humor. Gals always like that. I’m late.” She opened the front door. “And get her out of bed before you hit on her, Mr. Lounge Lizard.”
Babs winked at him and shut the door.
• • •
The shades were still drawn, blackening out Vivian’s room. For the first time in weeks she had slept deeply and throughout the entire night. It was as if her body and spirit knew she were in a safe place. It also didn’t hurt that the mattress, pillows and clean sheets felt like the most comfortable she’d ever slept in. Buried somewhere under the covers, she was out to the world.
Suddenly, she heard blaring music and two voices started to sing.
“Swanee, how I love ya, how I love ya, my dear old Swanee...”
In panic mode, Vivian bolted upright in bed, as if someone had blown off a shotgun.
“I’d give the world to be, among the folks in D-I-X-I-Even no’ my Mammy’s, waitin’ for me, prayin’ for me, down by the Swanee...”
Stew had slipped a recording of the sound track to
A Star Is Born
onto the 1945 Philco phonograph in the living room. Caught up in the song and joining in with Judy, he wasn’t aware of how loud they were both belting.
“The folks up north will see me no more, when I get to that Swanee shore.”
Wrapped in her blanket and with her hair wildly tangled, Vivian quietly appeared at the entrance to the living room and observed him.
“Swanee, Swanee, I’m coming back to Swanee. Mammy, Mammy, I love the old folks at home . . . ”
Stew was just about to continue but Vivian cut him off by clapping. “Brava!”
Startled, he spun around looking at her. He threw up his hands and signaled that he would turn off the record player as Vivian shook her head.
“Was I that loud?” he shouted. He removed the needle and the house was quiet again.
“That could have wakened the dead.”
“Aw, gee, I’m sorry,” he said as he followed her into the kitchen.
If Stew’s singing hadn’t woken Vivian up, then maybe the red and white checkered linoleum floor would have. Or possibly the lime green painted kitchen cabinets. She staggered over to the built-in breakfast alcove and sat down as Stew rushed to her side.
Vivian shielded her eyes from the bright sunlight streaming in from the window. “Where are my sunglasses?”
“You hungry? I can whip something together. How about a fresh herb and vegetable frittata with sun-dried tomatoes or crème brûlée French toast with drunken strawberries or maybe just some simple eggs benedict?”
“Simple? How about a cup of coffee?”
Stew hopped to the kitchen counter and grabbed a mug. “There’s some left over from earlier but I can make you a fresh pot if you prefer?”
“Stew, relax. That will be fine.”
Stew took a deep breath, poured the cup of coffee and then carefully brought it back to the table and joined her.
Vivian took a sip as Stew watched her in silence. Feeling terribly self-conscious, she actually pulled her hair a little over her face as he continued to stare. She took it as long as she could and then blurted out, “Is there something wrong with me?”
Stew smiled from ear to ear. “You’re just a . . . ”
“Mess?”
“No!”
Vivian placed her elbows onto the table and dropped her head into her hands. “What am I going to do, Stewie? I’m destitute. I’ve searched this town high and low for a job but . . . ”
“Do the Tupperware.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Sure you can. I’d certainly be more than happy to help you in any way that I can.”
“That’s sweet of you but my life as I knew it has completely fallen apart and I just can’t muster up the strength to do . . . anything.”
Stew heard Babs’ voice telling him to be his charming self and suddenly he had an idea.
“Well that’s funny,” he said as he reached out for her hand.
“My desperation is funny?”
“No.” With his crutch in one hand and Vivian in the other, he clumsily guided her to the living room. “Um, I was
Babs winked at him and shut the door.
• • •
The shades were still drawn, blackening out Vivian’s room. For the first time in weeks she had slept deeply and throughout the entire night. It was as if her body and spirit knew she were in a safe place. It also didn’t hurt that the mattress, pillows and clean sheets felt like the most comfortable she’d ever slept in. Buried somewhere under the covers, she was out to the world.
Suddenly, she heard blaring music and two voices started to sing.
“Swanee, how I love ya, how I love ya, my dear old Swanee...”
In panic mode, Vivian bolted upright in bed, as if someone had blown off a shotgun.
“I’d give the world to be, among the folks in D-I-X-I-Even no’ my Mammy’s, waitin’ for me, prayin’ for me, down by the Swanee...”
Stew had slipped a recording of the sound track to
A Star Is Born
onto the 1945 Philco phonograph in the living room. Caught up in the song and joining in with Judy, he wasn’t aware of how loud they were both belting.
“The folks up north will see me no more, when I get to that Swanee shore.”
Wrapped in her blanket and with her hair wildly tangled, Vivian quietly appeared at the entrance to the living room and observed him.
“Swanee, Swanee, I’m coming back to Swanee. Mammy, Mammy, I love the old folks at home . . . ”
Stew was just about to continue but Vivian cut him off by clapping. “Brava!”
Startled, he spun around looking at her. He threw up his hands and signaled that he would turn off the record player as Vivian shook her head.
“Was I that loud?” he shouted. He removed the needle and the house was quiet again.
“That could have wakened the dead.”
“Aw, gee, I’m sorry,” he said as he followed her into the kitchen.
If Stew’s singing hadn’t woken Vivian up, then maybe the red and white checkered linoleum floor would have. Or possibly the lime green painted kitchen cabinets. She staggered over to the built-in breakfast alcove and sat down as Stew rushed to her side.
Vivian shielded her eyes from the bright sunlight streaming in from the window. “Where are my sunglasses?”
“You hungry? I can whip something together. How about a fresh herb and vegetable frittata with sun-dried tomatoes or crème brûlée French toast with drunken strawberries or maybe just some simple eggs benedict?”
“Simple? How about a cup of coffee?”
Stew hopped to the kitchen counter and grabbed a mug. “There’s some left over from earlier but I can make you a fresh pot if you prefer?”
“Stew, relax. That will be fine.”
Stew took a deep breath, poured the cup of coffee and then carefully brought it back to the table and joined her.
Vivian took a sip as Stew watched her in silence. Feeling terribly self-conscious, she actually pulled her hair a little over her face as he continued to stare. She took it as long as she could and then blurted out, “Is there something wrong with me?”
Stew smiled from ear to ear. “You’re just a . . . ”
“Mess?”
“No!”
Vivian placed her elbows onto the table and dropped her head into her hands. “What am I going to do, Stewie? I’m destitute. I’ve searched this town high and low for a job but . . . ”
“Do the Tupperware.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Sure you can. I’d certainly be more than happy to help you in any way that I can.”
“That’s sweet of you but my life as I knew it has completely fallen apart and I just can’t muster up the strength to do . . . anything.”
Stew heard Babs’ voice telling him to be his charming self and suddenly he had an idea.
“Well that’s funny,” he said as he reached out for her hand.
“My desperation is funny?”
“No.” With his crutch in one hand and Vivian in the other, he clumsily guided her to the living room. “Um, I was
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