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.”
*