Waylon Smithers stood at the front door of the manor, watching as a silver rental car rolled up the drive. He straightened his tie and took a deep breath. His future son-in-law, Larry. Future daughter-in-law and grandkids too.
Smithers put on a wide grin, and hoped it looked believable. Larry could truly try his patience. The man meant well, he knew, but he under-educated and completely uncouth. Smithers was not particularly looking forward to being addressed as "Chuckles" again. He rubbed his hands together briskly and tried to look calm.
The car pulled to a stop. Larry Burns climbed out. Before he'd even reached the passenger side to open the door for his wife the back door popped open and two children tumbled out like puppies. Smithers was struck by the resemblance the children had to their father, and to Burns. They all bore same aquiline face. The bloodline breeds true, Smithers thought as he made his way down the steps.
Larry Burns was a heavyset man, almost the same height as his father, but significantly more stout. His face was clean-shaven, but his grey hair was not quite as silvery as Burns' but it would get there shortly, and it was steadily thinning at the top. Larry had the same blue eyes of his father, but they were softer, creased at the edges from years of laughter.
Larry had once described himself as "lazy as a rug on Valium," and yet the man worked two jobs to support his family. Lazy, it seemed could be a misnomer, Smithers mused.
"Good morning, Larry," Smithers said, offering a hand.
"Hey, Smithers!" Larry grabbed his hand solidly. "Or do I call you Pops now? Wait that would get terribly confusing. How about I call you Pop-pop?"
Smithers felt like his grin had frozen in place. "How about Smithers, or Waylon? How's that, Larry?"
"Hey you're the boss, and my new dad! So I'll call you whatever you want. Here, lemme introduce you to my kids" he said, whistling for the children that were already wrestling in the front lawn. The children paused their roughhousing and looked up. "The tall one's Elliot Clifford. The short one's Donna Adeline." The children waved, then resumed their game. "Oh yeah, and my wife. Lemme introduce you to her too!"
Larry ran back to the car where a blond woman was carefully organizing her purse. "This beautiful creature is Janet. I don't know how she manages to put up with a slob like me, but she does and I love her for it. Hey Janet, this is Waylon! He's going to be my new dad."
Larry, as usual, was talking a mile a minute. Smithers found it hard to even get a word in. He stepped around Larry as best he could. "Janet, a pleasure to meet you."
Janet smiled and tilted her head. "Back at you, Waylon."
Smithers was rather taken back by her casual attitude, but only for a moment. Janet looked like a strong country woman from the east coast. It stood to reason she'd act the part as well. He gestured to the manor. "Please, come in. I'll have your bags brought up to your room. We're having a gathering today on the west lawn, the ceremony and formal reception will tomorrow."
"Hey good thing I brought my marrying-and-burying suit," Larry grinned. "I tell you what, Waylon, you don't look like you've aged more than a day since yesterday; but in these past few years before that, whoa. Looks like you've been through a lot!"
Smithers smiled graciously. "Charming as always, Larry."
Janet laughed. "I know, isn't he just the cleverest thing?" She turned to the kids and bellowed with a voice like an air horn: "Elliot! Donna! Get up here and meet your grandfather?"
The children dusted themselves off and started over.
"Long plane ride for those two. They're just anxious to burn off some steam. They'll settle down," Janet explained. She turned back to the kids. "You wanna run all over the lawn? Then you can run to get over here! Hustle!"
The children broke into a jog. Elliot resembled a miniature version of his mother with blond hair and brown eyes. He still had the classic Burns features though, high cheekbones and aristocratic nose. Donna looked more like her father, her blue eyes contrasting sharply with her brown hair. They loped to a halt in front of Smithers. Elliot extended his hand. "Pleased to meet you, sir."
Smithers was momentarily caught off guard by the child's manners. He'd expected no better than the parents, and possibly quite worse. "Uhm, pleased to meet you, Elliot," he replied, shaking the boy's hand once.
The girl, Donna peered at Smithers through her rectangular glasses. She offered a hand: "Hello," she said confidently.
Smithers gave a slight bow. "Hello, Donna."
The girl grinned and looked at her parents. "Now can we go play?"
Janet looked up at Smithers.
He made a go ahead gesture. "Just stay in the yards in sight of the manor. There's a lot of land here, you could get lost." He beckoned Larry and Janet indoors.
Larry glanced over his shoulder. "They'll be safe, right? I know you have attack dogs here."
Smithers patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry Larry. Mister Burns and I made sure they're all put up secure for today and tomorrow. We'll be keeping them kenneled while we've got company." He placed his other hand on Janet's shoulder and lead them into the main hall. "I'll show you to your room. We got one next to you for the kids. And of course if you need anything, just let either of us know. Mister Burns, eh Monty, is out on the veranda with our other guests and would gladly welcome your company."
"Hey, thanks Pop, you're alright." Larry grabbed Smithers in an uncomfortably tight hug.
"'Waylon,' please," Smithers squeaked.
Mercifully, Larry let go. "Oh yeah, that's right. Like a saxophone player. Wailin' out the blues. I can remember that, Pop. Oops, sorry, I did it again didn't I." Larry looked abashed.
Smithers tried to look reassuring. "It's alright," he said, even though honestly, it wasn't. As he parted ways with Larry and Janet and made his way back to the front of the house he had to admit "Pop" was not the worst thing he'd ever been called. Still, all things being equal, he really hoped Larry would break that habit soon.
Smithers barely had time to make it to the front steps before a familiar pink sedan rolled to a stop behind Larry's rental car. Smithers tented his fingers. There was only one minister in Springfield who would perform the sort of marriage he and Burns had planned. And fortunately, that man was already on the company payroll. He'd signed a nondisclosure agreement as part of his initial working contract.
Between Smithers' generous bonus for performing the ceremony, and the unspoken hint that someone might get fired if he refused, the man eagerly agreed to the proposition. He'd be arriving for the gathering this afternoon, staying the night, then released tomorrow after the wedding ceremony and reception.
Homer Simpson. The long-time safety inspector from Sector Seven G.
Smithers had a complicated relationship with Homer Simpson. It was a friendship, after a fashion, but they'd never been pals. Out of the little work clique Homer had of himself, Lenny and Carl, Smithers had to admit he liked Homer best. That didn't necessarily mean much, but the man had a good heart. That had to count for something, Smithers reasoned.
Smithers started down the steps then paused. He saw a commotion in the car. There were way too many people in it. Sighing in frustration, Smithers picked up his pace. Homer's wife, Marge, was already stepping out from the passenger side.
Smithers broke into a trot down the remaining few stairs.
Homer waved. "Hi Mister Smithers!"
His words were echoed by three other voices: Marge, and Springfield's own 'Bobbsey Twins,' the familiar Bart and Lisa."
Smithers waved charmingly to them, then quickly pulled Homer aside. "You brought your family, Simpson?" he whispered, dumbfounded. "What part of 'private family ceremony' did you not understand?"
Homer looked genuinely chastised. He hung his head. "It included the word 'family,'" he offered meekly.
"I meant our family."
Homer tilted his head like a confused dog. "Yours and mine?"
"Gah, no! I meant my family. Well, mine and Mister Burns' family; not yours." Smithers resisted the urge to grab Homer by the shoulders and give him a good shaking. He ran his fingers through his ash-grey hair and stomped his foot in frustration. Unbidden, he felt eyes on his back. Smithers glanced over his shoulder.
Marge was standing watching them, baby Maggie in her arms.
"Is everything okay, Mister Smithers?" she called out anxiously.
Smithers gave her a charming smile. "Everything's fine Marge." He turned his attention back to Homer. "Look… god… Okay, fine. You know what, you're all here. Whatever, I can deal with this. We have enough rooms. But why, Simpson, why do you always bring your family everywhere with you?"
Homer's lower lip protruded slightly. He looked up with plaintive eyes. "Because I love them?"
Smithers dropped his forehead into his hand. "Okay. Great; fine. I'm sure you'll all have a wonderful time. Can you promise me they won't talk about anything?"
Homer nodded enthusiastically. "Oh sure! Absolutely. Marge and Lisa can keep a secret better than anyone, and Maggie can't talk yet."
"What about Bart?"
"The boy used to live here with you guys and we still don't know the details."
Smithers gave a snort of amusement. "You have a point there." Smithers threw up his hands in surrender. "I guess we're just going to have a few more people than expected." He walked with Homer back to the car. "Just leave your stuff here, we'll have it brought up to your rooms. Simpson, I'm sure you know your way around?"
Homer nodded.
"Okay. Mister Burns and the rest of the guests are out on the veranda." Smithers dropped to a knee in front of Bart and Lisa, putting his face closer to their level. It was something he naturally did when talking to children. "Elliot and Donna are here, they're about your age; probably off playing right now. You're welcome to explore outside, just stay in sight of the manor, okay? I don't want anybody getting lost."
Lisa nodded. "Yes, Mister Smithers."
Bart flashed him a jaunty thumbs up. "You got it, man!"
With that, the children ran off, squabbling in the way that siblings do. Smithers pushed himself up and dusted off his pant legs. That accounted for everyone. Time to see how the rest of the party was getting on.
Monty Burns found himself enjoying the company far more than he would've expected. It was a motley crew to be sure, and yet the different personalities blended quite nicely.
The servants had set up a small shade tent on the veranda, with a single comfortable table and several chairs. No one had assigned seats, and periodically the group would rearrange as they drifted and chatted to one another. Burns sat near Preston and Smithers, chatting business, but nothing too serious. Or classified. Preston seemed a bit more tired than Burns would've expected, but after their conversations last night it did make sense.
Marge sat next to Smithers, and beyond Marge his daughter-in-law Janet had pulled up an empty chair. Both she and Marge appeared to be enjoying the fact that she didn't have to play hostess for a change. Occasionally the women and Smithers would put their heads together, whisper something quietly, then giggle. The hen's club, Burns thought affectionately as he glanced at his partner.
Across from Burns his grandson Elliot Burns sat, periodically asking questions about nuclear energy, and alternately discussing his latest baseball games. Donna sat beside her brother, eager to learn more about her grandfather. Burns found it refreshing to
Rigel, he noticed tended towards sitting quietly off to the side. The Simpson girl, Lisa, seemed to have taken a shine to her. Rigel was talking about all these various 'save the earth' programs her family had been involved in over the years, and Lisa was hanging on every word.
Off in the lawn, Homer, Larry, Antoine and Bart had engaged in a spirited game of croquette. Burns couldn't help but wonder how long it would be until the entire game dissolved into a free-for-all. He wondered vaguely if any of those four were ultimately mature enough to be trusted with a mallet.
"You know Waylon," Burns remarked out of the blue, "I can't remember the last time I had so many people here for a reason other than entertaining me."
Smithers let his fingers trace over the back of Burns' hand. "Do you like it?"
Burns chewed a thumbnail as he considered his answers. "It's nice," he said decisively. "But let's not make a habit of it. I think, ultimately, I shall always prefer solitude." He winked at Smithers. "Or, of course, the company of one."
The small party stayed out until the sun dropped below the hills to the west. Then it was time for dinner.
Rhonda LeBlanc stepped off the plane in Springfield, North Tacoma and fired up her laptop. It had been a rough flight. She'd planned to leave early in the morning, then an unexpected thunderstorm rolled through, grounding all of LaGuardia.
She'd cursed the luck of it all. But now? Now she was back on track. The sun might be setting, but she'd be there. The tablet had moved around Burns Manor, but hadn't left the property. That, at least was an auspicious sign. Whatever was going on, at least Rigel was staying put. And if Rigel was there, so was Preston. The pitifully underqualified CEO wouldn't go far without his assistant. Feeling somewhat better, Rhonda secured her laptop and went to pick up her rental car.
The sun had already set by the time she crossed the river. The world was in shadow.
Rhonda slowly idled up to the gates of Burns Manor.
Much to her surprise, the gates swung open as she approached. A pressure sensor, most likely. She pulled her car in and parked on small pull-off conveniently located behind a row of hedges. From there, her car couldn't be seen from the main house. Rhonda slipped out of the car, shutting the door gently behind her. She'd brought a pair of compact binoculars with her, good for low-light conditions.
Dressed in grey, and blending in perfectly with the darkness, Rhonda slipped along the side of the manor, staying just beyond the reach of the window light.