Grampa's Golden Pond
with
Grampa Jenkins
Do you know what I really love? Breakfast! Oh
my goodness, what a marvelous invention breakfast is. Breakfast is more than a meal,
it's a celebration of all life's possibilities. Pancakes, grapefruits, and
Post Toasties! I pity those who give breakfast short shrift, or those who
ignore it altogether. It's the one time of day that life glistens with
endless possibilities and everything is fresh and new. And delicious!
They say that the ancient Greeks were the
first to do breakfast right. They would have olives, coarse bread soaked
in red wine, and a nice piece of fish. And omelets! They would take their
good time eating it, as well, none of this down the hatch and out the door
nonsense so common with young people today.
Yes sir, sometimes I think I must be part
Greek, because I sure do love breakfast. I've been thinking a lot about it
lately. Like those days back in the mid-sixties when I used to have a
frequent bagel and lox with the fabulous Eydie Gorme, and that less than
virile sissy-boy husband of hers, Steve Gorme. Took her name, he did,
although he used Lawrence on the stage. Those two were a couple of
real goofballs. Eydie would take me into the parlor and sing me some songs from
the great American song book while Steve-o was in the kitchen frying
up bacon, just the way I liked it - extra crispy. He'd walk up to the
piano in that frilly checkered apron, and just stand there clearing his
throat, until one of us would finally look up at the damn fruit loop. "Come on,"
he would whine, "the mimosas are going to get warm."
In a lot of ways Eydie Gorme reminded me of
my mother, although Ruth Jenkins was not much given to wearing gauzy yellow
gowns covered with sequins like some sort of Arabian prostitute. Ruth
Jenkins was the brains in the
family, and my dad Jebediah was the dancing monkey that could do tricks on
her command, just the way Steve did for Eydie. Typical show folks, I guess.
Somebody's got to take the lead.
Where am I going with this? Hey, I'm not as
young as I used to be. Come to think of it, nobody is. Anyway, it's hard to
set up a story without running through a little history, and I've got plenty
of that. All my reminiscence this morning leads me to the disturbing thought
that I may have made a mistake years ago that has scarred my granddaughter
Katy for life. I think that Steve and Eydie are at the bottom of all the
nonsense that goes on in that cockeyed brain of hers. It just makes sense.
When my whore of a daughter got kicked to the
curb by the good for nothing bum she ran away with when she was pregnant
with Katy, Gretchen and I welcomed her back with open arms. Well, after she
spent a couple years finding out that life is no bowl of cherries, we
welcomed her back. Gretchen did, anyway. Me, I was busy doing a show every
night, and twice on Saturday. And I must admit that I was still a little bit
peeved about those allegations she made to the police. Thank god for the
statute of limitations.
But mainly I didn't have much time for the
girl because of Broadway. It's a rough and tumble life unless you're a big
star like that bastard Sir Michael Redgrave. Everybody used to call him Sir
Michael Red Headed Son of a Bitch behind his back, and hide his lucky
martini glass whenever he left his dressing room unlocked. Ah, well, he's
dead now.
Hey, nobody ever said show business is easy,
but it's my life, and I'll raise a glass to it and tell you loud and proud,
in the words of the great Ethel Merman, "Everything about it is appealing /
Everything the traffic will allow / No where else you uh mmm mmm mmm / mmm
mmm mmm stealing that bow". We're burning down the barn, now! That's the
Show Biz National Anthem!
Well, that's fine. Guess I'll see you again
soon, on Grampa's Golden Pond.
What's that? I was telling you a story? I
guess I was - can you give me a cue? Katy. Right, and Katy's mother. Correct
you are. Well, it seems that one fateful Sunday I made the mistake of
letting my daughter and little Katy join me for breakfast with the Gormes.
Gretchen was down south earning a little extra money on the burlesque
circuit, and the two girls had been locked inside the house all week, so I
thought it would be a little treat for both of them, and a chance for us to
strengthen our bond.
Jinx, that's what we called our daughter the
whore. Not Jinx in a bad way, it was just short for Jenkins. You see, it was
because Gretchen and I never could agree on a name for the child. Gretchen
liked Evelyn, for hubba hubba girl Evelyn West, the girl with the $50,000
treasure chest. I wanted to call her Mortimera, after my character in The
Fantasticks. And then the years just kind of drifted by. You know what it's
like being busy. Anyway, Jinx had gotten it into her head that she hated all
men, just because she had this crazy idea that they had screwed up her life.
What a notion! I think she even hated me, as hard to believe as that is. And
little Katy was being schooled to feel the same way, even though she was
only knee high to a clodhopper at the time. Now you've got to remember that
this was way back in the early days of women's lib, so it was still kind of
unusual for women to hate men, unless they were - you know. I guess that's
why they call them the good old days.
Eydie was in a foul mood when we arrived that
Sunday morning. She had gotten a big old wad of chewing gum in her hair
somehow, and the remnants of several Kleenex were sticking to it, and she
was blaming Steve for the whole mess. "You bastard," she was screaming,
right as we came in the door. "You're the only one who chews gum in this
house!"
"Ha, ha" laughed Steve, in that lispy sort of
way he had. "How am I supposed to know that gum doesn't belong to the
gardener?"
"Because we don't have a fucking garden, you
pathetic loser." Eydie had a good point there, and she emphasized her words
with a flying platter of eggs and sausage. Little link sausages, brown and
crispy, you know the ones about the size of your finger. Boy, do I love
sausages, all kinds. I remember having breakfast at Vito's with Dick York
one time, and all we had was sausages, every single type on the menu. Washed
'em down with ice-cold Michelob's. I tell you, that man was a sausage eating
fool.
After Eydie had doused Steve with mimosas,
she started flinging prune Danishes at him like Ninja throwing stars. She
had a good aim too, smacking him right in the kisser at least twice. Little
Katy was just watching the whole scene wide-eyed, but her mother was egging
Eydie on. Heh, heh. Egg. "Kill the bastard," she shouted. "You'll never get
that stuff out of your hair!"
I suppose I could have been a little more
helpful in all this, but I never cared a whole heck of a lot for Steve to
begin with. I was more concerned about getting some vittles. I did manage to
snag one of those little sausages off the floor while everyone else was
watching Eydie smack Steve with a pecan waffle, but that was about it, so I
was more than relieved when Eydie told Steve to clean himself up and make us
all some more chow. She ripped off his robe with her bare hands to
demonstrate the urgency of her request. Steve shivered in his garter belt
and nylons. I was still hungry. Trust me, we show people have seen all
kinds.
"For heavens sake," he blubbered, cowering in
the corner by the cat box, "there is a child present." I didn't even know
they had a cat.
"Put that apron back on, and start makin'
bacon." Eydies eyes were on fire, as she turned to Katy hissing, "Now that's
how you treat a man, if you ever want him to respect you." Jinx nodded
sagely. My stomach growled and I farted an empty fart. Eydie handed Katy a
spatula and asked her "How would you like to spank the monkey?"
And then all hell broke out. Later Katy would
claim that it was the best time she ever had.
Well, so long. I need to take a nap now.
Oh. Sorry! So this morning I called Katy and asked
her to go out with me to Denny's for a Grand Slam. Breakfast. The most
important meal of the day. Can I take a nap, now?
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