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Chapter Nine

A Double Life

Loveland, Ohio

November 17, 1937

9:20 AM

Because that’s the way Izzy wanted it, continuing to live in the space at the rear of the newly christened, ‘Clothing Emporium’ — behind the screened area where people in need might still be able to take, or make a free clothing exchange. It was here that Agie brought her deceased husbands basic work clothes.

Having very little in what one might consider ‘dress clothing’. Actually the last he’d purchased had been a, as Morrie put it, ‘jazzy’ suit to complement the rather reveling ‘Flapper’ dress Agie had bought for that ‘Charleston’ night back in 1922— that, never worn after that wild, sexual night had, over the years, worked it’s way to the far rear of her closet, along with Morrie’s ‘jazzy’ suit.

Remembering Morrie had lugged a large suitcase about when first arriving In New York City in 1915, that for the past twenty years had collected dust in their basement — that Agie would pack and take along with whatever there was of Morrie’s dressier clothing to the charitable store in Cincinnati where some men would be more inclined to use than most of the men in Loveland. Besides, she wondered her reaction if she should see someone other than Morrie wearing his clothing.

(Vol 1) Chicago, Illinois: February 5, 1938

Growing tired of Maxwell Street and the shoe repair and belt peddling earnings; after living expenses, so far the two families had accumulated $1,168.50 that was to be used as a down payment and/or 'startup' cash for a partnership business that both families could agree on— the Sunday ‘Chicago Tribune'’ Classified ‘Business For Sale’ section scoured by Sarah, but so far there was no business that they could even remotely afford, that would satisfy Malcolm's mechanical ability and Murray's business and organizational ability and —graduating her one semester accounting class— Sarah’s new found accounting ability.

Loveland, Ohio

May 7, 1939: 11:12 AM

Delaying the— For Agie, the highly emotional task of the removal of her husband’s remaining clothing from their closet; having dragged Morrie’s old suitcase from the basement to, now, her bedroom. Dusting it first, then hefting and swinging it onto, now, her bed. Popping the two clamps and lifting the clasp, she swung it open.

His slacks, still held onto their clamping hangers now flat on the bed laying alongside the suitcase. Removing the hangers, folding one pair and carefully lying it into the case, then another, then… noticing about two inches of the lower right side corner of the inner lining that had— at one time been pasted, but now had detached and lifted revealing the dark green point of what looked like a thin… like two thin, wallet size folders that must have been forcefully inserted into the tight space. Bewildered, using thumb and forefinger, Agie removed two…

‘Passports?’ she thought. Why would he hide his passport… ‘Two’ passports?

Standing alongside the bed, opening both, Agie sank to the floor.

Forty-five year old Agie had sunk to the floor in a sitting position legs spread from side to side with, studying both, an open passport on each thigh...

Hearing a slight ‘click’ as a brush of warm air fanned her face from the warm-air furnace that Pink’s Hardware had finally been able to have installed in 1933.

Head held still, her eyes moving from one to the other. Morrie’s picture… ‘Morris’ identifying picture obviously the same photo used for both. His face thinner— better than twenty-three years showing the face younger then she was used to. The identifying: age; height; all personal information identical on both passports…

‘Except’, where the question of nationality was asked, one passport stated. ‘German’ and the other ‘British’... ‘Also’, of no smaller detail! Actually a mind blowing detail! Where the question of ‘Name’ came up, one passport stated, ‘Solomon Berkowitz’ and the other, ‘Morris Pinowskiz’.

Why in the world would anyone need two passports, Agnes wondered. Unless he were a criminal running from whomever were after him. And for what crime?

Agnes knew the ‘Morris Pinowskiz’ name was true , or at least a name he’d used to make those Trans-Atlantic money transfers to her work as a ‘teller’ at National City Bank… And the name she and (?) had been married under.

Both passports in hand; wearily hoisting herself from the floor; knowing she had a lot to think about! Knowing she had the last twenty-three years to think about. First going to the kitchen — bypassing the proper glass, Agnes made herself a coffee mug sized Martini. Now onto her favourite easy chair and chugging a mouthful of vermouth scented gin, she once again lay both open passports onto either thigh.

Thoughts… even without the affect of gin, in no particular sequence of time, thoughts and questions without answers jiggled within the mind of… Who the hell am I? Agnes thought… might I legally still be ‘Longstead’? Who’s the man I married? Studying both faces, both names. Or maybe I never really, legally married either man because if the name we signed the marriage certificate with wasn’t actually who he was.

Bringing the cup to lips; utterly confused, closing her eyes, Agnes took a mouthful of the Vermouth scented gin.

Money! He had a fortune wrapped around his stomach, why’d he need me? Why’d…” flicking a wrist “...drag me along to Loveland, Ohio?

Thinking: Absently gazing out the window as, turning the mug held within both hands, one of the passports, slipping from her thigh fell to the floor. Eyes focusing on the name as, picking it up, replacing it onto her thigh. He needed me! The logic shocking her, taking another drink. Needed me because… she reasoned correctly… whoever he was running from, whoever was chasing him wouldn’t be looking for a man and wife.

Taking another drink, sadly sloshing the remaining contents in the mug, her eyes never leaving the two faces held upon her thighs. “Who are you? What are you?” Agnes said aloud. ‘British’? ‘German’? Thinking. Whichever you are spoke perfect… remembering, ‘English with an American accent’, but German? Her mind touching on a surprising conversation she had overheard, that he’d had with ‘Hans Weiss’, a German farmer shortly after they’d purchased the hardware store, and when she’d said, “I didn’t know you spoke German.” Shrugging his shoulders, giving Agnes the impression he didn’t want to discuss it said, “I’m bilingual.” Now, thinking about it — even in her inebriated state, Agnes realised she had never heard him say another German word again. Also, even in her inebriated state, giving thought to whatever crime her husband… husband? had committed, must have happened in Germany.

Crying now. I loved Morrie… or whoever he was, but never felt he loved me back no matter what I did, or how hard I tried — Giggling now. Leastways till he saw my titties flapping doing all that, ‘Charleston’ wiggling and jiggling in that skimpy ‘flapper’ dress. Then for the first time in seven years we ‘really’ fucked, and everything changed then.

Standing on wobbly legs, considering making herself another martini, but thinking, Better not. Due to an, as of yet, unknown urge, Agnes Longstead(?) walked throughout her home, realising, that without the man she’d loved and known as Morrie; without whomever he was, this home was now just a house and that everything she’d accomplished throughout the past twenty-three years, whether knowingly or unknowingly, Agie Pink had lived a fraudulent life because she really didn’t know who she’d thought she was for these past twenty-Three years.

Too much! Too much to attempt to sort out, the giant martini taking it’s toll; falling asleep while still in her favourite easy chair, the two passports slipping from her thighs fell to the floor.

Three hours later. Completely sober now, Agnes had a desperate need to be away from this house! Away from Pink’s Hardware and Loveland, Ohio.

Stepping over the small green folders, going into the kitchen to call Lester

at the store, then her aunt.

First though… First though, having a ‘need’ to finish the packing of whom ever it was she had been, maybe, married to — all clothing aimlessly tossed into the large suitcase in a jumble of slacks and shirts and two jackets— needing Agnes’ sitting weight to shut it, then dragging the heavily paced suitcase to the front door.

2:30 PM: “Pink’s Hardware!”

“It’s me, Lester.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

How’s it going today?”

“Had a few people in this morning, but nothing so far this afternoon.”

“Don’t think I’ll be coming in today. You close up okay?”

Made General Manager shortly after Morrie’s murder. “Yes, Ma’am. No problem.”

2:34 PM: Looking at the bottle of gin alongside the sink, deciding she’s had enough so for today; at least so far.

“Bertha’s Boarding.”

“It’s me, Auntie.”

Aware that she would be working on the evenings meal at this time. “Agnes! What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Well, yes, in a way.”

Stirring the pot of beef-vegetable soup. “What’s wrong?”

“I know now’s not the time to bother you, but I wanted to tell you…” choking up a bit “...that if it’s okay with you…” sobbing now “...with Morris gone, it’s too lonely here, and…

Mrs ‘Morris Pinowskiz’, having no idea what crime, or to the degree of the crime her husband, ‘Morris Pinowskiz’ had committed, nor, if he, after all these years was still being hunted, and afraid that if he — even though he is no longer alive, is found, might she not be charged as an accessory. So never mentioning the two passports— that Agnes would destroy.

“...with Morris gone, it’s too lonely here, and I’m thinking of selling ‘Pink’s’ and this house and, If it’s okay, I’d…”

“ ‘Okay’? Agnes, my sweet Agnes, of course it’s okay! I’d love to have you here with me again.”

Wanting nothing more than to be back with her aunt, at ‘Bertha’s Boarding Hotel’, working alongside her aunt preparing the meals and serving the guests. Of simply being ‘Agnes Longstead’.

Money no problem for Agnes as there is ninety-five hundred dollars in her savings account at Loveland National bank that would be transferred to National City Bank in New York city. Feeling no deep concern for the sale of either or both the house and business, just wanting it done and through with as quickly as possible.

May 7, 1939

2:42 PM:

“Chicago Tribune: ‘Classified’.” The ‘ad’ taker said.

Chicago, Illinois

Sunday: 5/14/39: 7:12 PM

Clyde and Sharon on the floor playing with some toys their fathers had brought from Maxwell Street.

Dinner finished. The Chicago Tribune Classified Business section spread onto the table.

“Here's one that I thought looked interesting.” Sarah said. Her her finger jabbing at a circled ad reading:

[Well established hardware store Minimal down payment. Further details to be considered. Phone: 'Cincinnati 5972']

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                                Chapter Ten           

                              Agnes and Sarah