Susan was there!

Imagining Susan’s presence, a deep sense of hollowness overtook Mitchell as it ‘all’ came rushing back:

The eight months of their passionate all but actual ‘physical’ sexual love.

The eight months of lying about his past scholastic record and his academic and future career aspirations.

The eight months of tutored cramming for an entrance exam.

The eight months of praying he would pass that exam…

And his failure…

And their breakup and his, Oh, God! depression because he was still in Susan’s world but was no longer allowed to be a part of that world…

So Mitchell Lipensky had changed his world..

“Can I help you? Hello! Excuse me!”

“Huh?” Forced from his reverie. “Oh.” His eyes focusing on the waitress, “Oh, yeah.” Ordering the first thing that came to mind: “A hamburger, medium-rare...”— as he was going back to work, “...hold the onion and a Coke, please.”

During the four months of boot camp, Mitchell had thought of Susan constantly.

Then he met Chief Warrant Officer Floyd Richard Ewing. And…

Within months Mitchell’s love of Susan was overshadowed by his hatred of Ewing.

But even so…

It took Mitchell eighteen months to work up the courage to returne home.

To return to Susan’s world.

But it turned out okay because he’d turned another corner, crossed another street and met Marsha—again…

Then lost Marsha—again.

But a year later he crossed another street, turned another corner and walked into Askanaz, and now…

Two weeks short of five years ago, sitting two stools from where he had sat on that day…

Looking across the counter to where Susan had sat on that day, Mitchell Lipensky was doing something he had been dreading for better than four years…

Facing the apparition of Susan and his love of Susan, Mitchell Lipensky sighed deeply and ‘finally’, for the first time, honestly thought…

Fuck Susan!

****

Dec. 21, 1956

Dear Ruby:

What a day yesterday must have been for you!

So your pals Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King… Excuse me! Doctor Martin Luther King, Junior, won and the Supreme Court said all you Shvartzers can ride in the front of the bus with us white guys, or wherever the hell you want.

Oh, well, there goes the neighbourhood.

Just kidding. Really, it’s great!

Marsha and I hope this letter finds you okay and in pre-med, or wherever the hell you want to be.

How’s Sherry? Is she with you or in New York?

Hell, I don’t even know where you are and I’m sending this letter to you in care of your dad because, like you told me, you weren’t sure if you’d be living in N.Y. or Baltimore.

The baby is due in the middle of March and Marsha is getting bigger by the day, but she’s okay and says to say hello to you guys.

I’m fine, but things here are a little tough money wise, so besides working for the studio, I’m also working part-time selling men’s clothing at a department store.

Well, not too much more to say, but let us hear from you soon.

All our love

M & M & ?

****

Jan 2, 1957

Dear Mitch, Marsha & ?

First of all: HAPPY NEW YEAR! And secondly, it was great hearing from you.

Yes, 12/20/56 is a day that will go down in Shvartzer history. At least I’ll always remember it, and Sherry and I want to thank you for thinking of us.

So the baby is due in the middle of March! Well, that’s what doctor “Dennis the Menace” told you two also, so I guess he couldn’t have been all that bad.

Sherry and I are still together here in New York City.

I’m in pre-med at Columbia University and between classes and work I am literally working my ass off, which is one of the reasons I can’t spend too much time on this letter.

Sorry things are tough for you but, what the hell! Things are supposed to be tough for young married couples, and don’t I know it! But I’m sure they’ll get better as time goes on.

Anyway, I’ve got an exam tomorrow morning that I’ve got to study for tonight, so I’m going to sign off with best regards from…

Mr. (one day to be, Dr.) & Mrs. Rubidoux Meyers

Yeah! We did it!

The Pregnancy

January through March 19, 1957

Carrying low and being a thin person, the added weight of the baby and its outward push on the flesh of Marsha’s once tight, concave abdomen caused a constantly uncomfortable feeling.

She often had cramps in both legs and near continual heartburn that gave rise to the ‘bubbeameisseh’ (old wives tale) that over abundant heartburn in a pregnant woman meant the baby will be born with an overabundance of hair.

And, indeed, to quote her cousin, Marsha sometimes did feel like ‘some kind’a ugly, grotesque, misformed string-bean’.

On the other hand, though, other than the general discomfort of being pregnant, her clear complexion as clear as ever. Her lustrous hair more lustrous than ever. Always an attractive girl, in the mid and later months of pregnancy, Marsha Lipensky had become radiantly beautiful and other than the discomfort, she ‘loved’ being pregnant and ‘loved’ showing she was pregnant.

Mitchell rationalised the looks he received from other men—notably those of older men—as jealousy because it was he that had the good fortune to be intimate with this young woman. It was his penis and his semen that had impregnated this beautiful, young woman. So he walked a bit taller and a bit prouder whenever he and Marsha were out together.

Sex became possibly, maybe, a two or three times a month event and actually most days ended with Marsha—because she needed it—and Mitchell—because he liked it—each drinking a quarter glass of water with, ‘Plop plop, fizz fizz’, two ‘Alka Seltzers’and…

“Urrrppp!”

Belching and turning their backs to each other…

“ ‘Nite, baby.”

“ ‘Night, Mitchie.”

…the two would fall asleep.

February 23,1957

Near the end of her eighth month of pregnancy, even though it was only 8:15, because Marsha was more comfortable lying in bed; both in pajamas on the open sofa bed, watching that Saturday night’s edition of ‘The Jackie Gleason Show’.

“Ouch!” Holding her stomach, “The kid doesn’t stop kicking!” Lifting the top to beneath her breasts and the bottom to under her protruded stomach, “Give me your hand, Mitchie.”

Turning to his side, he watched as Marsha placed his hand, palm down, onto her bare stomach.

“There! Feel it?”

Feeling the rolling, jabbing motion of his unborn child’s elbows and knees in the confines of his wife’s uterus. “Yeah! Sure I do! The kid must be jitterbugging in there.”

Actually able to see the poking movement beneath the taunt flesh of her stomach, sliding downward on the mattress, positioning his upper body between Marsha’s thighs and propping his head in both hands, he watched until the gyrations stopped.

Always effected by the realisation that it was his baby there, swallowing to keep his emotions from surfacing. “Marcie...” he said hoarsely, “...I love you!” Also...

Aroused by the heat and close proximity of Marsha’s crotch to his face, his passion rising, lightly running his lips and tongue over her distended stomach... kissing her bulging, rounded navel…

The sense of passion transmitting to Marsha. The sensual touch of his mouth and tongue on her stomach warming her she knew where this was leading and— having taken a bath earlier in the evening, for the first time in weeks in ‘the mood’. Knowing this was the only way she could orgasm.

Expecting to be stopped at any moment. Unbuttoning the top of her pajamas and letting the sides fall open. Looking over the hill of her stomach, Mitchell gazed at her sloping breasts.

Through the eight months of pregnancy, Marsha’s breasts had grown from a size 34C to a 36D cup. The areolae, as though bursting through their rounded, dusky pink domes, had enlarged flattened and changed to a darker color.

Lifting himself. Holding his weight above her stomach, Mitchell kissed Marsha’s eyes, her mouth, her neck, the flat hardness of her chest and, slowly, sensually, drew the tip of his tongue over and around the soft flesh of Marsha’s right breast, then closed his lips over her turgid nipple.

Stopping him, “Mitchie…” Holding his head...

Thinking she was going to stop him. “Marcie…”

“My nipples are ‘very’ sensitive! Not too hard, please.”

Knowing he had permission. “Yeah, baby.” He lowered her pajamas to beneath her ankles and over her feet.

Other than the excitement of doing what Mitchell Lipensky loved doing. Knowing this was not a night for intercourse though having the need to be nude with his wife, he removed his pajamas, too.

Mitchell’s upper body once again positioned between his wife’s thighs…

His head held tightly between his wife’s warm thighs...

On this night, at this time, his lips and tongue mere inches from his unborn child...

On this night, at this time, this, to Mitchell Lipensky was beyond sex…

This, now, was spiritual and…

The taste of his wife was as honey upon his lips.

Lincolnwood, Illinois

March 19, 1957: Before

“ ‘God-damned fuckin’ cunt’!” Yelling angrily, hitting the horn in the middle of the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. Who the fuck the fuckin’ bitch think she’s bull-shittin’?”

Narrowly missing the rear fender of a Cadillac waiting to make a left turn, jerking the wheel sharply, swerving into the right lane.

“Use your fuckin’ turn signal, ‘ass-hole’!” he yelled through the window as pressing his foot to the accelerator of the ‘Chicago Fastener Corp.’ half ton pickup, ‘Randall Detwiler’ caught up with the north bound vehicles in the early evening traffic on McCormick Boulevard…. Easing up on the pedal, he impatiently tailgated the Plymouth in front of him.

Stopped in traffic, waiting for the light to change. “You know, I’m kind of glad your mother invited us for dinner tonight,” she said. “This might very well be the last time I’ll be getting out for a while.”

“Kind’a thought you’d feel better once you got out.”

The light changing from red to green, making a right turn onto McCormick. “So,” Mitchell asked, “you think Greenblatt’s right?”

“About tomorrow? I don’t know. You know, when a doctor gives a due date it’s only an educated guess.”

Anxious to get back to the plant to punch out so he could have it out with his girlfriend, the instant the light at the Touhy Avenue intersection changed, shifting gears, Detwiler popped the clutch gunned the motor and sped around the Plymouth into the left lane, then, to get past an older Pontiac, shooting back to the right lane, he drove within feet of a beat up, gray Dodge.

Two car lengths ahead, glancing in the rear view mirror Mitchell saw the in and out swerving motion of the cream colored pickup but did not notice that the light on Howard Street had changed from green to red until he was almost into the pedestrian lane. In a spontaneous motion, slamming his foot onto the break pedal, he threw his arm across Marsha’s chest, bracing her for the hard stop, as…

Ruben Hernandez, following too close to the car before him, also stamped his foot onto the break pedal, stopping the rusted, pitted, bumper of his ‘47 Dodge inches from the shining chrome bumper of the navy blue ‘52 Ford convertible, as…

“ ‘Fuck’!”

Detwiler had time enough only to notice a plastic, grass skirted, swaying kewpie doll held onto the rear window of the ‘47 Dodge by a suction cup, before…

Even though Mitchell Lipensky and Ruben Hernandez each had a foot firmly planted on their brake pedal…

“ ‘Fuck’!”

With a shattering of headlights and taillights, the ricocheting motion propelled the Dodge forward, smashing into the Ford, pushing it about three feet beyond the white pedestrian line.

“ ‘Fuck’!”

Mitchell felt his body snap forward and back along with a strong pushing pressure on his outstretched arm as Marsha, also, jerked forward then back.

Looking at her, rubbing his elbow, “You okay, Marcie?”

“Yes...” Luckily, at the moment of impact she had been sitting with both arms cradling her stomach, supporting it. “...I think so.”

All three driver side doors opened simultaneously while traffic on both sides of McCormick came to a crawl as the vehicles behind the three car pileup attempted to merge into the left lane. South bound traffic slowed as those drivers rubbernecked in order to see what had happened in the north bound lanes.

“Why’d’ya have’ta stop so fast?”

“Hey, pal...” Mitchell said, looking at his crunched trunk, “...the light changed colors; that’s what I’m supposed to do.”

“God-damn-it!” Knowing he was to blame and because this was his second accident within a month also knowing that most probably this was going to cost him his job. Trying to transfer culpability, “Why’d’ya stop so fuckin’ fast?”

“Don’t blame me, man!” Hernandez pointed to Mitchell. “He stopped first!”

“Hey, I was going the limit and the light changed. You shouldn’t have been following so close!”

“Mitchell, come here!”

Leaving Detwiler and Hernandez to argue between themselves. Going to the car, he looked inside.

Pointing to her stomach, “I can’t see past this.” Leaning back, Marsha motioned to the crotch of her light colored maternity slacks. “You see any blood?”

“Blood?” Alarmed, he looked between her thighs. There was a small, wet spot: the normal seepage of a pregnant woman?—so Marsha had told him on another occasion. “It’s a little damp; it’s hard to tell, but it doesn’t look like blood.”

“Thank God!” Reaching to him, “Help me out of here, will you, Mitchie.” Supporting herself by the right rear fender, waddling rearward, Marsha looked at the damage.

Having three children of his own, Ruben Hernandez recognised the ‘any time now’ degree of this woman’s pregnancy. “Jesus, Joseph and Mary,” Ruben muttered under his breath, and silently prayed he had done no damage to this woman or her unborn child, as…

“Oh, fuck!” Randall Detwiler said aloud having some idea of his, or rather Chicago Fastener Corp’s possible liability.

“Marcie, come on.” Holding her elbow, steering her back to the seat, “You ought to be sitting.”

“Yeah.” Holding one hand beneath her stomach and the other against her lower back. “My back’s starting to hurt,” said loud enough for all within range to hear.

Not knowing if her back really ‘did’ hurt or if she recognised a possible insurance claim... or quite possibly both. Staring at her, looking for some sign of whether or not something was ‘really’ wrong,

“Marcie, do you want to go to the hospital?”

“Yes. But I think we’d better wait for the police.”

This telling him nothing. “Okay...” pointing to Howard Street, “...I’ll find a phone and call Greenblatt to see if he wants to see you now. When the cops come, tell them where I went and that I’ll be right back.”

****

“Officer, we were stopped for the light...” jerking his thumb in the direction of Hernandez. “...and he was, too, when he...” pointing at the cream colored pickup, “...hit him, and he...” pointing to Hernandez, “...ploughed into us.

“My wife’s into her ninth month and she’s ‘spotting’...” — having not the slightest idea if Marsha’s complaints are true or false, but going along with it— “... and her back hurts and her doctor wants to see her at the hospital.”

Just over the Chicago line, it was a Skokie squad car that had responded to the accident.

Finishing his report quickly. Handing Mitchell his driver’s license then going to the passenger side and looking through the open window. “You sure you don’t want an ambulance, Mrs. Lipensky? Or for us to get you to ‘Weiss’ in the squad car?”

Not sure if there would be a charge for the ambulance and really not wanting to be separated from Mitchell right then.

“No, officer.” Forcing a smile through seemingly obvious pain. “If you’re done now and we can go, I’d like to get to the hospital.”

“Okay, Ma’am, if that’s what you want.” Turning to Mitchell. “Tell your insurance company the report’ll be filed in Skokie.” Looking at Marsha again. “And good luck to you, and your baby.”

****

“You say you called your folks when you called Greenblatt?”

“Yeah! I told my mother why worry Rhea until we know if there ‘is’ a problem, and that we’d call her and your mother from the hospital.”

**** 

‘Lewis A. Weiss Memorial Hospital’ was approximately six miles southeast of Skokie.

Knowing the neighbourhood, avoiding rush hour traffic by taking side streets, Marsha and Mitchell arrived at the emergency entrance at 6:17. It took another hour until they were assured that, regarding the baby, everything was okay. However, diagnosing the pain in her back would take X- rays that, because of the imminent birth of the baby, the attendant was hesitant to do.

Due to indications that Marsha might be just hours away from going into labour, Doctor Greenblatt suggested she remain in the hospital overnight.

**** 

Marsha did not go into labour within hours.

However because it looked as though she ‘might’ go into labor at any moment, Marsha Lipensky remained in the hospital the next day also.

But she didn’t go into labor that day… Or the next… Or even the next.

Next FBOW excerpt in sequence: During and After