A “Becoming” excerpt in sequence: Fireflys or Snowflakes

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Enraptured with the taste and touch of this kiss, as their upper bodies strained onto each other his splayed fingers held Marsha within the warmth of— wearing a sleeveless blouse—her bare armpit where the palm of his hand rested upon the soft swell of the outer side of her compressed breast and from the heat generated upon his hand he knew it was not padding that he felt and, Oh, God, how he wanted to hold this girl! But…

Her mouth open to his, the erotic probing of their tongues as much due to her passion as his and— psychologically reeling— this kiss emotionally was like no kiss Marsha had ever received, or given but now she did realize that he was touching—somewhat, kind of—touching her breast and as much as she did ‘not’ want to break the kiss or the mood, or ‘really’ for that matter, move his hand, Marsha did have her instinctive boundaries—especially with this, their first adult kiss—and was about to remove Mitchell’s hand when…

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June 16, 1955 to July 2, 1955

Chicago, Illinois

Snowflakes or Fireflys

Not having kissed any girl that had touched him as deeply as this kiss since he’d last kissed Susan—or possibly when Susan and he had first kissed—the feel of the softness of even this small a portion of Marsha’s breast filled Mitchell with an unfathomable desire. However realizing that this girl was not just another girl and even though he thought that she might not be aware of where his hand was but… Out of respect for what he knew was building between this girl and himself, moving his hand Mitchell placed both hands to either side of Marsha’s face.

Relived that she hadn’t had to move his hand; appreciating him all the more for the respect he’d shown by doing it himself but well aware that they had better stop this kiss before he touched her there again, when she ‘would’ have to move his hand, Marsha reluctantly broke their kiss.

Inches apart, still feeling the others warm breath on their lips.

“Jesus, Marcie!” Moving his face against hers. Feeling her cheek upon his. “You are some kisser!”

“Yeah? Well you’re no slouch, either!” Leaning back on the bench, “God!” drawing air into her lungs, “Is that how all sailors kiss?”

Holding her hand, “I don’t know,” he said, laughing. “To tell the truth I hardly ever kiss sailors.”

“And to tell you the truth, I don’t usually go ‘rund kissing guys like that on a first date… She chuckled. “And this isn’t even a date.”

“Marcie, you do know that this isn’t the first time we’ve kissed.”

“Yeah, Mitchie, I’ve thought about that, too.”

“You remember us kissing at the…”

“ ‘Lakeview Hotel’… Yes! How could I forget? That was like my very first real kiss.”

Amazed that he so clearly recalled that long-ago emotion that he ‘thought’ he had forgotten a day or two after it had happened. “Marcie,” lifting her hand to his mouth he kissed her palm, “when I kissed you then, at the hotel, the world seemed to spin for me.”

Not answering, Yeah, for me, too. Marsha remembered her world spinning then too, and now.

Hoping what he had said and what he was about to say didn’t come across as a corny line. “Tonight, just now, the world spun for me again and… Marcie, I’m going to be home for two weeks, and I have a feeling that we’re going to be seeing a ‘lot’ of each other… That’s if you want to.”

Oh, yes! But don’t be too anxious! she told herself. But her emotions not fully under control. “ ‘Yes’, Mitchie,” she said emphatically, “that’s just ‘fine’ with me!”

“Hey!” Arm in arm, coming abreast. “Where the hell’d you guys go?”

“Yeah! Every time we go for a walk, you two ditch us!” Pushing Marsha with her hips, “Scoot over!” Leaving a few inches on the outside of the bench for Norman. “So,” Shelly asked, looking at Mitchell, “you two catching up on lost time?”

Still holding her hand… “No, Marcie and me could never get caught up with what we’ve missed.” Feeling a tightening of her fingers.

Looking at her watch. “No rest for the wicked.” Standing, almost knocking Norman off the bench, “Got work tomorrow and gotta be up at six.”

“Yeah, Shell,” Marsha said reluctantly. “Me, too, I guess.”

Walking back to the street. Purposely falling behind again. “Marcie, I’m sailing to Michigan City with my dad and Larry tomorrow and won’t be back till Saturday evening and I’ve been thinking that, if you don’t mind being picked up by three ‘really’ scroungey guys, what if we pick you up on our way home from the club and you’ll have dinner at my house.” Still surprised at the depth of his feelings, he added, “Because I really want you to meet my family.”

He wants me to meet his family! Then, Slow down! she thought. For God’s sake, at least play a ‘little’ hard to get! “Yes! I’d love to meet your family!” Oh, well, so much for playing hard to get.

“Great! That’s ‘great’, Marcie!”

“Yeah, but,” she asked, “what boat? And what club?”

“My dad’s got a thirty-foot sloop.” Attempting to sound like it was no big deal, but yet bragging a bit. “And he belongs to the Columbia Yacht Club.”

****

Walter had sold the small boat the year before and purchased another boat, a much larger boat he could cruise in and also, he had hoped, a boat that Myra would feel safer on and enjoy spending an occasional day sailing on… But she ‘didn’t’and this boat, because of its size, range, and cost—even though Walter did still keep it in the yard off season—had become an even larger source of argument.

****

“Okay! So what’s a ‘sloop’?”

“A one-masted sailboat.”

“You belong to a yacht club and have a ‘one-masted sailboat’! Where do you live, Mitch?”

Glancing at her, “Skokie.”

“In a house?”

“Sure!” he answered matter-of-factually.

“Hey, Mitch, don’t say ‘sure’ that way. You’re one of the few people I know that lives in their own house.” Becoming thoughtful, quiet a few moments. “My dad’s always wanted to have a house and we could have had one a couple of years ago, but my mother wanted to live in a classy building near the lake,” she said bitterly. “And daddy ‘always’ does what mother wants!”

Noting the bitter inflection in her voice, but not feeling he knew Marsha well enough to question her.

“And you live within walking distance to the beach?”

“Sure!” she answered matter-of-factually.

“Hey, Marsha,” mimicking her, “don’t say ‘sure’ that way. You’re the ‘only’ person I know that lives in a ‘classy building’ and can walk to the beach whenever you want. No wonder you’re even tanner’n’me, and I just spent six weeks on the ocean.”

“And you own your own home in Skokie!”

“My folks and the bank own our home in Skokie.”

“And I suppose you own your own business, too?”

“It’s my dad’s business. He’s a commercial photographer.”

“Photographer? Oh, yes, you told me last time… ‘A home in Skokie’! ‘Your own business’! ‘A yacht club and a big, one-masted sailboat’, huh?”

“My folks business!” he corrected. “And the boat’s not all that big; it’s only thirty feet from stem to stern.” Smiling, “That’s nautical talk.”

“It’s big enough to cross the lake?”

“Yeah, sure it’s big enough to cross the lake.”

“So dere he goes vit da ‘sure’ hgain!”

Speaking in an exaggerated Yiddish accent.

“So hif hit’s big enough to cross mit da lake, den by me hit’s a big ship. Und, nu, he belongs to a ya-gh-t club, yet! You know from vat a good catch you are, uh…? Know vhat? I don’t heven know from your last name.”

“ ‘Lipensky’,” laughing so hard he could barely get it out. “And don’t be fooled by…”

“ ‘Lipensky’.” Mulling his name, Marsha cut him off. “So, nu, ‘Lipensky’, you know from vhat a good catch you are?”

“Like I was saying, don’t be fooled by all this.” Having a need to be honest with this girl. “It might sound like a lot, but my dad sweats his butt off making the payments each month. And Marcie, it’s a boat, not a ship. Remember, ‘you can put a boat on a ship, but you can’t put a ship on a boat’.”

“Oy, vey! Listen to mister big-shot sailor; snoops und snots und stairs, he’s talking.”

Laughing harder, “That’s ‘sloops’ and ‘stems’ and ‘sterns’.”

Walking a few more yards. Stopping suddenly and turning Marsha in his direction Mitchell pulled her into his arms and their mouths made contact and they stood, held tightly by four arms gripped about backs and waists...

As their mouths and bodies strained on to each other — Fireflies? Snowflakes?— he felt the soft, radiant heat of Marsha’s breasts and she the pressing of Mitchell’s erection and— their emotions traveling from heart to mind to genitalia— both came away from this kiss afraid to speak for fear of saying more than either felt they should say so soon after first ‘really’ meeting. But each felt sentiments they wish they or the other would put into words— but as neither could find the words— neither said anything and thinking their confused thoughts, holding hands the two began to walk.

Thinking, It’s so easy to kiss him! Meaning in both a spiritual and physical sense. Also,—and this thought was foremost in Marsha’s mind—in an erotic sense, too. And, What is it when he holds me? Marsha wondered... but did not realize that she was ‘comfortable’ in his arms, as though she belonged there…

And as far as she was concerned she ‘did’ because Marsha Goldman had harbored a restrained love for Mitchell Lipensky since that night in Union Pier, Michigan six years ago.

All thoughts of the boy she had met at the Palladium in 1949 would leave her mind for years at a time. But each time she had seen him—on the beach five years earlier, then at the ‘J’ last year—Marsha’s heart would quicken and the shrouded intensity of her feelings would surface and cause sense a longing in the pit of her stomach, and...

This night — being with the boy that had become a young man— was as though a dream come true and made even ‘more’ so because she felt, after all those years, that her affection was reciprocated.

But as much as Marsha was delighted by this night’s turn of events, she was also frightened by her instantaneous all but impossible-to-control passion.

A thought coming to mind: Wait till mother sees him! And Marsha had to stifle laughter because…

Rhea ‘never’ approved of ‘any’ of the boys her daughter had dated because the boys that she had been introduced to were either stupid, dumb, ugly, too tall, too short, too fat, had pimples and/or blackheads, or looked like bums or hoodlums.

It seemed to Rhea that Marsha brought these boys home just to annoy her—which, at times she did, because…

As for Marsha, the more her mother disliked a boy the more she liked him, or pretended to and now, looking at Mitchell, she couldn’t help but think again, Wait till mother sees him! Stifling laughter, You look like you’re in movies! Your parents own their own home and business and even a boat, even if it does have only one mast. Let’s see what mother can find wrong with you, Mitchell. Unable to hold back, she laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing really. I just thought of something.”

Coming off the moonlit beach path onto the artificially illuminated sidewalk of Pratt Boulevard—shifting her right hand into his right hand— he placed his left arm about her waist and was instantly gratified when Marsha responded by removing her right hand from his, replaced it with her left and immediately placed her right arm about his waist.

As the tails of Marsha’s blouse were tied rather than tucked into her jeans, the unexpected feel of warm bare flesh surprising and, God, it feels so good holding her. It’s like she fits, he thought. It’s like she’s made to be held by me.

The kissing, at the very least had aroused him...But then again— depending on the girl— he usually felt an ‘awakening’ whenever he kissed a girl. But there was ‘something’ else. The thought had entered his mind earlier and he’d pushed it away, but the thought had returned and at this time he ‘knew’ there was something about this girl that was… What?

The intensity of his feeling for Marsha—for the young girl that he had met at the Palladium in 1949 that had become the beautiful young woman that now walked by his side—the intensity of his feeling becoming stronger by the minute. Mitchell was further surprised when he realized that those feelings, at least for the moment, transcended sex. Also, he suddenly realized what he’d missed so much these past two and a half years: ‘love’! His heart jumping, ‘Love’! He wanted, once again, to love someone and, looking to his left, Mitchell Lipensky ‘knew’ that he loved Marsha Goldman. But yet, How can this be? He wondered. Outside of those couple of minutes at the J last year, now is the first time we’ve been together as adults… But I knew I loved Susan the second I saw her too. ‘God’!

Going back six years. Hearing the music. Seeing the flickering, firefly lights of the Lakeview Hotel. Visualizing the twinkling reflection of those lights in the Marsha’s dark eyes. Envisioning their purely chaste kiss, Mitchell further wondered, Could I have loved her then? Could I have loved her all these years without knowing? Without even remembering who she was?

“That’s where I live.” Marsha’s words breaking into his reverie, she pointed to a nine-story building directly across the street.

“Uh,” drawn back, “pretty classy,” he said, then, a look of near panic crossing his face, “You ‘don’t’ want to go in now, do you?”

Tightening her grip on his waist—playing hard to get no longer a remotely viable consideration— “God, ‘no’!” she said emphatically. “We’ll get the car and drop Shelly off, then you can take me home.”

“Good. I’m not ready to say goodnight yet.”

“Yeah,” she said softly, “me, too.”

Accepting his revelation of love, it became important that he analyze his feelings for Marsha ‘then’, while he was with her rather then later, when he’d be alone—when fantasy would replace fact.

Gathering his thoughts, bringing them into focus, Mitchell considered Marsha’s mental attributes and physical characteristics.

When he had seen her last year and earlier this evening, he’d considered her as somewhat above what he would usually consider as ‘simply’ pretty, but now?

Looking at Marsha. Being with Marsha her looks had grown on him and, thinking, her darkly tanned face reminded him of…? Thinking, Yeah! She reminded him of the movie star Jane Russell and, God, he thought, wondering how he hadn’t noticed before, She’s ‘beautiful’! Yes! Okay! Marsha was much thinner than he normally liked, yet, looking at her in Askanaz he’d seen a bit of cleavage through the unbuttoned collar of her blouse and what he had felt in the palm of his hand a short while ago sure as hell wasn’t padding.

In the past, if someone wanted to fix him up with a girl and told him, ‘She’s got a ‘great’ personality!’ he would automatically think, She’s got to be ugly! But Marsha, besides being, yeah! Okay! Besides being beautiful, Marsha had the most pleasing personality of any girl he’d ever known…

Also, she was ‘not’ going to college, so most probably a college education was not all that important to her…

Also, she seemed to remember that long ago evening as well as… maybe even better than he, so possibly it meant as much to her as it did to him. And yet another ‘also’ —possibly the most important ‘also’—he knew that Marsha ‘truly’ liked him. As a matter of fact, if what he was feeling was ‘really’ love, then he thought that, maybe, just maybe, as improbable as this whole thing was, Maybe she’s in love with me, too!

Arriving at the DeSoto, finding Norman and Shelly sitting on a front fender. “Jesus, Lipensky, the two’a’you are slower’n sh… uh, molasses in February.”

“Yeah,” Shelly added, “you guys stop off for a ‘quickie’ or something?”

Smiling, actually blushing under her tan. “ ‘No’! We didn’t ‘stop off for a quickie or something’! Did we, Mitch?”

“Yeah we did!” Fishing the keys from his pocket. Unlocking the passenger door. “Go on, Marcie, tell ’em the truth! It’s not nice to lie to your friends.” Reaching inside, unlocking the rear door while holding the front door open for Marsha. “It was ‘fantastic’, Shelly! Your girlfriend here is a ‘great’ giver iof quickies.”

Shelly brought home with a kiss and a promise to call her, Norman in the back seat, Marsha sitting alongside Mitchell.

“Mitchie, I want to ask you about something you said to me.”

“Yeah?” Glancing at her “What was that?”

“At the beach, before, when you invited me to your house for dinner on Saturday, you said that you wanted me to meet your family.”

“Yeah,” he said without hesitation. “I do!”

“Why’s that? Why do you want me to meet your family?”

Considering his answer, thinking, Because I always have my family meet the girls I’m in love with. But instead said, “Just because I do.”

Fishing. “Do you always bring girls home to meet your family? Especially on your first real date with a girl.”

“No… Well, yes, sometimes.” Looking at her... Bringing his attention back to the street. “The girls that are important to me.”

Needing to hear it. “And I’m important to you?”

Quiet a long moment. “Marcie, yes. It seems like suddenly you are ‘very’ important to me.”

Digesting this. Sensing the now familiar glow in her stomach. “Mitchie, I’d like you to meet mother and daddy also.”

Once again picking up on the strange way Marsha referred to ‘mother and daddy’. stopping in front of her building. Turning in the seat and looking at her. “Sure. I’d like to meet your folks, too. Only please! I’ll be so cruddy. ‘Not’ when I pick you up on Saturday!”

“Okay, not on Saturday.” Having not the ‘slightest’ doubt that they’d be together, thinking, We’ll do it on Sunday.

Looking over the seat, “Normie,” Marsha said, “I’m really glad to see you again, and know that Shelly is, too, and I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again,” glancing at Mitchell, “soon.”

Opening the door. Sliding out of the seat he opened the door for Marsha and when she stepped out of the car, hugging her, “Me, too, Marcie” Norman said, “I’m real glad we ran into you and Shelly tonight.”

Remembering. Rummaging through the glove department. Coming up with the stub of a pencil and a scrap of paper and handing both to her. “Thought I was going to forget again, huh?”

“You ‘kidding’?” Laying the paper on the fender, writing her phone number. “After six years I wouldn’t let you forget!”

Walking to the unlocked plate glass outer door. Taking a small ring of keys from her pocket, unlocking the inner plate glass door. “Come on. Keep me company upstairs.”

“Sure.” Following her over the maroon, plushy carpeted floor to a stainless-steel elevator door. “I planned on it.”

Marsha pressed the button. The door opened immediately and they stepped inside. Marsha pushed the ‘9’ button and before the door closed they were in each other’s arms. But the ride to the ninth floor was much too fast and when the door opened they were still in each other’s arms, still kissing. The door shut, but the elevator did not move.

Grudgingly breaking the kiss, breathing heavily, “Mitchie,” Marsha whispered in his ear, “what if someone wants to go downstairs and finds us here, like this?”

Breathing heavily. “Yeah,” he said begrudgingly, “guess you’re right.”

“You’ll call me when you get in on Saturday so I’ll know when to expect you? Any idea when?”

“Depends on the wind. Probably about… Oh, probably no later than two or three. But I’ll tell you something, Marcie; I won’t need a phone because as soon as I see Chicago’s skyline I’ll stand on the bow and yell, ‘Marcie Goldman, it’s Mitchie and I’m on my way to you’!”

She pressed the button. The elevator door sliding open. “I’ll be sure to leave the windows open, so I can hear you.”

They kissed lightly and whispered goodnight.

He watched as Marsha went to the first door on the adjacent wall to the right of the elevator, unlocked it, opened it, stepped inside, looked at him, threw a kiss and closed the door.

****

“Where were you tonight, Marsha?”

“Askanaz. For dinner.”

Going to the coffee table Marsha took the two pennies from the handful of change and bills that her father purposely left there each night before going to bed.

Cotton balls between her toes to keep her freshly lacquered toenails from touching, reclining on the sofa watching NBC’s pioneer late-night show ‘Broadway Open House’ with ‘Jerry Lester’, “Kind of late to be getting home if you just went for dinner.” Rhea’s legs were stretched across the coffee table.

“Yes, I know. But I met a boy there that I used to know from the country.”

“Another one of your ‘winners’, I suppose. What’s with this one: blackheads, pimples or just a schlub?”

Going to the dining room. Opening the green, imitation lizard overnight case that was on the floor alongside the dresser. taking the change from her pocket. Separating the pennies from a dime and two quarters, Marsha threw her four along with the two she’d taken off the coffee table into the case.

Returning to the living room and sitting on the edge of the sofa. “Oh, I don’t think there’s really ‘too’ much wrong with Mitchell.”

“Yes, I’m ‘sure’, Marsha. But knowing you, I wouldn’t make book on it.”

“Well, Mother, one of these days you might get the opportunity to meet Mitchell.”

Said with mock enthusiasm, “I can ‘hardly’ wait!”

“Me, too, Mother. Me, too.”

Rhea and Eli

A petite woman, Rhea Goldman was five feet, two inched tall. Had a flawless olive complexion and a beautiful, oval shaped face framed by long, raven-black hair. She had dark-brown eyes, thick lashes and brows plucked in the contemporary fashion. She had well-rounded hips and buttocks and was built in exact proportion to her size… except for two features: her breasts were large—and made to appear even larger due to her diminutive size—and her legs were thin—and made to appear even thinner due to her well-rounded hips and buttocks.

Rhea took great pride in her beautiful face and over-sized breasts and well knew how to use both to her best advantage. She’d also found that by wearing the highest heels of any shoe that was currently in fashion, the radical arch of the shoe would add curvature to her calves giving some semblance of shape to her lower legs which, after all, was all that most men would see… usually.

Best described, Rhea Goldman was intelligent, beautiful and exquisite… And vain, narcissistic… and extremely materialistic.

Eli Goldman was kind, softly spoken, generous and trusting— Where his wife was concerned, ‘much’ too trusting!

Eli stood slightly under five-seven. Had a thick neck, broad shoulders and powerful arms. He had a pleasing, manly face with curly, dark-brown hair, light blue eyes, a broad, freckle-scattered forehead, an amiable smile and what one might term as a moderately Semitic nose.

Not highly, formally educated, Eli was, nonetheless, extremely intelligent. But the deep love he felt for his wife and his ‘very’ trusting nature did not, however, allow him to see ‘any’ of Rhea’s imperfections: physical or moral and he considered his wife as a ‘delicate china doll’ that was ‘always’ kept upon his pedestal of adoration.

Between the end of the Great Depression and the start of World War II, Rhea had discovered that some men—some ‘rich’ men—were willing to be generous to her if she were ‘nice’ to them. In addition to her exotic beauty, Rhea had a nimble mind and most men that she’d meet would quickly become infatuated with her. So while Eli was at work—driving a bakery delivery truck from nine to ten hours a day, six days a week—Rhea began a series of affairs and flirtations that continued for the next thirty years.

The ‘friends’ Rhea made were the men—the ‘wealthier’ men—of her everyday life: the ‘jeweler’, the ‘furrier’, the ‘insurance broker’. Of ‘most’ importance—besides having money, of course—the man ‘must’ be married.

As far as the ‘friends’ were concerned, Rhea Goldman was ‘beautiful’ and ‘refined’. A ‘classy dame’ that needed more out of life than her ‘working stiff’ of a husband could provide and so long as they were careful, the situation was perfect for them because Rhea provided a safe place for their rendezvous and, as she was a married woman, she was ‘not’ about to advertise their friendship.

Pearl Schneider— Rhea’s widowed mother— had been able to keep most of her small fortune intact throughout the great depression and, though she did feel that Eli Goldman was beneath the social strata of her family, she also knew that he was a good, hardworking man who always treated her youngest daughter with love and respect so Eli was ‘fully’ accepted by the family. As a matter of fact, Eli was the person that many of the family’s more educated members went to when looking for a good, common sense answer to a problem.

Pearl was an ‘extremely generous woman that often gave her one son and three daughters gifts of cash, and ‘things’.

For this reason—after a rather verbal argument early on in their marriage—Eli had learned to ‘never’ question where the money came from for fashionable clothing and for what he considered unaffordable household items. To say ‘nothing’ of the additional cash needed for the rent on their apartments which were always located in neighborhoods far above his financial capabilities.

As for the gifts from his mother-in-law, not necessarily a proud man—except where his wife was concerned—Eli had thought, Hey, it makes life more enjoyable for Rhea, then it’s okay with me.

In 1932 Roger Keith Goldman was born.

Rhea hated what pregnancy did to her body: abdominal stretch marks, sagging breasts—more than their sheer weight naturally caused—misshapen figure and even a ‘Oh, my God’! varicose vein.

She had vowed that Roger would be an ‘only’ child... Rhea learned of her second pregnancy in March of 1936.

Believing it the child of her then-lover, ‘Paul Sorenson’, the light complected, blue-eyed, blonde-haired pharmacist, Okay, Rhea had thought, if ‘it’ has blue eyes, well, Eli’s eyes are blue. But what if ‘it’ turns out to be blonde?

When Rhea informed him, Sorenson ‘very’ quickly backed away from his presumed obligation... Along with Rhea.

Seven months later...“Look, Eli,” Rhea had said with ‘great’ relief, “she’s got your nose.”

Rhea loved Roger. Lavishing her love on him while barely tolerating her daughter which she had shown by ignoring the girl whenever and wherever possible.

Rhea’s family knew of this, of course. But as the years went by they began to feel that if they did nothing to help Rhea with the child —or come to the aid of the child —Rhea would eventually come to her senses and become a ‘real’ mother to her daughter...but Rhea ‘never’ did.

What began as a misguided conspiracy to teach a mother to care for her child became an unlearned lesson for the mother and a lifelong punishment to the girl.

Marsha grew up suffering from her mother’s and her family’s own special brand of abuse —apathy and indifference.

With the exception of Eli, whom she loved dearly, Marsha had always felt that she was unwanted and unloved and felt physically and mentally abandoned.

Marsha Goldman realized her mother’s infidelity at age seven but was then ‘under the threat of death’, ‘or worse’ by her brother and was told, ‘Daddy will have to get a divorce if you tell and it’ll be ‘all’ your fault and then we will give you away to ‘gypsies’

At age seven, not that Marsha knew what a divorce was or who gypsies were, but did know that a divorce was ‘very’ bad and being given away to gypsies was even worse. Because of these things and ‘especially’ because of little girl’s love of her father and her reluctance to see him hurt, Marsha ‘never’ told Eli.

In 1952 Rhea and Eli purchased a combination bar and liquor store with money borrowed— in part from Pearl— but mostly loaned to Rhea by one of her ‘friends’.

The Broadmore Bar and Liquor Store flourished.

**** 

“But, honey, there’s only one bedroom. Where’ll the kids sleep?”

“I know, sweetheart, but look!” Pulling Eli to the window. Standing slightly to the side and behind, pressing her body against his back Rhea pointed to the east. “We’ve a view of the lake here.”

“Rhe, I know, but…”

Rubbing her breasts seductively against his back. “Think how cool it’ll be during the summer, when it’s so damned hot and humid.”

“Yes, Rhe, but they’re offering ‘FHA’ loans in Skokie and Morton Grove and we could get a house for almost nothing down, and the payments on our own house will come to less than the rent here.”

Ignoring her husband’s desire and common-sense logic. “You ‘love’ to fish! Think about it! On Sundays you and your daughter can just walk to the pier and go fishing.”

“But the kids, Rhe! Where’ll the kids sleep?”

“The dining room’s huge! We can put the sofa-bed in there for your daughter. We need a new sofa anyway, so we’ll buy another sofa-bed and put it in the living room for Roger.” Dragging him out of the bedroom, into the living room. “There,” she’d said, pointing towards the double-hung windows. “Roger can sleep there, where it’ll be nice and cool in the summer.”

“But, Rhe,” he’d said sadly, “don’t you want to have your own home? Wouldn’t it be nice to own our own house?”

“Eli,” turning him in her direction, standing on tiptoes and putting her arms about his neck. “ ‘Sadie’ and ‘Ida’ live across the street, and I don’t want to live that far from them anymore.”

From her sisters, yes… Also from her ‘friends’.

“Skokie isn’t all that far from here, and you know I’ve ‘always’ wanted a yard that I can putter around in.”

“But, Eli...” Pouting, her eyes wide and glassy, she’d looked up at him. “...you know how much I’ve missed them since they’ve moved here.” Taking his hand, she placed it on her chest. “Please, Eli!”

**** 

The Broadmore Bar and Liquor Store did flourish... Until, after an argument and a parting of the ways between Rhea and her ‘friend’ with the curt announcement by Rhea that, “You’re ‘never’ going to see another penny of that money! And just what in the hell are you going to do about it? Tell your wife?”

A week later The Broadmore Bar and Liquor Store succumbed to a fire of suspicious nature.

The Broadmore carried enough insurance to repay the loan from Pearl with enough money left to purchase a ten-stool, three-booth hot dog and hamburger joint near the ‘Chicago Stadium’ in the ‘skid row’ area of Chicago’s near north side.

‘Eli’s Vienna Hot Dogs & Hamburgers’ turned out to be a bit of a moneymaker but in order to continue living in their ninth-floor, one-bedroom apartment near the beach, Eli worked six days a week, from 6 a.m. to 6 p.m., when he was relieved by his divorced brother, Marcus, who in turn would leave when Eli arrived in the morning. After graduating high school, Roger worked at Eli’s from seven in the morning to five in the evening, five days a week.

 Next “Becoming” excerpt in sequence: 6/17/55: Friendship