13. Ryker
13
RYKER
L ook, it’s not like I don’t enjoy it when women throw themselves at me. It happens every so often and it’s flattering. It’s just that usually they’re not two or three times my senior. They’re usually also not holding me at gun-point while asking me all sorts of invading questions and writing down the answers on a notepad.
“How long have you been single then?” The woman, who introduced herself as Robyn Banks, asks as we get out of my car.
For a second, I consider overpowering her or at least letting Miles know to get away and call for help, but she is an old lady. I could never hurt her and I wouldn’t want the police to hurt her either. And despite the gun, she doesn’t seem like an actual risk to herself or anyone else, to be honest.
“Why? Are you looking for a husband?” I ask with a smile.
She laughs and waits for me to close the door, the hand with the gun still in her coat’s pocket. “Oh, I doubt you could handle me, sweetheart. Besides, I probably just look like a criminal right now, and that’s almost never a sound foundation for a sustainable relationship. Neither is dating someone who actually lived through the California Gold Rush, by the way.”
I can’t help but laugh at the deprecating humor and offer my arm for her to hold on to. Together, we walk towards the big building complex in front of us. It’s a little past its prime, but, just like my kidnapper, it still has a lot of charm.
Maybe this isn't so bad.
I mean, sure, I might find myself tied up in a basement, but at least I won’t have to work on Saturdays anymore. Plus, I bet Phoenix and Ben would get a kick out of this when I’ll send them a postcard from the old folks’ home.
“You know, I’m fairly certain you might be interested in my granddaughter,” Robyn adds eventually and pats my hand.
“Oh,” I reply as I open the big door at the entrance for her, “I am not really looking to date anyone at the moment to be honest.”
“That’s precisely what she would say too. I’ll make introductions later on.”
Obviously, this should be entirely out of the question, but if this granddaughter is anything like her grandma, she's probably got some serious spunk. I guess this is already a somewhat convenient abduction to get away from work, and if my gut feeling is right, it might turn out to be a very entertaining one as well.
The entrance hall is spacious. A few older folks are lounging on benches, and, from behind a counter, a pair of eyes shoot up when they discover us marching their way. The man at reception gets up with a big grin and greets us, “Welcome to our little halfway-house to heaven… or hell.” He winks at Robyn, who smirks in response and throws her scarf over her shoulder.
“Table for two?” Paul Bearer, as it says on the little plaque that’s crookedly screwed onto the counter, asks. Robyn nods and hooks even tighter into my arm. He sinks back down into his chair with a grin and motions to his left. “Well, enjoy Seasoned Supper. Best Geezers Grubhub in town!”
The two of us make our way through another door and into an old-timey cafeteria, though with the high ceilings and intricate decor, it looks more like a ballroom than the old folks’ canteen it is. Robyn guides us to the serving counter where she picks the special of the day for both of us. A minute later, we’re sitting down at an empty table in the middle of the room while more and more seniors gather for lunch. My watch says 11:56 AM.
“Please, don’t get me wrong,” I state as I reach for the cutlery. “And definitely please don’t shoot me. I have —to my surprise— been enjoying being kidnapped by you quite a bit. But you still haven’t told me why. Did I do something to you in any way? Do you need something from me?”
Robyn looks up from her plate when a bunch of people plunge down next to us on the empty chairs.
“These aren’t taken yet, are they?” A man asks cheerfully, takes off his pilot glasses and slides them in his collar. “It’s meatloaf day!”
I nod slowly, then shift my gaze to another old guy to my right who quietly repeats ‘ Meatloaf !’ to the meatloaf on his plate. Next to him, a grandma who looks like she knits sweaters that would make even the most fashionable of hipsters jealous, has taken a seat. And next to her is an empty chair that appears to get strangled by two hands digging into the backrest.
Sienna de la fucking Vega.
I almost drop my fork.
From my left, the guy with the sunglasses reaches out, puts his pointer under my chin and closes my mouth on my behalf. “It’s impolite to stare,” he whispers with a wink.
“You did this?” I grumble, trying to wrap my head around what’s happening here.
“No,” she answers with a tight jaw. “Meatloaf did this.”
Pilot Glasses chuckles and singsongs, “Well, I would do anything for?—”
“Don’t,” Sienna cuts him off with a stare that’s a lot less sunny than usual, then she reluctantly takes the last seat at the table.
I look around, as they are exchanging glances with each other, and wonder what I have been dragged into here. “Wait, is that a cat on a leash?” I ask when I discover a black fur ball jumping onto the quiet guy’s lap.
“He’s perceptive,” Pilot Glasses says. “Maybe we should ask him to join our little group of amateur detectives.”
“Amateur delinquents,” Sienna says under her breath.
Finally, Robyn takes the reign. “Well, Mr. Grayson.” She adjusts her chair. “May I call you Ryker?”
I nod.
“Well, Ry-Ry. As promised, I’d like you to meet my granddaughter, Sienna. Who I think you already know… intimately.” Her gaze flickers from me to Sienna and back.
Sienna closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. Her usual audacious, somewhat unpredictable aura is a little tense, to say the least. She does not seem to enjoy this. At all. Me, on the other hand, I am almost delighted, definitely entertained, and suddenly even less worried about getting shot.
“That we do,” I answer, barely able to hide my smile. “That we do. So, you are her grandma.”
“No, she isn’t.” Sienna waves me off.
“Adopted grandma,” Robyn explains and gently pats her (adopted) grandchild on the back.
“And we are her grandpas,” Pilot Glasses adds. “This is Earnest and I’m Guy.”
Earnest nods my way and peers down at my plate.
“And this,” Guy points towards the woman next to Earnest, “is Paige Turner, my ex-wife and the love of my life.”
Mrs. Turner chuckles sheepishly and greets me as well, “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Grayson.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” I answer, and let my hand brush over my stubble.
When I got up this morning, I certainly didn’t expect any of this. Then again, you barely ever expect to get abducted by your one-night-stand’s adopted grandmother. My phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s my secretary, Barbara, likely calling about the lunch appointment that I am missing at this moment. I press ignore. There are more important things to do right now than to discuss investment opportunities in the real-estate sector. Like finding out what I am doing here, or torturing the woman across from me. “So,” I start, “before I am going to ask for embarrassing pictures of teenage Sienna —emphasis on embarrassing— I still would like to know why I am here.”
“For the meatloaf,” Earnest states matter of fact.
Sienna releases a long, drawn-out noise that, since it oozes of annoyance, is music to my ears. “Fine. Fine. It’s quite simple, really. A big misunderstanding, if you will, and there’s no need to make a big deal out of this. We were just… investigating you a little. Now that I am working for—” she cuts herself off. “Now that you are my client. I thought it necessary to do my due diligence on you. You know, to be able to properly do my job. I need to know what kind of person you actually are, what parts of the rumors actually are true. So me and my —now former— friends here, were staking out your office.”
“Not friends,” Guy whispers. “Family.”
Sienna continues, “My plan was to shadow you for a bit, interview a few of your employees, maybe talk to a few of the journalists who have done stories on you. And for some inexplicable reason I brought,” she angrily motions around the table, “them along.”
“It’s because she needs us,” Mrs. Turner says gently and pushes Sienna’s plate closer to her. “Your food is getting cold, dear. Eat!”
“Do you do that with all your clients? Stalk them?” I ask, entertained by Sienna’s adorably exasperated expression.
“Only when she’s interested in them,” Robyn answers before her granddaughter can. “Be that as it may,” she turns to Sienna, “you’ll be delighted to hear: I have done all the work you planned on doing. While we drove over here, I found out everything we needed to know.” Robyn retrieves the little notepad she had in the car earlier. “Single, no kids, never married, lives alone, can support a family, enjoys ‘80s music, his favorite food is ‘fast and efficient ’ , whatever that’s supposed to mean, he’s a little scared of guns and, most importantly, he is not, and has never been, associated with any white supremacists. He’s just a good brother who should learn how to shut off auto-correct.”
“Interesting, interesting, so what are your intentions with our little girl?” Guy chimes in from the side, and is quickly joined by Earnest, who turns towards me with his bushy eyebrows, and a butter knife pointing my way.
A laugh escapes me. I almost feel bad for what I am planning here. Not because of Sienna (she more than deserves this) but because of her friends (or family) who really seem to care about her. And despite the kidnapping and their invasive questions, they are an endearing bunch. “You seem quite involved in your granddaughter’s life,” I observe and ignore the ludicrous question about my intentions.
“You would be too if you got to know her,” Guy begins and one after the other tells stories about how Sienna helps them with their weekly shopping, with their trips to the doctors, with setting alarms for their medication. They tell me how she keeps them company so they’re not lonely, how she takes them for walks so they stay fit, and how she keeps them up-to-date about the latest scams. It’s almost as if she’s hiding a genuinely decent person beneath all that impudence and mouthiness.
When they’re finished, Sienna lets out a sigh, crosses her arms, and leans back in her chair. “All that praise and then they collectively go and choose meatloaf over me.”
“I guess they would do anything for loaf,” I say and watch as Guy almost chokes on a lump of potato.
“Meatloaf, that is,” he coughs with a grin that highlights the gentle crow’s feet around his eyes.
For the next hour or two, I sit and chat with the wrinkle of seniors (or whatever you call a group of old people). Robyn tells me about the death of her fourth husband (though I have a feeling, she might be pulling my leg), Paige invites me to their weekly knitting group, Guy asks me to attend the play his theatre group is going to perform, and Earnest inquires if he can finish my lunch when he notices that I have barely touched it. All the while, Sienna pouts, her eyes fixed on me.
I could probably get used to this.
My phone rings again. It’s Bruce, probably calling to see if I have made any progress with my PR consultant plan yet. As it turns out, I have. So I put the phone away and get out of my chair.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude,” I explain, “but Sienna and I should really get going. We have some business to attend to after all.”