PIT#43: In Threes #1
Points In Time
Monday, June 16, 1986
Los Angeles/Woodland Hills, California
Standing at the curb as the ‘Red Cap’ wheeled away. “We’ve still better than an hour before you take off. Give me a couple of minutes to park the car and I’ll wait with you.”
Possibly still stung by Mitchell’s sexual refusal the night before, or possibly just being ‘Marsha’. “No…” she said “...no reason to prolong it, I’d just as soon say ‘goodbye’ here, now.”
“Okay, Marsha…” feeling a profound sadness at this “...if this is the way you want it.”
“Yes, I do, Mitchell. ‘Bye!’” Without a further word, turning away, Marsha rushed to catch up with the ‘Red Cap’.
Watching for the few seconds it took Marsha to meld with the crowd and disappear from sight…
Sighing, getting into the Ford, I began the trip home.
Bittersweet. Can’t think of any other way. Marsha’s gone. Gone out of my life forever. Stopping as the bumper to bumper line of north bound ‘rush hour’ traffic on the ‘405’ coming to a complete halt.
This’ll be the first time I’ll be alone, I realized. Lived with my parents until I enlisted, and I sure as hell wasn’t alone then, then got married while I was still in the Coast Guard…
Traffic moving about fifty feet, then stopped again. Marsha’s gone now and I don’t care! Thinking. When one is stalled in traffic, what do you do? ‘Radio’? Didn’t feel like listening to the radio. Wanted to think.
Who’d I loved in my life. ‘Really’ loved?
Marsha, of course. Through all of the bad shit I really did love Marsha. However, way back, going way back...December, 1951: Fifteen year old Susan Friedman. Who to this day, not a day goes by that I do not think of Susan and do not know if she’s alive or dead and know that I would not know her if I ever saw her, but still think of Susan.
And Lizzy, of course...December, 1962: Elizabeth Herzon. I really loved Lizzy! And still wonder how life would be if I went back up to the lawyers office, or if Kennedy hadn’t been assassinated at just that time.
Traffic moving now. Traffic crawling now as we approach the juncture of the ‘101’ and the ‘405’.
Okay, Marsha is gone and I’m glad to be rid of her and I’ll be seeing Lita tomorrow, and I ‘know’, because she told me so, I will not be alone tomorrow night…
Do I love Lita. No... I don’t think so. Never prejudice in my home as a child and my home as an adult, but I do know that there is a separation of the races and, Do I love Lita? I think I’m afraid too.
Onto the ‘101’. Traffic moving, not very quickly, but traffic moving. At this rate I should be home in thirty minutes, or so.
...Three arms full of hanging clothing lain across the back seat of the Ford Station Wagon. Two cartons of items taken from the dresser drawers. Clothing that is no longer worn — Don’t think I’ll ever fit into these 38’s anymore. Three pairs of Levis and three pars of casual slacks into the ‘Salvation Army’ carton. Sport shirts and dress shirts and jackets that no longer, or will ever again fit I tossed into the ‘Salvation Army’ carton to be taken along with all else marked in this house by Marsha and, as of tomorrow, by me also, to be taken for donation to ‘The Salvation Army’. Then on Wednesday all that was too heavy to be moved by me — and, for whatever help she might be, Lita, would be picked up by professional movers and delivered to Westlake.
A carton of towels and bedding, and a carton of Melmac dishes and stainless steel silverware and small kitchen items shoved into the rear compartment.
A fact trip made to the new home. Hanging clothing hung on the bar in the big bedroom closet. Clothing to be put into drawers, left in the box. Kitchen items left in boxes.
A quick trip back to Woodland Hills for another carriable load and back to Westlake and back to Woodland Hills and — not wanting to miss Lita’s call, a quick shower.
9:47 p.m.
“Mitchie, hi, baby!”
A towel across my shoulders, my hair still wet, sitting on the edge of the king-size bed I had shared with Marsha. “Hi, Lita. Got me just in time.”
“Going out again?”
“No, honey. Got me just out of the shower.”
“You naked?”
“Yeah.”
“Wish I were there with you.’
Sensing a little jerk within my dick. ‘yeah, me, too.’
“How’d it go today?”
“Actually it was kind of strange.”
“ ‘Strange’. How?”
“We got to ‘LAX” an hour early and I told her that I’d wait with her… Remember, Lita, Marsha and I’ve been married for over thirty-one years and had four children together and she didn’t even want to say goodbye...’No’, it wasn’t because she did ‘not’ want to say goodbye, it was more like she wanted to erase the years we’d been together and just walked away from me.”
“ ‘Just walked away from you’! With out even a simple ‘goodbye’?”
“She kind of wiggled her hand at me as she followed the ‘Red Cap’ with her luggage.”
“Sorry to say, Mitch, but your wife is a fucking bitch!”
“No need to apologize . I hit ‘rush hour’ all the way home and kept seeing that ‘half-gassed’ over the shoulder wave, if that’s what it was all the way home.”
“Get much moved over after you got home?”
“Yeah. Two trips with my clothes and some linens and kitchen stuff.”
“Left some stuff for me?”
“Yeah, baby. Plenty of stuff.”
“Good, need the exercise! Wait for me for breakfast.”
Other than at Janice’s home, tomorrow’s breakfast would be the first time I’d be seen in public with Lita. My thrill at this by far overshadowing my curiosity regarding being seen in public with this beautiful black lady.
“I was going to suggest that…” I wasn’t as it had never entered my mind “...so when do you think you’ll be here?”
“Coming from Brentwoood, traffic should be light by eight-thirty, so… Where do you live, Mitch?”
You ready?”
“Yes. Go ahead.”
“ ‘405’ to ‘101’ west...way to the end of the ‘Valley’ and right on ‘Valley End’ to the third light and a left to ‘11038’.
“Got it, Mitchie. See you about nine-thirty/ten.”
“ ‘Night, honey.”
Physically and mentally exhausted, yet knowing this night; my last night in this house, in ‘our’ bed would mean no rest for my mind. Still naked, walking into the kitchen, the bottle of ‘Jack Daniels’ still in it’s place to be carried out tomorrow with all edibles. Not bothering with a glass, the bottle directly to my lips, taking a bit more than I’d wanted and swallowing, the bourbon roughly flowing down my throat hit bottom with a mild ‘warming’ effect. One more, smaller swig, this time feeling no added warmth, I then went to bed… However not so quickly to sleep.
Woodland Hill, California
Tuesday, June 17, 1986
9:36 a.m.
Watching for her. Standing at the kitchen window with a mug of coffee ni hand, I anxiously watched for Lita.
It’s top down, the deep blue ‘86Chevrole Camaro pulled up to the curb and…
There she was. Dressed in calf length jeans and a light blue chambray shirt. Seeing me as I came outside to greet her, Lita smiled — and my fears for this new future of mine flowed away within the warmth of Lita’s smile.
“Hi, baby...” Lita’s arms bout my waist. “...good morning.”
“ ‘Morning, honey!” My arms about Lita’s waist, we lightly kissed. “Come on in.” Urging her to the open door.
Standing within the entry. “Wow, Mitch. This is some big house.”
“Yeah. Remember there were six of us living here.”
Seeing the six boxes in the living-room. “Those going today?”
“Yeah, and I think we’ll be able to get a bed frame into the Ford, along with the box springs and mattress…”
“So we won’t be sleeping on the floor.”
“Well, we still can, if you want.”
“No. A real bed will be okay.”
“You hungry?”
Looking at me. “Yes…” Lita said “...I’m starving!”
Realising for the first time other than the brown sandals on her feet and and the dirty white tennis shoes on mine, wearing blue denim shorts and a light blue chambray shirt, Lita and I were dresses alike — which would create more attention than either, I was ‘sure’ more attention than either Lita or I would want.
“Pancakes, okay?”
“Love pancakes.” Lita said.
Tarzana, California
10:20 a.m.
...A mile to the east, parking the Ford in the lot, Lita and I entered the local ‘International House of Pancakes’.
Many times throughout my life taking the ‘hung for a sheep as a lamb’ theory, as we entered ‘I HOP’ I took hold of Lita’s hand.
Waiting a few moments to be seated, then walking a few steps behind the elderly woman wearing black slacks, white dress shirt and black bow tie.
Following the lady down the length of the large restaurant leading Lita and me to a booth — as ‘all’ the while feeling ‘all’ eyes on this white guy and black lady that were apparently 'pourposely'dressed alike holding hands.
Seated and given menus..
“Did you feel that?”
“Yes, Lita…” I said as genteelly as possible “...I did.”
“Don’t know if I’ve ever felt so conspicuous.”
“Me, too. But also damned proud!”
“ ‘Proud’. Of what?”
“Two thing: First by being with the most beautiful lady in this whole joint. And secondly having the nerve to do it.”
A waiter holding a tray placing a steaming pot of coffee before us along with cups and cream and sugar. “Do you care to order now…” he asked “...or should I give you time?”
Looking at Lita. “I know what Iwant...You?"
“A belgian waffle with one egg over medium and bacon, crisp.”
“Eggs over medium, pork sausage, hash browns, crispy and a small stack.”
Taking a sip of the hot black coffee. “How’d it feel sleeping in a vacant house last night?”
“Had a hard time actually. Had to take a couple shits of ‘Jack Daniels’ to get to sleep and then I couldn’t.”.
“You miss your wife?”
“ ‘No’! Hell, no. It’s only that we’ve known each other since she was, uh, going on thirteen and I wasn’t even fifteen when we met, and now I guess it’s just hard to believe that she’s completely out of my life.” Stopping, taking a long drink of coffee. “How’s about you?”
“What do you mean…”
The waiter returning, placed our respective plates of food before us, refilled our coffee cups, then left.
Cutting into a sausage link. “Your husband, uh…?”
Pouring maple syrup onto her waffle..."Howard."
Pouring syrup onto my short stack of pancakes. “Yeah, Howard…” afraid of Lita’s answer in either case “... he still being an idiot?”
Waiting until she swallowed. “He’s been in touch with me…” hesitating as she cut into the yoke of the egg with the edge of her fork “...and wants us to get together again.”
He want Lita back, I thought, sensing a twitch in my stomach, or possibly my heart. “And you?” I asked “What do you want?”
Taking her time. Cutting the waffle with knife and fork. Possibly looking for a true answer while looking at the dish before her as she chewed…
“Mitchie…” looking directly at me, reaching across the table, taking my hand “...I don’t know.” Shrugging her shoulders as she glanced about this all ‘white’ occupied restaurant “...I, uh, like you more than I know I should…” Leaving it at that. Her eyes and hand moving from mine. Lifting the cup and taking a drink of coffee, Lita then dipped a piece of waffle into the broken yoke of egg.
Feeling as one might when ‘knowing’ the answers, but is yet afraid to take the test. Feeling as one might when appalling for a job and ‘knowing’ he was saying the right things, yet…
I had only been with, and am with Lita in a pure white atmosphere.
Oh, yes, our group was white, well, with the exception of Janice who was half white and I know, as I am sure Lita knows that she was fully accepted and the looks of the white Elysium people were — the looks of the white Elysium people, as far as I was concerned, looks of ‘jealousy’ for the absolute beauty of this near black lady…
But, of course Elysium people were a special ‘accepting’ breed of people.
I had never been wit Lita other than with white, accepting, people and wondered how ‘I’ might be accepted within a group of black people, and also how ‘accepting’ I might be?
Lita’s parents college professors. Lita herself a teacher growing up in ‘old money’ Handcock Park, and now living in ‘costly’ Brentwood, I assumed did have contact with white people, but as meely acquaintances, or as friends? I did not know. But Lita’s self-conscious entrance into this restaurant while holding the hand of a white man?
The rest of our breakfast in silence, I wondered if Lita’s thoughts mirrored mine.
It wasn’t until hours later that I discovered Lita had.
PIT#44: In Threes #2
