"Boedy," I heard a finger snap, "Listen to me,"
My vision snapped back to reality. It seems that I am in the middle of dinner - a plate of Salisbury steak on a bed of mashed potatoes and peas. Steven Hill is beside me, watching an anime program with his headset on. Alex Hill, my grandfather, is in front of me eating a steak larger than what I have.
"Stop fawning over that Campbell kid and help me in my campaign tomorrow," He peered at me with his thin judgmental grey eyes. There was a certain lash in his words, something I haven't put a finger on. "You think I do not know? My contacts said that you're demonizing the poor fool for months. Do you think that is a good thing? Do you think so?"
"No, grandfather." The real Boedy would not hesitate to say yes, but I said no for a change.
"No? Then why the hell are you doing it? I am not angry, Boedy. I just want the best thing for this family, this name you will inherit in the future. But boy, remember this. Continue what you are doing. These idiots need to know that the Hills stand above the rest in this town. I should have taken the reins years before if it were not for the bickering of your father. The damned fool."
The plates clacked and I did not notice that he already finished his meal during his speech. He wiped off his mouth and went beside Steven Hill. He grabbed his phone and smashed it on the ground.
"I told you not to bring that stupid thing on the table,"
I cringed at the broken screen of the phone. It looked expensive. It was surprising to see that Steven is unfazed by it. He did not pick up the broken phone. He ordered one of the maids to clean it up as he finished his meal.
We are brothers and I thought he would open a conversation with me. I spent there waiting between bites, stealing glances on my brother. He never spoke, just ate half of his steak, and left for the maze-like hallways of the mansion. One maid was about to grab the unfinished plate when I stopped her. These Hills sickened me. How could they just waste stuff like that? Sure, I come from a place of privilege. But, still. It's a waste. And I won't let it go to the trash just like that.
I ate Steven's leftovers and finished mine. How could he waste this delicacy? The meat is scrumptious and juicy. It's cooked medium rare and its marbling made it melt in my mouth. Mashed Potatoes is a bland dish for a boring palate, but this one is savory and creamy. I wish I could ask for more but I think it would hurt Boedy's diet. Wait, you know what? That's not a bad thing. I asked the maid, a cute lad wearing a tailcoat, to ask the cook to make me another dish. No, make that two. He came back a minute later with two of the same steaming steak and mash potatoes. I wasn't going to eat both of them, but I wanted it to share it with the maid who has seen such waste beforehand.
I scanned through Boedy's mind for this guy's name but holy shit, he does not even know. Well, it's expected since there is a high turnover rate in the workers in the mansion. That I know, because of my grandfather's investigation in finding a stint on his opponent.
The guy's name is Eric Marquez. I had my suspicions but his surname cemented the fact that he came from the south. He was apprehensive about taking a bite. He is probably thinking that this is some trap I have prepared for him. I urged him to take a bite but he would not. He is a maid and he should not be eating with his employer, he explained. Bah! If I was his employer, then I ordered him to eat with me. He could not rebuke such an order so he ate.
One bite - his fear overtook the time to enjoy the taste. I eyed him and asked him to relax. I am not here to fire him. Far from it. I just want a conversation, to fill the emptiness in this large room. He took another bite - a swallow not a taste. Another and there it is. His eyes twinkled as he realized that taste of the food he is eating on. We ate together bite after bite. To be honest, the food isn't as enjoyable as seeing Eric enjoy his.
"Where did you come from?" I asked, seeking to end this suspicion in my mind.
"Mexico," he replied.
One of the stints my grandfather's campaign team found about the Hills is that they employed immigrants. They are still finding whether their employment is legal or not.
"Do you have a family over there?"
"Sí- I mean, yes." He finished the meal, now he is gulping down a cold glass of water. When the glass was not obscuring his face anymore, I could see sad reminiscing eyes on his face. They seem to be on the verge of tears but his professionalism is keeping them at bay. As much I wanted to pry further, I did not for privacy's sake. I thanked him for his time and promised him that I would very much like his company tomorrow. He's a better sod than Boedy's other family.