Leftovers: A Novel

Galaxias Productions
New York, NY

LEFTOVERS
Copyright © 2012 by Arthur Wooten

ISBN: 9780985052935 (ebook)

PUBLISHED BY:
Galaxias Productions
200 West 90th Street Suite 9B
New York, NY 10024

Graphic Art by: Bud Santora

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owners and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

For my father, Dr. Arthur L. Wooten, Jr.,
a true pioneer in the plastics industry

1 A Charmed Life
2 Boa Constrictors
3 Leftovers
4 Thanks For Giving
5 Chubby Bunnies
6 Dusty Boots
7 Showtime!
8 Jubilee
9 A Star Is Born
10 Lonely House
11 You Made Me Love You
12 Milagra
About the Author

In 1954, Vivian Lawson Hayes was the most famous and respected wife and homemaker in the picturesque New England town of Abbot, Massachusetts. Actually, the entire eastern seaboard looked up to her. And, although a poll had yet to be taken, it was suspected that she was the most emulated and admired woman in the United States. In fact, women around the world who had never even heard of Vivian Lawson Hayes or knew that she existed wanted to be her. That’s how perfect she was.

She was so revered that the new television show,
The Perfect Wife,
airing out of Boston, featured her in their season’s premiere episode. Following Vivian around her house and hometown for 24 hours, the viewers had a rare glimpse into this domestic engineer’s unique, if not bizarre, world.

As the camera crew pulled up to Vivian’s Cape Cod house that was lovingly wrapped in silver-weathered cedar shake siding and maintained in pristine condition, she appeared at the front door waving enthusiastically. Dressed in a Christian Dior black silk cocktail dress, 3-inch black stiletto heels, and her shiny chocolate brown hair exquisitely spun into a fashionable French twist, Vivian treated the audience to a quick tour of her perfectly landscaped and manicured yard that she designed and maintained herself. It was springtime and the properly pruned rhododendrons, dogwoods and azaleas were magnificently in full bloom.

Sitting in the driveway was an unobtainable sparkling black 1955 Cadillac convertible. She hopped in and the television crew tried to keep up with her as she sped down the street. She zipped through the town of Abbot with the top down and not a single strand of Vivian Lawson Hayes’ hair blew out of place. Crowds of people lined the streets, waving to her as though they had known she was coming and had planned a parade.

Back at the house she courteously escorted the cameras into her inner sanctum. When asked where her children were she proudly announced that her six-year-old boy, John, and eight-year-old girl, Mary, were safely tucked away at the La Clairiére boarding school in Villars, Switzerland. Vivian also admitted to speaking seven languages, proficiently.

With a cigarette in one hand and a cocktail in the other, she showed off the state-of-the-art appliances in her kitchen and reminded us that the perfect homemaker is an accomplished chef, mastering the ability to cook foods from all over the world. But with her creative flair and snagging just a few extra minutes from her busy day, Vivian took that one step farther and had created her own cuisine, Vivianese. A cookbook was soon to follow.

As she led the viewers through the living room, pointing out the expensive heirloom furniture and museum quality artwork, she reminded all women that it is the duty of the “supreme wife” to run her household like clockwork. And although she was the general manager, the president was, and always would be, her husband. She ran a beautiful and tight ship, but her most important job was to serve him. He worked hard to provide for her and their children, so the least she could do was speak in a soothing tone when he came home from a hard day at work. Vivian always made sure that she had a cocktail waiting for him, slid off his shoes and handed him his slippers and pipe, allowing him to relax and unwind before she added the finishing touches to the night’s candlelit dinner.

When asked where her husband Paul was that evening, she was proud to announce that as Captain of the Abbot Police Department, it was demanded of him to work 24-hour shifts, sometimes days, even weeks at a time. And without missing a beat she then rattled off the house rules for herself with an oversized but slightly rigid smile.

“I never judge Paul’s motives or actions,” she declared as she pulled a tissue out of her dress pocket and unconsciously started to shred it. “If he’s late for dinner or even stays out all night, I consider that trivial compared to what he must have endured at work during the day. He is master of the house and I have no right to question him. Also, if I’m suffering from dizzy spells, headaches, backaches or even if I’m choking, I rack these complaints up as imaginary nuisances on my part and never bother him with them.” Noticing the bits of the destroyed tissue on the floor, she smiled hard at the camera and quickly picked them up.

When it was time for Vivian Lawson Hayes to retire for the evening, the cameras followed her up the stairs and into her serene bedroom. The décor certainly had a woman’s sensibility, but she had been careful to add masculine touches to make sure that her husband didn’t feel threatened by her feminine mystique.

She disappeared into her dressing room for a brief moment and reemerged wearing a chic, floor length, black chiffon negligee slit up the front with billowing butterfly sleeves and then glided over to the queen size bed. She slipped in between her crisply ironed imported Egyptian cotton sheets that sported her initials and laid her head gently down onto a pillow, wearing a full face of make-up and her hair still perfectly French twisted. And then, as everyone watched, she remarkably fell asleep on cue.

Just as she was about to awaken and share with all her en suite European-style bathroom with gold-plated fixtures, including a bidet that had been shipped over from Paris and once used by Coco Chanel, she heard the sound of running water. Vivian tossed slightly from side to side as its intensity increased. It became so extreme that it actually created a roar, but Vivian Lawson Hayes didn’t wake up. Instead, beads of sweat shockingly appeared on her wrinkle-less forehead as the terrifying sound of gushing water became unbearable.

Finally, Vivian’s eyes opened wide. As if paralyzed, she watched in horror as she saw the ceiling above bulge from the weight of tons of water. Her perfect house, her perfect life was beginning to crack. Plaster chipped off, support beams gave way and suddenly Vivian was assaulted by shards of splintering wood and gallons of water. Everything went black. Drowning, she struggled to determine which way was up and swam against the current, desperate to reach the surface for air.

“Viv?”

She thought she heard her husband call out to her.

“Viv!”

Knowing he was there, somewhere, she reached out for him.

“Vivian!” Paul shouted from the shower.

Startled, Vivian bolted upright in bed and gasped for air. Drenched in flop sweat, she was wearing a Sears and Roebuck flannel nightgown with a faded flower print that was frayed around the collar. Her mousey brown hair was knotted and damp. Completely disoriented, she wasn’t sure whether she had just experienced a dream, a nightmare, a panic attack, or all three simultaneously.

Paul screamed, again. “Vivian, there’s no goddamn soap in here!”

She glanced at the alarm clock and was shocked at how late she had overslept. She shot out of bed and ran into the bathroom. Hardly the award winning en suite she had dreamt of, the stained porcelain sink sat in a chipped and rotted wood vanity. She wrestled with the cabinet door below, kicked it open and grabbed a bar of soap. When she stuck her hand around the shower curtain she briefly saw her husband’s naked body.

At age 27, Paul Hayes was sexier looking and in better shape than the day he had married Vivian, five years earlier. His black wavy hair was going prematurely gray at the temples and somehow his light blue eyes were shifting into a haunting grayish white.

Vivian slipped her nightgown up over her head and examined herself in the mirror. Her fingers gently touched her non-existent eyebrows, then the corners of her light brown eyes, tracing the crow’s feet that seemed to have appeared just within the past year. Thinking she looked older than her 25 years, she frowned, making the sides of her thin nose crinkle causing it to look more pinched than it was. She slid her hands down to her breasts, which were hardly large enough to cup in her hands and then turned sideways and examined her stomach.

Over the years she had accepted the strange thin scar that encircled her waist but was careful not to touch it. She turned her body to the other side and smiled, pleased at how flat her tummy was. But then weight gain was never an issue for her. Contrary to many of her female friends, when under stress she didn’t overeat. Quite the opposite. In fact, her under-eating bordered on starvation. Food for Vivian was a reward. But she never was sure when she deserved it.

For a split second she considered joining Paul in the shower. If they were serious about having a child, they were going to have to have more sex. But not sure of what his reaction would be, she rushed out of the bathroom.

Lying on a threadbare wingback chair was Vivian’s go-to nylon dress that she had nicknamed the “uniform”. Inherited from her closest friend, Babs Parker, Vivian loved it because it was incapable of wrinkling; hence she was prone to wearing it several days in a row. And although only two years old, this once vibrant and stylish short sleeved dress with an orange geometric pattern was fading as quickly as Vivian’s weight. She threw the tent over her head and knowing how long Paul would spend primping in the mirror, she hoped she had enough time to make sure that everything was just right. She went over to the nightstand, opened the drawer and took out a small gift-wrapped box and stuffed it into the pocket of her dress.

In her haste to rush downstairs, she slammed the drawer shut, causing a book to fall off from the table onto the floor. The cover read:

The Perfect Wife
A Guide For The Married Woman

Paul stepped out of the shower and listened for a moment. Sensing that she had left the bedroom, his shoulders relaxed and he smiled at himself in the bathroom mirror.

“Hey, beautiful,” he whispered as he lathered shaving cream onto his face.

Like Vivian, Paul Hayes was also an Abbot “townie”. All natives were labeled that unless they were either enrolled in or associated with the village’s only current industry, the all-boys boarding school, Talbot Academy.

Paul was the youngest of four sons. He and his family once lived above his father Oscar’s barbershop, located on Acorn Street just off Main. The men who trickled into the place and lingered for hours weren’t necessarily getting just a haircut and a shave. If one were to use the phone booth against the back wall and knew just where to lean his body weight, a secret door would open, inviting him into the illegal pool hall and bookie joint that Oscar ran.

Fed up with her husband’s gambling and womanizing ways and realizing that she had no influence over her uncontrollable delinquent boys, Paul’s mother left town one Sunday evening and was never heard from again.

This was the only life Oscar knew, but that didn’t necessarily mean that he wanted his sons to follow in his footsteps. When Oscar noticed Paul’s athletic potential he encouraged his youngest to try out for the teams and by the time he was just a freshman, Paul was officially labeled “Harry High School”. Eventually he became the first-string quarterback for the football team in fall, captain and point guard for the basketball squad in winter and a sprinter and long jumper for the track team in spring. Paul was the golden boy and everyone knew it, including himself.