PIT3/12: And You?
Points In Time
Westlake Village, California
March 18, 2010
5:59 PM
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!”
6:08 PM
Twenty-four years past, exactly that: ‘Past’.
Doing what people do. Doing the simplest action required to sustain life within the realm of human nature: ‘Eat’.
This meal of well spiced, fire-grilled ground beef and melted cheese, of a bun and fried potatoes that Marsha and Mitchell Lipensky slowly consume – though not realised by either, on this day, at this time was more symbolic than substantive.
This is what had been done. What had been done throughout the thirty-one years of marriage: the simple act of what must be to sustain life. To sustain the simplistic act of being. Of being family.
Of becoming one again.
The lake, the fleet of small sailboats, the mountains and blue sky as a soul touching painting put to the canvas of past yet newfound discovery.
The movement of hands and mouth as the eyes of Marsha and Mitchell remain steady upon the face of the one– still unbelievably, but three feet distant.
Mitchell: the inheritor of good genes from both mother and father show – in an age defied abundance of silvery hair and an age defied lack of excessive lines and creases that would normally be seen upon the face of a seventy-six year old man.
All of which the woman sitting but three feet distant visually considered the embodiment of mature male beauty.
Marsha: Her height; her posture; the abundance of tightly curled pods of pure whit hair cascading from either side of her head settling to below the nape of her neck portraying a picture of...
Beautiful! Mitchell had always thought Marsha was beautiful, in a classical Hebraic sense.
Now, though! The years along with the softening of her complexion due to the framing of white hair, eased all sharpness from Marsha’s facial features casting her to become – in Mitchell’s opinion – the visual embodiment of mature female beauty.
All in the eyes of the beholder.
6:46 PM
Swallowing the last of her ‘burger...
The silence broken.
“Mitch, when I called you… That first time…” stopping to think, My, God only “… two days ago, I was surprised – though I’ve got to admit, happily surprised when you said you were still single.”
Dipping a french fry into the puddle of ketchup on the side of his dish, shrugging his shoulders in a ‘so what’ motion, Mitchell then finished what was left of his gin’n’toic.
“I know you, baby. I know that you’re a marrying kind of guy and can’t figure you for a lifetime bachelor. And you certainly don’t owe me ‘any’ explanation, but I was just wondering.”
“Lita?” I asked.
“Yes. When I left, I knew you and Lita had a really hot thing going and always figured you and her got together.”
“Yeah, sadly for one day.”
Stirring the bit of remaining lime slush on the bottom of the margarita glass with the tip of her finger. “ ‘One day’?”
“Yeah. I told Lita where we lived…”
“In Woodland Hills?”
“Yes. She was waiting for me after I dropped you off at LAX to help me move some stuff that I’d be needing until the movers delivered everything that I hadn't donated, then we planned on going out for dinner and she’s spend the night with me and, uh… We both wanted to discuss our future.”
“ ‘You’re future’? Were you two thinking marriage?”
“Marsha, you were completely out of my life, and I thanked God for that. I loved Lita and knew she loved me, so yeah, I wanted to marry her.”
6:56 PM
Standing. Her back against the rail. “Times back then were not as easy, as… relaxed as they are now. You believed you could have spent the rest of your life with a black woman in society as it was in the eighties.?”
“As it turned out, it was never ‘my’ problem, it was Lita’s problem, and I didn’t see Lita that way.
I’ve thought a lot about it, and I truly believe that Elysium was kind of a magical place where black or white didn’t matter. ‘Black-white’? I just saw Lita as a beautiful woman that I was in love with.”
“Yes, she was. And, for a lady in her fifties, Lita had a fantastic body.”
“We were all in our fifties back then and we all had – in comparison, beautiful bodies and were old enough to see a naked woman…”
“Or a man...”
“Yeah, without walking around with a hard-on all day so I guess things… Our thoughts change when you see someone naked all the time.”
“So what happened with Lita?”
“On our first trip to Westlake the car was loaded with bedding and kitchen stuff I’d be needing until the movers came, and when we pulled into our driveway...
June 16, 1986
6:45 PM
Well…” Lita said “...might as well start unpacking.”
The station wagon still parked on the garage driveway.
Popping the rear door and reaching inside, I pulled one of the lighter cartons for Lita to carry…
“Hi, there!”
An older ‘Lincoln Continental’ had pulled onto the neighbouring driveway and, the driver side door opening, a middle aged man lifting himself off the seat… “Hi, there! You our new neighbour?”
Standing on his side of the three foot wide grass meridian separating our two properties, holding his hand forward, “I’m Milton… ‘Milt’ Abrams, and this is…” motioning over the roof of the Lincoln “...my wife, ‘Harriet’.”
“Hi, Milt…” moving forward to shake hands and, nodding my greeting to “… ‘Harriet’!”
“I’m Mitch Lipensky and…” crossing the meridian strip “… this is my, uh…” not really knowing what Lita and I were to each other...
“I’m Mitch Lipensky and this my, uh, girlfriend, Lita.”
Human and prejudicial conditions and reactions outside of the ultra liberal nudist fields of Elysium much different than in the ‘real’ world and a show of non-acceptance can happen in split seconds. Sometimes it might be no more than the crinkle of an eyelid or the temporary tightening of lips…
The split second change in the ‘welcoming’ attitude of our new next door neighbour’ flashing from the faces’ of Milton, but much more so from the face of Harriet Abrams…
Which I did not notice, however apparently more attuned to prejudicial attitude, Lita certainly did.
“Uh…” Milton said “...nice meeting you, Mitch.”
The near unnoticed turn of Harriet’s mouth downward. “Welcome to ‘our’ neighbourhood, Mitchell.”
The Abrams’ entered their home through the garage, automatically closing the garage door behind them.
The Landing
7:07 PM
“Now I get it. Your neighbour, this Milt ‘ he’s’ the guy you became friendly with?”
Rising, standing alongside Marsha, facing towards the lake. “It took a long time, years actually, not until Harriet died and Milt told me the truth about their marriage.”
Turning, facing the lake. “That’s why you and Lita broke it off…” taking Mitchell’s hand “... after one night?”
“Not even one night.” Putting his arm about Marsha’s waist, pulling her closer. “And it wasn’t ‘only’ Harriet.”
Looking over her shoulder, seeing, the –by now crowd of evening diners. “Now I can figure why.” Marsha said.
“Why’s that?”
Nodding her head backwards. “Not a black face there.”
“Yeah.” Mitchell said.”Then, later, when we went out to eat.
June 16, 1986
7:43 PM
Watching as Lita chose one of the fitted sheets she had just folded and taking two perfectly folded matching pillow case, made the bed in the guest room.
Knowing what he was thinking. “Later…” she said “...first let’s eat.”
The Ford in the garage.
“Know where we’re going, Mitch?”
“Not too familiar with restaurants around here, but there’s a ‘Shakey’s’ up the road a piece in Camarillo.”
“I love, Shakey’s. One question, though.”
“Yeah, what’s that?”
“You like anchovies?”
“My, God…” slightly exaggerating “...I ‘love’ anchovy pizza and you’re the only…” this true “...person I know that does also. Knew there was a reason to love you!”
Silent a moment… “Yeah, Mitchie. Me, too. I love you, too.”
Backing out of the garage, as coincidentally Milton and Harriet Abrams were in the process of removing a number of brown paper bags from the rear of their old Lincoln Continental…
The Ford backing out of the garage; in a friendly gesture Milton waved to Lita, whom in a friendly gesture waved back, as Harriet Abrams, in an exaggerated near comical gesture turned her face upward and away.
“Milt, seems like a pretty good guy, but that wife of his…” Knowing the meaning of Harriet’s purposeful snub, Lita’s voice trailed off.
8:20 PM
‘Shakey’s’ —a barn of a place with heavy wood distressed tables and like backless benches that were seemingly scattered throughout in haphazard placement.
Fairly well occupied at this time with people sitting in couples or in double or triple groups.
There were both Caucasian and a scattering of Negro people sitting throughout, all sitting at ‘their’ purposely segregated tables.
Entering Shakey’s a host wearing a neck to knee black stripped oil cloth apron asked, “Just two?”
“Just us.”
Motioning them to follow.
Weaving through and around scattered tables, both Negro and Caucasian, male and female heads lifted and eyes followed as Lita Warner and Mitchell Lipensky were guided to their table—looks of which Mitchell took as looks of envy for the beautiful woman at his side.
Which Lita took as looks of disapproval— especially, while passing, from one older black lady,
Apparently ‘anchovy’ pizza not a big seller at Shakey's in Camarillo, Lita and Mitchell
shared a large sausage and onion pizza,
Lita drinking two mugs of ‘Coors’ and Mitchell a mug of ‘Miller’s’.
Sensing eyes on her, the slice of pizza halting mid way to her mouth, looking to her right, to the black couple two tables away; the hateful expression on both faces matching the ‘fuck you’ gesture the older woman was making with the index finger of her right hand.
9:15 PM
“Mitchie, I hate leaving my car overnight…” considering the ‘fuck you’ gesture to be more so from her entire race, rather than from one old woman “… mind if we drive back to your old place to get my car.”
A 1985 red Mercedes convertible, left with the top down a pretty good target.
“ Sure, honey. I was thinking it wasn’t such a good idea to leave it overnight anyway.”
The trip from Camarillo to Woodland Hills made in — at least in his opinion — comforting silence as Mitchell drove with Lita’s head resting on his shoulder, with her hand held within his upon his thigh.
Mitchell feeling absolute contentment.
Lita’s mind in absolute turmoil.
9:58 PM
No meeting of the Abrams or anyone else as the Mercedes parked along the curb and the Ford pulled into the garage.
Anxious to get on with their ‘together’ shower and to bed, disappointed when Lita asked, “Did I see you put a bottle of ‘Johnny Walker’ in the cabinet?”
“Yes. You want some?”
“The ice maker working?”
All utilities turned on the day before and the ice maker in the freezer doing it’s job; as Mitchell worked in the kitchen he’d dumped whatever ice had been made with old water, and had heard the dropping of new ice cubes into the freezer’s ice bin.
“The ice maker working?”
“It is.”
“I’d like to look around outside for a few minutes. So, could you pour me some with a couple ice cubs and a dash of water.”
Taking two of the heavy ‘Old Fashioned’ glasses that he’d put into one of the cabinets along with the other glasses that afternoon. Pouring Lita a healthy ‘scotch’n’rocks’, he poured a like drink for himself.
Standing at the banister looking outward, even at this time there were a goodly number of battery powered boats scooting about Westlake Lake —as best they could scoot about at the three miles an hour lake limit.
Immediately to the right was the six foot high stucco wall that separated Mitchell’s property from the Abrams. Looking beyond the wall the entire south-western curve of Westlake Lake could be seen. To the left was the six foot high stucco wall that separated his property from that of the, as of yet, unknown neighbours and beyond could be seen— a mile or so off, the far eastern end of the lake along with the ‘Westlake Yacht Club’ —which Mitchell doubted he’d ever join, along with three high end priced restaurants.
“You know, Mitch, with your place here…” motioning over her shoulder “...and this…” making an all-encompassing sweeping motion before her “.....you’ve found yourself a ‘really’ beautiful place to live.”
“Yeah. Kind of like a special vacation area just forty-five miles from Los Angeles.”
Drinking our scotch ‘n’ rocks, my arm about Lita’s waist holding her closely, we looked at the beautiful vista before us…
Seemingly coming to a conclusion. “Mitchie…” turning to me, kissing me, tasting the scotch that had coated her mouth and tongue...
Lita knowing what she must do.
As a mental pain within her chest, having a deeply felt sense of forthcoming sadness.
“Mitchie…” she said “...you do know I have to go.”
“That bitch next door… Those people at ‘Shakey’s’’?”
“ Everyone here in your world, baby. At Elysium we were in a different world with free thinking, ‘hippie ‘type people right out of the sixties. If we lived there? If our world was there, I’d never leave you… But it’s just too hard for me here.”
“I could move to your world, then.”
“You’d never be able to live there. You and me living together in my world? You’d never make it!”
Knowing she was right. ‘Hating’ that she was right.
What words could he speak?
What more could she say?”
10:31 PM
Lita in the driver seat. Mitchell outside. The window open. Their hands held tightly as though not wanting to let go.
Fighting to hold tears back. His finger twining a tight curl that had fallen upon her forehead.“Probably for this best, I guess.”
Lita’s eyes watering. “Maybe in ten, fifteen years things will be different.”
“I love you, Lita.”
Lita’s eyes no longer watering as tears came. “I love you, too, Mitchie.”
Moving the lever to ‘D’, the car moving from the curb…
“Goodbye.”
The Landing
March 18,2010
7:12 PM
And that was the last time you’d seen Lita?
“Yes. Never heard from her again.”
Feeling sadness for Mitchell’s loss, and happiness for her gain.
Next: PIT 3/13: Who Else
