Leftovers: A Novel (23 page)

Vivian waited for some sort of reaction, approval or disapproval but Irene just opened the front door herself and stepped out.

“My friends,” Vivian said, pointing to behind the house, “are all out by the pool sipping cocktails and mingling. I was hoping you’d . . . ”

Irene headed for her car as Vivian followed her.

“I’ve appeared in several magazines, Mother. Including your favorite,
Modern Woman
.” She held the magazine out to her but Irene declined to take it as she went around to the driver’s side and opened the door.

“I stopped reading that silly thing years ago.”

Vivian glanced into the car and actually saw a copy of it lying on the passenger’s seat.

“Well, I think Daddy would be proud of me.”

Irene was unable to hold back her true feelings. “Your father would be disgusted with your ostentatious behavior.”

“My what?”

“The man hated the nouveau riche.” She got into the car and slammed the door shut.

“But . . . ”

She started the car and stuck her head out the window. “I hope you’re saving some of this money. What if Tupperware’s just a flash in the pan? Goodbye Vivian. I have shopping to do.”

Defeated, Vivian stared at her as she pulled out of the driveway and Gloria and Debbie came out of the house.

“Sorry we have to leave,” Gloria said, giving her a hug.

“Thanks for the housewarming gifts.”

Debbie embraced her. “Viv, will you be at Monday’s regional meeting?”

“Not this month.
Home Companion
is coming over for an interview and photo shoot.”

“Hoity-toity!” Gloria laughed as they got into her car.

“Remember us little people!” Debbie hollered as they pulled out of the drive.

Vivian waved to them and entered the house as Babs and Stew walked into the living room.

“I have to get inventory papers,” Stew said as he headed to Vivian’s den.

Babs walked over to a painting on the wall and squinted at the signature. “Must be expensive cause I can’t pronounce the name. Everything here looks pricey.”

Vivian lit a cigarette. “It is.”

“You’ve made it baby. The house, the toys, the money.”

“And I owe it all to Brownie.”

Babs couldn’t believe what she just heard. “Don’t you think someone else deserves a little credit?”

“Of course, Babs,” she said rather arrogantly, “you’ve been a great help.”

“I’m not talking about me although that is true.” She gestured to the den. “Stew. None of this would have happened without him.” Babs dragged Vivian by her arm into the foyer and brought her voice down low. “And you do realize he’s crazy about you?”

Vivian started to laugh. “Stewie?”

He came out of the den with both arms full of folders and seeing neither of them in the living room, he walked towards the front door.

Babs poked her with her finger. “Don’t you dare laugh.”

Hearing them, he paused behind a life-size statue of some naked Greek God whose name he could never remember.

Babs continued in a hushed whisper. “Stew is a catch.”

“I have an image to think of now.”

“And Stew would cramp your style?”

“He’s been dressing funny and acting weird. I’m sure Brownie would want me to be seen with a man a bit more . . . sophisticated.”

Truly appalled, Babs raised her voice hoping Stew could hear her. “Someone’s beginning to believe all her own press hype. And the generous guy that did everything in his power to get you back up on your feet is now socially unacceptable?”

“Keep your voice down. I’m not sure he and I are a perfect fit.”

“So now you want perfection?”

“I’m not interested in Stewie because he’s . . . ” she struggled to find the right word as he moved closer so he could hear. “He’s . . . ”

Babs sank into her left hip and glared at her. “Is the word you’re searching for . . . leftovers?”

Having heard enough, Stew stepped out from behind the statue, rushed by them, managed to open the front door on his third try and made a beeline to his car.

Vivian called out to him. “Stewie!”

Babs took a few steps and then turned back to her. “Be careful of the wheel of fortune, Vivian. It always spins.” She looked her up and down and then gestured to the halter dress. “And who said Marilyn Monroe wasn’t relevant?”

She walked out the door, slamming it in Vivian’s face.

•  •  •

Later that night, Vivian stood in one of the spare bedrooms upstairs that she had transformed into a dressing room and walk-in

closet. Gowns, suits and outfits were lined up on racks like perfect little soldiers and wafting up from the living room could be heard the hypnotic and tropical song,
Quiet Village.

She glanced at herself in the mirror and admired the black silk blouse paired with gold floral brocade Capri pants. She slipped on a floor-length matching hostess coat, turned left and then right and smiled approvingly as she walked over to her dressing room table.

Stocked with all the “right” cosmetics, Vivian sat down at the vanity and with the precision of a brain surgeon she carefully applied the make-up exactly as she was taught to. She picked up her half-empty glass of wine, took a large swallow and then exaggerated her black eye liner and added an extra layer of fire engine red lipstick. She grabbed the glass and headed out of the room.

Vivian gracefully descended her spiral staircase just as the exotic song was finishing. She walked through her living room to her Emerson phonograph radio console, flipped the LP and stacked another record on top, to drop after
Jungle River Boat
had finished playing
.

She lovingly ran her fingers across the state of the art piece of entertainment furniture and took a survey of her room. She adjusted the drapes hanging in the front windows and made sure they puddled perfectly on the floor, realigned a painting by a millimeter to ensure it was straight and fluffed the pillows on the sofas before heading into the kitchen.

She looked through the window of her electric oven at the Swanson’s TV dinner cooking, refilled her glass of wine and perused through the stack of magazines she had been featured in. When the timer went off, she took the dinner out of the oven and transferred the fried chicken, corn, mashed potatoes and brownie to an elegant plate of china. She picked up the plate of food and glass of wine and as she headed to the dining room she paused briefly, looked back at her electric dishwasher and smiled.

Vivian’s formal dining room table was set for one. She put down the plate of food and the glass of wine and lit her silver candelabra of five candles. She sat down as
Unchained Melody
dropped onto the turntable and she listened to it, not touching a morsel of her food. When the song finished, she continued to sit there as the needle scratched against the LP. Her superficial enjoyment of her evening and belongings was beginning to fade.

She picked up the plate, carried it back into the kitchen and scraped the food into the trash. Vivian refilled her glass with wine and walked back into the living room. Bored to tears and feeling more lonely than ever, she shut off the record player and turned out all the lights out except for one on an end table next to the sofa.

She set her glass of wine down, curled up on the sofa, looked at her copy of Herman Wouk’s
Marjorie Morningstar
and unenthusiastically picked it up. She opened the book to where she had left off but slowly her gaze drifted off across the room, focusing on nothing.

Sometime later, all the lights were out in the house. Moonlight shone in from the French doors going out to the patio and all that could be seen was Vivian’s silhouette as she continued to sit in the same position on the sofa. She brought a cigarette up to her lips, inhaled and the red tip glowed in the darkness.

A month had passed and although Stew continued to run the operations of Vivian’s Tupperware division in Abbot, he had managed, with the help of assistants, not to see or speak with her during that entire period of time. It tore him apart inside but he sensed, with Babs’ strong encouragement, that it was the best thing to do.

Vivian was OK while working, which was most of the time but late at night when she was home alone or in a hotel room, she ached for Babs’ company as well as Stew’s. During those moments of reflection, Vivian couldn’t really understand what went wrong. She had a job and a purpose, she had the money, the house, the clothes and everything else but she had also lost the two real and only friends she had.

Vivian had just arrived home from a whirlwind trip to New York City, which included doing a live Tupperware commercial on
The Perry Como Show.
At this point, she was pretty self-confident. Memorization of lines she didn’t find too difficult but hitting marks and knowing exactly when the camera was on and which one to look into and remembering not to talk too quickly and to bring her voice down into her lower register, was all a bit unnerving. For Vivian, doing the show was definitely filled with an air of excitement laced with terror. What if she goofed? What if she blanked? What if a fly flew into her mouth?

She was a bit shaky when they first went on the air, with her upper lip quivering a bit. And she stumbled over a line halfway through but Mr. Como was delighted to meet her and the advertising hot shots for Tupperware, present on the set, were very pleased with her performance.

Back in Abbot on a Saturday afternoon and not knowing what to do with herself, Vivian got into her car and headed into town. As she turned onto Clark Road and passed the other mansions, it dawned on her that she had forgotten to decorate her front door with an autumnal wreath. With that realization, she had something to do.

She coasted down the hill and with no train approaching, she plopped across the tracks and over the wrought iron bridge across the Drake River. Taking a left onto Mill Road she zoomed up the steep incline effortlessly with the help of her V8 engine in the Chevrolet and the late October sun gleamed off of South Church as she coasted into the center of town.

She casually looked up at the Abbot Movie House as she passed by.

THE SEVEN YEAR ITCH
starring
MARILYN MONROE
and
TOM EWELL
 
Coming Up Next
 
SUMMERTIME
starring
KATHERINE HEPBURN
and
ROSSANO BRAZZI

Once on Main Street she searched for a parking place but none were available around the Town Florist shop. She took a left onto Chester, passed the Colonial Candlepin Bowling Alley whose lot was full and then pulled in next door to Demoulas grocery store.

While walking past the bowling alley on her way back to Main Street, she noticed that Babs’ car was parked out front. She paused and then walked up to the front windows, peered in and saw her bowling with Stew. Sensing she was the last person in the world they’d want to have interrupt their game, she chose to walk on to the Town Florist.

Inside, Babs was about to take her next turn as Stew sat at the scoring table. She grabbed one of the grapefruit size bowling balls and casually positioned herself for the throw. She looked around to see if any men were watching as she haphazardly tossed the ball down the lane and then posed in several different alluring positions. She walked back towards Stew when they all heard a loud crack as her ball hit the candlepins. Stew dropped his head onto the table. She got a strike.

Babs turned around and looked at it, totally surprised. “Wow! Another one! Stew, it’s not my fault. I wasn’t even paying attention.”

“That’s what makes it even worse,” he moaned. He dragged himself away from the table dreading his next turn.

He picked up a ball and then from the foul line he walked back three large steps. He turned around and faced the pins, blew on his ball for good luck and rubbed it with the sleeve of his shirt. Stew said a quick prayer, stuck his butt way out as he bent his knees and focused his eyes on the middle pin. He took one, two, three steps with the ball swinging back and released it with all his might. Two feet down the lane it skidded into the gutter, again. Totally flustered, he turned around and saw Babs flirting with the guy in the next lane.

Stew sat down, ripped off his bowling shoes and slipped on his loafers.

“What did you get?” Babs asked, picking up the pencil.

“If you had been watching you’d realize. Zero, zilch, nada!”He grabbed his coat and headed out the door with his hands flailing.

“Hey!”

Outside, he impatiently leaned against Babs’ car waiting for her to come out.

“Stew,” she shouted, as she walked over to him.

“Babs, what did I do wrong?”

“Maybe you’d do better with big balls?”

He gave her a look. “No! I mean with Vivian.”

She got into the driver’s seat as he went around to the passenger’s.

“It’s not you.”

Thoroughly frustrated, he slumped into the car as she started it up. “I’m so pathetic. I like her more now than ever. I worry if she’s OK. I wonder what she’s thinking about. I watch the clock counting the minutes till I can see her again. She rejects me and I still want her.” He rubbed his temples as she backed out of the bowling lane’s parking lot and took a right on Chester. “I don’t feel so well. Maybe I’m sick.”