Leftovers: A Novel (15 page)

Surprised, her hands flew to cheeks. “Just for hosting?”

Vivian reached out for her hand with genuine affection. “It’s a
thank you
for hosting.”

“Oh Vivian, I have lots more friends to tell about this.”

“Just let me know when you want to have your next party.”

She walked Vivian and Stew to the front door. “Thank you. Thank you both so much.”

Vivian turned back to her. “Stew, myself and Tupperware thank you. Bye Debbie.”

Debbie closed the door as Vivian and Stew walked towards his car. Suddenly Vivian let loose and started dancing with him on the front lawn.

“I did it!”

“Vivian, you were amazing.”

“I did it, Stewie! I really did it!”

She kissed him on the cheek and then twirled around Debbie’s front lawn laughing. Stew couldn’t have been happier.

•  •  •

The success of the party was exactly what Vivian needed to propel her forward and tap into a self-confidence she had never really felt before. She quickly threw parties with all the women she had met at the barn dance but then things came to a halt. She had to discover new people to “date”. Better yet, if they became dealers they could earn their own money while Vivian received a commission.

It was while reading an issue of the Tupperware Sparks newsletter sent out by Brownie, that Vivian solved her problem. In it Brownie addressed Vivian’s exact problem and the solution was “Operation Doorbell”. The concept, which initially was frightening and daunting to Vivian, was cold pitching. She had to go door-to-door touting the plastic products with the concept of sharing it with friends. In the beginning, no doors were slammed in her face but many would quickly say no, thinking she was a Fuller Brush woman, wanting money for the heart drive or selling all occasion greeting cards. But Vivian persevered and honed her speech and quickly her little black book was filling up with dates all through the month of December. Not just one party a day, but sometimes up to three and four. And by her side and very eager to help her along the way was Stew, setting up and breaking down the demos as they ran from house to house.

It was 10:20 A.M. on a Thursday morning and Vivian was already halfway through her first party of the day at Carla’s house located on Sunset Rock Road. She stood before a gathering of 15 women.

“The only thing worse than my cooking is my sewing!” she declared as she held up a darned sock full of holes.

The women giggled as she stuffed it into her pocket and held up a very small Tupperware bowl with a lid.

“Wonderlier Midgets! Have you ever seen anything cuter?”

The women applauded as Vivian easily opened it up and passed it around.

Vivian and Stew just barely made it to their next date, which was held at 3:00 P.M. at Ronnie’s home on Hidden Road. The living room was full of 18 women laughing uncontrollably.

“The only thing worse than my sewing is my ironing!” Vivian said, deadpan, which made them howl even louder.

She then held up two drinking cups. “Tupperware Bell Tumblers. Your kids will love them!”

The women started to applaud.

At 6:35 P.M. she was demonstrating in front of 12 women and 2 men at Gertrude’s house on Central Street.

“The only thing worse than my ironing are my organizational skills,” she proclaimed, making a sour looking face.

The room laughed as she held up a tightly sealed bowl full of water.

“That’s where Tupperware makes my life so much easier. All items seal tight, are colorful, flexible, compact, child safe and . . . ” She threw the bowl full of water to one of the men and he caught it. “Spill proof!”

At 8:00 P.M. Vivian and Stew held their last party of the day at June’s house situated on Randall Avenue. An astonishing number of 22 people showed up. She stood before them holding a Wonderlier Bowl full of fresh fruit.

“I may be organizationally challenged but I never come up short with my maternal instincts.”

Vivian caressed the bowl, gently tapped its side and then easily lifted the lid and burped it.

Everyone broke out into laughter.

“There, there,” she said as if it were a baby. “They are lightweight, indestructible and never sweat.” Vivian wiped her forehead with her arm. “Unlike me.”

Everyone laughed as Vivian winked at Stew in the back of the room.

•  •  •

Finally, Vivian had a day off and to celebrate she slept.

Stew had dragged a Christmas tree into the house earlier in the day and set it up in the living room. He and Babs had already strung the lights upon it but were holding off on the ornaments.

Early that evening, Vivian was still out to the world when Babs knocked on her door.

Vivian sat upright blurting out, “Wonderlier Bowls . . . indestructible!”

Babs lost it laughing and laid down next to her on the bed. “You’re selling Tupperware in your sleep?”

Vivian was completely disoriented. “My life went from pathetic to plastic.”

“You betcha!” Babs exclaimed. “You’re a selling sensation.”

Vivian laid back down next to her. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

“You haven’t.”

“How are you? How’s Kenneth?”

“As you know, he was sweet and all but he finally told me his real age.”

“And?”

“Viv, I was dating a man older than my father.”

“Is that legal?”

Babs chuckled. “And his kids have kids.”

“Granny Babs.”

“So I met this guy last night. Very handsome, attentive banker but . . . ”

“But what?”

“But he asked me how I felt about him shaving.”

Vivian sat up in bed and asked tentatively, “His face?”

“No,” Babs said wondering if she should go on. “Down there.”

“Down there, where?”

Babs paused for a dramatic affect. “Way down there. He says it’s all smooth as a baby’s bottom.”

“Ewwww!”

Stew knocked on the door and stuck his head in, looked at Vivian and started humming
Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.

She looked to Babs for help who indicated she was on her own with this one. Stew continued to hum as Vivian wracked her brain thinking of all the Garland movies she had seen.

“Um . . . 
The Pirate
?”

He shook his head.

“Oh wait!
Girl Crazy
?”

He continued to hum.

“I’ve got it.
The Harvey Girls
?”

“You’re hopeless,” Stew said.

Babs came to the rescue. “
Meet Me In St. Louis.
”

“There you go,” Stew laughed. “But what’s the song?”

Vivian dropped her head. “I’m not a big movie fan like you are.”

“Viv, everyone knows this one,” Babs said, tickling her side.

Stew added, “Especially considering the date.”

Vivian was at a loss. “What’s today?”

Babs and Stew looked at each other and in unison said, “Christmas Eve?”

Vivian bolted out of bed. “You’re kidding me?”

They both shook their heads.

“But where did the time fly?”

Babs led her out of the bedroom. “You’ve been working your tail off.”

Stew followed them into the living room.

“Oh my gosh,” Vivian said, astonished. “You put up a tree!”

Babs pointed to a box of ornaments. “We thought you’d like to join us in decorating it. Let me just run up to the attic and get the other box.”

Vivian followed Stew into the kitchen. “Viv, let me cook you up something. You must be starving.”

“Don’t go out of your way.”

“This is my creative outlet. You just woke up so how about some blueberry and Grand Marnier buttermilk pancakes?”

He went to the fridge as she sat down at the alcove table.

“Stew, how did you learn to cook like this?”

“Out of necessity.”

She laughed. “I had necessity but that didn’t help.” He smiled as she watched him grab some eggs, milk and butter. “Stew, why did she leave you?”

He paused and looked out of the kitchen window. He was going to change the subject and tell her that gigantic snowflakes were now falling outside but instead, decided to answer her.

“Because she fell out of love with me.” He turned around, looking at her. “Honestly, I don’t think she ever loved me. I was her escape from a very domineering mother.”

Vivian laughed to herself, knowing all too well.

He grabbed the canister of flour. “But she’ll say she left because she couldn’t take the pressure of being a cop’s wife.”

“I can understand that.”

“Well, it’s ironic that she divorces me and then I lose my job.”

Vivian watched him as he started mixing the pancake ingredients. “Stew, did Paul have anything to do with that?”

“Not directly but he certainly campaigned as hard as he could.”

“What do you mean?”

“Paul has an outrageous sense of entitlement. Especially when . . . ” he hesitated, questioning whether he should say anymore.

“It’s OK. Go on.”

“Especially when it comes to women. He abused his power, both as a man and a police officer, to seduce them. I think some of them were frightened not to have sex with him, which is horrific, and I told him so. I’m sure he was worried that I’d go to the top and snitch on him but I would never have done that. Still, he made sure that I was out of the picture. Sorry Viv, the man’s a pig.”

“Trust me, I found that out the hard way.”

Babs reappeared with the box of ornaments and put it on the table. “I think this is all of them.”

Stew went over to the box. “There are a few here that are my favorites.” He gently took a tissue wrapped ornament out and opened it up, showing it to Vivian.

She touched it carefully. “A miniature crate of oranges.”

Stew dug through the box. “There’s a bushel of plums and another one of lemons. Not sure why I love them so much.”

“I think maybe cause you adore food?”

“Viv,” Babs said, “in honor of your presence on this Christmas Eve night, I think you should be the first to hang an ornament.”

Just then, Vivian’s tears started to flow. Babs and Stew looked at each other, worried.

“It’s OK,” she reassured them. “They’re tears of joy. It’s just that . . . I’ve never done this before.”

Babs hugged her. “Well, we should have invited you over before.”

“No, I mean, I’ve never decorated a tree before.”

Babs and Stew looked at each other again.

Vivian smiled. “This isn’t a sob story. It’s just the truth. When I was a child, every year the fake tree went up fully decorated. Then when my father died, trees and gift giving disappeared altogether except for in the servant’s quarters. The maids always put up a scrawny tree but I was never allowed to go near it.”

Babs shook her head. “There oughta be a law.”

“And Paul’s an atheist . . . ”

“Figures,” Stew said, with contempt.

“So we never celebrated.”

Stew picked up the box of ornaments and they followed him to the tree. “Well, tonight will be your virgin tree trimming.” He handed her the miniature crate of oranges.

“But this one is your favorite, you should . . . ”

“No,” he said cutting her off as he went over to the phonograph. “You should.”

Vivian looked at the two of them a bit helplessly. “Do I just put it anywhere?”

Babs smiled warmly as Vivian hung it front and center and Stew slipped on an LP of Judy singing
Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.

Vivian learned the hard way that no one wanted to sell, buy or host Tupperware between Christmas and New Years. But she had already become addicted. Addicted to the adrenaline rush she felt when a party was a success. She loved the laughter generated at the get-togethers but more importantly she felt a great sense of satisfaction knowing she was helping to change their lives for the good. Plus, the “dates” had become her social life.

Not wanting to lose the steam she had built up, she spent her downtime studying her Tupperware manuals and Brownie’s mantras. Once the holidays were over, she resumed her “Operation Doorbell” but also started phoning up past party hosts to see if they’d like to book additional parties. Vivian also got quite creative with her marketing schemes.

One day she filled the backseat of Stew’s car up with Tupperware, but not in their boxes, she just towered everything up to the roof of the car. She had Stew pull into a gas station and just as she suspected, the gas station attendant asked what was in the backseat. This was all Vivian needed to gently slide into her soft-sell pitch and when the man realized how much money she was making, he exchanged phone numbers with her wanting to share this concept with his wife.