Playboy Pilot

“Who is it, then?”

“Her name is Kendall.”

“Ken Doll?”

Carter raised his voice. “Kendall…Kendall.”

“Whatever. Come cut my toe nails.”

“They haven’t been done since I was last here?”

“Who else is gonna do them?” the man grumbled.

“True. Where did you put the clippers?”

“Fuck if I know.”

“You’re gonna send me on a scavenger hunt again?”

“Get me some prune juice while you’re up. Been backed up for days,” he said before letting out a big fart.

Oh.

Okay.

“Oh, that one sounded wet!” Carter joked before nudging his head for me to follow him down the hall.

“Who is he, Carter?”

Carter spoke low, “Name’s Gordon Reitman. He was a friend of my grandmother’s. In her will, she asked me to keep an eye out for him. He has nobody else. His wife kicked off a few years before Grandma passed. He gets a visit from some nurses a couple of times a week, but it’s not really enough.”

“Why does he call you Brucey?”

“Bruce was his son’s name. Only child. The kid died in a car accident as a teenager. When Gordon started losing his mind, he started to think Bruce was still alive and that I was grown-up Bruce. I tried to correct him once, and he didn’t believe me. Got belligerent. So, I just went with it.”

“He really believes that you’re him, or he just wants to believe it?”

“I think he really does believe it at this point, yes.”

Wow.

Carter fished through some drawers in Gordon’s bathroom and finally located the small plastic bag containing the clippers. He also placed two rubber gloves over his hands.

“Why do you need those to cut his nails?”

“You’ll soon find out.”

Back in the living room, Carter sat down on an ottoman in front of Gordon’s feet before pulling the old man’s socks off. His toenails were yellow and crusty. It became abundantly clear now why Carter was using the latex gloves.

/>

While he began to tend to Gordon’s toes, I walked over to a mantle that displayed pictures of a young boy in a baseball cap. There was another picture of the same boy as a teenager. Then, on the far end of the mantle was a picture of Carter, kneeling down next to Gordon.

“Ow, fucking hell!” Gordon yelled, prompting me to turn around.

“Hold your foot still and watch your language in front of my girl, Pops, or I’ll have to tickle your feet.” Carter proceeded to tickle the bottom of Gordon’s foot briefly as a warning, and the old man let out an uncharacteristic cackle.

“There’ll be more where that came from,” Carter said.