REVERSE-BECHDEL PROMPT RESPONSE
An Unbecoming Way to Die
Who knew hot cocoa could be deadly?
Reverse Bechdel prompt rules:
The story should (1) have at least two men, (2) talk to each other (3) only about a woman. If the men in your story talk to a woman, they can discuss any topic, but if they talk to each other, they can only talk about women. More claps will be awarded for including hot cocoa, a Grandma, and for linking to a story written by a woman.
The mood in the room was sombre at best.
Of course, it was.
Grandma was dead and those who loved her most had gathered to raise a toast to the recently departed.
The drinks had been poured and Smithy was just about to make a toast when a light rap on the door announced the arrival of an unexpected guest.
Without hesitation, the newest arrival pushed open the door and entered the room. Clearing his throat the man addressed the motley bunch, “My name is Detective Jake Finnacle. I’m investigating your grandmother’s drowning. Just here for a few questions.” He pushed his dove grey blazer aside revealing a shiny badge and a holstered gun.
“Why’re you investigatin’, Detective Fucknuckle?” asked Karen who was in a slovenly sprawl on a faded couch in the corner. She raised her glass in mock salute.
“I don’t think he’s investigatin’ his self,” replied Sharon, always ready to help. “He’s investigatin’ Grandma’s untimely passin’.
“My name is, Finnacle,” the detective insisted.
Gazza wiped a grimy fist across the snot leaking from his right nostril, spreading a slippery trail across his cheek. “Grandma was awesome, eh, Smithy?”
Gazza was resting his head in his hands, his elbows on the table. His eyes were firmly fixed on the contents of his glass as if he was expecting to find Grandma floating somewhere in the bottom of the amber fluid.
“Gran’ma was corker, Gazza. Did you know her, Detective Nucklehead?”
Detective Finnacle was muttering unintelligibly beneath his breath.
“Whatsa?” enquired Sharon.
“It’s Finnacle! … Sharon? Is that your name? I’m here to talk about your grandma. She died in very unpleasant circumstances.”
“What unpleasant circumstances?” Karen was tugging at her skirt which had slid to the top of her thighs when she slumped on the couch. “What are you talking about, Detective …?”
“Fuckin’ Finnacle!” The detective glanced around at the assorted family misfits, who were seated around the dingy room, then turned his attention back to Karen. “She was found face down in a mug of hot cocoa.”
“Surely the cocoa wasn’t still hot when you found her, Detective Fuckin’ Finnacle,” whimpered Sharon.
“Just Fin… oh, never mind. I didn’t find her, your Smithy stumbled on her body and called triple zero. Surely, he told you that!”
“I told them all Grandma was dead,” muttered Smithy. “Forgot to say she carked it snortin’ her cocoa.”
“Grandma was awesome!” insisted Gazza. “Wasn’t she, Smithy?”
“She was bonzer, Gazza,” replied Smithy. “I didn’t think much of Grandma’s knickers, though! Bloody big grey things, she wore. Reckon her bloomers reached her armpits.”
“Why are you talkin’ about Gran’s knickers, you grubby bugger?” moaned Karen, her eyes wide with horror.
“Nuthin, Karen. I was just saying how big and grey they were — like goddamn flags when she pegged them on the line. I walked under the Hills Hoist once. It was blowin’ a gale and Gran’s gruds wrapped around my face; nearly pulled me off my feet!” Smithy shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly then turned his attention away from Karen who had started to giggle.
“So, what about Grandma, Detective Farkleberry?” asked Sharon.
“Grandma was awesome,” interjected Gazza. “Wasn’t she, Smithy?”
Finnacle appeared to become highly agitated. He sat impatiently on the arm of Karen’s couch. She immediately hoisted her skirt back up again, treating the detective to a sly grin. He nodded, then turned his attention reluctantly back to the conversation.
“Grandma was the bee’s knees, Gazza,” agreed Smithy.
Karen began running her hand up Finnacle’s leg until it came to rest mere inches from his groin. A small groan escaped his throat.
“When you gonna stop your stupid game, Detective Cousin Fuckleberry?” laughed Sharon.
The gang burst into fits of giggles. The uncontrolled laughter made Gazza’s nose run some more. It dripped into his warm beer.
“Grandma was awesome,” announced Gazza as he swiped at his nose and slurped his drink. “Wasn’t she, Detective Nucklehead?”
Cousin Jake grinned. “Grandma was the ant’s pants in big grey bloomers,” he agreed.
“It was a shame you had to hold her head down in that hot cocoa,” bemoaned Karen, her hand now firmly attached to Jake’s nether regions.
Jake Finnacle turned to his wife, “She would’ve wanted to go that way. She lived for her cocoa, right love?”
“Guess it’s appropriate she died in it, too, then. Shame, but we all need our inheritance now.” Karen’s mood brightened considerably at the thought of gran’s money .
“A five-way split will be pretty good, I reckon,” muttered Smithy, to no one in particular.
“A four-way split would be even better,” suggested Sharon.
Jake nodded thoughtfully.
“Grandma loved her hot cocoa, didn’t she Smithy?” whimpered Gazza.
Four sets of eyes turned on Gazza then flicked around the room.
Karen nodded, released her hold on Jake and stood up. “I’ll make a gallon of hot cocoa — you’d like that, wouldn’t you Gazza? It’s just the right way to remember Grandma.”
Grandma Smillew came up with a doozy:
Carol Lennox played along with Grandma:
