Vivian allowed her hostile fury to settle and fester just below the surface, while plastering on a tight, bright smile on the outside, lined in Revlon’s Fire & Ice red lipstick.
“Fine, thank you!” was the automatic response to anyone asking how she was doing, or how her day was, or even just commenting on the weather.
“Sunny day today, isn’t it?”
“Fine, thank you!”
That next week, she made breakfast like she always did, she dressed and went to work like she always did, and she listened to the phone calls like she always did. But she wasn’t listening for everyday Wooster gossip anymore. The people could take their precious quilts, forgotten wallets, and trips to the A&W and just stuff them. Vivian was waiting for, and dreading, any calls that would expose her. How did she know it would happen through a telephone call? Who was to say people weren’t getting together in person right now and talking about her? The truth was, she didn’t really know. But it was December, it was cold, and it was right before Christmas and people were busy with their families. If only she didn’t have to leave the house.
Every outing to a public place was now a test of nerves for Vivian. Who had Betty Miller told? Who knew? Who was talking about her behind her back? Every greeting was approached with cautious suspicion, every look was met with defensive, phony cheer.
“Fine! Thank you!”
A trip to Buehler’s used to be a social opportunity wrapped in a grocery errand. She used to proudly parade down the aisles of the store, mentally ticking off everything she knew about everyone she saw. There’s Ann Metcalf; her father is in a nursing home and she doesn’t want to visit because she can’t stand the smell. There’s Stewart Bowen’s wife, whatshername. She’ll have to go easy on the groceries because Stewart just lost his job.
But now the trip to Buehler’s was a tiptoe onto a minefield, because everyone at the grocery store might know about Vivian. She was terrified, and therefore overcompensating. She spent fifteen minutes more on her hair and twenty more on her makeup before walking out the front door of the Dalton house, as if extra layers of Spray Net and Max Factor Pan-Cake foundation could protect her from the judgment and scorn of Wooster. Hair like Bette Davis, teeth like Joan Crawford. She was doing the best she could. The dresses, sweaters, and shoes she usually reserved for special occasions, like weddings and holiday gatherings, were now in regular rotation for work, Christmas shopping at Freedlander’s and Dari-Land, and grocery shopping at Buehler’s.
“To market, to market, to buy a fat pig,” a stony-faced Vivian chanted to herself, with her jaw set and her breath puffing out before her in the car as she drove. “Home again, home again, jiggity-jig.” That was all it would be. A quick trip, there and back. For the market today, she’d chosen the cornflower-blue Dacron poly-and-wool-blend dress, McCall’s pattern #9150, which she’d sewn herself, with the faux-pearl earrings and rhinestone rooster brooch. Cock-a-doodle-doo! The blue of the dress matched the color of her eyes, just like Wallis Simpson’s dress would have, back in the days of carefree romance and stupidity. If she didn’t happen to run into her dinner guests at Buehler’s, she’d wear the same dress that evening, with her black patent-leather pumps, instead of the worn-out ankle boots she had to wear to get through all the goddamned snow.
She sat holding the white steering wheel of the Buick Super with her gloved hands, gripping and releasing, gripping, releasing. She stared at the Schaeffers’ car, parked across from her in the spot she had just pulled into, and groaned, wondering if she should duck down in the seat until she heard Madeline Schaeffer ease her bony backside into the car and then drive away. Vivian glanced around the parking lot to see if there were any other cars she recognized, but then realized she couldn’t just sit there and wait them all out. If she weren’t committed to hosting the intimate dinner party that evening, the trip to Buehler’s could’ve been postponed. They had plenty of leftover ham noodle casserole, lentil soup, and cold cuts for sandwiches. But tonight was important, and she needed to pick up a few things for the special dishes she had planned.
As she began to walk down the parking row she saw Madeline Schaeffer exiting the store with one of the bag boys in tow. Roger or Michael, she couldn’t see his face behind Madeline’s giant fur hat. Christ, that woman was such a show-off. Vivian sidestepped between a green Ford and a white Chevy and bent into an awkward crouch, pretending to have dropped her keys. She stared at the dirty, packed snow around her boots, waiting until she heard the Schaeffers’ trunk open and then slam shut. She watched her breath poof into tiny clouds and then disappear until she heard Madeline say, “Thank you, Roger,” before probably giving him what Vivian guessed would be an embarrassingly small tip. And at Christmastime, too. Stingy when feeding herself, and stingy when tipping. Eat something and give that boy a proper tip, for chrissakes.
Vivian remained in her crouched position until she heard the engine start, and then waited fifteen more seconds until she was certain Madeline had pulled out of the parking spot and out of the lot altogether. She hooked her glove into the silver door handle of the Ford and pulled herself to a standing position, before brushing off her coat and narrowing her eyes at the store’s entrance. She reached into her pocketbook as she walked past the other cars, and pulled out a handful of coins. She paused briefly next to the cheerful Salvation Army bell-ringer and dropped the coins loudly into the red bucket before stepping into the bustle of Buehler’s.
With a death grip on the shopping cart, she kept her head high and pushed down each aisle with determined purpose, doing her best to keep her eyes on the shelf contents and not on the passing or approaching figures. She didn’t know everyone in Wooster, but she knew enough that someone familiar was bound to pop up on this visit. She especially didn’t want to run into her sister Violet or her mother today, because even if they didn’t know what was wrong, they’d know something was wrong.
The cart’s left rear wheel wobbled and rattled, setting her false-but-perfect teeth on edge. She paused in front of the Quaker Oats and thought she might want to exchange the cart for a different one before she rammed it into an unsuspecting shopper out of frustrated irritation. She glanced up to see Betty Miller’s colored maid standing at the seafood counter at the end of the aisle. I knew it. Expensive fish. Expensive, fancy fish for Betty’s expensive, fancy Christmas party tonight. Vivian started to swing the cart around to head back in the other direction.
“Vivian! Hellooo, Vivian!”
Vivian fastened her Revlon Fire & Ice smile in place, and opened her eyes wide so as not to look like she was scowling, then turned to see Helen Harper waving at her.
Does she know?
“Why, Helen, hello yourself! You’re looking well.”
She really did like Helen. Charlotte’s friend Barbara’s mother. A dear, really, and on any other day she’d have enjoyed stopping to chat, but Vivian’s current state of mind had made everyone a potential enemy.
“Who, me? Oh, pshh, you’re sweet. I’m exhausted from the holidays already, and Christmas isn’t until next week!”
Helen’s rushed, cheery tone was the same as it always was, and Vivian saw nothing in her eyes other than overcaffeination and general holiday chaos. She relaxed her shoulders and stifled a sigh of relief.
“Now, Vivian.” Helen’s voice dropped to a lower octave. “I heard something . . .” She placed her hand on Vivian’s arm and peeked over the top of the rhinestone-accented horn-rims she always wore.
Vivian’s shoulders went rigid again and she struggled to keep her smile bright and eyes wide.
“Is it true that the cheerleading tryouts are held in front of the whole school? The girls are expected to perform in front of nine hundred people?”
Vivian sucked air in through her teeth, which Helen probably thought was a reaction to the number of students watching the tryouts rather than the conversational crisis she felt she had just avoided.
“Oh, garsh, I don’t know,” Vivian answered, not having considered
it.
“That just sounds like an awful lot of people. I don’t know how those girls do it. So brave!”
Barbara and Charlotte were both planning to try out for cheerleading in the spring, or something. If Charlotte made the team she’d need new saddle shoes. That was what Vivian had been thinking of when she thought about the tryouts. Having to ask Edward for money for new saddle shoes, although she hadn’t thought of it since she overheard the Betty Miller phone call. Who gave a rat’s ass about the size of the crowd watching them? Wasn’t that all part of being a cheerleader? Shaking your taters in front of large crowds? How was she going to afford new saddle shoes on her salary if she had to leave Edward? Her inner voice had gone shrill.
“Oh, well,” Helen sang. “That’s quite a ways away. We don’t need to worry about it now. If I don’t see you again before Christmas, have a merry one!”
“FINE, THANK YOU!”
Helen was already thinking about spring, and Vivian’s inner shriek had just considered leaving Edward. How do you like that? A chill shivered through her body. She gave a shake of her head, then looked down at the grocery list she was still pressing between her thumb and forefinger. Well, good for Helen for not having a horrible scandalous secret she was desperately trying to keep under wraps. The anxiety returned in a flash and Vivian pushed the cart quickly down the aisle.
She found the remaining items on her grocery list in record time, sailed through checkout with only a brief mention of the weather to Marjorie at the register (yes, Marjorie, it’s still cold), and then stalked quickly through the snowy parking lot to her car, her boots keeping time with the rhyme in her head (jiggity-jig, jiggity-jig) as Roger struggled to keep up behind her with the grocery bags. Home again, home again, jiggity-jig.
The feather duster fluttered hastily over the tops of the curtains as Vivian stood on the sofa in her stockinged feet, stretching up to reach along the crease where the wall met the ceiling and into the corner above Edward’s chair. The cobwebs hadn’t quite had the chance to settle, although it’d been nearly a month since she had last dusted.
Vivian did clean the house every Saturday afternoon, but dusting seemed obsessive. Like something Betty Miller had her maid do every other day. She used a broom on the linoleum in the kitchen, and then spent about twenty minutes pushing the carpet sweeper around in the upstairs bedrooms and then the living and dining rooms. Other than that, it would take an explosive liquid disaster before she’d do any detailed scrubbing, like the time she’d been carrying the boiling pot of jam from the stove to the sink and one of the hot pads slipped and made a sticky strawberry spread of the kitchen floor, or the time when Charlotte had the flu and she hadn’t made it to the bathroom in time. Christ, had that been a mess.
But tonight was important. She poked the broom’s edge along the baseboards in the kitchen, and stabbed at a dust cluster in the corner, saying to herself, Get into the corners, find every little bit. She repeated this to herself as she pushed the carpet sweeper under side tables and pulled the chairs and sofas away from the wall. Every little bit. That was when it hit her. Do the same thing with the rumor. Get into it, get under it, poke around in the corners. Find every little bit.
She’d have to wait until tomorrow, but the idea gave her a new burst of energy for cleaning, and an agitated excitement for the dinner party. She smirked as she fluffed the pillows on the sofa and the wing chairs, and sneered as she polished the silver, an inherited wedding gift from Edward’s mother, holding it up to the light and then checking her reflection in the shining surface.
“Charlotte, have you finished yet?” she called out to the kitchen, where Charlotte was ironing the tablecloth and napkins.
“Almost,” came the reply. “Who is coming for dinner, Mother, and why are you making it such a secret?”
“Oh, don’t you bother about it,” Vivian said. “Just some very nice friends. Now, make sure you wear the coral dress, and pull your hair back from your face. I want everyone to look their best.”
Edward wasn’t yet home from work, but Vivian had carefully laid out the outfit she expected him to wear across the foot of the bed. He was used to this, when they celebrated special occasions, or on Sundays, when they went to church. Vivian knew she wouldn’t be feeling too much like going to church this Sunday, and maybe Edward could pick out his own stupid clothes. With their work schedules the way they were, she’d only been face-to-face with him twice since Monday night. Since the Betty Miller telephone conversation. She wondered if it even occurred to him that something was wrong; he barely looked up from his newspaper or his plate long enough to notice that there was someone else there with him.
Well, he’d notice it tonight. He’d sure be surprised, since he wasn’t expecting any company, and most definitely not the company she had invited. And that was exactly how she wanted it.
Chapter 13
The doorbell rang and Vivian was right there to open the front door, with Edward’s words from the other night ringing in her ears: They don’t bother me much. But I’d never have them in my house. Out on the front porch, underneath the light, stood Maria and Dominic Tomasetti, looking shivery, polite, and a little nervous. The Guineas from Frogtown.
“Welcome!” Vivian cried, a little too loudly.
Maria handed a small white box to Vivian as Dominic removed his hat.
The familiarity Vivian felt with Maria at work did not extend beyond the confines of the Bell building. Without the switchboard and the cords and headsets and the hum of the connections, she suddenly felt self-conscious with Maria. Sitting next to her at the switchboard was one thing, or sharing a coffee in the kitchenette. But having the Tomasettis in the Dalton house was too far out of context. There was an awkward pause, and she wondered if she’d made a big mistake. It only took one look at Edward’s unpleasantly shocked face to reassure her it was worth it.
“Thank you so much for this invitation, Vivian,” Maria said, her movements halting with the same kind of uncertainty Vivian was showing, but Dominic guided her forward across the Daltons’ threshold.
Edward had risen from his chair, but was unable to hide his surprise. That’s right, Vivian thought as she looked at him, something a little unpleasant that you weren’t expecting? Caught you off guard, did it? You sonofabitch. Charlotte, in her coral dress with her hair pulled back away from her face, moved quickly to approach the Tomasettis with an outstretched hand.
“Hi, I’m Charlotte. It’s very nice to meet you.”
Every once in a while Vivian saw Charlotte wince when they said things like “Guinea” or “nigger.” Vivian didn’t know where Charlotte got her highfalutin attitude from, like she was above it all; probably from other kids at the high school, or from those books she always had her nose in.
“Mrs. Tomasetti, I just love your spaghetti sauce recipe! Mother made it this week.”
Maria Tomasetti looked uncomfortable, and glanced down at her shoes. “Thank you.”
Charlotte took Mr. and Mrs. Tomasetti’s coats and hung them in the hall closet.
“Please,” Vivian cooed, her voice decreased to an inside-appropriate level. “Sit!”
The Daltons and the Tomasettis carefully arranged themselves on the living room furniture, pulling their faces into polite smiles.
“That’s a beautiful dress,” Maria said to Vivian. “And I love your brooch. Is it a chicken?”
“Rooster,” Vivian answered as she smoothed her palms over the skirt of the blue McCall’s dress, feeling pleased by both the compliment and the fact that she’d been able to repeat her grocery store outfit for the dinner.
“Ah.”
Vivian realized she should have switched on the radio just before they arrived. Background music would’ve made up for the lack of conversation. What would they possibly have to talk about with these complete strangers, and why hadn’t she thought of that before? She stood up from the sofa, before the cushion had even had time to warm under her backside.
“Well, shall we
eat?”
The Christmas color scheme was unintentional, but as everyone looked at the dinner table, it was impossible to miss. They started with a green spinach soup, with sour cream and boiled eggs. Maria tasted the soup, and then just stirred it around with her spoon until everyone else finished. The Jell-O with fruit was as green as the Wooster golf course in June, and chock-full of grapes, canned pineapple, and maraschino cherries. The Jell-O was Vivian’s old reliable standard and she always brought it to events when asked to bring a salad. The beef Stroganoff had the slightest hint of red, as Vivian liked to add ketchup to things that didn’t really need ketchup. She didn’t find cooking quite as soothing as baking, and maybe put a little less effort into it. She gave herself a lot of credit for this evening’s dinner, though, because she’d made it all from scratch. The green and red feast was capped off by the powdered-sugar-covered pandoro that Maria had brought in the small white box, and even though it sounded foreign, Vivian had to admit it was pretty good.
After dinner Vivian monopolized Maria’s attention, praising her for her spaghetti sauce recipe and asking for cooking tips and the like. That was something to talk about. Food. Charlotte had excused herself to go upstairs to her room, which left Edward and Dominic sitting opposite each other in the wing chairs. Vivian ignored them, focusing all her attention on Maria. She had intended the evening to be tense and unpleasant, but Vivian found herself enjoying Maria’s company. She’d been off the day Pearl Fry had sneezed into her mouthpiece while eavesdropping on Jean Cahill speaking to her mother long-distance, causing Jean’s mother to exclaim, “Now, Jeannie, what did I tell you about catching your death, wearing those dresses cut so low in the front! What did I tell you!” The way Maria told the story, she just had all the mannerisms down pat. Vivian couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so much. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed at all.
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