Schuyler Square Day 57 A Kinder, Gentler Mavis...Not

Mavis walked through the kitchen door blindly. A police officer—not Peter—had given her a ride home and while she was sure she had been polite to him, for the life of her she couldn’t remember a single thing he had said to her during the entire ride. Her mind seemed to be frozen and she couldn’t get the image of Ron lying on the black and white tile floor of the Schuyler Square Country Club kitchen out of her mind. Ron was dead! And she was his widow.

His extremely wealthy, still attractive widow a small voice inside her head pointed out. Who will surely be able to find another rich husband--perhaps one who doesn't have the personality of a toad.

True. Once the shock wore off, Mavis was sure that money and her natural good looks were going to do a lot to pull her out of any lingering malaise.

“Mavis!” Rosanne turned from the stove, spatula in her hand. For one brief, mad moment Mavis almost envied Rosanne. Her servant’s life had to be so simple and easy compared to her own. What would Rosanne ever have to worry about? Oh, to have been born of peasant stock! Life would be so much easier. “Sit down,” Rosanne urged. “You look like you’re going to faint.”

Obediently Mavis sank into one of the oak kitchen chairs. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d sat down in the kitchen. Had she ever? Probably not. Kitchens and Mavis didn’t mix well. She shuddered. Ron had been murdered in a kitchen. Why would he have been there in the first place? Ron didn’t like utilitarian places either.

“Can I get you anything?” Rosanne inquired. “I could make some coffee or tea—“

Mavis shook her head. “I’d like a glass of wine,” she said. “White, please.”

Rosanne’s eyebrows shot over the word ‘please.’ Mavis really needed to turn over a new leaf if merely being polite was so shocking to her cleaning lady. Well, perhaps this was the time she could do that. Now that Ron was gone maybe she could begin a new chapter in her life, a warmer, gentler chapter.

Rosanne set a glass of wine down in front of her. Picking it up eagerly, Mavis took an enormous swallow. “Rosanne!” she said angrily. “This isn’t cold enough! Don’t you know that yet that white wine has to be properly chilled? Maybe you don’t do that in your trailer park but here we chill Riesling to 47 degrees exactly! This is at least 52 degrees and it tastes like swill when it's warm.  I’d appreciate it if you’d stop reading your soap opera magazines long enough to remember that fact!”

Wordlessly, Rosanne picked up the wine, carried it to the sink and dumped it down the drain. Then she turned and left the kitchen without another word to Mavis.

Well, Mavis thought, she’d work on the warmer, gentler thing another day. When she wasn’t quite so frazzled.