PIT2/8: On To Realty

Points In time

Chicago, Illinois

February 27, 1963 —

2:10 PM

Elizabeth watched as, the blood draining from the spongy cells, Mitchell’s penis lowered, than draped onto his thigh, as…

Mitchell watched as, no longer excited, looking somewhat like a cherry pit in the sphere of her once again smooth, light pink areolae, Elizabeth’s stiffly standing nipples retracted.

Holding hands now, laying quietly side by side—I love you—each thinking the thought that both knew, at least for now, would best be left unsaid.

“Know what I’d love to do, Mitchie?”

At this time anything Elizabeth would love to do was okay with him.

Rolling off the bed, “I’d love to take a shower with you!” Taking hold of his arms, she pulled him upright.

Watching the sway of her breasts, “A shower together!” Scooting to the other side of the bed, “I’d love to!”

Following a step behind, seeing Elizabeth nude from behind for the first time, slightly surprised because her clothing had previously hid her figure.

Accentuated by wide hips, her sharply defined waist appeared narrower than it actually was and, okay, being a man who preferred zaftig (well rounded) women, loving each and every dimple, Elizabeth’s faded but noticeable translucent stretch marked stippled buttocks were a bit on the large side… Not too large, mind you, because, from the perspective of the young man walking a pace behind, Elizabeth truly appeared to be what could be considered as curvaceous and this he truly appreciated; however it would be easy to see how a woman, how a slightly, or certainly a more than slightly envious woman might misconstrue ‘curvaceous’ for ‘a big ass’.

Elizabeth’s thighs looked to be a bit chubby also, but imagining his head between those comfortable looking thighs, to Mitchell Lipensky, Elizabeth’s ‘bit on the chubby side’ thighs were just fine! Though having more definition if wearing a pair of moderately heeled shoes, barefooted now, her calves and ankles were also a bit on the thick side.

No problem what-so-ever with anything about Elizabeth.

Writers Notation: This is as far as we’re going to go with descriptive sex because descriptive sex is not what this saga is about. So let’s continue to Elizabeth’s and Mitchell’s last ‘point in time’, but in order to do this we must first go back to...

January 1, 1963

9:47 AM

Pouring coffee, “What?”

“I said...” he said nonchalantly “...I didn’t use a…”

“Yeah, I heard what you said!” Putting the pot on the stove, remaining standing. “I just can’t believe you’d do that to me!”

“Why?” Looking at her. “It’s damn near about time!”

“Yes, okay! What, tell me, am I supposed to tell them at work when, oh, in about four months…” said sarcastically “...I show up pregnant… When I’m not even supposed to be married?”

“But you are married!”

“Myron...” she said angrily “...they don’t know that!”

“Well...” said just as angrily “...maybe it’s damn near time they did! Tell ’em you’re married! Tell them you’ve been married for two years now!”

Bringing us to...

Sunday, January 6, 1963

Her anger at the deception carrying throughout the week, pain waking her, orientating herself, Thank God! for the first time in her life Elizabeth welcomed menstrual cramps.

Taking us to...

Monday, January 7, 1963

“Judy, good morning. It’s Elizabeth Lipshitz.”

“Elizabeth, good morning. How are you?”

“Good. Fine, in fact, but I’d like to make an appointment.”

“Can I tell the doctor your problem?”

“It’s a personal thing, Judy.”

“Sure.” Checking Doctor Rubin’s appointment schedule, “Thursday: 2:15 do?”

“That’ll be fine. Thank you, Judy.”

Here on...

Thursday, January 10, 1963

“Your period started on Sunday, you say?”

“Yes…” Elizabeth said “...well, the cramps.”

“How long do your periods usually last?”

“Six, seven days.”

Writing, ripping it from the pad, he handed her the

prescription. “Take one immediately, then follow the instructions.”

The first birth control pill: Combined Oral Contraceptive Pill (COCP), Enovid, was introduced to America in 1960.

Writers Notation: With the worry of an unwanted pregnancy out of the way, the two would meet at ‘Hardings’ on the second Tuesday of each month as close to twelve noon as possible, then drive to pick up his car at the Howard Street ‘El’ then back to her apartment.

All went as planned, until...

Wednesday, May 29, 1963

1:47 PM

Catching her breath. Opening her eyes. Looking at him. Hesitating a moment…

“I told Myron I want a divorce.”

Her legs draped over his shoulder. “Huh?” Still atop Elizabeth, still within Elizabeth. “What?”

“I told Myron I want a divorce.”

“Yeah, Lizzie...” withdrawing “...I heard you…” rolling off “...but you know I…”

“I know!” Cutting him off. “I know you can’t, won’t leave your kids, and I’d never expect you to, but I’m so tired of living a lie with Myron. And, to be honest, I can’t stand him touching me anymore so I asked for a divorce last week and he agreed, and moved out yesterday.”

The good consequence:We can see each other whenever we want. I can call her whenever I want.

The bad consequence: We can see each other whenever we want. I can call her whenever I want—and I’ll want to all the time.

Seeing… being with Elizabeth this way once a month had become, to say the least, difficult, because, of course, he did want to spend more time, lots more time with her this way. But he would also love to do the things ‘normal couples’ do:… Go to dinner occasionally; See a movie occasionally; Walk hand in hand within a crowd just be seen with this beautiful woman at his side.

Life adjusted…

And soon Mitchell and Elizabeth would spend two and occasionally three time a month together.

This arrangement worked out fine, except seeing each other more often, getting to ‘somewhat’ know each other better, loving each other, more often did not always seem to be enough.

This arrangement worked fine until..

November 14, 1963

“Lizzy, I love you!”

3:47 AM

Her cramps coming on…

“Lizzy, I love you!”

The sound of his own voice awakening him, his eyes snapping open, staring into the darkness, Did I really say that? he thought, or did I just dream I said that?

Laying perfectly still, listening for the sleeping sound of his wife’s breathing. But, outside of his beating heart, that sounded as a drum in his chest, he heard nothing.

The prescribed medication seemingly having worked because, indeed, Marsha did feel a bit more energetic and a bit less irritable.

However, sensing something amiss regarding the affection and attention usually bestowed upon her by her husband, actually, at times—although it could be her imagination—he seemed to ignore her and Marsha sensed that something was not quite right, but unable to put her finger on it, and more energy or not, a bit less irritable or not, Marsha’s general temperament hadn’t changed and with each real or imagined slight her anger would flare and, as in the past, days, nights and even a week might pass before she would allow a softening of her attitude, along with her anger.

And recently, ‘very’ much out of character, Mitchell really didn’t seem to care and the small niceties that had always been the earmark of the personality of Mitchell Lipensky towards his wife had diminished along with his concern over Marsha’s anger.

You want to be mad? he thought. Well, screw you! So be mad!

As a matter of fact Mitchell rather looked forward to Marsha’s anger because at those times he no longer had the need to pretend what he felt for her, which was nothing.

Laying perfectly still, no longer hearing the sleeping sound of her husband’s breathing. Now putting one and one together. Now able to ‘put her finger on it’.

“Mitchell.”

The sound of his name coming from the lips of his wife sounding as a rifle shot in the silent room.

“Mitchell.”

Pretending not to hear. Pretending sleep…

“I know you’re awake.” Hesitating a moment then bluntly asked, “Have you been seeing Elizabeth?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t pretend! I know you’re awake and I want to know…” repeating “... have you been seeing Elizabeth?”

“ ‘Elizabeth’? Marsha, ‘no’!”

“Do you love her? I heard you! Don’t lie to me!” Not wanting to wake the children, attempting to keep her voice down. “You said you love her! ‘Have you been seeing her’? ‘Do you love her’?”

“ ‘In my sleep, Marsha’?” Trying to stay calm. “You heard me say something in my sleep and you’re mad at that?”

“Yes...” turning the lamp on “...you said, ‘Lizzy, I love you’! And now it makes sense.”

Blinking his eyes at the sudden brightness. “Because I said something in my sleep? ‘Now what makes sense’?”

“The way you’ve been treating me.”

“ ‘The way I’ve been treating you’? What way have I been treating you?”

“Like you don’t give a damn, Mitchell! You don’t touch me anymore! You don’t talk to me anymore!”

Remaining uncharacteristically calm, especially under these circumstances. Leaning over him, staring into his eyes. “I know when you’re lying to me, Mitchell, and I want to know: ‘have you been seeing Elizabeth’?”

All of this time, since his first liaison with Elizabeth, Mitchell had been concerned because he was afraid his secret would be discovered by some outside source, or there would be a telltale sign on his person. But from ‘his’ mouth? From his ‘own’ mouth… While asleep? Okay, he thought, now’s the time. If I want out of this marriage, now’s the time. His stomach tightening, however, “ ‘No’!” he said emphatically. “I have not been seeing Elizabeth!”

Snarling, “ ‘I don’t believe you’! I know when you’re lying and you’re lying now! ‘Aren’t you’?”

Silence…

Staring at him. “Answer me, ‘damn-it’!”

His eyes downcast, Mitchell said nothing.

Getting up, “The kids don’t have to hear this!” Marsha went into the hallway and closed the children’s bedroom doors. Returning, she closed their door also.

“Have you been seeing that fat-ass bitch?” Demanding an answer, she slapped him. “You want a divorce?”

Not expecting the slap, the direct question, however, throwing him, thinking, Do I want a divorce? Do I want to live away from my children? Rubbing his stinging cheek, “I ‘don’t’ know what I want.”

“Well I know what I want!”

Needing time to think away from Marsha’s direct gaze, moving to the far side he sat on the edge of the mattress.

“I want you out of here!”

Turning, he looked at her. “What?”

“I said, ‘I want you out of here’!”

“This is my house, too, you can’t…”

“Yeah, I can! You hate me and, umm…” thinking a moment “...I’m afraid of you! I’m afraid you’ll hurt me and I want you out of this house!”

“ ‘You’re afraid of me’?” Looking skyward, “Oh, I get it. Here we go again, huh Marsha?”

Mimicking, “Yeah, ‘here we go again’!”

“And I ‘don’t’ hate you and you know god-damned well that I’d never hurt you!”

“You’ve hit me once before and you do hate me and I… To tell the truth, Mitchell…” Her lip curling, bringing forward her, by now, very familiar show of disgust, “…I hate you, too! And I’m glad this happened so I can be rid of you.”

“You ‘really’ mean that, huh? You’re ‘really’ throwing me out, again?”

“Oh, yes! I am! ‘Again’! And maybe the third time ’ll be the charm and I’ll be rid of you, ‘really’!”

“Yeah, Marsha, this is the third time you’re doing this, you know: wrecking our marriage.”

“Me?” said indignantly. “ ‘I’m wrecking our marriage’?”

Cowardice? Fear of the agony of going through a divorce? Fear of losing his life with his children? What he’d wanted—to spend his life with Elizabeth — now within reach. Now wanting to hold his life together, grasping at straws. “Yes! Let’s talk to someone to see if we can find a way to…”

“To what, Mitchell? Talk to who?”

“A rabbi! Someone…”

“We don’t have a rabbi! And to talk to someone so you can tell them what a ‘shitty’ wife I am?”

“No, Marsha. To see if we can…”

“Mitchell…” said through clenched teeth “...I don’t know how to say this so your stupid brain will understand, but I ‘hate’ you!” Her voice lowering. “I hate you with all of my heart and so you’ll know, I’ve ‘always’ hated you and I want you out of my life and out of my house!”

Staring at her, “You really mean that!”

“Yeah, I do!” Her voice rising once again, “ ‘I really do mean it’! Tell me...” Marsha asked “...when were you fucking her? When you were supposed to be working?”

Silence…

“You know...” lowering her voice “...one call and I could get both of you fired! But I’m not going to call Transco because I don’t want you to lose your job because you’re going to need money…”

“Marsha…”

“…to support us—the kids and me—and, although I don’t really give a damn, for wherever you plan on living with the bitch.”

“...the kids…”

“I want you to take whatever you’ll need for a few days and get out of here, ‘now’!”

“...what’'ll we tell the kids?”

Still speaking in a somewhat calm tone. “ ‘Me’, not we! Tomorrow morning I’ll tell them that you and me are not going to live together anymore and that you’ll…” hesitating, fighting tears, “still be their daddy and that you’ll see them in a few days.”

“Where am I supposed to go now?” Glancing at the clock, “It’s four in the morning.”

“I don’t care!” Her voice rising, “Go to your parents!” Her voice lowering again, “Go to that whore! Just get out!”

Waiting for him to move… When he didn’t, going from the bed to the walk in closet, taking a large suitcase from behind a row of hanging clothing. “Go live with Elizabeth!” Slapping the suitcase onto the bed, she opened it.

Going to his dresser, pulling the top drawer open, grabbing handfuls of underpants, T-shirts and socks, she threw them into the suitcase. “Take whatever the hell you think you’ll need for a few days and you can come back on Saturday, if you want, so you can see the kids and take whatever else you’ll need.”

Thinking it best to leave before hysteria, and possibly another — so he guiltily thought — deserved slap that he might physically respond to… which was something he certainly did not want to do.

Dressing, “Okay,” he said, “I’ll leave now because I don’t want to bother the kids. But you be sure to tell them that this has nothing to do with them, ‘please’.”

“Don’t you tell me what to tell my children! I know this is going to hurt them, and you should know me well enough to know that I’m not going say anything to hurt them any more than you have.”

Laying a pair of dress slacks as neatly as possible onto the mound of his underwear and socks, he added a pair of chinos.

Putting a dress shirt and tie along with two sport shirts and the dress shoes he worked in, then going into the bathroom he took his razor and toothbrush.

“When I come back on Saturday, we’ll go to the store. Anything you need now?”

“Just leave some money! If I need anything, I’ll go to the store with Paulette or Eileen.”

Marsha, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I want a divorce!”

Mitchell, standing alongside. “You mean that, Marsha? You ‘really’ want a divorce?”

“Oh, yeah! I do!”

He stared at her until, feeling tears welling in his eyes, folding the sports jacket over his arm, lifting the suitcase he opened their bedroom door quietly.

Tempted to look in at his children, but afraid of awakening them—walking down the five steps, going into the kitchen he put some cash onto the counter.

Hearing him, Mercy came up from her bed in the family room.

Stooping, taking her muzzle in both hands, “I love you, my puppy.” Choking up, he pressed the Dalmatian’s head to the side of his face.

Going to the hall closet , putting a winter jacket on and taking his overcoat, opening the front door quietly, Mitchell Lipensky left what had been his home.

Next PIT2/9:Mister Berkowitz

Writers Notation: Marsha’s hatred for Mitchell began before their marriage in 1955. If interested please go to

PIT#29:Marsha's Truth