Secondhand Burns

Chapter Three

Burns opened the door cautiously. He had become something of a hermit, and as much as he longed to end his idleness, he was fretful at the thought of facing the community he once towered over, now enfeebled and impotent.

He had only opened it a crack when Marge noticed him there and cheerfully said, "Oh, hello, Mr. Burns. What brings you here?"

"I'd like to enroll in your class," he said, slapping the money Smithers had given him on the front desk.

"Wonderful! You can pay later at the registration desk," she said, sliding the money back to Mr. Burns. "For now, here's your starter art supply kit and some paper," she said, handing him the materials. "Take a seat anywhere."

He approached a chair in front row center where Helen Lovejoy sat. "Out of the chair! I'm sitting here," he said, shooing her away. Helen left the seat in a huff.

"Mr. Burns, next time just ask," said Marge. "I'm sure she'd be happy to give you her seat if you just said, 'Please.'"

"Oh, spare me the civics lesson and teach me to paint already."

"Mm..." she said, then began talking about giving the drawings dimension. Burns's eyes scanned the room. His fellow classmates – Luann Van Houten, Bernice Hibbert, Manjula Nahasapeemapetilon, Sarah Wiggum, and Helen Lovejoy – were all housewives. His cheeks reddened. I've gone from energy mogul to suburban housewife, all for a man I rarely see anymore. "Mr. Burns?"

"What?"

"I asked you what you dream about."

"Why do you need to know that? This is a painting class, not a head shrink's couch!"

"Well, today's activity is to paint what you'd most like to have, so we're sharing what we want most."

"Oh, all right. I'll play along. I want millions of dollars. Next."

"Okay, so how would you turn that into a painting? You could draw stacks of money, or the things you'd like to buy with that money, or–"

"I get the picture. Next."

"Sarah, how about you?"

"A big cake with Ralphie's picture on it."

"That sounds sweet," said Marge, chuckling at her pun.

Burns ignored them as she talked with the other students. He proceeded to draw open briefcases with money spilling out and himself dancing in the middle of them. He rapidly painted over the line drawing and finished faster than anyone else – and it showed. "There. I've finished." Marge, who had just finished talking with the last student, walked over. "Well...?" asked Burns, wringing his hands as he failed to conceal his desire for approval.

"It's...a good start. But I really don't see your passion here. That's what really makes art great, as much as technical skill does."

"My passion, eh?"

"Kiss me, Monty." Smithers pulled him close by the tie of his robe. "I need you." He kissed Smithers, who reached his hands under the robe and gripped him by the sides of his waist. "I know how to make you happy." He kissed Burns' ear, then whispered, "So I'm going to make you happy."

When Smithers got home that night, closer to eleven than ten, he carried a rose betwixt his teeth as he peered into the sitting room by the fire, but no fire was lit, the room long abandoned. He next went to their bedroom and found his husband curled up in the blankets, long asleep. He didn't want to wake him up, but he sorely missed spending time with him. He got under the covers and wrapped his arms around Burns' shoulders, the rose still in his mouth. When Burns still didn't awaken, Smithers brushed the petals of the rose against his cheek. "Honey, I'm home."

One of Burns' eyes creaked open, then he rose with a start. "Ah! What is this thing doing in my face?"

"It's a rose," he said, the words unclear with his teeth still clenched over the stem.

"Well, you awoke me from a very pleasant dream."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." He looked apologetically into Burns' eyes.

"That's not the way you apologize."

He dropped the rose onto Burns' chest, then kissed his cheek. "Is that better?"

"No."

"What should I do to apologize, then?"

He clasped his hands behind his head. "Make my dream become reality."

"Which dream is – oh!" He kissed Burns' neck. "My pleasure, sir! I mean, dear."

The next morning, Smithers bathed and dressed the two of them, then meticulously combed their hair, readying them for court. Burns sighed, head in hand as he said, "How pathetic that our first date in a month is a court appearance."

"That'll all change soon. I promise." He closed his fingers around Burns' thin, frail wrist.

"I thought that once you were working for a man other than me, you'd quit being such a workaholic."

"But I am working for you. I'm only working so much to pay for your gift."

"I've already paid through the nose for you; no gift could surpass you in value."

"Oh, I can't keep it a secret anymore," he said, grabbing Burns by his upper arms and drawing him near. "Monty, we're going to Paris!"

"What?"

"This Christmas. I've got us tickets to La Bayadère at the Paris Opera Ballet, Il Trovatore at Le Palais Garnier, and reservations for all the finest restaurants, ones where you can easily spend a thousand dollars on a dinner for two. I've booked us a room in the most luxurious hotel in Paris, Le Château de Tyran. I'm sparing no expense. And when we're there, you'll have me all to yourself."

"How long will we stay there?"

"We'll have a week and a half."

"A week? That's all? You're working yourself down to the bone for months on end for a mere week in Paris?"

"Monty, it's really, really expensive. This trip is costing me almost a quarter of my yearly income, but it's worth it to give you the vacation you deserve."

"What about the husband I deserve?"

Smithers gasped. It shocked him to realize that Burns was having a harder time dealing with their separation than he was. After thinking about it a bit, it made sense, though – Smithers had spent decades dealing with prolonged periods of emotional if not physical distance, but Burns had always wielded complete command of Smithers' physical and mental attention. "I didn't realize...just hang in there for a couple more months. I promise I'll make more time for you." He hugged him, burying his nose and mouth in his shoulder so his voice was muffled as he said, "You know I desperately want to."

"Has anyone told you you're too disciplined?"

"Everyone." He released Burns from the hug. "Now, let's get ready. We don't want to be late for our court appointment."

"It's not for another two hours."

"Oh my God – it's later than I thought!"

At the courthouse, Smithers, dressed in a sharp ash grey suit with a pale lavender shirt and diagonally striped tie of various shades of blue, took a seat. Beside him sat Burns, attired in a jet black suit with a white shirt and a lavender paisley tie. As the blue-haired lawyer gave their opening statements, Burns stroked the back of Smithers' hand with an index finger.

After the opening statements of the defendant concluded, Kent Brockman was called to the stand.

"Is it true," said the lawyer, "that you called Mr. Smithers a 'twisted pervert' on a televised broadcast? I remind you, you are under oath."

Brockman sighed. "Yes. But come on, he's a public figure; that's protected speech!"

"Save your arguments for when it's your turn to cross-examine. And did you say, on-air, that he – and I quote – 'sexually violated his decrepit boss'?"

"Yes, but–"

"I said, save your arguments."

"Please, this is ridiculous. If he should be suing anyone, it's Mr. Burns. He's the one who made the defamatory statements in the first place before I repeated them."

"So you admit they were defamatory."

"But he's the one who –"

"Mr. Burns was already tried for perjury and was found not guilty by reason of being incredibly old and out-of-touch with current social mores and too rich to be guilty. We are not trying him again; that would constitute a violation of the constitutional prohibition against double jeopardy."

"Oh, screw this; what do I care? I'm rich and I'm already fired, aren't I?" he said, turning to the Channel 6 owner.

"Yes," he replied.

"Fine; just take the ten million!" He slammed a briefcase of money on the stand and left. The Channel 6 lawyers convened, whispering rapidly. Then, one of them came forth and said, "We forfeit our case; here's five million dollars," and left.

Everyone else stared in perplexion, then Judge Snyder banged the gavel and said, "Court dismissed."

Burns turned to Smithers and said, "I think we just set the record for the speediest trial in American history."

Smithers kissed and hugged him, then said, "We're millionaires again, Monty! You know what that means?"

"I'll have to bone up on my tax-dodging?"

"It means no more overtime. I'm taking today off, and we'll do anything you want to do. Absolutely anything."

"Let's go shopping."

They had gussied up the austerely decorated halls and rooms of the mansion with the most ornate furniture and other accoutrements they'd purchased from the mall and antique shops, but it still looked spartan compared to the old arrangement. Burns sat in the old antique chair he'd kept from before. Smithers sat beside him in their new Victorian-era antique chair, a white-upholstered piece fashioned from dark stained cherry wood.

Stretching his arms out in a yawn and then reaching one behind Burns' shoulders, he said, "We found some great stuff today, didn't we? We'll have this place restored to its ostentatious grandeur in no time." He massaged the back of Burns' neck and said, "Why don't we go to the dinner theater tonight?"

"Just swell." Burns sighed in sullen contemplation.

"What's wrong? I thought you wanted to go to the dinner theater."

"I do. But Waylon," he said, touching the hand on his neck, "this is all just an illusion you're propping up to make me feel like I'm a billionaire again. But I'm not. All I see around me is a reminder of how much I am a mere shadow of my former self."

"This is just a – a temporary setback. You'll get your fortune back."

"How shall I do that, exactly? Become the next Picasso? Flim-flam!" He unconsciously dug his nails into the skin of Smithers' wrist. "No, I won't have my fortune back until I am leading my own business. But without my plant..." He retracted his fingernails, then curled his fingers around Smithers' wrist and gave a gentle squeeze. Smithers stroked the back of his neck. "Waylon, I want my life back." They sat together, looking into each other's eyes.

As Burns began to cry, Smithers got up and knelt by his side, taking Burns' hands in his. "You'll have your plant back. You'll have all your millions. You'll have everything you've ever wanted. I swear to you, no matter what I have to do, you'll have it all."

"Confound it! I don't want you earning my fortune back for me. I don't want to be your trophy husband."

"I'm the reason you lost it, so I should be the reason you get it back." He kissed Burns' hands. "I will get it back." He looked up into his eyes determinedly. "And I think I know how."