Eli's Tea Party

Eli's Tea Party
"Hello friend." It was, what I would like to call, his "signature line."
Every weekend it was the same. Sunday afternoon, 2 PM, the low-chimed doorbell would bellow throughout Eli Grey's mansion. Other than the ticking of the imposing grandfather clock in the entrance and the slight shuffle of my own footsteps it was the only sound that would be heard throughout the duration of the week, at least until Sunday afternoon.
Ding. Dong. Ding. Dong.
"Hello friend."
Tuesday afternoon a person with a package arrives at the door.
"Have a good day, friend."
Ding. Dong. Ding. Dong.
Friday morning another package would arrive.
Every week it was relatively the same. Shift Tuesday for Wednesday on occasion but on Friday morning there was always a package waiting. I had been interested as to what the packages contained but I had yet to find out.
Eli Grey was a curious man, but I had never really spoken to him, with the exception of, "Your tea, sir." and, "Is there anything I can get for you, sir?" For as much as he had paid me, he required very little of my services.
"Good afternoon, my darling!" And it began. Mrs. Darjeeling came bursting through the door dressed entirely in red, just as she always had. And just as she always had, she grabbed Eli by the shoulders and aggressively kiss each of his cheeks, left then right.
Behind her, a full montage of eccentrics awaited their turn to greet The Eli Grey, always in the same order and always wearing the same identifying attire. Each had their own way of greeting the tall, withered man that I had yet to understand what made him so great. As soon as the last had entered, Mr. Oolong in his usual blue leisure suit, I progressed to the kitchen to begin making tea as they made their way over to the lounge room.
By the time I would finish and deliver the tea and biscuits, the room would already be thick with pipe smoke. I would then assume my position by the doorway and wait until they needed anything. Sometimes it would be more sugar, playing cards, or even Brandywine perhaps. It was the most I ever got to do all week.
Generally, I wouldn't even listen to their conversations merely for the fact that they were so exclusive in their hashing of the past and the good ol' days that were simply beyond my comprehension. However, one detail I never failed to observe was just how little Mr. Grey would speak.
I often wondered why these boisterous individuals would enjoy the company of someone so quiet, so reserved, so grim really. The man looked completely sleep deprived and even though he always carried a smile while these people were around, there was something completely unnerving about it.
"Mr. Black, my dear. Would you be so kind as to brew us another pot?" Mrs. Darjeeling beamed a smile.
"Of course." I responded, bowed, then exited.
When I returned with a new pot of tea, everyone was moving quietly around the room, seemingly collecting their belongings.
"It appears that one of us has expired for the evening." Mrs. Darjeeling whispered.
I walked over to the coffee table, placing the pot of tea and looked over to Mr. Grey who was asleep in the chair..
"Be sure to tell him it was a pleasure as always." One of them commented from behind.
They all showed themselves out as they usually did and I sat down in the chair next to Mr. Grey, waiting for them to fully leave.
Once they were gone and the sounds of their vehicles could no longer be heard, all that was left was the ticking of the clock.
"Mr. Grey."
Tick. Tick. Tick...
"Mr. Grey, it is unlike you to sleep downstairs. Would you like for me to prepare a bed for you down here?"
Tick. Tick. Tick...
I looked over to Mr. Grey once more. He was still. I looked over to the pot of tea and poured myself a cup, sitting with the stillness and the grandfather clock.







Christine Karamol