PIT3/11: Catching Up
Points In Time
Westlake Village, California
March 18, 2010
4:40 PM
“God, it’s good to be back in California…” taking Mitchell’s hand “… and with this old guy.”
Looking at Audrey. “Haven’t had one in twenty-four years, so think I’ll have a margarita.”
More than a little bewildered as Mitchell had been a steady customer ever since she had purchased ownership of The Landing Restaurant eleven years ago and he’d never introduced any woman as his wife, and he and Stan had brought quite a few women for dinners over the years, but this one, their body language telling her this one, this Marsha cone could actually be his wife, or possibly an ex wife reunited.
“You’ve been away, Marsha?”
Her eyes still on Audrey. “Yes. In more ways than one.”
An experienced restaurateur, Audrey Lawson was a lady that rightfully – at least in Westlake’s relaxed atmosphere, would often spend a bit of time gossiping with longstanding customers, which she had on most of the times Stan and Mitchell would come ashore for lunch, dinner or just to have a martini, and she had never seen or heard anything about this lady that Mitchell had introduced as ‘his wife’ – but figured she’d get the story eventually.
“Nice meeting you, Marsha. Waiter will be over with your drinks in a minute.”
“Thank’’s, Audrey.”
Leaning beyond the rail, pointing to a nautical appearing structure at the end of the pavement walkway and docking areas.
“The yacht club holds sailing classes for kids, even if their parents are not members.”
“We wouldn’t happen to be...”
“No. Membership’s just a little too rich for my blood, and besides, our boat is thirty-three years old and it’s become the wrong kind of boat.”
“Fuck ‘em, then. I love ‘our’ boat.”
Something really neat about a beautiful old woman that still knows how to say ‘fuck’.
“Mitchie, this is absolutely beautiful!”
Even after twenty-four years feeling much the same about this wonderful place he’d he’d chosen to live. But wanting to hear Marsha say it. “What’s so ‘absolutely beautiful’?”
“Here you go.” A waiter dressed in black slacks, a sparkling white dress shirt with a western type string tie, placed cocktail napkins before Marsha and Mitchell – then the margarita, with a short green straw before the lady and the gin and tonic with a thin red straw before Mitchell.
“My goodness…” turning the icy, lime coloured, salt rimmed bell shaped glass in a circle atop the napkin “...guess I’ll just have to add this to my list.”
Stirring the clear fluid with the thin red straw, causing the ice to ‘clink’. “Have to add what to what list?”
Taking a sip through the straw, but wanting the salt, discarding the straw Marsha drank directly from the glass coming away with salt on her lips, that she licked away.
“Everything! There’s so much I don’t even know where to start. It was just yesterday…” glancing at her watch…”
5:10 PM
“… not even twenty-four hours ago, I didn’t have any idea how tomorrow… ‘today’ would go.
I was praying that you really did forgive me for all the shit I put you through.
I had no idea what you looked like after twenty-four years, or how you would react when you saw me after twenty-four years. I had no idea where we would live if you did want me back or what life would be like if we did get back together.
To be honest, I was prepared to fly back to Chicago, maybe even this evening, and didn’t know how…” swiping her palm across her eyes “... I would manage if you did send me away.”
“Marsha, I’m not about to send you away, and you don’t have to…”
Holding her hand forward... “shhhh!” stopping me. “I’m telling you what’ I’m finding that’s so beautiful about you and…” making a sweeping motion “...here.
‘Ten-forty’ this morning! My plane landed at ten-forty this morning and it’s now…” glancing at her watch again “...five-twenty in the evening. ‘Seven hours’! Seven hours, Mitchie and I have all this!”
Taking another drink and licking the salt from her lips. Turning her chair to the side – facing the lake Marsha placed her feet onto the lower rail of the steel fence…
Author’s Notation:
Strange that as simple a motion as Marsha placing her feet on the lower rail of a fence can send one’s memory ruffling through the years, back to:
Coney Island, New York
June 20, 1956
“Four, Mitchie. Get me four!”
The young man looked over his shoulder, “Four? You want four?” As he, with his wife close behind, got into line behind a hairy, barefooted man wearing bathing trunks. “I thought you were the guy that wasn’t ever going to eat lobster.”
Even though it was midweek, the combination of the weekly Wednesday night fireworks display, a near ninety degree day and the balmy evening had brought thousands of milling people to Coney Island.
The boardwalk was packed, but nowhere more jam packed then in front of the blue and yellow clapboard structure with the yellow and blue sign that read:
NATHAN’S
COCA COLA ― HOT DOGS
LOBSTER ROLLS ― SHRIMP ROLLS
“Yeah, that’s right.” Moving even closer, putting both arms around his waist, rubbing her breasts provocatively against his back, whispering into his ear, “But that was before you made me, mmm…” nipping his earlobe, breathing her sultry breath into his ear “...eat a, mmm…” bending her knees outward, into the backs of his knees, causing his knees to buckle forward, flicking the inner ridge of his ear with her tongue “...lobster roll. Mmmm!”
Feeling the soft pressure of Marsha’s breasts on his back and the cool touch of her bare legs against the back of his bare legs, and her warm breath and moist tongue in his ear, even though he knew she was teasing him, even here, even within this mass of people, the feel of her breasts, the brushing of her body and the touch of her tongue brought about the usual, and―really, though, any of the three individually would bring about the very same result and―a part of Mitchell’s body responded.
Leaning to the side, looking down, Marsha saw that she’d received the response she’d inspired―and expected. Smiling, taking her arms from about his waist, but pinching his behind in the process…
“Ouch! Jesus, Marcie...” pretending to pout, but truly loving her every touch “...you got sharp nails!”
“The better to pinch you with, my dear.” Backing away, “I’ll get a bench.”
“No...” moving forward as the line shortened “...I’ll need help.” But Marsha was gone and Mitchell, and his stretched fly, were alone in the crowd.
***
Looking.
Holding two Coke bottles by their necks in one hand and a bag with fries and eight miniature hamburger buns filled with grilled lobster salad in the other, looking for Marsha…
The multi-hued light of the setting sun reflecting upon Marsha Lipensky’s face…
My God…
Sitting on a bench gazing at the choppy ocean, shiny strands of long black hair moving about her head in the slight, summer breeze, Marsha’s long, slender legs stretched forward, the soles of her sandals pressed upon the bottom slat of the wooden balustrade…
His breath catching, My God, he thought, she’s so beautiful!
Sensing she was being watched, turning her face in his direction…
Crossing her eyes, Marsha stuck her tongue out at him.
Notation: Marsha Lipensky four months from her twentieth birthday.
Mitchell Lipensky two months from his twenty-second birthday.
See ‘For Better or Worse cover’.
Westlake Village, California
March 18, 2010
5:20 PM
“ ‘Seven hours’! Seven hours, Mitchie and I have all this!
Taking another drink and licking the salt from her lips.
Turning her chair to the side, facing the lake Marsha placed her feet onto the lower rail of the steel fence…
Hesitating. Shading her eyes from the thousands of pin-point glare of the sun upon the slightly rippling water.
“A home, Mitch! You’ve given me a home that I couldn’t even imagine in a place that seems as if from a vacation brochure where this…” motioning towards the lake and their old pontoon, party boat “...my back yard.”
Overcome with emotion, her head held in both hands Marsha Lipensky cried.
Noting people at nearby tables looking at them.
Pulling his chair directly alongside, holding Marsha by the shoulders, “Shhh, baby…” moving her head to his chest “...it’s all okay now.”
Sighing, taking a deep breath as she brought her face from her hands.
“Oh, Mitch, I almost really screwed everything up.”
“But you didn’t.”
Staring at the light pointed ripples, as though in a hypnotic state, speaking softly, Marsha’s words near a mono-tone…
“When I landed, my nephew…”
Wanting her to know that I’d been listening, “Marty?”
“Yes. Marty picked me up at O’hare and drove me to Max’s shop on Devon Avenue, and I was really impressed.
There were sixteen individual stations – including Max’s that were all working and she had two customers waiting for her, so she gave me a quick kiss and a key and told her son to take me to what was going to be my shop first, then home and she’d be there about five-five thirty.”
My shop on Peterson was much smaller with eight working stations, that I knew didn’t matter at that time because I’d have to get my ‘cosmetology’ licence first and that would take about three or four months.”
Max’s place on ‘Toughy Avenue’ is a two story duplex with my unit on the second floor but, to be honest, I ‘loved it’. My own home! My own home with nobody to answer to...”
Feeling the same when I moved into my home in Westlake, I knew exactly how she felt.
“...and when my furniture came a couple of days later, I loved it even more.
5:43 PM
“Excuse me...” the waiter with the western type tie asked “...would you care to order?”
Having the feeling this was still a part of Marsha’s cathartic process, and something she felt she had to get out.
Looking at her…
“Yeah…” she said to the waiter “...I’m starving!” Looking at me “They make a good hamburger?”
“They make a ‘great’ hamburger!”
“Okay. Medium rare and…” looking at me again “...hold the onion.”
“You like melted cheese on it?”
“Yeah. Swiss.”
“You, sir.”
“The same. Oh, yeah…” holding my glass forward “... another gin’n’tonic.”
“Me, too…” Marsha said, pointing to the slush at the bottom of her margarita glass.
Turning our chairs so Marsha and me faced each other across the small table for two.
“Where was I ? …
Oh, yeah! I loved it there! I loved my home and – after I got my license, I loved the work, and did ‘really’ well with it. Well enough even to buy my apartment after twelve years and to buy a full partnership in my shop after another five years and was doing fantastic…”
“You ever think of me during that time?”
“We divorced in ‘eighty-six’ and you were part of a life that I did not want to remember! So, sorry to say, no.
Since everything I’ve told you is the absolute truth, ‘no’, I didn’t think of you.” adding “At least not then.”
Licking a bit of remaining salt off the margarita glass.
“Everything went just great for the first fourteen years. I added another six stations to my shop and got quit a good reputation and had ladies coming in from all over the place…”
5:48 PM
"Then Stanley came into my life again.”
The muscle guy you’d been giving blow jobs to since you were thirteen?”
Looking at me then, her eyes downcast, “Yeah.” she said sadly – making me sorry I’d questioned her. But all part of her cathartic cleansing?”
“Anyway…” going on “...guess I thought I’d be recapturing some of my ‘truly’ misspent youth, Stan and I got married in June of ‘ninety-nine. Not because I thought he thought he loved me, but because…”
Stopping as our drinks came.
My shop on Peterson kind of catered to a lot of women that lived in Lincolnwood and Evanston and I’d listen as they bitched about their husbands: the banker; the stock broker; the doctor.
They complained about their ‘crummy’ three thousand square foot homes.
‘The cheap bastard only got me a Buick for my fiftieth and the shchka next door, for her birthday, she got a Mercedes.’
‘My husband, the cheap ass-hole didn’t want to take a four week cruise.’
Year after year I listened and he more they complained about what they didn’t have that I would have given anything ‘to’ have was about the time that I began to think about you and…”
Marsha’s intent eyes staring into mine.
“Okay, you didn’t make ‘kizillion’ dollars a year. But you went to work and we always lived in a decent neighbourhood in a decent house and wore nice clothes and ate whatever we wanted to eat.
What the hell was wrong with that?”
I said nothing, Letting Marsha get it all out.
“I began to think about what a truly good guy you were and the more I thought about you the more I regretted throwing you and what I had away, and especially about the shitty way I’d always treated you.
When we got married, Stan was working in a gym giving private work out sessions to both men and women.
Guess because I was doing so well, Stan was was becoming lazy and when a guy with muscles becomes lazy…”
“Muscles turn to flab.”
“Yeah, and here I was with my own ‘paid up’ home and a going business, and the lazier he got the less business he had until he did nothing but stay home and hurrahs me for any reason or for no reason, and become rougher and rougher until…”
“Until the prick knocked your teeth out.”
“Yeah. Got a protective order and threw him out and divorced the prick in twenty-0-five and took me all this time to work up the courage to call you.”
5;59 PM
“I’m glad you did, baby.”
Waiting until the waiter placed our cheese-burgers and fries on the table before us.
“I’m glad I did, too!” Marsha said, adding, “My God, that smells good!”
Next PIT 3/12: And You?
