________________________________________________________________________
Rightfully concluding that his efforts for that day were absolutely futile as his head and stomach had returned somewhat, to normal, deciding he was hungry and so long as he was in Skokie and didn’t know where else to go and had lots of time to kill, he went to the newly constructed, recently opened…
Waiting to order his hamburger, fries and a chocolate shake, standing in line outside of McDonald’s in Skokie Village, he recalled the conversation on that Sunday morning when he’d driven to Chicago to retrieve Marsha and the offer his parents’ friend Sam Katz had made, and Walter’s response of, “Four thousand dollars for a fast food place called Old McDonald’s? Nah, it doesn’t sound like such a good idea to me.”
________________________________________________________________________
Skokie/Chicago, Illinois
April 23, 1958
Finished eating, against his better judgment, he decided to call home. Marsha didn’t answer the phone and as it was a pretty spring day, he concluded that she’d taken Michael for a walk in the buggy.
“Tats, hi. My folks around?”
“No, Mitch, they’re out to lunch.”
Relieved that he didn’t have to talk to either of them. “Any calls for me?”
“Hold on, let me check.” Punching the hold button, going into Myra’s office, checking Mitchell’s cubbyhole, “No, nothing.”
“Thanks. Tell ’em I’ll check back later.”
Dropping the receiver onto the cradle, he considered going home, but not wanting to be home too early today and face even more of his wife’s contempt, because when he came home too early he always got the feeling she thought he should still be out working—or maybe he felt guilty because he wasn’t still out working.
Having to go in that general direction anyway, considering doing an hour’s worth of canvassing there, returning to Evanston, he stopped to call home again. When the phone was not answered after seven rings, Maybe it’s just as well, he thought.
As it was one of those sparkling, crystal clear spring days, truly not feeling like working, Mitchell drove north along Sheridan Road, through Wilmette and Winnetka to the view site overlooking Lake Michigan; to where he’d driven the night he discovered that Marsha had moved in with her parents.
Thinking he would be alone because it was a week day and the kids were still in school, he was surprised to find five cars parked along the horseshoe shaped perimeter, all with salesman types, like himself.
Lowering the top, taking his jacket and tie off, Mitchell spent the next hour building—word by word—a mental scenario of what he planned on saying, and what he hoped Marsha’s response would be.
Backing away from the rim of land at 2:25, he drove through Winnetka, Wilmette and Evanston into Chicago.
****
Stopping at a florist on Howard Street, he purchased one long stemmed red rose.
****
Coming out of the car, holding the cello wrapped rose with its baby’s breath filler, taking a deep breath, opening the outer door he walked up the flight of stairs. Taking another deep breath, putting his key in the lock, opening the… “Marcie!” door. “Honey, I’m…”
His words sounding hollow in the bare apartment, bare that is except for 72 redi-wet, foil Pac prophylactics that—as a sign of contempt—Marsha had scattered over the refinished, but now scuffed hardwood floor.
His mind, “Marsha?” not accepting what his eyes saw, going to the dining room, he stood in the place where his son’s crib had been. “Oh, Mikey! My God, not again!” Going into the kitchen, Mitchell looked to where he’d last seen his wife and baby. “Marsha, why?” He went to the bedroom and that, too, was empty… Except for whatever clothing he’d had in the dresser, which had been dumped onto the floor. His clothes that had been hanging in the closet, still hung in the closet.
Thinking, My God, he slumped to the floor in the corner of the bedroom. What did I do? Still holding the cello wrapped rose, Why? His chin dropped onto his chest, his throat constricted, tears stinging his eyes. “Why?” he cried aloud. “How can you do this to me again?”
****
Not knowing if she was there, or if she was if she’d even buzz him in, about to ring the bell, a tenant leaving the building opened the outer door.
****
Standing in the hall outside of apartment 912, “Where are Marsha and Mikey?”
Inside the apartment, holding the door slightly ajar, “She’s gone, Mitchell.”
“Gone?” His voice rising, “What in the hell do you mean gone, Rhea? Where’s my wife?”
“Don’t you dare stand in my hall and shout at me!”
“Okay, fine!” Shoving the door open, pushing past her, going into the apartment he looked in the bedroom, then the dining room and kitchen, but there was no sign of Marsha, Michael or any of their belongings.
“For God’s sake, Rhea, please! I swear I didn’t do anything to make your daughter leave me! Please, Rhea, please tell me where Marsha and Mikey are?”
“Mitchell,” she said crossly, “I told you I don’t know!”
Sighing, fighting back tears, rubbing the palms of his hands over his eyes, “Oh, God!” Holding his forehead in both hands. “Rhea, honest to God, I do not know what this is all about!” Lowering his hands, he looked at her. “Your daughter’s been mad at me for three days and, okay, when she was out last night I had a little too much to drink and got kind’a drunk, but it’s the first time she’s seen me that way since we’ve been married. Rhea, Please! I can’t go through this again! For God’s sake, please tell me where they are.”
“Mitchell, I would if I could,” she lied. “All I know is that Marsha has been very unhappy about the way you’ve been treating her.”
“The way I’ve been treating her? Yeah, we still fight about my parents,” he said sadly, “but honest to God, Rhea, I haven’t done anything to deserve this. For her to take my son and our furniture and just move out? Rhea,” pleading, “please,” he asked again, “where is she?”
“All I know is, she called this morning and said she had to get away for a while! That she had to get someplace where she can think, and she said if I knew where she was going, maybe I’d tell you,” still lying, “so she wouldn’t tell me and I don’t know where she is!”
A thought coming to him, “Dad!” Knowing how close the were, “Maybe she told her father where she was going,” he said hopefully.
“Eli?” Rhea said incredulously. “This’ll only disturb him, but call if you like. But believe me, Eli knows nothing from nothing!”
Knowing she meant this in the fullest sense. Also knowing this, at the very least, to be true . Not believing Rhea didn’t know where her daughter and grandson were, Mitchell stared at his mother-in-law for a full thirty seconds. But thinking this lady was the spring of his wife’s stubbornness, he knew she was not going to tell him and not wanting to alienate Rhea completely, thinking he’d call Roger, whom he knew had little fondness for his mother and even less for his sister, thinking, maybe, he could get some information from him.
“Okay, Rhea,” his eyes dropping, he took her hands into his. “When you hear from your daughter tell her I said that I love her and that we’ll work it out, only for her to please call me!”
Sensing a warm chill from the touch of his hands, “You think I like this, Mitchell? Yes, sure I’ll tell her!”
****
“Mother… Hi, we’re here.”
“You in, Marsha? Have the boys left?”
“Yeah, we got here about 3:30 and it took the three of us about an hour to unload and put the stuff away. Roger and Myron left about ten minutes ago.”
“How was the trip with the baby?”
“With all of us on the seat of Myron’s truck? Cramped! It’s a good thing Mikey was sleepy; he slept most of the way here. And Roger grumbled all the way here and Myron—he’s such a nice guy—said, so long as he’s got to schlep stuff all day for strangers, he might as well schlep for friends.”
“You reach the utilities? When I called the clean up people, I told them there’d be an extra ten in it for them if they got the place cleaned before you got there. Did they? How’s it look?”
“Yes, they did.” Holding Michael in her arms, Marsha shifted his weight to her other side. “They were leaving when we pulled up, and considering no one’s been in the place… for what… two years? It doesn’t look all that bad. It’s badly overgrown outside, though, and come July Mikey and me’ll have enough raspberries for all the sour cream in the world. Only problem is, the electricity won’t be on before five, so the man said. And the gas company said their man couldn’t be here till tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow! It’s only April, and without lighting the stove at night it can still get pretty damn cold. You tell them you’ve got an infant there with you?”
“Yes! Of course I did, Mother! If we have to, we’ll be okay for one night. If it gets too cold, Mikey’n’me’ll get into bed and snuggle up together.” Holding the phone against her ear with her shoulder, lifting the baby to her face, she rubbed her nose against his. “Won’t we, my baby? Yeah!”
Giggling, Michael parroted, “Yeah!”
“Your furniture—were you able to get it all in?”
“It’s not like we… Like I have a house full of furniture, Mother. Everything we took fits just fine and Myron said he’ll keep the rest of the stuff at his place till I’m ready for it.”
The line silent for the few seconds it took Marsha put Michael in the buggy.
“Uh, have you heard from Mitchell?”
“Yes. He came here, and left about a half hour before you called.” Hesitating, Rhea added, “He asked me to tell you that he loves you and doesn’t understand why you did what you did… He looked real bad, Marsha. You sure about what you’re doing?”
Thinking, What I’m doing? “What I’ve done, Mother!” she said. “You didn’t tell him where we are?”
“You told me not to! No, of course I didn’t! I don’t understand why he’s not supposed to know, but I didn’t tell him anything!”
“Mother, I told you why! I don’t know what I want to do! I just feel like… I don’t know! I feel like I’ve got to have some time to myself! Like I’ve got to be alone to figure things out!”
Feeling slightly different than she’d felt at 8:30 that morning. Struggling not to admit it to herself, but knowing this entire move was—along with her unreasonable anger at Mitchell for becoming intoxicated for the first time in the two and a half years of their marriage, was—irrational.
Wanting to change the subject, “Security Movers, how much did they charge to get… my stuff over to Myron’s store?”
“Haven’t heard yet. The boss there is a friend of Morrie’s and I’m sure Morrie throws him enough city business to ask a favor, so maybe nothing.”
Yeah, Marsha thought, chalk up another one for good ol’ Morrie!
“Where are you calling from?”
“Red Dot. I was surprised to find her open so early in the season, but Dottie said since Red died she’s always anxious to get out of Chicago, so she decided to open early this year… By the way,” looking at her, smiling at the elderly, heavyset woman behind the candy counter, “Dot says hello.”
“Tell Dorothy hello back, and that she should charge whatever you need and I’ll take care of it.”
“We should be okay for a few days, Mother. This whole thing happened so fast that the groceries and even the refrigerator stuff got here okay, and if the electric man gets here soon enough, so I can start the refrigerator, I won’t even have to get milk for a while.”
Dubiously, “Okay. Well… Oh, yes! Daddy says hello and that you should take it easy.”
“Yeah.” Marsha laughed dryly. “What else is there to do here but take it easy?”
“Don’t complain, sweetie, this whole thing is what you wanted!”
“Believe me, Mother, I’m not complaining! Anyway, I’ve got to get back to the cottage in case the electric guy shows up.”
“Bye, Marsha; talk to you in a couple’a days.”
Dropping the receiver onto the cradle, “Thanks, Dottie.” Pushing the buggy through the door, alone but for her baby, Marsha Lipensky walked along the cracked asphalt of the “Old Road” to the short side road that would take her to the—until she’d arrived about an hour and a half ago—deserted cove of cottages.
****
“Brenda, hi! It’s Mitch Lipensky. Is Roger home?”
****
That morning, immediately after speaking to his mother, Roger called his wife to tell her about his sister’s latest breakup, which, according to his mother, “was because Mitchell hounds her because he is upset about the way Marsha treats his parents and because,” Roger explained facetiously, “my sister simply ‘must get away!’ My sister simply ‘must be by herself!’ My sister ‘has to figure things out!’ And if Mitch calls, for some unknown, goddamned reason, my mother says we’re not supposed to know where she is! No one’s supposed to know where she is or to say anything to her husband. Okay?”
Then, within minutes of her husband’s call, Brenda received a call from her mother-in-law, whom Brenda never forgot was her husband’s employer, who also, in very unmistakable terms, advised her not to say anything to Mitchell regarding Marsha’s whereabouts, or Roger’s trip to Lakeside.
Brenda Goldman was a straightforward young woman who thought Marsha and Mitchell should be left alone to solve their own marital problems. She had been upset with Rhea when she’d given Marsha easy haven during their last separation. And now to be given a hiding place and not to let her husband know! To keep Marsha and his son’s whereabouts a secret from Mitchell!
This Brenda Goldman was very much against!
****
“Brenda, hi! It’s Mitch Lipensky. Is Roger home?”
“Oh, hi, Mitch.” Knowing why he’d called, “No,” having no idea what to say, “Roger isn’t home from, uh, work yet.”
“Brenda, it’s really important that I talk to him. Would you please ask Roger to call me as soon as he gets home.”
Standing in the empty kitchen, talking to his sister-in-law, Mitchell was surprised when Brenda replied with, “Sure, Mitch. Where can he reach you?”
“Brenda, I’m here, at my home! Where else would I be?”
Knowing his sister-in-law knew something, Mitchell considered grilling her to see if in fact she did know where Marsha and Michael were. But he liked Brenda and did not want to put her on the spot, so decided not to.
Which was a mistake because, if he had, throwing caution and Rhea’s veiled threats to the wind, Brenda would have told Mitchell exactly where his wife and son were. But because he stopped short and didn’t ask…
“You’re home…” Becoming flustered. “Of course you are! Okay, Mitch, I’ll have Roge call you as soon as he gets home… Bye!” she said, quickly breaking the connection.
Feeling—knowing—there was a conspiracy of silence, “Yeah,” he said to the silent phone. “So long, Brenda.”
Knowing he would eventually have to call his parents, he did not want to at that time because he did not want to hear their advice and recriminations for “not settling things properly with Marsha the last time.”
Actually, at that precise time he did not want to speak to anyone but his brother-in-law.
As he sat on the kitchen floor waiting for the phone to ring, his mind ranged: Today’s the 23rd and that gives me a week till rent’s due again, so if she should decide to come back… Remembering last time, a lower plane of his brain told Mitchell: Fat chance. But if she should, he further thought, we’ll still have someplace to live.
So he logically thought.
****
In deep thought, not hearing the knocking, not fully shut, “Mitchell,” the door was pushed open.
“Oh,” standing, going into the living room, “hi, Paul.”
“Mitch,” Paul Keglevic looked disapprovingly at the scratches and scuff marks on his refinished, hardwood floor—most of which were made by the two moving men that morning—also at the 72 redi-wet, foil Pac prophylactics that Mitchell hadn’t bothered to pick up. Appearing ill at ease, “I’m sorry for your trouble,” Paul said, “and God knows I don’t want to add to it, but…Your lease is up in two months and, to tell the truth, Mitch, Sophie and I talked about it and we… We weren’t going to renew you lease anyway, so…”
“Huh! You weren’t going to renew our lease! Why not, Paul?”
“Why not?” The pitch of Paul’s voice rising. “Because you didn’t do what you said you’d do, Mitch! You said you’d get a carpet for in here,” pointing, “and you didn’t! Just look at this floor! We’ll have to redo the whole damn thing! And the arguments and screaming!” Lowering his voice, “Anyway, if you get the rest of your stuff…” glancing at the prophylactic strewn floor, “and give up the apartment tomorrow, you’ll get your security and…” looking at the floor again, “your cleanup deposit back. But we want you out of here tomorrow!”
Knowing her, not really thinking Marsha would come back, “Okay, Paul,” he sighed, “if that’s what you want, I’ll be out of here tomorrow.” Glancing about, “Maybe even tonight.”
“I’m sorry things worked out the way they did, Mitch, and Sophie and me hope Marsha and you’ll be able to work it out.” Holding his hand forward. “Just let us know when you’re leaving for good and we’ll give you your money back.”
Taking the offered hand, “Yeah, Paul, thanks. I’m waiting for one call, then I’ll get the rest of my stuff out of here.”
“Okay, Mitch. Just stop by on your way out.”
