PIT3/14: Bed Time 

Points In Time

Westlake Village, California

March 18, 2010

7:49 PM

“Turns out Stanley Jacobson had been married and divorced twice on physical cruelty grounds, and was paying child support for the two kids he’d fathered with his second wife.”

“Marsha…” I asked “...why the hell did you marry that bum?”

“Guess I thought I loved him and felt sorry for him, and wanted to get him out of his parents home and– as it turned out, Stan used me as a ‘cash cow’. And now, ten years later, I still have no idea why I even thought I still loved, let alone marry the bastard.”

Rounding the bend of the westerly point of Westlake Island, bumping Marsha with me hip, “Scoot over.”

Moving to her right, both arms about Mitchell’s neck. “We okay?”

“Yeah, baby…” taking the wheel and angling the boat in the direction of ‘their’ dock “...we’re okay.”

“Hey, Mitch..” standing on his dock “...you going to introduce me?”

Unsure if he wanted company at this time. “Want to meet Milt?”

However, Standing, waving. “Hi, Milt!”

Drifting close enough to see, thinking, Wow! “Hi, Marsha! Good to meet you!”

“Me, too, Milt!” Looking at Mitchell. Still unsure how to proceed once home. Once alone. Once ready for bed.“Okay to invite him over?”

Unsure also. “Hey, Milt!” Mitchell called, “Come on over and meet Marsha.”

“Just did! Pretty lady you’ve got there. But if you’re sure…”

“Sure we’re sure…” Marsha said “...come on.”

“Mitch, should I bring the coffee pot?”

Knowing what would be in the pot, the two margaritas more than she was used to. “No, too late for coffee.”

“Ain’t coffee in that old pot.”

Dropping onto cushion as the drifting boat thumped

against the dock. “I know…” thinking she’d possibly overstepped her bounds “... but if you want..”

Actually glad she’d made the decision because– not knowing how the night might proceed, he’d... “I’ve had enough to drink.”

Gathering the two lines…

“Hold on Mitch…” rushing from his dock along the narrow beachfront to Mitchell’s, “I’ll get them.” Catching the fore and aft lines as Mitchell tossed them over.

Marsha at the hatch first, Mitchell, immediately behind had both hands onto her waist, needlessly helping her step from the boat to the dock as, turning her body, “Got to pee.” rushed up the railroad tie steps requiring no assistance whatsoever.

Following behind, “Healthy lady you’ve got there, Mitch.”

“I hope so.”

“Planning on keeping her then.”

“I hope so.”

Midway up the makeshift stairs, “Know what, Mitch, I feel like I’m intruding tonight…” Which is what Mitchell was thinking “...so I’m just going to leave you two alone, and I’ll give you a call in the morning to see if you and Marsha would like to join me for breakfast… or brunch.”

“Good idea, Stan, talk to you tomorrow.”

7:58 PM

By the time Marsha came from the bathroom with a light jacket thrown over her shoulders, Mitchell had dragged one padded patio lounge to the rail facing the remnants of the setting sun.

“Where’d Milt go?”

“Thought we’d like some privacy. Said maybe we’d join him for breakfast.”

Or ‘maybe’ brunch. Marsha thought.

Sitting with his legs spread forward. Patting the open area between. Spoken as a simple request. “Come here, baby.”

Her head resting on his shoulder, his arms about her waist, their four clasped hands lay upon her stomach.

Mitchell’s face upon the side of her head, the fresh scent of her flesh sweet within his nostrils.

His arms held comfortably about her waist.

No bra beneath her blouse, the weight of the undersides of Marsha’s breasts warm upon his crossed arms.

This was enough for both.

This quiet, warm closeness enough for both.

8:04 PM

The last yellow cast of sun settling behind the north-east facing range of the Santa Monica mountains.

‘Soul-Mate’

Soul-Mate, meaningless words to Mitchell Lipensky, and yet – after all. After all the time and mental and physical distance: ‘Soul-Mate’.

Mitchell Lipensky’s arms about the one he loves… Soul-Mate’. Mitchell Lipensky’s arms about the one he had always loved.

‘Soul-Mate’

Soul-Mate’, ridicules, meaningless words to Marsha Lipensky…

‘Lipensky’? Why had she kept that name.

Running from Mitchell on June 16, 1986, without saying goodbye as she ran from her old life to her new life, why..

‘Why’?’ Marsha had asked herself countless times. Why did I keep the name ‘Lipensky’?

This quiet, warm closeness enough for Marsha.

The last yellow cast of sun settling behind the north-east facing range of the Santa Monica mountains and the absolute comfort within Mitchell’s arms bringing forth a forgotten, long past memory.

As the simple motion of Marsha’s feet upon the lower railing of a fence had brought Mitchell’s memory to Coney Island, New York on June 16, 1956.

So now… Soul-Mate? Marsha’s long forgotten, past memory bringing her further into the past:

Columbia Yacht Club

 Chicago, Illinois

June 18, 1955      

6:25 PM       

 “God, Marcie…” Wearing a summer-weight light blue skirt with a matching, sailor collar jumper, thinking,  She’s so cute!  

Happy to be with her! Proud to be seen with her.

“How come you always look so beautiful?” he asked as, taking her elbow, they stepped from the sidewalk to the slightly moving, railed gangplank that went from shore to the permanently berthed, refurbished, long-retired automotive ferry ship that was known as ‘The Columbia Yacht Club’.

Seeing them, an attractive, blonde, middle-aged hostess, “Hi, Mitchie…” leaving her stool at the near end of the bar “...how’s it going?”

“Fine, Mandy, just fine…. Mandy, I’d like you to meet Marsha.”

“Hi, Marsha. This the first time you’re aboard?”

“Yes. Actually this is the first time I’ve ever been on a boat, uh...” remembering, turning to Mitchell, smiling, “...ship.”

“Come on...” Mandy said "...I’m holding a table for you.”

As Mandy led them into the dining room, “Hey, Mitch!”

They stopped at a table where a young man in denim slacks and jacket was sitting alone, eating a hamburger.

“Karl! Good to see you!” Heartily shaking hands. “How the hell’ve you been?”

“Good, Mitch! When’d you get in?”

“Thursday… Karl Metzenberg. meet Marsha Goldman.”

Standing, “Marsha, hi!” Impressed, Karl looked at her a moment, then sitting, back to Mitchell. “We’re going out in about an hour or so.” Looking at Marsha again, “How’d you like to go for a nice, calm, moonlit sail?”

“Yeah! You bet..” looking at her “...sorry, Marcie. That’s only if you want to.”

“Yes...” thrilled at the prospect “...I’d love to! But what about clothes? Am I dressed okay?”

“Sure you are...” Karl said “...except for those high heels. Take ’em off and you’ll be just fine… Tell you what; you two take your time eating, and whenever you’re done just come aboard; we’ll wait for you.”

“Thanks, Karl, that’s really nice of you.”

“Don’t mention it, pal. For the Coast Guard I’d do just about anything.” Smiling at Marsha. “See you later. Enjoy your dinner.”

7:20 PM

“Wow! My God, Mitchell, it’s beautiful!”

‘Undeen’, the Metzenberg schooner, was forty-five feet in length, painted glossy-black with fine-line, white piping, and had brightly varnished teak-wood decks, hatches and rails. The two-masted boat had a galley, head, and room to comfortably sleep six or, if friendly, eight.

Besides Karl, two members of Undeen’s permanent crew were there: Stephen Krugman with his wife, Sally, and Reiner Krout and his girlfriend, Rita.

Waving. “Steve! Reiner! Hey!”

Taking Marsha’s shoes and peds as she, holding onto his shoulder for balance, pushed them off with her toes, then, holding his hand as, hiking her calf-length dress over her knees, she stepped from the quay to the gunnel as, reaching to her, Stephen, in the cockpit, took her other hand, and Marsha stepped onto the teak-wood deck, then into the cockpit.

Both feet planted firmly, smiling at Stephen, “Thank you,” Marsha said, as…

Stepping from the quay onto the deck, “Marcie, meet Steve Krugman and Sally.” Shaking hands, “They’re old married folk.”

Nodding their heads, both said, “Hi!”

“And this kraut’s Krout.” Leaning across the transom, shaking hands, “Reiner, hi!” Glancing from Reiner to Marsha, “And this is his girlfriend...” nodding to her “...Rita.”

“Hi!” Marsha said, nodding her head with each introduction.

Putting his can of beer into the wooden holder to the side of the helm, Karl pushed the button starting the auxiliary motor. “Let’s get the show on the road!”

No doubt about who the captain was, “Sure, Karl!”

Flipping their cigarettes over the side. Stowing their beer, too, Stephen began to remove the sail cover as, jumping to the wharf, going forward, releasing the bow line, tossing it aboard, then going aft, Reiner released the stern line and hopped aboard as Undeen backed from the dock.

“I’ll stow the fenders.”

“Sit still, Mitch. You’re a guest here tonight. Rita’ll get ‘em!”

Making a quarter circle in reverse, Karl then pushed the gear, reversing the screw and, after a few feet of backward drift, the bronze propeller bit, moving the black schooner forward.

Passing the club tender—the powerboat that transported people from the club to boats secured to buoys, and back again—Karl tapped the button on the console and, ‘UU-OOGGHH’!

And, ‘UU-OOGGHH’! the horn on the tender answered back.

Navigating around boats that were under sail, that had the right-of-way, and those moored to cans…

Passing the last line of boats… then the inner breakwater.

“Hoist main and mizzen!” Switching the auxiliary motor off, Undeen drifted with forward momentum, as…

Sails unfurling, crackling in the light, evening breeze, Stephen and Reiner cranked brass handles on the fore and aft masts, as…

Head tilted back, Marsha followed the upward progression of the snow-white sails until, the breeze catching, moving forward, picking up speed Undeen  heeled to port, as…

Grabbing hold of Mitchell’s knee, “Oh, my God!” Her knees tensing, about to bound to the high side…

“This the first time you’ve been sailing, Marcie?”

Strands of hair blowing across her face, brushing them back and trying to hold them down, “Yes,” she said, swallowing nervously, looking from Sally to the water that bubbled by the lowered rail.

“Don’t worry, honey, this crew’s great.” Rita said. “And this ain’t even what’ch’ya’d call a breeze.

Picking up more speed, his arm protectively around Marsha, the boat passed the outer breakwater.

Now, at 7:53, the sun was beginning to set.

Over the lake, to the east, the sky was darkening.

“Marsha, look.”

Turning, looking westerly…

Speckled with fractured clouds, to the west the sky was ablaze with color: red, gold and purple. Tinting the city’s skyscrapers, the hues of the sunset reflected off their windows in a panorama of sparkling pinpoint colors.

“My, God!” Said, softly, reverently. “It’s so beautiful!”

“Karl, okay to take a cushion forward?”

“Sure, go ahead.” Slackening the sheet, spilling the wind, “I’ll keep this tack.” 

Undeen rode on an even keel.

“Thanks, pal.”

Standing, taking both of Marsha’s hands. “Come on.”

“Where?” Though the boat no longer heeled, not too happy about leaving the comfort and safety of the

cockpit, “Do we have to?”

“Yes.” Taking the cushion they’d been sitting on, promising, “I won’t let you fall overboard!” he stepped from the cockpit to the deck.

Marsha hesitated, then, holding his hand tightly, stepped up.

Leading her forward, he laid the cushion lengthwise facing the sunset. Sitting with his back propped against the mast, “Come on.” Mitchell patted the space between his spread legs…

Alone. Hidden by the rise of the cabin, Marsha sat with her back reclining against Mitchell’s chest.

Her head resting on his shoulder, his cheek upon her cheek, his arms about her waist, their four clasped hands lay upon her lap.

Alone…

Quiet… Quiet, and so…

But for the faint movement of water, the slight crackling of sails, the balmy silence of the gently palpating breeze… and each other’s warm breath, it was quiet… Quiet and peaceful…

Peaceful… so lovingly peaceful.

The first wispy shreds of a large bank of broken clouds

passed across the face of the lowering sun causing silvery-gold streamers of light to charge across the horizon. As the body of splintered clouds crossed the orange orb, the sky became bathed in a colossal kaleidoscope of hues: orange, red, purple, blue and gray, and all underlain with translucent, silvery-gold.

“Speaking softly, his mouth near her ear, “This, now is something I’ve prayed for all my life. I’ve seen hundreds of beautiful sunsets…” hugging her even tighter, Marsha could actually feel the beat of his heart against her back, “…and sometimes they’re so beautiful I thank God for whatever beauty there is in my life, but whenever that happened it always made me lonely and sometimes I felt like crying because I didn’t have anyone to share the beauty with, and…”

The emotion becoming too much, his eyes watering, his voice catching, taking a few moments, until… “Marsha,” he said emotively, “I swear that I’ve never seen a more beautiful sunset, or that any girl has ever been as beautiful to me as you are right now, and I never thought I could love anyone as much as I love you.”

Feeling his warm breath on her ear, hearing the heartfelt, softly spoken words and his faltering voice, experiencing a deluge of emotion, “Mitchie, I’ve always loved you…” her eyes overrunning, too, “I’ve loved you since that first night we met.” Turning her face to his, looking into his eyes, “I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone but you.”

His hand held in hers, moving both from her lap, repositioning his right arm over her shoulder, Marsha moved Mitchell’s hand to beneath her blouse, to under her bra, and held it, tightly, palm down to her left breast, kissing Mitchell gently, with soft passion.

Marsha still felt the beat of Mitchell’s heart upon her back, and now he felt the beat of Marsha’s heart through the fathomless softness of Marsha’s breast.

“I love you.”

8:18 PM

This beautiful, moving memory now jarring Marsha’s senses...

His arms held comfortably about her waist.

No bra beneath her blouse, the weight of the undersides of Marsha’s breasts warm upon his crossed arms.

Purposely adjusting her breasts so they would be laying upon Mitchell’s arms, hopefully prompting further purposefully induced sexual action.

This beautiful, moving memory now jarring Marsha’s senses.

Why, she thought, Why was I even there? We weren't married, weren’t engaged!

I could have told him I didn’t want to see him again.

Why was I even there with him when I knew… ‘thought’ I knew I loved Stan. When I’d not even allowed Mitchell to ‘feel me up’, when I was fucking and giving Stanley blow-jobs.

Why? Because I was eighteen and he was twenty and was a really nice, beautiful guy and I thought he was rich?

‘Why’? Because I’m a fucking bitch!

Soul-Mates?

Disgusted with herself. “Mitchie…” doing her best to sound sincere and not angry at him “...it’s been a long day and I’m really tired.”

Catching the slight change in the tone of her voice. Loosening the clasp of his arms, allowing Marsha to stand.

“I love you…” she said “...but I’m going to bed.”

Next: PIT 3/15: Shadowy Figure