Leftovers: A Novel (25 page)

She looked at it hesitantly.

“Go ahead. Take a good look.”

Vivian pulled out several photographs and her face instantly registered shock. She hovered over them trying to make sure other diners couldn’t see them. “You bastard.”

One striking photo was Vivian dolled up like Betty Page, posing in black stockings, garter belt and panties. She was topless but covering her breasts with her hands. The second picture was of her squatting in an old-fashioned washtub wearing just a bra and panties. Her head was thrown back and she’s pouring water all over herself with a watering can. In the third, she’s wearing a Frederick’s of Hollywood lace bra but for a bottom, she’s just wearing Paul’s holster with her hand on his gun.

Vivian stared at him. “I should have shot you then.”

He sneered at her and took the photos back. “I could ask for everything. Just give me half.”

She grabbed them out of his hand.

“Vivian, I’ll just have more printed up.”

She leaned into him. “You forced me to do those photos,” she said in a vicious whisper.

“Then you’re a damn good actress cause you looked like you were having a great time to me.”

“Are you getting pleasure out of this?”

“You give me what I am due and the deal is settled.”

“All I ever did was love you and take care of you and dream of having children with you.”

He downed his scotch leering at her.

“If only you had asked, I would have told you.”

“Told me what?”

“I never wanted children.”

“But . . . ”

“I had a vasectomy before we got married.”

Aghast, Vivian stood up and threw the rest of her martini into his face. She grabbed her purse and the pictures as his hands went up to his stinging eyes.

At that very moment, Stew and Gloria were just entering the vestibule of the restaurant.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d be free on such short notice,” Stew said as he helped her with her coat.

“Lord knows my dance card is open,” Gloria laughed.

Everyone in the restaurant was watching Vivian cross the restaurant, including the waiter, who had her coat waiting for her. As she slipped him a bill, Stew was just entering the main dining room followed by Gloria.

“Oops,” he said as he spun around quickly ushering Gloria back into the vestibule. “It’s packed and I forgot to make a reservation.”

“We could have a drink at the bar?”

Stew pushed her outside.“I’m allergic to smoke.”

They exited DeQuatro’s and Stew pulled her down the street. “Gloria, how about I cook. Did you know I’m a gourmet chef?”

“No!”

Vivian came out of the restaurant and headed in the same direction as Gloria and Stew, still not having seen them, as Paul stumbled out after her.

“You can’t run, Vivian. You can’t hide!”

Vivian turned back to him. “You are so sick!”

Hearing this, Stew stopped and turned back.

“I’m gonna show those lewd pictures to Brownie!” he shouted.

She screamed back. “Fine! Show them to the whole world. I don’t care. And take half of what I’ve got. Hell, take all of it. Just get out of my life!”

Vivian started to walk away as Paul lurched forward and grabbed her coat sleeve spinning her around. She tried to pull herself free as Stew ran towards them. Paul lost his grip and reached for Vivian’s coat again but Stew pushed him back.

“Leave her alone!”

Paul stumbled. “Well, if it ain’t Mister Goody Two-Shoes. Aw, sorry. Mister Goody One-Shoe.”

He reached out for Vivian but Stew put his arm around her to protect her.

“Don’t touch her, Paul.”

Stew pulled Vivian in the direction of Gloria.

“Or what?” Paul screamed. “You’ll shoot your other foot?”

Stew kept walking away from him with Vivian. “Attack me all you want but stop bullying Vivian.”

“Stew,” Vivian pleaded, “don’t get in the middle of this.”

Paul caught up to Stew and grabbed his shoulder, spinning him back around. He pulled his arm back to punch Stew but being totally drunk, he lost his balance and stepped off of the sidewalk backwards into oncoming traffic.

Vivian screamed as Stew instinctively dashed out into the street, grabbed him and pushed him back to the sidewalk. Paul stumbled a few feet and then fell, hitting his head on the curb and was knocked out cold.

Vivian turned to Stew and saw a car heading straight for him.

“Look out!” Vivian screamed.

Stew turned around just in time as the car literally brushed by him. He stepped back a few steps and collected himself as a crowd gathered around Paul.

Stew went over to Vivian. “You going to be OK?”

“Yes.”

Stew paused for a moment to catch his breath and then joined Gloria.

“Someone call an ambulance!” a man shouted as Vivian watched Stew and Gloria walk off together.

•  •  •

Vivian stood next to the automatic coffee dispensing machine in Bon Secours commissary with a glazed look on her face. She couldn’t believe that in one day she was proposed to by her ex-husband, then blackmailed and now he was in the hospital. The coffee had just finished dripping into her cup as someone walked up from behind.

“Are you through, Miss?”

Vivian snapped out of her daze. “Yes.” The voice sounded familiar. She turned around and it was Irene.

“Mother!”

They both spoke at the same time. “What are you doing here?”

Vivian removed her coffee from the machine as Irene slipped a dime in.

“I’m visiting Maid 4.” Irene selected her coffee, the paper cup dropped and the questionable brown liquid slowly dribbled down. “She’s up in room 305.”

“What do you mean?”

She explained to Vivian that the pain Maid 4 had been feeling in her chest a month earlier was actually the warning sign of a heart attack. And while going through a battery of tests at Bon Secours, she actually suffered heart failure.

Irene grabbed her coffee and blew on it. “She tore some sort of valve and considering her age and weight, they say it’s a wonder she’s still alive. They don’t think she’ll make it. And her timing couldn’t be any worse,” Irene added. “This is my busy social season. Benefits, gala openings, luncheons, bridge parties.”

“For the whole month she’s been in the hospital? It never occurred to you to call me or visit or share what’s going on?”

“No. It never did.”

Vivian couldn’t find the words, her mother flabbergasted her so much. “Mother!”

“Why are you here?”

“My ex husband.”

“Paul?”

“No Mother, his name is . . . ” Irene said it right for the first time ever. “Yes, Paul.”

“What happened to him?”

“We’re waiting to see. The initial diagnosis is blunt trauma to the head.”

“Good. He deserves it.”

“Mother! We had been out to dinner and he had too much to drink and was almost hit by a car.”

“I thought you divorced him.”

“I did.”

“And now you’re socializing with him? You should be careful Vivian. Clearly you’re attracted to abusive people.”

Vivian looked away. “God knows it’s what I’m familiar with.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Vivian put up a hand as if to say halt. “I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to argue. This isn’t the time. This isn’t the place. I’m confused, I’m upset and a little support from my own mother would be a novel and supportive concept.”

“Vivian, if you want empathy go cry on the shoulder of one of your Tupperware ladies. Maybe they can take all your little problems and store them away in a plastic airtight tub and your life will be all hunky-dory again.” Irene took a sip of the beverage, made a disgusting face and threw it into the trash.

“Mother, that’s it! I’ve had it. I’ve had it with the putdowns. I’ve had it with the criticisms. I’ve had it with the condescending remarks.”

“You’re too sensitive. Always have been. Even as a child.”

“Mother, children are supposed to be sensitive. And you’re mean. I know you don’t like me. I fear that you hate me. Let’s face it, if we weren’t mother and daughter, we’d never be friends.”

Babs quietly entered the hospital commissary and listened as Vivian continued.

“Maybe you blame me for something? Or maybe you’re just jealous?”

“Ha!”

“I don’t know. You never tell me anything. But if you cannot give me the respect that I deserve, if you cannot speak to me in a civil fashion, if you cannot say one positive or encouraging thing to me, then don’t say anything at all.”

For a split second it looked as if Irene were going to strike Vivian. But her daughter held her ground.

“Mother, is that understood?”

Irene looked at her for a moment longer and then turned and walked away. Babs had to jump out of her path as she stormed out.

Babs went over to Vivian and embraced her.

“You OK, Viv?”

“I think so. Thank you so much for coming. The doctor is still with Paul. Do you want to meet me at the nurse’s station on the fourth floor? There’s something I need to do.”

Babs nodded as Vivian walked over to the elevators. She took it up to the third floor and slowly walked towards room 305. The door was ajar and Vivian was just about to enter when a nun walked up to her.

“Visiting hours are over, my dear.”

“Oh, but . . . I just found out she was here and I’m so worried. If you could just let me see her for a moment. I promise I won’t stay long.”

The nun paused, smiled and then gestured to the room.

Vivian was about to enter and then turned back to her. “What is wrong with her?”
“Coronary thrombosis.”

“Is it curable?”

The nun shrugged her shoulders. “She’s on anticoagulants. She must continue to rest in bed.”

Vivian took a deep breath and walked in slowly. Maid 4 was lying in her hospital bed with her eyes closed. Not sure if she was awake, Vivian quietly sat down on the chair next to her bed and Maid 4 turned her head towards her.

“Who’s there?” she asked. Her brogue was as thick as ever but weaker and raspier.

“It’s me.”

Maid 4 focused on her face.

“It’s Vivian. Vivian Lawson.”

“Oh. Oh my dear Lord.”

Vivian touched her hand. “Don’t get excited.”

“Is it really you? You look so different.”

“I hope that’s a good thing,” she smiled.

“Aw, so nice to see someone smiling for a change. How did you know I was here?”

“I ran into my mother. I’m just so furious she didn’t tell me what had happened to you. I would have come to visit. What is her problem? Why does she dislike me so?”

“Sit closer to me before the good Lord takes me away.”

“Shhh, don’t talk like that.”

“There’s something I need to get off my chest. It’s about your mother.” She started to cough.

“Please don’t stress yourself.”

“Vivian, we’re Irish. We don’t talk about the past.”

“Obviously. I know nothing about my mother. Nothing! I don’t even know how old she is.”

“Well,” she laughed, “you never ask a lady that.”

“But she’s my mother!”

Maid 4 went on to tell Vivian that her mother was born in Ireland in 1890, which would make her 65 years old. She was the youngest of 11 brothers and sisters. Her father had died shortly after her birth leaving her mother and the children penniless.

At eight years of age Irene was shipped to America, by herself, to work at the Glenallen Mill in Winchendon, Massachusetts. That’s where Maids 1, 2, 3 and 4 met her. They were all mill girls. For the next eight years Irene was a threader. Working enormous machines, positioned claustrophobically close together and with the deafening sound of the weavers booming all day long, it was more like prison for the children than work. Every dollar Irene made was sent home to her mother and siblings. All she got was room, board and a few scraps of clothing.

In 1906 Irene was contracted out to the newly opened Lawson Woolen Mills in Abbot. And thankfully, the child labor laws were enforced and life was much different for the workers. Upon laying eyes on Irene, even after years of such hardship, William Lawson thought she was the prettiest girl he had ever seen. A year later, at the ages of 17 and 26, Vivian’s parents were married.

“Ah, she was a beauty. Still is. Your father offered her a chance at freedom. Not sure if she loved him, but it was a way out. And once married, she called for us maids to work for her. We couldn’t believe we would finally be out of the mills.”

Vivian did the math and was astonished to realize that her mother was almost 40 when she was born.

She whispered to Maid 4, “I feel so sorry for you.”