A FBOW excerpt in sequence: “A Delusional Woman” ________________________________________________

Chicago, Illinois

November 6, 1956.

“Jesus, Mitchell,” standing back, Gina held him at arm’s length, “you grew up great!”

“Yeah,” he lied, “you, too!” Because —for his taste, Gina was still the complete opposite of what he even remotely considered to be attractive in a woman and, truly, she did not look good to him at all. But he did not know what else to say.

No longer having green teeth, her front teeth disproportionately white, Gina was still tall and skinny, at least the upper portion of her body. Her hips, though, from what Mitchell ‘thought’ he remembered and felt when he’d held her, had widened considerably.

______________________________________________

Wearing a dark blue, fashionably correct dress for a receptionist at a Michigan Avenue advertising agency, Mitchell mentally conceded that—now that he’d, sort of, gotten used to the look of her—Gina was somewhat attractive, in a rather gaunt sort of way.

Even though her outward demeanour had seemingly matured, Mitchell could not relate this woman to the girl whom— the last time he had seen her, had his penis in her mouth.

“Your mom…” Fishing for conversation, remembering she’d told him that her father had deserted them when she was a young child, “…she okay? You ever hear from your dad?”

“Don’t know. I haven’t talked to her in a couple’a years now,” Gina said matter-of-factually. “...an’ I never heard from my ol’ man. Don’t even know if the bastard is dead or alive.”

Having no response to this — as the thought of a family this broken near inconceivable to Mitchell.

Looking at her watch, “Mitch, it’s past time for my break. What say you’n’me go down for a cup’a coffee an’ talk for a few minutes to kind’a get, uh, reacquainted.”

Having no objection to knowing what had happened in her life for the past seven and a half years, or to let her know what had happened in his. Also somewhat flattered by her attention and obvious attraction. “Yeah, sure...” Mitchell said. “...coffee sounds great. I’ve been out there freezing…”

“Your balls off.”

“Yeah...” Smiling, “...it’s colder’n’a…”

“Witches tit.”

Oh, well. So much for her inner demeanour.

“Yeah...” agreeing, “...it is ‘colder’n’a witches tit’.”

Lifting the phone, dialling a two digit number. “Shelly, I’m taking my break. How’s ‘bout pickin’ up for me?… Thanks.”

“My case…” Mitchell asked. “...okay to leave it here?”

“Yeah, sure.” Going to the door, “Come on.”

“No coat?”

“Don’t need it. Restaurant’s just a couple’a doors down.”

“Gina, you’ll freeze your, uh, butt off!”

“Don’t worry ‘bout my butt. Remember me...” sending, so she thought, a subtle message, “...I’m ‘always’ hot!”

Catching the ‘not’ so subtle message. “Yeah, I remember.”

When Mitchell had first met Gina she seemed to be in heat from the moment he and Frank had walked through the door. So now did not have the slightest doubt about the meaning of this ‘non-subtle’ statement.

Knowing he certainly would rather not, seeing as she did, “Might as well leave my coat hare also, then.”

In the crowded elevator, allowing Gina first entry, with her standing immediately behind Mitchell sensed the light touch of her breasts, stomach and thighs as she pressed against his back… Although there was room, rationalising she might consider it rude if he moved forward, he did not.

Outside, the bone chilling wind blew against Gina’s dress, contouring the slick material against the sharp points of her breasts, the thin roundness of her thighs and deeply through the valley formed by her crotch, outlining the pronounced bulge of her vulva.

Although instantly feeling the wind cut to his bones, Mitchell did, indeed, notice the clothed outline of Gina’s body.

In the restaurant they sat on opposite sides of a small table where Gina’s nylon clad ankle lay—accidentally?—across Mitchell’s wool clad ankle and, Oh, yes, once more Mitchell was aware of her touch, for just a few seconds, until…

Subtle female messages had ‘always’ been lost on Mitchell, but even ‘he’ caught the not so subtle ‘come-on’ messages he’d been receiving from Gina and ‘knew’ if he asked her to take the rest of the day off, she would, and they would end up in bed! But either out of loyalty to his marriage, love of Marsha, fear or, more the likely, a combination of all three...

Taking his wedding ring from his pocket, Mitchell put it on his finger.

“Mitchell...” The magnetic bond of her ankle broken as she moved her leg. “...what’s ‘that’?” pointing to the white gold band, but knowing full well what ‘that’ was.

“What?” he asked innocently. “Oh, this!” Holding his left hand forward, “I thought you knew.”

“How the hell would I know?” Gina said angrily. “Why the hell weren’t’j’ya wearin’ it when you came in the office?”

“I’m sorry, but I heard that when waitresses work, some of ‘em take their wedding rings off so they’ll get bigger tips from guys, and I’ve ‘always’ got to get past a secretary or receptionist if I want to see ‘the man,’ so I thought it would be easier, sometimes, if the woman didn’t know I’m married.”

Quiet a moment, Gina pondered the logic in this quickly coming to the conclusion… That makes sense.

Okay, now she knows, Mitchell thought. And if she still wants to…

However, ‘really’, Mitchell had no idea what he would do if she did want to.

In the elevator, on the street and now in the restaurant, between breaks in the conversation his thoughts had ouched on sex with Gina.

Truly, though, Mitchell felt complete ambivalence towards Gina and ‘truly’ did not know how far he wanted to take this… Or of equal importance, how far he wanted it to go. He was ‘not’ attracted to Gina! There was ‘no’ physical attraction. But yet there was an… allurement?

Gina was a woman! A ‘different’ woman! And this ‘different’ woman was showing a sexual interest to him. And ‘yes’, he ‘was’ flattered.

Although, God knows, he’d ‘tried’! Before his marriage he had ‘tried’ with a number of girls and later, women, but somehow, something ‘always’ happened to stop him.

Mitchell Lipensky had never completed sexual intercourse with a woman other than his wife.

So now—his upper brain influenced by his lower brain—the very ‘thought’ of being with a ‘strange woman’! Of seeing the nude body of a ‘strange’ woman! Of a ‘strange’ woman seeing his nude body! Of touching her, of her touching him! Of tasting the taste of her flesh, of her fluid.

Remembering Gina. ‘Knowing’ she would do to him something his wife said she would ‘never’ do to him.

And above all else, the very thought of being ‘within’ a strange woman’s body! Of being ‘within’ a ‘different’ woman’s body! Of inserting his penis within a different woman’s vagina!

‘Yes’! The very thought of fucking a strange woman thrilled Mitchell Lipensky… Even if he felt ambivalence towards that strange woman.

‘Yes’!A part of Mitchell ‘did’ want to go on with this.

But yet... A part of Mitchell did ‘not’ want to go on with this.

So okay, he thought, now she knows, and if she still wants to…?

‘Truly’, he did not know what he would do.

“You ‘should’a’ said somethin’ ‘bout bein’ married! You ‘shouldn’t’a’ led me on!”

“I didn’t have a chance at first...” he said, although he had. “...and to be honest, it slipped my mind.” It hadn’t. “And just what did I do to lead you on?”

That’s true ! Gina thought. Outside of not movin’ his leg, really, what’s he done to lead me on? Nonetheless, “You ‘forgot’? How the hell can a guy forget he’s married...” Adding, “...unless he wants to.”

“Gina, when I realised who you were, it just… I don’t know, it brought back so much! You know, Frankie, and…” This much was true , at least.

A distant look coming to her face. “Yeah,” Gina said softly as sitting back, she sipped her coffee.

“Anyway, what I started to say before was, a couple of years after we first met I wanted to see you…”

“Yeah?” Flattered, “You remembered me?”

“Sure, I always remembered you!” Totally untrue .

Thinking, I knew he’d remember his first fuck! Gina well remembered that day in 1949 because Mitchell was the best looking boy she’d ever been with, also the most inexperienced. In her mind that day had culminated with sexual intercourse rather than oral. So now thinking, What the hell, so he’s married! So what? That’s never stopped me before.

“Anyway,” Mitchell continued, “I didn’t have your phone number and hadn’t talked to Frankie since that last time I saw him, so I called to say hello and to get your number, and his sister, uh…”

“Cynthia.”

“Yeah, ‘Cynthia’, she, uh…” Finding it hard to go on, choking up a bit, looking to the side he closed his eyes.

Gina’s only outward emotion usually being lust. Now though, seeing the play of emotion on Mitchell’s face and being a rather callous woman who truly believed it to be a sign of weakness for a man to cry, averting her face, looking out the window. “Yeah...” she said, “...you remember Lisa?”

“Sure!”

Anyway, Lisa begged him not to join, but Frankie insisted. Said maybe he’d learn some kind’a trade in the Marines…”

“And the fuckin’ gooks blew him up!”

“Yeah, ‘the fuckin’ gooks blew him up’ alright!”

Rubbing a napkin over his eyes. “Whatever happened to Lisa?”

Laughing. “Believe it or not, she’s becoming a nun.”

“A ‘nun’?” Envisioning Lisa along with Frank laying on the floor with her underpants tangled about her ankles. “ ‘Really’?”

“Yeah! After Frankie got killed she became some kind’a religious nut and went into a convent. I ain’t talked to her in ‘bout a year now… You remember your ol’ pals Quido an’ Al?”

“ ‘Quido’ and ‘Al’?”

“Yeah! Them two fuckers that wanted to beat the shit out’a you ’cause you’re a Jew.”

“Oh, yeah! Them two fuckers.”

“You’ll like this: They both got drafted. Al ‘went over the hill’ before bein’ shipped to Korea an’ last I heard he’s still makin’ little ones out’a big ones in Leavenworth. An’ Quido came back in a wheelchair an’ he’s over in a V.A. hospital someplace weavin’ baskets.”

Absently stirring his coffee, Mitchell remembered the people that populated that one day in 1949 and thought of the twists of fate that made them what they were on this day in 1956: A whore that became a receptionist, a young girl that’s becoming a nun, a hoodlum that became a convict—it couldn’t happen to a more deserving guy—and, though he wouldn’t wish ‘that’ on anyone, another hoodlum that became a paraplegic.

...And his once best childhood friend, Frank Rizzo, dead.

Trying to decide whether or not to put the ‘make’ on Mitchell, even if he is married.

“So tell me, Mitch...” she asked “...how long ya been married? She a Jew, too?”

“Yeah, Marcie’s Jewish. We got married while I was in the service.”

“ ‘Service’? You in the Army?”

“Coast Guard. I got discharged about three weeks ago.”

“Your wife, she’s from ‘round here?”

“Yeah, the north side. I met her…” thinking a moment. “Matter’a fact, I met her the same summer I met you.”

“Christ, you guys sure believe in long engagements!”

“Nah,” chuckling, “I was just almost fifteen…”

“ ‘Almost’ fifteen? Thought you was older’n that.”

“Yeah, well, lyin’ ‘bout my age was Frankie’s idea ‘cause he said that you were sixteen. .

Anyway, I was near fifteen and she was not too far from being thirteen and it took all these years for our ages to catch up with us.

We were married in December, a year ago, and lived in New York until now. We got back just a couple’a weeks ago and got a small apartment on the north side that’ll be big enough till…”

Deciding... her ankle found Mitchell’s… for just a moment, though, for the time it took him to say…

“…the baby gets bigger.”

Jerking her foot away, asking angrily, “You’ve a ‘baby’, Mitchell?”

Feeling the touch… “No...” then the rapid removal of her ankle, “...but we’re expecting one in March.”

Considering her childhood; a baby made all the difference.

 ****

The little girl had loved her father dearly…

Until Fredrick Glambos began to return his daughter’s love in more than a fatherly way…

Until he was discovered naked in the bathtub with hs daughter by Maria Glambos, then, guilt ridden, terrified of the police, and his wife, Fredrick left home that very evening, disappeared and, within a few days, at the onset of World War Two, enlisted in the Army under an assumed name and was subsequently killed, coincidentally in Italy.

The sexual abuse, then abandonment by her father was crushing to the eight year old child.

****

“It’s bad enough you didn’t tell me you were married, Mitchell, but okay, I can understand that.”

Gina Glambos had no compunction about having sex with a married man. After all, that is how and why she had her job at Hillhouse & Hodges.

“But...” she said, “...wanting to fuck around with me while your wife’s pregnant?” Gina did, however, vigorously draw the line if children were involved. “That’s ‘really’ kind’a shitty!”

“Gina...” speaking defensively, “...when did I ‘ever’ say I wanted to fuck around with you? ‘How’ and ‘when’ did I give you that idea? All we’re doing is having a god-damned cup of coffee! And offhand I can’t think of a thing I’ve said or done to make you even ‘think’ I wanted ‘to fuck around with you’!”

Being an outwardly sexually delusional woman, Gina believed ‘all’ men were ‘hot’ for her, and in many cases that was true because…

As a teenager and young adult, her sexual aura and openly prurient nature had often converted boys and later men— that had originally seen only her homeliness— to boys, and later men who quickly began to see Gina as a creature of easily accessible sexual gratification… Who were, indeed, hot for her.

Gina wanted Mitchell when she had met him in 1949 and she wanted him now. However his admission of pending fatherhood putting her off, she also knew what he’d said was true : really, he hadn’t said or done anything to lead her on and this — because in her mind Mitchell was supposed to have the ‘hots’ for her and, If he is hot for me, she thought, he sure isn’t showing it! And ‘this’, for some reason making her irrationally angry. “Look...” she said, “...I gotta get back upstairs!”

Feeling guilty because, Maybe I did do something to lead her on! Also feeling stupid because, Maybe I could’a gotten laid if I’d’ a kept my mouth shut! At the same time feeling guilty for even thinking that thought. “Okay, Gina...” he said, “...that’s fine with me!”

*** 

Upstairs, dialling the phone. “I’m back, Shelly.”

Sensing her hostility, “Whoever buys the photography here, is he in?”

Dialling another number while looking at the business card she’d left on the desk. “Les, I’ve a ‘guy’ here from, uh, ‘Walter Lewis Studio’ that wants’a talk to you ’bout photography… Yeah, sure.” Placing the phone on the cradle. “He said you should call for an appointment,” Gena said belligerently.

“Okay...” said just as belligerently. “...what’s his name?”

“Nocera! The guy you want’a talk to is ‘Lester Nocera’.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Marking the name on the index card.

“Yeah...” Swivelling the chair, turning her back to him, “...see you ’round sometime.”

“Yeah, so long, Gina.” Taking his coat and sample case. Anxious to be out of there, he put his coat on in the elevator.

Downstairs. Outside. Taking the pack of index cards from his pocket, removing the Hillhouse & Hodges card, tearing it in pieces Mitchell let the wind of Michigan Avenue take it.

 Next FBOW excerpt in sequence: The Part-Timer