PIT 31: Why Indeed!

Points In Time

Woodland Hills, California

May 27, 1986

2:20 a.m.

“Then you got your ‘period’ two days before the real wedding…”

“Don’t you get it!” Angrily poking her finger onto my chest. “I ‘didn’t’ want to marry you!”

Slapping her hand away. Ignoring her purposely hurtful words.

“...and after we were married and home in ‘Seagate’, the first time I ever really saw you naked, your body was covered with those brown splotches, and since then I’ve never known you to be allergic to anything.”

“I’m not to ‘anything’, but was to you then.”

“I really loved you! ‘Really’ loved you and don’t understand, Marsha, why’d you ‘ever’ marry me?”

“ ‘Why’? I had to get away, don’t you see?”

“No, I don’t see why you choose me to make both our lives miserable with.”

“A couple of months before you and your friend, Norman walked into Askanaz , I thought I might have been pregnant.”

It’s been so easy for Marsha to conceive… Mitchell thought ...each time she wanted to, when ever I stopped using a rubber seemed I knocked her up almost immediately.

No longer shocked at anything my wife, the lady I ‘thought’ I knew had to say. “Your friend, Stanley? The guy with the muscles you ‘blew’ all the time?”

Angrily, “I didn’t blow him ‘all the time!” and somewhat defensively..

“No. Obviously not ‘all the time’.”

“Yeah, well when I kind of dropped a hint to Stan about the ‘possibility’ that I ‘might’ be pregnant…”

“Nice guy dripped you like a hot potato.”

“Yeah. Problem was I ‘always’ loved him and would see him around…”

“Usually with some girl hanging onto his arm, huh.”

“Yeah. And whenever we’d bump into each other, he’d practically ignore me.”

“ ‘Ignore you’? Yeah, under the circumstances I can see why. So were you?” Thinking, ‘abortion’? Asking, “Were you pregnant?”

“No.” Adding, “But we got together again...”

“For old times sake?”

Hesitating, considering whether or not to say…

“I fucked him in December, two weeks before you and me got married, thinking if I get regnant then, the baby would be Stan’s and mine but everyone would think it was yours...” poking me in the chest again “...but…”

“How lucky for me!” Didn’t think anything else she might say on this night would shock me..

“What a fucking, shitty thing to do, Marsha! ” Sitting up now, my entire body facing her. “Second time around and you weren’t ‘knocked’ huh! Guess old muscle man, Stan was shooting blanks, huh?”

Words spoken quietly now , more so in hard controlled anger.

“From the time you and me bumped into each other at the ‘J’…”

Chicago, Illinois

3/20/54

“Mitchie…”

Feeling a tap on his shoulder, he turned around.

She 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 hooked nose, giving her, if not a totally beautiful face, then most certainly a lovely, classically Semitic aspect.

Woodland Hills, California

5/27/86

“When you thought I was just ‘too’ pretty, huh?”

“Yeah.” Annoyed at being interrupted.

“So you ditched me.”

“You asked ‘why’, and I’m trying to tell you, ‘why’, so why don't you just ‘shut up’!”

“Okay, ‘baby’…” said facetiously “...I’m all ears.”

From the time we saw each other at the ‘J’ and ran into each other again at ‘Askanaz’ …”

Chicago, Illinois

6/16/55

Standing within the mob of people inside the open door, craning their necks to see if there was anyone there that they recognised, 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.

Woodland Hills, California

5/27/86

“… a real lot had happened in that time because then I thought...”

Between 3/20/54 and 6/16/55

“...I was pregnant, and knew it was Stan…”

His anger quietly seething— “ ‘cause he was the ‘only’ guy you were fucking at the time?”

“Yeah, Stan was ‘the only guy I was fucking at the time’! And so you’ll know and shut up. Stan was the ‘only’ guy I’d ‘ever’ fucked until you and me ‘finally’ did it.”

Thinking, Yeah, you were the ‘blow job’ kid.

“I hated my mother and brother and almost never saw my father.”

“Yeah, you told me how you hated your mother a thousand times, so what’s she got to do with you hating me enough to try to stick me with another man’s baby?”

My mother hated every boy I ever dated, and those she didn’t see, my brother told her about, then you came along.

Chicago, Illinois

June 19, 1955

“He’s here, Mother!”

“What do you want from me? So, let him in.”

Hesitating before pushing the intercom button.

Rhea normally wouldn’t go to this much bother, or for that matter ‘any’ bother for her daughter’s friends. But this boy seemed to be somewhat different and although she knew— or thought she knew— that this boy came from a wealthy family, Rhea ‘truly’ did not hold too much hope for him because Marsha’s boyfriends were always— in her opinion— ‘creeps’ that she brought home just —Rhea was positive—to spite and annoy her.

Indifferently lifting a book from the coffee table, Rhea pretended to read, as…

Nine stories below, he pushed the button again.

“Okay, Mother.” Shrugging her shoulders just as indifferently…

Pressing the intercom button, “Mitchie?”

“Yeah…” the tinny sound of her voice warming him “... Hi, honey!”

“Sorry it took so long. Come on up.” Pushing the button,

unlocking the security door she went into the hall to wait for him.

The elevator door opening, Mitchell stepped out.

Her hair rolled into a thick coil falling over her left shoulder, Marsha wore white, high-cut shorts over a one-piece bathing suit that accentuated her long, slender—no longer ‘knock-kneed’ —darkly-tanned legs, a sleeveless light-blue blouse and black leather sandals.

Wearing white, cotton-wash slacks and a short-sleeved, powder-blue shirt out at the waist and unbuttoned to below his chest and—coincidentally— black leather sandals.

At this time neither aware that they were dressed near perfectly alike.

“Hi…” Said warmly.

“Hi!” Said with determination.

Taking his hand. “Come on.”

Anxiously leading him into the apartment. “I can’t wait for mother to meet you…”

“Mother!”

Her head still propped in the palm of her hand. Still ‘deeply engrossed’ in her book, moving her head from her palm, Rhea made a halting motion with her hand— as though to say: ‘I’m more interested in my book then in meeting this insignificant boy. But if he’ll wait till I’m ready, I’ll honor him with my gaze.’

Rhea instantly reminding Mitchell of the actress, ‘Hedy Lamarr’. Jesus, he thought, she’s beautiful!

“Mother...” knowing this was an act. “...Mitchell is here!”

Annoyed at being taken from her ‘book’. “Okay, Marsha!”

Lowering the book slowly, forcing a smile. “No need to…” Lifting her eyes…

If Mitchell Lipensky were astride a sparkling white horse wearing silver armor…

The look of surprise apparent. Unable to stop herself. “Oh-my-God!”

Having a feeling that Marsha was ‘showing him off’— which she was— not quite to this extent, though. “Mrs. Goldman...” crossing the room while smiling ‘his’ smile, Mitchell extended his hand “...I’m glad to meet you.”

This young man being the last thing she’d ‘ever’ expected to see enter the room at the side of her daughter.

“Uh,” sitting up awkwardly. Clumsily shaking his hand, “Uh…”

“Mother...” Smiling a ‘very’ broad smile. Absolutely ‘tickled’ at her mother’s reaction to Mitchell and her ‘unusual’— to say the least— loss for words. “...this is Mitchell.”

“Ah, yes... ‘Mitchell’!” Attempting to regain ‘some’ semblance of composure. “Marsha, uh, has…” glancing darkly at her daughter, “...told me ‘so’ much about you.”

Obviously, though, Marsha sure hadn’t told her all ‘that’ much.

Holding her hand forward. “Sit down, please.”

Not sure if the woman was simply gesturing to a chair or if ‘maybe’ she expected him to kiss her hand on the way there.

“No wonder Marsha’s so pretty.” Opting for the first, Mitchell sat down.

“Thank you.” Acknowledging the compliment while attempting to soften the perplexed look of her frozen smile…Searching for something… For ‘anything’ to say…

“You’re Jewish?” Rhea said dumbly, “You don’t look Jewish.”

He’d gone through this with girl’s mothers in the past. Having only two ways to prove that he truly was Jewish and not knowing Marsha’s mother well enough to ‘whip it out’. Thinking the absurd thought I could show her my circumcision. Or, smiling, this time opting for the second. Taking the wallet from his back pocket. Removing a picture he handed it to her.

Looking at thirteen year old Mitchell wearing a tallis and yarmulke in his bar mitzvah picture. Handing the picture back while still thinking of something intelligible to say, “Oh.” Rhea said.

Enjoying her mother’s squirming and near babbling response. Nonetheless thinking, Maybe now’s a good time to leave. “Mother, we’ve got to meet Shelly at Askanaz and we’re running late.”

Glancing at Marsha. Surprised at this but standing. “Nice meeting you, Mrs Goldman...” Mitchell repeated, adding, “...sorry we have to run.”

Not even ‘pretending’ to like them. Often to the point of being ‘noticeably’ rude. Rhea usually rushed Marsha’s boyfriends from the apartment as quickly as possible. Now, though, wishing they’d stay a bit longer. wanting to know more about this young man,

“Yes, Mitchell...” forcing her eyes from his face, frowning at her daughter “...maybe you can stay longer next time.”

‘Maybe you can stay longer next time’. Not words she’d thought she would ‘ever’ hear her mother say in regard to one of her boyfriends. “Yes, Mother!” Marsha said sweetly. “Maybe next time.”

Motioning to a beach bag by the door. “This yours?”

Still attempting to keep a straight face, “Uh-huh.” Marsha nodded.

Lifting the bag and opening the door. Stepping through and Looking back, “Bye, Mrs. Goldman.” Mitchell pulled the door shut.

Woodland Hills, California

5/27/86

“You were the first guy my mother ever met that she liked. Guess I shouldn’t have cared who the hell she liked or not, but apparently, for some reason I did care.”

“So you liked me because your ‘mother’ liked me?”

“Yeah, well there you were. A really good looking guy who’s parents owned their own home in Skokie, had their own business and even had a sail boat moored in Belmont Harbour and to top it all off, your family actually belonged to a yacht club...”

Having a dull pain in his stomach, “Never new you were ‘that much’ of A ‘gold digger.”

“I never did either, but there you were, a beautiful rich guy that...’holy shit’, even my mother liked... Oh, yeah! Then there was the ring.”

Chicago, Illinois

August 11, 1955

“You like that ring, don’t you?”

“Mother, who wouldn’t like a pear-shaped diamond?”

“How big’s the stone, Sid?”

“Two and a half carats, Rhea.”

“Take it out, will you.”

Sid, Rhea’s “friendly” jeweler, took the ring from the showcase, shined it with a jeweler’s cloth, then slipped it onto Marsha’s finger.

“Oh, Mother!” Holding her hand forward, “It’s beautiful!”

“It’s a good stone, Sid?”

“Of ‘course’…” indignantly “...it’s a good stone! Would I ever show you anything else?”

“You want it, Marsha?”

“Do I want it?” Thinking she was joking. “Of course I want it!”

Standing in stony silence, “Rhea, Mitchell doesn’t have anywhere near that kind of money!” Myra did not think she was joking.

Looking at Myra… Rhea stared at Myra for five long seconds, then, turning back to her daughter, “It’s yours!”

Gasping as thought the breath had been taken from her lungs, “ ‘Mother’…”

“It’s yours!” Rhea said with finality.

“Sid, you and me...” their eyes locking “...we’ll discuss price later.”

“ ‘Mother’…” Marsha could not believe it: a two and a half carat, pear-shaped diamond.

“Rhea, my son cannot affor…”

Cutting her off, “Forget it, Myra!” glaring at her, daring her to say more, “I’m paying the difference! And Marsha wants a ring for Mitchell.” The slits of her dark, stony eyes turning from Myra, “That one, Sid...” she said, pointing to a velvet-lined tray “...the one in the gypsy setting, How big’s the stone?”

“One carat.”

“It’s a good stone, Sid?”

Shrugging his shoulders, “Rhea...” sounding hurt, looking at her over his glasses “...you trying to make me crazy?”

“Show me, please.”

Wiping the ring with his cloth, Sid handed it to Rhea.

Holding the ring to the artificial light, looking at it a moment, slipping it onto the corresponding finger of her daughter’s other hand, “Marsha, would you like to give this ring to Mitchell?”

Actually, Marsha had never considered giving Mitchell a ring—other than a wedding band—and dazed at what was either her mother’s utmost generosity, or, more the likely, the depth of her guilt.

Holding her hands to the fluorescent light, Marsha looked at the sparkling facets of the two diamond rings on her engagement and wedding fingers. “God, Mother...” possibly loving her mother for the first time in her life, barely able to stammer “...yes!”

“Okay, Sid...” Once again looking at Myra, once again daring her to speak “...we’ll take them both.”

Woodland Hill, California

5/27/86

“So, you married me because you thought we were rich?”

“”Yes, I did! And don’t forget my ring!”

“You weren't about to give that up, even though it meant marring someone you hated.”

“That ring is my security!”

“For what?”

“Never felt you and me would spend our entire lives together an the ring…” holding her right hand upward”...was for ‘just in case’.”

“You’d ‘really’ sell your engagement ring? Doesn’t it mean ‘anything’ to you?”

“Yeah, if I needed the money. Bet your ass I’d sell it because it’s really meant nothing to me but ‘money in the bank’ thats appreciating every day.”

“My ring…” holding his right hand forward “...I thought I’d give to Mikey as a — Oh, God...” his throat thickening, his eyes becoming glassy “...what a lie you’ve made of our marriage… of our lives.”

“It wasn’t ‘always’ a lie! I didn't ‘exactly’ hate you back then…”

“But you didn’t ‘exactly’ love me back then either.”

“...but I was still in love with Stan and seeing him every now and then was driving me crazy, so I wanted to get away from Chicago..”.”

“So you fucked him one last time for...what? Good will?”

“No! To get pregnant!”

“ ‘Poor thing’…” sarcastically “...then you got your period two days before our wedding.”

“Yeah!”

Next PIT #32: What Now