A “Becoming” excerpt in sequence:

“Meeting Rhea”

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Rhea Goldman never approved of any of the boys her daughter had dated because the boys that she had been introduced to were either stupid, dumb, ugly, too tall, too short, too fat, had pimples and/or blackheads, or looked like bums and/or hoodlums. It seemed to Rhea that Marsha brought these boys home just to annoy her—which at times Marsha did because…

As for Marsha, the more her mother disliked a boy the more she liked him, or pretended to and now, looking at Mitchell, she couldn’t help but think again, Wait till mother sees him! Stifling laughter, You look like you’re in movies! Your parents own their own home and business and even a boat, even if it does have ‘only’ one mast. Let’s see what mother can find wrong with you, Mitchell. Unable to hold back, she laughed.

___________________________________________________________ 

Chicago, Illinois

June 19, 1955

Meeting Rhea

“He’s here, Mother!”

“What do you want from me? So, let him in.”

Hesitating before pushing the intercom button. “Can’t you at ‘least’ put some clothes on?”

“And what’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“What’s ‘wrong’ with what you’re wearing? Mother!”

Wearing an ankle length, leopard-skin patterned nylon robe, Rhea was lying on her side on the sofa with her left elbow and head propped on the cushioned armrest. The zipper to the robe was open about six inches, revealing a slight amount of cleavage.

Light from the mid-morning sun, coming from the large window behind, dramatically highlighting her long, black hair, Rhea knew this was a seductive pose because it was a pose she had used to good effect many times in the past when she’d had ‘friends’ come to ‘visit’.

Rhea normally wouldn’t go to this much bother, or for that matter ‘any’ bother for her daughter’s friends. But this boy seemed to be somewhat different and although she knew— or thought she knew— that this boy came from a wealthy family, Rhea ‘truly’ did not hold too much hope for him because Marsha’s boyfriends were always— in her opinion— ‘creeps’ that she brought home just —Rhea was positive—to spite and annoy her.

****

Actually Rhea thought that Marsha was very pretty. But she also thought that she was far too naive and unsophisticated to attract a boy that was good enough for her. Certainly none of the boys that Rhea had met in the past had even come close —physically or financially— to whatever lofty standards she had ‘secretly’ set for her daughter.

Rhea couldn’t be bothered with Marsha when she was a child. But she was no longer a child, or for that matter a bother and she would have liked to find a way to narrow the gap between Marsha and herself—especially since Roger had married and because Brenda, his wife, seemed to be setting stringent guidelines for his and his mother’s relationship—But yet, for some unknown, deeply hidden reason Rhea still went out of her way to widen the breach between her daughter and herself.

****

“If you don’t like the way I look, my daughter,” Rhea said sarcastically, “then don’t invite him up!”

For a long moment mother and daughter glared at each other, as...

Indifferently lifting a book from the coffee table, Rhea pretended to read, as…

Nine stories below, he pushed the button again.

Having no intention of meeting Mitchell downstairs because she wanted to… Because Marsha could ‘not’ wait to see her mother’s reaction.

“Okay, Mother.” Shrugging her shoulders just as indifferently…

Pressing the intercom button, “Mitchie?”

“Yeah. Hi, honey!”

“Sorry it took so long. Come on up.” Pushing the button, unlocking the security door she went into the hall to wait for him.

The elevator door opening, Mitchell stepped out.

Her hair rolled into a thick coil falling over her left shoulder, Marsha wore white, high-cut shorts over a one-piece bathing suit that accentuated her long, slender—no longer ‘knock-kneed’ —darkly-tanned legs, a sleeveless light-blue blouse and black leather sandals.

Wearing white, cotton-wash slacks and a short-sleeved, powder-blue shirt out at the waist and unbuttoned to below his chest and—coincidentally— black leather sandals.

At this time neither aware that they were dressed near perfectly alike.

“Hi...”

The total effect on both the wonder of their long lost, newly discovered love, each coming into the arms of the other…

“Hi!”

Taking his hand. “Come on.”

Anxiously leading him into the apartment. “I can’t wait for mother to meet you…”

“Mother!”

Her head still propped in the palm of her hand. Still ‘deeply engrossed’ in her book, moving her head from her palm, Rhea made a halting motion with her hand— as though to say: ‘I’m more interested in my book then in meeting this insignificant boy. But if he’ll wait till I’m ready, I’ll honor him with my gaze.’

Rhea instantly reminding Mitchell of the actress, ‘Hedy Lamarr’. Jesus, he thought, she’s beautiful!

“Mother,” knowing this was an act. “Mitchell is here!”

Annoyed at being taken from her ‘book’. “Okay, Marsha!”

Lowering the book slowly, forcing a smile. “No need to…” Lifting her eyes…

If Mitchell Lipensky were astride a sparkling white horse wearing silver armor…

The look of surprise apparent. Unable to stop herself, “Oh-my-God!”

Having a feeling that Marsha was ‘showing him off’, not quite to this extent, though. “Mrs. Goldman,” crossing the room while smiling ‘his’ smile, Mitchell extended his hand. “I’m glad to meet you.”

Mitchell being the last thing she’d ‘ever’ expected to see enter the room at the side of her daughter,…

“Uh,” sitting up awkwardly. Clumsily shaking his hand, “Uh…”

“Mother...” Smiling a ‘very’ broad smile. Absolutely ‘tickled’ at her mother’s reaction to Mitchell and her ‘unusual’— to say the least— loss for words. “...this is Mitchell.”

“Ah, yes... ‘Mitchell’!” Attempting to regain ‘some’ semblance of composure. “Marsha, uh, has…” glancing darkly at her daughter, “...told me ‘so’ much about you.”

Obviously, though, Marsha sure hadn’t told her all ‘that’ much.

Holding her hand forward. “Sit down, please.”

Not sure if the woman was simply gesturing to a chair or if ‘maybe’ she expected him to kiss her hand on the way there.

“No wonder Marsha’s so pretty.” Opting for the first, Mitchell sat down.

“Thank you.” Acknowledging the compliment while attempting to soften the perplexed look of her frozen smile…

Searching for something… For ‘anything’ to say…

“You’re Jewish?” Rhea said dumbly, “You don’t look Jewish.”

He’d gone through this with girl’s mothers in the past. Having only two ways to prove that he truly was Jewish and not knowing Marsha’s mother well enough to ‘whip it out’. Thinking the absurd thought, I could show her my circumcision. Or, smiling, this time opting for the second. Taking the wallet from his back pocket. Removing a picture he handed it to her.

Looking at thirteen year old Mitchell wearing a tallis and yarmulke in his bar mitzvah picture. Handing the picture back while still thinking of something intelligible to say, “Oh.” Rhea said.

Enjoying her mother’s squirming and near babbling response to Mitchell. Nonetheless thinking, Maybe now’s a good time to leave. “Mother, we’ve got to meet Shelly at Askanaz and we’re running late.”

Glancing at Marsha. Surprised at this but standing. “Nice meeting you, Mrs Goldman.” Mitchell repeated, adding, “Sorry we have to run.”

Not even ‘pretending’ to like them. Often to the point of being ‘noticeably’ rude. Rhea usually rushed Marsha’s boyfriends from the apartment as quickly as possible. Now, though, wishing they’d stay a bit longer. wanting to know more about this young man,

“Yes, Mitchell,” forcing her eyes from his face, frowning at her daughter, “maybe you can stay longer next time.”

Oh, yeah! ‘Maybe you can stay longer next time’. Not words she’d thought she would ‘ever’ hear her mother say in regard to one of her boyfriends. “Yes, Mother!” Marsha said sweetly. “Maybe next time.”

Motioning to a beach bag by the door. “This yours?”

Still attempting to keep a straight face, “Uh-huh.” Marsha nodded.

Lifting the bag and opening the door. Stepping through and Looking back, “Bye, Mrs. Goldman.” Mitchell pulled the door shut.

The elevator hadn’t moved so the door opened the moment Marsha pushed the button.

Stepping inside, no sooner had the door closed when, her arms about his neck. “Have I ever told you how much I ‘love’ centipedes?”

“Actually, no.” Smiling, “Why would anyone ever love a centipede?”

“’Cause,” kissing him, “they’re cute and fuzzy and look like you.”

Walking through the lobby. Disappointed when she’d said it. “I didn’t know we were meeting Shelly.” He’d hoped they would be spending the day alone. “You want to walk or drive?”

“Let’s walk… And we’re not meeting Shelly. I just wanted to get out of there.”

Putting his arm about her waist. “Good!”

Putting her arm about his waist. “You don’t like Shelly?”

“Sure I like Shelly.” Chuckling at the tongue-twister. “But I ‘Love’ you and was hoping to spend the day alone with you.”

“Me, too, Mitchie. I want to be alone with you, too...That’s if you call being on a beach with a million kids alone.”

Looking to her side. “Didn’t realize before, but we’re looking like ‘twinzies’.

“ ‘twinzies’?

“Yeah,. We’re dressed almost alike.”

Looking to his side. “We are! Wonder how that happened.”

“Almost like a couple of kids going steady.”

Walking quietly a number of paces.. “Are we, Marcie?… Going steady?”

Afraid of Mitchell thinking that they’re moving too quickly. Afraid of him thinking that she’s ‘pushing’ it because at their age ‘going steady’ really means ‘engagement’. Not knowing how to answer, Marsha says nothing.

In light of Mitchell’s question, both knowing anything they say could be considered a commitment that— at this time — neither know if they are ready for such a life changing commitment. Also, actually, what do they really know about each other.

A few silent minutes passing.

“You mother’s very pretty. I can see where you get it.”

Frowning, looking at him. “You think she’s sexy, ehh?”

“Yeah. For someone’s mother she is, ‘very’!”

“Well, Daddy’s pretty good-looking, too, and I’d ‘much’ rather think I got most of myself from him.”

Taking a chance. “Seems like you don’t care for your mother too much.”

Looking skyward. “It’s such a nice day, I’d really rather not talk about her… You like hot dogs?”

“Huh?” The question so far out of context he wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “ ‘Hot dogs’?”

“Yeah!” Laughing, “Do you like hot dogs?”

“Well, yeah, sure I like hot dogs!” Other than lox and bagels, one of his favorite foods had always been ‘Chicago’ style, ‘kosher’ style hot dogs. “As a matter of fact… Now you ‘don’t’ know this about me yet, Marcie, but I am considered to be one of the world’s foremost connoisseurs of hot dogs.”

“Really? ‘One of the world’s foremost’, huh? I don’t know if I told you, but daddy’s got an itsy-bitsy restaurant over on Madison Street; you know, ‘hot dogs’, ‘hamburgers’, ‘chili’, ‘bacon’n’eggs’ and stuff like that. And I was thinking that if tomorrow…” Stopping, she looked at him questioningly. “That is if you want to be with me tomorrow.”

Sounding almost angry. “Are you ‘nuts’? Of ‘course’ I want to be with you tomorrow, and the next day and every day that I’m home! I even want to sleep with you!” Looking at each other, he smiled. “I didn’t mean it ‘that’ way… Well, yeah, I ‘did’ mean it that way, too. But what I meant was that I want to spend every possible minute with you.”

Thank you, God! “Me, too, Mitchie.”

Thank you, God! “What about your job, though?”

“I’ll tell them something came up and that I’ve just got to take some time off. It’s more important to me that I spend the time with you, so if they say no, then I’ll just quit and find another job. But my boss likes me and I think it’ll be okay.”

“I was wondering what I was going to do with myself while you were at work, and if that’s what you ‘really’ want to do, then it’s great!”

“Of ‘course’ that’s what I want to do!” Bumping his hip with hers. “Anyway, daddy makes the best hot dogs in Chicago…”

Bumping her hip back, “The best, ehh?”

“Yeah, the ‘best’! Anyway, I thought that tomorrow we’d take a ride to the store and have lunch, and then you two can meet each other.”

“Sounds good to me. That’s why he’s not home today, he’s working?”

“Yes.” Marsha sighed. “He’s there almost all the time. And it’s not only him; my brother and uncle work there also, but daddy’s there almost all the time! Living in that darned apartment costs a lot of money!” she said bitterly.

Remembering.“Oh, yeah, Roger! Kind of a surly guy, ain’t he?”

“Yes, to say the least. But why’d you ask?”

“When I talked to him the other…”

“You talked to Roger! When?”

“He didn’t give you my message? I called from Michigan City.”

“No,” she sighed, again. “He never told me you called.”

**** 

After brunch at Askanaz they walked to the beach where Marsha led Mitchell to ‘her spot’.

On the one hand she did want to be alone with him—at least as alone as they could be on a beach with ‘a million kids around’. On the other hand she also wanted her friends to meet and see him.

****

Mitchell’s head propped in his hand, he lay on his side looking down at Marsha.

Lying on her back with her eyes closed. “You know, Mitch, your family is just great!”

“Thanks. And in case you hadn’t noticed, my mom and dad and the boys are absolutely in love with you.”

Spending the years of her life with none but the love of her father. Suddenly having not only the love of Mitchell, but of his family also all but overwhelming her. Opening her suddenly teary eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah, ‘really’!” Leaning downward, he kissed her nose. “But ‘Star of David’ or not, my grandmother still thinks you’re a shiksa.”

“ ‘Cause I don’t like lox?”

“Sure, ‘cause you don’t like lox’! What kind of a Jew doesn’t like lox?”

Her expression turning somber. “Mitchie, can I ask you something?”

“Sure you can! Anything you want!”

“ ‘Morton Humphrey’?” The serious expression turning to laughter. “ ‘Mitchell’ and ‘Lawrence’, okay… but ‘Morton Humphrey’? That ‘poor’ kid. How’d that happen?”

Laughing also, “I don’t know if it’s true , but my mother says Mortie’s named after two of her cousins that lived in a small village in England during the war.”

“You’ve got relatives in England?”

“Beats me! I’d always thought all of her family came from Russia. Then a few years ago they had some friends over and after they’d had a few drinks someone asked that same question and that was the first time I heard ‘anything’ about England. Anyway, according to my mother, these two cousins really loved each other…”

“Boy cousins or girl cousins?”

“Boy. But they were ‘great’ friends.. Anyway, these two cousins loved each other a real lot, and they each lived on the other side of a small river, and there was a bridge running across it…”

“Uh, this a true story?”

“I guess.” Shrugging his shoulders. “Do mothers lie?”

“Yeah...” Marsha said, brushing back a lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead, “...sometimes.”

“Anyway...” touching his fingers to her cheek. “...there was an air raid one day and the cousins ran out of their houses on either side of the river and began to run across the bridge…”

“Why?”

“Beats me! Anyway, the cousins began to run across the bridge calling each other’s names… Oh, by the way, did I tell you what their names were?”

“No, but I can guess.”

“Yeah...” he said sadly, “... that’s it! Their names were Morton and Humphrey.”

“ ‘Really’?”

“Yeah. And as they ran across the bridge they called, ‘Morton!’ ‘Humphrey!’ ‘Morton!’ ‘Humphry!’ Then a bomb fell on the bridge and killed ’em both.”

“No kidding,” she said in mock seriousness.

“Yeah,” he said in mock sadness.

Lifting her head. “Oh, what a sad story.” she kissed his forehead.

“Yeah. And that’s how Morton Humphrey got his name.”

“According to your mother.”

“Yeah.”

“You believe ‘everything’ your mother tells you, do you?”

“Sure, and my dad, too.” Laughing, “When she was pregnant with Larry he told me that she’d swallowed a watermelon seed.”

“And you believed him?”

“Well, yeah. Why not? What did I know about it then?” Laughing again. Kissing her, tasting the salt of perspiration on her upper lip. “Hell, I don’t even know that much about it now.”

Thinking his self-depreciating way rather a nice change from most of the ‘know-it-all’ kind of guys she knew. Closing her eyes and crossing her hands behind her head. “What are you planning on doing after you get out of the Coast Guard?”

Thinking the way Marsha had of abruptly changing the subject kind of cute. Lying closely together. Their thighs touching, the sensation of bare, warm flesh upon bare, warm flesh transmitting charges of sexual electricity.

“I really haven’t made up my mind.” he said.

Laying on her back with her hands behind her head, the V of her bathing suit having widened across her chest, Mitchell saw the ridges of her ribs and the slight swell of her breasts and, Oh, God! how he wanted look at Marsha’s breasts and taste the taste of Marsha’s nipples. Oh, God! He actually ‘ached’ to do this and had to fight the urge to do this.

“I’ll have the ‘G.I. Bill’ and know it would probably be best to go back to college...”

He said as he tried to visualize what Marsha’s breasts might look like: their size; the size, texture and color of her nipples.

“...But I’m not even sure if I want to go back to college, and…”

Closing his eyes, he could almost feel them in his mouth: the texture of Marsha’s nipples; the sweetness of Marsha’s flesh; the salt taste of her perspiration.

“...I’ll probably get married and…”

Feeling her heart skip, Ask me! She thought. Ask me now and, Oh, God, I’ll say ‘yes’!

“…go to work at the studio as a salesman.”

And those legs! Oh, God, those long, tan, slender legs! Envisioning his waist held captive between those long, tan, slender legs…

The flood of erotic emotion overwhelming him, “Marsha,” he said hoarsely.

Oh, God! He is going to ask me!

“I love you!” Kissing her. “Marcie, I love you!” Pressing his body tightly against her body. kissing her deeply, imagining his tongue as his penis he moved it in and out, slowly, rhythmically, in and out… deeply into, and partially out of, Marsha’s… vagina.

Feeling him pressing hard onto her thigh. Aware of, and joining into the sensual movement of his tongue. Putting her arms about his neck she tightened her chest against his chest and drawing deeply, Marsha, too, imagined, and...

As his elongated, hardened tongue went forward and back; constricting her vaginal muscle and loosening her vaginal muscle in rhythm with Mitchell’s imagined penis… Marsha soon sensed the warm, wet flow of her passion and soon… very soon, the tug and, Oh, God! warm release within the well of her vagina and…

“Oh, God!” Coming from this special kiss breathless, “I love you!” Marsha felt the rapid beating of her heart and—as she realized what had, amazingly happened—the sweet, warm glow of orgasm.

“Oh, God!” Feeling the rapid beating of his heart—along with the tightness of his bathing suit that constricted his pulsing erection—their mouths but an inch apart, Mitchell felt the ragged breath of Marsha upon his lips and no longer able to control his hands— feeling the ridges of her ribs beneath the sun warmed flesh— he placed his hand flat upon her chest between the gentle swells of Marsha’s breasts.

Feeling Mitchell’s ragged breath upon her lips. Sensing their mutual love— and lust, but...

Unwitting flinching as she felt his hand upon her chest. Rather than moving it, though, covering his hand with her hand, holding it captive. “Mitchie,” glancing about, “there’s so many people around.”

“Oh, God!”

Trustingly taking her hand from atop his. Putting both arms about his neck pulling him closer again, their lips met again… less urgently—at least less urgently for Marsha Goldman.

For Mitchell Lipensky, though—his hand held flat between their pressing chests— by stretching his fingers he was able to feel the softness on either side of Marsha’s chest…

A nagging sensation in the pit of his stomach telling him this a betrayal of Marsha’s trust, Mitchell withdrew his hand.

****

Several times throughout this day people that knew Marsha, both male and female, came to her. They stood or stooped in front of the blanket or knelt upon it. After a few minutes of small talk, catching the subliminal hint that said, ‘we want to be alone’, the people left...

And in the midst of the crowd, they were alone.

Next “Becoming” excerpt in sequence: “Westerly Reflections”