Never Too Old . . . For?

{Some reference to drugs}

She took a closer look. “Oh no! Oh no, no, no!”

***

Whenever his beloved grandmother suggested a baking day for the two of them, 10-year-old Jeremy could hardly wait till it was time. He couldn’t think of a better way to spend a Saturday morning.

And he knew his Grammie enjoyed these times together as much as he did. And he also knew they had everything to do with his plans to be a pastry chef when he grew up. When he shared this dream with her she even offered to pay his way through culinary school, though his mom sort of grumbled something about more unexplained spending.

He loved everything about it, prepping the pans, gathering the ingredients, measuring, mixing, the baking aroma. And of course diving into it, sometimes before it was cool enough, both grinning as they waved their hands in front of their mouths. And through it all there was always lively music playing, with Grammie sometimes adding in a few dance steps between the counters and the oven.

On this Saturday morning, as his mom pulled into the circular drive she once again sighed and said, “It’s a real mystery how my mother-in-law was able to afford this beautiful new home. She must have found a pot of gold somewhere.” Jeremy knew by now that she was really just talking to herself and no answer was expected. So, bye mom, out of the car, door slammed, flying up the brick path paying scant attention to the artistically landscaped grounds on both sides.

As always, Grammie was waiting at the open door with a big hug, and waved to his mom saying, "I’ll bring him home.” And as always, the day started with big cups of hot cocoa already on the glass table in the sunroom. These were some of his happiest moments. He didn’t care if she had money or not, or how she got it, he just loved spending this time with her.

“Today,” she tells him, “we’re going to make one of the easiest desserts you’ve ever seen. And it’s also one of the best you’ve ever tasted.” Jeremy was all eyes, all ears, as they emptied their cups and headed for the kitchen.

They tied on their matching chef aprons and were ready to go. “Sweetie, grab the bag of miniature peanut butter cups out of the pantry for Grammie. They’re in the canister with the blue flowers.”

Jeremy, even at this young age, was tall enough to see all but the top of the shelves that lined two sides of the pantry. As he looks through the abundance of cans, jars, pots and pans, he doesn’t see anything with blue flowers. As he’s about to give up, Jeremy spots just the edge of a round box tucked underneath the lower back corner, all but hidden by the shelving above and a stack of skillets, and it’s patterned with several kinds of flowers including blue ones. Well, that’s not exactly a cannister, but the only thing with any blue flowers so must be it.

After setting the skillets atop the adjacent cans, he moves the box over, pops off the lid. And freezes.

Jeremy is staring at roll after roll of banded bills and judging by what he can see they are 100s. As quickly and quietly as possible he puts everything back in place. He comes back around the corner where Grammie is treating two mini muffin tins with baking spray, and as calmly as he can says, “Grammie I don’t see that canister.”

“It’s on the second shelf,” she says, “near the front . . . oh wait, darn my memory, I just replaced that one. The new canister actually has butterflies.” Jeremy returns with the candy package, hoping she won’t notice his hands are slightly shaking.

“Next,” she tells him, “grab the chocolate chip cookie dough from the fridge. And since I don’t have my glasses here, tell me what time and temp it says on the back”

“It’s 350 for 11-12 minutes or until golden brown.” Just as she finishes lighting the oven, the phone rings and his grandmother goes into the next room to answer it. Jeremy, thanking the phone, runs into the bathroom, drinks some cold water, splashes some on his face, then sits on the edge of the tub willing his brain to forget what he saw, at least for now, because there’s still a big day ahead.

Grammie would be taking him and her neighbor’s boy Ricky, who had now become his friend too, to the theme park for lunch and all the rides they wanted. Mom had commented on that expense too. Though now Jeremy knew the cost would certainly not be a problem.

He hears her hang up the phone, gathers himself together, and rejoins her in the kitchen. “Now, sweetie,” she tells him, cutting open the package, “break the dough along the lines into 24 squares and put one in each cup of the muffin tins. Leave them in squares just as they are, don’t need to shape them or anything.”

Meanwhile she starts unwrapping the candies and removing them from their paper cups. Jeremy puts the cookies in the oven and helps her with the rest of the unwrapping. As soon as they're done, the race is on to see who can be the fastest at pressing the candies into the hot cookies. Giggles throughout and then the impatient moments while they cool enough to come out of the pan, helped along by a silver knife run around the edges.

Soon enough it’s time to leave. And all too soon time to come back home.

As Jeremy leaves the car, after thank you kisses for Grammie, he asks if she’s going to come in, but she tells him she has to get ready for a get-together with her senior group. His dad greets him at the door, waves to his mom, and says, “Hey, son, did you have a good time?” “Great, it was so much fun,” and only then does the magic of the afternoon start to take a back seat to his discovery earlier in the day.

“I’m just going to take this to my room now,” and he heads for the stairs.

Just then his mom comes out of the kitchen, saying, “I’m so glad you had so much fun. And now, whatcha got there?”

“It’s a present Grammie bought for each of us,” he says, still walking.

“Can I see it?”

Jeremy hesitates but turns arounds and hands her the box, a pop-up game that re-creates the maze attraction at the park. She sees the price sticker, $49.95. With a slight frown she hands it back and says, wash up now and dinner will be ready soon. “I’m not really hungry,” he replies, adding “Grammie got us hot fudge banana splits just before we left, said best to have them after the rides.” And he hurries to his room.

His parents, Brad and Janet, exchange puzzled looks. “That’s odd,” she says, “because normally he would be talking non-stop about everything he saw and did. I guess in time he’ll tell us if something is bothering him”

Once in his room, there's a serious conference banging about in Jeremy's head. Should I tell them or not? I don’t want to get Grammie in trouble. What if she robbed a bank? Probably too old to do that. Wait there was that funny movie about the three guys who started robbing banks when they were already really old. Maybe two old ladies helped her. Or, maybe she found the money and didn’t know who lost it. Oh, should I just tell Grammie I accidentally saw it and ask her about it. I don’t know what to do.

Meanwhile, even without knowledge of “the box,” his parents were having a parallel discussion as they sipped some pre-dinner cabernet. Janet starts. “Did you see that toy cost $50? And the tickets are over a hundred per person, even for the kids. Plus food and drinks, premium parking, surcharge for some rides. It’s got to be a couple years now that we’re seeing this. I just can’t imagine how Lori is paying for all of it.”

“I don’t know. She’s my own mother and I have no idea if she saved like crazy over the years, is maxing out credit cards, taking out loans. Just don’t know.” It was an exchange they’d had before.

“Here’s the thing Brad. How do we know she isn’t spending herself into deep debt? Or has fallen for some scam that pays big upfront and then takes it all and more?” That thought haunts them for the rest of the evening.

By morning Jeremy had come to a decision. He would tell just his mom, and see what ideas she might have before worrying his dad about his own mother. He took his chance while Brad was out buying the Sunday paper.

“Mom, can I tell you something?”

Good, she thought, now to see what’s wrong. “Of course,” and she patted the cushion next to her on the couch. He told her the whole story, worry coloring every word.

Her eyes still quite wide, “That’s OK, I’ll tell him, and he’ll agree that you were a very good boy to tell us. Let me ask you something. Did you see anything besides money in the box?”

“No, I don’t think so. Wait . . . even though I closed it back up fast as can be, I think there might have been some kind of paper at the back.”

“Did you see anything on the paper?”

“I think it was blank.”

“OK, hon, thanks again for telling us. You did the right thing.”

Brad returned and according to Sunday tradition they took bloody marys, lemonade for Jeremy, out on the patio to divvy the paper. As always, Jeremy took the comics down to the pier, along with some bread to feed the ducks on their little lake.

Janet was all but bursting. “Brad, put down the paper and pick up your bloody.” And she told the tale.

“Yikes!!! So now we know she does have plenty of wherewithal, but the question remains, ‘where’ did all the ‘withal’ come from?”

“Tell you what, Brad, make us a couple more bloodies and I’ll call Danielle’s to send over some brunch.” They reconvened and the speculation began . . .

It seems to have started after my father passed. Maybe one heck of a life insurance policy.

Won the lottery and didn’t tell us?

Did dad have good stocks and she cashed out?

Jeremy said he hoped she hadn’t robbed a bank like the old guys in the movie.

He also thought she might have found it, and wouldn't that be something.

Did she receive an inheritance from some rich aunt and didn’t tell us?

Discovered an old bank account that’s been accumulating interest for decades?

Has she gotten into investing herself, maybe with her senior group?

Or is there something else that senior group could be involved in? She spends a lot of time with them.

Maybe the group is really a senior drug ring, hahaha, like, Psssst, hook you up with some primo Geritol?

Oh, could she have hit it big on the casino boat?

. . . and didn’t tell us?

Temporarily out of ideas, they sip and think.

“Or,” and Janet’s eyes take on a wicked sparkle. “what if Lori has latched onto a rich boyfriend??? Bought her the house, gives her cash.”

“A boyfriend at her age?”

“Your mom, even with turning 61 next week, is still a very attractive woman. And I must say, still vibrant, loves her martinis, stylish outfits, blingy jewelry, the casino boat, outings with her senior group. And look at her friend Bessie, a new boyfriend at age 89. Guess you’re never too old for new romance.”

“I guess, really, you’re never too old for any of these possibilities. The question is, which one? Which one is it . . .”

A knock on the door, and brunch was on the table. The three of them settled in.

From Brad, “And how can we find out?” Janet glanced at Jeremy, wondering how much she wanted to say in front of him, but there was one thing she needed to ask him. “Honey, are you sure there was nothing on that paper you saw.”

“Pretty sure, but . . . it didn’t exactly look like regular paper. Thicker I think.” When the boy finished his strawberry pancakes he was excused to go out and play.

Janet then. “The answer may well be on that paper, but how do we get to it. Chloroform?”

“Little extreme.”

“Maybe . . .”

“Jannie, I hear your brain whirring.”

“How about, for her birthday you tell her instead of us just coming to visit, that you would like to take her to the casino boat for lunch and of course slots. Still thinking here . . . and then Ricky can come over for a playdate, and I’ll be there to watch the kids. And we’ll all have pizza and cake and ice cream when you return.”

Brad takes out his cell and calls, fairly quickly hanging up and grinning ear to ear. “I really didn’t need to say much beyond casino boat.”

The day arrives. The kids are playing ball in Grammie’s backyard. Janet can barely breathe as she heads for the box, exactly where Jeremy said it would be. Skillets set aside, box moved over, top removed, quick gasp at the money, and there it is. Not a “thick paper,” but rather an open-top envelope tucked in behind the bills. She reaches in, deep breath, and removes the contents - the top sheet a copy of an ad, and then lined papers turned into six-column charts.

A closer look. “Oh no! Oh no, no, no!”

Janet becomes basically an automaton until they return home that night and Jeremy is in bed. Brad, who couldn’t in a million years guess what she’d found, had settled into just a state of strong curiosity. “So?” he says. And she replies with two words, “Martinis Now!”

Three sips, and then. “OK . . . what Jeremy saw was actually an envelope with papers inside. The first sheet was an ad for, brace yourself, ‘Grannies of the Evening' – and then, here I wrote it down, ‘We’d like to invite refined, respectable senior guys to spend quality time with equally refined, respectable senior dolls. Watch movies, play cards or games, solve puzzles, dine in our café, have a cocktail, or just chat, in our large, beautiful home. Call for rates.’ Then there were pages – lots of them – that would appear to chronicle her, uh, dates. My God, Brad, she can make thousands, sometimes even tens of thousands, in a week, and has been for quite some time.”

“Good Lord! That's sure as heck one we never considered. We have to talk to her about this.”

“How?”

He holds up his glass, “This. You know how she mellows out on tinis, and we’re going to want her quite mellow.”

And so the next day they find a sitter for Jeremy, tell Lori they’d like to visit that night. Once there, Brad immediately goes to the bar and mixes a pitcher. They chat about this and that, refilling her glass, adding just dribbles to their own. And then it’s time.

“Mom, we have something to confess.” And Brad tells her the Jeremy tale and the Janet tale. Surprisingly ignoring the intrusions, she says, “Yes, indeedy, earns me a lot of money in fees, tips and bonuses. And about time. I scrimped and saved during our marriage and still there was never enough for good times, good stuff. Frank’s life insurance gave me a taste of exactly that, but when it ran out I wanted more of that kind of fun. I mentioned that in my senior group and discovered similar sentiments.”

She’s a little glassy-eyed, but talking just fine. “But how . . .?”

“Happy to tell you. It actually feels good to have this out in the open."

A sip. “One evening, one of the women said her daughter that works on the casino boat had met an interesting older woman who used to be a madam. She told the daughter easy sex today torpedoed a lot of the demand, but she misses the biz, and in fact still has the big ol’ house, still has what she called diplomatic immunity. Our group mused about those resources, concluding older folks probably want companionship as much as anything, and so an idea was born."

Another sip. "Madam Marisa reconfigured her house a bit, put protocols in place, calculated pricing, showed us financial, ummm, strategies, set up legal aid, knew just how to promote it. Obviously you saw what is offered.”

“So that’s all that goes on?” Janet asked. “Just casual socializing.”

“Yes, uh-huh. Most of the time.”

Brad gave her a sharp look. “Most of the time? Mom! What about the other times?”

Brows rose and jaws dropped as Lori replied with nothing more than a picture-perfect Mona Lisa smile.

-- end --