Tupperware Party

Sandra Fenner was a creature of habit. I don’t mean twirling her hair or using prefixes incorrectly, she never did anything like that, I just mean in the way that she never deviated from the plan. In fact, when it came to Sandra, the plan morphed into something bigger than a plan and became a regiment for her entire life.

Wake up at 6:00, lift the corner of her expensive down duvet and fold it precisely to the right at an angle that made it look like she was about to build a paper airplane. Roll 180 degrees to the left in order to glide off of her expensive sheets, which had a higher thread count than the Pope had wrinkles, just to slip her feet onto the soft, luxurious rug of clouds. She’d contemplated getting one of those Persian jobs that were all the rage for what seemed like an eternity, but she thought that anything from the orient seemed tacky.

Of course, her husband couldn’t have been any more different to her. Laid back, relaxed and eternally warm, he offered the perfect polar opposite to her poor circulation and highly strung demeanor. They were among some of the very few happily married couples in the neighbourhood, somehow finding the time to still be in love. Of course, he was painfully handsome with tousled hair that hung in his face and a voice that could melt a stone, wooden and earthy.

This was a condition that was usually an affliction after a few years together, but he was utterly devoted and would only occasionally bother to look at anybody else. He was also pretty much open to anything that life had to throw at them, a try-everything-once kind of guy — but Sandra wouldn’t dare to entertain those fantasies.

By some miracle, after all those years together playing house and planting flowerbeds, Mark and Sandra were still somehow perfect for one another. While the other ladies in the close would hide complaints and bitterness behind their eyes every time they were asked about their significant others, our two lovers were forgivers, only getting closer. They had promised to keep no secrets — and for a long time, they had kept that promise.

After Sandra lost her job at the bank, she’d had to find new ways to generate an income. Brenda Glenn, from her mother’s church, had told her about a “viable business opportunity” where she could make unlimited money by building relationships. “The only obstacle to how much you will make is your own desire, my dear”.

Sandra would host Tupperware parties, peddling off the latest containers to wealthy moms in the area. She felt it desperate somehow but was willing to put on the smile and give it a try. After all, she needed a sense of purpose. Mark was only getting younger and more beautiful, while she was growing old and past her prime. Eventually, he would leave — and she would be left, lifeless and impossible for anyone else to really love. She’d learned this the hard way in her youth. You see, while Sandra had her good points (like anybody) she was an acquired taste, a blend of insanity and volatile at the best of times, fire-breathing or tedious at the worst. She needed something to keep her going.

It hadn’t started out as anything too sinister. Janice, her friend from book club, had offered her a little coke to sober her up after a long evening of wine and Jane Austin, and it wasn’t exactly new to her so she gave it a bash. Besides, Sandra did love to lose her composure every now and again, just to remember she was still alive, but never for more than a minute. She’d told Mark of course, she told Mark everything. He’d laughed at her — that warm, loving laugh. “This wife of mine is out of hand” he’d joked. “A few more sniffs and you’ll be a regular Lindsay Lohan”. Sandra had laughed too. He was funny, he was everything.

But there had been days since then, maybe one or two, where she’d had a little bit more than she’d let on until she was starting to buy her own. Just a bit, just for a bit of air in her sails during a week of busy errands or a boring, silent afternoon. It didn’t seem worth mentioning after a while but it was dangerously close to becoming her very first secret. The sordid nature of it made her chest burn and her breath shallow.

And slowly, as the need for it grew, Sandra had found herself hiding the coke and the Tupperware in the same cupboard. It was better to hide things in plain site after all — like a blatant denial. Janice had started popping by for some of the Tupperware parties and she’d brought Brenda and the Carmichael sisters, and while they perused the goods, talking about vegetable trays and kids’ lunches, they’d always take a minute to make sure some blow changed hands. The glazed Tupperware made a good container for anything else they acquired.

After a while it seemed logical to merge the two. Janice and Sandra would buy the coke together because neither of them wanted to have too much at once, and they’d split the profits. They had a popular R600 deal, which entitled you to a little package of power and one high-quality, family friendly piece of Tupperware to add to your collection — a bargain really. You’d walk away with something to show for your money all right and most of these women were on unlimited allowances in any case. Of course that R600 at about ten women a week was a nice bit of pocket money and also gave Sandra an excuse to sniff up a bit for herself, in company. Because it’s mostly just a problem when you do it alone.

June 22nd was a record turnout. Of course, by that point almost everybody knew what was going on but they all had so much dirt on one another that they didn’t dare say anything about it to anybody else. Besides, it was also widely acknowledged that a life of power required a driving force. The husbands weren’t entirely in the dark either but it was largely considered just fine really. A good way for the girls to stay busy during a man’s long week of golf, business affairs etc.

That night Sandra had ordered herself a little extra, as a reward for her and Jan, after all, they had worked hard. But somehow she knew it was the beginning of the end. It had to be. There had been times where she’d found herself tiptoeing to the cupboard in the evenings, while Mark lay in bed, wondering if she could take just a little off the top, just to take the edge off of a long day of admin and ordering, chattering with the neighbours or running the kids around. She had spent a few moments, imagining her poison filtering into her bloodstream, consuming her in a blissful second.

Of course there were times she had convinced herself that she was indifferent and yet she kept going back, wanting more and more, until it was no longer a pleasant luxury, but a necessity. Other times, she felt as though she was almost imagining things. If it wasn’t for the tall cupboard of Tupperware and cocaine that she could easily touch, taste and see at any moment — she would have believed it was all a lie.

Mark was starting to notice something was different. All the little bits here and there made her particularly “seductive” and while he’d always had a healthy appetite, he’d noticed an increase in her desires of late. “I’m heading towards my sexual prime darling”, she’d say jokingly, about 10 times a week.

And so, when the police rocked up on that Wednesday afternoon, ready to take her away, like some kind of refined Nancy Botwin, Sandra Fenner looked into the face of her friends and her children and the neighbours and her beloved husband. And yet, as they bolted the car doors closed behind her, she knew the person she had betrayed most was herself.