A:N/ Okay, so...almost four years after Jeeves was first started, here's an author's note. The review count says absolutely nothing, in the case of this story. It sucks a lot. There are many problems. It's a rough draft, in the best sense of the term. If you make it to the most recent chapter, you should get a prize. Honestly. You won't, but...you should. So this is a warning. Don't expect too much. Especially don't if you've just come from reading one of the many brilliant stories on this site. You'll probably be disappointed, like a lot of the other readers. I wouldn't mind, in fact, if you turned back now and found something much better.

Read at your own risk.

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Chapter 1: Signing His Own Death Wish

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“But, mom, I don’t understand why I have to take this stupid job. We’re not poor or anything. Why should I have to fucking work for those pricks?” A young man slouched down in his seat at the dinner table, shoving food against his plate with apparent disgust.

“Watch your mouth.” His father, Vitto, reprimanded, shooting an intimidating glare his son’s way.

“Bosco—we can’t afford your college tuition. If you want to go to anywhere next year, you have to get a job. We’ll try the best we can to spare something, but you need to be helping out, too.” His mother was a bit softer in her approach, but Bosco could tell that she was just as frustrated with him and his stubbornness.

“I’m not working for that that prick Brayl’s family; there’s no way! He already makes my life hell at school. What are you trying to do, get him to kill me? I’m not going to be his personal maid.”

“Honey—”

“No, Marceilla.” Vitto interrupted harshly, already intolerant of his son’s disrespect, “He needs to come to terms with this on his own.”

“Dad—”

“Bosco, tomorrow you are going to go to their house, you are going to be polite and respectable and you are going to make it impossible for them to say ‘no’ to you. Is that clear?”

“Dad, come on!”

“I said, ‘Is that clear?’”

Bosco was getting more and more irritated. His parents had abruptly sprang the whole ‘get a job’ spiel on him, and just expected him to accept that in a day or two he might actually be working for the parents of one of his worst enemies. Why couldn’t he just work at the movies, instead, like everyone else? “Why couldn’t I just get a job on my own? Why do I have to take that job?”

“Because Mr. Martenson owes me a favor, and being their butler would pay more than any of those teeny-bopper jobs you could find.”

“Teeny-bopper jobs? …God, I can’t even clean my room. How am I going to clean their house?”

“You’ll learn.”

“Yeah, right…” He muttered low below his breath, as if trying purposefully to aggravate his father.

“If you have something to say, Bosco, say it. Don’t mumble in my face!”

“Honey, come on…calm down. Both of you calm down.” Their mother’s voice seemed like an angel’s in a time of chaos, and they both reluctantly backed off, still glaring daggers at each other, but at least no longer arguing.

After a moment, Bosco dared break the silence with a monotonous question, “…What if I don’t get the job?” He still hadn’t come to terms with the whole thing—he was even hoping that he wouldn’t get hired—but it looked like his parents wouldn’t budge on the subject; and he wasn’t about to disobey his mother. “Why would they want a stupid high school student, when they could have a professional butler?”

“Because they aren’t looking for someone full time. They want a young person who can get everything they need done.”

“Like what?”

“Like…oh I don’t know. Help me out, Marce…” His father trailed off, looking expectantly at his wife.

“Someone to clean their pool and move furniture…things that an older man or woman couldn’t do. At least…that was what Sarah told me.” Sarah—Mrs. Martenson—was an acquaintance of his mother. They had one of those relationships where they would wave to each other or stop to have a short chat, but never really do anything as friends. “Maybe cook and clean for their son, when they aren’t home.”

“But they’re never home. They always go on some stupid trip. Brayl and I would be alone together in the house, all the time.”

“And? Maybe you two could be friends.”

“Oh, come on, mom! That’s not how things happen now!” Bosco pushed out of his seat, frustrated with where the conversation was leading, and certainly not wanting to hear another word about the Martensons, or their bastard of a son, Brayl. “I’m not taking that job.”

“You’ll take it and you’ll like it, mister. Otherwise, you’ll be grounded for three months, and I’ll make it so that you won’t ever get to college.”

“Fuck college!” He yelled back, slamming his chair beneath the table and storming away.

--

--

The next afternoon, Bosco held a hesitant hand over the Martenson’s doorknocker, unsure of whether or not he truly wanted to go through with it all. After their argument at dinner, the night before, he had gone for a walk to think about everything. But it had been a short outing, as he found that he didn’t have much to consider. He didn’t have much of a choice. If he refused to take the job, he’d be confined to the house for three months and he’d never get enough money to be able to attend college next Fall. If he took it, he’d have a steady income and easy work. After all, how hard could it be to be a butler?

But there was always that nagging thorn that stuck in his side at having Brayl suddenly a constant part of his life, even though he had gone to great lengths to avoid him, in the past.

It seemed like a no win situation.

“Damn it, I hate dad! Why did he have to quit that job? Why couldn’t he make better money? Why couldn’t I have rich parents like the Martensons? …Then I wouldn’t have to worry about another damn cent for the rest of my life.” He seethed a deep, heavy breath, trying to let off some of the frustration he felt boiling low in his stomach.

But it was all just exaggeration, he knew. He was blowing everything way out of proportion, like he usually did. It wasn’t his father’s fault that he suddenly had to get a job; it was just how the world chose to screw him over.

…But it really would have been nice to finally have something go his way. …Perhaps like winning the Lottery, or finding a million dollars on the street. “God, what it’d be like to be rich…like Brayl. He’s got no worries…”

But that was the only thing he envied about Martenson…that and the popularity he had, maybe. Bosco couldn’t remember a time when he saw him without an armful of people at his side. They were always there, some wanting to hang out with him, some wanting dates…some just wanting to hear his voice. It was crazy how popular he had gotten, even though he hadn’t lived in town that long.

To be exact, he had only been in Kingsfield a year. His family moved there after Mr. Martenson had had a heart attack, and needed to get away from the big city; the stress there, everyone said, was too much for him. Although it was plain to see that his habits had not changed much, even though his surroundings had, even though he had been told to be careful; he still traveled around and worked hectically, as if nothing had happened, like he was caught in the past.

Mrs. Martenson was no better. She was constantly traveling back and for from place to place, most of the time with her husband, whom she was business partners with. And, consequently, they often left Brayl unattended and alone in their mansion; but that was just another reason why he was so popular. Whenever he’d manage to get them out of the house, he’d throw a massive party for anyone who wanted to come—except for the few select people he deemed not good enough; Bosco and his group seemed to be tops on that list.

In fact, out of all the people that Brayl hated, Bosco knew that he was the one who was hated most; and he was proud of it. While everyone else seemed to hang on Martenson’s every word, he didn’t. It ashamed him, but he even had to talk his friends out of their stupor, once or twice, when they got too intoxicated with Brayl’s popularity— or their jealousy to be him. It was as if there was no one at school who didn’t fawn over him.

Save Bosco, at least.

The two were like day and night. Everything Brayl liked, Bosco hated. Everything Brayl had, Bosco didn’t. Everything Brayl was, Bosco wasn’t. Their looks even clashed with each other. Bosco was darkly handsome, inheriting his father’s classically Italian black hair, murky brown eyes, and olive skin. Multiple ear piercings, a chaotic, urban clothing style and toned body—from playing on the local Lacrosse team— only added to his appearance.

Brayl was the utter opposite, although no less striking. His green eyes, less than tanned skin and all-too-American blonde hair contrasted sharply with Bosco’s features. He had no piercings to mar his chiseled features, nor did he wear anything but the latest trends. His body was noticeably more muscular, too, but not so much that he looked like he actually tried; it all came from swimming and running track.

They were different, sometimes too different.

They could never get along. It was all a mistake. Bosco agreeing to be their butler was like signing his own death wish. He would never survive in school, if he took the job; Brayl wouldn’t let him live through it. They’d end up killing each other somehow.

…But he flicked that little angel of conscience off his shoulder, and knocked on the door anyway.

--

“Why hello, Boscorelli! Your parents said that you might be by today… Is this for the butler position?” Mrs. Martenson crooned as she opened the door. Her sentiments toward him were always warm and friendly, drastically unlike her son’s; but Bosco almost preferred Brayl’s over hers. He could never tell if she was being sincere. With the blonde, he always knew where he really stood.

…Not that he cared.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, good, come on in.” She waved a slender hand, inviting him inside. “Come in.”

“Thank you.”

“You see, I wouldn’t be doing this if I had a butler!”

Bosco chuckled politely, although the joke clearly was not funny. “Yeah…”

“Come with me. We’ll go talk in the kitchen.”

“Alright.” He followed close behind her, almost as a dog would his master…cringing inwardly at himself.

What fun.

--

“So, Bosco—may I call you Bosco?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded, taking a seat on one of the stools that rimmed the island in the middle of the kitchen.

“Would you like something to drink? Soda? Water? Milk?”

“No, thank you.”

“Alright.” She flashed him a comforting smile, quickly getting a glass of water for herself, and then sitting down across from him, on the other side of the counter. “I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

“Well, frankly, when Jim and I were considering getting a butler, we thought about hiring one that was more experienced—older, I suppose. But then we realized that an older man or woman might not be able to do everything we require. …And we also thought about Brayl. We know that it would be no picnic for him…to have someone older traipsing around here...”

“Yeah.” Not that Bosco really gave a damn.

“…We try our best for him, but he just seems to be so lonely, when we’re gone. Not that he doesn’t have friends- we know that he does… But we also know that it would seem so stuffy, if we hired an older man for the job. They wouldn’t be able to connect. …I just don’t want Brayl to be lonesome, by himself.”

She must not have known about the parties he had…

“I see.”

“At least, if we hired someone younger, he could have someone around, when we aren’t here.”

“So, is this like a butler-babysitting job?” Bosco couldn’t help thinking how much it suddenly seemed like she was hiring him to watch over her son, to keep an eye on him and make sure he didn’t do anything bad. …Maybe she had found out about his parties.

“Oh, no… Brayl is perfectly capable of taking care of himself, and the house—he does such a good job, when we’re away, after all... But I’m sure he’d rather have a friend here, than some stiff worker.”

Friend…?

“We wouldn’t require so much of you, Bosco. Come over here after school, everyday—some weekends, too. Open the door when someone rings, clean stuff up once in a while, move things, if we ask. You can do your homework while you work, even.”

“That sounds very generous of you to hire me for so little effort.”

“Well, we would require you to stay each night until around 11, since Jim usually gets visitors in the later hours of the evening… You would have to wear a suit, as well; we can have one made, if you don’t have one.”

“That’s fair.”

“We’d pay you about four hundred a week—”

Bosco choked, “Four hundred!”

“Yes, isn’t that what I said?” Her voice held a hint of confusion. But four hundred must’ve seemed like nothing to her. She had probably been rich so long that it was unimaginable to not have that kind of money just rolling in.

“Uh…wow. Four hundred a week…”

“Yes.”

“Not that I’m not grateful, but—why so much?”

“So much…? It’s actually less than what we’d pay a professional. But we can work all of that out, later. …I’m sure you’d do a better job than them, anyway.”

Bosco still wasn’t quite sure what was going on, why the Martensons would hire a simple high schooler to take care of their house—especially when they weren’t there. Weren’t they afraid that he might steal something? Wreck something? Burn something down? “Are you sure you want to hire me?”

“Why not? If it doesn’t work out, you can always quit or we can fire you.”

“Wouldn’t one of Brayl’s friends be better for the job? I mean, at least they hang out and stuff…”

“I suppose, perhaps. …But your parents told me about their trouble with your tuition, and after your father helped us out so much last year—what with his carpentry job on our house—I think we owe your family something. At least we’re getting a bit back for our money, this way. Besides, Jim likes to support young business men; he sees this as an opportunity for you to learn…as clichéd as that may sound.”

“I guess so.”

She smiled again, taking a quick sip of her water and nodding her head. “So, will you take the job?”

“Uh…sure. Why not?”

“Great. You’ll like it.”

--

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The next morning, Bosco trudged through the halls of school, vainly attempting to keep his eyes open. It was too early to be at school. Monday just wasn’t a good day…

“Hey, Maruollí!” A sickeningly familiar voice called from somewhere behind him, waking him a little; but, at that moment, he was too indifferent to wheel about and give Brayl a piece of his mind. As if the day couldn’t get any worse.

But Martenson wasn’t quite as willing to let it go. With the usual mindless flock close behind, he caught up to Bosco and grabbed for his book bag, jerking him to a crude halt.

“Man! Don’t grab my stuff!”

Brayl chuckled at the command, and merely grabbed him harder, pulling him about so that they could face each other. “So…I heard that you’re going to be our new butler.”

“Yeah, and?” Bosco wasn’t ready to toss intelligent insults back and forth. Foul-mouthing would just have to do. “Want to fucking do something about it?”

The blonde smirked, drawing closer, getting in his face, “God, you’re so bitchy in the morning, butler.”

“Again, want to fucking do something about it?”

“No…but I’m gonna love ordering you around today…and for the rest of your life, for that matter.” Brayl shifted back languidly, but only far enough to be able cuff Bosco’s cheek with a brusque hand. “Don’t be late.”