Lady Gwenllian LeStrange-Tudor strikes an uncomfortable but alluring pose by the prodigal professor’s study door exceedingly curious where he has been all day, but unwilling to pry. She is equally worried that the strap on her other sandal will break making it impossible to hold the curious pose much longer.
Fortunately, the loquacious professor is more than happy to dish about his new acting stint mingling with the commoners. He invites her to sit on the purple sofa, handing her more sensible shoes for their evening walk.
“Let me tell you all about what I’ve been doing. I travel around to different mega apartment complexes all day pretending to be one of the residents paying the $8.5 million a month in rent,” the prodigal professor says.
Lady Gwenllian heard a rumor that 95 percent of the units in the city are occupied by ghosts.
“Sometimes I play music loud or bang dishes because they found their handful of paying apartment dwellers aren’t happy unless they can complain to management about unruly neighbors,” the prodigal professor elaborates. “I make my rotations to about 10 different complexes each day.”
“Don’t you feel evil enabling the worst version of capitalism?” the Lady asks, trying to sound judgmental (knowing he completely fabricated the tale for her amusement).
“Well, if I could time travel like you, I’d destroy the truly evil villains in history because that’s my philosophical stance,” he says. “I’m the brave hero here. Besides, this ghosting gig is only temporary. You know I’m finishing my studies to become a hedge fund manager.”
Although she tries to envision her platonic professor friend as a hedge fund manager, the image doesn’t come into focus. He seems too much like a professor.
She wishes she didn’t half see his future.
“I prefer it when you wear your glasses,” she says. Whether he does or does not wear his spectacles, he still doesn’t look like a hedge fund manager.
“What does a hedge fund manager look like?” he asks.
Maybe he is just like his father — too bold. Patriarchs and oligarchs, she thinks.
“I read once that a fund manager’s returns are bad around the time of a divorce — but even worse around the time of a manager’s wedding particularly if the manager is older than 49 at the time of the nuptials,” she says. “I know performance isn’t your top priority. All the more reason for you to stay a bachelor.”
The professor is pleased with her counsel because he likes everything about his life. Having the teleportation Lady as an ornament on his purple sofa. Going on long hikes. Knowing the Butler man-machine is just a thought away.
“Pardon my use of an idiom, but the real elephant in the room is the Butler’s lollygagging,” the professor says. “It’s as if the Butler has turned into Aunt Clara.”
The professor quickly closes the blinds before she notices the actual elephant now on the Tudor Castle grounds.
Lady Gwenllian suggests they need two — or four — Butlers now that the professor is back at the castle. Four half-ass Butlers make two full-time Butlers.
Maybe she is just like my mother. She’s never satisfied. Matriarchs and witches, he thinks.
Hardened to their insults and steel to the bone, the Butler then delivers cold water for their stroll. Cold water makes the professor think of cold showers.
“I always take a cold shower. It heightens one’s immune system,” he starts in on his lecture, which makes her feel strangely comfortable.