____________________________________________________________________

For Marsha: Triggered by the warm pulsing felt within the wall of her uterus, minimally as strong as the clitoral orgasm of a few minutes earlier—maybe, because pain, sweet or hurtful, is not too long remembered—this vaginal orgasm warmed Marsha as none other in memory.

Her passion ebbing, “Yes, Mitchie,” opening her eyes, looking into those of her husband, Marsha whispered, “you are home again.”

Deviant 11: Life Onward

Michael on his father’s lap watching television, Mitchell sat on the floor with his back against the sofa.

On the sofa with her husband’s shoulder between her legs, enjoying the soft, brush-like feel, lightly brushing the palm of her hand over his short-cut hair, “So,” sex over, thoughts of practicality setting in, “where’ve you been working?”

“That new parking place on Mozart, off Devon.”

“I know where it’s at. And the pay—you say it’s good?”

“Yeah. It’s more, with overtime, much more than at the studio.”

Thinking, That, I can believe! But knowing Mitchell, “You enjoy doing that kind of work?” she asked dubiously.

“At least no one makes me feel guilty every time I get paid. As far as the work goes? Outside of shlepping concrete—except when it’s really hot out—so far it hasn’t been all that bad, but winter’ll be another story.”

Knowing his future was her future, “This is what you really want to do?”

“No,” he said after a few seconds. “I think I’ll be getting a new job soon.”

“Yeah?” Relieved. Glad to hear it, “Doing what?”

“A friend of mine, a guy I work with, told me that the company his father works for was looking for a couple’a new sales trainees, so I called them and had an interview, and they want to talk to me again after I get off work on Wednesday.”

“How come you didn’t mention this before?”

Tilting his head back, looking at her, “First off, I didn’t know where we were, or if there even was a ‘we.’ Then, to be honest, I forgot because, you know, there were other things on my mind.” Hesitating, he added, “Only problem is, if they hire me—us—we’ll probably have to relocate.”

“Relocate? Move from Chicago?”

“Yeah. They haven’t hired me yet, but if they do, we’ll probably have to move.”

“This a job you think you’ll enjoy?”

“It’s been kind of nice not having to worry about where to go and who to call on, but, yeah, I think I’d enjoy working there.”

Getting up, going to the refrigerator, pouring two glasses of Kool-Aid, coming back to the sofa, Marsha handed a glass to Mitchell. “Know what?”

Holding the glass to Michael’s mouth, then looking at his wife over his shoulder, “What?”

“Things haven’t been all that great since we’ve been back, and maybe being away from both our families… away from our mothers, would be good for us, for our marriage. Who are they?”

Out of context, the question threw him for a moment. “The company, you mean?”

“Yeah. Who are they? How’s the pay? What would you be selling?”

“If I get the job!”

“Mitchie, if you want the job, you’ll get the job!”

Wanting to hear her say it, “How do you know that, Marsha?”

“How do I know that? Because…” Saying something she’d said a number of times in the past. Saying something she unknowingly said to convince herself as much as he. Saying something that in one sense pleased Mitchell and in another caused him concern… “Because you can do anything you want!”

On the one hand his wife was telling him she believed in him and had faith in him, which is what Mitchell wanted to hear. But on the other hand her words told him that success was wholly in his hands because if he truly wanted to do something he could… And this freightened him because, what if, really he couldn’t.

“Envelopes.”

“Huh?”

“Envelopes. The company makes envelopes.”

Having much the same thought Mitchell had when Earl first mentioned it. “Envelopes?”

“Yeah. Name of the company’s Transco and I’d be selling all kinds of envelopes to all kinds of businesses. And the starting pay’s about $85 a week for a guy with a family, including insurance. By the way, they want guys with families.”

“That’s sure you! And $40 a month more than you were making at the studio and insurance, too, huh? For me’n’ Mikey, too?”

“Sure for you’n’ Mikey, too! That’s if I get the job.” Having the feeling he would get the job, relieved that Marsha had accepted the relocating part as well as she had… actually much better than he could have hoped for.

“Now,” Mitchell asked, “what’s for dinner?”

“If you want, we can go into town again for dinner then go on down to beach for any fireworks people are going to shoot off. Or, if you’d rather, there’s a barbecue outside, and if you clean it, I’ll run over to Red-Dot and get hot dogs and buns.”

Home again. “Yeah!” he said. “Hot dogs sound just fine to me! Then we’ll go back to the beach.”

                                                       **** 

Sitting on a step, she kept one eye on Michael, who was toddling about, and the other on Mitchell, who, tending the hot dogs, had his back to her.

Spotting a toy, dropping to his bottom, Michael rolled the plastic truck in the sandy soil.

“Mitchie,” going to the barbeque, putting her arms about his waist, straddling his back, “I’ve been think about it and…” rather sure of what he’d say, but wanting to make the gesture, “if you want us to, we’ll go back with you on Sunday.”

Hearing the words he’d hoped to hear, rotating the hot dogs, turning, he faced her. “I’m glad you said that, but I’ve been thinking about that, too, and I know how much you like it here and so long as you’n’Mikey and all our stuff’s here and it’s not costing anything for rent,” smiling, “and so long as we haven’t anyplace to go anyway, why don’t you stay here for the summer so we’ll be able to catch up on some bills before we have to pay rent again. Besides, this’ll give me someplace to go on weekends and it’ll almost be like a vacation for me, too. And if you always welcome me like today…”

This being exactly what she’d hoped he’d say, but, “You’re sure it’s okay? I mean it!”—she did—“We will go back with you if that’s what you want.”

“No, honey, really, I’m looking forward to it this way.”

Sitting on the steps eating hot dogs and potato chips. In deep thought, quiet the past few minutes, “Marcie, I want to talk to you about my folks.”

Sighing, “Mitchie, I don’t…”

Holding a hand forward, “No! Please listen a minute!”

He waited for her to say something. When she didn’t, “I am so sick and tired of Mikey and me being in the middle between you and my mother so, fuck it! I told her and I’m telling you: whenever you’re ready to call her whatever you want to call her you will! And whenever you’re ready to see them again you will! And I also told her if she doesn’t like it,” stretching the truth a little, “she’ll be seeing a lot less of me, too!”

A bit disbelieving, “Really, Mitchell? You really said that to your mother?”

“Yeah, Marcie,” he said sincerely. “I did! I really did.”

Deciding he’d rather spend the night, leaving Lakeside at 4:00 a.m. Monday morning, Mitchell drove directly to the Mozart Street job site.

July 7, 1958

“Walter Lewis Studio. Good morning.”

Knowing the inquisition he’d be facing that evening when he got home from work. Knowing he hadn’t called to tell them they were together again. Overflowing with renewed, refound love and wanting to make things easier for him, very much out of character, What the hell, Marsha thought. “Then” is over with and now’s a new beginning, so what the hell!

“Myra, hi! It’s me, Marsha.”

Shocked! Moving it from her ear, Myra looked at the phone questioningly, then replaced it. “Well, hello.” Attempting to sound as though her heart wasn’t in her throat. “How are you? How’s my grandson?”

“Fine! As a matter of fact, we’re better than fine and… Look, Myra, what’s past is past, okay?” Not waiting for a response, “The reason I’m calling is because I know you miss Mikey and I’m calling to invite you and Walter, and the kids, too, to come to Lakeside next Friday and spend the weekend.”

More than shocked now, at a loss for words…. “Next weekend?” Completely surprised at Marsha’s call, but knowing her son, not all that surprised. “You two are together again, aren’t you?”

She’d been speaking sedately, without rancor. “Yes we are!” Now, though, her voice hardening, the tone of Marsha’s words coming as an ultimatum to accept the reconciliation… Or else! “You do want to see your grandson again! Don’t you Myra?”

Missing her grandson terribly, Myra was intelligent enough to realize her daughter-in-law was handing her an ultimatum, along with an olive branch, and if she didn’t take it…

In a way and for reasons Myra could not fathom, she did miss her daughter-in-law. Besides, she had made the first move, hadn’t she? So, “Yes, Marsha, we’ll be glad to come! I’m sure the kids’ll be only too happy to spend a weekend at the beach. I’m not too sure about Walter, though. It is the sailing season, you know.”

“Okay, Myra, that’s good… I guess Walter will have to make a choice then, won’t he?”

“Oh,” she said threateningly, “trust me, Walter will make the right choice!”

Marsha knew she would have to do some major rearranging to fit four more people in an overstuffed, two-bedroom cottage. But after all the weeks of loneliness, the thought of having company, of spending time at the beach with her son and Larry and Mortie, whom she’d really missed, delighted her. “Look, Mitch will probably come straight from work, so if you like, the four of you can come as early Friday as you want so the kids can spend the whole day at the beach.”

“Thank you, Marsha.” Myra said sincerely. “I really appreciate that! Tell you what… Do you have a grill there?”

“Yes. I even had Mitchell clean it.”

“Okay. Don’t you shop for anything! I’ll bring enough of everything for the weekend.”

“Okay, Myra.” Adding just as sincerely, “I’m looking forward to it… Bye.”

“Bye, Marsha and,” she repeated, “thank you.”

“Walt!” Myra yelled. “You’ll never guess who just called and invited us for the weekend!”

                                                                      *****

He’d been sitting on the stoop waiting for him and, bounding up as soon as the Ford turned the corner, “Mitchie, hi! Guess what?” Morton asked excitedly. Then, not waiting for an answer, “Me’n’dad’n’Larry are sailing to Michigan City on Thursday and mom’s gonna meet us there on Friday morning an’ then guess what? We’re gonna stay with you’n’Marsha’n’Mikey till Monday!”

Wondering how he was going to tell his parents that he and Marsha were together again, having spent the entire day concocting a speech, of sorts, his mouth dropping open, “Huh?” Mitchell said. “Huh?” 

This will be the last of the Divant series. The story will continue entitled "Book 2"

                                                          Thank you

                                                             Mark