This Charming Man

Ten

I had to stay behind and clean up after Mr Weekes left Bath 6 to prepare it for the next client. I muttered angrily to myself about being so dumb and shy and that Mr Weekes was just another customer and he wasn't the first customer that had asked me to live with them or even marry them; as whenever I had a customer, as rare as the occurrence was, they were often perverted big city fat cats escaping their wives to lust over young born and bred country folk like me who had no obligation but to obey their every command. I never slept with them, or did anything remotely sexual at all and I was intent on keeping it this way. And I told myself, oh how I told myself, Mr Weekes was not going to be an exception.

I scrubbed at the floor roughly but footsteps behind me made me slow down and I slowly peered over my shoulder to see Mr Wentz standing in the archway, leaning against the frame. His arms were folded and he had one eyebrow arched.

"You'll scratch the polish off if you're not careful," he said, flatly.

I swallowed and put the scrubbing brush back in the bucket. "S-sorry, sir," I mumbled.

"Doesn't matter, Urie." Mr Wentz looked as though he was about to say something but changed his mind and frowned slightly.

"No," he muttered to himself and instead said, "Mr Weekes wants your assistance in his room."

I nodded and stood up. I eyed Mr Wentz cautiously. He didn't quite seem himself and I hoped it had nothing to do with me. I picked up my cleaning bucket and walked towards him to leave, internally praying he wouldn't say anything but my prayers weren't answered as usual and Mr Wentz spoke up.

"H-how's Ross, Urie?"

I paused and frowned. Ryan? Why was Mr Wentz asking after Ryan?

"No more irritable than usual. Why?"

Mr Wentz blinked. "He's always like that?" he asked, a soft, sad glint of hope in his voice.

I nodded. ""Born a grumpy bastard, died a grumpy bastard". That's what he'll have on his gravestone," I said, hoping I wouldn't get scolded for using curses.

Mr Wentz ignored them thankfully and stood up straight. "Okay," he said, running a hand through his hair, "That's okay."

"Why is everyone so worried about Ryan today?" I asked.

Mr Wentz gave me a brief look of confusion, then frowned. "What do you mean 'everyone'?"

"Well, I didn't mean everyone exactly," I corrected myself, "Mr Weekes asked about him earlier too."

Mr Wentz shrugged. "Maybe it's his demeanour. Tell him to cheer up. He's putting off customers," he said, promptly slipping back into authority and with that, he turned on his heel and disappeared down the corridor.

I sighed heavily knowing the notion of telling Ryan to cheer up would only result in me getting a hard smack on the arm and left down the opposite corridor.