A Smithers Named Desire

Chapter 11

Smithers lay across the seat of the passenger compartment of the limousine, his mind racing through all the things Mr. Burns could be doing with Miss Tully. Is he dancing with her? Is he holding her tight against his body? Is he kissing her? He would never know. Sure, it was easy for him to promise fidelity out on the balcony, but without my watchful eye to keep him honest, will he make good on that promise, or break it like he's broken so many promises to other men? How can he resist such a strong temptation?

"Mr. Smithers?" Homer tapped at the window.

He sniffed and said through tears, "What do you want?"

"I just wanted to thank you for getting me this job." He averted his gaze. "Uh, are you okay?"

"No."

"What's wrong?"

Smithers rolled down the passenger window and rested his forearm on the ledge. "A pretty young woman is all over Mr. Burns, and he asked her on a date. I have no chance with her around."

"Well, if you want to get her out of the way..."

"I'm not going to have her murdered."

"No, I was going to say you could fix her up with an eligible young bachelor."

"I already tried seducing her. She is genuinely attracted to him and wouldn't have anything to do with me."

"Well, if she's into old dudes, we could try setting her up with Mr. Barnes."

"Yes! When he comes back to the car, ask him if he went after that Maureen Tully you've read about in the society pages. When he says she's into Mr. Burns, you flatter the hell out of him by saying he's much more attractive and a far better catch than Mr. Burns."

"Oh, you mean like tell him I would totally go gay for him?"

"Eh, that might be laying it on a bit too thick."

"Yeah, you're probably right."

"Why don't you sit down," he said, opening the door and sitting himself upright as he motioned for Homer to sit.

They chatted for another two hours, Homer regaling him with stories as mundane as the tales of candy bars that got stuck on his back and as fascinating as his exploits in various jobs he'd had. He spoke of his training at NASA, his time designing a car at Powell Motors, his stint as the Springfield Monorail conductor, and the circumstances of his dishonorable discharge from the Navy.

"At least mine was an 'other than honorable' discharge."

"Really? You don't seem like the type to screw up. What did you do to earn that?"

"Oh, um...I had a tryst with a virile young sailor."

"Oh..."

"You know, you're not so bad."

"I'm not."

"Smithers, why is this blubbery oaf sitting in my limousine?" said Mr. Burns, approaching them.

"Ah!" screamed Homer, jumping out of the car. "I'd better get back to Mr. Barnes' car before he gets back." As he ran off, he shouted, "It was nice talking to you, Smithers!"

Smithers chuckled, then scowled. "Did you have a nice time with your girlfriend, sir?"

"We'll talk about it when we get home."

"Very well," said Smithers, getting out of the car and heading for the driver's door. They embarked on yet another silent trip to Burns Manor.

The second he shut the mansion door behind them, he said, "Well? Did you kiss that little hussy?"

"Allow me to explain."

"Okay," Smithers said, his eyes solemn. "So tell me. Did you mean what you said, or not?"

"What I said about what?"

"About being exclusive to me."

"Waylon..."

"Well? Did you?"

"Yes."

"Monty, I don't get you. One minute you're showing me the time of my life, and the next...you make me feel like I'm nothing to you. Then you say you really meant those words of love, but your actions belie your words."

"It's only for appearances."

"What?"

"How would it look if I spurned a beautiful young temptress who was all but throwing herself at me? People already speak of us as if we were a couple."

Smithers sighed deeply, yet he still felt tension in his chest. "That's a relief. But...won't the temptation be too much?"

"It will be an albatross, no doubt." He took one of Smithers' hands in his. "I will do my best." He handed his hat and coat to Smithers and poured himself some brandy in a snifter. He sat down in a divan as Smithers put away their coats.

Smithers sat beside him on the divan and began to remove his shoes. "I'll be crazy with jealousy, but I understand your reasons. I would do the same in your shoes. As long as you promise you're mine, I can cope."

"Waylon...I have some regretful news. You will be furious when you hear it."

"You felt her up, didn't you? Oh, I knew I shouldn't have left!"

"No, no. Not at all."

"Then what is it?"

Mr. Burns took a swig of brandy. "You can't come with me to Paris next week."

Smithers' face was crestfallen. "Well, I was really looking forward to that trip, but I'm saddened, not furious. I mean, it's not like you're going with Maureen..." The look in Burns' eyes said it all. "No, Monty – no! You can't pull this shit with me!" He slammed his fist onto his thigh, then grabbed his shoe and threw it hard across the room.

"Who do you think you are, ordering me around? I can do whatever the hell I feel like, and I'm going to."

"You told me you cared! If that were true, you wouldn't feel like doing the things that hurt me."

"I don't love her."

He clutched a nearby pillow and squeezed it to his chest. "But you could."

"I will come back to you."

"I want to believe you."

"I always have."

"Then kiss me like you mean it."

He gave a regretful smile and curled his slender fingers around Smithers' neck, stroking the back of one of his ears with an index finger as he tilted his head and wrapped his lips around Smithers'. They shared a protracted fusion of tongues and soft warm brushes of air on upper lips, Mr. Burns sliding his bony fingers down his neck and to his bow tie. He parted their lips briefly, then pulled him back by his bow tie to kiss him deeply, intensely. He withdrew, and after taking a minute to catch his breath, he said, "I've had many, many women in my day. You provide me a thrill no one else can." Smithers' eyes lit up. "And if you ever doubt me," said Mr. Burns, reaching into Smithers' pocket, "just hold this in your hand and know it's only a matter of time before I come back to you." He took out the pocket watch he had given Smithers and placed it into Smithers' hands.

"Oh, Monty...I will."

"When I get back, you will greet me at the airport, and you'll take me to my plant, and we will pull the shades to my office, and I will make love to you."

Smithers planted a multitude of kisses along his neck, dragging his lips lightly and slowly across the wrinkled skin. "I'll be there with bells on. But nothing else."

"Don't you get any ideas about tonight. I'm much too tired..." he said, yawning.

"We'll get you dressed for bed, then." He led Mr. Burns to his bedroom and changed him into his dressing gown. Mr. Burns lay on his bed, eyes drooping shut as Smithers disrobed and said, "Do you want to be the big spoon or the little spoon tonight?"

Opening one eye a crack, he said, "Little spoon."

Stripped down to boxers, he laid himself down on the bed and encircled Mr. Burns. "I love you," he said, kissing him below his ear.

"I love you, too."