Chicago, Illinois

 June 22, 23, 1957

Long gone, Eli was at the grill. Rhea, at the stove, was frying eggs and, sitting at the far end of the table, Marsha was looking through this day’s Chicago Tribune classified section.

Feeling whole with his family again, finding it hard to take his eyes from the sleeping baby in his arms, Mitchell tightened his shoulder against the phone pressed to his ear.

“How’s Mikey look?”

“Wonderful, Mom! He’s so beautiful! I can’t believe how he’s grown.”

“Your father and I can’t wait to see him! You and your wife are planning on coming to dinner tonight, aren’t you?”

The question that wasn’t a question reminded him of Master Sergeant Raphael Martinez telling Mitchell and his friend Norman that they’d volunteered for his mortar squad.

However, having discussed this with Marsha before making the call, “Yeah, sure, Mom. Rhea’s making breakfast while we look through the classifieds, then Marcie’n’me are going to spend the day out looking for an apartment, and we’ll definitely be over for supper.”

Another non-question question: “You’re not looking near your in-laws’, are you?”

Sighing, “No, Mom. We really want to get out of this crowded neighborhood anyway, so unless we can’t find a place we like, that we can afford, it’ll be somewhere on the north side.”

“Well, if there’s nothing today, remember that most people run their ads on Sunday, so you’ll probably do better tomorrow.”

“Yeah, we know. But we’re really anxious to get our stuff out of storage and begin to live by ourselves again.”

“I’m sure you are! Does your wife want to say hello to me?”

Not thinking fast enough, but anxious to break the ice between Marsha and his mother, “Yes.”

Catching Marsha’s eye, motioning to the phone, silently mouthing, “My mother wants to say hello.” But Marsha shook her head negatively and—between the rock and a hard place again—not knowing what to do, having a sense of déjà vu, handing the phone to her, “Honey, my mother wants to say hello to you.”

Shooting her husband a look of disgust, angrily grabbing the phone from his hand, “Hi!” she said in a put-on, cheerful tone of voice.

“Hello! How are you? Mitchie says your baby’s just beautiful!”

Not thinking Myra really cared how she was, ignoring the query, purposely not asking how she was. “Your son’s right; just wait till you see him!”

“Your father-in-law and the kids and me, too, we just can’t wait to see him.”

A sudden perception coming to Myra, as unbelievable as it seemed, Myra realized that she’d missed Marsha. Also thinking, You can catch more bees with honey than vinegar. With these realizations the tone of her voice changed from cold civility to true warmth.

“And you too, Marsha!” Myra added sincerely. “I’ve, uh, we’ve all missed you and we’re very happy that you and Mitchell are going to work it out.”

Always attuned to the subtle, or sometimes not so subtle nuances of most people’s acceptance of her, the shift in the tone of Myra’s voice instantly picked up by Marsha, “Yes,” she said, “I’m looking forward to seeing, uh, Skipper and the kids, and you too…” hesitating, thinking, for Mitchell, the word coming with difficulty, “Mom.”

Watching her, attentively listening to the one sided conversation, the word “Mom” surprising Mitchell as much as it had his mother… and his wife.

In a mild case of shock, “We’re having lox and bagels, of course,” flustered, “but for my daughter-in-law, who hates lox,” Myra added, “I’ve got the most beautiful T-bone you’ve ever seen that dad’ll put on the grill for you when you get here. Okay?”

This being the first time her mother-in-law had gone out of her way to prepare a different meal for Marsha—from the Lipensky’s ritual of Saturday’s dinner of lox and bagels—“Yes,” she smiled, “steak sounds great! That’ll be just fine!”

“Any idea when you’ll be here?”

“Oh, three thirty, four. Okay?”

“Yes, that’ll be fine, Marcie, I’m looking forward to it.”

Strangely, “Bye,” Marsha was, too.

                                         ****

“My God, Marcie, I’ve never seen such shitty dumps!”

Expecting more for their money, they’d been looking south and west, and now were on their way northeast again.

“That’s for sure!” Marsha said, studying the circled ads in the newspaper. “At least our shitty dump was near the beach… Okay, this one’s one block south of Howard.”

Running east and west, to the east of Skokie, Howard Street is the dividing line between the City of Chicago and the town of Evanston.

“South of Howard? Talk about shitty!”

Consulting the street map, “I don’t know, Mitch. Winchester’s about two blocks east of Damen and it shouldn’t be too bad there. Actually, from what we’ve seen, this doesn’t sound too bad at all.”

As much as he wanted to be away from his in-laws, “You’re sure we can’t get our old place back?”

“Yeah! That’s why we got our last month and security back. Helen had it rented almost before I moved out.”

Although Howard Street was bad further east, Marsha was right: this area had well maintained streets and a mix of older and newer two­ and three story apartment buildings.

About three miles southeast of Skokie, Winchester Street would put them almost squarely between both sets of in-laws—if they liked the apartment, if it was still available, and if the owner would rent it to a couple with a three month ­old baby.

Parking directly in front of a small, newly remodelled two story, two apartment building, going to the entry they heard the crying of a baby. Glancing at Marsha, he rang the bell… “Hi! If it’s not too late,” he said when the door was opened, “we’re here about the rental you advertised.” Holding his hand forward, “I’m Mitch Lipensky and this is my wife, Marsha.”

“Oh, yes!” The man, about thirty years old, motioned to a demure looking woman standing slightly behind him holding a squalling infant in her arms with a nipple bottle to its unaccepting mouth.

“This is my wife, Sophie,” shaking Mitchell’s hand, “and I’m…”

                                         ****

“Paul Keglevic,” Mitchell said between bites of his squishy, over­loaded lox, cream cheese, tomato, cucumber, onion and bagel sandwich. “and his wife, uh…?”

“Sophie,” Marsha said between chews of succulent T-bone steak.

“Yeah, Sophie. Well, anyway, Paul’s the, uh…”

“Maitre d’.”

“Yeah, Paul’s the maitre d’ at the, uh…”

“Drake Hotel.”

Smiling, “Yeah.” he glanced at Marsha. “He’s the maitre d’ at the Drake Hotel and he and his wife, Sophie, just had a baby girl, mmm,” sighing, “uh…?”

Patting his head as one would a child, “Alexandra.”

“Yeah, Alexandra, Anyway…”

“Anyway,” Marsha said, “today was the first day of their ad and they had a whole bunch of people come by. But either the people did not want to live right upstairs of a newborn…”

“A colicky newborn,” Mitchell happily interjected.

She playfully pinched his cheek. “Yeah. But because we have a baby too, they thought we won’t be bothered by Alexandra’s crying, and…”

“They think we’re cute, so we’ll be moving in tomorrow!” Biting the bagel, a slice of cucumber squirted out the back.

“Most of Mikey’s and Marsha’s stuff is at her mom’s, so Marsha’n’me’ll take it over tomorrow and, with a couple of trips with the top down, we’ll be able to move Mikey’s crib and dresser.”

“If you’d like, you’re welcome to sleep here tonight.”

“Yes,” Marsha said, looking at her mother-in-law, “maybe we will. Thank you.”

“Yeah! Great!” Knowing—appreciating—that Marsha was trying to patch things up between herself and his mother. Knowing also—small price to pay—because of the walk­through closet, there would be no sex this night.

“We won’t be able to get the rest of our stuff out of storage till Monday.”

“So then we’ll rent a trailer and haul the rest of our stuff over… I’m going to take Monday off, okay, Dad?” Not waiting for an answer, looking at Lawrence, “So if you’re not doing anything Monday, we’d sure appreciate a hand.”

“Yeah,” happy at having Marsha, his nephew and bedroom back, “sure I’ll help!”

“Thanks, Larry! Outside of Mortie,” sticking her tongue out at Morton, causing him to giggle, “you’re the best brother-in-law I have.”

Eating in the dining room, Walter and Myra were at their usual places on either end of the table.

Lawrence and Morton sat on one side of the table and Marsha and Mitchell the other. Michael was strapped into an infant seat to the left of his mother and the right of his grandmother, who was happily feeding him, while he was happily in the process of gurgling through a bottle of Gerber’s strained bananas.

Looking at his sister-in-law, “You don’t gotta thank me! If it’ll get him…” jerking his thumb towards Mitchell, “out’a here and gi’me back my bedroom, I’d do it right now.” Beginning to laugh, “Marcie, that kid’a yours sure likes squished bananas, huh?”

Looking, laughing, “Oh, my God!”

“Yeah!” Joining the laughter, “so’s Cricket!” Morton said.

Engaged in conversation they hadn’t noticed but, standing alongside the infant­seat, the Dalmatian was licking the sweet goo off Michael’s face with long, slurpy licks… much to the delight of the baby.

                                       ****

Paul and Sophie Keglevic had purchased the building on Winchester Avenue as both their home and an investment. They’d spent every moment and dollar in repairing and remodelling, first their own first floor apartment, then the second floor rental.

That Saturday had been the first day of their ad and, from seven thirty a.m. till mid­afternoon, when the Lipenskys had rung their bell, no one person or couple that came to their door looked like the type that would be able to tolerate the shrill crying of their one­ month­ old baby. Also, there was no one the Keglevics met that they could take at face value as the type that they would want to entrust their hard gained apartment to. And, yes, they did think Marsha and Mitchell were a “cute couple,” so, trusting their instincts, they agreed to a one year lease at $140 a month, plus—as the apartment had its own electric meter—the Lipenskys were to pay their own electric bill, which, in total, was still less than most rentals in that neighborhood, especially for an updated, spotlessly clean, light and bright apartment.

The additional $25 a month in rent was about $15 more than they’d expected, but with Mitchell now clearing $75.50 per week, they figured they’d be okay because, after all, “how much can electricity cost!”

Compared to their last two apartments, the apartment on Winchester was spacious, and what furniture they did have was going to be lost there.

The single flight of stairs led to a small landing, which led to a door that opened into a bright 14x16 living room. To the right of the living room was a 7x14 dining area. To the right of the dining area was a large, well lit kitchen with a brand new refrigerator and gas stove. The doorway leading to the apartment’s one—12x14—bedroom was adjacent the kitchen door. The bedroom had beige toned wall-to-wall carpeting, the kitchen a “cheery” kitchen type linoleum floor. The rest of the apartment’s high sheen, recently varnished hardwood floors were bare.

The 9x12 hooked rug would go in the living room and they’d assured Paul and Sophie that as soon as they could afford it, they’ll purchase another rug for the dining area. But first they’d need a bed, a dresser, a kitchen table and chairs and, because they only had the two milk china lamps, they would need another end table and lamp.

Thank God for E­Z Credit…Yeah!