There are two poolrooms in Waverly Village, and it’s almost like a class division. In Billy’s place, real gutter language they brought home from the military is normal. And sometimes they get into fights. But here at John’s the crowd won’t put up with fights, and the language is more or less clean – we have to go to homes where we wouldn’t use such talk, so we figure it’s best not to get into the habit.
Eight or ten of us married men gather at John’s right after work almost every day. Just a general bull session and a couple of beers, maybe a game of pool once in a while. This has been going on for years.
Felton was a come-lately from the other side of the county. He married a nice-looking girl who has been here all her life, and they put a trailer on a lot her mother gave them just outside our village. He had a job at the boat plant and Vivian kept hers at Velcon even after little Carrie was born. They both had their own cars to drive to work, and Mrs. Adams – she lived just down the road from them – kept little Carrie while Vivian was at work.
From the first, Felton would stop at our poolroom and shoot the breeze. He never shot pool, but he’d sometimes have a beer or two. We didn’t especially like him – he was kind of different, but we put up with him – didn’t want to hurt his feelings.
Different? Well, Felton is the kind of fellow who tells everything, even the personal stuff that he has no business telling. Like how many times he and Vivian did it over the weekend, and even about when she was having her time of the month. And he gave us the exact measurement of Vivian’s chest that he got off his tape measure.
Yes, he’s different.
Otherwise, we would never have known all we know about the inside dope of that whole sad business, all coming from one of those chance things that happen and have to happen to somebody…like getting struck by lightning.
These two guys had just escaped from the County Farm, small-timers so far. Scott Babson was just twenty-two and he was in for bad checks. Willy Vinson was older, almost thirty, and he was in for breaking-and-entering. Willy had come up with some wire cutters and he took Scott along.
Just a couple of miles away from The Farm, and before they were even missed, they came across an unattended Buick sedan. Scott hot-wired it in seconds – that’s why Willy allowed him to come along – and they were off.
They were headed nowhere in particular. In fact, they had both expected they would be caught fairly soon, but a few hours on the outside was worth it.
First off, they stopped at the washerette and broke open the slots on the machines. They got almost twenty dollars in coins, which meant they paid cash for a box of chicken at Hardee’s, and gas for the car. They stole beer and ice and bread and cold cuts from the open-air Minny-Mart.
Vivian got off work at three, went straight home and changed clothes, then walked down toward Mrs. Adams’s place to get Carrie – Carrie was four years old then.
And when they spotted Vivian in those tight-fitting stretch pants below a tank top over her impressive bosom, they decided to add another element to their adventure. Willy kept the motor running while Scott grabbed her, put his hand over her mouth and dragged her into the car.
Nobody saw them do it. They sped away, headed for some woods that Willy knew about.
Highway Patrol, State Law, Sheriff’s deputies, helicopters, bloodhounds and the whole works were called in.
It was two days before Vivian came back on foot, looking tired but not hurt.
The search for the fugitives ended shortly after that. They held up a store for something to eat, but they forgot about gas for the car. When the stolen car ran out of gas a hundred miles away, Willy and Scott, tired and hungry, turned themselves in to a police station.
Of course, we were all sorry for Felton, thinking about how we would take it if something like that happened to us.
But, still, he just had to talk. “I asked her what they had done to her. You know what she said? ‘What do you think they did?’”
We felt for him, all right.
It was a couple of months later we learned that Vivian had refused to submit to the rape-kit after she got back from the woods, and she was not going to testify against them at the trial!
“Suits me,” he told us in the poolroom, “think I want my wife up there before everybody telling that them bums stuck it to her? Both of them?”
The two subjects were convicted of jail breaking and auto theft and petite larceny – no kidnapping or rape charge could be found without Vivian’s cooperation. They couldn’t be sent back to County Farm, so one was sent to Centerville and the other to Lincolnton.
So, we couldn’t picture how it must have been around that house, him knowing what had happened to her, ashamed of it, and trying to go on with things like nothing had happened.
“Hell, I know she had it rough; but now she won’t even let me touch her!”
But then when things suddenly changed, and Felton couldn’t wait to tell us about it.
“Damn, it was good after so long. She’s got a little kinky, though.”
We were relieved when he didn’t give us the details of “kinky”.
And one day he brought in a package, bought us all a beer and had us gather around while he took the stuff out of the package. It was ladies’ stuff – a see-through nightgown, harem outfit, garters, all kinds of things.
“Where did you get all that?” somebody asked.
“Vivian got it. She’s got these catalogs. And she dresses up for me. Hot damn!”
And he even elaborated on this gel she got for him to rub on his private parts. “Makes it last!”
Then, all of a sudden, Felton moved out on Vivian. Let her keep the kid, and he moved in with his folks on the other side of the county. We missed Felton, but I guess we were somewhat relieved at not hearing him talk about that embarrassing stuff.
It was almost a year later when Charley ran into Felton in a bar over on Northside. And of course, Felton got to talking about what had sent him away from Vivian.
Charley said, “Felton said it was the catalogs. Said Vivian went too far…”
“Too far?”
“Well, he said he liked the sexy outfits, and he didn’t really object to the endurance cream…but then she came up with something he just couldn’t handle…”
Charley was the kind who stretches things out, but somebody said, “Quit beating around the bush. Out with it!”
“Well, he said this kit came in the mail…in plain brown paper…”
“If you don’t quit stalling…”
“It was an outfit for enlargement…”
“Enlargement of what?”
“You figure it out. Felton did! And of course, he figures maybe one of those convicts must have been…Well, you figure it out…”
Vivian used to go to church every Sunday. Nowadays she leaves Carrie with her mother, and she goes off for the day.
Some people say she goes to Centerville.