Roller-Coaster Two: "Uh-Oh!"
(A romance, of sorts)
June 21, 1957
Chicago, Illinois
“Uh-oh!”
Both suddenly aware of a sharp tapping accompanied by a beam of light playing through the fog-shrouded, passion-beaded moisture of the right side window.
Oh, yeah, “Uh-oh” indeed, because...
“Would the two’a’ya step out’a the car, please.” This posed certainly not as a question.
Verging on hysteria, Marsha, very quickly, buttoned the seven buttons of her chemise – putting the first button into the second buttonhole, meaning the sixth button was in the seventh buttonhole, as...
In near panic, trying to think of a reason, any reason for having his head where he had his head, Mitchell put his left leg through the right leg of his entwined underpants and slacks, as...
Impatiently tapping on the window with his flashlight, well aware of his inflicted panic, doing his best to inflict more panic, “I want the two’a’ya out’a there, now!”
After a number of very long seconds: as Marsha was misbuttoning her sixth button and Mitchell trying to untangle his pants and get his legs into the proper legs – finally – then, having to tilt the front seat forward in order to open the door and – very ungracefully – back out, Marsha and Mitchell hesitantly stepped out of the car, as...
Shining the light in his face, “What’ch’ya been doin’ down there,” the cop asked Mitchell, “lookin’ for somethin’?”
“Lookin’ for somethin’?” The humor of the situation – for the time being and foreseeable future – completely lost on Mitchell, “Uh, no, Sir, I was, uh...”Having to untangle his pants and underpants, not having time enough to put his shoes on, standing on the fringe of the Montrose Beach parking lot in his stockinged feet with his shirt fully unbuttoned – with the taste of Marsha still in his mouth – Mitchell Lipensky wondered, Christ, what do I say to this guy?
“Officer!” The beam of light shifted from Mitchell’s face to hers. The unaccustomed brilliance stinging her eyes, Marsha looked down... and realized that not only did she misbutton her dress, but in her haste to get dressed she’d also put the left shoe onto her right foot. “We’re married, you see,” she said trying to sound as convincing as possible. “and he, uh, he is my husband and...”
“You’re married, huh? So says you!”
The beam of light, leaving her face, slowly traveled down her body, to her cross-toed shoes, then back up where it hesitated on her chest, where, because Marsha hadn’t time, nor the inclination to lower her dress to put her brassiere on in plain sight of this man – cop or not – the top button was inches lower then its mismatched buttonhole, leaving the top of the chemise gaping open with the upper rise of her breasts somewhat visible.
Noting Marsha was a woman, not one of the usual kids he and his partner, weather permitting, hassled almost every night in this parking lot, Officer John Mahoney’s tongue nervously flicked across his lips. “You think bein’ married, if you’re married, gives the two’a you the right to be doin’ the kind’a stuff...” jerking his thumb towards the car, “the two’a you was doin’; in a public parkin’ lot, yet?”
“No, Officer! You are absolutely right!”
I’m a man, Mitchell reasoned to himself. And he’s a man, even if he is a cop, and maybe I can, kind of, appeal to him kind of man to man. “I know we...” The light shifted to his face. “shouldn’t be here doing, uh,” – thinking it best to leave just what it was he was doing unsaid – “that kind of stuff. But we’ve been separated for a while now and my wife and me, we just got together a few hours ago and didn’t have anyplace to go to, uh,” – hoping the cop would sympathize – “get back together.”
“And you thought here would be a good place to do it, did you?”
“Well, yeah, No! Look, I’m sorry Officer, but we don’t have enough money for a hotel and didn’t have anyplace to go. But we are married!”
“You think I ain’t heard this bullshit before?”
“But we are married!” The light shifted back to Marsha. “We’ve even got a baby. As a matter of fact...” pointing to the west, above the line of trees, to where the brightly lit top two stories of the Louis A. Weiss Memorial Hospital could be seen. “he was born there, at ‘Weiss’, last March, on the twenty-third.”
Not caring, not caring at all! Actually thinking: If it is true , then she’s a ‘seasoned broad’ without that much to lose, and maybe... “Lady,” Chicago police officer, John Mahoney said, “you’re sayin’ so don’t make it so, an’ tellin’ me the two’a’ya got a kid together don’t make that so neither.” But having to try, just in case, “You,” pointing at Mitchell, “go stand there!” aiming the light to the front of the car. “Okay, lady,” Mahoney said once Mitchell was out of earshot, “when were the two’a’ya married?”
Uh-oh! Marsha knew Mitchell did not have a great memory when it came to dates, but even so, He will remember the date of our wedding! She thought. But, uh-oh again, because they had two weddings: the legal and the, ‘in the eyes of God’ wedding. And, Which one will he say?
“Come on, girlie, the date!”
Which one? October? December? Because October is so close to my birthday – remembering they’d talked about it – “December seventeen, nineteen fifty-five, Officer.”
The light flicking to Mitchell, “Hey, you! Over here!” Waiting till he’s standing alongside Marsha. “When’s your wedding date?”
Uh-oh! Which one did she say? But, “December seventeen, nineteen fifty-five.”
Holding her breath, Thank God! Marsha thought.
Considering a moment. Opening the car door, taking the keys from the ignition, “You wait here!” Mahoney motioned to Marsha to get back inside. “You! Lover boy!” Motioning for him to follow, “Come with me!”
Stepping carefully because he wore only socks, walking alongside Mahoney as he cut across the western end of the large parking lot. “I really don’t like leaving my wife alone back there!”
“Don’t you worry ‘bout her, she’ll be just fine!”
A few minutes ago he’d been worried about being caught ‘necking’ – well, maybe more than just necking – but now...? Mitchell thought he was being led away to be... What? Beat up? Killed? And what about Marsha? “You don’t have the right to do this! Where the hell are you taking me?”
“I got the right to do whatever the hell I wanna! An’ I told’j’ya’, don’t worry about it!”
Coming to the end of the asphalt, going about twenty paces on the sandy, hard packed soil, Mitchell was able to discern the silhouette of car parked beneath a large tree. Approaching, he saw it was a City of Chicago police car, and through the open window the glowing red dot of a deeply inhaled cigarette.
Talking through the open window, “Stan, take care of this guy for a couple’a minutes, will ya!” Opening the rear door, Mahoney pointed at Mitchell, “You!” then towards the dark interior of the squad car. “in there!”
Hesitating, “Look officer,” not wanting to go in there, “please, you can’t do this!”
“Oh, yeah?” Jabbing him in the chest. “You’re a God-damned deviate!”
“ ‘Deviate’? Me?”
“Yeah, you! An’ like I told’j’ya; I can do whatever the hell I want!” His hand going to the nightstick at his side, “An’ like I said, get your God-damned ass in there, now!”
Glaring at him, having no choice, stepping into the car, the door was slammed shut.
Opening the front door, leaning in, Mahoney whispered something to Stan, who laughed, then looking over his shoulder, looked at the young man in the back seat. “Take your time, John. This ass-hole ain’t goin’ no where’s .”
“Thanks.” Pointing his thumb and forefinger, as though a gun at Mitchell, slamming the door,
Mahoney started off in the direction they’d come from.
Frightened before, now all his concern was for Marsha. “Where’s he going? Why am I...” Reaching to the door, he found there was no handle. ”locked in here?”
Turning, looking at him, “He’s goin’ to talk to your girlfriend a minute...” Stan said, “to see if she, uh, really wants us to haul ya in an’ toss ya in the ‘clink’.”
“My wife!” Understanding the implication of what Stan said. “She’s my wife! And we know people, and if that son-of-a-bitch so much as touches her, we’ll...”
“Yeah?” The City of Chicago police officer said childishly, “What’ch’ya gonna do ‘bout it?”
*
Sitting behind the steering wheel, nervously looking into the darkness, in the direction her husband had disappeared. After what seemed an hour, but in reality was no more than twelve minutes, seeing an approaching shadow, thinking it was Mitchell, about to open the door and go to him, Marsha realized the figure was shorter and wider.
“Hi!” Going to the passenger side, opening the door, sitting, Mahoney pulled the door shut. “I thought maybe you’n’me could, uh... What’s your name, girlie?”
“What did you do with my husband? Where’s Mitchell?”
“With my partner. He’ll be just fine, What’s your name, I said?”
“Marsha! Okay? My name’s Marsha, and you...”
“I’m John, an’ I thought that you’n’me could, uh, kind’a talk to each other. Maybe kind’a get to, uh, know each other.”
“Know you? I don’t want to know you!” Her stomach lurching, “I want my husband!”
“Well, ya know, Marsha, what the two’a you was doin’ before, what’j’ya was lettin’ him, uh, your ‘husband’ do to ya’s what we call ‘deviant behavior’, an...” Angled on the seat, facing Marsha, who was facing stiffly forward, Mahoney began to run the tip of his finger back and forth, along the outside of her thigh. “an’, uh, if I wanted, I could haul the two’a’ya into precinct an’ book the two’a’ya as ‘sexual deviants’ an’ then whenever there’s a crime of a, uh, sexual nature, your husband... What’ch’ya say his name is?” Slipping his hand through the seam of the chemise, he rubbed it lightly onto her bare thigh.
The feel of his hand sending a surge of repugnance through her, inwardly panicking, taking a deep breath, Marsha clamped her thighs together, tightly.
“Oh, yeah, Mitchell!” The police officer said. “We’ll haul ol’ Mitchie in for a line-up, an’ who knows, people make mistakes all the time, an’ who knows...”
When a specific thing caused Marsha to become extremely nervous, quite often her very first subconscious impulse was to laugh, but then, out of fear, out of monumental fear, her only impulse was to...
“...maybe someone’ll ‘eye-ball’ him an’ maybe ol’ Mitchie’ll spend a couple’a nights in jail, or maybe even go to trial...”
“Ullpp!”
‘Huh? What’s’a matter with’j’ya?” Opening the door, in the light of the interior car light Mahoney was able to see Marsha’s green tinged face, and her cheeks...
“Ulllppp!”
...were puffing in and out as though trying to hold it back, and, “Jesus Christ!” Attempting to get out of the way, Mahoney quickly backed out of the car, but in a simultaneous move – not wanting to vomit all over the dark blue leather of her 1953 Ford convertible – Marsha Lipensky leaned across the seat, and...
From the very moment she’d awoken, to this very moment, this day, to say the least, had been a very nervous day for Marsha... No! This day had been a downright, God-damned nervous day for Marsha, so...
“Gaacchh!” Not minding too much, though, if she puked all over the dark blue gabardine material of the City of Chicago uniform of police officer John Mahoney, “Gaacchh!”
The propulsion of vomit carried through the car door, plastering Chicago police officer John Mahoney’s, not so clean – especially now – dark blue uniform, and further splattered onto his, not so well polished – especially now – shoes, and...
Feeling hot vomit soak through his shirt, pants, underwear and, onto what up until three seconds ago had been a raging ‘boner’, in shock, “Jesus Christ, lady!” Chicago police officer John Mahoney said, “Why the hell’d you have’ta go an’ do that?”
*
“God-damn-it! God-damn-it! God damn-it!”
Hearing the voice of his partner moments before seeing him, “Hey, John!” Getting out of the squad car, going to him, “Ya sure finished quick! That broad must’a...” Stopping short. “Wha’ the hell,” Stan said, “ya smell like puke!”
Ignoring him, yanking the door open, tossing the keys to the Ford onto Mitchell’s lap, “Get the hell out’a here! An’ if I ever see the two’a ya around here again...”
Mitchell did not hear what the cop would do to them if ever did see them ‘around here again’, because...
It was a well known fact that Mitchell Lipensky was not, nor had ever been an athletic kind of person. Matter of fact, a paraplegic in a square-wheeled wheelchair going uphill, with the break on, would probably beat him in a race, but...
Sprinting over the sandy, hard packed soil, across the west end of the asphalt covered parking lot... “Hi!” Pulling the door open. “Scoot over!” Throwing himself onto the seat, Mitchell jammed the key into the ignition, turned the motor on and, peeling rubber, drove out of the Montrose Beach parking lot, onto the street where, three minutes later, pulling to the curb, turning the motor off, taking a deep breath, looking at his wife, taking hold of her hand, “Marcie, baby, I’m so sorry about that! You okay? Did he do anything to you?”
“Nah! He tried, and I’m kind’a shook up, but I’m okay.”
“Oh, God! Thank you, God!”
“When that bastard came back,” Marsha giggled, “he tried to ‘screw’ me.” The nervous giggle changing to nervous laughter. “But I sure taught him!” Now hysterical laughter...
“Yeah!”
...That was joined by her husband’s, also, hysterical laughter that continued, until, “Remind me,” he said, catching his breath, “to never try screwing you if you don’t wann’a be screwed!”
Trying to stop laughing, “Yeah,” Marsha said, making a stab at sounding serious, “or I’ll puke all over you, too!”
