A FBOW excerpt in sequence: “What’s Mine is Yours”
Chicago, Illinois
November 19, 1963’
11:05 AM
When their times together are spent ‘only’ in a bedroom.
When the heightened excitement of an illicit sexual affair becomes a familiar relationship...
“Mitchie, let me ask you…” staring intently at him, “do you
want to go through with this? Do you ‘really’ want to be with me? To marry me?”
_________________________________________
Des Plains, Illinois
November 14,1963
Marsha: 4:34 AM
Remaining in the dark kitchen. Pulling a chair from along side the table she sat with her face held between her hands and cried.
Marsha Lipensky cried for what she had and for what she had lost.
Becoming chilled and knowing it would be near two and a half hours before her children began to stir, taking a pain pill … Actually thinking on this unbearably depressive morning she might need two.
Taking a second pill Marsha wearily walked up the five steps, returned to bed Marsha and pulled the winter quilt to her chin.
The pain pills helping with pain but certainly not with thoughts
Thinking…
Eyes closing…
Thinking…
Thoughts coming and dissipating as quickly as the wisp of a cloud on a windy day …
Remembrances flickering through the mind of Marsha Lipensky with the rapidity of a fire bursting machine gun:
The Palladium
Union Pier, Michigan
August 5, 1949
Kids calling. Laughter. The raucous clanging of pinball machines
‘Rosemary Clooney’ blaring through the juke box…
“Come on’a ma house, ma house’a come on…
“Come on’a ma house, ma house’a come on…”
***
…The fifth steel ball rolled through the spring barrier, hit a rubber guard, bounced off, hit another guard, rolled into a hole, was ejected and rolled striking the left flipper where Mitchell pushed the button, moving the flipper, hitting the ball, sending it careening across the board where it was hit by the flipper on the right, rolled into another hole and was pushed out to continue its journey down the angled plane as numbers flashed and changed with lightning speed on the gaudy glass display—12,300, 12,500, 12,700—and rolled into the corral alongside its four gleaming quadruplets.
“Norm...” looking around “...see anything interesting?”
Nodding his head to the right. “Yeah... Norman said, “...there’s a couple that look pretty good.”
Mitchell looked over his shoulder at two girls playing the Captain Kidd machine. “Yeah, they do! We wanna meet ‘em?”
“I think it’s ‘bout time we met someone! Come on.”
Walking towards the girls with Mitchell following a step behind, not wanting to interfere with their game, standing a foot or two from the machine. “Hi!” Norman said.
“Hi!” The girl waiting her turn to play smiled.
The girl was about five-five, had short, frizzy, reddish hair and a brace of freckles that ran across her nose onto her red, sunburned cheeks. She had a cute, elfin face and was wearing a white, short-sleeved man’s shirt, blue jeans cut off at the knees, and sandals.
Dong! Dong! Dong! Racking up points—33,500, 38,000, 42,000—the steel ball sat in the hole for what seemed a very long time before it was poked out. The game display showed seven games.
“Hey, you’re pretty good at this!”
Glancing at Mitchell, the girl smiled, then returned her concentration to the rolling silver ball.
“Shhh,” bringing her hand conspiratorially to the side of her mouth, the first girl whispered, “It’s broken, and we’ve been here for an hour and a half.”
“All for a nickel?”
“Yeah,” she laughed, “all for a nickel.”
“I’m Norm, and this is Mitch.”
“Hi, Norm, Mitch,” looking from Norman to Mitchell and back to Norman. “I’m Shelly and this is…”
The fifth ball rolled into the pen. The machine went dark a moment, then lit up again and the number in the game display changed from seven to ten.
Turning from the pinball machine, she looked at Mitchell.
The girl was tall and thin. She had a sharp widow’s peak and short, tightly curled black hair. Darkly tanned, her complexion was perfectly smooth. Her eyes were dark brown and, having a slightly long nose —reminding Mitchell of a picture he’d seen of a ‘Sabra’, a native-born Israeli, her face Semitically beautiful. With the exception of bobby socks and penny loafers, she wore a matching outfit to Shelly’s.
“…Marsha.” Shelly said. “Marcy, this is Norm and Mitch.”
“Hi!” She glanced at Norman, then quickly back to Mitchell.
The two looked at each other for one, two, three long moments then, “You guys want to play a game?” she asked.
“Nah,” Mitchell said. “It’s okay; you keep playing.”
Marsha stepped aside. “Come on, I’m getting tired of winning anyway.” Tugging on Mitchell’s arm, she urged him to the front of the machine. “Go on, play! You can’t lose.”
The cloudy wisp dissipates…
Max Strauss Center
Chicago, Illinois
March 20. 1954
So, see anyone you know, Norm?”
“Nah, no one I know, but a few I sure wouldn’t mind knowing.”
“Mitchie…”
Feeling a tap on his shoulder, he turned around.
The girl was thin, weighing about a hundred-twenty pounds and tall, at least 5'7". She wore Levi’s, a blue ‘Ship’n’Shore’ blouse and a red club jacket. The girl had curly black hair that was pulled back, emphasizing a sharp widow’s peak and bound closely to the scalp giving her a ponytail that hung to just below her shoulders. She had dark-brown, almond-shaped eyes and well defined eyebrows. Her complexion clear and dark, The girl had an oval-shaped face with a small mouth and a straight, slightly long nose, giving her, if not a ‘totally’ beautiful face, then most certainly a ‘lovely’, classically Semitic aspect.
Looking slightly familiar, Mitchell’s eyebrows knotted as he tried to place her… But couldn’t.
“You truly ‘don’t’ remember me, do you?”
Standing quietly, each studied the other’s face.
“Well...” breaking the silence, “...the last time we saw each other…” Stopping, the girl thought a second. “No, ‘that’ wasn’t the last time we saw each other. But the last time we did see each other you didn’t pay any attention to me. As a matter of fact you were pretty ‘darn’ rude.”
“ ‘Rude’? Come on! I’d ‘never’ be rude to a girl as pretty as you.”
“Obviously you didn’t think I was very pretty then… Tell you what, I’ll give you a hint: I’ve never seen you without Norman.”
Staring at her… Trying to remember.
“The first time we met you walked me home… ‘Almost’ walked me home until you found out that I wasn’t ‘quite’ thirteen. And the second time you and Norman were on the beach in ‘Union Pier’, and each time I saw you…”
‘Union Pier’? The words ‘Union Pier’ sending the pages of his memory ruffling backwards. “Oh, ‘God’, that was…”
“…I called you a ‘big jerk’, and told you ‘to drop dead’.”
Having a recollection of a warm night and soft music. And of a girl with fireflies reflected in her dark eyes… And also, a soul-touching kiss.
“Yeah! You’re, uh…?”
“ ‘Marsha’, ‘Marcie Goldman’.” Seeing a look of remembrance in his eyes. “You remember me now, don’t you?”
“Yeah! ‘Sure I do’!” Stepping back, looking at her, “Marcie, my God, you grew up ‘great’!”
“So, what are you now: seventeen, eighteen?”
“Mitchell...” smiling, “...don’t you know by now that you’re ‘never’ supposed to ask a lady her age?”
Relenting. “Okay. I’m seventeen. I’ll be eighteen in October. I am still in high school, at ‘Roosevelt’, and will be graduating in June… That ‘okay’?” She smiled, “Or are you going to send me home alone, ‘again’?”
“Mitch! ‘Hey, Mitch’!”
Reluctantly turning from Marsha, “Yeah, Ron?”
“Come on over here!” Motioning urgently. “There’s something we got to talk to you about.”
“Marcy,” turning back, “excuse me a minute. ‘Don’t’ go away now. I’ll be ‘right’ back!”
Marsha wasn’t there when he returned.
The cloudy wisp dissipates…
Askanaz
Chicago, Illinois
June 16, 1955
On any warm evening, except for the ‘high holidays’ when the restaurant was closed, the entry to Askanaz would be packed and the sidewalk in front of the popular delicatessen crowded with the overflow of people waiting to hear their names called, along with younger people who were there just to see ‘who’s around’.
Arriving minutes apart, the girls waited twenty minutes before being seated.
In a booth on the east wall towards the back of the restaurant sitting across from each other, Shelly faced towards the front.
A waitress standing alongside their booth, Marsha ordered hot brisket on a kaiser roll and a Coke. Shelly, pastrami on rye and a Coke. As usual the girls shared an order of French fries.
****
It was a bit past eight when, standing in line, Norman and Mitchell waited to give their names to the hostess…
****
Their ‘Cokes’ having arrived. Awaiting their sandwiches and fries. “Hey...”, the straw dropping into her Coke “… ‘dibbies’ on the blonde guy!”
Turning in the booth. Looking over her shoulder…
Deeply tanned from the spring patrol and hours of shirtless work parties in the hot, Atlantic sun, he wore a white sport shirt opened three buttons down, worn Levi’s, and his old, white-buck shoes.
…Mitchell! Snapping her body forward.
Knowing her friend appreciated a good-looking boy as much as she, “Marcie, what’s wrong?”
“Shelly, you ‘don’t’ recognize them?”
“Why...” Looking at the two young men giving a name to the hostess, Shelly’s forehead furled in thought, “...should I?”
“Think!”
“You know I’d never forget any guys that look that good!”
“Oh, yeah? Remember the ‘Palladium’?”
“ ‘The Palladium’?” Shelly questioned. “In ‘Union Pier’?”
“Yes. About, uh...” thinking, “...six years ago.”
“Yeah!” Dawnig on her. “Sure! The dark guy’s the guy that thought you were too young for him… uh?”
“ ‘Mitchell’.”
“Yeah, ‘Mitchell’. And the other guy’s… ‘Norman’!”
“You got it!” Looking over her shoulder again. “You want me to see if they’d like to sit with us?”
“Marcie, you know I’ve ‘always’ had a thing for blonde guys! And somehow I get the impression that ‘you’ sure want ‘em to sit with us… ‘Sure’! Go on. See if they want to.”
Standing within the mob of people inside the open door. Craning his neck to see if there was anyone that he recognized…
Traversing the large room slowly, ‘Marsha’! His pulse quickening, Mitchell’s eyes stopped at the right side of the restaurant when he saw a tall, familiar-looking girl stand up, step out of the booth and begin to weave her way between the scattered tables towards the front of the delicatessen.
“So, see anyone we know?”
“Yeah…” Approaching. Fastening and holding, Marsha’s dark-brown eyes meeting Mitchell’s green eyes. “...we do.”
Looking across the room, Norman watched the tall, slender girl as she made her way towards them. “We know her, don’t we!”
“Oh, yeah, we do.”
Having to turn sideways to avoid an anxious customer… “Mitchell.”
Jostled by the crowd. Eyes locked. Neither smiling. The young man and woman stood a yard apart.
Swallowing, “Marsha...” Holding his hand forward. “...Hi.”
Looking down. Realizing he wanted to take her hand… Wanted to, ‘Yes’! hold her hand. Moving her hand to his hand…
Touching.
Mitchell’s hand closed about Marsha’s hand and— the handshake no longer merely a handshake— Their fingers twining about each other’s… The threads of what they’d lost on that dark road on their walk from Union Pier to Lakeside six years earlier were picked up and began to tighten about their hearts as…
The sight of this young woman! The mere touch of her hand in his warming him, comforting him as the touch of no hand had since… in three years. At a loss for words.
The sight of this young man. The mere touch of her hand in his warming her in a way such as the mere touch of a hand had ‘never’ warmed her before.
The cloudy wisp dissipates…
Thinking: Of their three separations, in the mind of Marsha Lipensky, the first was the only—though Marsha would never admit this to her husband or anyone else—the first separation was the only of the three that she took full responsibility for.
Although, in all honesty, Mitchell takes credit for only the first separation and even now, years later cannot understand Marsha’s reason/s for separations number two and three.
Thinking:
He never admitted that he’s been seeing her or he loves her.
Thinking: He never said anything.
Thinking: He never says anything anymore because maybe he’s just tired of arguing.
Thinking: A ‘divorce’? Who’d want me? Who’d want me with three kids?
Thinking: Maybe I jumped the gun this morning and he was only talking in his sleep.
Thinking, Marsha lay staring at the ceiling until a square of light appeared behind the drapes and she heard the awakening sounds of thirteen month old Samuel.
Hating what she had to tell her children. Hating the thought that she and her marriage had become a statistic, wearily leaving the bed that had been hers and her husband’s, putting a robe on, Marsha Lipensky went into her baby’s bedroom.
Chicago, Illinois
November 19, 1963
11:05 AM
“Mitchie, let me ask you…” staring intently at him, “do you want to go through with this? Do you ‘really’ want to be with me? To marry me?”
With a momentary hesitation. “To marry you, Lizzie?”
This direct question ‘had’ to have a direct answer and within his confusion, feeling his love of and for the woman, the only answer he could give…
“ ‘Yes’ I do want to marry you.”
Reaching across the table, rubbing his cheek, “I’m glad… You have a lawyer?”
‘Lawyer’! Sensing a twitch in his stomach. “Yes. But I think I’d rather use whoever you used.”
“Good! Leonard’s really good…”
“Money, though?” Looking for an excuse to slow it all down. “I don’t know if I can afford…”
“He’s reasonable. For what you’re getting, Leonard’s very reasonable, and…” reinforcing her commitment “...I’ll help you.”
“Lizzie, I don’t want to take your money! I don’t want you to have to support me!”
“Mitchie, I’m making plenty of money now! And if we’re going to be together. Married, than what’s mine is yours and if you’re unhappy then I’ll be unhappy and I really want both of us to be happy...”
Thinking of Mitchell’s children… and her commitment to possibly eighteen years of ‘support which is feeling as a chunk of lead in the pit of her stomach.
“At least as happy as you can be…” Elizabeth added. “... considering the circumstances.”
Next FBOW excerpt: Mister Leonard
