Except that’s not what he does.

Instead, he sits there at the head of the table, the lord of the manner, turning his head to me in a strange fashion, as if his neck is on a kind of hinge. It’s unnatural. Formal. Almost robotic.

“Um . . . is there—”

“I bet the old man has his rich friends over for rich people parties and they all have a good old time right here. Don’t you? At our expense.” He spits out the words, full of bile.

“Um, well, I mean . . . the professor seems like a really nice guy, but I don’t actually know him so, I don’t really know what he does and . . .” I trail off.

He ponders this for a moment. A caricature of thought.

“A really nice guy?” He scoffs. “A. Really. Nice. Guy. Oh, yes, they are all such really nice guys, aren’t they? Such really nice guys while they take and take, stealing this way and that way until they have it all and the rest of us just swarm around, begging for scraps!” He bangs the table with his fist.

Oh. My. God.

Okay, so, this guy is clearly having a meltdown right here. Maybe it’s the heat?

“Uh, would you like a glass of water?” I offer.

“Would you like a glass of water?” he mimics in the most harrowing high-pitched whine, almost like a puppet of sorts.

Okay, this is getting really bizarre.

“Mike, I think maybe the heat has—”

“Made me crazy!!” He grins a huge grin, delighted by this chance to mock me further. “Oh, yes, I must be crazy. To not accept my place. You want me to STAY. In. My. PLACE!” He stands up, kicking the chair back with the force of it.

He looks at me, a dare. And it’s not the force of his movements or his bitter words that are the most frightening here. No. Not at all. It’s the wide, insane, teeth-baring grin he keeps plastered on his face. A clown mask of sorts.

I begin backing away.

Whatever is happening here is way beyond my job description.

“Yes. That’s right.” He speaks now in a softer voice, the eerie grin still glued on. “Seek cover. Seek shelter . . . little princess. Aren’t all of you just such little princesses?”

This last part comes out in a singsong.

I stand frozen now. Not wanting to elicit any more words, thoughts, or macabre grins.

He begins walking toward me. “Sweet. Sweet princess. Sweet little girl. The kind of girl you just could never, ever, ever touch or reach or . . .”

And now he’s right in front of me. Close enough that I can feel his breath.

“. . . defile.” He says this last word with an amused smile. “This place!” he bellows. “Everything here is poison!”

Then, immediately, he turns and bounds through the servants’ entrance, out the back door, swinging the door out so that it slams in his wake.