________________________________________________________________________
In the empty passageway, the door closed behind them.
Instantly in each others arms, their lips pressed together, unwilling… unable to break the magnetic hold of their kiss, I love you! Their commingled thoughts, though unspoken, were heard… were felt by the other, I love you! The silent words transmitting from mind to mind, from soul to soul… I love you! I love you!
“Marsha,” moving his mouth from her mouth, “I love you! Oh, my God, Marsha, I love you!”
He looked at her, Oh, God, beautiful face and into her beautiful dark eyes and, having to prove that this was real, that Marsha was really here, really in his arms, sensing the feel of her heart against his chest, holding her tighter…
Feeling the beat of her husband’s heart against her breast, tears coming to her eyes, “Mitchie, I love you, too!”
______________________________________________________________________
Chicago, Illinois
June 21, 1957
“Mother, take care of Mikey a bit longer, will you? I, uh… guess I won’t be home for a while.”
“What do you mean, you guess you won’t be home for a while?”
“The judge…” looking at Mitchell, who was three telephone booths down talking to his mother, “talked to us and…”
“The judge talked to you? And what?”
“Mother, he said he thought Mitchell and me should try it again.”
In an accusatory tone, “I had a feeling this was going to happen, Marsha.”
“I don’t understand you, Mother! You should be happy for me! He’s my husband and Michael’s father, and if there’s any way for us to work it out, then damnit, we’re going to do it! What the hell do you have against Mitchell anyway?”
Silent a moment. What the hell do I have against Mitchell? Really having no idea herself what she truly has against him. “For one thing, honey,” Rhea said sarcastically, “in case you forgot, he did hit you!”
Marsha sighed. “No, Mother, to be honest, I punched him in the face first then hit him on the head and he slapped me back! But you were so anxious for me to leave him…”
Recalling Marsha’s reluctance to have Bruce Berman use the fact that he struck her, though not excusing Mitchell for slapping her daughter, for any reason. “Yeah, well remember, with Mitchell comes his mother.”
Thinking, Yeah! And with me comes my mother! And you’re not such great shakes either. “Maybe I’m a little bit at fault there, too… So, you’ll do it? You’ll watch Mikey till I get home?”
“Sure, I’ll watch my grandson! What’ll you think I’ll do, put him out on the street? You planning on coming home tonight?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t know if he’s got enough money for a hotel, and I’d feel… I don’t want to spend the night at my in-laws! Besides, I’m sure Mitchell is going to want to see his son, soon!
Hesitating a moment, “Okay,” Rhea said, “you two come on back here. You can stay here, if you want till you figure out what to do.”
“Thanks, Mother. Oh, by the way, when you see Mitchell please don’t say anything to him about this! It’s going to be hard enough as it is for him to go there without you making him feel even more uncomfortable.”
“Marsha, I know what to do!”
“Thank you, Mother. See you later. Bye.”
****
“Walter Lewis Studio.”
“Mom.” He had hoped his father would answer the phone because he’d have rather broken the news to him than her.
“We’ve been expecting you. So, how’d it go?”
“Good, Mom. Real good!”
“Hold on, Mitch, your father’s in the studio; let me get him on the line and you can tell both of us about it.”
“No, I haven’t got time.” He looked at Marsha, three telephone booths down. “Listen, Mom, the judge took us into his quarters and talked to us privately, and, uh, we’re going to try it again, Mom. Marsha’n’me, we’re getting back together.”
“This is what you really want, Mitchell?”
“Yeah, Mom. You know how much I’ve missed her’n’Mikey.”
“I know you have, Mitchell.”—she had seen his love/hate vacillation regarding Marsha—“And I’ve… your father and me…well, we’ve missed Mikey, too. And, believe it or not, your wife, too…”—Mitchell found that hard to believe—“and if this is what you really want, then congratulations. But, Mitchell, this is a good time for the two of you to settle things between yourselves! And if I were you…” the tone of her voice changing, “there are certain things I’d insist on straightening out! And I’m sure you know what I’m talking about!”
That’s just about why this whole thing happened! Yeah, he thought, that’s just what Marsha’n’me are going to do now: talk about her calling you ‘mom,’ You bet! “Look, Mom,” he said. “Marsha’s waiting for me and I’m not sure where we’ll be staying tonight, but when we decide, I’ll let you know. Okay?” Not waiting for a response, “Bye, Mom.”
“So, how’d they take it?”
“Okay! Fine!” Taking her hand, “How’s ’bout your mother?”
“Yeah, her, too.” Putting her arm about his waist. “And she said that if you, uh we want to stay there till we figure out where we’re going, it’s okay with her.”
“Hey, baby, what I really want to do is spend the night at a hotel making…”—remembering her accusation of “sex is all you ever think about”—“uh, sorry, baby, that’s if you want to.”
“Want to? God, Mitchie, I can’t wait till we’re in bed together! But a hotel? We got enough money for a hotel?”
We! The simple connotation was not lost on him. We! Meaning they were now a single unit again.
Looking at her, “Nah, I’ve only got about fifteen bucks on me.”
“And I’ve got three.”
“Doesn’t matter too much, ’cause I couldn’t wait till tomorrow to see Mikey anyway.”
“Yeah, and it’s not like we have to rush to my mother’s.”
“Yeah… Remember where we went last time we left city hall?”
“Yeah, the planetarium.”
Mitchell had always been a “touching” kind of person and, unless angry at each other, whenever he was near Marsha he felt compelled to hold her hand or to touch her in some way, and now, just as it had been in the days before and just after their marriage, Marsha, also, seemingly could not get enough of the feel of him, nor the feel of his touch on her. As though virginal newlyweds, the touch of each sending sensations of warm comfort and carnal desire to the other, crossing La Salle Street, holding hands, their arms held tightly about each others waists, were it not for the very distinct possibility that they’d be arrested or, more the likely, killed by the onslaught of rush hour traffic, they would surely had lain down and made love in the middle of the street.
The Ford traveled east to Lake Shore Drive, then about two miles south to the jog of U.S. 41 and Lake Shore. Turning left, they drove along Solidarity Drive, through the thin peninsula of land that juts into Lake Michigan to the Adler Planetarium.
****
On October 17, 1955, two days after Marsha’s nineteenth birthday, it was here they came after the civil ceremony of their first marriage, the marriage that was not in “the eyes of God.” It was here, at that time—because Marsha had promised their mothers, actually her mother, that they would not have intercourse until after the religious ceremony two months hence, until after the “in the eyes of God” ceremony—it was here, at that time…
At that time, though, it was cold and windy and, being Monday, the planetarium was closed and the parking lot deserted.
It was here, then, that Mitchell was first allowed to see the beauty and taste the wonder of his new wife’s breasts.
It was here, then, that Marsha had evoked the courage to see and touch the wonder of her new husband’s penis—the only penis, by the way, that Marsha had ever seen, let alone touched. It was here, then, when worked into a state of heretofore unparalleled passion that she, for the first time in her life, allowed the touch of another’s hand on her vulva, and the first time she’d felt the parting of her labia and the caress of a finger, other than her own.
It was here, also on that day, that she instinctively masturbated her new husband to ejaculation, and, it was here, then, for the first time in her nineteen years that she witnessed, to her amazement, the explosive expulsion of her new husband’s wondrous fluid that eight months later fertilized her egg—that nine months later produced their Michael.
****
Less than one hour before Marsha and Mitchell Lipensky had been on the brink of separation and divorce. Now they were together with their love not only miraculously intact, but swollen to beyond containment.
As though this time was the time of physical discovery and sensual intimacy, remembering the excitement of this place and that time, the memory brought forth a wetness to Marsha and a hardness to Mitchell and each wanted—desperately wanted—to touch the other in “that way” and be touched by the other in “that way”…
But most of all, each wanted to go beyond merely touching in any way but that way.
Only problem was…
This was not a Monday and the Adler Planetarium parking lot was packed with people and cars that were coming and going constantly.
“Where can we go to be alone?”
“We can’t go to Skokie! The kids are probably home and by the time we’d get there my parents’ll be there, too.”
Not quite ready to see her mother-in-law anyway, “We can’t go h… to Pratt, because as soon as my mother sees us, she’ll wash her hands of Mikey.”
“Yeah. And knowing her, she’ll stay up till Kate Smith sings “The Star Spangled Banner,” and…
****
On that first night of their first marriage—the only night they could be together before Mitchell had to return to New York and the Halfmoon—Marsha issued the ultimatum that unless they were allowed to spend the night together, one atop the blanket and—Oh, yeah, you bet they would—one beneath the blanket, they would go to a hotel.
Reluctantly consenting, Rhea did indeed stay up until Kate Smith sang “The Star Spangled Banner.” Then, about a half hour later at, coincidently, precisely the time Marsha had agreed to and was prepared for intercourse and—You bet!—Mitchell, too… Rhea left her bedroom, went noisily into the bathroom and, with the newlyweds just on the other side of the door on the sofa bed in the living room of the one bedroom apartment, Marsha cooled off, changed her mind and did retain her virginity… for longer than she could have imagined.
****
“Yeah. And knowing her, she’ll stay up till Kate Smith sings ‘The Star Spangled Banner” and you’n’me’ll never get to do… it!”
Spending the balance of the day and evening out as though it were a date appealing to Marsha, “Hey, I’ve an idea! We’ve got eighteen bucks, so how’s ’bout we get something to eat, go to a movie, then, by the time we get out it’ll be dark and, like we’re on a date, what if we find someplace to park and, uh, you know, fool around.”
The idea of a date—knowing what the outcome would be—very definitely appealing to Mitchell,“Yeah, good idea! How’s ‘bout, if you’d like, how’s ’bout we see Bridge on the River Kwai?”
****
Sitting on either side of a booth, eating hamburgers, lifting his hand, “Your wedding band…” Marsha asked. “Where is it?”
“You know…” carefully formulating his words, “I never stopped hoping that maybe things would work their way out and that we’d get together again. You don’t know this, but a couple of times I drove to Pratt and parked”—he hadn’t—“and just looked at the building thinking about you and Mikey in there. On this one night…”—not wanting her angry at Rosalie and Marty, he did not want to tell her it was Marty that had told him she’d moved—“I worked up the nerve to ring the bell to see if I could see Mikey, and… God, Marcie, you don’t know how much I missed both of you! Anyway, when I saw you’d moved out of our place and in with your folks it all seemed so hopeless and I guess I just kind’a went nuts, and…”
“It was you! You rang the bell! Mother said it was you.”
“Yeah. I’m sorry, and I hope I didn’t wake Mikey, but when I saw you’d given up the apartment…”
“It’s okay, Mitchie. I knew I should have kept our place.”
“That’s when it seemed to me like there really wasn’t any hope for us, so I rang the bell then got back in the car and took a long ride and… Marcie, you have no idea how bad I felt! Then I got mad and figured if you don’t want to be married to me then…” lowering his voice, whispering, “I said, ‘Fuck it! Why keep the ring!’ So… I’m sorry, baby, but I threw it away.”
Remembering her pain, imagining his pain, looking away, “I’m sorry, too,” Marsha said softly.
By that time knowing his wife… thinking he knew his wife, thinking of Marsha as a person who, to say the least, found it difficult to admit error, unable to catch her true meaning—whether she felt remorse for, in his opinion, causing their separation, or because he’d thrown his wedding band away—he didn’t ask and she didn’t say.
Slurping the thick chocolate milk shake through a straw, washing the last of his hamburger down, Mitchell wondered if, maybe, Now might be the time to, as his mother said, “straighten things out.” Knowing, though, that at this time—or most probably any time—any words regarding his mother, especially in regard to “Mom” would definitely be best left unsaid, and certainly not wanting to antagonize Marsha now… “Oh, by the way,” he said, “things are going much better at the studio and they’ve called it even for my draw and I…we’ve even gotten another five buck raise.”
****
Marsha had been correct. It was dark when they came out of the theatre and, Bumbabababababuming “The Colonel Bogie March,” the theme from The Bridge on the River Kwai, Mitchell anxiously drove to the closest, and first place either he or she could think of where it would be dark and they could be alone: The Montrose Beach parking lot.
On the way there, “Mitchie,” remembering, “unless you’ve got one with you—and if you do, I have no idea what you thought you were going to do with it—I think you’d better stop and buy some.”
“Buy some what?”
“Rubbers, Mitchie.”
