Six More Days

Regie Simpson was outraged. Maybe beyond outraged. He was on his feet now with his hands planted on his hips. His pajamas were soaked through with cold milk, and he didn’t like it, not one little bit.

Higgins met the kid’s frosty glare with his normal I don’t give a rat’s ass expression. He had been going through this every day with the little shit for the last three weeks. And sometimes, he had to admit, sometimes lately this urge, this overpowering urge to drown the little bastard in the backyard swimming pool came on him and wouldn’t let go.

Well, it didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to do it. Higgins told himself again that the boy was only seven years old. In six days, Sir Stanly and Lady Simpson would be back from India. Six days was not a long time. Was six days a long time? It was not. It was nothing. He looked down at the scowling little pajama-clad towheaded pain in the ass and thought, I will not drown you tonight.

Regie, sensing danger perhaps, suddenly scooted past Higgins, and was heading for the kitchen.

Higgins caught him with a firm grip to the head, turned him around and sat him back in his seat with the dripping wet tablecloth. “As I have mentioned,” he said in his well-mannered voice, "the cook is resting.”

Regie said, “I don’t care. I want to see Mrs. Snell, and I want to see her now.” He looked up into the butler’s face and realized he wasn’t going to win this one either, but one thing Regie Simpson was not, he was not a quitter. “You expect me to sit in this mess? Someone needs to clean it up!”

“I’m afraid you accidentally knocked your glass of milk over when you accidentally threw the bowl of cherries jubilee at Mrs. Snell's head. As I said, she now has a headache, and is resting in bed.”

Regie raised his arms in disgust and was about to erupt with something he thought would be blistering, when he caught sight of Higgin’s bored expression, his sunken face, his slowly blinking red eyes, and said softly, “Look, Simpson, that cherry jubilee was yucky, and you know it.”

Higgins was thinking, I could take him out to the pool. Tell him it was time for his first swimming lesson.

“What’s wrong with your face?” Regie asked.

“There is nothing wrong with my face.”

“Yeah, it’s like….” half of Reggie's face suddenly twisted downward, and his right eye began to blink rapidly.

“Go find Sarah, it’s time for your bath.”

“Sarah quit,” Regie said.

"Saah didn't quit..."

"Uh-hu."

“Sarah quit?” Higgins marveled. “Sarah quit?” He turned abruptly and hurried downstairs into the kitchen and found the cook sitting with the chauffeur at the long staff dining table.

“Sarah quit?” he bellowed.

Mrs. Snell jumped to her feet. The bag of frozen peas she held to her cheek fell from her hand and clunked on the wooden table. “We were going to tell you. We were…” she looked to the chauffeur for help.

“We really were,” Jimmy Dulin stammered. “Really, we were. Really!”

Higgins rubbed a hand over his bald head. “When did she quit?” he demanded. He walked around the table. “Nobody thought to mention this to me?” He did another lap and stopped dead. “How long has this information been kept from me?”

“Let me get you some tea,” Mrs. Snell said.

“What are we going to do?” Higgins went on. He was starting his third lap. “Who is going to give him a bath? He needs a bath! He’s got milk all over him and needs to change his pajamas! Who is going to help him change his pajamas?”

“Sit down!” Mrs. Snell begged. She had never seen Higgins like this. She looked at him closely. “What’s wrong with your face?”

“Yeah, what is wrong with your face?” Jimmy asked. “It’s all…” He made a pulsating motion with his fingers.

“I want to talk about bananas,” Regie suddenly announced from the kitchen door. His hands were back on his hips.

“Sweet Jesus! Who let him in here?” Mrs. Snell demanded.

“Now, everybody just take it easy.,” Jimmy Dulin said. “We’re going to suss this out.” He patted his thighs. “Come here little prince and tell me why the sudden interest in bananas.”

The boy walked without hesitation over to Jimmy and let himself be lifted to his lap. He then pointed at Mrs. Snell and said, “She knows why!”

Mrs. Snell took a deep, cleansing breath, then sat back down at the table. “As discussed,” she began, her words coming out slowly in a kind of hissing whisper, “You are allergic to bananas and I’m not going to make you banana bread.”

“But I want banana bread!”

“Tough titties,” Mrs. Snell said, her words still hissing. “You’re not getting any.”

“I don't get banana bread?” the boy asked in amazement.

“No,” Mrs. Snell said. “You don't.”

“Howbout tomorrow?”

“Never,” Mrs. Snell said.

Regie’s jaw dropped. ”You're never going to make banana bread?”

“That's what I'm saying.”

Regie dropped to the floor in anguish. “I want banana bread!” he cried. He began rolling around on the floor. The three adults watched him for a while thinking he would let up soon, but he didn’t let up. He went on rolling around on the floor in his footed Batman pajamas screaming about banana bread and how much he wanted it right now, now, now!

The adults looked at each other. “Six days,” Mrs. Snell said. “We can do six days.”

“It’ll go by like that,” Higgins said, snapping his fingers.

They listened a while longer to young Regie's bellowing. He still showed no signs of growing tired.

“Do we even have bananas?” Jimmy Dulin asked casually.

The question hung in the air. Mrs. Snell looked at the two men and the two men looked at her, and without another word spoken, banana bread was in the making.

--992 Words--