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“Tell her I’m going to have lunch at Harding’s,” doing his best to sound nonchalant, “and that if she wants to talk to me about the customer and has no other plans for lunch to meet me there at, oh, twelve, twelve-thirty.”
“Sure, Mitch. Anything else?”
“No… Yeah. Any calls for me?”
Glancing at the “Lipensky” slot. “No, nothing, Mitch.”
“Thanks… Bye.”
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Chicago, Illinois
February 27, 1963, 12.07 p.m.
“Table for one?”
Having no idea if she’d be there, “No, I’m expecting someone.” Arriving at Harding’s a few minutes after twelve, “Hold on, let’s see if she’s here.” Stepping into the main level of the popular downtown restaurant, glancing about, every table taken—In a way relieved, in a way disappointed—“Nope, don’t see her down here.”
Maybe, in a perverse way being the bravest thing he’d ever done, and possibly the stupidest, holding his breath, following the hostess upstairs…
****
Play it cool! Arriving at Harding’s a few minutes before twelve. Don’t look anxious! Asking to be seated on the second floor. Maybe that’s all he wants. Maybe he really does want to talk business.
Coincidentally being seated at the same table they’d shared two months earlier. Deliberately taking the seat facing the stairwell. Trying not to look towards the stairwell. Trying to pretend she was going through her appointment book.
The sentiment and excitement, along with the ramifications of an affair with Mitchell had played through her mind minimally a thousand times. On the one hand hopeful—Maybe that’s all he wants: to talk business. On the other hand hopeful—Oh, God, I hope not!
Looking downward, at her appointment book… Looking upward, to the stairwell.
Following the hostess upstairs, coming off the stairs, the one flight of stairs of course not phasing him. However, She’s here! Mitchell’s heart rate jumped from eighty to one twenty.
Her heart quickening, He’s here!
“Your party here?”
“Yes, ma’am. Thanks.” His eyes never leaving Elizabeth’s face, seeing a…? seriousness in the expression on her face. She knows I’m not here to talk business.
Seeing a…? seriousness in the expression on his face. He’s not here for business.
Standing closely alongside, “Hi.”
Looking upward, “Hi.”
Having a need to touch… But to shake hands? To shake hands? Not this time! Not now!
Bending forward, bringing his lips to her cheek… Elizabeth turned her head and rather than the intended kiss on her cheek…
Elizabeth and Mitchell’s lips came together and, unlike the kiss of two platonic friends meeting for lunch, and certainly unlike the kiss of a man and woman conducting business…
They kissed.
Oblivious of the people in this popular, downtown restaurant, regardless of the consequences, Elizabeth Herzon/Lipshitz and Mitchell Lipensky kissed the kiss of reunited lovers.
Marveling at the wondrous feel and new taste of the other’s lips and mouth…
Their kiss breaking, breathing heavily, the two stared questioningly at each other for five rapid heartbeats… then looked about to see who might be watching.
But a husband and wife or a girlfriend and boyfriend ardently kissing hello in this restaurant no big deal, no one in particular seemed to be watching.
Sitting, at the moment wanting nothing more than to put his lips back to where they’d been seconds ago, Mitchell had no idea what to say.
Neither quite knowing how to get a conversation started, thankfully, buying them a few seconds to bring their thoughts and emotions under control…
“Afternoon.” The waitress bringing rolls, butter and water along with two menus, “Would you care for a drink?”
“Yes, actually.” Needing something to calm himself, “Scotch’n’soda.” He looked at Elizabeth.
“No.” Changing her mind, “Yes!” Never drinking, but thinking it would quiet her fluttering stomach. “I’ll have… uh, a glass of wine.”
“White or red?”
Her unwavering gaze never leaving Mitchell’s face. “Uh, which one’s served cold?”
“White.”
Breaking her gaze, looking at the waitress, “I’ll take white then.”
Back again, unblinking green eyes staring into unblinking green eyes, his hands on the table, hers on her lap, both searching for something to say…
“Your hair’s shorter than last time.”
Both knowing they’d opened a door, but knowing the door wasn’t opened so widely it couldn’t be shut. However…
“Yes.” Nervously combing the fingers of her right hand through her hair. “It gets so darn hot here in summer and I hate the feel of too much hair on my neck so…”
Opening the door a bit wider, placing her hand onto the table, Elizabeth’s open hand now lay palm down, but just an inch from Mitchell’s hand and, as though the air between their two hands was suddenly charged with magnetized static electricity, the barely seen tendrils of Elizabeth’s dark blonde hair as well as Mitchell’s much darker hair stood on end as the hands were inexorably drawn the half inch it took each to touch… then hold.
Looking at their entwined hands, then back, to the other’s eyes.
Feeling the contact, thoughts of the implications of this minimal show of affection swirled through both minds.
“Here you go.”
As though caught doing something they oughtn’t, releasing quickly, guiltily, Elizabeth’s hand dropped onto her lap.
“You ready to order?”
His eyes on Elizabeth, his stare unwavering. “No, ma’am, not yet.” Dismissing her, “Thank you.”
Sitting stiffly, “Oh, God, Liz!” Looking away, “I…” Bringing the glass to his lips, he took a long swallow.
Bringing the glass to her lips, taking a light swallow, “Yaght!” Not used to the taste of White Zinfandel, or any wine, grimacing, “That’s awful!”
Seeing the sour look on her face, smiling, “Not used to drinking much?”
“No, not at all.” Nodding towards his glass, “You?”
“Drink?” Forcing a smile, welcoming the small talk. “Well, yeah… I mean no, I don’t drink very often, but, yeah, on occasion I’ve been known to have a drink.”
“Mitchell,” urgently taking hold of his hand, “we’ve done nothing wrong yet.”
Swallowing, looking at her hand atop his, loving the feel of her hand atop his. “Well,” chuckling dryly, “that kiss wasn’t exactly a ‘hi, good to see you again, ma’am’ kind’a kiss.”
“That was my fault,” she said softly. “I shouldn’t have kissed you that way.”
“I didn’t exactly beat you off with a big stick.”
“You’re here, I think, and you…” forcing a thin smile, “didn’t beat me off with a big stick because I think there’s something major wrong between you and your wife.”
Not wanting to say too much, “Yeah, I guess you can say that.”
“But, please, I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do.”
“What I want to do?” His eyes again fastened on hers, “Elizabeth,” his voice barely above a whisper, “what I want is to be with you!” Speaking louder now, “But I’m…” Lowering his voice again, “Jesus, I’ve three kids, and you’ve a husband!”
“Right now! Mitchie, we can walk away from this right now!” Swallowing, her eyes became glassy. “If you want, you and me, we can walk away from each other right now.”
His jaw tightening, thinking, You and me! “My God, Lizzie, no! No! I do not want to walk away from you!”
Relief showing in the tone of her voice, “I’m glad, honey…”
Honey.
“…’cause I don’t want to walk away from you either.”
Lifting his hand, smelling the clean scent of hand lotion, bringing her hand to his lips, he kissed it.
“Mitchell,” her other hand pressed to his cheek, “when do you usually get home?”
“Depending on traffic, usually, sometime between five and six.”
Her heartbeat pulsing in her chest, impulsively, “Come home with me now.”
“Your home?” His heart pounding, “Your husband…?”
“He’s at a seminar today and won’t be home till ten or so.”
Holding both her hands to his lips, kissing one, then the other. “Yes.”
“Yes?” Sensing the heat within her vagina. “You’ll come home with me?”
Knowing what was coming, feeling his penis tighten, “Yeah, baby.”
Motioning to the waitress, Mitchell made a writing gesture in the air.
****
Outside, onto a frigid, windblown Wabash Avenue, “Where’s your car?”
“I drive to Howard, then take the El downtown. Yours?” he asked.
“I’ve got monthly parking at the lot on La Salle.” Anxious, after all these years, very anxious to be alone with Mitchell. “Come on, I’ll take you to yours and you can follow me home.”
****
The late model Oldsmobile turned onto Lake Shore Drive.
Neither having spoken since they’d begun the drive, holding the wheel with both hands, tiring of the nervous silence, “Where do you live, Mitch?”
Hands on his lap, Mitchell’s thoughts vacillating between the excitement of knowing who he was with and what was coming… along with the possible consequences. “Des Plaines.”
“Des Plaines! That’s pretty far from work.”
“Yeah,” looking at Elizabeth in profile, knowing that his fantasy was about to become reality, her beauty warming his fearful mood, “it is.”
“Your own house?”
“Well, the bank and us… It’s only a townhouse… You?”
Glancing at him, “Where do I live?”
Amazed that she was really here with him. That within the hour she’d be holding him, making love to him. For the first time in her life making love to someone she really wanted to make love to. Actually, making love to the only man that she'd ever wanted to make love to.
“Yeah.”
Her thoughts coming back. “Off Touhy… Myron,” she said sourly, “likes to run, so we’re not too far from the beach.”
“We used to live near the beach,” he said, thinking, It’s still not too late. When we get to the car tell her I changed my mind and just go home.
As though knowing his thoughts, as though wanting to strengthen his resolve, actually shocked by her brazen move, Elizabeth placed her right hand high onto his thigh.
Feeling the warmth of her hand, looking at her hand, his stomach twitching at the thought that her hand was but an inch from his penis, “Elizabeth…” Wanting to say, “I can’t do this!” Wanting to say, “When we get my car I’m just going to go home.” However, “…you mentioned it before and, yeah, it’s true ! Marcie and me have lots of problems, and if it weren’t for the kids, I’d probably…” Correcting himself, “If not for the kids I would ask for a divorce,” he said forcefully. “But I love my kids and do not want to be separated from them!”
“I know you do,” glancing at him, “and I don’t blame you, not one bit!”
“Anything we do…” his hand now on hers, moving it imperceptibly higher, imperceptibly closer, “has to be strictly between you’n’me!”
Well aware of where her hand was, “I know.” she stretched her thumb forward.
Feeling the tip of her thumb graze the tip of his no longer flaccid penis, “I…” Her barely felt touch causing a slight tickle within his urethra telling Mitchell his semen was starting to flow. “…I’ve tremendous feelings for you, Elizabeth!”
Looking straight forward, her bottom lip held between her teeth, barely touching him, feeling him through his slacks. “Me, too, Mitchie, for you.” Tightening her thighs, Elizabeth imagined she could hear herself squish.
Knowing, without a doubt, what was going to happen unless he backed away, “But I want you to know right now,” he said emphatically, “that I’ll never leave my wife.” Said not as a question, but rather a statement of fact.
“Because of your kids?”
“Yes, because of the kids. I do not want anyone to know about us!”
Thinking, his kids, not his wife! “Mitchell, I’m married, too, you know. And I love my job! And if it ever did get out, about you and me, we’d probably both be fired, so trust me, this will be strictly between us!”
Both hands back on the wheel.
Elizabeth in a heightened state of anticipation. Mitchell in deep thought, still considering the life altering move he was about a half hour away from.
Once again in their quiet mode, the Oldsmobile turned off Lake Shore onto Bryn Mawr, onto Ridge angling northwest to—the street that bordered the cities of Chicago and Evanston—to Howard Street and the Elevated station. Taking a right on Howard…
“There it is.”
“The blue convertible?”
“Yes.” Okay, Mitchell thought, when I get out, I’ll tell her I’m sorry, but I’m going to go home.
