Starlight Stories Rich and Love: Burns Song

Chapter 3: The Young and the Evil

The next morning, Smithers awoke to his phone ringing. Groggily he said, "Huh-lo," hiccuping out the last syllable.

Mr. Burns spoke curtly. "My office. Today. Twelve o'clock." And at those words, he staggered into his car and drove to the plant, sitting in his car sobbing and emptying a flask of Scotch for the next few hours until his appointment.

At precisely 12 p.m., Smithers entered the foreboding room, pale and shaking and somewhere between hungover and drunk, anticipating Burns' acrid rebuke. He hadn't eaten anything yet, as he would have vomited anything solid.

"Smithers."

"Y-y-y-yes sir." He got on his knees. "I'm so, so, so sorry; I never wanted to take advantage of you, I was drunk and – it was a lapse in judgment, and I know that's no excuse, but–"

"Do you think I'm an invert?"

"What? No, sir! Of course not."

"Do others think I am...that way?"

"N-no, sir. They understand that you don't return my...feelings."

"But you are."

He stood up, his eyes fixed to the floor. "I suppose there's no point denying it to you now."

"No. So you were being sincere during those moments of impending doom when you told me you loved me, when you kissed me...I knew there was something odd about it, but I didn't expect this of you." He briefly contemplated a photo he had earlier taken out of his desk, a picture of Smithers happily accompanying Burns as he received an award for his business success, his arm around Burns' back and his gaze focused on Burns' eyes. "I was a fool, wasn't I, Waylon?"

Despite the tension, Smithers' heart fluttered in a good way, as it always did when Burns used his first name. "No, Monty. I was the fool, pining for a man I knew I could never have. But I always hoped..."

"Hoped what? That I would want you to make love to me like a woman? Poppycock! I acquire whatever draws my fancy. If I had wanted you, I would have taken you. What made you think you could ascend from lackey to lover?"

Tears flowing unrestrained from his devastated visage, Smithers sniveled, "I – I don't know, sir...I don't know!"

"For God's sake, man, pull yourself together!"

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." He fell to his knees sobbing.

"Did I ever give you hope?" He spat out angrily. "Did I seem that way to you?" He stood, approached his kneeling assistant, and pulled at his lavender bow tie, tilting his head upward. "Tell me. How long have you felt this way about me?"

Drawn to his eyes, he stared and said, "About...twenty years."

"Twenty years? Why on Earth did you not give it up?"

"I could never give up on you. As long as there was the slightest chance you might return my feelings, I had to take it – to believe in it."

"Is that why you have dedicated yourself to being my obsequious assistant?"

Smithers said, "I would do anything for you. Even knowing you'll never love me, I will do whatever you want me to."

Burns narrowed his eyes, and with a minacious snarl said, "Then stop loving me."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, sir. That's like asking me to give up life itself."

"Really, then?" He pulled out of a desk drawer a curled length of rope, then tossed it to Smithers, though it only went so far as to partially unfurl on the other side of his desk. "I want you to stop loving me, Waylon." Catching him mid-blush, he said, "I know how much you love it when I call you that. I've seen how you blush and titter. I always thought you were just a buckram fellow. But now I know it's due to your depraved desire for me. I demand you terminate it at once."