Free Leftovers: A Novel by Arthur Wooten

you wearing? A summer frock just before Thanksgiving?”
    Vivian fumbled. “My other dresses were at the cleaners.”
    Her mother looked at her suspiciously “Hmmm. What warrants this unexpected request? The last three times were about money.”
    “Maybe I just wanted to have lunch.”
    “Maybe you should wax your upper lip.”
    Shocked, Vivian’s hand flew to her mouth as Irene signaled to the waiter.
    “And have a professional show you how to draw those non-existent brows on. What did you use, a crayon? You look like a man.”
    The waiter appeared as Vivian dropped her head.
    Irene gestured to Vivian. “My daughter will have a drink.”
    Vivian looked up at him rather anxiously. “A vodka marti . . . ”
    Irene cut her off. “Seltzer with a dash of bitters. And I’ll have another side car.”
    The waiter bowed and left the table.
    Irene looked at her silverware and wiped a spot off of her knife with her napkin. “How’s Peter?”
    “Paul.”
    “Same thing.”
    “Paul and I . . . ”
    “I still don’t know why you ever married that man, not that beggars can be choosers.”
    Vivian took a deep breath. “We loved each other.”
    Irene guffawed in her face. “He loved your father’s money.”
    “I’m sure you did too.” Vivian couldn’t believe what flew out of her mouth.
    “I beg your pardon? I may not have gone to school but I invested every penny your father ever made and tripled his fortune. Technically, I made more money than he did.”
    Vivian realized she had to get to the point, then get out of there as fast as possible. “Mother, I need to ask you . . . ”
    “I need to ask you again, when are there going to be grandchildren? I want to be young enough to enjoy them.”
    The question, to Vivian, seemed so absurd. Irene couldn’t stand the sight of her, why would she want her kids?
    “Mother, maybe you should have had more than one child.”
    “More? It’s not like your birth was planned. It was 1929 and we were in a depression.”
    “The country was, you weren’t.”
    Irene huffed. “I had to be practical. I’m a very pragmatic woman.”
    “Yes you are,” Vivian said under her breath.
    “Why are you being so impertinent today?”
    There was a long pause as they both looked awkwardly around the room.
    Irene fiddled with her pearl necklace. “What does Peter do nowadays?”
    “He and I . . . ”
    “Honestly, child,” she said cutting her off once again. “You always bring things back to you. I, I, I, me, me, me. It sounds so selfish.”
    Vivian took another deep breath. “I don’t care what Paul does. I need to ask you if I can borr . . . ”
    “You don’t know what your husband’s doing? Vivian, how cavalier. You’re lucky I set you up with the money I did after your father died. Spend it frugally and invest it well because you’re not getting another dime from me.”
    Vivian bolted out of her chair and towards the door.
    “Vivian? Vivian!”
    The waiter arrived with the sidecar and seltzer.
    Irene leaned around him to look at her daughter. “How rude.” She glanced up to the waiter. “When my daughter returns tell her I’m dining alone.”
    The waiter nodded and left the table as she took a large swig of her drink and picked up her newspaper. “That’ll teach her.”
    Vivian darted out into the foyer, startling the maître d'.
    He pointed to the left. “Ladies lounge to the left.”
    “I want my coat.”
    “With pleasure.”
    He retrieved it and held it out to her like he was going to contract a disease. She grabbed it from him and escaped out the front door, slamming it behind her. Amazed at her own fury, she had to hold onto the black wrought iron railing to steady herself as she walked down the steps to the street. She could have lashed out at her mother. She could have killed her mother. But she wouldn’t have gotten what she needed. As she made her way to the Buick wondering what she was going to do, it started to