Fifty Shades Shadier by Phil Torcivia Page A

with older men. Where did you find this one?”
    “Oh, he’s darling. Wait till you get to know him.”
    “I’m not that much older.”
    “... if you’re counting in dog years,” Grandma sneers.
    “So, how about those Padres?” Bea asks, trying to change the subject.
    Finally, the elevator dings and the doors open to the 43rd floor.
    “After you, my dear,” I charm.
    “I know better than to walk in front of an armed man. Scoot!”
    This old sack is going to be hard to crack.
    I sheepishly lead the way. Once in Bea’s condo, I head straight to the bar.
    “I’m going to freshen up. You two get acquainted,” Bea suggests as she abandons me.
    “How do you take your brandy, Ma’am?”
    “Like my men: neat.”
    “I’m glad you didn’t say ‘stiff.’”
    “Excuse me?”
    “I said, did you have a nice trip?”
    “Trip where?”
    “Here. I assume you’re visiting from out of town?”
    “I own this building.”
    “Oh.” Shitboogers.
    I pour her brandy, along with three fingers of Maker’s Mark to sedate me. I hand one glass to her. She continues to scowl.
    “What exactly do you do, Mr. Silver?”
    “Let’s have some fun. Guess.”
    “Plumber?”
    Hag.
    “Nope.”
    “Shopping cart collector?”  
    I so want to drop the C-word.
    “Nope.”
    “Paperboy?”
    Is it legal to kick an old woman in the baby hole?
    “Nope, but you’re close. Give up?”
    “I do.”
    “I’m a blogger.”
    “A what?”
    “Blogger. A writer who writes things for the web.”
    “Does one make a good living as a blobber?”
    “ Blogger. Good enough.”
    She gets up into my space. She’s less than five feet tall, yet I’m intimidated.
    “For some people, but certainly not good enough for my granddaughter,” she insists as she tweaks my nipple. I squeak like a schoolgirl on the playground.
     

Chapter Three
     
    If it is true that we have sprung from the ape, there are occasions when my own spring appears not to have been very far. – Cornelia Otis Skinner
     
    Worried that I might belt the woman, and confident she could kick my ass, I excuse myself, and join Bea in the master suite.
    “So, how are you two getting along?”
    “About as well as Kardashians and skinny jeans. Can I throw spoons at her, or at least give her a noogie? Please?”
    “Now, darling, it’s important you win her over.”
    “Not possible.”
    “Find a way.”
    “Seriously?”
    “Yes. Grandma is my only hope of emerging from these financial difficulties. She holds the key to the safe, so to speak, and she’s here auditing my businesses to get our affairs back in order.”
    “Can I at least drug her?”
    “No! You go out there and make nice. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
    I put on my fake smile and return to the family room. Grandma is futzing with the TV remote.
    “Why won’t this work? Things were much easier in my day; you pulled the button and turned the knob. Two through thirteen, UHF, and VHF.”
    “Here, let me try,” I insist as she pulls the remote away from my reach.
    “I’m not helpless. If you want to make yourself useful, refill my beverage, blobber.”
    “ Blogger. Another arsenic rocks?”
    “What did you say?”
    “Another up or on the rocks?”
    “Neat, you nitwit.”
    As I pour the biddy her drink, I see the TV picture coming into focus.
    “There. Finally. Oh, dear Lord!”
    “Now what? Isn’t Green Acres on?”
    “Buh ... wha ... is that ...?”
    I step back from the wet bar to get a gander. I see a sixty-inch high definition picture of myself bound to the bed, wearing Canadiens panties. Fuck! It’s the video from that crazy night. I run to the front of the TV and begin pushing buttons. Finally, the power is off. Bea emerges from the bedroom just in time to see me fifty shades of red.
    “You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
    “I know, right? Ordinarily, I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing blue and red.”
    “What’s going on?” Bea asks.
    “That man is a big pervert who wears women’s