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“What can you pay, Mister Lipensky?”
“I can give you two hundred now and about…” expecting an argument, “$25.00 a month.” He was surprised when…
“That’ll be fine, Mister Lipensky.” Reaching into her desk, removing a form, spinning it into the typewriter, “If you’ll just sign this lien authorization,” Mrs. Young said as she typed, “you’ll be able to take your wife and baby home.”
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Walter, Mitchell and Michael
Walter never had patience with his eldest son.
The only time the two had done anything together as father and son was in 1944 when Mitchell was nine years old when, to prove to his wife that he could be as good a father as any man, Walter had taken his son to the circus. At the circus the child wanted the things most nine year old children want: peanuts, cotton candy, soda. Because the boy had wanted these things, Walter felt he was more interested in those things than the circus, so he became irrationally angry and refused to speak to him during the long trip home, or for the rest of the evening.
That night, Mitchell Lipensky cried himself to sleep.
As a child and throughout puberty, Mitchell felt as though he were a bother to his father, as though unloved by his father, as though he and his father were strangers living in the same house.
True, Mitchell was what in later years become known as “hyperactive” and, living on the third floor his running and jumping and slamming of doors had made the downstairs neighbors, the Kaplins, crazy, and the Kaplins’ complaints about Mitchell along with their pounding on the ceiling below the Lipensky apartment with a broomstick was a near constant occurrence.
In retrospect, Mitchell could well understand how his hyperactivity had caused a problem between his overly impatient father and himself.
As a result, as an adult with his own son, Mitchell Lipensky vowed to never be like his father! To always be close to his son! To always “be there” for his son! And most of all, above all else, to always let Mikey know that he loved him… Always!
A few days after Marsha and Michael returned home, Mitchell discovered the thing he loved to do was to lie on his back on the bed or on the floor with Mikey, nude, on his stomach, lying upon his daddy’s chest… And at these peaceful, loving times he loved to hold both soft cheeks of Mikey’s tushie in his hands, or to feel the fuzzy down of his hair and to listen to him gurgle, and to smell the scent of baby powder and baby oil. And Mitchell loved to look at Mikey’s face and his green eyes—Mitchell’s green eyes—then his heart filled with all the love it could hold and even at those times when his baby “made” upon his chest or spit up on his face, Mitchell really didn’t care.
The Deepening Hole
April 15 through April 25, 1957
“Mitch, we got some bills today.” Sounding perplexed, “One from Silverman…”—they’d expected that bill—“and one from Greenblatt.”
He’d been out canvassing, and when he returned to the studio Troy told him Marsha had called. “How much is Silverman’s?”
“Four-fifty.”
“Okay, that’s about what we thought.” Putting the coffee cup down, “Give me his number and I’ll call and make arrangements.” Knowing the government had paid what it deemed proper for the hospital, they hoped it would pay Greenblatt in full. “What’s Greenbelt’s?” he asked hopefully. “A paid statement?”
“No, Mitch. I said we got two bills.” Rereading the 5x7 slip of paper, “They paid him in full for the delivery and the pre and postnatal care…”
“Okay, that’s great!”
“But he charged us another four hundred dollars.”
“Huh? What the hell for?”
“It says, ‘Consultation.’”
“Four hundred bucks! For a consultation? What the hell’s he mean by a consultation?”
“I have no idea. Why don’t you call and find out!”
“Yeah, bet your ass I’ll call. Give me both numbers.”
Calling Silverman’s office first, the bookkeeper settled for fifteen dollars a month till the bill was paid or the lawsuit settled—whichever came first.
****
“Hello, is Doctor Greenblatt available?”
“No, sir. May I take a message”?
“Uh, can I talk to your bookkeeper?”
“That’ll be Mrs. Greenblatt. Who’s calling?”
“Tell her Mitchell Lipensky.”
“Hold on, Mister Lipensky, I’ll transfer you.”
Put on hold for almost three minutes, “Mister Lipensky, this is Mrs. Greenblatt.” Eunice and Manny Greenblatt had discussed this—as a matter of fact, it had been her idea and she’d been expecting this call. “How may I help you?”
“Mrs. Greenblatt, we got a bill from you today that my wife and I don’t understand.”
“Oh,” said sugar sweetly, “your wife and you do not understand what, Mister Lipensky?”
“The doctor said our bill would be four hundred dollars for everything, and the government paid it, but we still got a bill for…”
“Unless,” her voice hardening, “something unforeseen occurs! The doctor said it would be four hundred dollars unless something unforeseen occurs! And something unforeseen did occur, didn’t it, Mister Lipensky?”
****
Eunice Greenblatt hated Rhea Goldman!
Both women were about the same age. But once, looking sexy and beautiful—much sexier and much more beautiful than herself—during her daughter-in-law’s pregnancy, Rhea had accompanied Brenda to the office. And as if being sexy and beautiful wasn’t enough, Rhea had worn a mink coat—a much finer mink coat than her own. And as if being more sexy and more beautiful and wearing a much finer mink coat than hers wasn’t enough, Rhea Goldman had, in Eunice Greenblatt’s opinion, a “holier than thou” attitude. And, as if all that wasn’t enough, she’d flirted with Manny Greenblatt—actually flirted with her husband right before her eyes! Of course, Rhea may not have been aware that Eunice was Manny’s wife because Manny did not introduce Eunice as such. Also, after all, Eunice was a few years older than her husband. But still, to try to make out with your daughter-in-law’s obstetrician? And above all, Yes, even above Rhea’s flirting with her husband was the fact that this… this wife of a hot dog peddler… had a better mink coat than hers!
Eunice Greenblatt hated Rhea Goldman. And though there was no way to get back at Rhea, there was a way for Eunice to vent her angry jealousy on Rhea’s daughter.
****
“Well, yes, Mrs. Greenblatt, we were in an automobile accident and Marsha was admitted to the hospital a few days before the baby was born. But keeping her in the hospital was Doctor Greenblatt’s idea and to double your bill because of that just isn’t fair!”
“Oh, it’s not just that, Mister Lipensky. In coming up with our added charges, of course we took that into consideration, but mainly, when your wife became ill, after the baby was born, she should have called her doctor, not…”
“If Marsha or I had anything to do with that, we would have! But when her mother found out that Marsha was sick, she called Schaffer and, because he happened to be in the hospital then, he came in and looked at my wife and because your husband wasn’t around and there wasn’t time to wait for him, he called Silverman!”
“Doctor Greenblatt happened to be in Delivery at that time! But are you aware that he went directly to Surgery from Delivery and was at your wife’s side throughout the entire procedure?”
“No, ma’am. Until now I didn’t know he was there at all.”
“Of course you didn’t!”
“Okay, so he was there! But we don’t have insurance and thought the government would pay all the original bill. And now, to double your price just because he came into the operating room…”
“Mister Lipensky! My husband didn’t just come into the operating room! Because your wife had delivered only the day before, he was consulted”—that was true —“and he did assist in the surgery!” That was not true .
“But to charge about the same as Doctor Silverman isn’t fair, Mrs. Greenblatt. We don’t have the money to pay this bill!”
“Mister Lipensky, if you can afford to keep your wife in a private room, then I’m sure you can afford to pay this bill!”
“My mother-in-law ordered the private room, not us! We didn’t even know she ordered a private room! As a matter of fact Marsha said she missed not having company, and I didn’t even think about it being a private room.”
****
On their way home from the hospital they’d spoken of this and, “Mitchie,” Marsha had said, “let me handle it, I’ll talk to my mother.”
When asked to pay the difference between a semi and a private room, “What’s the matter?” had been Rhea’s reply. “The bastard’s too cheap to make sure his wife had some privacy, at least!”
As the difference between a private and semiprivate room seemed a “drop in the bucket” in comparison to all their other bills and not wanting to spoil her and Michael’s homecoming by getting into an argument with her mother, Marsha, at least temporarily, let the matter drop.
****
“Nonetheless, Mister Lipensky,” Eunice Greenblatt said, “that is our statement! Do you intend to pay it? And until your insurance settles, how?”
Sighing, “Yes, Mrs. Greenblatt. How’s about ten dollars a month?”
“Make it fifteen!”
“I’ll try.” But knew he would only pay ten.
****
Hating to ask—for among other reasons, because of the “mom” thing—but knowing the decision would ultimately come from her, thinking, I might as well, so to speak, go directly to the horse’s mouth. Waiting until she got off the phone, “Mom,” he said, “I’ve got to talk to you.”
Working at her desk, looking up, Myra waited for her son to speak.
“I don’t know how to say this…” forming his thoughts, “I know I’m not up to my draw…”
“You’re not even close to your draw!”
“Okay, yeah, I’m not even close to my draw, but…” taking a deep breath, “I’ve got to have more money!”
“Mitchell, we’re paying you about as much as we can afford now.”
“Mom, I know, but we just got two more bills and, yes, we did count on the surgeon and even though his bill is a little higher than we expected, okay, but we thought the government would pay all of Greenblatt’s bill and they did, for the delivery and stuff, but we still owe him another four hundred…”
“Four hundred? For what?”
“Because he says he was there, in the operating room when they took out Marsha’s appendix.”
“That shtunk (stinker)! How much is it all costing you?”
“Each month,” ticking it off with his fingers, “we’re supposed to pay the hospital twenty-five, Silverman fifteen and Greenblatt wants fifteen, too, but the hell with him, I’m only going to give him ten, then, twenty one a month for the rug and stuff, and it comes to about…”
Jotting down the figures, “Seventy-one dollars a month,” she said.
“Yeah. And I take home, from here, sixty-two-fifty a week, and clear, from my other job, if it’s a good week, twenty bucks, and the rent’s one-fifteen, and then there’s food and the telephone and gas for the car and insurance, and now, with the baby, there’s formula and all the other stuff a baby needs, and…
“Okay,” surprising him, remembering all the other stuff a baby needs, “I’ll talk to your father and see if we can give you… say another, uh, five dollars a week.”
He’d hoped for ten but, “Yeah, Mom,” he replied, knowing his mother always had the last word and, though, in the face of things another twenty dollars a month was not a lot, it would help. “Thanks,” he said gratefully. “That’ll help, a lot!”
Deeper Yet
April 25, 1957
Traffic the entire month had been light. On that Thursday night it had been unusually light and even those few customers had been demanding and all but impossible to please, or sell.
****
This being the part of the job he hated the most, reluctant to do it, he’d put it off for almost a week but had been pressured that afternoon, again. So, standing above, looking over the top of the tie case at the hunched figure on the other side, “Lipensky,” he said, “will you come to my office when you’re through here? I’d like to talk to you.”
Straightening, “Yes, sir. I’m just about through here.” Hunching again, pretending to align a row of paisley ties, stalling, wondering, What did I do now? Mitchell watched Bornstein through the showcase glass as he walked across the floor.
****
Motioning to a chair on the opposite side of his desk… Hesitating, waiting until the young man settled himself. Looking at the ceiling, clearing his throat, the older man brought his attention back to Mitchell. “You know, we usually let the part timers go after New Year’s. But this year business went on, at least until now, and I was able to justify to them…” jerking his head upward, he glanced at the ceiling, “a part time staff, but now…” hesitating again, “I’ve got to let you go.”
“Mister Bornstein…”
“Please, Mitchell,” holding his hand in a halting gesture, “let me finish. Believe me, knowing you’ve just had a baby I know how badly you must need this job and I feel terrible having to do this, and also, you’re a good salesman and I hate to lose you, but…”
