Leftovers: A Novel (13 page)

“You do?”

“It’s called being territorial. When sitting, lay back and relax. Let your arms hang at your sides and make yourself as comfortable as possible. And when walking, no hands in your pockets and don’t look down. Head up, chest out, shoulders back. And talk slowly.” She looked at her wristwatch. “Now let me finish getting ready or I’ll be late.” She pulled her head back into the bathroom and slammed the door shut.

Stew stuffed his white button-down shirt into his beige chinos and then checked himself in the hall mirror. He licked both palms and tried to maneuver his bangs up and off his forehead but they had a mind of their own and were determined to lie flat on his forehead. He took a deep breath and then walked towards the living room.

Vivian turned a page in the magazine and held it up in front of her face. On the cover of Business Week was Brownie Wise. The caption below her picture read:

Brownie Wise of Tupperware, “If we build the people, they’ll build the business.”

No longer using his cane, Stew walked into the living room slowly and deliberately with his chest out, shoulders back and head up.

Vivian kept her face buried in the magazine, hearing him come in. “Did you know she’s the first woman ever to be on the cover? There’s a seven page spread here.”

With his nose high in the sky, Stew bumped his shin into the coffee table. There was a second or two before he felt the pain. “Awww! Ohhh! Eeeh!”

“Watch yourself,” she warned, still engrossed in the magazine and not looking up.

Stew cleared all of the boxes of Tupperware off the armless divan and sat down next to her. He spoke slowly. Very slowly.

“Re-mark-able. Here’s the Tup-per-ware Sparks news-letter.”

He handed it to her as he spread his legs as wide as possible and then dropped his arms to his sides as if they were paralyzed.

Vivian wondered why he was acting so strangely and then looked at the pamphlet. “Brownie looks like Betty Crocker. Is she a real person?”

Stew moved closer to Vivian spreading his legs even wider. “Oh, she’s real all right.” He inched a little bit closer to her and she responded by wiggling away. “Look,” he said, nodding his head towards the newsletter instead of pointing with his finger. His arms continued to hang by his side, dead-like.

“Look at what?”

Stew nodded more aggressively with his head. “Open up the newsletter. It lists monthly top sellers and the prizes they’ve won.”

She looked at his arms. “Did you hurt yourself, again?”

“Not at all.”

He moved closer to Vivian forcing her to slide to the very edge of the sofa.

Her eyes got larger. “Wow, this woman got a new refrigerator!”

“Let me see.”

He pushed even closer to Vivian compelling her to move away and suddenly she fell off the edge of the sofa and onto the floor.

Totally annoyed, she looked up at him. “What is wrong with you?”

Vivian stayed seated on the rug reading the newsletter as Stew let go of Babs’ concept of territorial attractiveness. He could see the gears spinning in Vivian’s mind. “What is it?”

“Brownie,” Vivian said as she read on. “She says, ‘Remember the steam kettle, though up to its neck in hot water, it continues to sing.’” That phrase resonated so strongly for Vivian. She put the newsletter down and looked up at him. “Stewie, I’m really going to work hard at this. I have no choice. And I’m going to succeed because I never, ever want to sink this low again in my life.”

He smiled at her as he rubbed his foot.

“Viv, let’s go over the spiel one more time.”

“Your foot OK?”

“Just a little stiff.”

She got back up onto the sofa and sat next to him. “Stewie, how did it happen?”

“You want the real story or the one I’m fabricating and will tell my grandchildren one day?”

She smiled warmly at him.

•  •  •

Almost six weeks earlier, Stew was walking his beat on a typical Saturday afternoon in Abbot. He thought it felt like one of those extraordinary days where there was a taste of each season in the air. The early morning dew had a fresh scent of spring in it while the noonday sun reminded him of the warm summer days that had just passed. But the late afternoon chill acknowledging the bountiful fall harvest also warned of the cold winter nights coming ahead. An avid reader with an eclectic taste in books, Stew remembered this type of day being described once in a tome about ancient Buddhist prayers.

Stew smiled. “It’s a dojo day,” he said quietly to himself as he walked a bit further on Park Street before turning onto Main.

Like honeybees sensing this was the last day to get work done before their long winter hibernation, the town was bustling with frenetic activity. With eyes and ears open, Stew oversaw everything, making sure the town and its people were safe and orderly.

A father and son entered Aquarius Hardware as a young mother and her daughter stopped to look at dresses displayed in McCartney’s clothing shop. Suddenly, a group of teenage girls ran out of the Abbot Bookstore giggling, followed by just as many boys. But when Stew stopped for a moment and looked through the store window to see if any new books had arrived he heard a strange tapping sound coming from down the street.

He looked south on Main and saw an elderly blind man, someone he had never seen in town before, walking towards him. Stew noticed that DeQuatro’s restaurant, which was next to the bookstore, had their metal sidewalk basement doors open, and the man was walking straight towards it.

Doing what any good cop would do, he rushed to the blind man’s side.

“Excuse me, sir,” he said very caringly.

But the old man tapped by him. “I don’t need your help.”

Stew stepped up to his side again. “I understand that but in front of you . . . ”

He snapped at him. “Mind your own business!”

The blind man took a step closer to the open hole in the sidewalk.

In the most authoritative voice Stew could project, he shouted to the man, “Sir, do not take another step.”

But he did and that’s when Stew grabbed the man’s arm. The moment he touched him, the blind man went ballistic. He started waving his cane while swinging is left fist.

“Help!” he screamed. “Help, somebody help me! Is there a policeman around?”

A small crowd of people quickly gathered to see what the ruckus was about as Stew tried to protect the man without himself, getting hit.

“Sir, I am a . . . ”

“You are a stupid, stupid man. You are never to touch a blind person. Any idiot knows that, even a child. Let go of me!”

The blind man pulled his arm free from Stew and took a step closer to the grate.

Stew ordered him one more time. “Sir, stop or I’ll have to . . . ”

The man took another step forward and that’s when Stew made the decision to stand in between him and the open pit down to the restaurant’s basement. Upon bumping into Stew’s chest, the blind man had a knee jerk reaction and pushed him out of the way. Stew tripped backwards over the open metal door and fell down into the basement. The moment he hit the ground, his gun went off.

•  •  •

Vivian had been hanging onto his every word. “My gosh, you’re lucky you didn’t break your neck!”

“Fortunately I landed on a giant bag of flour but I shot myself in the foot.”

They looked at each other very seriously and then Stew burst into laughter followed by Vivian.

“Oh Stew, it doesn’t pay to be nice.”

“I’m lucky it only shot through soft flesh, just grazing my ankle bone.” He paused for a moment, turning pensive.

Vivian studied his face. “Stew, why did you retire?”

He hesitated for a moment. “Retiring wasn’t my idea.”

“Were you forced?”

“Let’s say, pressured. In hindsight, it’s a blessing. Honestly, I’m not policeman material.”

He said this with such complete acceptance and lack of self-pity that Vivian was totally moved and gently touched his hand. Just then, Babs strutted down the hallway hollering, “Grab your partner!”

She entered the living room with her hair braided in pigtails and decked out in a red and white gingham pinafore dress, which had multiple layers of tulle puffing it out. With it she wore a shear white blouse with balloon sleeves and a Peter Pan collar. On her feet was a pair of chunky red velvet heels with giant polka dot bows.

She modeled the outfit across the room and back for them.

Vivian started laughing. “Where’s the hoedown?”

“You’re looking at her!” Babs squealed, pointing to herself.

Stew shook his head. “You look like a slutty Dorothy Gale.”

Vivian laughed harder. “You’re not going out of the house in that, are you?”

Babs gave them a twirl. “Yeah, I’m meeting Kenneth. He’s playing fiddle for a barn dance up in Derry. Say, why don’t the two of you come with? They’re all so friendly and open to new dancers.”

Vivian looked Babs up and down again. “I certainly don’t have the wardrobe.”

“We can whip up something together.” Babs then turned to Stew.

“Don’t look at me. I have two . . . no, one left foot.”

“The doc said you have to exercise it.”

Stew snickered. “But who the heck goes to a barn dance?”

Babs gave him a sarcastic look. “Um, I think a rather well known and beloved MGM star had a barn dance in certain movie called
Summer Stock
? I thought you were ‘Mister Know It All’ when it came to anything Garland?”

Stew knocked the side of his head for not remembering.

“And,” Babs continued, “there’ll be lots of free food.”

Vivian stood up. “Did I hear free food?”

Babs gestured for both of them to come back to her bedroom. “It’s recruitment night and I need to make my quota.”

Vivian slipped her arm in hers. “OK Babs, now we understand the hard sell. First Tupperware, now barn dancing? What haven’t you recruited?”

Stew laughed. “A husband.”

Babs looked back at him. “Hey, I’m working on that too.”

Stew pointed to her feet. “Are you gonna be able to dance in those Minnie Mouse shoes?”

“I hope not!”

•  •  •

The dancing trio piled into Babs’ car and traveled north on Route 1 for about 45 minutes till they reached the town of Derry, New Hampshire. When they pulled up to the location, Vivian and Stew were surprised to discover that the dance was actually being held in a barn. A working barn.

Babs laughed. “Well, what the heck did you think a barn dance would be held in? A bread box?”

It was a mild and cloudless winter night with a full moon looking exceptionally large as it hung low in the sky just above the barn.

They all stepped out of the car and Babs took in a deep breath of the country fresh air. “Ah, what a night for a dance.”

Stew looked up to the ominous looking moon. “Or a devilish murder.”

Vivian shivered. “It does look a bit spooky.”

“It’s romantic,” Babs said, correcting them.

The past two days had been so warm that most of the snow from the previous storm had melted so they took off their coats and left them in the car. Stew had thrown on a brown and yellow plaid shirt while Vivian was wearing Babs’ white peasant blouse matched with a floral circle skirt with a petticoat underneath. Both had on their indestructible winter shoes.

Babs looked down at the muck on the ground and then at her red velvet shoes. “Why in God’s name did I not wear my boots?”

Vivian shrugged her shoulders. “Slave to fashion?”

“You could jump on my back,” Stew offered, “but I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet.”

“What if Stew and I run in and find Kenneth?” Vivian suggested. “I bet he’ll carry you.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Babs answered cryptically.

As lightly as she could step, Babs carefully tiptoed through the soft grass, hay and mud pies towards the barn.

The livestock were herded off to nearby pastures and machinery and tools were cleared out to make room for the dancing. And inside the centuries old barn were hundreds of twinkling Christmas lights intertwined with swags of pine bows strung from the rafters. And every window was framed with giant blue spruce wreaths decorated with apples and pinecones.

It was so beautiful that Babs, Stew and Vivian had to pause for a moment, taking it all in. As they entered the barn they noticed dozens of women setting out dishes of homemade food onto large tables flanking either side of the entrance.

Already in full swing were scores of people dancing in the middle of the barn. At the far end, performing on a platform, were the musicians playing a dulcimer, an accordion, a guitar, a bass violin and Kenneth with his fiddle. They were stomping out a classic New England barn dance song called
Road To Boston
as the caller in front of them hollered out the choreography to the dancers on the floor.