PIT 2/6: So It Began

Writers Notation: As we are attempting to get to the reasons for the life altering ‘break-up’ with Mitchell Lipensky’s remaining three loves, and not wanting to waste a whole bunch of words with inconsequential information, this writer will continue to move along with the barest thumbnails of ‘Points in Time’.

However, as the ‘Elizabeth’ series takes place in the late 50’s and early 60’s there is quite a bit of history that must be presented in order to, well, get to the actual ‘Point in Time’. All of which, if interested, can be found in ‘For Better or Worse’. (Amazon Kindle)

Peoria, Illinois

August 25, 1961

“Okay, Gene...” calling Chicago the next day “...yes. How much time do I have? When do you want me there to start?”

“Bill’s retirement date isn’t set in stone, Mitch. He’s looking towards late October, but he’ll hang around a bit longer to introduce you to accounts, if he has to.”

“I’ll need some time to find a place to live, to move my family back and get settled.”

“If you think a couple of weeks will do it, we’ll get you back on your draw starting… What say we look for you to begin work on… Let’s say October Fifteen.”

PIT/2-6: So It Began

October 5, 1961

Chicago, Illinois

“It’s ‘where’?”

“Des Plaines, Mother.”

“ ‘Des Plaines’? That’s in east Kishniv!”

(a mythical place at the end of the world).”

“Mother...” suppressing a smile, “...it’s not in ‘Kishniv’. It’s only…”

“Eighteen miles from Skokie,” Mitchell said.

Glancing at her husband, “and it’s only an…”

“Yes, I know...” Rhea said, “...an hour from here.”

“Mother...” Marsha said excitedly, “...it’s ‘so’ beautiful! It’s got…”

“A house?” Asked doubtfully. “You kids think you can afford a house?”

“It’s not exactly a house. It’s…”

“A ‘townhouse’...” Mitchell interrupted.

A Resolution

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, how are you?” both did their best to remain at arm’s length and maintain a standoffish attitude.

As for Elizabeth and Mitchell: Knowing there would be no reason to come in contact with each other, other than being cordial as they would any fellow Transco employee at company meetings— both promised themselves to remain distantly aloof.

Their territories divided by Wabash avenue; he on the east and Elizabeth on the west.

Whenever on Wabash, Mitchell would keep a sharp eye out for Elizabeth doing his best to avoid all contact because… Well, Mitchell Lipensky knew himself and knew that alone together, even within a crowd of strangers, would lead to someplace that he was afraid to go.

December 28, 1961

He couldn’t avoid her. Michelle could not duck into a doorway as he had once before because Elizabeth had seen him and was waving to him as, standing on the corner she waiting for the light to change to green.

What could he do but...

Waving back, he watched as, the light changing, Elizabeth Herzon crossed Wabash Avenue.

Wearing a white, fur lined, near ankle length suede 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 as 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 John F. Kennedy’s refusal to wear hats—wore no hat.

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

“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, thought, if he should she, quite possibly, would not want to let go.

Looking at each other. Standing wordless for a number of heartbeats, 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… Knowing how she would 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, ’m starving.”

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

“Yes. Harding’s is 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 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.

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, their feet planted firmly beneath their chairs. Both sets of hands held primly within their laps. Roiling emotions held strongly at bay, neither knowing how to start a conversation or what type of conversation to start.

Remembering the kiss she had initiated behind the cartons, Elizabeth wanted nothing more than to do it again—to kiss Mitchell.

Remembering that kiss and the feel of her lips and body against his, Mitchell knew exactly what he wanted.

The silence becoming pronounced…

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

“Yes, we actually did like it there.”

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

Thinking, other than the, once again never ending arguments. “So far… yeah...” he said “...I think so.”

“How you finding Tom’s territory?”

“Other than freezing in winter and broiling in summer, what’s not to like?”

“So…” Elizabeth asked “...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 also. “I’m fine too, Mitch.”

Deciding, laying the menu on the table, he took a roll, tore it in half and 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 her words back...

“Do you care to order now?”

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, along with the cooking scents of Harding’s, Elizabeth ran her tongue over her lips to wipe away any, imagined, saliva.

Thinking it best to let the ‘I missed you’ comment lie. “I hear your sales are going really great.”

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

“Yeah, being smart...” holding intense eye contact “… 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 ‘three’ kids?” Blinking her eyes rapidly. ‘three’’! The impossible becoming even more impossible. “When did that happen?” Asked a bit harsher than intended.

“My father-in-law… Marsha’s father was murdered about four years ago…”

“Murdered!”

“Yeah. He had a grill on East Madison Street, you know, near the skid row area, and a drunk…” not sure what word to use, “...a shvartz… uh, a Negro came in and shot him.”

“A shvartzer shot him! ‘Oh, my God’! How terrible!”

“Yeah. And Marsha wanted to give her father a name, so we… she became pregnant as soon as she could.”

Nodding appreciatively, “Yes, I can understand that.”

“So we had a girl and named her Ellie—My father-in-law’s name was Eli."

“Here you go, folks.” Placing Elizabeth’s house salad with vinaigrette dressing, on the side, and Mitchell’s…

Smelling it, Oh, my God! Hearing her stomach growling. Knowing she was drooling—actually she wasn’t, but thinking she was drooling— looking away, trying to think of something else, Elizabeth dabbed at her lips with the napkin.

“And your third one.”

“Sammy? Sammy was a bit of a slip up.”

Some ‘slip up’.

Looking up, seeing Elizabeth looking at his dish, “I’ve plenty, if you want some…”

“ ‘No’!” she said a bit louder than necessary. “Sorry, Mitch, but I’m...” she said weakly “...watching my weight.”

Her eyes dropping, looking to the shallow bowl before her, pouring a thin stream of vinaigrette dressing onto the salad and, as though forcing herself, which, indeed, she was, spearing a cherry tomato, she unenthusiasticly popped it into her mouth.

Both quiet…

Thinking of telling him, maybe to shock him as his news of ‘three’ children

had shocked her. But also, by telling him it might get her mind off the hamburger and fries.

“Mitchie...” toying with a slice of cucumber “...I want to tell you something, but you’ve go to promise! You can’t tell anyone.”

Intrigued now. “Sure, if you don’t want me to say anything...” he said sincerely “...I promise I won’t.”

Hesitating again, looking at her dish…then, once again their eyes locking, “I’m married.”

“You’re ‘what’?”

“Married. I’ve been married for about three and a half years.”

Confused by his contradicting emotions. Married? His heart sinking, but yet ‘glad’ because now — foolishly thinking, If she’s married nothing can happen between us.

“Why?” he asked. “Why’s it a secret?”

“When they hired me, I got grilled! ‘Really’ grilled, about was I married. Do I intend to get married and if I do, do I plan on having any kids?

“Gene told me that being the first woman to work for the company they planned on putting a lot of effort into me, and promised me a really good territory, but wanted my assurances that I had no intentions about having any children. And I got the impression that they thought if I was married I’d probably want kids, so not being married was kind of a bonus to them, so, when Myron and me…”

“Myron? I thought you said his name was, uh...” thinking “...Howard.”

“ ‘Howard’?”

“Yeah. When the three of us, you’n’Marsha’n’me, were sitting together at the Christmas party, you said you were engaged to a ‘Howie.’”

“Nah.” Smiling. “That was all made up to get Marsha off my back.”

Remembering, taking a bite of the hamburger,.“Yeah…” Remembering Marsha’s unnerving attitude “...I can see why.”

Cutting a chunk of iceberg lettuce, swishing it around the vinaigrette dressing on the bottom of the shallow bowl, putting it into her mouth she unenthusiastically chewed.

“So you can see why I don’t want anyone to know because I really love my job and don’t want them... Transco, getting the idea that I might, maybe…” afraid of regaining her weight, really, truly she did not “...want to become pregnant because then they might get worried and start thinking about cutting my territory or firing me.”

“So what does, uh…?”

“ ‘Myron’.”

“Yeah. So what does Myron think about keeping your marriage a secret?”

“I’m making more money then him, so…”

Cutting her off, revealing a bit more of the depth of his feeling for her. “If it was me married to you…” thinking, My God, I wish! “...I’d sure as hell care!”

Thinking, My God, I wish! “Seeing as I’m the one bringing most of the money into the house, he really doesn’t care.”

“So you’re not really not Elizabeth Herzon anymore.”

“No. So now I guess I’m ‘Elizabeth Lipshitz’.”

“ ‘Lipshitz’?” Chuckling, “That’s almost as bad as Lipensky.”

“Mitchell…” once again heir eyes locked. For the second time saying one of those things that are occasionally said before the brain has a chance to process one’s thoughts… Or maybe not, “…I’d love it if my name was Lipensky.”

She loves me!

Lunch finished. Back on the street. Both in a state of utter emotional confusion. A quick peck on the cheek and a, “Happy New Year!” Elizabeth Herzon and Mitchell Lipensky each went their separate ways, and had no further contact until...

February 27, 1963

9:45 AM

Not knowing what he did. Never knowing what he might have done. After days and nights of his wife’s familiar angry silence.

After restless and sleepless nights, his resolve crumbling.

He wanted to. He didn’t want to.

Actually hoping she’d checked in already. “Donna...” his stomach quaking “...good morning! It’s Mitch Lipensky.”

“Morning, Mitchell.”

Th e pulsing of his heart felt in his throat,. “Has Elizabeth called in yet?”

“No. She usually checks in about ten, ten-thirty.”

“Could you tell her, please, that I think one of my customers is opening an office on her side of the street and that I’d like to talk to her about it.”

“Sure, Mitch.”

“Tell her I’m going to have lunch at Harding’s...” doing his best to sound nonchalant “...and if she wants to talk to me about the customer and has no other plans for lunch, ask if she’d meet me there at, oh, twelve, twelve-thirty.”

“Sure, Mitch. Anything else?”

“No… Yeah. Any calls for me?”

Next PIT2/7: The Affair