Chapter 1
He was incredibly desperate for a job. So desperate that he would sink low enough to serve another snobby, rich household that was far too lazy to fold their own clothes. Bucky had seen the ad in the Sunday news, which he had dug out of some garbage can on a grubby New York street corner. The ad specified that the job was to be filled by someone in between the ages of 21 and 35, apparently it required a younger person with plenty of energy, or so it seemed. The job description said very little, it read: “Aid to the master of the Rogers household.” Aid was another word for “manservant,” but of course people didn’t speak like that in the 21st century.
Nevertheless, Bucky couldn’t stand another day unemployed and broke in the middle of Brooklyn. He did his best to swallow his pride the following morning as he searched for the address on the advertisement. Due to being homeless, it was tough to look presentable for a job interview. He did his best to straighten out his clothes, but they still looked ruffled, and the cheap cologne couldn’t cover up his body odor after going without a shower for who knows how long. He was able to comb his hair and check his appearance in a public bathroom mirror, but his hair was undoubtedly greasy and overgrown. He only wished he was able to shave the stubble on his chin. Bucky sighed, knowing there was absolutely nothing he could do about his appearance.
The address led Bucky to a roomy mansion on the nicer side of Brooklyn, with a large front yard that was nicely kept. The grass was the perfect shade of green, trimmed precisely and without litter, unlike most of Brooklyn. There was a tall, shining gate in front of the house, with a buzzer on it, but the gate was already ajar. Several people were lined down the walkway, chattering amongst themselves as they waited for their turn to be interviewed. Bucky felt a little sick.
There are so many people here, all for one job, he though as his knees weakened, surely there’s no way I’ll be chosen. Despite his fears, Bucky remained in line. It couldn’t hurt to try, right? The wait was meticulous, each person taking at least a half hour. A few people left, tired of the long line which dwindled down slowly. Bucky was one of the last, but finally a maid beckoned him in. She led him down a few corridors to what appeared to be a study. A man who appeared to be Bucky’s age sat at a desk, looking rather annoyed. If Bucky had interviewed that many people, who would have been just as tired. The man was pretty muscular, but so was Bucky, and a little bulk never intimidated him. What intimidated Bucky was the immense wealth this man had. That desk alone could probably rent Bucky an apartment for at least a year by the looks of it.
The man turned when he heard Bucky enter, eyes squinting at him. The man, who was most likely Mr. Rogers, the master of the house, was dressed in a suit and tie, clicking a pen rhythmically. “Sit,” he instructed, gesturing with his head towards the red velvet chair on the other side of the desk. Of course, Bucky did as he was told. “What is your name?” Mr. Rogers asked, scanning a page of notes.
“I’m James Barnes, sir.” He answered, forgoing his lifelong nickname “Bucky.” Mr. Rogers squinted once more, this time at his paper.
“I don’t have your name on my list, Mr. Barnes. Did you call ahead?”
Oh shit. Bucky had never seen anything in the ad about calling ahead. “I apologize, sir, I wasn’t aware we were supposed to call. I must have missed it on the ad.” Bucky lowered his head, avoiding eye contact with Mr. Rogers. The interview didn’t seem to be going too well to begin with.
“You’re not the first,” the man said with a shrug, jotting down Bucky’s name. “Tell me, how old are you?” Mr. Rogers asked Bucky, his pen still resting on the paper.
Bucky tried sitting up, hoping he looked a bit more proper when he answered. “I’m twenty-nine, sir, however I will be turning thirty this coming week.” He wondered briefly if he should have added that extra tidbit, seeing as it wasn’t asked for, but the other man didn’t seem too bothered by it.
“And you have a résumé with you?” Mr. Rogers asked, taking his eyes off of his sheet. This, Bucky had. Thank goodness he didn’t forget it on a park bench the other night. He nodded in response and reached into the burlap sack he brought with him. Bucky brought that sack everywhere, it was where he kept all of his possessions. At the moment, Bucky didn’t own too much. He handed the file over to Mr. Rogers and remained quiet as he scanned through it. “You’ve certainly done your fair share of work,” Mr. Rogers said once he closed the folder.
Bucky chuckled, brushing his bangs out of his face. “I suppose I have, sir.” Mr. Rogers nodded, however Bucky couldn’t really tell if it was in approval or not.
“You can cook, I can see that. You’ve worked as a chef for several fine establishments, and you’ve never been fired. Tell me, why did you quit?” Mr. Rogers leaned forward on his elbows over the desk, a good foot closer to Bucky than he had been before.
“Oh, well, my living arrangements can get a bit troublesome at times.” Bucky admitted, preferring not to disclose that his homelessness made it tough to make it into work every day. He’d be able to rent a cheap apartment every now and then, but that didn’t last the longest. His working hours were too wacky for the other tenants, they complained he woke them up every morning on his way back from work.
“Well I’m afraid this job would require that you live at the estate. Will that be a problem?” Mr. Rogers asked him firmly, now seeming much more businesslike than he had been before.
“No problem at all,” Bucky said, hardly believing his ears, “that would be splendid.”
Mr. Rogers nodded, pleased at that, and went on with the job requirements. “Aside from cooking, you need to be able to do the laundry, help tidy the house, sort through certain documents and serve any personal needs I see fit.” Bucky nodded along with each word, knowing he was able to do every one of them.
“What personal needs, exactly?” Bucky asked, a bit unsure about that one. Mr. Rogers had listed most of the tasks that first came to mind.
Mr. Rogers shrugged nonchalantly, rolling his eyes in amusement. “You know, drawing up my bath, fetching me coffee, assisting me in my art,” Mr. Rogers paused, looking over Bucky from head to mid torso, where the desk blocked the rest, “Yes, art,” Mr. Rogers said, recovering, “and just general opinions on outfits and such. Helping me out.” Mr. Rogers nodded, assuring himself. Bucky wasn’t quite sure how he could help out with his art, but he’d try his best if by some miracle he got the job.
They covered a few more brief topics, and finally Bucky left him with his phone number so he would be informed if he got the job. “Expect a call from Steve Rogers, that’s me. To be honest with you, James, you’re one of my favorite nominees. Expect a referral, at the least, if not a job.” Steve said with a comforting smile, slapping Bucky’s back in a friendly manner.
“Thank you, sir. If it’s of any importance, I commonly go by Bucky. Sorry I didn’t inform you earlier.” Bucky said, glad that Steve seemed friendly enough.
“Bucky, that’s cute,” Steve said, catching Bucky off guard. Cute? For heaven sakes, Bucky was a grown man, and muscular at that! Cute usually wasn’t associated with his name. “Have a nice day, Bucky.” Steve said, waving from the doorway as Bucky made his way down the walkway. There were no more people left, they must have grown tired of waiting so long. Bucky shrugged, unaware of the eyes that were trained on his every step. As soon as Bucky had stepped into the interview room, Steve had already decided who he planned on hiring.