“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!” 

________________________________________________________

 Chicago, Illinois: Homecoming

 October 18, 1956

Defused daylight coming from the curtained windows behind him, the familiar drift of Marsha’s hair lay on the pillow beside him. He felt the customary feeling of the padded back of the sofa bed behind his hand and all seemed the same, yet all was different.

Leaving early Wednesday, they had driven all day and, because they had been hauling a U-­Haul—at speeds far less than he usually drove—thirteen hours later they were exhausted and rather than driving one mile further than they must, even the eleven ­mile difference between the Goldman apartment in Chicago that they just about had to pass on the way to the Lipensky house in Skokie, Marsha had called Rhea from a Howard Johnson’s in Cleveland to tell her that they wanted to spend the night, or rather the morning, on her old sofa bed and would she call Myra and Walter to tell them that they were going to stay in Chicago that night, or morning.

Lifting his head, squinting at the light ­blotched ceiling, it took a moment, till, realizing, he remembered that he and Marsha were no longer in Seagate. Chicago, Mitchell thought. We’re home for good!

“Good morning!”

“Huh?” Looking forward, “Oh, hi, mom.” He noticed Rhea, who, about thirty feet away, was in the kitchen. Yawning, scratching his head, “What time’s it?”

Having taken a Dexedrine about an hour earlier, sitting at the table, drinking cup after cup of black coffee, smoking cigarette after cigarette, Rhea was in a psychological quandary: One, she had been wondering how to tell them about their money. And two, she had been looking at the two lumps that lay beneath the blanket. Marsha, her daughter, that even then, after almost a year of marriage, Rhea could barely believe was married, let alone pregnant! And the other lump, her son-­in-­law. Sure, he’s a good looking man—or boy, she’d thought any number of times. But he’s not the kind of man I’m used to. He doesn’t have… what? The brains, the push, the ‘chutzpah’ that I like in a man. But then again, I don’t have to sleep with him…

Yet, he’s so… Looking at the clock over the stove, “Ten-­thirty,” Rhea said.

We’ve slept almost eight hours. Stretching, Mitchell looked at Rhea, who seemed to be watching him; seemed to be staring at him.

She had been waiting for them when they’d arrived at 1:20 a.m., and though Marsha didn’t seem to notice, or care, Mitchell—even though he was weary to a point almost beyond comprehension—certainly had noticed. Rhea had been wearing her nylon, leopard skin ­patterned robe… with nothing beneath and the zipper pulled low enough to reveal her long, double flow of creamy cleavage. And, even as he had looked—trying to look as though he wasn’t looking—his mother-­in-­law’s nipples had suddenly materialized to become “pointedly” obvious beneath the clinging gown. But, This is my mother­-in­-law, he’d thought. She’s old enough to be my, uh, mother. So he’d begrudgingly forced himself to look away.

And now it was time to get out of bed, but, as usual for Mitchell in the morning, he did have to urinate. He had slept only in his Jockey shorts, and, as was also usual for Mitchell in the morning, he had an erection so didn’t quite know how to get up, walk around the bed, across the living room and into the small hallway that led to the bathroom—with Rhea seemingly looking at him—without her seeing the tent ­pole­ like bulge within his white, cotton underpants.

Still basically a shy person, Mitchell always felt “aroused” in the morning and now the thought of his beautiful, sexy, mother-­in-­law seeing him all but naked with a major morning erection ensconced snugly, but very visibly, under his tight, snug fitting underpants further excited him… That, and visualizing what Rhea had looked like when they’d arrived earlier that morning, and, seemingly not in the least bit embarrassed over the way she had looked then. And now…

Looking over the rim of the cup, though her mind actually elsewhere, Rhea still seemed to be staring at him.

If I hold my hand over it, Mitchell thought, it’ll look more obvious. So, Oh, well! Throwing the cover back, hesitating a moment, rationalizing, If she’s going to look she’s going to look, but I gotta go!

Standing, trying not to look at his mother-­in-­law, looking straight ahead, walking quickly, but as nonchalantly as possible, Mitchell made his way around the bed, across the living room into the small hallway that led to the bathroom.

At age forty-­five, Rhea fought the aging process every day of her life. Now, seeing her son-­in-­law, once again attempting to imagine herself at her daughter’s age, in her daughter’s position, Rhea did notice all of Mitchell.

                                        ****

“Mother, you weren’t in here before? You didn’t see this place before? It’s awful!”

“No,” said defensively, “this is the first time I’ve been here. But what do you expect in this neighborhood for a hundred-­fifteen a month?”

“Mother, this place is really, uh, kind of…” turning to her husband, “shitty, Mitchell! It’s really shitty!”

“I don’t like you talking like that, Marsha! And I ask again: What did you expect in this neighborhood, in this building for the kind of money you kids can afford for rent?”

The two ­room apartment was on the alley side of the fifth floor. From the outer hallway the door opened into a 14x16 living room with two windows overlooking the alley. On the north side of the living room was a 6x6 dining area. To the left of the dining area was a small kitchen containing a chipped, avocado­ colored stove, a stained, chipped, white sink and a dented, chipped, streaky, hand­ painted cream colored refrigerator. The kitchen floor was well­ worn linoleum of a indefinable pattern. The balance of the apartment was carpeted in spotted, green wall ­to­ wall carpeting. But yes, true to her word, Helen, the building manager, had had the apartment freshly painted.

Being a person that definitely enjoyed the better things in life, Rhea did silently agree, This place is a dump! But until she’d received the key from Helen, not more than twelve minutes earlier, she had no idea just how much of a dump could be rented in this “fashionable neighborhood” in this “fashionable building” within view—if one were tall enough, and if one had properly­ placed windows—of Lake Michigan.

Their one ­room apartment in Seagate had been a palace compared to this.

“Where will put everything, Mother?” Going to one of the two small closets in the apartment, Marsha opened the door. “These won’t even hold my clothes, let alone Mitchell’s, too.”

“Your things were upstairs…” nodding her head upward, indicating her ninth ­floor apartment… “before you got married, so we’ll put whatever you don’t need for everyday back, and while your husband’s at work, you can spend whatever time you want upstairs, with me.”

Frowning at the thought, both becoming unhappier by the moment, even though it was, after all, only temporary, only until they could find and buy a house, Marsha and Mitchell looked at each other.

“And later, like you said,” Rhea continued, “when you’re done unloading, you’ll go see Marty and buy a sofa bed and a dresser.”

Rosalie’s husband, Marty, worked as a salesman at Polk Brothers, a huge furniture store complex on the northwest side, and he’d promised them “the best deal” on whatever they bought.

Feigning cheerfulness, “Okay, it’s not so bad,” Mitchell said. “We can stick it out for the couple’a months it’ll take for us to buy a house.” Turning to Marsha, “Look at the bright side! Your aunts and cousin live right across the street.”

“Only till Max gets married.”

“And all your friends live around here so you’ll have lots of company till we move. And besides,” attempting to cheer Marsha up, “this place ain’t so bad; it’s got a kitchen and a bathroom and a closet and everything.”

“It’ll do. I guess it’s got to do… I know if you had anything to do with it, Mother, it would have been nicer. I only wish you’d have taken the time to see it yourself.”

“I’m sorry,” Rhea said begrudgingly. “I trusted Helen and didn’t think she’d steer me this wrong on this. But still, for the money?”

“Well, I guess we don’t have a choice, and we’ll just have to make the best of it.”

“Yeah, and once we get our stuff in here it’ll be like home. But in the meantime I got to get the trailer unloaded and schlep our stuff up here.”

“You need a hand?” Marsha asked, knowing full well he’d refuse.

He would have loved the help, but since she was pregnant Mitchell didn’t want Marsha lifting cartons. Besides, he had been able to do it himself in Seagate. “Nah, I got it loaded, and with an elevator here, too, I’ll get it all up… Why don’t you two go back upstairs and I’ll come up soon as I’m done.”

                                           ****

Sitting across from her daughter at the kitchen table, pouring coffee, thinking, Now’s as good a time as any. “Marsha, I’ve something to tell you.” Hesitating, taking a sip of coffee, lowering the cup, Rhea drew nervously on her cigarette. “Almost a year ago, uncle… uh, Morrie Jacobson told me about a new expressway going in downtown.” Drawing on the cigarette again. “And he also told me about a small apartment building that had gone into foreclosure,” speaking faster, wanting to get it done with, “and that whoever bought that building would be able to, at least, double their money once the city started buying properties to make room for the new expressway and if at all possible I should buy it! Well, Marsha, I did want that building and, to be honest, your wedding and you and your husband’s engagement rings really set me back and I didn’t have enough money for the down payment and thought that when you kids got back here…” Drawing deeply on the cigarette, then angrily stabbing it out in the ashtray, “…that it would be wonderful if I’d be able to tell you that I doubled your money. So I, uh, borrowed it.”

“You ‘borrowed’ our money? All of it?”

“Yes! I needed every penny and then some! And everything would have worked out okay, but…”

Interrupting, “But? Mother, you’re scaring me! But what?”

“But some drunken wino bum fell asleep smoking and burnt the building down…” Trying to think of how to put it, once again Rhea hesitated.

Knowing her mother, knowing there would be insurance, “And?”

“The insurance rider had expired and I’d forgotten to renew it and the city wanted five thousand dollars to knock the rest of the damned thing down and haul the debris away, and I didn’t have the money so I was forced to…” looking at her daughter, “let it go back into foreclosure.”

“And the money, Mother? Our money? It’s all gone?”

“Yes, it’s all gone, all of it! But I’ll pay it back! Only it’ll take some time.” Lighting another cigarette, “How much money do you and Mitchell need?”

Dazed at the turn of events, Marsha didn’t answer.

“Marsha! How much do you kids have?”

“Uh,” forcing back tears, “between Mitchell’s last pay check and his mustering ­out money, and my last pay and allotment checks, and what we have left in the savings account—less than four hundred.”

“Okay, I’ve five hundred I can give you, for furniture and what you might need now… Walter, he’s going to be paying his son, what?”

“He said his father said about seventy-­five a week.”

“That’s more than you lived on before. The doctor? Is the Coast Guard still paying for the doctor and hospital?”

“We think so, but we’re not sure; we have some forms for the doctor and hospital… And, Mother, I was working before, too. Remember?”

Marsha, I’m sorry this happened the way it did, but when I, uh, borrowed the money who’d figure a bum would burn the damned building down? And also, at the time, go figure that Mitchell would be discharged five months early.”

“Mother, we trusted you! That was our money, for our house! You had no right!”

“I said I was sorry!” Rhea said angrily. “But you kids still have so much more than most kids getting started today: Your husband has a good job and if he asks, his father will probably give him a raise in a couple of months, and I will find a way to get your money back, somehow… You’re getting the crib, baby’s dresser, buggy, bassinet and layette and just about everything else you’ll need for the baby as gifts, and outside of a few pieces of furniture, you’ve already got everything you need, at least for the time being.”

“How am I going to tell him, Mother? What am I supposed to say to Mitchell about where our money is?”

The answer obvious, “So,” Rhea said, “don’t tell him now.”

“What do you mean, don’t tell him now?”

“Wait awhile! You don’t need the money right now. Maybe I’ll come up with something sooner than we think. You think I tell your father everything?”

Remembering. Well remembering, “Christ, Mother! You don’t tell daddy anything, ever!”

“Where’s it written you’ve got to tell your husband everything?”

“I am not you! I am me, and I don’t keep things from my husband!”

Most often showing ambivalence towards Mitchell, when he had risen from bed that morning, although she’d been distractedly looking at him, Rhea did note—for a woman that struggled to retain a youthful appearance—the beauty of her son-­in-­law’s youth and, of course, the prominent bulge of his penis, and she’d felt a surge of passion. Embarrassed that she would have an urge for her son-­in-­law, knowing this was wrong, knowing this was something that could never be.

Rhea never understood why, but from that morning on, feeling guilty for having prurient thoughts about the husband of her daughter, as a defense mechanism, transposing her desire with dislike, “Maybe if you did keep some things from him,” Rhea said without the slightest hesitation, “he’d love you more.”

Now, in addition to the loss of trust of her mother and the hurt of the lost money, becoming angry, “How in the hell do you know how much my husband loves me?”

“The two of you haven’t been married long enough for him to be looking at other women.”

“First off, mother, Mitchell told me that he’s a girl watcher from way back, and I told him I didn’t care if he looked so long as he didn’t touch. And I ask again: how in the hell would you know how much my husband loves me?”

“I don’t like the tone of your voice, Marsha! But in case you hadn’t noticed, your husband was looking at me pretty good when you came in this morning.”

“I’m sure he was, mother!” Hesitating, the purposely hurtful words came anyway. “I saw you, too, and if you didn’t look like a whore, he wouldn’t have been looking at you.” Twisting the knife, “After all, mother, you’ve a son older than him.”

Glaring at her daughter, standing, carrying their cups to the sink, “So,” she said while rinsing them, “if you insist on letting Mitchell know about the money, would you like me to break it to him, or do you want to do it?”

“Don’t you say anything to him! I’ll tell him!”

                                       **** 

The door to the fifth ­floor apartment open, five of the seven large cartons they’d transported sat in the center of the living room floor.

Waiting for Mitchell to come up with the next load, wondering how and what she was going to tell him, Marsha began to open the cartons.

Although cold outside, sweat dripping from his face, “Hi!” Struggling under the weight of the blonde wood ­veneered Crosly television held in both arms, “Whew!” Setting it on the floor, straightening his body, Mitchell strained his back forward. “The rest of the stuff’s in the elevator and I’ve got an idea: So long as we’re into the second day, rather than dropping the trailer off, let’s keep it a while longer, then whatever furniture we buy we’ll be able to bring back with us rather than waiting for them to deliver it. That way we’ll be able to sleep here,” comically moving both eyebrows up and down in “Grocho” fashion, “alone tonight.”

Well knowing her husband’s humorous attempt at a mating signal, aware that with Mitchell sex was the great equalizer, “Sounds good to me.” Marsha gave him a look of compliance, that she knew he would recognize… and he did. “But how’ll you get the sofa bed unloaded and up here by yourself?”

“I’ll call my mother and ask her to have Larry hang around after school. We’ll pick him up on the way back from Polk Brothers and my dad’ll pick him up on his way home from the studio. Okay?”

__________________________________________________