GRIND (The Silver Nitrate Series Book 1) (3 page)

Now, don’t get me wrong. I got my share of female attention before all this band acknowledgement occurred. Lost my virginity at the age of fifteen and had girlfriends… nothing was unusual about my sexual history or sexual appetite for that matter. The problem though is that when you put pretty women in front of a man at each and every gig he plays, and these women are telling you that they’ll fuck you to sleep and suck you dry, you get into the habit of expecting that, wanting it, and almost
needing
it. It also takes some of the magic out of meeting a lady, getting to know her, enjoying one another and all that entails. You start to see them all the same, just faces with a different name you can barely remember. I had some underlying issues with relationships, but wasn’t aware of these until this dynamic came into my life.

Empty sexual encounters have a way of doing that to you. I can’t even really say that the situation made me happy, but it was just what was happening. I became used to it, and any deviation just wasn’t in the cards. And therein lay my problem. I began to no longer really ‘see’ women. My negative views of them as a whole were fed by what I’d experienced, through my gigs but mostly circumstances that happened way before all of that. No man wants to admit he’s afraid of being hurt, or that commitment scares the shit out of him… at least not me.

It wasn’t even that I didn’t want to be involved, committed, go the distance – it was that I honestly didn’t know what I wanted. But one thing I did know for sure: I wasn’t happy. I longed for something more substantial. I wasn’t going to make a great effort to search for love, but I knew deep down, if I came across someone that looked like a contender, then I’d relax my grip on my biases and try my damndest to just let things happen…

Yet, I still felt safe as I lied to myself… for I never believed something like that would happen, and I’d be once again off the hook.

But it did.

And she was drop dead in your tracks beautiful.

I knew she wasn’t ordinary or run of the mill by a long shot. And after she and I got some good conversations under our belt, I found out I was right. She’s complicated yet clear to understand. She’s stubborn, yet open. The killer? She looks good as hell and her mind is even more stunning. Some guys are intimidated by a woman with brains, but I’m not and really never have been. The woman who raised me was smart. Mawmaw was sweet and intelligent, a combination that got into my system, and poisoned me from thinking anyone else but she could have such a flawless blend.

So, basically, an intelligent chick was nothing new to me. It takes a lot for me to feel lesser than someone, because my self-image is pretty damn high, and I owe that to my grandfather, my Paw. He raised me into a man, so I understood how to be responsible, take care of business, and show no fear when it came to defending what was rightfully mine.

…And when I saw Silver, yeah… I felt like she was rightfully mine.

I wanted to fuck her. I wanted to get to know her. I wanted to be inside the walls of her mind and take a tour in that motherfucker. She intrigued the hell out of me.

She was a beautiful person on the inside, too. She was strong, determined, hella funny, sarcastic and just… shit, I am sitting here smiling as I think back to when we first began to get to know one another, and I still get that funny feeling in my gut as I reminisce. But yeah, she was all of those things and more. Trust me though; the beginning with her was tough. I was no picnic, either, but I earned her, damn it. Silver is a perfect name for her, because the chemical element of silver glistens and glimmers; it attracts attention. I’ve worked with all sorts of material, and silver can be temperamental, but if you have the skill and patience, she turns out perfect each and every time.

Men have stolen and killed for it. It reflects an image of the person beholding it, the exact duplicate right back in their direction. It makes you examine yourself…and that’s what she did to me. She turned the mirror right back on me. Funny thing is, I thought I was fine, or at least told myself that. I wasn’t. And she saw everything, all of my vices, ghosts, evil spirits and demons, and loved me anyway…

If you ever have the chance to meet someone who turns your world upside down then helps you rebuild that motherfucker, brick by brick, she’s a keeper. So I drummed up some ideas, figured some shit out, and welded the open wounds closed.

She showed me how. And that made her all mine. I’m possessive about my baby. And I was taking her home, showing her off. She’s my forever grind…my eternal grit. I always clock into her early, work back to back double shifts and refuse to leave my place of employment between her thighs. I reside and work inside of her heart and soul… got my tenure, and I’m never quitting or getting fired, and if someone tries to replace me, they’ll never take me alive.

I’ll be in my baby’s life until the end of eternity, and even then, it won’t be
nearly
long enough…

S
lanted faded black
numbers hung on the wall. The dented clock looked as if it had been dropped a few thousand times. It leaned a bit to the side as if mimicking a gangsta, yet the only thing getting murdered was a potential paycheck and an employee’s livelihood. The damn thing was on the fritz again.

Zenith ran his hand sluggishly down the side of his face, feeling the prickly hairs of stiff stubble in desperate need of removal as he glared at his weary reflection in the thing that had taken a licking but damn sure didn’t keep on ticking. He rubbed his right eye with a few good strokes, while sliding the timecard into his back pocket, begrudgingly making plans to stop by at the Human Resources office once again and have the Director sign off on it.

Time… what a joke.

He had very little of it, and that which he did possess was either borrowed, bartered, or stolen. He’d gotten home at four in the morning and was up at six to take a whore’s bath before racing into work at Eagle Metalcraft Incorporated. The new welding gig proved a bit more fruitful than the last, but he hopped around like a nomad, never getting settled into a good groove before the next uproot came in a big, swooping wave. Riding the current went along with the job, though… Being a welder in Syracuse, New York meant a new job was always around the corner; there’d be frequent layoffs, but the bounty was aplenty.

Dragging his heavy booted feet towards the break room that smelled of popcorn even in the wee hours of the morning, he set his mind in gear to get himself a cup of hot coffee. But then, he paused, stopped short in his tracks… A snaky grin budded when he caught a glimpse of the long-legged temp worker. The new receptionist swiveled ever so slowly in her seat. Back and forth…back and forth…

He cocked his head to the side and ran his tongue real nasty-like over his lower lip…

Come on, now… uncross those legs and let me see if you went commando or not…

Marta, the office manager, was out on maternity leave, so Natalia had taken her place… and boy were he and several of his mischievous cohorts thrilled with the sexy exchange. Today she wore a short black skirt and cream button down blouse that showcased ample deep brown cleavage.

Looks like two buttery rolls baking in the damn oven… I’d like to run my tongue all over those…

“Mr. Taylor, please come with me,” Bert Carter barked, curling his short, fat finger in his direction and snatching him out of his carnal deliberations.

“I gotta go see Janet.” He removed his unmarked time card from his back pocket and waved it towards the man, his brow bunched in frustration. “The clock doesn’t work again.”

“Never mind that, I’ll sign it. Come into my office for a minute.” The basketball shaped man turned and began to march forward, as if he were leading a two-member band.

Zenith hissed, his annoyance born at what felt like the crack of dawn. He grimaced, his face feeling distorted like the designs on panels of stained glass. It was too early for meetings, greetings, and such. All he wanted to do was get to his responsibilities and be left the hell alone. Was that too much to ask?

This mothafucka gets on my goddamn nerves! Why do we have to have a meetin’ every other day about nothing? Just let me do my work, man!

He stepped inside the small office and looked about. The walls were covered with pin-tacked, stapled and taped down inspirational posters that no one gave two shits about. Directly behind the man’s desk were maps of Syracuse and certificate awards the company had received for upstanding quality control and other rave reviews.

“Have a seat there, Kenneth.” The man waved quickly as he got behind his desk and clasped his hands together.

“…Zenith.”

“Yeah, sorry. Zenith…”

Zenith grabbed hold to the chair and dumped his tired bones down onto it.

“We gotta big Punch Press job comin’ up and I want you on it.”

“I got it.” Zenith nodded in full agreement.

“I want you to stay on here with us. You’re good…
real
good. How old are you, Zenith?”

Taken aback by the change of conversation, he sought the right words. He was accustomed to Bert bringing his ass into that tiny enclosure to simply talk about himself, glorify his lot in life, blow smoke up his own asshole, and render himself a beloved foghorn. This was an entirely new turn of events.

“I’m thirty.” He nodded as he reached behind himself, gripped a fistful of his long, black hair and began his daily morning process of pinning it up, out of his way.

“Thirty…” The man glared up at the ceiling while steepling his hands, as if this were some ‘Godfather’ moment. Zenith’s lip curled like old newspaper left out in the sun. “It takes some guys fifteen or so odd years to become as good as you… How long have you been doing this?”

“Well.” Zenith leaned back lazily in his chair, spread his legs far apart, and ran his index finger along his prickly chin as he traveled the aisles of his memory. “I went to Mohawk Valley Community College, then did an apprenticeship at Barker Welding and Fabrication. That was when I was twenty or so. I worked there for a couple of years, then jumped around here and there. Been all over, really.” He shrugged. “I went from Class C to Class A pretty fast. I got some certifications, too.”

“Which ones? Fabricator and what else?”

“Radiographic interpreter, inspector and robotic arc, and I recently took an online safety welding course, you know,” he said with a shrug, “just to add to my resume, so to speak. I’ve also done some sideline jobs, like working on cars and bikes, metal work—gold, some soldering work, jewelry, gems, silver nitrate … took some additional chemistry courses for that, but I did pretty good I’m told.”

Bert glared at him through dull light brown eyes, his expression tight and stern. The man nodded, as if mulling things over slowly, but surely until they were warm and toasty, palatable to the taste.

“That’s good … all of that is real good. I have you in mind for some other projects, too. Do you have your own respirator?”

Zenith answered in the affirmative as he crossed one leg over the other.

“Okay, Zenith. You can go on now. We’ll discuss this more later.”

“Can you take care of this for me?” He got to his feet and leisurely pushed the time card across the man’s desk, reminding the guy of the issue at hand.

“Oh yes, right.” Bert grabbed an ink pen and scribbled along the thing, then handed it back to him. “Anybody ever to tell you to cut your hair?” He smirked as he looked up at his hair piled high atop of his head like some strange hat.

“Yeah, but I follow the safety rules, the protocol. I keep it out of the way. I use a rubber band, easy breezy, you know? Besides, I can’t cut my hair. I’m like Samson.”

Bert burst out laughing.

“It’s your strength, huh? I might believe ya. I’ve seen you lifting those pipes and beams with no problem. Maybe that’s true.” He grinned a bit wider.

“It just might be; don’t want to go chancin’ it.” With a lopsided smile, he made his way towards the door, then paused, turning back to the man. “Thanks for the opportunity, Mr. Carter. ’Preciate it.”

The man offered a nod then opened his lap top computer. Zenith took the cue to leave and walked out the door. Sliding his timecard in his back pocket again, he made his way towards the back of the building. The all too familiar sounds of loud clanking, shrill drilling, and heavy forklifts making the rounds played an industrial harmony that seduced him with each steely note. The scent of heated metals welcomed him with fiery, spark-filled arms.