Leave it to Cheever

While unpacking my Rock Library carefully in the spacious living room, a knock from the front door rang through the house. As far as I knew, Bianca was taking a shower, so I automatically assumed it wasn't her. But who could it possibly be that Davy (the man who worked the toll booth) had allowed them in uninvited?

"Bia?" I called, my voice echoing eerily through the empty house. The only reply was another rap on the door. I got up clumsily and headed toward the door past the grand staircase. A third knock came on the door as I grabbed the large Gothic door handle.

"Hello," I greeted, swinging the door open to an unfamiliar man in his late 50s. He had red hair that was obviously receding and a matching red/white walrus mustache. He wore a black-tie appropriate butler suit. "Looking for someone?"

"My name is Charles Cheever, pleasure to meet you," the man replied, holding out his hand for my to take politely. I gave him my hand and he kissed it. "A Misses Lawrence hired me for personal services... er, Butlery." I gaped at him.

"Bianca!" I roared over my shoulder into the house. There was some ruckus from upstairs and Bianca came racing down the marble staircase in a blue bathrobe and fuzzy slippers. She froze on the bottom step at the sight of Charles.

"Mister Ch-Cheever?" Bianca asked, trying to ignore my belligerent expression burning into her. Charles nodded and Bianca glanced toward me, kneading her hands nervously.

"We don't have the money for a butler," I snapped. "I just got done doing a photo shoot for Levi's and I only made enough money to save. "

Bianca bit her lip. "Jimmy does...."

"But does Jimmy know you hired a butler?" I asked.

"Well, no... But he said he didn't mind if I made changes to the place," Bianca stated hopelessly.

"Mister Cheever is not a change, he's an addition," I hissed, directing my voice toward Bianca in the hopes that Cheever hadn't heard me. He cleared his throat and I shut my eyes tightly, pity bubbling in my stomach. I turned to face Cheever and noticed the heart-jerking frown on his face.

"I can leave if you feel so fit," Cheever said. "My apologies for the misunderstand--"

"No, Cheever-- can we call you that?--" he nodded, "it's no misunderstanding. Forget the whole argument. Misses Lawrence can be a bit of an aggro sometimes." I glared at Bianca and she melted to the floor like a little kid who got in trouble. "You... you're going to live here, and I not mistaken?"

Cheever nodded. "My belongings are in the cab outside." He examined the mansion's beautiful foyer, all the while possessing the ora of a person who was beyond polite and appropriate.

"Go get your things and I'll show you to your room, I guess," I ordered. He thanked me and shuffled out the door.

Meanwhile, I studdied Bianca as she lay on the ground in a loose fetal position. She looked up at me with desperation in her eyes. "I can't clean this house myself! I work all week save the weekends and I haven't the time to keep up on this gigantic house! Oh, please, Jenni, spare me the reprimanding!"

"You can get up now, you know," I told her. "I'm not the one you should be worried about... Wait 'til Jim-Jam gets home."