Leftovers: A Novel (22 page)

“She’s taking me over to see the house in a bit.” He stopped what he was doing and turned to her. “Aw Babs, I gotta pull out the stops and impress her somehow so I was thinking...” he went to his closet, “I really need to dress sharp.” He pulled out a very nice blue shirt. “Like this?”

He put it up to his chest. Babs stood back and looked at the shirt and then grabbed it from him and threw it onto the bed.

“Peacocking.”

She went to his closet and rifled through his clothes.

“Pardon me?”

“You have to start peacocking and master the art of dressing for attention. Like a peacock strutting his feathers. It reeks of arrogance and all us girls flip over it.” She examined the last shirt hanging in his closet. “No, there’s nothing in here.” She spun around and looked at him. “I have an idea. My closet!”

Stew watched her as she dashed out of the bedroom. “This doesn’t feel so good.”

•  •  •

On July 18, 1955 Disneyland opened to the public and one of the most adored and iconic Disney characters ever created, Cinderella, was prominently featured at the theme park. Five years earlier, the film was released and the beloved song,
A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes
, was destined to remain a favorite for generations to come. What had happened to Vivian’s life was not unlike Cinderella’s, but along with her theme song, there should be a cautionary warning: be careful of what you wish for.

On this same glorious July afternoon in Abbot, Vivian turned left off of River Road and onto Clark in her pink Chevrolet with the top down. Stew was sitting in the passenger’s seat wearing one of Babs’ outrageously loud Hawaiian print shirts and a powder blue Sherlock Holmes hat that was just a bit too small for his head.

His hand flew up to the hat as the wind blew it to the back of his head. “Oops, almost lost it!”

Vivian looked at it.
Pity.

She stepped on the gas as the incline of the hill increased and Stew gripped the armrest, feeling his body being pressed back into the seat.

“I think you might be going beyond the speed limit, Viv.”

“Can’t wait for you to see it,” she hollered as they zoomed past the mansions.

They reached the top of the hill, Vivian slowed down to make a left onto Osgood and then pulled over to the side of the road.

Stew looked at her wondering what she was doing. “Is the car OK?”

She smiled at him and then gestured to across the street.

He looked. “Yes. The Shepherd house.”

“And what do you see in the front lawn?”

“A sign that says . . . ” he squinted, “sold.”

Vivian grinned from ear to ear.

He put two and two together. “You? You bought the Shepherd house?”

She nodded proudly.

“But I didn’t even know it was for sale.”

“It wasn’t. I made them an offer they couldn’t refuse.” She opened the car door and got out.

“But Viv, it’s so large.”

“I’ve always been madly in love with it.”

Together they crossed the road.

“Can you really afford something like this?”

“I just signed on for three more commercials.”

The two of them stood up against the waist high ancient stonewall surrounding the 1716 colonial house.

“Don’t you think you’ll be lonely in that rambling thing all by yourself?”

“Never!” She opened the white picket gate. “I love it. I love it. I love it! I can’t believe it’s mine. And I did it all on my own.”

Stew watched her with a worried look as she twirled around on the front lawn like a child ecstatic at the news of getting her first puppy.

•  •  •

Anyone looking closely at the Shepherd house could recognize that it had great potential, potential for being a money pit. And Vivian wasn’t blind to this. She was just in love. And being a true Abbotonian, Vivian was respectful enough not to play with the structural integrity and history of her new home.

She had the 25 double hung, 12 over 12 paned windows painstakingly stripped of peeling antiquated paint, repaired and freshly recoated for a crisp, clean look and preservation of the wood. Most of the panes had been replaced over the centuries but some of the original wavy glass was still intact.

The massive central chimney that provided the house with its five fireplaces was repointed. The 50 black shutters were literally falling apart and the next strong wind that came along would certainly blow the rungs away like featherweight matchsticks. Also, the roof on the back end of the house needed to be replaced.

There was a cement in-ground pool that was drained so that minor cracks could be repaired before being repainted and filled with water again but the pool house with an additional two bedrooms and bath was in good enough shape that she didn’t need to deal with it at the moment.

But the white clapboards on the exterior of the house were a big issue. Due to long term neglected termite infestation, much of the siding had to be replaced. Simultaneously, the interior wooden structures had to be chemically treated to rid the home of these pesky intruders.

But as expensive, time consuming and threatening as these insects were, nothing was peskier to Vivian than Paul. Since first seeing her on television, he continued to bother her. At first it was a call here and there asking if they could get together. Then the calls became more frequent. He never really said what it was that he wanted to talk about. Instead, he just insisted that he needed to see her in person, in public. The pain he had caused was fresh enough to give her the strength to keep him at bay but occasionally, upon leaving the house, she had the dreaded sense that he may be lurking in the bushes about to jump out at her.

Vivian welcomed her numerous business trips out of town, which gave her a break from his annoyance and reduced her chances of possibly running into him in town. It was also a relief from the tremendous amount of dust and chaos associated with the restoration.

As she continued to bop back and forth to New York doing more photo shoots, magazine interviews and her next commercial, she was also buying up furniture to fill this enormous house. Like Brownie, she wanted to surround herself with beautiful things and create a home that begged for entertaining.

The one room that she did choose to completely gut and bring up to date was the kitchen. Its most recent makeover was about 20 years earlier and the day the workmen tore out the old gas stove Vivian cheered.

The color scheme for the kitchen was pink, créme and black. State of the art stainless steel Highpoint appliances were installed throughout the open concept workspace. On one wall were Vivian’s side-by-side refrigerator and freezer with the stylish rounded corners and circular chrome center handles. Upper and lower pink cabinets paired elegantly with the beige and coral speckled Formica countertops and there was a dishwasher installed next to the stainless steel sink.

On the adjoining wall was a floating double oven mounted between two black columns and next to that was an expansive pink floating counter with four electric cook tops. Each one being a separate unit, they actually folded up into the wall when not in use. Matching the cabinets and counter tops, the floor was a speckled tan, créme and pink linoleum. The kitchen was clean, sleek and nothing anyone had ever seen before.

But, although she had restored the house to its original splendor, Vivian was determined not to fill it with stuffy and dated décor. Obviously influenced by her trip to Water’s Edge, Vivian took a big risk and decorated her New England colonial mansion in a shocking “Floridian” style.

•  •  •

It was on a warm late September day when Vivian threw herself an early housewarming party. The south facing siding had yet to be replaced and the shutters were still in the process of being restored but Vivian wanted to celebrate while the weather was still warm and the pool swimmable.

Out on the back patio, Babs, Debbie, Gloria and Vivian, who was wearing a knock-off of the Marilyn Monroe white halter dress she wore in
The Seven Year Itch
, sat around the poolside table with a slew of magazines scattered all over it.

Babs threw up her arms. “Whom are we waiting on?”

“Hush,” Vivian said putting her index finger up to her lips. “I don’t want to jinx it.”

Stew came out of the house carrying a tray of cocktails. “Another round, ladies?”

Gloria grabbed a glass. “Stew, you’re looking more handsome than ever, I must say.”

He actually blushed. “Finish that drink and I’ll look even better.”

They all laughed as Debbie pointed to the pile of magazines. “Viv, your Tupperware ads are in
Better Homes and Gardens
,
Good Housekeeping
,
Redbook
,
Charm
,
McCall’s
 . . . ”

Vivian held up the copy she was looking at. “And
Modern Woman.
”

Debbie took a large gulp of her drink. “When do you have time to breathe?”

“I don’t,” Vivian sighed. “I just did a radio show in New York and have to fly down to Kissimmee for the planting ceremony.”

Babs wasn’t sure she heard her correctly. “The what?”

Stew pulled up a chair and sat down. “Brownie is doing a festival tree planting marathon at headquarters.”

“To symbolize the nurturing of fruitful lives,” Vivian said, very dramatically.

Babs held up her glass towards the pool and then to the house and toasted. “Here, here! Your fruit is so ripe it’s about to fall off the tree!”

They all cheered as the doorbell rang. Vivian almost knocked the table over as she jumped to her feet.

“Be right back,” she said as she ran into the house clutching the copy of
Modern Woman
.

As Vivian crossed through her living room she strategically placed the
Modern Woman
magazine onto the coffee table and quickly paused to check her hair and make-up in the mirror hanging over the fireplace mantle. The doorbell rang again. She rushed to the front foyer, stood next to the Italianate statue and giant potted fern tucked under her spiral staircase and took a deep breath. After a quick look up to the heavens for good luck, she opened the door.

Standing there with her back to Vivian while surveying the front yard with a critical eye was her mother, Irene.

“I was afraid you weren’t coming, Mother.”

She continued to stand with her back to her daughter. “I wasn’t going to. But Maid 4 is whining about chest pains again. I told her she should see a specialist at Mass General but oh no, she insists on seeing her old doctor, and I mean
old
, up here at Bon Secours. So I dropped her off for her check-up and . . . ” Irene finally turned around and saw Vivian for the first time since her makeover. “Oh my! The hair? The make-up? And what in God’s name are you wearing? Where is my Vivian?”

She laughed, nervously. “I’m still here.”

“You look . . . ” Irene struggled with the word, “good dear. You look . . . good.”

Vivian tentatively gestured for her to enter.

“You bought the Shepherd house?” she asked, incredulously.

Vivian stood a little taller. “Yes I did.”

Irene walked into the living room, which was decorated almost identically to Brownie’s. Pastel floral prints covered two easy chairs and matching bamboo sofas faced each other in front of the fireplace. And in between them was a giant glass coffee table with a weathered driftwood base. Modern paintings and sketches adorned the walls and the draperies in all the windows matched the print on the furniture. And anchoring the room was a large rattan rug.

It was all very beautiful and obviously expensive but the disconnect between the tropical décor and the colonial house was completely jarring.

Irene entered the room and unconsciously ran her finger along the top of the fireplace mantel and checked it for dust.

She looked at her finger. “Hmmm.”

Vivian followed behind her as she walked about the living room. “I’ve got four bedrooms and two and a half baths, Mother. Oh, and in the kitchen I’ve installed an automatic dishwasher and out back is a beautiful pool and barbecue pit.”

“You give her a dollar and she thinks she’s a Rockefeller,” Irene mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Everything is picture perfect and in its place. Just like a dollhouse.”

Vivian wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not. “You like the way I’ve decorated it?”

“You did it yourself?”

“Yes,” she said, proudly. “I call it,” she paused and giggled, “early everglades.”

Irene looked at it critically and whispered under her breath, “I’d call it early awful.”

Vivian reached for the cigarette box sitting on the coffee table and offered her one. “Mother, I’m going to appear in some more commercials for Tupperware.”

Irene ignored the cigarettes and headed for the front door. “You’re acting now?”

Vivian grabbed the
Modern Woman
magazine. “Ah, I was hoping you saw me on television.”

“I may have caught the tail end of one of the advertisements.”