“Oh, I totally lied,” he said, rounding the car and opening my door. “After you my dear.”
I walked to the front door with Preppy following close behind. He rang the bell, and another woman around the same age as the one before opened it and waved us inside.
“Arlene, this is Doe. She’s a friend. Okay if she comes in? Gets awful hot waitin’ in the car.” Preppy’s slight southern accent was suddenly a full out drawl.
“Why, of course my dear. On a day like today, nobody should be made to sit in the car. Shame on you, Samuel, if you’ve already made her wait for you.” She playfully swatted his shoulder as she stepped aside and shuffled us into her living room. “Sit, sit. I have tea all ready. Let me just grab another setting.”
Preppy sat on an overstuffed couched draped with lace doilies and motioned for me to sit next to him. A silver tea set that looked as if it had just been recently polished sat on the glass coffee table. Next to it was a three-tiered serving tray filled with cookies and crackers.
“Help yourself, dear,” Arlene said, coming back into the room with another saucer and plate set. She handed it to me and filled my cup. I looked over at Preppy who was stuffing cookies into his mouth at an alarming rate.
“Arlene makes the best cookies,” he said through a mouthful of food. Crumbs shot out of his mouth.
Arlene put a cookie on my plate, and I took a small bite. It was warm and soft and the chocolate melted on my tongue. Now, I saw why Preppy was shoveling them. I finished the rest in one bite and tried not to lunge for the remaining ones before he could get to them. Instead, I sat back and crossed my legs, sipping my tea while secretly hoping Preppy would choke and die so that I could finish them off.
It was a bit dramatic, but the cookies were that good.
“See, Samuel. This one has manners. You might learn a thing or two from her,” Arlene said over the brim of her teacup. “So, is this your new lady?”
“No ma’am, just a friend who’s helping out today.” I noticed that when Preppy spoke to Arlene he didn’t swear.
“That’s wonderful, dear. Friends are fantastic. Well, just the other day in bridge club…” Arlene went off on a tangent about friends that began with her bridge club, and lost me somewhere around the time when she abruptly veered off into talking about being a nurse in the war. Which war I wasn’t quite sure. I smiled politely and nodded while Preppy inhaled the treats she’d set out for him.
He looked ridiculous in her living room. His tattoos and suspenders stood out amongst the lace and tea cozies.
Okay, so he wasn’t a hooker, but maybe Preppy was some sort of granny nanny? Maybe, like a rent-a-friend?
I thought when he’d said I would be helping him on his errands for the day that we would be going to a bunch of dark alleys and seedy places where he would slyly exchange drugs for money with a carefully choreographed handshake.
I certainly didn’t expect to be smack dab in the living room of a house that could belong to anyone’s grandma.
“Oh, I don’t mean to keep you. I know you have other stops. Janine just phoned before you got here, and I know she is looking forward to your visit as well. She made you a cherry pie,” Arlene said.
“You ladies are going to make me fat.” Preppy leaned back and patted his flat stomach.
Arlene stood up. “Samuel, you do what you need to do. I’ll be out in the garden. Come say good-bye before you leave.” Arlene set down her teacup, picked up a wide brimmed hat and a pair of gardening gloves, and disappeared through the front door.
“Let’s do the damn thing,” Preppy said. He stood and walked down the hall, pausing at a door furthest down the small hallway. “Are you coming or do you think this is where I keep all my old lady bondage gear? Because I’m not wearing the ball-gag again, totally hurts my jaw.”
“Ha ha very funny.” At this point, there could be a three-ring circus behind that door, and I wouldn’t have been surprised. “We’ve already established that you’re not getting paid to be a man-whore.”
“Nope. Just a man-whore for fun.”
“So enlighten me. Why exactly are we here?”
“We’re gardening.” Preppy opened the door and stepped aside, allowing me to enter first. What I came face to face with was far more surprising than a three-ring circus. Rows upon rows of leafy green plants filled the small space. High tech machinery lined the walls. A ventilation system hung from the ceiling. A mister chirped out a puff of vapor every few seconds. Preppy pushed his way past me and set his backpack down on the floor. He opened it and took out some tools. Walking through the rows of plants he inspected each one. Occasionally he used magnifying glass to closely inspect the leaves.
“You’re growing pot?”
“BINGO.”
“In an old lady’s house, you’re growing pot. Why?”
“If you had to guess what it was I was doing here would this have ever entered your mind as a possibility?”
“No.”
“That’s why.”
“So Gladys, too?”
“And several others around town. We pay their mortgages or other bills, or just give them cash if that’s what they want, and in return they let us use a room in their house to grow our plants.”
“So, you aren’t a granny nanny?”
“Was that your second guess? Well, I suppose that’s better than hooker, but no, I’m not a fucking granny nanny. Although I do make it a point to be friendly with all of our greenhouse contributors. Keeps them happy. Keeps them wanting to do business with us. Keeps the law off our backs.”
“I think I liked it better when I thought you were a hooker.”
Preppy opened his arms wide and looked around the room with pride. “Kid, welcome to my brain-child. Welcome to Granny Growhouse.”
* * *
“So, that’s what you call your operation? Granny Growhouse?” We were back in the car after another three stops, and Preppy just announced that Betty had been our last stop for the day.
“That’s what I call it. King hates the name, but he hasn’t been back long enough to meet all the ladies and get a feel for it. He’ll come around.”
“You did this while King was in prison?”
“Yeah, kept getting fucked over by our main supplier who only wanted to deal with King, so I phased them out and started Granny Growhouse. It was how we earned while the big man was away.”
“Have you thought of getting a job?”
“What would you call this?” he asked.
“No, like a real job.”
“Fuck no. Never had a real job a day in my life. Don’t plan on it either. Fuck the man.”
“I don’t know if you are completely odd or oddly brilliant.”
“I can’t decide if you are always this blunt or just have a bad case of can’t-shut-the-fuck-ups,” he countered.
“It’s an always kind of thing,” I said honestly.
“King sort of has a real job with the tattooing. It’s how he stays under the radar. But he loves it, too. You should see some of his art. It’s fucking amazing. He’s been doing it since we were kids, using me as his human test dummy.”
It wasn’t until we arrived back at the house, car parked in the garage that I began to dread the reality that awaited me.
All six foot three of him.
Preppy saw me staring up at the house. “I know he’s a little rough on the surface, but he’s the best guy I’ve ever met.”
“Oh yeah? You must not know a lot of people.”
“She’s got jokes!” Preppy said as he pulled down the garage door. “But seriously, he’s not all bad.”
We started to walk toward the house when a large shadow passed over the far window on the second floor, sending shivers down my spine. “You should probably tell him that.”
Chapter Fourteen
Doe
Preppy made dinner, a delicious pasta with sausage dish. I think the old ladies were starting to rub off on him because we ate our meals on the living room recliners off of foldable TV trays.
After dinner, Preppy disappeared into his room and since I was a glutton for punishment, I went upstairs to look for King. Or maybe, I just wanted to find him before he found me. It wasn’t exactly the upper hand, but it was something.
A buzzing sound caught my attention. It was coming from the same room where I’d walked in on King with a girl.
The door was partially open. Inside was a girl with long, straight red hair straddling a low-backed chair. King sat behind her, but it was nothing like the scene from last time. King was perched on a stool, wearing black gloves. He held a buzzing tattoo gun that every so often, he would dip into a small plastic container before continuing on with his work.
A man with sandy-blonde hair that fell to his chin and bright blue eyes sat in the corner, reading a GUNS AND AMMO magazine. The redhead’s eyes were closed, and King lightly tapped his foot to the Lynnyrd Skynnyrd song playing over the speakers.
Not knowing how King would feel about me watching him work, I turned to leave, but he stopped me. “Pup, I need more paper towels.”
I turned back around. The blonde’s eyes were on me immediately. The red head took out her ear buds, but King hadn’t looked up.