police too, are you?”
“Oh no.”
The woman looked Vivian up and down. “You write for a travel guide and you’re rating us?”
“I’m afraid not. I was thinking of applying for a job. Do you enjoy your work?”
She laughed cynically. “Do I enjoy scrubbing toilets full of some stranger’s deadly germs and changing sheets stained with God knows what? Do I enjoy risking my life every day not knowing if some pervert is about to jump out of a closet and kill me? Do I enjoy working for minimum wage?” She paused for a moment. “I guess so.”
“How much is minimum wage?”
With a disgusted look on her face, she took one last drag of her cigarette, tossed it onto the pavement and ground it out with her shoe. “Seventy-five cents an hour.”
“That’s all?”
The chambermaid leaned in to Vivian. “Don’t tell the boss but once in a while a guy will tip me five, sometimes ten bucks to tuck him in real tight at night. And I’m not talking hospital corners.”
Vivian responded naively, “Oh?” She repeated to herself what the maid had just said. “Oh.” Then, Vivian got it. “Oh!”
She rushed to her car, hopped in and sped down Route 1 back to Abbot.
• • •
A few weeks past by and Vivian’s salad bowl of bills and late notices grew so large they spilled out onto the kitchen table. There was also an annoying notice someone kept putting up on her front door, but knowing that whatever it was it wasn’t something she could take care of, she just kept tearing them up and throwing them away. Running out of time and money, she realized she had to do something she had sworn she’d never do again in her life.
She drove the Buick, which was making a strange scraping sound underneath its belly, into Manning’s Service Station on the west side of town and parked it in front of a pump. The car gave out one large belch before the engine shut down. A young man came out and around to Vivian’s window as she rolled it down.
“Hey Johnny.”
He rubbed his hands together. “Gettin’ pretty cold, isn’t Mrs. Hayes?”
“It’s Miss . . . ” She shook her head deciding it wasn’t worth trying to change her name. She opened her purse and started digging around.
“Your car sounded kinda strange comin’ in.” He walked around it. “They say we might have snow on the holiday.”
Vivian counted any nickels, dimes and pennies she could find. “What holiday?”
He came back around to her side and laughed. “You’re so funny, Mrs. Hayes.”
She looked at him blankly.
“Thursday? It’s Thanksgivin’?”
“Oh, of course.” She made it sound like an oversight but truthfully, she had totally forgotten. She momentarily thought of the impressionistic painting, realizing each day was blurring into the next.
Johnny kneeled down and took a look under her car. “Mrs. Hayes, looks like your muffler is draggin’ on the ground.”
“Oh really?”
“You oughta get that fixed before you lose it.”
“I can’t afford . . . ” She paused and decided to rephrase her remark. “I can’t afford the time. I have to make it into the city and back. Just give me a dollar’s worth of gas?”
“Sure thing.”
• • •
As Vivian scraped and clunked her way down Route 1 to Boston she had to think hard to remember the last time she had seen her mother. She visited Irene as seldom as possible. Both mother and daughter preferred it that way. But when money was involved, Irene had made it clear early on that it would never happen over the phone. Vivian would have to ask for it in person, face-to-face. She knew it was because her mother enjoyed watching her squirm.
Irene now lived in an historic row house in the affluent neighborhood of Beacon Hill in Boston. The Abbot mansion proved to be too much property for her. She had plenty of money for the upkeep but it was just too cavernous and full of unpleasant memories for her. Plus, the number of household staff had
“Oh no.”
The woman looked Vivian up and down. “You write for a travel guide and you’re rating us?”
“I’m afraid not. I was thinking of applying for a job. Do you enjoy your work?”
She laughed cynically. “Do I enjoy scrubbing toilets full of some stranger’s deadly germs and changing sheets stained with God knows what? Do I enjoy risking my life every day not knowing if some pervert is about to jump out of a closet and kill me? Do I enjoy working for minimum wage?” She paused for a moment. “I guess so.”
“How much is minimum wage?”
With a disgusted look on her face, she took one last drag of her cigarette, tossed it onto the pavement and ground it out with her shoe. “Seventy-five cents an hour.”
“That’s all?”
The chambermaid leaned in to Vivian. “Don’t tell the boss but once in a while a guy will tip me five, sometimes ten bucks to tuck him in real tight at night. And I’m not talking hospital corners.”
Vivian responded naively, “Oh?” She repeated to herself what the maid had just said. “Oh.” Then, Vivian got it. “Oh!”
She rushed to her car, hopped in and sped down Route 1 back to Abbot.
• • •
A few weeks past by and Vivian’s salad bowl of bills and late notices grew so large they spilled out onto the kitchen table. There was also an annoying notice someone kept putting up on her front door, but knowing that whatever it was it wasn’t something she could take care of, she just kept tearing them up and throwing them away. Running out of time and money, she realized she had to do something she had sworn she’d never do again in her life.
She drove the Buick, which was making a strange scraping sound underneath its belly, into Manning’s Service Station on the west side of town and parked it in front of a pump. The car gave out one large belch before the engine shut down. A young man came out and around to Vivian’s window as she rolled it down.
“Hey Johnny.”
He rubbed his hands together. “Gettin’ pretty cold, isn’t Mrs. Hayes?”
“It’s Miss . . . ” She shook her head deciding it wasn’t worth trying to change her name. She opened her purse and started digging around.
“Your car sounded kinda strange comin’ in.” He walked around it. “They say we might have snow on the holiday.”
Vivian counted any nickels, dimes and pennies she could find. “What holiday?”
He came back around to her side and laughed. “You’re so funny, Mrs. Hayes.”
She looked at him blankly.
“Thursday? It’s Thanksgivin’?”
“Oh, of course.” She made it sound like an oversight but truthfully, she had totally forgotten. She momentarily thought of the impressionistic painting, realizing each day was blurring into the next.
Johnny kneeled down and took a look under her car. “Mrs. Hayes, looks like your muffler is draggin’ on the ground.”
“Oh really?”
“You oughta get that fixed before you lose it.”
“I can’t afford . . . ” She paused and decided to rephrase her remark. “I can’t afford the time. I have to make it into the city and back. Just give me a dollar’s worth of gas?”
“Sure thing.”
• • •
As Vivian scraped and clunked her way down Route 1 to Boston she had to think hard to remember the last time she had seen her mother. She visited Irene as seldom as possible. Both mother and daughter preferred it that way. But when money was involved, Irene had made it clear early on that it would never happen over the phone. Vivian would have to ask for it in person, face-to-face. She knew it was because her mother enjoyed watching her squirm.
Irene now lived in an historic row house in the affluent neighborhood of Beacon Hill in Boston. The Abbot mansion proved to be too much property for her. She had plenty of money for the upkeep but it was just too cavernous and full of unpleasant memories for her. Plus, the number of household staff had
Similar Books
