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Ready for occupancy when Halfmoon returned to Staten Island on December twelfth, five days before the “real” wedding, even though the Tennenabums were allowing occupancy, as a wedding gift to Ida Charney’s grand nephew—that nice Jewish boy and his “shayner kalleh,” [pretty bride]—the actual rental would not begin until January first.

Marsha had sent her clothing and shower gifts—pots, pans, dishes, silverware, linens and the dozens of knick-knacks that go into making a room a home—by rail-express, and the four large boxes had been accepted by Mrs. Tennenbaum and carried into the apartment by a workman.

Mitchell would have two liberties to unpack and get the apartment ready before he returned to Chicago on Friday the sixteenth, the day before the wedding. He’d even thought of ordering a telephone from New York Bell, which will have been installed by the time he got home…

Home!

The black clouds were now stippled with streamers of light and the jagged holes lined with silver.

__________________________________________________________________

December 12, 1955

Seagate, New York

“Marcie!” Purposely not calling till now, “Hi, sweetheart!”

“Mitchie! You’re back!”

“Yeah! Oh, baby, I love you! I miss you!”

“God! Me too, honey! I love you, too!”

“Hey, you’ll never guess where I’m calling from.”

“The boatyard?”

“Too easy. Nah!”

“Aunt Ida’s?”

“No.” Never telling her he’d ordered a phone, “I’ll give you a hint… Ready?”

“Sure!”

“I’m sitting on the floor and I’m surrounded by all kinds’a junk.”

“Home! Mitchie, you’re in our home!”

Our home. The thought bringing tears to his eyes, “Yes, baby. I’m…” momentarily finding it hard to speak, “I’m home.”

“When’d we get the phone?”

“I ordered it before I left. Mrs. Tennenbaum let the guy in to install it.”

“God, Mitchie, I wish it was all over with and I was there with you, on the floor.”

“Me, too, honey. Only we wouldn’t just be sitting on the floor.”

“Yeah? What would we be doing?”

“Oh, baby, you know what we’d be doing! So…” Bracing himself for complaints, “How’s everything in Chicago?”

Afraid if she started she’d tell Mitchell about the coffee-throwing incident, “Fine, Mitchie.” Telling herself to hold off with the complaints. “Now that you’re back, everything’s just fine!”

Relieved, “You know,” he said, “not everything we got works like it’s supposed to.”

“Hmm. Everything should. What’s not working?”

“They let the liberty section off as soon as we secured, and knowing all this stuff’s here waiting for me to put away, and that I couldn’t talk to you till you got home from work at about six, your time, and seeing as I was hungry, on the way here I stopped and got some stuff at the A&P, and tried to make blintzes in the electric frying pan you sent, but the damned thing wouldn’t get hot. I had those blintzes in there for almost an hour and they wouldn’t even defrost, so I finally cooked ’em on the stove in a regular frying pan. And talk about bad design, Jesus! You know they got a screw inside the pan holding the electric coil on? I was afraid to dunk it in water, so I…” hearing laughter, “so I, uh, just kind’a sponged it off.”

On the other end of the line, “Mitchie,” in Chicago, Marsha was laughing so hard she could barely get the words out, “where’s the pan now?”

“I was going to dump it, but thought I’d let you take a look at it so maybe you can figure out how it’s supposed to work.”

“Go get it!”

“Hold on,” Putting the phone down, back in a few seconds, “Okay, I got it.”

“Mitchell, look at it closely.”

Looking at it, “So?” He turned it over.

“Mitchie,” laughing again, harder, “the cover’s…” catching her breath, “inside the pan. I put it in upside down to save space and you…” breaking up again, “just tried frying blintzes in the lid.”

Looking at it closely, yanking on the side of the pan, he pulled the lid out. “Damn!” Now laughing, too, “Who’d’a guessed?”

Another reason she loved him: the ability to laugh at himself. “Almost any genius!” She giggled. “God, Mitchie, this is going to be so much fun! I can’t wait to see you again!”

“Five days!” Can you believe it? Only five days!”

“Yeah, honey, but only four till I see you.”

                                                                                  **** 

On Friday the sixteenth of December, Mitchell had permission to go ashore two hours earlier than the regular commencement of liberty.

Leaving from LaGuardia, flying to Chicago, arriving at 6:10 p.m. Chicago time, he was to be picked up at Midway and taken directly to the hotel for the rehearsal. On Saturday morning Mitchell would go with his father for his tuxedo and, after making certain that everything fit, he and Marsha—and he could hardly wait—were to be driven to Myron’s used car lot where they were to take delivery of the car Marsha’s uncle Bill had bought for them for a wedding gift.

The wedding was to be held in an adjoining hall and the reception and dinner in the Crystal Ballroom of the Palmer House starting at 6:30.

The newlyweds were to sleep at the Palmer House that night, where—and he could not wait—they would finally consummate their two-month-old marriage.

The next morning, whenever, they awoke and, what’s more important, whenever they decided to get out of bed and get dressed, Marsha and Mitchell were to drive to Skokie for brunch with both families, load their new car with whatever clothing hadn’t been shipped ahead, then drive to New York City, spending one night—and he could hardly wait—on the road, arriving at their new home in Seagate sometime Monday afternoon.

They had decided to spend as much time as possible in their new home before he had to report back and, as she’d never been there, Mitchell wanted to show Marsha those sights of New York City that he knew, and discover other places together, making those few days of his leave somewhat of a honeymoon.

The seven-day leave period was to officially begin on Monday, December nineteen, and end at 6:00 a.m. on Monday, December twenty-six, which, as it happened, covered Christmas day.

                                                                          **** 

“So, how’s the apartment look?”

Marsha knew it was only one room, but hadn’t the slightest idea how it had been decorated.

“It’s beautiful, Marcie! I can’t wait till you see it.”

“Mitchie, come on, don’t be so mean,” Pouting over the telephone, “Pleeease tell me what it looks like!”

“Nope!”