Breakfast in America

Unlike the typical dinner sounds of clanking plates and silverware, chewing, shuffling, and quaint conversation, the night's supper was filled with obnoxious laughter and loud voices. The 18 person table was half seated with Jimmy at the head. Bianca, John and Maureen, Bonzo and Patricia, Robert and I all sat with Jimmy on the farthest end of the long mahogany table.

The dinning room was my favorite room of the manor. The large lattice windows on the wall opposite the kitchen lit the hall during the day, and tan curtains were pulled to make the room dark at night. The walls were a warm auburn color with gold crown molding. Behind Jimmy was a marble fireplace that was usually lit, adding to the warm feel of the room. There was a ficus in every corner of the room, and hanging from the tall ceiling directly over the center of the long table was a lavished chandelier with white and red crystals that hung from every golden arm.

The chairs were a matching mahogany with red cushions mimicking the walls. The wood floors were tarnished with years of use, making the room seem older than it was and adding a character that could not otherwise be achieved.

Robert, Bonzo, Maureen Jones, John, and Patricia Phillips Bonham were all stuck in their own conversation about Robert's birthday party yesterday while Bianca and Jimmy bickered over the possibility of getting a cat. Bianca was allergic, but Jimmy loved animals-- yet another thing in common between us.

"But I'd be sneezing all day!" Bianca argued. Jimmy shoveled another spoonful of Blood Pudding into his mouth, making the most God-awful face I'd ever seen.

"This was splendid the first time I had it," he said, more to himself than to Bianca or I. "Now it's just disgusting. I'm sure I'd enjoy it more if I were Liverpudlian, but until that day, I need to tell Leenin to discontinue it."

"While you're talking to the chef," I put in, "you may want to get over to Cheever."

Jimmy eyed me before turning to Bianca. Irritably he scolded, "You still haven't sacked him? What did I tell you four days ago? I'm not fucking rich; I can't afford two chefs, this home, my taxes, and Cheever, regardless of how clean he keeps the house. I've told you, love, he needs to go."

Bianca sighed and looked down at her duck and potatoes. "I know, Jimmy, but I don't want to hurt his feelings. It's a job!"

"I don't care that it's a job," Jimmy snapped. "I don't have a job! I can't afford him! I don't go to work every day. I live my life traveling the world-- spending pounds-- to spread music. I just bought this manor-- more money!-- and I'm left with, what?, only enough in my wallet and bank account to afford this monster mansion and everyone that lives in it. I wasn't the one to suggest them living here, either."

"Sorry about that," I laughed nervously. "But it's better this way!"

"To Hell it is!" Jimmy spat, his temper rising. He whipped his head to face Bianca, scooping a spoonful of potatoes into his mouth. He swallowed, then pointed his spoon at Bianca accusingly. "You're firing him within the next five days or else."