Never too Old . . . For?

CW: Themes related to sex work.

. . . then takes a closer look. Oh no! Oh no no no!”

* * *

Jeremy is thinking this is one of the very best ways to spend a Saturday morning as his mom drives him to Grammie’s house for one of their “baking parties.” Even at just ten years old, he already knows he absolutely wants to become a pastry chef.

Whenever his beloved grandmother suggested a baking day for the two of them, Jeremy could barely think of anything else until then. And now even more than ever since Grammie’s beautiful new home had come with a kitchen full of gleaming high-tech appliances.

He loved it all. The prep. The tantalizing aroma while the creation bakes. And then diving into it, sometimes before it even cools, both giggling as they’d wave their hands in front of their mouths to dispel the heat.

On this Saturday morning as his mom is pulling into the circular drive she once again sighs and says, “I still can’t quite figure out how your grandmother was able to afford this new home. And even offering to pay for you to go to culinary school. How the heck is she doing it?

Jeremy knows by now that she’s really just talking to herself and no answer is expected. So it’s, bye mom, out of the car and racing up the brick path paying scant attention to the beautifully landscaped grounds on both sides.

As always, Grammie is waiting at the open door with a big hug. And as always, the day starts with big mugs of hot cocoa already on the decorative glass table in the sunroom. These are some of his happiest moments, and he gives little thought to whether she suddenly seems rich, or where the money came from.

While they’re sipping Grammy says, “Sweetheart I have a nice surprise for you. The next time you’re here you’re going to see pretty much a full playground in the backyard. It’s being installed on Monday.” With a smile threatening to take over his entire face, he thanks her profusely, tells her how much he loves her.

“And now for 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 is all eyes, all ears, as they finish their cocoa and head for the kitchen.

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

Jeremy goes into the pantry, scanning the shelves that stretch along two sides. In 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 the edge of a tin box tucked underneath a back corner, all but hidden by a stack of skillets, and it’s patterned with several kinds of flowers including blue ones. Well, it isn’t round like a canister, 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 a box loaded with rolls of money. As quickly and quietly as possible he puts everything back in place. He comes around the corner where Grammie is treating two mini muffin tins with baking spray, and as calmly as he can says, “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 has yellow butterflies.” Jeremy returns with the package, hoping she won’t notice his hands are slightly shaking.

“Next,” she tells him, “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”

He tells her, “350 for 11-12 minutes or until golden brown.” Just as she finishes starting 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 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 is taking him and his friend Ricky to the theme park for lunch and all the rides they want. Mom had commented on the expense of that too.

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 pieces and put one in each cup of the two muffin pans. Leave them in squares just as they are, don’t need to push them down or anything.”

There’s a ding and Grammie says, “Yay, oven’s ready and here we go. Now while they bake we need to take the wrappers off 24 peanut butter cups.” And eleven minutes later, they’re both tucking the candies down into the hot cookies to get all melty. Brief wait, taste, yum, hand waves.

* * *

After their rollicking park visit, Grammie takes Ricky home and then Jeremy. Dad is at the door, waves to his mom, and says to Jeremy, “Well son, did you have a good time?” “Great, it was so much fun. And guess what else, Grammie is putting a playground in her backyard!”

And only then does the magic of the day start to take a back seat to his earlier discovery. “I’m just going to take this to my room now,” and he heads for the stairs.

Just then Janet comes out of the kitchen, saying, “I’m so glad you had so much fun. And now son, 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 around and hands her the box, a game based on the maze attraction at the park. She sees the price tag, $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 flees to his room, as mom and dad exchange puzzled looks, as normally he would talking non-stop about his day.

In his room now, Jeremy sits on his little desk chair, elbows on the kid-size desk, head in his hands. Two voices are debating in his young mind. He knows he should tell mom and dad, but what if that gets Grammie in trouble. What to do?

Meanwhile, a genuine two-way conversation is taking place back downstairs over some pre-dinner Cabernet. Janet starts. “Brad, did you see that toy cost fifty dollars? Add in hundred-dollar all-access tickets, food, drinks, I’m sure premium parking. This has been ramping up for a couple of years now. I just don’t understand how Lori is paying for it all.”

“And I also wonder why my mom has never said anything about it. Maybe someday we’ll find out. Meanwhile my God that lasagna smells good.”

* * *

By morning Jeremy had come to a decision. He’ll just tell his mom and see what she thinks about saying anything to dad. He takes his chance while Brad is out buying the Sunday paper.

“Mom, can I tell you something?”

Finally! “Of course sweetie,” as she takes a seat on the couch and pats the cushion next to her. He tells her the whole story, dread shadowing 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 speak up. But first, let me ask you something. Did you see anything else in the box?”

“No, just the money. Ummm. Wait . . . there might have been some kind of paper at the back.”

“Did you see anything on the paper?”

“No, I was just closing it back up fast as can be.”

Brad returns and according to the family’s Sunday tradition they take bloody marys, lemonade for Jeremy, out onto the patio to divvy up the paper. And as usual, Jeremy grabs the comics and heads down to the pier along with some bread for the ducks on their little lake.

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

“Yikes!!!” {for the third time}. “So there’s the wherewithal. But the question remains, ‘where’ did the ‘withal’ come from???”

“Tell you what Brad, make us a couple more bloodies and I’ll call Danielle’s and have brunch delivered.” They reconvene and the speculation begins . . .

Dad’s insurance policy or maybe he had blue chip stocks?

Won the lottery?

An inheritance from a long lost relative?

An old bank account accumulating interest for decades?

Hit it big on the casino boat?

An investment program with her senior group? She does spend a lot of time with them.

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

Temporarily out of ideas, they sip and think.

“Or,” and Janet’s eyes take on a wicked sparkle, “what if she latched onto a rich boyfriend? Now a kept woman with a new house and a boatload of cash.”

“A boyfriend at her age?”

“Your mom, even at turning 64 next week, is still a very attractive woman. And look at her friend Bessie, just turned 79 and out dining and dancing with her new beau.”

“OK, guess you can be never too old for almost anything. But for her, which ‘thing?’ Which one is it . . .”

The doorbell rings, entre vous, and croque madams, caesar salad and chocolate croissants are on the table. The three of them settle in.

From Brad, “Now the thing is, how can we find out?” Janet glances at Jeremy, wondering how much she wants to say in front of him, but there’s something she needs to ask. “Sweetie, is there anything more you can tell us about that paper you saw?”

Quietly pondering a moment, then, “Well I think it was sort of yellow, maybe like a big envelope, but I’m not sure. That’s all I can remember.” And with that he’s excused to go out and find Ricky.

Mom and dad do a little pondering of their own until, “Brad, we need to see that envelope or whatever. But how? Chloroform?”

“Little extreme.”

“Wait, how about . . .”

“Jannie, I can almost hear your brain whirring.”

“How about for her birthday you tell her you want to take her for lunch on the casino boat and of course slots. Still thinking here . . . OK, we’ll invite Ricky too for the new playground stuff, and I’ll stay there to watch the kids, make them sandwiches. We’ll also promise pizza and birthday cake and ice cream later.”

Brad calls, and after a short chat, hangs up, grinning ear to ear. “I really didn’t need to say much beyond casino boat.”

* * *

The day arrives. Brad and Lori gone. Kids in the yard. It’s time. Janet can barely breathe as she goes into the pantry. She moves the skillets aside and there, right where Jeremy said it would be, sits the flowered box.

Heart beating a mile a minute, she lifts the top. And grasps the shelf to steady herself. Nothing Jeremy said prepared her for the rolls upon rolls upon rolls of rubber-banded hundred-dollar bills.

But her destination is what indeed turns out to be a manilla envelope. She extracts it from the box, unclasps it and pulls out a calendar. She flips some pages, sees that a lot of the large squares are filled in with what appears to be some kind of scheduling. But for what?

Janet starts to put it back in the envelope and realizes there’s something else inside, a kind of journal that had been hidden by the calendar. She takes it out, fans it, and at first glance just sees columns across the pages.

. . . then takes a closer look. “Oh no! Oh no no no!”

She puts everything back exactly the way she found it, her actions robotic, her brain on hold, and then her entire being on auto pilot for the rest of the day and evening. She mostly avoids eye contact with Lori, who probably doesn’t even notice as she blisses out on her martinis.

Finally, finally, time to leave. They drop off Ricky, continue down the block to their home, where Jeremy is more than happy to head for bed, his tummy full and his muscles remembering a long day of play.

Brad can barely contain his curiosity. “Soooo?”

“I don’t think that one martini is going to be enough. Care to mix a couple more.”

It isn’t really a question. Their glasses in hand, she starts.

“What Jeremy saw was indeed an envelope and inside was a calendar and a journal. The calendar squares large enough to record start time, end time, and room number. Lots of days filled in.”

“Well that could maybe have an innocent explanation.”

“Yeah, I thought that too, could be a schedule for anything. Until I looked into the journal. On page after page, columns for date, name, service, and then dollar amounts for fee, tip, other, and total dollars.”

“Still trying to hold out for innocent.”

“Well then brace yourself. All of the entries were male first names. The services were just shown as letters. The entries in the ‘other’ column were also letter coded. The income shown was just beyond unbelievable. And clipped to the inside cover, a business card - better take a sip – ‘HOUSE OF GOLDEN GRANNIES/Golden Gents Let’s Play’ and then just a phone number which I wrote down.”

Rather vigorous coughing ensues. A little sputtering too. “I don’t care what it says, my mom can’t, can’t, I can’t even say it. We need to, HAVE to, hear her say, oh that, funny thing, easy to explain . . .”

“Well one thing it sure does explain is the spending. Even from the little I saw, she could be making thousands and thousands a week. And you’re absolutely right, we need to find out what’s going on, if for nothing else to make sure she’s not putting herself in danger. Maybe we should call that number?”

“No, I’d rather hear it right from her. I’ll call her now, say we want to stop by tomorrow night. We’ll mellow her out with martinis.” Janet calls Ricky’s mom, arranges for Jeremy to spend that evening there.

* * *

As soon as they arrive, Brad heads to Lori’s marble-topped bar and mixes a pitcher of “mellow juice.” The three of them sip and chat for a while about all the fun of the day before. Then Lori, “I believe you wanted to talk to me about something?”

“Let me refresh your drink first.” And he returns with her martini quite generously refilled.

“Mom, we have something to confess.” And Brad reveals the Jeremy tale and the Janet tale.

Afterward all sit quietly for a moment. Surprisingly Lori is the essence of calm, no sign of being upset by the intrusions. Maybe it’s the martinis at work.

And then she breaks the silence, saying, “Actually I’m kind of glad to have it out in the open. And yes indeedy, this thing does earn me a lot of money.”

Both, “Thing?”

“I’m willing to tell all. But first let me say, I scrimped and saved during our marriage, but there was just never enough for good times, good stuff. Bradley you had to have seen that. Frank’s life insurance gave me a small taste of a better life and when the money ran out I wanted that life to continue. I mentioned this to my senior group and discovered similar sentiments.”

A sip. “One of the women then said, ‘Well speaking of money . . .’ and went on to tell us that her daughter who works on the casino boat had an interesting encounter with a woman who used to be a madam. Said it had made her very, very wealthy.

“But times change and her clientele, men in their late 20s to early 50s, were increasingly finding it unnecessary to pay for her services, and so the biz closed down. She mentioned she still has the big ol’ mansion and what she called diplomatic immunity.

“An idea started to take shape. And we arranged to meet with her.

“Sitting on costly furniture in her spacious and stylish home, we proposed appealing to older gentlemen, many maybe widowed. We were thinking these folks probably want companionship, really, as much as anything, someone to share lunch or dinner, coffee or cocktail, a movie, concert, card game, jigsaw puzzle, or just a chat, whatever they’d like, much of it right there in her multi-room house.

“Madam Marissa loved it, said she’d even bring back her chef, housekeepers, and bodyguard crew. And so it began and became an instant hit, far beyond our wildest dreams.”

Janet, somewhat relieved, “So, that’s all that goes on, just casual socializing?”

“Yes, uh-huh, right. Usually.”

Janet now remembering that “other” column in the journal. And Brad, veins popping, “Just WHAT does USUALLY mean MOM?!?”

Lori is completely at ease. She takes a sip.

Then from her rosy lips, the answer. But not in words. Instead, a picture-perfect Mona Lisa smile.

Which had nothing to do with the mellow juice.

- end -