The House That Never Accepted Him

At precisely half-past five in the morning the phone of Theo Callahan was ringing in the mansion of the Whitmore, the alarm broke the silence of his little room on the third floor of the building.

He suppressed it promptly, and did not wish the sound to go along the walls. The very last thing he wanted was to have Catherine Whitmore whimpering about being awakened, once more.

Theo is sitting up in the small bed and his feet are touching the hardwood floor. The room they had supplied the servant three years earlier had no heating, no bathhouse it consisted of four walls and a window that commanded the garbage bins.

This was his life now.

He hurriedly got dressed, tugged an old pair of jeans and a t-shirt. The costly suits he had used when he worked as a journalist were long gone and had sold them to settle some debts after his career failed.

Theo walked down the corridor to the common bathroom, hoping not to run into any of the Whitmores. It was not the first time, Catherine having much fun in telling her aghast friends that, yes, her son-in-law is using the guest bathroom and has no bathroom of his own.

Theo took a shower and went down the stairs to the kitchen. His breakfast duty was a part of the task which Catherine had set him during the first week of his marriage to Elena.

“You are doing me no service since you do not give me money,” Catherine said with a compressed smile, ‘you could do better by making yourself useful.’

Theo pulled out eggs, bacon, fresh fruit, and the good imported coffee which Victor Whitmore demanded each morning. He was in the routine that he is used to, and his thoughts were in another place.

Three years. Three years of staying in this house that made him feel like a foreigner on a daily basis.

He had encountered Elena at a charity ball, during one of his final duties before the whole thing broke. She'd seemed different back then, amiable and interested in his work as a detective reporter. She laughed at his jokes, made clever questions concerning his articles, and when he told her how he had uncovered the scheme of bribery by Councilman Hartford, she had called him courageous.

“You are doing something great,” Elena had said with admiration in her green eyes. “It takes courage to stand up to strong individuals.”

A couple of months later, when the connections of Hartford ruined the career of Theo, blacklisted him in all publications, and left him without a job and desperate, Elena provided him with a life raft.

"Marry me," she'd said. "My family has resources. You can take time to rebuild."

The warning signs had been too obscured by the fact that Theo was broken enough to believe that he was too unworthy to ask why an affluent woman from a high society family would pick him.

Now he knew. It was not love that made Elena choose him. She had picked him to resist the decision of her father to pick a richer man, and as soon as the insurrection wore offf, she no longer wanted to protect him.

The coffee maker beeped and Theo was brought back out of his thoughts. He had everything ready on the dining table at the time the grandfather clock in the hallway struck 6:30 AM.

Victor Whitmore descended the grand staircase right on time, with his silver hair, which had been cut and dressed, and his suit, immaculate in spite of the early hour.

He did not acknowledge Theo when he sat at the table at the head of it but he just picked up his newspaper and waited till his coffee was poured.

Theo filled the cup with his hands steady even though it was painful being treated like a staff instead of a family member.

Catherine came in next, with her blonde hair in a silk wrap, her dressing gown probably worth more than Theo had made during his whole career as a journalist. Theo pulled out her chair and she wrinkled her nose.

"The coffee smells burnt," she said, without tasting it at all.

“I used the same beans, as usual, Mrs. Whitmore” Theo replied her

“Shut your mouth” Catherine, said. “When I say it smells burnt then it is burnt. Make a fresh one."

Theo went back to kitchen and threw out the coffee which was fine and began all over again. He heard the voice of Victor through the doorway talking business with Catherine, and neither of them took any notice of him or his effort.

Elena showed up in the kitchen door, with yoga pants and an oversized sweater. Her hair was pulled in a sloppy bun, and her face had no makeup.

“Good morning” she said, not so much looking in his direction.

“Morning” Theo replied, pouring in the fresh coffee into the cup. "Breakfast is ready."

Elena nodded, and hung about, as though she had something to say. But now the voice of Catherine broke in.

"Elena, stop fraternizing with the help."

Elena turned, and was not going to correct her mother. She just walked away and Theo was left alone in the kitchen again.

Theo waited until they were all served to get himself a plate of the stuff left. He was listening to the conversation of the family in the dining room, as he ate standing at the counter.

Theo cleared the table, the family dispersed, after breakfast. Victor to his study. Catherine to her locked room. Elena to the home gym.

Theo was about to put the dishes in a dishwasher when Richard Whitmore stumbled into the kitchen with bloodshot eyes and wrinkled clothes.

“Make me an omelet” said Richard, falling into a chair.

Theo had been through this before, he said "There are some of breakfast leftovers, if you would wish to eat them, I will bring them over to you right now myself.”

Richard's eyes narrowed. "I said make me an omelet. Or are you such idiots as not to follow simple instructions?"

Theo swallowed his answer and took fresh eggs. Three years had taught him that it was only worse to argue with Richard.

Theo was busy cooking as Richard went through his phone occasionally displaying Theo things that were expensive.

"Look at this car. Two hundred thousand. What do you think, Theo? Worth it?" The voice of Richard was full of mockery. "Oh wait, you wouldn't know. You have never had a car that cost over five grand?”

Theo put the omelet on a plate and placed it facing Richard without saying anything to him.

Richard made a single bite and spit it out. "This tastes like shit. Make another one."

“I have some cleaning to do upstairs.” Theo said, in an even, unemotional tone.

Richard stood up, bringing himself into close range that Theo could even smell the alcohol still in his breath.

"I said make another one. Or would you rather I say to my father that you were being insubordinate. Then where would you go? Back to a failed journalist nobody wants?”

Theo gritted his teeth, and went back to the stove and prepared another omelet. Like a thunder stroke, Richard broke out into laughter.

Theo washed up when Richard finally departed and went upstairs. Catherine had left a cleaning list on his bed.

Theo looked at the list, at his little room, at the life that he had somehow found himself living. Three years back he was a winner of investigative reporting. He was now the slave of his own wife.

But when Theo started to clean the place, that old journalist instinct kicked in. The Whitmores mentioned anything in his presence, as though he was not there or too stupid to comprehend.

Little did they know that Theo was listening all the time, was watching all the time, and was noticing discrepancies.

And one day, when Theo was pushing the vacuum cleaner over costly carpets, one day all that watching could have a purpose.