A Kiss For You

by Rachel Van Dyken

  “I’m fine. Is Gladys your grandmother?” I asked.

  “Not exactly,” Preppy said with a devious grin on his face. “She’s business.”

  “Business? What kind of business do you have that includes spending forty-five minutes in an older woman’s home?”

  Then, it hit me. Preppy must have seen the recognition cross my face.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Did you have sex with her?”

  “Oh my god, you think I’m a hooker!” Preppy pounded his fist against the steering wheel. He pulled over to the side of the road and wiped the tears from his eyes as he laughed himself into an uncontrollable fit.

  “It’s not that funny,” I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “Yes, yes it is, kid. What exactly did King tell you about me? Did he somehow mention I got a thing for old ladies? Because if he did, I’m gonna kick his fucking ass, cause it ain’t true.”

  “No, he didn’t say that, but you were in there for a while, and she seemed to like you. A lot. If she wasn’t your grandmother, then I just thought…”

  “Go ahead and say it. You thought I was a hooker, pleasuring her with my man meat and getting paid for it.” He turned toward me and leaned back against the driver’s side door.

  “Well, yeah, but now that you say it that way, it sounds ridiculous.”

  “That’s because it is ridiculous,” Preppy said, plucking a pack of cigarettes from the center console. He cranked down his window and lit one, turning his head from me to blow the smoke outside the car. He put the car back in drive and pulled onto the road. “I think I’ll like being your babysitter after all.”

  I felt my face redden, “You don’t have to make fun of me. I may not have much of a memory, but I do have feelings, so can we please just pretend like this never happened?”

  “Yes ma’am, I’ll forget all about it,” Preppy said, although the amused look on his face said that was never going to happen. Preppy pulled up in front of another house that looked almost identical to the first one, except this one was blue instead of white. “I’ll tell you what, kid. Why don’t you come inside and see for yourself what it is that I do?”

  “No, thank you. I’ll just stay here and melt into the seat,” I huffed, sounding very much like the brat I was being.

  “Nope. My reputation is on the line here. You’re coming in,” Preppy said, turning the engine off. With that, the A/C let out a hiss as it expressed the last bit of cold air through the vents.

  “I thought you were going to forget all about it.”

  “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 b
e 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.”

  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 folding 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 Lynyrd Skynyrd 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.

  “Me?” I asked, unsure if King was talking to me or if he called everyone Pup.

  “Yes, you. Unless I’m calling Jake pup now, and something tells me he wouldn’t like it all that much.”

  The man in the corner stared at me straight-faced with no readable emotion. The girl offered me a knowing look before putting her ear buds back in and closing her eyes.

  “On the counter,” King added impatiently.

  I looked over to the corner of the room and spied the roll of paper towels. I grabbed them and walked over to King, setting them on the small table next to him. I was about to walk back out of the room when he spoke again.

  “Stay,” he ordered. Unfolding a piece of towel, he sprayed the girl’s back with the liquid from a plastic water bottle and then wiped at the tattoo until he seemed satisfied. “I’m done here.” He wiped something from a jar onto her back then taped the edges of the plastic with gauze tape. King tapped on the girl’s shoulders and she again removed her ear buds. “You can take the plastic off tomorrow. Keep it clean.”

  “Always do,” she said.

  I hadn’t seen Jake stand up, but suddenly, he was next to the redhead, helping her up off the chair.

  “My feet always fall asleep when I’m getting tattooed,” she explained to me. She leaned forward onto the blond man for a few moments until she was able to stand up on her own.

  I got a brief glimpse of the new ink on her back. It was a tree, a delicate yet bold orange tree at sunset. The leaves spelled out Georgia through the middle. The tattoo looked as if it were in motion, like oranges were falling from the branches.

  It was heart-breakingly beautiful.

  They both wore wedding bands, so I assumed Jake was her husband. When he saw me staring at her new artwork, he reached behind her and released the clip that held up her shirt, rearranging it until she was covered.

  “What do I owe you, brother?” he asked King.

  “A favor,” King said. “Keep your phone on.”

  “Done.” Jake held his wife close as they made their way to the door.

  When they passed me, she turned to me. “Hi I’m Ab—”

  “We were just leaving,” her husband interrupted, looking down at her as if to remind her of something she’d forgotten.

  She nodded, and then flashed me a small smile before they left the room. I’d only been around them for ten minutes, but the guy seemed to be two different people. He sent out vibes of being antisocial and an asshole, but he looked at her like she was his most prized possession. But he didn’t own her. That much was obvious.

  She owned him.

  “Who was that?” I asked. I watched from the window as the couple climbed onto a shiny black motorcycle. Her husband helped her with her helmet before they rode off down the drive, disappearing under the trees.

  “If they wanted you to know, they would’ve told you.”

  “They’re in love.”

  “I sure as shit hope so. They’re married. Got a kid, too.”

  King took off his gloves and tossed them into a stainless-steel bin beside his worktable. He stood and joined me at the window. I could feel the heat from his body radiating onto my back. He leaned over me, his cheek brushing up against my temple. I closed my eyes and tried not to allow his nearness to affect me.

  I’m stronger than this.

  “There are plenty of married people in the world, but it doesn’t mean all of them are in love. Not like that, anyway.”

  “No,” King agreed. “It doesn’t.” He stepped away, leaving nothing but cold air in his place. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

  “Do you want me to leave?” I asked, turning from the window. King was sitting on the couch with his phone in his hands.

  “No, I have a lot of people coming tonight. You can help me.”

  “You’re really talented,” I offered.

  “You don’t have to say that,” King said, tapping away at the screen.

  “I’m not trying to be nice. It’s true. Her tattoo was seriously amazing.”

  “Hhmpf,” he grunted, not looking up from his phone.

  “You know, it’s customary to say thank you when someone compliments you.”

  “Thanks for the heads up.”

  A car do
or slammed below, and two girls about my age giggled as they approached the door. The bell rang.

  “Bring them up,” he ordered.

  My job over the next several hours consisted of shuffling the music when King needed a change of pace, running downstairs to get him Red Bulls, and sitting around doing nothing. At one point, I stood up, told King that I was just taking up space, and that I should get out of his way. He glared at me and nodded back to the couch.

  “Why do you do this when you do…other things?” I asked him between clients while I was washing out paint containers in the small sink. “And why don’t you have a real shop instead of doing this out of your house?”

  “You ask a lot of fucking questions,” King pointed out.

  “Two.”

  “What?”

  “You said I ask a lot of questions. I only asked two.”

  King folded his arms over his chest, accentuating his toned biceps. “If you must know, I do this because I’ve always done it. Art was the only class I liked as a kid. And I do this in my house because the places around here that are any sort of decent are on the other side of the causeway, and the rent wouldn’t make the business worth having. Happy?”

  “So you do this because art was the only class you were good at in school?”

  “More fucking questions,” King sighed. “And you don’t listen. I did well in school. Very well, actually. I said art was the only class I liked, not the only class I was good at.”

  “Oh,” I said, feeling stupid that I’d jumped to that conclusion. “I’m sorry. I just thought…”

  “I’m a bad guy, Pup, not a dumb guy.”

  “I didn’t say you were dumb.”

  “Look in that drawer over there.” He pointed at a tool box. I opened the drawer. In it was a framed degree from the University of South Florida. Under it was a gun.

  “Why do you keep this in here? Why don’t you hang it up?”

  “Because I earned the degree online.”