GRIND (The Silver Nitrate Series Book 1) (14 page)

“Zen, I’m always polite,” Paw said sweetly. All that was missing was him batting his damn eyelashes and tilting his head ever so slightly to the side.

Zenith paused and crossed his arms. “How can you say that with a straight face? You’re stubborn and mean, especially when you don’t want to do something. Where do you think
I
got it from?”

“I’m friendly and if people can’t see that, then the hell with ’em.”

“The lightning is going to strike you, old man,” Zenith threw out with a skewed smile.

The doorbell rang once again. Zenith hurried to answer it, not wishing to keep her any longer. When he opened the door, his smile widened…

A
short, shapely,
middle-aged Jamaican woman stood on his doorstep, her smile as bright as the Floridian sun. Her vivid yellow coat almost made her glow and her dark skin looked beautiful against her cheerful clothing. She donned short, shiny black curls that framed her heart-shaped face.

“Hello, you’re Denise, right?”

“Yes, I’m Denise Grant.” The woman outstretched her hand, fingernails glossy with deep burgundy nail polish. Zenith accepted the shake as he escorted her inside, gently bringing her towards him before closing the door once she was good and settled. She smelled of lilac perfume, hot chamomile tea, and baby powder, the kind of aroma that reminded you of a sweet aunt of whom you happened to be the favorite nephew, made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. He led her into the small dining room where the old man sat perched atop his wooden throne.

Just look at him…

His grandfather sat there watching them approach through steely eyes, as if he were some king, the ruler of a wealthy, remote island, and they were mere paupers asking for mercy or a place at his imperial table.

“Please, have a seat, Denise,” Zenith instructed as he pulled out a chair.

The woman’s lips curved in a smile as she rounded the thing, her wide hips swaying to and fro. Zenith helped her remove her coat, getting another whiff of her perfume as he hung the article of clothing on a nearby wall hook. Paw chewed his lower lip a time or two, then zoomed in on the woman’s massive breasts, covered discreetly by a tropical print dress that cinched around her small waist. The damn things looked like two coconuts trying to burst from a bushel of flowers and plants, the perfect illustration for a mouth-quenching new tropical punch advertisement perhaps.

“Hire her right now, goddamn it!” The man stood to his feet as if the meeting was suddenly adjourned.

“Paw, we haven’t interviewed her yet, okay?”

“I’ve seen all I need to see and know all that I need to know.” He waved his hand lazily in the air as he retook his seat, looking somewhat harried, as if time were of the essence.

“And what’s that? She hasn’t even spoken to us yet,” Zenith teased, certain Paw would say she was pretty and offer some smooth pick up line.

“Are you blind?” Paw shook his large, wrinkled hand. “She has big breasts! I bet they are so soft.” The old man looked at her dreamily, his hazel eyes hooding just so. Denise’s entire frame stiffened as her eyes grew a bit larger.

“Paw!” Zenith’s mouth dropped open, totally taken aback by such a response. The old man was in rare form, so much so, he couldn’t take much more of it.

“Well, she does!” he protested, his complexion deepening no doubt due to the public reprimand.

“That’s enough.” Zenith held up his hand, hoping that was the end of the mess. “Ms. Grant, my grandfather has a—”

“BIG DICK! I have a big dick!”

Zenith was certain that his flesh, blood, bones and all of his body had melted and run off down some drain, leaving a puddle of a man behind. Here he was sitting with his grandfather, the man that raised him and taught him how to behave… and yet, they seemed to have changed places. Time had gone in reverse and inverted their roles. He’d never heard the man use such language, at least not in female company.

Paw could tell a dirty joke every now and again, but he was usually careful about the company where the damn words were recited. All etiquette bets were off now. The woman’s eyes now grew wide as saucers, the pupils covered in a slight sheen. Turning away, she put her hand over her mouth, clearly blushing as she vibrated in her seat.

Laughing? Was she laughing? No, she couldn’t be.

“I’m so sorry,” Zenith began. “Paw, I’m serious. Stop it!” Zenith pointed at his grandfather, now regretting not locking him away in his room during the interview process.

I should’ve known he was gonna act up. Should have trusted my gut.

Denise turned back towards the two and shook her finger at the man, humor dancing in her eyes. “I will make sure you are fed and clean, Mr. Taylor.” She gave a firm nod for good measure.

“Fed and clean? I like the sound of that. Or maybe you can get in the bath with me and we can get down to some
real
business,” he stated in a Barry White-ish voice as he leaned slightly forward, showcasing a nasty grin.

“Paw! You can’t say that. You can’t say
any
of this!”

“I’m grown…” the man muttered under his breath, his favorite retort as of late. His mouth and chin kept moving, though no more words flowed out from between those slightly quaking lips.

“Ms. Grant, I’m so, so sorry. I cannot apologize to you enough!” His face warmed with a swell of embarrassment. As if to block her out of his vision, he put a hand up to one eye, covering it. He wasn’t one to feel easily ashamed of discussing most topics, but something about Paw sitting there ogling the woman like that made his stomach turn. Denise offered a weak, shaky laugh, but demurely crossed her arms over her lap. Her gold bracelet slid down her wrist.

“It’s alright,” she finally stated in a thick Caribbean accent, her tone indulging as if she’d given the verbal sexual abuse cursory thought. “I’ve heard worse, trust me.”

“Paw has dementia and that is why he—”

“Don’t listen to him! He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” the man protested, starting up once again. “I’m fit as a fiddle.” He eyeballed the woman lustfully as he raised his arm and made a muscle, flexed the poor little thing so hard, a vein protruded in the middle of his forehead. Zen imagined Paw as a cartoon, and in this particular episode, the damn thing fizzled like a popped balloon then shot across the air, sound effects included. “I’m in good shape, real good shape!” Paw added, his eyes now wild with desperation and drummed up passion.

At this, the woman threw her head back and burst out laughing, her dark eyes filled with humor-induced tears. Moments later, he led Paw away, arm in arm, though a struggle ensued every few steps as the old man buckled at the knees and stretched and pulled like a demon-possessed rubber band. He placed him inside his bedroom and closed the door behind him, his little dungeon to sit and stew in.

“You can’t get rid of me. I’m grown!” came the old man’s subdued cries from behind the enclosure. “You’re treatin’ me like I’m in a zoo. I will call a hotline on you! Bring me the Yellow Pages. You sure have some nerve, Zen!”

He walked reluctantly away from the man, each step heavier than the last, loath to get back to his interview. He imagined Denise gone, her coat off the hook and the front door wide open. No doubt she’d made a clean getaway from the sexually repressed and obsessed person that had salivated over her as if she were some juicy steak spruced with butter and a sprig of parsley. As he drew a bit closer, he jumped in his damn skin.

Damn it!

Paw released another outburst, this one laced with promises of timely retribution and full force venom.

“I’ll show
you
! You used to piss the bed; you probably still do, too! That’s why you have no wife, Professor Pissy Pants! Wait until the council hears about
this
!”

This, coming from the geezer who wears Depends adult diapers…

Zenith ignored the man, happy to be proven wrong upon entering the kitchen. Denise still sat there, waiting.

So he finished the interview with more apologies atop so many ‘sorries’, the damn words threatened to fall over in a crash. She graciously accepted them, kept her humor about the matter, and went along her way. In the ensuing hours of the day, he welcomed several more home care providers in his home. Every now and again, Paw would burst free from his freshly furnished confines to ‘check out the merchandise’ and give his unasked and definitely biased opinion.

“Woof! Woof! Zen, she’s a dog! Send her back to the kennel. She’s not getting
this
bone!”

Over and over, he’d order his grandfather to go away, and the man would retreat but return as soon as the doorbell rang once more, as if his name was Fido and the mailman had come a-knockin’. At times, Paw would have changed into a wrinkled suit two times too small for him or his favorite cowboy hat, as if it were Halloween in the Taylor household, only there was no bowl of candy and spooky tales to spread around a roaring fire. Nope. Just an old man, with a dirty mind and a penchant for saying the wrong thing at the wrong damn time…

“I don’t want her either, Zen. Does she eat? When was the last time you had some food, young lady, five years ago? I want something to hold onto! Does she have that skinny disease where the people don’t eat? You know the one, I think it’s called ‘anaconda.’”

“Is that a wig? It’s nice enough, I suppose. Your grandmother never wore wigs, Zen. Why do women wear wigs so much nowadays? They say that Beyoncé singer wears wigs. I read it in a magazine, I believe. I’d make an exception for her.”

“Paw, you’re safe.” Zen smirked. “You don’t have to worry about Beyoncé wanting to date you…”

“What are you saying? I can’t get pretty women? If Jay Leno can get her, so could I! He isn’t much to look at it… I’m just old.”

“…old and mean. And it’s not Jay Leno… his name is Jay Z…”

“I don’t really care what he goes by. Back to you though, young lady. You’re pretty. But this wig thing could be a problem. Have you considered a wash and go?”

“Go back to your room. No one wants to hear this.”

“But what if I want to pull her hair? I guess she could wear a chinstrap…”

…And so it went.

After the exhausting interviews were over and done with, the old man had finally passed out on the couch, affording Zenith an unobtrusive moment to meditate. Relishing the peace and quiet, he sat on the soft, slightly worn loveseat across from him, holding a room temperature glass of water, thinking, planning, and scheming a bit, too. Occasionally he’d glance over at the man who was snoring a whistling song, and wondered what wisdom was trapped between the grooves of his skull that he’d not yet disclosed… what words he hadn’t shared but needed to come out. He wanted to hear them, each and every one of them in full detail and glory. A time clock was ticking within him, going a bit faster than he wished. Paw was all Zenith had in the entire world, but he truly was enough. He’d given him love, a foundation, a core to build from.

Paw was an enigma of energy, the doorkeeper of wisdom, and the dial of truth. He was crazy in his old age, too, with the type of madness that made him chase emotions and force the sentiments to chase him right back. It was an odd craziness imbued with a tad of senility, perversions, dark thoughts, and samplings of silliness with strange bursts of sudden lucidness. The dementia had the man saying things he’d never think he’d say in a million and one years. He’d never spoken of women in overtly sexual ways until the sickness kicked in and his cursing elevated to an all time high. In some ways, it was like an entirely different person—unnerving and unsettling, albeit fascinating.