The Gentleman's Gentleman

The Gentleman’s Gentleman

I awoke one morning to find my bedroom in perfect order. I’d forgotten about the blue carpet many years of late nights and a lack of a ‘woman’s touch’ in my life made things like tidying a fun goal to wax on about. Wouldn’t it be nice, indeed Brian Wilson. I don’t remember owning a pair of Gucci slippers, but there they were at the foot of the bed. The blackout curtains were drawn, and the sheer curtains let in just enough light to wake me. I looked at the clock. Six? That couldn’t be right.

I tried to remember last night. Maybe I hired a maid? I had the money now. I had the money for all kinds of extravagances that I’d only ever dreamed of. Maybe I could get a Hercules. They existed in the wild. The world’s largest pinball machine. Easily a six-figure investment. Investment. I’d need to start investing. I need an accountant. Maybe a whole firm.

We went public the day before. A banking app. Well, not an app. More like software, but the marketing guys like the use the word app. Easier for the sales team to sell. I don’t really understand it all. Jeeze, maybe I should? I mean, if I don’t understand it, who will? I’m the CEO of a publicly traded company now. I have people to answer to. Investors. Investment firms. Oh no, this may have been a huge mistake. When I was in charge, I could do what I wanted. I didn’t need to know what the marketing team was doing because I was so worried about the product. What happens if I have a bad quarter? Or two? Where’s my inhaler?

I take a few puffs and walk over to the windows. I’ll draw the blinds and go back to bed. Figure out how to run a company after I finish another REM cycle. The slippers are comfortable, and as I look out the window, I see a moving truck and men with boxes loading them. Out or in, I wonder. Maybe a cute girl is moving into the building. I’m sure there will be many cute girls ahead. A lot of them at parties. Will I have to go to all the parties? Will it look bad if I don’t?

There’s a knock at the door. Darren? Maybe his girlfriend. They always use up the hot water and then ask me to fix it. I’m not a plumber. It’s a water heater. Just wait for it to fill up again.

“You just have to wait," I said as I opened the door.

“Very good, sir; however, the movers are paid by the hour, sir, and we need to see about packing up your bedroom.”

He was gaunt, well dressed in a dinner jacket, and wore those tiny glasses that hung on your nose. Ponze nez? Something like that. His words were musical to my ear, a British accent to be sure, though I wouldn’t be surprised if he was faking it. He had a short mustache that extended just beyond the curve of his mouth and was in perfect order. I felt at ease in his presence, which made me feel uneasy. Who was he, and what was he doing in my apartment? And what was this about movers?

“Who the hell are you?”

“Ah, my apologies, sir. My name is Pottersby. First name irrelevant. As for the movers, your elevated station in society should be reflected in a better living arrangement. One without ‘roommates’ and faulty water heaters.”

“Well, irrelevant; that still doesn’t explain you,” I smile at him. He looks unamused.

“Sir, in order to keep a proper distance as to the nature of our working relationship, I must insist on you calling me Pottersby. It is protocol, you see.”

“Yes, fine, but still... Pottersby. Who are you and why are you here?”

“I am valet, sir. A butler, a gentleman’s gentleman. I was sent over by the institute as soon as it was announced that you’d become a man of means. I am here to take care of your affairs at home and while you travel so that you can continue the important work that has allowed me to come into your life in the first place.”

“I don’t remember making a call to any institute.” To be fair to the man, I didn’t remember much of anything at all. I left the bedroom, and as soon as I’d crossed the threshold, Pottersby clapped twice, and the team of movers made their way into my bedroom.

“Sir, I’ve made you a breakfast; if you’d please take a seat at the card table that you so cleverly converted into a dinette.”

A spread was laid out before me, fresh baked croissants and scones with coffee and tea, then a boiled egg served in a silver egg tray thing. I’d seen it in the movies.

“Do you just bring this stuff from home?”

“Certainly not, sir. These items have been charged to you from the institute. We’ve found that many a young billionaires these days do not have access to antique china or silverware, let alone crockery. So, we provide them for a nominal fee.”

I swallow too much at once. “How nominal is nominal?”

“Oh, I assure you, sir, nothing too extravagant. I must remind you that you are currently the forty-eighth richest person living. Your personal net worth is larger than several nations. You are lacking in liquidity at the moment, so all the furnishings are being paid on consignment so as to not disrupt the market. It’s all very standard, I can assure you.”

I’d heard the words ‘liquidity’, 'consignment', and'market’ before. I’ve been a software engineer since I was eleven. But the way Pottersby spoke, it was as if he had secret knowledge that I couldn’t parse on my own. It was comforting to have him in my corner, but it made his sudden appearance all the more strange and unnerving.

“What is the Institute?”

“The Institute of Gentlemanly Pursuits, Sir. An organization dedicated to keeping the world running. You see, sir, after the turn of the century, that is, from the twentieth to the twenty-first, the need for a personal valet seemed to disappear like the snows of yesterday. However, society, not to mention the men themselves, started to decline. The knowledge of yesterday also began to fade away; many lessons of history learned through much blood, sweat, and tears. The Institute was created in order to keep society’s top men and top families living in comfort without destroying the careful ecological balance between the haves and have-nots.”

“You’re here to keep me from creating a class revolt through displays of wealth?”

“Precisely, Sir. But I can do so much more than that. My former employer was the head of an oil company, one of the larger three, though I try to keep names and such confidential, neat trick of the trade you see. Anyway, I took this “roughneck” as he liked to call himself and turned him into a respectable Southern gentleman who is beloved by his family, friends, and those who meet with him, while also being a cunning, shrewd, and, when necessary, dangerous opponent. In the realm of business only, of course.”

“Of course.” I am getting a strange vibe from Pottersby.

It has been a month with Pottersby as my valet, as he likes to be known, and I don’t know how I would have ever gotten along without him. He is like my magic eight-ball or industrial compass, leading me where it is I want to go. But there is still a lingering, nagging feeling that something isn’t right.

He’s dressing me differently. He’s scheduling who I can see and who can’t see me. Even my own mother has to go through Pottersby to talk to me, which she doesn’t mind because the old man is the most charming person I’ve ever met. I bet she calls just to talk to him, and I think he knows it, too.

“Sir, your breakfast.”

Three poached eggs on toast with a perfectly ripe avocado, turkey sausage, and a cup of coffee. Not one bruise on them, not the least bit overripe or under. The eggs are almost jelly, with a bit of run, so the toast has something to do afterwards. The turkey sausage looks handmade, though I doubt we have turkeys on the property or a place to process them. There are rooms in this palace that I’ve yet to explore, but I think I’d hear gobbling or something if there were animals here. The house is museum-grade clean. I mean, no dust anywhere. I think you could do scientific experiments on my teak floors and then eat a raw steak off of it.

“Thank you, Pottersby. What is today’s agenda?”

I don’t even keep track of my own days. If he wanted to, he could run my whole life for me and no one would miss me. Oh God, what am I becoming?

“You have lunch with Senator Patterson today, sir. Then dinner with Miss Cassandra.”

Oh, Cassandra, my dearest love. In all the craziness of the last few months, you’ve been the foundation that I have been able to plant my feet and weather the maelstrom of all of Pottersby’s changes. And his moods. The man can say so much with a look or an exasperated harrumph. But you, perfect, wonderful you. He nodsapprovingly at us. Any blind man could see your perfection.

He nods so approvingly. No. No. Not this, too. That I’m even questioning it... His tendrils are so dug into my life, he’s even picking my spouse for me.

"Pottersby," I shout. He arrives a moment later. My'study’ is full of books I’ve never read, chairs I’ve not sat in, and a bearskin rug from a bear I never shot. What in my life is mine these days?

“Sir.”

“Pottersby, humor me for a moment.”

“I’m unsure if my sense of humor is to your tastes, sir. I don’t typically throw pies.”

Smug bastard.

“Pottersby, in the months that you’ve been working for me, I’ve noticed you taking certain... liberties. Perhaps even overstepping your role as my valet.”

“Well, sir, I certainly don’t mean to cause any discomfort. I am only looking out for what is best for you.”

“I should be able to determine that for myself, shouldn’t I?”

“Sir, you are not the first man I have served in this role. The characteristics that made you what you are today. Bold, successful, and imaginative. These traits, while admirable, leave one feeling like the entire world’s weight is on his shoulders. And it is! By God, it is. My role is to keep your domestic affairs in order. To act as a second brain that you can rely on when that weight is too much to bear. Who will order flowers for Miss Cassandra when you’re away on business? Who will see that your itinerary is in perfect order? Who will select the perfect private secretary, personal chef, or maid service? You can’t be expected to handle these details, and you’d hire out for such things. My arrival into your life, while shocking and unconventional, is just what you need if you wish to continue conquering the world.”

Maybe he’s right. Of course he’s right. He’s Pottersby. From any other man, it would sound foolish, but from him I get a shot in the arm, and I’m ready to get back in the game. He waits for my response. Always waiting. Always ready to serve. I notice he has a glass of wine with him. I didn’t ask for it, but I know it’s Pinot Noir. I know it's 2016 Louis Jadot. I know this because this is what I like, and Pottersby knows everything I like and dislike. He knows the things I may like and will grow to like. He is another version of me in another body, another person. I know nothing of his likes and dislikes, except for the things that I wear out of rebellion to his wisdom.

He allows the wine because even if it only costs twenty dollars, he’s giddy to inform me that most wines of a more expensive variety aren’t worth much more. He suggests I have Beaujolais. I don’t want that. I want the Pinot. I sniff the glass he’s slid onto the desk. Beaujolais. A line must be drawn.

“Pottersby, I will no longer be needing your services. Please pack as quickly as is reasonable and leave the message.”

There was no response. No begging to stay, no apologies. He turned around and left. In fifteen minutes, he was out of my life forever. I look around the palace I now inhabit. I wonder how it will ever be so clean again. Dust was settling. Perhaps a home needs a bit of dust. Perhaps a place I live should look lived in. Pottersby would be shaking his head. His opinion lives in me now, even though I’ve exercised it from my being. Perhaps it will go in time.

Dinner with Cassandra is the only thing on my mind. I love her; I think she loves me as well. But do I love her because he brought her into my life? Or is it that he found someone with whom I would be well suited? Is it so wrong for him to know me so intimately that he could predict what would make me happy? That’s not control; that’s observation. It was only a glass of wine. I think about calling the institute in the morning and clearing all this up. I feel bad. I don’t have a number for them. It’s something I’d become reliant on Pottersby for. Knowing the names, numbers, and dates of the ancillary goods and services that I enjoy on a daily basis, I have lost all connection to how they are procured. I may have acted rashly.

When I wake up, I’m wet. The room is dark, but I feel like I’ve just gotten out of a swimming pool. Maybe I have. My head hurts. I could have hit my head in a pool and been put into bed. I don’t remember going swimming. I remember dinner. Cassandra. Where is she?

I fumble around the bed I’m lying on. I recognize the feel of the sheets. They’re mine. I know the lamp is near, and when I turn the knob, I can barely comprehend it. Cassandra.

She was always pale, but drained of all of her blood, she took on a gray, ghostly presence. My hands are drenched in her blood. I check myself for injury but find none, only smearing myself in her blood.

None of this makes any sense. I hear a shift from the corner of the room.

“Who is it? What do you want?”

“I only wish to serve, sir.”

Pottersby. What the hell?

“What are you doing here?”

“I’d forgotten to grab a few personal items, and when I pulled up to the front door, I found it wide open. I came looking for you, sir, only to find the both of you here. I’m very glad I arrived when I did. I’ve dealt with these kinds of situations before.”

These kinds of situations? What is he talking about? He needs to call an ambulance or the police.

“Yes, Sir. I know just what to do. A team is already on its way. You’ll never know anything untoward had occurred.”

“Pottersby, I didn’t. I mean, I don’t remember. I couldn’t have.”

“It’s alright, sir. You can relax. I am a professional devoted to you, sir. I would never let anything get in the way of your goals. That would be like stopping my own goals or the goals of the institute itself.”

The institute’s goals? It all became so obvious. I’d be raging if I wasn’t scared. Yes, I am afraid. My hand is shaking. I try to make it stop, but that only makes it worse. I grab it, and my teeth begin to chatter like I was wading in a frozen pond.

“What are the Institute’s goals?”

“To keep you happy, sir. To keep the world spinning. To forward mankind to the next stage of her development. It may not seem like much, but a valet is privy to all kinds of knowledge and is able to move with nigh impunity in the lives of the rich and successful. I promise you, sir, that our interests and goals are aligned, and whenever we hit small bumps in the road like these, they are easily managed and forgotten about.”

I can’t believe it. I refuse it at first; I wish my eyes would stop working. She’s so beautiful. Oh, Cassandra. I’m so sorry I ever laid eyes on you.

“Sir, I must recommend a shower, perhaps even a long bath after, in order to clean oneself of all this dirtiness. I also have a few suggestions if you are to make these kinds of excursions a regular occurrence. Foremost, I wouldn’t go eliminating any woman with a name again, sir. Luckily, Miss Cassandra was an orphaned heiress, and there was doubtfully going to be any investigation into her whereabouts after tonight. Most young women live on their social media these days, and it would be easy enough to have a grave accident befall her in a month’s time with our alibis well intact, I can assure you.”

An hour later, I’m sitting in the bath, and he’s scrubbing my back with a brush on a stick. I feel like laundry. I sit there, silent.

“There is the slight problem of our terminated relationship, sir. I’ve taken the liberty of resuming my duties, and I trust that is satisfactory to you, sir.”

I say nothing. It doesn’t matter what I say. It doesn’t matter what I do.

“Some men play with suicide right about now, sir. Weaker men. Lesser men. Men for which the world seems too large. Luckily, you are not such a man, sir. I know you, and you can bounce back from this unpleasantness. Plus, with me here, such things will never occur again. Perhaps that is the silver lining of these events. It’s always important to find them, I believe.”

I’m put in one of my guest bedrooms while the team is in my room, cleaning and purging the earth of any trace of Cassandra. I don’t sleep. In the morning, breakfast is ready. It is perfect. The eggs and bacon are arranged in a smiley face. As is the butter on my toast. There is a whole avocado to go with it.

I do not work that day; I stay in bed for three weeks. I refuse to leave. Pottersby looks on me like a caring grandmother. All my meals are liquid. He acts like I’ve got the flu. Apparently, the business can run in my absence. Pottersby is taking care of everything. I don’t even need to exist. He could just be me.

I took lunch that afternoon out of bed. At the table is a petite brunette. She looks at me, then looks away like a nervous schoolgirl. She’s blushing. She’s beautiful. Perfect.

“Sir, this is Miss Allison. I believe you and her will find much in common between you.”

I curse that man and myself. He’s won. I let him win. I can’t fight it. He knows it. He knows me so well.

I awoke one morning to find my bedroom in perfect order. I’d forgotten about the blue carpet many years of late nights and a lack of a ‘woman’s touch’ in my life made things like tidying a fun goal to wax on about. Wouldn’t it be nice, indeed Brian Wilson. I don’t remember owning a pair of Gucci slippers, but there they were at the foot of the bed. The blackout curtains were drawn and the sheer curtains let in just enough light to wake me. I looked at the clock. Six? That couldn’t be right.

I tried to remember last night. Maybe I hired a maid? I had the money now. I had the money for all kinds of extravagances that I’d only ever dreamed of. Maybe I could get a Hercules. They existed in the wild. The world’s largest pin-ball machine. Easily a six-figure investment. Investment. I’d need to start investing. I need an accountant. Maybe a whole firm.

We went public the day before. A banking app. Well, not an app. More like software, but the marketing guys like the use the word app. Easier for the sales team to sell. I don’t really understand it all. Jeeze, maybe I should? I mean, if I don’t understand it, who will? I’m the CEO of a publicly traded company now. I have people to answer to. Investors. Investment firms. Oh no, this may have been a huge mistake. When I was in charge, I could do what I wanted. I didn’t need to know what the marketing team was doing because I was so worried about the product. What happens if I have a bad quarter? Or two? Where’s my inhaler?

I take a few puffs and walk over to the windows. I’ll draw the blinds and go back to bed. Figure out how to run a company after I finish another REM cycle. The slippers are comfortable and as I look out the window, I see a moving truck and men with boxes loading them. Out or in, I wonder. Maybe a cute girl is moving into the building. I’m sure there will be many cute girls ahead. A lot of them at parties. Will I have to go to all the parties? Will it look bad if I don’t?

There’s a knock at the door. Darren? Maybe his girlfriend. They always use up the hot water and then ask me to fix it. I’m not a plumber. It’s a water heater. Just wait for it to fill up again.

“You just have to wait”, I said as I opened the door.

“Very good, Sir, however the movers are paid by the hour, Sir, and we need to see about packing up your bedroom.”

He was gaunt, well dressed in a dinner jacket and wore those tiny glasses that hung on your nose. Ponze nez? Something like that. His words were musical to my ear, a British accent to be sure, though I wouldn’t be surprised if he was faking it. He had a short mustache that extended just beyond the curve of his mouth and was in perfect order. I felt at ease in his presence, which made me feel uneasy. Who was he and what was he doing in my apartment? And what was this about movers?

“Who the hell are you?”

“Ah, my apologies, Sir. My name is Pottersby. First name irrelevant. As for the movers, your elevated station in society should be reflected in a better living arrangement. One without ‘roommates’ and faulty water heaters.”

“Well, Irrelevant, that still doesn’t explain you,” I smile at him. He looks unamused.

“Sir, in order to keep a proper distance as to the nature of our working relationship, I must insist on you calling me Pottersby. It is protocol, you see.”

“Yes, fine, but still… Pottersby. Who are you and why are you here?”

“I am valet, Sir. A butler, a gentleman’s gentleman. I was sent over by the Institute as soon as it was announced that you’d become a man of means. I am here to take care of your affairs at home and while you travel so that you can continue the important work that has allowed me to come into your life in the first place.”

“I don’t remember making a call to any institute.” To be fair to the man, I didn’t remember much of anything at all. I left the bedroom and as soon as I’d crossed the threshold, Pottersby clapped twice and the team of movers made their way into my bedroom.

“Sir, I’ve made you a breakfast, if you’d please take a seat at the card table that you so cleverly converted into a dinette.”

A spread was laid out before me, fresh baked croissants and scones with coffee and tea, then a boiled egg served in a silver egg tray thing. I’d seen it in the movies.

“Do you just bring this stuff from home?”

“Certainly not, Sir. These items have been charged to you from the Institute. We’ve found that many a young billionaires these days do not have access to antique china or silverware, let alone crockery. So, we provide them for a nominal fee.”

I swallow too much at once. “How nominal is nominal?”

“Oh, I assure you, sir, nothing too extravagant. I must remind you that you are currently the forty-eighth richest person living. Your personal net worth is larger than several nations. You are lacking in liquidity at the moment, so all the furnishings are being paid on consignment so as to not disrupt the market. It’s all very standard, I can assure you.”

I’d heard the words ‘liquidity’, ‘consignment’ and ‘market’ before. I’ve been a software engineer since I was eleven. But the way Pottersby spoke, it was as if he had secret knowledge that I couldn’t parse on my own. It was comforting to have him in my corner, but made his sudden appearance all the more strange and unnerving.

“What is the Institute?”

“The Institute of Gentlemanly Pursuits, Sir. An organization dedicated to keeping the world running. You see, sir, after the turn of the century, that is from the twentieth to the twenty-first, the need for a personal valet seemed to disappear like the snows of yesterday. However, society, not to mention the men themselves, started to decline. The knowledge of yesterday also began to fade away, many lessons of history learned through much blood, sweat, and tears. The Institute was created in order to keep society’s top men, top families, living in comfort without destroying the careful ecological balance between the haves and have-nots.”

“You’re here to keep me from creating a class revolt through displays of wealth?”

“Precisely, Sir. But I can do so much more than that. My former employer was the head of an Oil Company, one of the larger three, though I try to keep names and such confidential, neat trick of the trade you see. Anyway, I took this “roughneck” as he liked to call himself and turned him into a respectable Southern gentleman who is beloved by his family, friends and those who meet with him, while also being a cunning, shrewd, and, when necessary, dangerous opponent. In the realm of business only, of course.”

“Of course.” I am getting a strange vibe from Pottersby.

It has been a month with Pottersby as my valet, as he likes to be known, and I don’t know how I would have ever gotten along without him. He is like my magic eight-ball or industrial compass, leading me where it is I want to go. But there is still a lingering, nagging feeling that something isn’t right.

He’s dressing me differently. He’s scheduling who I can see and who can’t see me. Even my own mother has to go through Pottersby to talk to me, which she doesn’t mind because the old man is the most charming person I’ve ever met, I bet she calls just to talk to him and I think he knows it, too.

“Sir, your breakfast.”

Three poached eggs on toast with a perfectly ripe avocado, turkey sausage and a cup of coffee. Not one bruise on them, not the least bit overripe or under. The eggs are almost jelly, with a bit of run so the toast has something to do afterwards. The turkey sausage looks handmade, though I doubt we have turkeys on the property or a place to process them. There are rooms in this palace that I’ve yet to explore, but I think I’d hear gobbling or something if there were animals here. The house is museum grade clean. I mean, no dust anywhere. I think you could do scientific experiments on my teak floors and then eat a raw steak off of it.

“Thank you, Pottersby. What is today’s agenda?”

I don’t even keep track of my own days. If he wanted to, he could run my whole life for me and no one would miss me. Oh God, what am I becoming?

“You have lunch with Senator Patterson today, sir. Then dinner with Miss Cassandra.”

Oh, Cassandra, my dearest love. In all the craziness of the last few months, you’ve been the foundation that I have been able to plant my feet and weather the maelstrom of all of Pottersby’s changes. And his moods. The man can say so much with a look or an exasperated harrumph. But you, perfect, wonderful you. He nods so approvingly at us. Any blind man could see your perfection.

He nods… so approvingly… No. No. Not this, too. That I’m even questioning it… His tendrils are so dug into my life, he’s even picking my spouse for me.

“Pottersby”, I shout. He arrives a moment later. My ‘study’ is full of books I’ve never read, chairs I’ve not sat in and has a bearskin rug from a bear I never shot. What in my life is mine these days?

“Sir.”

“Pottersby, humor me for a moment.”

“I’m unsure my sense of humor is to your tastes, sir. I don’t typically throw pies.”

Smug bastard.

“Pottersby, in the months that you’ve been working for me, I’ve noticed you taking certain… liberties. Perhaps even overstepping your role as my valet.”

“Well, sir, I certainly don’t mean to cause any discomfort. I am only looking out for what is best for you.”

“I should be able to determine that for myself, shouldn’t I?”

“Sir, you are not the first man I have served in this role. The characteristics that made you what you are today. Bold, successful, imaginative. These traits, while admirable, leave one feeling like the entire world’s weight is on his shoulders. And it is! By God, it is. My role is to keep your domestic affairs in order. To act as a second brain that you can rely on when that weight is too much to bear. Who will order flowers for Miss Cassandra when you’re away on business? Who will see that your itinerary is in perfect order? Who will select the perfect private secretary, personal chef, maid service? You can’t be expected to handle these details, and you’d hire out for such things. My arrival into your life, while shocking and unconventional, is just what you need if you wish to continue conquering the world.”

Maybe he’s right. Of course he’s right. He’s Pottersby. From any other man, it would sound foolish, but from him I get a shot in the arm and I’m ready to get back in the game. He waits for my response. Always waiting. Always ready to serve. I notice he has a glass of wine with him. I didn’t ask for it, but I know it’s Pinot Noir. I know it’s a 2016 Louis Jadot. I know this because this is what I like and Pottersby knows everything I like and dislike. He knows the things I may like and will grow to like. He is another version of me in another body, another person. I know nothing of his likes and dislikes, except for the things that I wear out of rebellion to his wisdom.

He allows the wine because even if it only costs twenty dollars, he’s giddy to inform me that most wines of a more expensive variety aren’t worth much more. He suggests I have Beaujolais. I don’t want that. I want the Pinot. I sniff the glass he’s slid onto the desk. Beaujolais. A line must be drawn.

“Pottersby, I will no longer be needing your services. Please pack as quickly as is reasonable and leave the premesis.”

There was no response. No begging to stay, no apologies. He turned around and left. In fifteen minutes, he was out of my life forever. I look around the palace I now inhabit. I wonder how it will ever be so clean again. Dust was settling. Perhaps a home needs a bit of dust. Perhaps a place I live should look lived in. Pottersby would be shaking his head. His opinion lives in me now, even though I’ve exercised him from my being. Perhaps it will go in time.

Dinner with Cassandra is the only thing on my mind. I love her; I think she loves me as well. But do I love her because he brought her into my life? Or is it that he found someone with which I would be well suited? Is it so wrong for him to know me so intimately that he could predict what would make me happy? That’s not control, that’s observation. It was only a glass of wine. I think about calling the Institute in the morning and clearing all this up. I feel bad. I don’t have a number for them. It’s something I’d become reliant on Pottersby for. Knowing the names and numbers and dates of the ancillary goods and services that I enjoy on a daily basis, but have lost all connection to how they are procured. I may have acted rashly.

When I wake up, I’m wet. The room is dark, but I feel like I’ve just gotten out a swimming pool. Maybe I have. My head hurts. I could have hit my head in a pool and been put into bed. I don’t remember going swimming. I remember dinner. Cassandra. Where is she?

I fumble around the bed I’m laying on. I recognize the feel of the sheets. They’re mine. I know the lamp is near and when I turn the knob, I can barely comprehend it. Cassandra.

She was always pale, but drained of all of her blood, she took on a gray, ghostly presence. My hands are drenched in her blood. I check myself for injury, but find none, only smearing myself in her blood.

None of this makes any sense. I hear a shift from the corner of the room.

“Who is it? What do you want?”

“I only wish to serve, sir.”

Pottersby. What the hell?

“What are you doing here?”

“I’d forgotten to grab a few personal items and when I pulled up to the front door, I found it wide open. I came looking for you, sir, only to find the both of you here. I’m very glad I arrived when I did. I’ve dealt with these kinds of situations before.”

These kinds of situations? What is he talking about? He needs to call an ambulance or the police.

“Yes, Sir. I know just what to do. A team is already on its way. You’ll never know anything untoward had occurred.”

“Pottersby, I didn’t. I mean, I don’t remember. I couldn’t have.”

“It’s alright, Sir. You can relax. I am a professional devoted to you, sir. I would never let anything get in the way of your goals. That would be like stopping my own goals or the goals of the Institute itself.”

The Institute’s goals? It all became so obvious. I’d be raging if I wasn’t scared. Yes, I am afraid. My hand is shaking. I try to make it stop, but that only makes it worse. I grab it and my teeth begin to chatter like I was wading in a frozen pond.

“What are the Institute’s goals?”

“To keep you happy, sir. To keep the world spinning. To forward mankind to the next stage of her development. It may not seem like much, but a valet is privy to all kinds of knowledge and is able to move with nigh impunity in the lives of the rich and successful. I promise you, sir, that our interests and goals are aligned and whenever we hit small bumps in the road like these, they are easily managed and forgotten about.”

I can’t believe it. I refuse it at first; I wish my eyes would stop working. She’s so beautiful. Oh, Cassandra. I’m so sorry I ever laid eyes on you.

“Sir, I must recommend a shower, perhaps even a long bath after, in order to clean oneself of all this dirtiness. I also have a few suggestions if you are to make these kinds of excursions a regular occurrence. Foremost, I wouldn’t go eliminating any woman with a name again, sir. Luckily, Miss Cassandra was an orphaned heiress and there was doubtfully going to be any investigation into her whereabouts after tonight. Most young women live on their social media these days and it would be easy enough to have a grave accident befall her in a month’s time with our alibis well intact, I can assure you.”

An hour later, I’m sitting in the bath and he’s scrubbing my back with a brush on a stick. I feel like laundry. I sit there, silent.

“There is the slight problem of our terminated relationship, sir. I’ve taken the liberty of resuming my duties, and I trust that is satisfactory to you, sir?”

I say nothing. It doesn’t matter what I say. It doesn’t matter what I do.

“Some men play with suicide right about now, sir. Weaker men. Lesser men. Men for which the world seems too large. Luckily, you are not such a man, sir. I know you and you can bounce back from this unpleasantness. Plus, with me here, such things will never occur again. Perhaps that is the silver lining of these events. It’s always important to find them, I believe.”

I’m put in one of my guest bedrooms while the team is in my room, cleaning and purging the Earth of any trace of Cassandra. I don’t sleep. In the morning, breakfast is ready. It is perfect. The eggs and bacon are arranged in a smiley face. As is the butter on my toast. There is a whole avocado to go with it.

I do not work that day; I stay in bed for three weeks. I refuse to leave. Pottersby looks on me like a caring grandmother. All my meals are liquid. He acts like I’ve got the flu. Apparently, the business can run in my absence. Pottersby is taking care of everything. I don’t even need to exist. He could just be me.

I take lunch that afternoon out of bed. At the table is a petite brunette. She looks at me, then looks away like a nervous schoolgirl. She’s blushing. She’s beautiful. Perfect.

“Sir, this is Miss Allison. I believe you and her will find much in common between you.”

I curse that man and myself. He’s won. I let him win. I can’t fight it. He knows it. He knows me so well.