A FBOW excerpt in sequence: “They Meet”

Tuesday, October 23, 1962, 6:30 p.m.

“Mitchie, come and get us. I want to go home!”

“Baby, you’re supposed to be in the hospital for five days and it’s only been…”

“ ‘I don’t care’!” Verging on hysteria, “If we’re having an atomic war I want to be home!” Shouting into the phone, “ ‘Come and get us’!”

“Sure, baby. I’ll drop the kids at my mom’s and we’ll get you and Sammy checked out of there.”

“Hurry, Mitchie! I want to be with my kids.”

___________________________________________

On October 22, 1962: After reviewing newly acquired intelligence, President John F. Kennedy informed the world that the Soviet Union was building secret missile bases in Cuba, a mere 90 miles off the shores of Florida.

After weighing such options as an armed invasion of Cubaand air strikes against the missiles, Kennedy decided on a less dangerous response. In addition to demanding that Russian Premier Nikita S. Khrushchev remove all the missile bases and their deadly contents, Kennedy ordered a naval quarantine, a blockade of Cuba in order to prevent Russian ships from bringing additional missiles or construction materials to the island.

In response to the American naval blockade, Premier Khrushchev authorised his Soviet field commanders in Cuba to launch their tactical nuclear weapons if invaded by U.S. forces.

Deadlocked in this manner, the two leaders of the world's greatest nuclear superpowers stared at each other for seven days…

Until Khrushchev blinked.

On October 28, 1962 thinking better of prolonging his challenge to the United States, the Russian Premier conceded to President Kennedy’s demands by ordering all Soviet supply ships away from Cuban waters and agreeing to remove the missiles from Cuba's mainland.

After several days of teetering on the brink of nuclear holocaust, the world breathed a sigh of relief.

_______________________________________________

December 24 through December 28, 1962

Christmas Eve

Des Plaines, Illinois

Having absolutely no religious significance. Always looking at Christmas as strictly a family holiday, there was a mountain of gifts alongside the living room wall.

Thanksgivings spent at the home of Walter and Myra.

Having the children, the Lipensky type Christmases were spent at the home of Mitchell and Marsha.

Her post natal problem was non existent after the birth of her daughter. Now, after the birth of her third child, possibly triggered by the fear of an atomic war and the extinction of the human race, Marsha’s post natal depression was in full swing.

Feeling low, miserable and tearful for no apparent reason, becoming irritable for no apparent reason, becoming angry over trivial things, this along with the unrecognised symptoms of diabetes…

****

“Mitchell...” slamming her fist on the table, “...leave me alone!”

****

Shrugging his hands off her shoulder, “Let go of me!”

***

Slamming the door to the dishwasher, “I need more help!”

“I do help clean the house!”

Actually, since living at 9116 Balcony Place he’d taken over the washing, waxing and buffer polishing of all the floors.

Also, weather permitting, on Sundays Mitchell would take Michael, Ellie and Mercy for a short hike in a nearby forest preserve.

“I help with the kids all the time!” His hands held forward in supplication, “Marsha, what else am I supposed to do?”

“I ‘don’t’ know!” Truly baffled by her weariness. “Just leave me alone!”

****

This year opening gifts on Christmas Eve.

Planning on dinner first, the roast in the oven, the table set, waiting for Myra, Walter and Rhea, having no idea why, but well sensing Marsha’s seething anger…

“Did I say something?” Rethinking what he might have said to annoy her. “Did I do something?” Wondering, “Marsha, why are you mad at me?”

“ ‘Cause you’re an asshole.”

“Gee, Marsha...” Mitchell said facetiously, “...why don’t you tell me what you ‘really’ think of me?”

A look he’d never forget! Words he’d never forget!

“ ‘What I think of you’?” Her lip curled in disgust. A look of absolute scorn on her face, “Mitchell...” Marsha said contemptuously, “...you ‘don’t’ want to know what I really think of you!”

Taken back by the hatred in her voice, Marsha hates me! Terribly saddened by this. Having no response, in any case having no time for a response because…

The front door opening, “Merry Christmas!”Myra said as she and Rhea, each carrying a box of gifts, entered the house followed by Walter carrying a carton of gifts.

Marsha’s mood suddenly shifting. For some reason no longer angry. Unaware why she had been angry...

Michael, Ellie, the four adults and a thoroughly confused, deeply depressed Mitchell had a mixed up, Jewish family type Christmas.

Chicago, Illinois

December 28, 1962

They Meet

Vapour streaming from mouth and nostrils: It was a blustery day. Thinking of the opening words of a ‘Winnie the Pooh’ story that he’d recently read to Mikey and Ellie, Yeah, and fuckin’ cold day, too, Pooh!

Huddling his head lower into the upturned collar of his overcoat. Digging his free hand deeper into his pocket. Glad he was through, but yet wondering why he’d made even two appointments for that day.

In the fifteen months since he’d been back she had seen Mitchell four times: twice at Transco’s semi-annual sales meetings—when after a quickly said, ‘hello’ both did their best to pretend that the other was not in the room, and twice on the street where once she had turned away and the other had actually ducked into a doorway. But now, tired of hiding.

“ ‘Mitchell’!”

Hearing his name called. Reluctantly pulling his head from his collar and turning, he looked about.

“Mitch!... ‘Mitchel’l!”

Downtown traffic sparse on this last Friday of the year. Looking to the other side of Wabash Avenue, his heart quickening, My God!

Waving, “Mitchell!” Waiting for the light to change, she was there.

In the fifteen months since returning to Transco, as he’d walked the streets of his territory, Mitchell had constantly been on the watch for Elizabeth, yet hoped he would not see her. Now, the moment he’d dreaded, yet ‘wanted’… Elizabeth was here.

Of course seeing each other at Transco’s semi-annual sales meetings—as though afraid more would trigger something both were fearful of—other than a nod and a quickly said, ‘Hello’, both did their best to remain at a far arm’s length and maintain a standoffish attitude

Waving back now, he watched as…

The light changing, Elizabeth Herzon crossed Wabash Avenue.

Wearing a black, fur lined, near ankle length leather coat and a fuzzy pink hat pulled low onto her forehead, her long dark blonde, honey coloured streaked hair fanning onto her shoulders...

His breath catching. Beautiful! Her cheeks red from the cold and wind. Watching Elizabeth approach, My God, Mitchell thought. She’s so beautiful!

Wearing a dark brown calf length overcoat, his hair ruffled by

the wind, Mitchell foolishly—the hat industry killed by President John F. Kennedy’s refusal to wear hats—wore no hat.

Approaching, feeling her heart quicken. My God, Elizabeth thought. He looks so good!

Standing on the south-east corners of Wabash and Randolph Streets…

“Hi.” He thought of shaking hands, but knew if he took her hand he, quite possibly, would not want to let go.

“Hi.” Ready to remove a mitten if he should make a move to shake her hand. Afraid, though, if he should she, quite possibly, would not want to let go.

Looking at each other. Standing wordless for a number of heartbeats. Having to make some sort of a move, deciding. Clumsily moving his hand to hers… Hanging in air a second then, letting his arm drop he saw that she had began to remove a mitten but both hands had stopped movement.

Their eyes locked. Each wondering of the other’s thoughts—which were pretty much the same—Elizabeth Herzon and Mitchell Lipensky stood silent a long moment longer.

“Uh, you still got calls to make?”

“No,” Mitchell said. “Finished and heading to my car. You?”

“Yes, me, too, uh, all done.”

“You… in any hurry to get home?”

If he wants to go someplace to be alone… Not knowing how to respond. “No. No hurry.”

“Yeah, me, too.” Wanting to be alone with her, but terrified at

the thought.

“You want to grab a bite someplace? You hungry?”

One of Elizabeth’s means of maintaining her weight was rarely eating lunch and sometimes nothing more than a small salad for dinner but, “Yes...” she said. “...I’m starving.”

On Wabash Avenue, looking south, “ ‘Harding’s’,” Mitchell asked. “Harding’s okay?”

“Yes. Harding’s fine.”

****

Overcoats left in the cloak room opposite the entrance…

Wearing a white blouse beneath a business like dark blue wool jacket with matching, below the knee skirt and black leather pumps with a one and a half inch heel…

Walking behind Elizabeth as she followed the hostess up the richly panelled staircase, Mitchell watched her slightly thick calves and ankles—which did not deter him, not in the slightest—along with Elizabeth’s well defined, swaying backside.

“Enjoy your lunch.”

Seated at a small table facing each other.

Fearful the slightest touch might begin a process that would lead to infidelity and matrimonial disaster.

Sitting stiffly. Legs sharply bent at their knees, the balls of their feet planted firmly beneath their chairs.

Both sets of hands held primly within their laps.

Looking about the eloquently appointed restaurant, roiling emotions held strongly at bay, neither knowing how to start a conversation or what type of conversation to start.

In any case, now studying the menu before them. Buying the time needed to think of the start of a conversation.

Elizabeth, remembering the kiss she had initiated behind the cartons and wanting nothing more than to do it again—to kiss Mitchell, and to take it further.

Mitchell, remembering the kiss and the feel of her body against his knew ‘exactly’ what he wanted. However, remembering that haunting dream he also knew the eventual consequences.

The silence becoming pronounced…

“How’d you find Peoria? You enjoy living there?”

Looking at each other. Eyes unblinking. Both intently studying the face of the other.

“Yes, we actually did like it there. It was far enough away and close enough and...” — for and between Marsha and Mitchell, “...life was slower and things more peaceful.”

Breaking the intense eye contact, Elizabeth looked downward. “I like big city living and think Peoria would be kind of small for me.”

“In comparison Peoria is small and it did take a little getting used to, but the business attitude is much friendlier and small town living is kind’a neat… Least ways, everything’s cheaper there.”

Looking at Mitchell, studying his face. “You glad you’re back?”

A ‘leading’, difficult to answer question.

Thinking: other than the never ending arguments with his wife and his Elizabeth conundrum.

“So far… yeah...” he said. “...I think so.”

“How you finding Tom’s territory?”

Looking at her. Unable to believe that he was actually sitting here with a woman as flawlessly beautiful as Elizabeth. Actually that he was even with Elizabeth.

“Orders rolling in on their own and the old customers friendly enough and not too hard finding new customers and other than freezing in winter and broiling in summer, what’s not to like?”

“Afternoon...” A waitress bringing rolls, butter and water questioned, “...would you care for a drink?”

“No, thanks.” Shaking his head negatively, he looked questionably at Elizabeth.

“No. None for me, thank you.”

Desperately wanting to keep a conversation going.

“So...” Elizabeth asked after the waitress left, “...how have you been? Your wife…” remembering Marsha’s name, but, “…uh?”

“ ‘Marsha’.”

“Yes, ‘Marsha’. So how have you and Marsha been?”

Lying. “Fine.” Opening the menu, “We’re just fine…. You?”

Knowing what she would order, what she always ordered. “Me?” Lying, “I’m fine too, Mitch.”

Deciding. Folding the menu and laying it on the table he took a roll and, tearing it in half, smeared a half pad of butter on each half.

“You know, I was really surprised… Actually more like shocked, when Gene called and offered me my old job back.” Biting into the roll, “And especially surprised when he told me it was your idea.”

Watching him chew. Dying for a buttered roll. “Yeah...” she said, then saying one of those things that are occasionally said before the brain has a chance to process one’s thoughts, “...I missed you.”

‘She missed me’!

Wanting to call back her words. “Yeah...” attempting to make a joke of it, “...there’s no one else at Transco for me to make nuts, so I thought I’d try to get my old desk mate back.”

“May I take your orders?”

Thank, God! Elizabeth’s eyes shifted to the waitress. “Yes, I’ll have the house salad with vinaigrette dressing on the side and no croutons, please.”

The waitress shifted her gaze.

“Hamburger, medium rare and make the fries crispy, please.”

Taking the menus, “Thank you.”

Her eyes closed. Her stomach rumbling at the heavenly thought of a hamburger with french fries, Elizabeth ran her tongue over her lips to wipe away any, imagined, saliva.

Elizabeth’s momentarily closed eyes and the movement of her tongue though completely misinterpreted caused an involuntary twitch within the confines of his underpants and also a complete lose of words...

“Uh... I hear your sales are going really great.”

“Yes. Being a woman… Well, I guess their gamble is paying off.”

“Yeah, being smart...” holding eye contact once again, “...and as beautiful as you are sure helps, too.”

The complement as warming as a fireplace on a cold day. Sensing a surge of emotion that she knew was best held down.

Lowering her eyes, changing the subject, “Your son… How’s your son?”

“Mikey’s fine, thanks! But we’ve two more now, you know.”

“You’ve ‘two’ more kids?” Blinking her eyes rapidly. Three kids! The impossible situation becoming even more impossible. Swallowing, thinking, He’s got three kids!

Losing a bit of composure. “ ‘Wow’!” Elizabeth said, “When’d that happen?”

Next FBOW excerpt in sequence: “Elizabeth and Myron”