I was rummaging for quality garbage, walking up and down alleys in the neighborhood, and was carrying a box of found treasures. It was that morning that I met Grill Chef last August.  He was behind the neighborhood mansion, taking out the trash.  I was familiar with the house, of course—it’s almost half a city block long and runs down the side street—but I knew nothing about it. 

“What did you find so early in the morning?” he asked.

“An illustrated Alice in Wonderland, two jazz albums, and a barely-worn pair of Converse high tops.  My size.  It’s been a good day for neighborhood garbage.”

He invited me inside for a cup of coffee.  I placed my box under the carport next to his door.  Ordinarily, I would feel self-conscious walking into a house like that, but I’d showered that morning, and had put on a pretty button-down shirt.  And anyway, not only was Grill Chef warm and welcoming, but he was just an employee, not lord of the manor.

I sat on a stool in the kitchen and drank coffee.  For an industrial kitchen, it was small, about the size of my living room.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“Yes.  Actually, I was thinking of food before I saw you.”

Grill Chef, refusing my help, began cooking breakfast. 

“I’m one of three cooks in the house,” he began to explain.

“Three?”

“This is my wing.  The kids would spend most of their time in the game room and Grandpa had his den down here too, so I was available to make snacks or feed them lunch.  The kids would sometimes have guests or they’d have sleepovers and the family had other families visit.  But now, the kids are grown up, Grandpa died, and nobody’s been using my wing.  It’s been quiet for a couple of years.”

“But they keep you employed?”

“I think they forgot about me.”  He shrugged.  “The paychecks keep coming and my key still works, so I guess I still work here.  I haven’t moved out.  I’m supposed to keep the kitchen stocked in case somebody comes down, and I do, and their credit card still works.  But I eat all the food I buy.”

I laughed. 

I explained I’d just returned to town a few months ago.  Still getting situated.  Yes, I had a job, but never found any reason to talk much about that.  I mentioned that I needed to find a new place to live.  I’d signed a three-month lease on a cheap apartment for the summer, but college kids would be returning soon.  I was about to be homeless again.  

“You could probably live here.”

“Excuse me?” I was sure Grill Chef was playing with me.

“There are two unused bedrooms down here.  Furnished.”  He cocked his head in a direction.  “I could make you a key for the backdoor.”

“How much?”

Grill Chef looked at me dumbfounded.  “I can’t charge you anything, man, it’s not my house.  Just move in.  We could be roommates.”

He put a bowl of food in front of me. 

“Wow.”

“It’s a hash I’ve been making for myself recently.  Leftover rice with quinoa and soy, grilled with chopped  bell pepper and mushroom, with sausage.  A poached egg on top.” 

“This is delicious.” 

“And it’s healthy.  Move in, Charlie.”

“Are you serious?”

“Sure, man.  I get lonely.  I’ll cook breakfast and dinner every day, too.”

“You’ll cook for me?”

“That’s my job.  The groceries are free to me.”

After eating, Grill Chef showed me the rest of his domain.  His wing of the house was a daylight basement.  Enormous.  The central feature was the game room.  One wall had three doors—2 bedrooms and Grandpa’s Den, the latter stuffed with taxidermy, rifles, cigars, and cowboy novels.  The kitchen was on the other side of the game room, and to the side of that was a small dining room.

“Where do you sleep?”

“There’s another bedroom around the corner,” he pointed across the kitchen.

There were boxes and unused furniture crowding the game room.  Grill Chef said, “Whenever Madam of the Manor remodels a room, she has the guys move the old furniture down here for storage.  It’s like I’m a chef for a warehouse.”

“Hey, what do you think about moving this stuff into the other bedroom or into Grandpa’s Den?” I asked.

“Sure.  I don’t care.” 

So, I agreed to move in. 

I claimed my space by putting my newfound box of garbage treasures in the larger bedroom.  It received good morning light, and was shady in the hot afternoons. 

“Do you need help moving?”

“No, I don’t have much.  I’ll move in Monday, next week, OK?”

“Sure, sure.”

“See ya then, Grill Chef.”

“See ya, Charlie.” 

I returned the following Monday.  All I had to move was a couple boxes of clothes and a box of books.  Some personal items.  A cigar box of trinkets; Dad’s wedding ring, his Dad’s cufflinks.  A pocket watch from Mom’s Dad. 

I mean, who uses a pocket watch anymore?

“Is this all you have?”

“Yeah.  Like I was saying, I lived in Europe for 4 years right after college.  I’m still unsettled and haven’t started accumulating stuff.”

The game room had a large-screen TV, with a video game console, a stereo system, and a pool table.  The fireplace had a gas insert.  The small bookcase was well stocked. 

There was a large sideboard that was too heavy for Grill Chef and I to move.  It blocked daylight from the reading chair, so, I listed it in the classified ads.  It was made of claro walnut and might have been 200 years old—I know a few things about wood and furniture.  I hated to get rid of it, but there was no place for it in my new abode.

I made $1850 on the sale.  I offered to share it with Grill Chef.

“Naw, man.  You earned that.”

I also sold a five-foot stuffed panda toy, three side tables, and a 3-section sofa that was in excellent condition.  And some taxidermy.

“This stuff’s just in the way, Grill Chef.  You know what I mean?”

“Sure, sure.”

I kept selling stuff.  At this point, I didn’t need my real job, but I felt like I was on thin ice living here, so I kept my job just in case. 

When I wasn’t eating Grill Chef’s excellent food, or playing games with him, I would write or read.  I had a couple of friends over one night to watch movies, but I felt uneasy.

“I think it’s best that I lay low here, Grill Chef.  Know what I mean?  This feels sort of sketchy.  I won’t have friends over again.”

“I liked those guys, but you should do what you think’s best, Charlie.”

I came home from work one day and there was a smaller dining table and 4 chairs in front of the TV, and a really nice recliner, too, with an ottoman.  I took the recliner to my room, and listed the table and chairs for sale.

One afternoon, a strange woman walked in when I was watching cartoons.

“Who the hell are you?” she asked.

“Charlie.  I’m a friend of Grill Chef’s.  Who the hell are you?”

“Stella.  I live here.  Well, my parents live here.  I’m going to college.  I’m just home for part of the summer.  Where’s Grill Chef?”

“Grocery shopping.  I think.”

“And he just leaves you here alone?”

“Sure.  Wanna beer?  I have pretzels and Grill Chef made a couple of mini pizzas, too.”  I uncapped a bottle and held it out for her.

“What’re you watching?”  She sat down next to me and accepted the beer bottle.

“This.”  I nodded at the TV.  I can never get enough of the Bugs Bunny Road Runner Hour.  Good drawings, funny voices, total mayhem.  Sometimes I wished my life could be like that.

We laughed at the same gags.  I passed her another beer.

I muted the TV for commercial break.

“What are you reading?” she asked.

“Rereading Dostoyevsky.  Have you read The Idiot?”

“Yeah.  I had a Russian lit. class last year.”

“Neat.  Tolstoy?”

“Duh, Genius, we read Tolstoy in Russian Lit..  I liked Akhmatova.”

“I don’t know him.”

“Anna Akhmatova.  He’s a girl.  A poet.”

“Can you show me some?”

“No, my books are in storage.  Are you sure it’s OK that you’re here?  Where’s Grill Chef.”

I wondered if this was going to be a problem.  She was almost the owner of the house, and nobody but Grill Chef knew that I lived here.  If they kicked me out, would there be a grace period so I could find a new apartment?

“Well, you’re drinking my beers, so I guess it’s OK that I’m here for just a little while.  Grill Chef’s going to cook dinner.  You should join us.  He should be home soon.  He’s usually very prompt for dinner time.”  I passed her a third beer.

As she took the bottle, she leaned over and kissed me on the mouth.  Good kiss.  On the second kiss, I eased my tongue against her lips and took a breath through my nose, and then her tongue began exploring, too.  I even took my eyes off the falling anvil.

We were interrupted by the sound of a slamming door.

“Grill Chef?”

“Yo, Charlie, man.  Sorry I’m late.  I’ll start dinner right away.”

“No problem.  Hey, we have a third person for dinner tonight.  OK?”

“Grill Chef?”  Stella got up and started walking towards the kitchen when he appeared.

“Stella!”

She ran into his arms. 

Uh-oh, I thought.  Hope it’s OK I was having a snog with her.

“I see you’ve met Charlie.  What’re you doing here?”

“Home for a few days.  Or maybe all summer.  Whatever.  Yeah, I met Charlie.  Did Madam of the Manor start letting you have friends over?”

“Yep, yep, I guess she did.” 

I thought Grill Chef might be lying; we’d never talked about house rules or him entertaining guests.

“Go on watching your educational programming.  Dinner will be ready in about an hour.  Don’t know about you two, but I’m hungry.”

“Can I help?” I asked.

“Nope.”  Grill Chef went back to the kitchen.

Stella looked at me and shrugged.  “Whatever.”  She sat on the couch again and we kissed some more.

After a few days of snogging, and talking about books and cartoons, Stella came down one morning to tell me that her parents were gone for a week’s vacation.  Two weeks, if she was lucky.  “I’m here alone.  With the servants.  Have you seen the rest of the house?”

“No.  Well, not from the inside.”

“Come on.”  She took my hand and led me upstairs to the main floor.

The back stairs led directly into the great hall with the entryway straight ahead.  Off one side was a ballroom where they entertained guests, and off the other side of the hall was her father’s office, where he intimidated guests.  Behind the grand staircase was a cozy sitting room, “just for the family” and a refectory that she referred to as the “dining nook”.  I thought Grill Chef’s kitchen was large, but the main kitchen was three times bigger.  Beyond that was the conservatory.  Behind the office, next to the sitting room, was the library, flabbergastingly stocked full of classical literature, including numerous first issues.

Stella asked the manor’s primary chef to please prepare lunch for us.  Burgers and fries. 

She took me upstairs.  The master bedroom suite had a round, king-size bed, a small kitchenette, his-and-her dressing closets, his-and-her bathrooms, and an outdoor jacuzzi suspended just off the balcony.  Her bedroom was huge, with views of the distant mountains.  Her older brother’s room was locked.

“Same size,” she said.  “I don’t know if he ever comes home anymore.”

“Your house is a mixture of Hearst Castle, the mansion on Gilligan’s Island, and the mansion in the boardgame Clue.”

“Gilligan didn’t have a mansion,” she said with an exasperated tone.

“Not on the island.  Remember that episode with the mad scientist?  He could switch people’s minds between bodies.  He took everyone back to his private island and he had this huge mansion.  And a monkey.  And an Igor.  Remember?  Ginger was falling down like Gilligan.  Mr. Howell tried to have sex with Skipper.  The cat and the dog got swapped?”

“I vaguely remember.  Maybe.  We’ll have to look for that one.  Are you suggesting we’ve been making out in a dungeon?”

“Well, the dungeon where Grill Chef and I live is much nicer.”

We took the secret passage from the study back downstairs to the dining nook, where our lunches were waiting for us.  “Let’s take them outside,” she said.  It was August-hot outside, and humid, and we sat in the shade with iced tea. 

I’d lived clandestinely in the house for almost a full year already, and this was my first chance to actually see the house and yard.

After lunch, we went skinny-dipping in the massive, Greek renaissance pool and rinsed off the chlorine underneath the gargoyle shower.   I wanted to drip dry in the hot summer breeze, but she was tired of exhibiting herself to the staff.  There were towels in the pool house, and condoms, too. 

“I was thinking you should have Madam of the Manor install a hot tub for me down in the side yard.  I mean, for her overflow guests.”

“Yeah, right.  I’ll make sure to bug her about that when she gets home.  First thing.”

Stella wasn’t really college-aged; her gap year had stretched to two years, and she’d changed her major a bunch of times.  And while I’d passed through my mid-twenties, I was immature, so really, we weren’t far apart in age.  We decided we made a pretty good couple. 

A few days later, Stella and I were watching the morning cartoons.  She was wearing my T-shirt from the previous evening and I was smoking a joint.  Grill Chef was out.  We were talking about what book we might start reading to each other.

“School’s going to start up for me again soon, Charlie.  I’ll be moving back.  You should move to College Town.”

“But it’s so plush her.  And free.  And Grill Chef’s cooking.  And Grill Chef will miss me.”

“I’ll miss you, Charlie.  You don’t want to continue seeing me?”

“Actually, yes, I do.  Maybe I could move to College Town.  I’ll do some job searching.”

I received a text about the queen-size bedroom set that Madam of the Manor had stuffed into my apartment.  Somebody saw my classified ad and wanted to buy it.

Cool.

After The Jetson’s ended, I received another text.

“Hey, cool.  Stella that bedroom set will be out of our way soon.  Somebody’s on their way over now to pick it up.”

“What?  You can’t just give stuff away.  It’s not yours.”

“I’m not giving it away, I’m selling it.  Dude, quality stuff.  It shouldn’t just be abandoned like this.”

There was a knock on the back door and I handed Stella my joint.  I put on my newish Converse and carried one bedside table outside.  Random Guy agreed to the quality of workmanship and to my price.  We put the table into his pickup truck and we walked inside to get the rest of the set.

Stella had put on her blue jeans, and stashed the joint somewhere, which I thought were both wise moves on her part.  Random Guy and I loaded out the headrest and then the footboard.  We packed out the slats, the rails, and the second side table.  He didn’t want the used mattress, which I understood, and I paid him enough to haul it to the garbage for me.

“Hey, I’ll throw in the bedside lamps for free.”

Random Guy closed the gate on his truck and we shook hands.  Just then Madam of the Manor walked around the corner and started screaming at me.

“What the hell are you doing?  That’s my bedroom set.”

“What?” exclaimed Random Guy.  “I just paid for this.”

“We’re good!”  I clapped Random Guy on the back.

As Random Guy’s truck sped away down the alleyway, I extended my hand.  “Hi.  I don’t believe we’ve met.  I’m Charlie.  I’m a friend of Grill Chef’s.” 

She didn’t accept my handshake.  “Charlie?  Who the hell are you?  I noticed some of my furniture was missing.  Did Grill Chef have something to do with this?”

“No, ma’am.  It’s all me.  I’ve been selling your furniture for you.”

“For me?  Did I ask you to sell my furniture?”

“No, ma’am, but with the quality of the furniture—you have excellent taste in furniture, ma’am, did I say that?—I felt it a shame to store the stuff and not have somebody enjoy it.”

“But it’s my furniture.”

“I realize that, but since you weren’t using it any longer, I thought I’d help.  Otherwise, there’s always something in our way.”

“In your way?”

“Yes, ma’am.  It was hard to walk over to the bookcase or to watch TV with all the extra furniture and boxes.”

“That’s none of your concern!”

“Well, that’s a rude thing to say.  I hang out with Grill Chef down here, and your staff keep moving furniture downstairs.  It gets in our way.”

“But you don’t even live here.”

“Well, you make a good point.  That’s hard to argue.”

Just then Grill Chef came outside.  It quickly became apparent that he was fired, we were both homeless, and I needed to scramble to get my things out of my bedroom.  When I went inside, Stella was nowhere to be seen.

Smart of her.

I was still pretty baked from the weed, but I tried to concentrate.  I gathered my things, and Grill Chef packed his bags.  We used his car to take our possessions to a self-storage locker, and then we went and booked rooms at the YMCA. 

Grill Chef wasn’t mad at me or anything. 

We agreed to find an apartment together.  Or a house.  He had ideas to find himself a new job in a proper restaurant.  I still had all the money from selling furniture.

“Hey, do you want to move to College Town with me?  You know, Stella and I are kind of seeing each other.  We could find jobs there.”

“That sounds good to me.  Get away from this city.  Away from this crazy mansion.”

“Hey, Grill Chef.  What about Stella?  Do you know how to get in touch with her?”

“You mean, you don’t?”

“You know, she’d just walk downstairs sometimes.  I never had to call her.”

“I dare you to knock on that front door and ask for her.  Ring the bell, whatever.”

“Do you think they have hounds?  Does the butler have a shotgun.”

“You know, Charlie, Madam of the Manor never took my key away from me.”

“Me neither.  Do you think she’d notice if we lived there for another couple of weeks?