I know, but it's not like that this time. I'm just checking on you as a friend. If you say you're really happy with him, that's what counts."

"I am."

After awhile, Burns rejoined Smithers, who put his arm around Burns' shoulders as he lay back beside him. They each sipped their drinks as Julio's elbow hit the mat, leaving Stuart as the winner.

Grady stood from his seat and said to the others, "Guys, next let's do something Mr. Burns can participate in, okay?"

They nodded in agreement, and Julio said, "Let's do the toilet paper mummy contest. We'll need one person to be judge and two people to be mummies."

"I'll judge," said John.

"I'll be a mummy," said Dewey.

"Then we need only one more mummy," said Julio. "How about you, Monty?"

Burns turned to Smithers, who smiled in encouragement. "As long as you don't put me into a casket, I'm in!" He tented his fingers. "So, what's the prize for the winning walking undead?"

John said, "I'll give each member of the winning group a foam rubber scarab from the 1999 version of The Mummy."

"Hm," said Stuart. "We have an odd number of participants. How should we divvy up the groups?"

Grizzly Shaun said, "I'll serve drinks to you while you're busy wrapping one of our mummies up."

Waylon and Stuart worked on Monty while Grady and Julio worked on Dewey. When time was up, they presented their mummies.

"I don't think there's any doubt about who the winner is, here," said John. "Congratulations, Waylon, Stuart, and Monty! You're the winners."

They watched the movie Halloween, during which Burns fell asleep. Smithers stroked the hair behind his ear, and Burns smiled slightly in his sleep. At the conclusion of the film, Smithers kissed the bridge of his nose, causing his eyes to flutter open. "You want to go to bed, sweetheart?"

Burns yawned and looked around the room as Dewey flipped the light switch on. "Nonsense. We've only just arrived..." He shut his eyes again and slumped against Smithers, falling back to sleep.

"I'll call a cab," said Smithers, dialing from his cellphone. When the taxicab came, Smithers said goodbye to his friends and carried Burns out in his arms. Once they pulled in front of the manor, Smithers brought him to their bedroom and slipped him between the covers of their bed. Smithers changed out of his clothes and donned a dressing gown, then got into the bed and helped Burns out of his clothes and into his own dressing gown. Noting that Burns had awakened during the clothes change, he took his hand and said, "Just think, Monty – in two months' time, we'll be in Paris."

"I can hardly wait," said Burns, words distant and dreamy.

Smithers kissed his forehead. "Sleep well, mon chéri."

AUTHOR NOTE: I apologize for the long delay and subpar writing this chapter. I've been quite ill for the last couple months, and I've found the act of writing very difficult, even though I have the plot all laid out.