________________________________________________

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?”

 Chicago/Skokie, Illinois

 October 18, 1956 

Many Chicagoans believed the best season of the year to be fall and this day proved the point: outside it was a crispy cold, sparkling clear, bright autumn day.

At one p.m. the streets were not overly crowded with traffic.

Still trying to adjust to the all but inconceivable fact the he was really out of the Coast Guard and the dream­like sensation that he was really home, for good. Also, still tired from the long drive the day before but fully enjoying the beauty of this day, Mitchell drove leisurely with his arm across Marsha’s shoulders as, having the quality, sometimes, of being able to accept what he could not change, also, knowing it was only temporary, his mind considered the positive… the very few positive aspects of their new apartment.

“Mitchie, I’ve, uh, something to tell you.”

The tone of her voice causing him to glance at her.

“God, I don’t know how to say this!”

Again, as always, thinking Marsha was concerned or angry about something he had done, like, maybe, walking practically naked in front of her mother, with a boner yet. “What I do now?”

“No, baby,” she squeezed his hand. “It’s not about you. It’s my mother. She’s… Oh, shit!”

Alarmed, “She’s okay? She’s not real sick or anything?”

“No, it’s nothing like that. But, Mitchie. We can’t… Mother doesn’t have our money anymore.”

He looked at her. “What do you mean, she doesn’t have our money anymore?” Looking forward, “Where is it?”

“Her friend, Morrie… You remember ‘good old Morrie’?”

“Yeah, sure! What about Morrie?”

“He told her about an, uh, investment in a rat­trap building that would double her money when the city bought the property for a new expressway. But because of the wedding and our rings she didn’t have enough money of her own… So she thought she’d make us partners in the building and used ours… But then the damned place burned down and she’d forgotten to renew the insurance. And because she didn’t have enough money to pay the city for wrecking the rest of the place and hauling the junk away she had to let the land go into foreclosure… But she said she’ll pay us back… when she can. And, I guess,” Marsha said sadly, “there goes our house.”

Yes, of course due to the money, but also, sensing Marsha’s sadness, Mitchell felt a hitch in his stomach. Then, his mind going to work, because of recent thoughts of their financial future, able to rationalize the situation, surprising Marsha, “Marcie, I never said anything to you because you seemed to want it so badly, but in a way I’m kind’a glad we won’t be able to get a house right now, and by the time we’re really ready maybe your mother’ll have the money to pay us back and, to be honest, I kind of think it’s probably for the best now.”

Shocked by this, ”Mitchell,” turning on the seat, facing him, “you don’t want our own house? This is the first I’ve heard of it! And you think it’s for the best? How can you say that?”

“How can I say that? Look. When my folks bought the house in Skokie they didn’t realize all the extra expenses they’d have, like electricity, water and gas. And having to get someone to fix this and to fix that. And also, what your mother should have had: insurance! Marcie, I’m really nervous about earning enough for us to live on right now. At least in an apartment all that extra stuff is taken care of. Also, living where we’ll be living, if things get really tough…” broaching a subject he was very reluctant to bring up, “well, if things get really tough, after a while, maybe we can get your mother to watch the baby and you can get a part ­time job, to kind of help out.”

Marsha did not like that idea… Not one bit! “No,” she said vehemently. “I was left alone! My baby will not, not ever, be without its mother! And most especially, I wouldn’t leave anyone’s baby—not even a stranger’s—with her! So you just get that idea out of your head! And I won’t go back to work! Besides, if my mother wouldn’t watch her own kid, what in the hell makes you think she’d watch ours?”

Taken back by her tone of voice, knowing from what he’d been told of Rhea, thinking that maybe Marsha had a pretty good argument there and not wanting to upset her further, “Okay, honey,” he said. “We’ll manage.” And being the obedient husband he was, Mitchell obediently put that idea out of his head, at least temporarily. And instead thought about his mother-­in-­law.

                                          ****

Mitchell Lipensky had the absolutely juvenile, impossibly naïve belief that, usually, mostly, ugly people were bad and that beautiful people, if not always good were usually good—even though he remembered, if not all, then at least most of what Marsha had told him about her mother: how badly Rhea had treated her as a child, how Rhea was a whore, and how horribly Rhea always treated her husband. But even so, ever since he had known her, Rhea had treated him well enough and he’d never seen or even noticed her dislike of Marsha. As a matter of fact Rhea had been, if anything, overly generous to both of them. Cases in point: She did pay for Marsha’s two ­and­ a­ half carat, pear­ shaped diamond engagement ring. She did pay for his one­ carat diamond ring. She did, of course, pay for Marsha’s dream wedding. Also, Rhea had been instrumental in getting him off the Halfmoon into an office job. So now, even if he and Marsha were paying for Rhea’s failed investment—and he had no doubt, had they been asked, Marsha and he would have told Rhea to include them in—he hadn’t the slightest doubt that his mother­-in­-law was sorry for the loss of their money. Which, of course, she most certainly was!

Mitchell did like Rhea! And because Rhea was a beautiful woman, and—Jesus, he thought, for an old lady she’s really got great tits!—in his absolutely juvenile, impossibly naïve way wondered how his mother-­in-­law could be all that bad.

                                        ****

“Marcie,” coming out of his reverie, “if we don’t have any extra money, how are we going to buy furniture and clothes for me to go to work in?”

“Oh, yes,” opening her purse, removing a thick wad of cash, Marsha ruffled the bills showing him that almost all were fives, “she gave us five hundred, for whatever we need now.”

Looking at the wad of money, one of those thoughts came to the mind of Mitchell Lipensky that he knew he should let pass… but of course didn’t. “Your mother must have worked pretty hard this week,” he said jokingly, referring to Marsha’s accusation that her mother was a whore. “Wonder who gave her all the fives?”

Fortunately for him, because of her anger at her mother, “Everyone!” Marsha replied.

Actually, the cash was the last two days receipts from Eli’s Grill that Rhea was supposed to deposit in the bank.

                                      ****

“Fishman! One-­one!” The voice boomed over the intercom throughout the four­ store complex. “Fishman! One-­one!”

Sitting on chrome and Nagahide chairs outside of the credit office, waiting about five minutes, “Marty, hi!” Standing, Mitchell extended his hand to the good looking man about his same age.

“Mitch,” shaking hands, “Marcie,” kissing her cheek. “So you’re back for good now, huh?”

“Yes, thank God it’s over.”

“When’s the baby due?”

If Marsha was heavier, it probably would not show as it did but, being as thin as she was, at that time approaching the fifth month of her pregnancy, her budding stomach was very obvious beneath one of her husband’s sport shirts.

“We’ve a long time,” she answered. “Not till March.”

“At least you’ll miss carrying over the summer.”

“With Chicago summers? No, I won’t miss that at all!”

“Marcie, what kind of furniture you looking for?” Knowing the woman was usually the decision maker when it came to a purchase such as furniture, Martin spoke directly to her.

“We’ve been thinking of Early American…” not wanting to leave her husband out, “huh, Mitch?”

“Yeah, Marty. We need a sofa bed and a coffee table and, if it’s not too expensive, maybe even a chair.”

“But all of a sudden,” Marsha added solemnly, “we’re much more limited on money than we thought.”

Switching to his salesman’s voice, “You’re really in luck!” Martin said enthusiastically. “We’ve a store­wide sale on all beds and a couple of manufactures on tables, and I’ll be able to knock some extra off our already low prices!”

“Marty, you kind’a sound like the guy on your TV commercials.”

“Yeah?” Blushing, “Sorry. Come on.” Taking Marsha’s elbow, steering them out of the store, “Early American’s in the building across the street.”

                                       **** 

“Hey, this feels great!” Sprawled on his back on an open sofa bed, dragging Marsha down beside him, turning to his side, wrapping his arms about her, worming tightly against her, “Don’t it, baby?”

“Hey, you guys,” Martin said in mock alarm, “we don’t allow that kind’a stuff in here!”

Disentangling herself, “Yeah, Mitch.” Standing, Marsha looked at the tag pinned to the arm: $179.99 in bold, black marker, but, crossed over in bold, red marker, $179.99 had been replaced by $159,99. “That the best we can get, Marty?”

“No! Like I told you, you’ll get the best price I can get you.” Sounding very much like a salesman, “Everything you buy will be marked down, minimally, at least another five percent.”

                                       **** 

“So, what’s it look like now, Marty?”

Studying the order pad, “Sofa bed, a maple coffee table, two matching lamp tables and,”—remembering the only lights in the apartment were ceiling fixtures in the kitchen, dining area and bathroom, so—“two milk ­china lamps, emmm?” Figuring. “With an additional five percent off, that’ll come to about three hundred ­ninety plus tax. You said something about wanting a chair?”

“Yeah, we did, but I think we’d better stop now.”

“Look, Marcie, if you need a chair and you’re running low on cash, no problem to get you some ‘E­Z Credit’ and it’ll only come to another… seven, eight bucks a month, and so long as you’re furnishing, for another couple’a bucks more, why shouldn’t you get everything you’ll need?”

                                        ****

“Louie, come on! I need ’j’ya in the john in Danish, fast!”

On his hands and knees, Louie looked up. “Wha’z’matter?”

“Some broad must’a tried flushin’ her Kotex down the pot an’ it’s floodin’ the fuckin’ place! Come on, shake your ass!”

“Yeah!” Louie said, standing. “Jus’ le’me get rid’a this.”

“Nah! No time! Com’on, Go’damn’it, jus’ leave it!”

                                         ****

“He’s right, Marcie! If you want a chair, let’s look at chairs.”

“Mitchie, You’ve still got to some clothes! And do you really think we’ll be able to afford to make monthly payments?”

                                           ****

When Rhea had told Marsha about the availability in her building, after a short discussion with Mitchell she’d called back telling her that they’d take the apartment and that she should secure it with money from their savings. “As a matter of fact,” Marsha said, “why don’t you pay the first and last months’ out of our money, too.” What else could Rhea say but, “Yes, okay.” So that much, at least, had been taken care of.

The day before, during the trip from Sea Gate to Chicago, Marsha had spoken at length regarding the furniture she planned on purchasing and a comfortable easy chair had been a definite part of that conversation. Now, knowing how much she had been looking forward to buying their furniture, also knowing her mother’s news about the “temporary” loss of their money had taken, if not all, than a considerable edge off her enjoyment…

                                          ****  

“That’s it? Seven, eight bucks a month?” Mitchell said. “Show us the chairs, Marty!”

The “sale” display of Early American chairs was on a raised platform. Sitting and sampling the comfortability of one after another, “I kind’a like this one.” Standing, “Come on,” Marsha said, “try it.”

Sitting, Mitchell wiggled his behind, leaned back and, closing his eyes a moment, “Yeah, me, too.” Looking at the red ­marked tag: $95.99. “You want this one, Marcy?”

Considering… “Yes, I think so.”

Marking the stock number on his order pad, “Okay,” Martin said. “Let’s head back to the office and we’ll get the credit started.”

Now… Not knowing, or ever knowing whether he saw it or didn’t see it. Whether it was a complete accident or, maybe, if what he did he did, kind of “accidentally on purpose” in order to cheer Marsha up, but, nonetheless, stepping off the side of the platform…

“Oh, shit!”

Turning, looking at her husband… It took a long moment for Marsha to fully comprehend what she was looking at then, shaking her head, blinking her eyes, for the first time since hearing her mother’s news, Marsha smiled, then began to laugh, because…

Steps ahead, hearing Mitchell’s loud expletive, stopping, turning, Martin did not know what to do or say, because…

Supporting her stomach with both hands, “Mitchie, which one are you? Curly, Larry or Moe?” Tears coming from her eyes, Marsha was laughing so hard she had to sit on the edge of the platform. “I can’t believe it,” she stammered between gasps of laughter. “I’m married to one of the Three Stooges!” Because…

Mitchell was standing with one foot on the floor… and one foot in the bucket of soapy water that Louie had left at the side of the platform when he’d rushed off to help stem the flood in the woman’s’ toilet in Danish.

                                        ****

“Marcie, Mitchie, thanks.” Shaking hands with Mitchell, Martin motioned towards the building they had recently come from. “Drive ’round the back and the guys there’ll load the stuff for you.”

                                          ****

Understanding why, Myra had still planned a show of anger because they had slept in Chicago the night before rather than Skokie. Now though, tears of laughter streaming down her face, she listened as Marsha explained to her mother­-in-­law why her eldest son—Curly, Larry or Moe—was barefoot.

After eating a quick sandwich, Marsha, Mitchell and Lawrence returned to the apartment.

At the apartment, after putting on a pair of dry shoes, Mitchell and Lawrence carted the furniture upstairs.

“Put the chair there and the sofa here!” Marsha stood back, looking. “No, put the chair there! No, take it to the other wall! Better center it here! Yeah, that’s good! Now the sofa here! No, there!”

Finally, possibly, the furniture where she wanted it… maybe.

As her brother-­in-­law and husband returned the trailer to the U­Haul on Western Avenue, Marsha began to unpack the cartons.