________________________________________________________________________
“Really?” Becoming excited, “Two floors! How many bedrooms?”
“Two. There’s two nice sized bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs and—get this—another toilet downstairs, and a kitchen big enough for us to eat in, and a living room with a dining area. The one I looked at is on the end, so we’re only attached on one side so we’ve got a yard for Mikey…”
“A yard! Is it fenced?”
“No, but there’s plenty of room for a swing set and there’s swing sets and sandboxes all over the place, so there’s got to be lots of kids around, and it’s…”
“How much is it?”
“You’ll never believe it!”
“Yeah,” Marsha asked excitedly, “so how much is it?”
“Seventy-five a month.”
________________________________________________________________________
Chicago, Illinois
Friday, January 9, 1959
“Hi!”
“Jesus, Mitchie!” Usually a deep sleeper, sensing when… Startled when the door was unexpectedly opened. “You scared the hell out of me!”
“Sorry, honey.”
Glancing at the clock, rubbing her eyes, “I didn’t expect you till later.”
“Yeah, I know, but we’ve so much to do, thought it would be a good idea to come in this morning to get started.”
“Yeah, but it’s not even nine. When’d you leave?”
“’Bout five-thirty… Mikey’s still at my mom’s, huh?”
“She wants to spend as much time as possible with him before we go.” Adding, “Also, it gets him out of our hair.”
“Hmmm!” His right eyebrow going up, “So we’re alone, huh?”
“Thought you said, ‘we’ve so much to do’?”
“Yeah,” sitting on the edge of the bed, kicking his shoes off, “but I’ve always got time for…” Nuzzling her neck, enjoying the warm, soft feel of Marsha’s sleep warmed flesh. “…this.”
Wanting to also, pulling the pajama top over her head, the comparatively cool air tightening her nipples, wiggling out of her bottoms, “How was the drive in?” Bringing the blanket to beneath her chin, moving to the side, she made room for him.
Pulling his socks, jeans and shirt off, “Okay.” Crawling beneath the blanket, “It was… Mmmm.” His lips closing around a nipple, her hand closing around his penis, “…fine.”
****
Looking at him, “That was pretty fast, Mister.”
“Yeah, sorry.” Looking down at her, “but that’s what happens when I’m away from you for five days.”
“You left Monday, and you’re home today, so actually,” tugging the hair of both armpits, “you were only away three days.”
“Hey, that tickles!” Rolling off, laying on his back, Mitchell watched as Marsha’s nipples flattened, and Marsha watched the reversal of Mitchell’s erection, along with the dangling reservoir of latex that held his semen.
The apartment paid through the end of the month, planning on a few U-Haul trips over the next three weeks, taking what they’ll immediately be needing…
“Okay!” Bounding off the bed, “Let’s get packin’!”
Peoria, Illinois
Saturday, January 10, 1959
“Heartaches by the number, trouble by the score,
Every day you love me less, each day I love you more.”
On the outskirts of Pontiac, Illinois, the Chicago station fading, he switched to Peoria’s, WHIP. “This is J. Stanley, the ‘old Jay bird,’” the announcer said. “And for those of you driving the central plain today, better keep an eye out for snow flurries.”
“Yeah, pal,” Mitchell said. “I am!”
****
The wipers leaving streaky, crescent shaped wet swatches on the dirty windshield, melting as they landed, heavy flakes of snow blew onto and swirled past the windows.
“Mommy!”
Turning, “Hi, baby.” Taking Michael from the back seat, Marsha held him on her lap. “You hungry?”
Two months short of two, “Snowing!” Almost always willing to eat something, vigorously nodding his head in the affirmative, “Yeah!” Michael said.
Reaching over the seat again, taking a box of Nabisco Vanilla Wafers from the bag on the floor, glancing at the straining top and tensing as a gust of wind, transmitting to the Ford convertible, rocked the U-Haul trailer. “How much further, Mitchie?” Opening the box, Marsha gave her son a cookie.
Slowing even further, doing his best to show indifference to the snow and wind, “We’re coming to Metamora… So, I’d say about another ten, twelve miles.”
The frightening, yawing sensation repeated as the car and trailer were buffeted once again.
“Think maybe we should have waited till tomorrow?”
“It might be worse tomorrow. Besides, I wanted to get in today to give us all day Sunday to kind of settle in, to give us a day to get used to the place, together, before I have to go back to work.” His knuckles turning white, Mitchell squeezed the steering wheel as another gust rocked the U-Haul, which further rocked the Ford.
****
“Out in the west Texas town of El Paso,
I fell in love with a Mexican girl.
Night time would find me in Rosa’s cantina,
music would play and Gelina would whirl.”
The radio played on.
Holding his breath, pumping the break gently, letting his breath out, Thank God!
Making a slow right turn onto the McClugage bridge, the muddy convertible drove over the Illinois River onto East Memorial Drive.
The anticipation of seeing their new home dulled by the last hour’s scary, snowy, windblown drive, off the highway now and into the city, loosening her tight hold on Michael, Marsha’s level of expectancy once again buoyed. “How far now, Mitchie?”
“Actually,” glancing at her, “we’re pretty close.”
Snow was beginning to build on the streets when, within a few minutes, turning left, the Ford steered off East Memorial Drive onto Wisconsin Avenue, then slowly went about a mile.
Stopping, rolling his fog cast window down, “We’re here!”
Leaning forward, Marsha looked past her husband, to the opposite side of the street.
Covering the entire block were a number of near identical, U-shaped clusters of two story, wood frame structures containing four doorways each. The sign in front read
WISCONSIN VILLAS.
Rolling the window up, driving on a moment, stopping at the juncture of a driveway, “That’s ours,” pointing through Marsha’s window to the unit on the left side of the building at the far end of the court. Turning into the driveway, the car went to the end, made a wide right turn and, not being too great at parking a trailer—actually being lousy at parking a trailer—rather than parking in the singular space alongside the yard, parking horizontally at the end of the shallow yard, switching the motor off, turning to his wife and child, “We’re home,” Mitchell said.
Carrying Michael so he didn’t get his stockinged feet wet, entering through the back door into the kitchen, “Mitchie,” immediately noticing the built-in oven and range, “there’s no refrigerator.”
“Sorry, honey. But I only saw it the one time and liked it so much I guess I forgot to tell you.”
Mentally measuring the small—although larger than any they’d previously had—but workable kitchen, visually placing their table and chairs, “So we’ll buy a refrigerator. It’ll be nice having our own for a change.” Walking into the L-shaped living room, Marsha visually placed that furniture too. “Carpeting nice,” she said, looking into the half toilet.
“Yeah, the agent said carpet’s only about a year old.”
“We’ll have to put a gate down here.” Starting up the carpeted steps, “and one up here, too.”
“Yeah,” Mitchell said, “the agent said it’ll be okay to do that.”
Though in the three years of their marriage they had lived in four different apartments, outside of Lakeside—which they’d never thought of as “home”—this was the first time they would have…
“Our own bedroom!” Marsha said, looking into one, then the other like sized bedroom that, separated by the bathroom, were on opposite sides of the hallway.
“So, you like it?”
“Yes,” she answered, kissing him on the cheek. “I do like it, very much!”
Pleased at her reaction, “Honey,” he said, “we can figure where to put it all later, but it’s still early enough so, if you’ll give me a hand shlepping the stuff into the house, we’ll have time to find someplace to buy a refrigerator before we get rid of the trailer.”
“Yeah, sure, Mitch, and we’d better find a phone to let everyone know we got here okay.”
****
Wanting to beat Saturday’s forecast of “the possibility of snow,” utilizing Lawrence once again, this time with the help of Walter, along with some help from Morton, the small enclosed trailer had been packed the day before and—sleeping in the house in Skokie—they had been on their way by eight a.m. Even with slowing due to worsening driving conditions, they had arrived at Wisconsin Villas at 12:45 p.m.
****
“Hello!”
Looking at each other, starting down the stairs, “Yeah, hi!”
Wearing jeans, a flannel shirt and what appeared to be a vest made of deerskin, the man held the hand of a little girl in a snowsuit. “Hi!” The man—about the same age as Mitchell—said in what Marsha and Mitchell would later learn was an Appalachian accent, “Sorry to jus’ be walkin’in, but the door was open… I’m Hugh Ivy.” Holding his hand forward, “An’ this here’s Rebecca.” Nudging the girl with his hip, “Becky, say hello to the people.”
Her eyes cast downward, “Hello,” Rebecca said shyly.
“Hi,” shaking hands, “I’m Mitch Lipensky and this is my wife, Marsha, and the little guy’s Michael.”
“How old’s he?”
“Twenty-two months,” Marsha replied. “Come on, Mikey,” pulling him forward, “say hello to Becky… How old’s your daughter?”
“Nearing three… At’s okay, Mike,” ruffling the little boy’s hair. “The two a’you’ll be great pals.”
Hugh said, “My wife, Val—Valerie—sent us over… She’d’a come, too, ’cept’in we got us a new baby an’ she’s ‘tendin’ to it, but she sent Becky’n me over to say hello an’ to see if I can give you a hand,” jerking his thumb over his shoulder, “unlodin’ that thing.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Mitchell said. “Matter of fact, Marcie’n’me were just talking about that… Also we need a refrigerator.”
“Tell you what…” Patting her on the behind, Hugh propelled his daughter towards Michael. “You go an’ play with that little boy now!”
Returning his attention to Mitchell. “You’n’me’ll unload that thing,” again motioning over his shoulder, “an’ the three’a’us’ll… Val’ll keep an eye on the kid, if you want, an’ I’ll take the two’a’ya to a place on Jefferson I know that’s got all kinds’a ’pliances, an’ they’ll load it onto the U-Haul an’ you’n’me’ll haul it back here so leastways you’ll have the fridge today.” Abruptly turning his attention to Marsha, “Guess you’ll need to get to a A’n’P too, eh?”
Not knowing many…hell, not knowing any “hillbillies,” not quite sure what to make of Hugh Ivy, thinking that somehow his dialect had to be a “put on”… “Thanks, Hugh,” Marsha said. “We can certainly use the help, and I do have to get to a store and I’d love to have the refrigerator today.”
****
Unwilling to leave her son with a woman she’d just met, sitting in the back with Michael on her lap, “What do you do, Hugh?”
Turning, Hugh Ivy looked at Marsha. Accustomed to fuller bodied, lighter complexioned women, harboring minimal prejudice—not knowing many, hell, not knowing any—thinking they might be Jews, not quite sure he liked this woman’s particular type of beauty, “I work over at Cat…”
“Caterpillar Tractor?”
“Yeah, I’m a foreman in one’a the machine shops.”
Impressed, “Really!” Mitchell said. “You’re kind’a young to be a foreman, ain’t’ch’ya?”
“Nah. I been workin’ ’round ’quipment all my life… What’a you do, Mitch?”
“I’m a salesman. I sell envelopes.”
Not impressed, Hugh simply said, “Oh.”
****
At Central Appliance Marsha and Mitchell Lipensky purchased a harvest gold Philco refrigerator, which they hadn’t expected to buy, along with something they were looking forward to buying: a double bed.
Because they were making more money and their rent was far less than they’d been paying, and because they would rather use the extra money from their moving allowance for groceries and, maybe, for something they hadn’t the money to do in, so it seemed, ages—going out for dinner and, when they found a babysitter, to a movie—adding this day’s purchases of $12 a month to their EZ Credit, gave them a grand total of set monthly payments—less the seven dollars a month for the pots and pans that had been paid off—of $174.78, which in itself was not too bad, but what they did not expect, in addition to electricity, that they’d paid while living in the apartment on Winchester, were the monthly payments for gas and water.
