So everything’s okay with you two now?”
“Yeah, everything’s just great, and later, when we get up, we’re going to check into finding a doctor… Unless you want me to come in.”
“Nah, take it easy today, Mitch.”
“Thanks. We’ve got to see if she still has a job, too.”
“Glad you guys are back, and back together… See you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I’ll pick you up… And, Rube…”
“Yeah, Mitch?”
“Thanks again.”
_______________________________________________________________________
Chicago, Illinois
September 28, 1956
Joseph Brosnoff, as usual, drunk on his most affordable beverage, Gallo Muscatel, fell asleep…
When the Lucky Strike cigarette he’d been smoking slipped from between his fingers, rather than waking Joseph as it usually had when it burned through the burn specked material of his filthy, gabardine jacket, it fell between the cushions of the tattered, overstuffed, third, fourth, or fifth hand sofa.
Unfortunately for Joseph Brosnoff, he did not wake in time.
Fortunately for the remaining eleven transient tenants of the building, they did wake in time and, being used to and expecting disaster, they were able to gather most of their meager belongings and flee the rapidly burning, semi-furnished slum tenement.
Fortunately also for the recorded owner of the building, Joseph Brosnoff had no known relatives so, when the blaze was extinguished and Joseph’s charred remains were carted away by the city of Chicago, there were no official inquiries regarding the fire safety of the rattrap building.
Excluding a death, of course, a fire such as this would be the best the recorded owner of this building could hope for. Unfortunately, though, the temporary insurance rider had expired the week before and, while the recorded owner had every intention of renewing the insurance… it had been put off till the next week.
Not having the wherewithal to cover the city of Chicago’s cost of demolition and the hauling away of debris, the recorded owner had no choice but to allow the property—that was smack dab in the path of Chicago’s proposed northwest freeway—to fall, once again, into foreclosure; and Rhea Goldman’s entire investment was lost.
New York, New York
October 10 to October 15, 1956
“Addressograph, Meyers.”
“Meyers, Commander Frohlick here. Lipensky around?”
Surprised at the call, “Yes, Sir! Hold on a second.” Covering the phone with his hand, “Mitch!” shouting over the clacking of the Addressograph machine, “Hey, Mitch!…” and Pattie Page singing “How much is that doggie in the window?”… “The old man wants to talk to you!”
Turning the machine off as he stood… “The one with the waggly tail!” now echoed in the comparatively silent room. Crossing the room, taking the phone from Ruby, “Yes, Sir.”
“Lipensky, Commander Frohlick here. Come to my office.”
“Now, Sir?”
“Of course, now!”
“Aye, Sir.”
Looking at Ruby, shrugging his shoulders, “What did I do now?” Quickly changing from civvies to the government issue chambray shirt and jeans that he kept folded in the bottom drawer of his desk, “Wonder what he wants me for?”
“Don’t know, Mitch.”
****
“Commander.” Standing outside the cubical, he knocked lightly.
Looking up from the pile of folders on his desk, “Uh…?” looking at Mitchell questioningly.
“Lipensky, Sir.”
“Ah, yes, Lipensky.” Jerking his thumb towards a chair, “Sit down.”
“Aye, Sir.”
Squirming nervously, he watched as Frohlick, sucking noisily on a phlegm sounding pipe, picked through three or four folders, then, lifting one, studied the contents. Cocking his head to the left, Mitchell was able to see the name on the folder: “Lipensky, Mitchell M.”
“Lipensky,” taking the pipe from his mouth, tapping the ash into a large glass ashtray, Frohlick looked at him. “According to your file here, you have about five months left to your enlistment.”
Holding his breath because for some unknown reason Mitchell always expected a reprimand, “Yes, Sir,” he let it out.
“You planning on re-upping?”
“Huh?” Re-up? The unexpected question surprising him, “Me, Sir? Reenlist?” The question ludicrous. “No! Uh, no, Sir.”
“Didn’t think so.” Taking a pinch of tobacco from a leather bound humidor on his desk, stuffing and tamping the tobacco into the bowl of the pipe, putting the pipe back into his mouth, striking a wooden match, Frohlick noisily sucked it back to life. “Well, Lipensky, due to an unusually large influx of new enlistees, in an effort to cut expenses in this tight economy, I’m authorized to…” Drawing on the pipe, exhaling, watching the grey smoke swirl in the air, “offer an early discharge…” looking at Mitchell, “to nonessential, nonrated personnel with six or less months left to their enlistment, and the Coast Guard is willing to give you the option, so…”
Possibly because they were so implausible, the words slow to sink in, Mitchell could only stare at the man behind the desk.
“…unless you wish to complete the full term of your enlistment, we’ll be drawing release papers… No, wait a minute!” Opening the “Lipensky, Mitchell M.” folder again, ruffling through the pages, “No,” Frohlick said, “you’ve prior military service in the National Guard under the Korean Act, so you’ll be getting a full discharge without any required reserve time.”
Finding words at last, “Me?” Mitchell said unbelievably. “A discharge? An early discharge?”
Taking the pipe from his mouth, “Yes, Lipensky,” Frohlick laid it on the ashtray. “If you want it. Today’s Wednesday, and we could have everything signed, sealed and delivered by say, uh,” looking at a the calendar on his desk, “next Monday, on the fifteenth.”
Though scarcely able to contain his excitement, a thought coming to mind, “Commander, my wife is pregnant. How will an early discharge affect our doctor and hospital bills?”
Remembering Mitchell’s concern, “The government will certainly pay all bills to time of discharge. And because it happened… uh, your wife becoming pregnant while you were in the service… Now don’t quote me on this, but because it did occur while you were in the military, it seems to me they’ll pay up to and through the delivery. Like I said,” writing a notation in the file, “I’m not sure of this, but I’ll enclose a couple of medical forms in your discharge packet that you can give to whoever takes care of your wife when you get back to, uh…” looking at the folder again.
“Chicago, Sir. We’re from Chicago.”
“Chicago, yes. When you find a doctor and your wife goes to the hospital, just give them the forms and it’ll probably work out okay… Remember though, if you and your wife are overly concerned, you have the option of remaining here till your originally scheduled discharge date.”
If they don’t pay, considering a moment, it doesn’t matter. I’ll be working, making more money. Besides, if it turns out we do need cash for this, we’ll just take from the money Rhea’s holding for us… At least Marsha and me’ll be home…
“So, Lipensky?”
“Are you kidding? Uh, yes, Sir. I will take the discharge.”
“You’re sure of this?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Okay, then…” looking at the next alphabetically stacked file, “when you get back to Addressograph, send…” which coincidently happened to be… “Meyers to me.”
****
“So, what’d he want?”
“What’d he want? You won’t believe what he wants. Frohlick wants you now.”
****
“It’s unbelievable! We’re out of this Mickey Mouse Navy!”
“Yeah! God, I wish I could call Marsha to let her know!”
****
When they’d returned from Chicago, Marsha had spoken to Mrs. Katz, her supervisor at Lord & Taylor, and explained how she’d suddenly became ill with a kidney infection, and not knowing what it was and afraid for the baby and herself, and not trusting the “Dennis the Menace” doctors at Public Health, she had rushed back to Chicago to see her old family doctor.
Being a woman with three children, Mrs. Katz had sympathized and, because Marsha was a good corsetiere and well liked by her customers, she’d allowed her to retain her job.
****
Monday, the fifteenth of October, was Marsha’s twentieth birthday. Two days later was the first anniversary of their legal wedding, their legal, In the eyes of the law wedding, not their religious, in the eyes of God wedding.
By decree of Lord & Taylor, unable to call employees while at work, Mitchell’s mind had rushed through this never ending day.
****
Seeing the approaching blue convertible, Marsha walked to the curb.
Seeing Marsha approach the curb in front of Lord & Taylor, coming to an abrupt stop, rushing from the car, wrapping his arms about her…
Alarmed, “Mitch, what’s wrong?”
“Oh, Baby,” he said excitedly, “have I ever got a birthday and anniversary gift for you!”
Brighton Beach, New York
October 15, 1956
Holding the raffia bound bottle by its neck, pouring Chianti into each of their glasses, Ruby said, “Happy birthday, Marsha!”
“Yes,” Sherry repeated, pointing her glass in Marsha’s direction, “happy birthday, and…” shifting her glass to Mitchell, “a happy first anniversary to both of you.”
The friends: two Caucasian, one Negro, and Ruby, whom from a distance looked anything but Negro, lifted their glasses to the center of the round, red checkered table cloth covered table, touched rims with a slight clink, then sipped the dry, crimson wine.
“Me, too! I’ve a toast to make, too!” Lifting her glass again, “To you two guys!” Pointing the glass first at Ruby, then to her husband, “Congratulations on your discharge, and good luck to all us civilians!”
“Yeah!” Nodding his glass to his wife. “Can you believe it? Can you really believe it? More than three and a half years gone from my life…” snapping his fingers, “like that! Damn, it’s fu…” looking at Sherry, “uh, unbelievable!”
“You said it!” Upending his glass, “I keep trying to see if it feels any different, being a civilian,” Ruby said, “but it happened so fast I just feel kind of numb.”
Sherry and Marsha took sips of wine.
“Hey, I got one, too.” Refilling all four glasses, hoisting his, Mitchell waited until the others were held forward. Looking at Sherry first, “To good friends!” His eyes shifted to Ruby.
As both sets of green eyes locked, feeling a thickening in his throat, “I am going to miss you, pal!” His eyes becoming misty, “I’m really going to miss you.” Rather than touching rims, on an impulse, standing, Mitchell walked around the table.
Ruby stood, and the two embraced.
“Let’s keep in touch! Let’s always keep in touch!”
****
The Carolina Inn, Marsha and Mitchell’s favorite Italian restaurant, was located on Neptune Avenue in Brighton Beach.
Although the people of New York City and its boroughs were as liberal, even more so than most in the United States of America, in 1956, the sight of four very friendly people, three of whom were white, or, in Ruby’s case, at least appeared to be white, and Sherry, caused heads to turn and a few of the Carolina Inn’s patrons to stare unabashedly at Ruby and Sherry, whom, more than occasionally did touch each other and did show, minimally, the same affection as most every other young couple, and some older couples in the restaurant.
Being seen on the street and in restaurants with Ruby on any number of occasions, Mitchell had become used to, and learned to ignore the stares and unwanted attention.
Marsha, on the other hand, had not, and as she sensed the eyes of those at some of the other tables upon her and her friends, she slowly—perhaps with the help of the Chianti—became infuriated with those gawking, insensitive people and, her forkful of lasagne pausing midway to her mouth, Marsha returned the stare of a well dressed, middle aged woman till the woman sensed Marsha’s eyes boring into her. Then, shifting her gaze from Ruby and Sherry, the lady attempted to stare Marsha down… but did not succeed, averting her eyes first.
“Jesus Christ!” Not thinking she’d been heard, Marsha muttered, “What an idiot!”
“Huh?” Mitchell grudgingly looked up from his dish of veal parmigiana. “What’d I do now?”
“No,” forcing a smile, pulling her eyes from the lady at the other table, looking at him, “not you, baby!” Bringing her gaze back to woman, who was then speaking to her companion, “Some of these damn people don’t have an ounce of common sense.”
Turning, looking to where Marsha was looking, understanding, “Don’t let those…” nodding over his shoulder, “idiots, bother you, Marcie… Waiter!” Ruby signalled by lifting and wiggling the Chianti bottle, then, “Another bottle!”
Spinning spaghetti around the tines of her fork, Sherry asked, “When are you two heading back to Chicago?”
“I quit work today, and after Mitch came home we spent the afternoon running around looking for boxes and we’ve started to…”
“Holy shit!” Mitchell cut in. “It’s amazing how much stuff you can accumulate in just ten months! In a one room apartment, yet!”
“You shipping your stuff back?”
“Nah,” looking at Ruby, “we’ve reserved a U Haul and plan on leaving the day after tomorrow.”
“That’s some way to spend your anniversary: by driving all day.”
“Well, Mitch’n’me have decided to celebrate our second wedding, the one in December, as our real anniversary.”
“Oh, yeah! So long as she gets a present both times!”
“Don’t believe him!” Marsha said good naturedly. “That’s not true ! I’ll tell you something: going home now—to Chicago now—is the best gift Mitch could have given me. And outside of you two,” her eyes touching Sherry and Ruby, “there’s nothing I’m going to miss about New York!”
“Except, maybe, Nathan’s lobster rolls.”
“Yeah, Mitchie, maybe that’s true , along with living so close to the ocean and Coney Island, but that’s about it.”
“You’ve someplace in particular to go?” Ruby looked from Mitchell to Marsha, “or are you planning on staying with your folks for a while?”
“No. There’s a vacant apartment in my mother’s building that she’s temporarily rented for us.”
“Yeah! And believe me, I’m not overly happy about that!”
In reality, Mitchell did not care, because the building was just one long block to the lake that he knew he would enjoy as much as Marsha. Also, after living alone in New York City, he was, though he would not admit it, happy that his wife would have the close company, if not of her parents or aunts that lived directly across the street, then of her cousin Maxine. Actually, it was only because his mother—who was unhappy that her son and daughter-in-law had decided to live closer to her parents than his—had put pressure on her son, and it was only because he knew his mother felt bad that Mitchell registered any unhappiness over living in the close proximity, or in the same building, as his in-laws.
It was Mitchell’s “siding with his mother,” in Marsha’s opinion, “all the time!” that caused most of the arguments between her husband and herself.
“My parents won’t bother us, Mitchell,” she said to her husband, then to Ruby and Sherry. “Besides, we’ll only be there till we buy a house.”
“How’s about you two?” Mitchell asked. “What are your plans for the future?”
“Me?” Putting her fork down, Sherry looked at Ruby. “Guess I’ll just keep living with my folks and working till ol’ Rubidoux here makes up his mind to marry me.”
Moving a square of ravioli around his dish, “Even with the G.I. Bill, this whole thing; getting discharged early happened so fast I’m not really sure what’s going to happen, but I’m taking a train to Baltimore tomorrow to see if my dad’s still willing to help out. If he is, I’ll make arraignments to live here for good because, number one, Sherry’s here, and two, I doubt I’ll find a med school in Maryland that’ll take a white, Jewish shvartzer.”
“Why not? If you can go to college there, it’s got to cost less to live in Baltimore than New York! Then Sherry can get…”
“Marcie, don’t be so naïve!” Ruby said, not unkindly. “To them, to most of them, we’re niggers, and to us, to me, Baltimore is in the south.”
“I never thought of Baltimore as being a southern city. Matter of fact,” Marsha smiled, “to tell the truth, I’ve never really thought of Baltimore at all. But even so,” becoming serious, “I can’t believe they still do stuff like that!”
“You’ve lived in the north all your life, Marcie, and you’re damned lucky if you’ve never been hassled because you’re a Jew; but even here, in New York City, Jews still have a tough time getting into the better colleges and universities, and even here you’ve seen how people look at Sherry and me, like…” nodding his head to the right, “that old broad back there. Do you think I want Sherry to have to go through that…” nodding his head again, “all the time? No! I won’t do it! No, when I’m closer to earning a living, then we’ll talk about…”
“I don’t want to wait that long!” Sherry interrupted. “I’m working now and I’ll keep on working so you won’t have to get just about everything from your parents. I want to contribute to our lives!” she said passionately. “I want to help you through college! I don’t want to wait eight years for us to live together! I love you, Ruby,” adding softly, “and I want to be your wife, now!” Taking his hand, placing it between her breasts, over her heart. “Ruby, I want to be your wife while we’re young enough to enjoy each other.”
“Yeah, baby, that all sounds so nice, and don’t think for moment that I don’t want that, too, now!” Ruby sighed. “I just don’t know! Like I said, this all happened too fast and I need some time to sort it out.” Wanting to change the subject, looking at Mitchell, “So,” he asked, “is your dad excited about you going to work for him?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Mitchell said unsurely. “The studio’s been doing pretty good lately and he said he’d been needing a salesman, and he’s been looking forward to me getting there…” Pausing, looking downward, “But I’ll let you in on a little secret, Rub: I’m kind’a scared about it.”
“Mitchie,” taking him by the chin, lifting his head, Marsha turned his face in her direction, “don’t be scared,” she said, trying to allay her own fears. “You can do anything you set your mind to!”
“Okay, baby, if you say so. But I was a kid when I joined the Coast Guard and my folks took care of me then and Uncle Sam’s been taking care of me ever since… God knows I’m happy to get out of the service. But before, I had months to think about being a civilian and having all the responsibility, and pretty soon I’m going to have three people to support, and excuse me,” his eyes looking directly into Marsha’s, “but it’s scaring the shit out of me!”
“Don’t worry, Mitch, you’ll make it. Everything’ll be just fine!”
“I hope so, Ruby. Oh, God, I sure hope so!”
