Mr. Grant

I’ve been watching the second season of The Mary Tyler Moore Show, and thinking about Mr. Grant a lot, why I love him so much, and why he frustrates me. His charm is that of hugggable paternal figure, a stern manager whose gruff manner can’t quite camouflage the tender-hearted interior. I identify with Mary, having moved to the big city trying to make it on my own, and her attraction to Lou’s guidance. It’s the eyebrows, those lush dark chocolate bars above his eyes framed graphically by the encircling salt-and-pepper crown, and the round piercing eyes below that lock me in a tractor beam of longing. The other day Ted poked him repeatedly in the belly and I was insanely jealous. His suits never wrinkle and are cleverly contoured to reveal nothing of the sensual playground hidden behind the Worsted/polyester shell. In my imagination, I strip the façade away, slowly revealing the wild voluptuary who insists, “Call me Lou….”