Marge & Ernie

Michael D. Brown

Marge and Ernie

Š 2013 Michael D. Brown

EPISODE 01 January 7 1952 You always thought the first time was going to be the only time. It seemed that way for long afterwards. You were on neutral ground then in spite of a Cold War. Her mattress was the hardest you ever tried to sleep on, and you left early next morning before she, sleeping soundly, or so you believed, could tell you she expected breakfast at the Greek’s. Little doodles on a sketch pad on her kitchen table were a warning of how much time she had on her hands, and you weren’t happy then unless you were working cargo. Her bungalow was in sad shape. Repairs were another thing you feared she might requisition. Was it eight years ago or seven? The fourth would be your anniversary if you minded events like that. January fourth or April first?

There was a four in there somewhere. Was it an April Fool’s gesture? You were new to Feeny’s. You had never heard the expression “a one-night stand,” but felt in your bones there was no love passing between you, rather, a shared need to copulate.

You had no intention of announcing your escape, but the door’s slamming caused you to return to check.

“Virginia?” you called softly, and thought, now I know your name.

“Just go,” she responded. “I’ll see you around.” You had no idea how focused she would stay for months on end. Like a hungry puppy seeking its reward for a trick well performed.

It must have been April first.

EPISODE 02 People watched me leaving with Ginny, he thought. They know we’ve been together in that old house of hers, and at The Crescent. She was making excuses. Place doesn’t even leave a Bible in the night table.

The morning he had been sitting on an otherwise empty park bench, Jim Burns came up and offered a red eye.

“You need a follow up, my friend. Say, I know a girl who’d be perfect for you. Name’s Marge.”

He sat for a moment and opened one of those small brocaded laptop desks. Claimed he had an idea for a story he didn’t want to forget, and how Ernie envied him his ability to write more than just his name, but only for a minute or so because he couldn’t afford to let his illiteracy bother him at that point. He was an adult for chrissake.

School was a memory, albeit regrettably now, forsaken when it would have mattered.

“Let’s go for that drink. How do you know this girl?”

“Friend of a friend. A little over the top for me, but just right for you. Trust me. Not a boozer like Ginny. Doesn’t pop pills or smoke maryjane. She’s nice. And funny, too.”

He imagined a couple of different scenarios. Each an improvement over his non-relationship with Ginny. The tiny varicose veins in her gams were undeniable. She claimed to be four years his senior, but he would not have been shocked to discover she had eighteen or more on him.

EPISODE 03 While smoke rolled out of the burning fires in half the town’s commercial buildings, Ernie’s ardor simmered with a smokeless flame. He had taken Margie to a double feature at the RKO, and though he was entranced by the flames in the newer picture, she sat rapt in the reissue of Gunga Din. Ernie could not say he knew much, but he was sure what they were seeing was not the true Khyber Pass. His brother Ray, a seasoned sailor, had shown him photographs. He was certain Margie was a great fan of Cary Grant, but he was wrong, for later she told him she had been watching Victor MacLaglin’s facial expressions and thought Ernie resembled him a great deal.

As they walked along the canal passage of the river’s inlet, she gripped his arm tightly as what appeared to be a rabid dog approached them. Afterwards, she would have sworn she felt him stiffen, but he responded smoothly enough at the time, leading her the long way round, out of harm’s way.

“Should we call the police?”

“Someone will, no doubt.” That was disappointing, and she had noted his fascination with the burning buildings. If asked, she would not have been able, in those days, to pinpoint her attraction, but would be clearly aware of a significant lack of foresight. A relationship could not be built on his taking after a co-star in one of her favorite films. Perhaps it was that he had traveled widely and was knowledgeable.

EPISODE 04 “Bring me my Bow of burning gold; Bring me my Arrows of desire…”

She had him reading from the missal. Somehow that made it more official. She was intrigued by his illiteracy, which she divined by the various ways he tried to cover it up. He played Kay Starr’s Wheel of Fortune three times during the same night on the juke box, and when she asked him to play something different, Jim Burns piped in with, “That’s the only title he can read, Marge,” and then appeared to regret it immediately upon realizing Ernie had not mentioned his problem to her.

He liked one song about a gun, and another about waltzing down a country road, neither of which could be found on Feeny’s colorful Wurlitzer.

Ernie read the Blake quote again. It was relatively easy going although he rhymed bow with vow, and Marge did not pick up on it, never having been a great mass attendee herself. In fact, she dared not tell him his reading material had been lifted from a pew shelf way at the back of Saint Francis’ on one of her brief forays inside to escape the heat of the day.

“Enough for today,” he said. Apparently, he wanted to get back to his meal. Despite his attacking a plate like a feral child dropping carrots and peas on the floor, she would have enjoyed cooking. Still, eating in a diner was time away from Feeny’s and the grating of the same old song..

EPISODE 05 The motel had seen better days. The sign had only half its lights working. Outside, trees were swaying as if a storm were approaching. Ernie seemed anxious. Marge, nursing a tumbler of blackberry brandy and sitting in her bra and panties, regretted not having packed a nightgown. He might have brought pajamas they could share, but still wore his pants and a sleeveless yellowed undershirt.

“What’s that book in your bag?”

“From Here to Eternity. It’s very sexy,” she said, rolling her eyes as if dismissing something. He had learned her indications. “It’s about soldiers. They’re going to make a movie out of it. We’ll go see it together.”

He was twiddling her earlobe.

“You know, they’re recording popular books now. I have a great aunt who’s blind. I’ll bet we could get some phonograph records for her and you could listen to them and be able to talk about stories before the movies come out. Ow, that hurt, Ernie! Why do you have to play so rough?”

“Why were you so willing to come here tonight?” he asked.

“Is that what’s bothering you? I wanted to come. I like you.”

“It just seemed like you never gave it a second thought.”

“It may have seemed that way, but believe me, I did. I’m not an easy lay.”

“Don’t say that.” He let go of her ear. “I don’t like it when women talk that way.”

“Well, how about a little more brandy to put an end to second thinking?”

EPISODE 06 Today, yes today, I will introduce him to my friends. With that in mind, she called from a booth in the ice cream parlor on Fourth Avenue, asking him to meet her, and she would spring for the cab out to Helen’s place. She bought chewing gum and a pack of Chesterfields, smoking several before he arrived, for though she had woke feeling energetic, waiting always made her nervous.

As the taxi passed a waterfront warehouse, he nudged her saying he had worked a ship that delivered cargo there.

“Heavy stuff. Put my back out. Didn’t travel for months afterward.” Sounding as if he might pick up and leave whenever he felt the notion, she wondered whether she had made a mistake becoming involved. Though not her once in a lifetime Prince Charming, she was growing fond of his attentiveness. Perhaps, she felt getting him away from Feeny’s would add permanence, or she just wanted to show him off to her girlfriends.

Both Helen, tall, angular, and Evelyn, short and round-faced, were taken with him. Told her later that he seemed polite, funny, and definitely a catch. She beamed on hearing that. Her favorite thing was to be complimented on having done something right no matter what her opinion was on the subject.

She would never dream of telling them how Ernie had related to her while saying goodbye how seeing her handsome figure between the two oddly shaped women made him laugh to himself. They were her closest confidants.

EPISODE 07 “I was helpless,” Marge said, “I heard about the King of England dying and his daughter becoming Queen, and I guess that caused me to dream about being trapped in a castle. You were outside, and as hard as we tried to open the door, we couldn’t, either of us.”

“Yeah, well I feel that way sometimes.” He gestured toward the bed, which at first she took to signify that he was dismissing her fantasy, but when he added, “This is a step up, don’t you think?” she realized, he, too, was feeling mismatched. They were in a room in the Saint George in the Heights, and it was his attempt to raise the stakes. There were no blown light bulbs visibly transmitting distress signals, and she could not fathom why she had felt it necessary to relay to him her uncomfortable nightmare.

Then, he surprised her by accusing her of duplicity, not using the word but saying he’d never asked how Jim Burns knew her, how maybe it wasn’t fate that brought them together. “For a while, I thought you were a princess slumming it. It’d been years since I met someone nice, but there you were.”

“I’m sorry if you thought I was somebody else.”

They slept apart that night, and checked out well before noon.

“Listen,” he said, putting her in a taxi, “I want you to meet my mother. Can we do that?”

She agreed, feeling she was to be vetted but would also be justified.

EPISODE 08 “Did you really think that Ernie lived here with me?” Helen Brown asked Marge while they sat waiting for him to return from the store with some kitchen things needed for a proper tea. “Oh, he stops by often enough, usually when he’s low on pocket money, but I frequently don’t see him for weeks on end.”

Marge was surprised by the older woman’s frankness upon first meeting, and she felt she was not liked, but could see after forty minutes of conversation that that was just her way of dealing with her son’s friends. She had to get to know them a bit. Apparently, Marge was not the first young woman he had brought home to introduce to his mother, and upon complimenting Mrs. Brown on her doll collection then learning all of them, and the clocks, and the television were gifts from Ernie’s brother Ray, she realized there was a good deal of sibling rivalry going on. On this, she privately commiserated knowing that a similar situation prevailed in her own father’s house where her younger sister never gave excuses of staying with friends in order to be gone all night. Marge knew Pat was not supremely innocent though she shone brighter in her father’s eyes, and here it was the sailor who stood in front of the trees while his younger brother was forested.

Before he returned with milk, his mother said, “Here’s another secret. Be firm with him. He needs guidance to keep him from rusting.”

EPISODE 09 “I thought I saw something special in that young lady you brought over the other day. I thought you had finally discovered someone right for you,” his mother was saying.

“What are you still doing with Ginny? She’s as common as dishwater.” She was feather-dusting the large doll in the Spanish dress, one of those he hated most to see. Somewhere outside a dog was barking as if in pain or angry. “People are standing in line to be nice to you, and you always make the wrong choices.” She was in fine feckle probably having just taken an extra swallow or two from the large port wine bottle she kept behind her bedroom door. The odor on her breath was stronger than usual.

Ernie had come to borrow some money and was surprised she knew how he wanted to spend it. Apparently, she had contact with neighbors he was unaware of. Someone must have ratted on him, or a little bird told her they were seen together.

“Churchill says England has an atomic bomb. The world is going to hell in a handbasket. If it ends tomorrow, do you want to go knowing that’s the last face you’ll see?” It was definitely the wine speaking.

“Ginny’s an old friend, just that, nothing more,” he said.

There was a lunch box he had prepared on the table, and she looked askance at it. “I can’t spare but a couple of dollars. It’s all I have until your brother’s money comes.”

EPISODE 10 Tomorrow I’ll tell Marge we should cool it for a while.

Today I’ll tell Ginny I’m going to sign up on the first ship I can find going through Panama. She won’t like it, but she’ll understand. Mom is right, I’m in too deep with both of them.

He felt as if he were on a journey headed in the wrong direction, and had fallen overboard through carelessness.

He sought the Lighthouse at the End of the World, but had been waylaid by desire to find a good woman. He knew Ginny was not that person; had thought Marge might be, but was now having doubts on that presumption. He was underwater and taking in too much.

His mother’s nonsense about an atomic bomb kept repeating itself in his mind. It was over the top, sure, but she had a point. If the world ended, would he want to go out in the position he was in, never having made something of his life? He didn’t want to be a good boy like Ray, but neither did he want to be known as a drunkard hanging around with whores and losers, always having to “borrow” money from his mother. That he knew the provenance of his funding hurt even more. He was fairly certain his brother included in his letters the advice “not to lend Ernest more money. It’s for the house.” But it was his house, too, wasn’t it? In his heart, he knew believing that was a stretch.

EPISODE 11 Across the river, Marge felt less stifled than in her father’s apartment without a garden, little sunlight. She took the train down to Coney Island to surprise Ernie with the news she would be starting a waitressing job the following Monday.

Feeny’s, though the announcement bell rang, was fairly deserted. She expected the crowd around seven-thirty. The only occupants now were two white-haired men in a booth and a tousle-headed woman who had obviously been crying sitting at the bar.

Marge ordered a brandy and sat quietly for a while until the woman said to her, “Ever had a guy break up with you?”

Then, eying her up and down, added, “No. You don’t look the type.”

She took it as a compliment, but could see the woman wanted to talk to someone. “Tell me about it. Maybe I can help. My name’s Marge, by the way.”

“Virginia. My boyfriend, Red, is a merchant marine, and he’s taking off again, only this time I think it’s for good. We’re living near the ocean for crying out loud. I don’t know why he’s always gotta be out on it. Says he’s going to Africa or somesuch.”

It did not take long for Marge to understand the woman was talking about Ernie, and after assimilating her disappointment, she thought it best to leave before he arrived.

“Nice meeting you. I hope everything works out, but I’m gonna have to say good-bye for now, Virginia.”

“Ginny. My friends call me Ginny. Take care.”

EPISODE 12 She closed the door behind him, and she pondered what she had gotten herself into. He said he would wait outside until she closed up the restaurant and then take her to a hotel if she wished or take her home if she preferred. They had not seen each other in over two weeks. Prior to that, after making excuses and not hooking up with him for three days, they had met away from Feeny’s and he told her of his plans to look for work on a ship, told her he was happy she was working, but now felt he also needed to be doing something. He never mentioned another woman, and as Marge only surmised the knowledge she had, against her better judgment, she agreed to spend the night with him.

After the best sex she had had with any man, she believed they were meant for each other, and he would have to resolve any other commitments on his own. Too, she also thought it might benefit them to spend some time apart.

On that yellow morning, she told herself she would not be taken for granted, and she would not be unceremoniously dumped. Granted time on his own, Ernie must choose his path, and she hoped he would make the right choices regarding how she felt about him. His mother had advised, be firm, but they were like children in a fancy candy shop, and though not greedy, they certainly desired more than their pockets afforded.

EPISODE 13 The wind picked up, and outside the back door something was being buffeted against a wall. The soft thudding sound it made was a counterpoint to the business at hand. The three women sat at Helen’s table and discussed their plans. It was ironic how all three had become pregnant at the same time, and although this was not novel for Evelyn or Marge, it was the first time all three would share the experience.

“Karl and I are getting married in a few weeks,” Helen said, “Civil ceremony. I hope you’ll both be there. We wanted to do it before I started showing.”

Evelyn said, “When I was carrying Billy, I already had a bump at six weeks.” The others looked at her, silently considering her plumpness, and the three of them laughed.

“Bill says he’s gonna take me down the aisle this time, when I’m huge, and it’ll give his mother a heart attack, tired bitch.”

At this, she was the only one laughing.

“What about your father, Marge?” Helen asked. “He can’t be taking this lightly.”

“He doesn’t know yet. Say, you know, you and Ernie’s mother share the same name.”

Helen looked at Evelyn and Marge pretended not to notice the unspoken question and response that passed between them.

She felt as if preparing for a trip, and there were some things she did not want to think about yet. “Why don’t we put on some more water,” she said, “Have another fast cup before leaving?”

EPISODE 14 The path led to his going somewhere else for three months and it was not the choice she wanted to hear. She felt stress, wanted to cry, but they were guests at Helen’s wedding, and she would not give onlookers the satisfaction, nor raise suspicions after speaking quietly with her escort. Several of the attendees at the reception were looking decidedly extended around the middle, and it was more of a guessing game as to who was not expecting.

She looked into his eyes with the forcefulness of a mother reprimanding her child and whispered, “Ernie, we’re going to have a baby.” Be firm, she thought. “And I’m not going to give this one up.”

“Marge, I haven’t even got a job. I’m not going to work for another week.”

“Well, Red, I didn’t do this alone.” The use of his nickname from other quarters had slipped her tongue. She, then, thought certain of her words might go unnoticed, but did not account for how rapidly he made connections despite the appearance of being slow on the uptake.

“What do you mean give this one up?”

She recalled their first night in the motel and the question he had asked her and concluded if anyone had been duplicitous, it had certainly been she. She glanced at the evening sky hoping to find her first star, to make a wish on it; that it might send her something to reply to him, but it was early, with too much said already.

EPISODE 15 She poured a drink, drank it, poured another and turned to him. “Last year,” she said, “April 13th was a Friday. I’m not superstitious, but it was unlucky for me. I had a miscarriage. I wasn’t in love with the father. He moved to the Capitol and I didn’t see him again after our fifth date.

But I so wanted that baby. I wanted this one, yours, even more. Whether you decided we should marry or not, I was determined.”

She was wearing a flower-print dress that ended at her knees and belied the seriousness of what she was saying.

She did not look like a woman who had just lost a baby, but Ernie’s experience was not rich in judging that kind of thing.

“That one was a little girl. They told me this one would have been a boy. Your son. I want to have a family of my own. My father despises me. He blames me for my mother’s death. He claims I caused her heart to fail. Do you know how hard that is to live with?”

He looked down at the floor, kept his eyes on what appeared to be some sort of iron contraption in a corner. “I never knew my father,” he said, “And you’ve met my mother. We’re alike in more ways than you know.”

“Isn’t it time to plant the seed, Ernie, or time to walk another road?”

“I’m going away for a while, Marge, not escaping. I will come back.”

EPISODE 16 He looked up, and if she did not know him better, she would have sworn he had tears welling.

And then, he was gone.

She noted her glass was empty and thought, but not for good.

She wanted to run into the street and yell obscenities at whomever she might encounter, but instead hailed a taxi and rode home saying nothing more to the driver after giving him directions.

Her sister Pat was in the kitchen eating a sandwich and listening to the radio. Patti Page sang, …Just remember darling, all the while, You belong to me. It was the first time Marge could recall having heard someone singing at home other than the rare occurrences of her father trolling some old Irish shanty. He was not at home.

She noticed a purple mark on Pat’s neck, and asked, “How did you get away with that?”

“With what?”

“Never mind.”

She visited his mother a few times during Ernie’s absence and was well received. They drank tea together, although she noted that Mrs. Brown, whom she was requested to call Mom, topped off each cup with a visit to her bedroom and would appear tipsy by the time Marge left. What curtailed her visits was a confrontation with Ginny in the street one evening while heading towards the train. Curt greetings soon led to Ginny remarking, “He doesn’t love either of us, you know,” to which Marge retorted, “Listen, Virginia, did he ever make you pregnant?” and regretted immediately afterward.

EPISODE 17 She tried for the third time, failing to slide on her mother’s fake diamond ring. She had not lost any weight, rather had put on a few pounds since her disrupted pregnancy. It’s just as well it doesn’t fit, she thought. Her father would kill her knowing she had touched the sacred jewelry box he kept in his bedroom closet, and who was she trying to impress, anyway?

She had wanted to cook for Evelyn’s reception as she had learned a few things on the job, but her friend had decided to have everyone gather at a local restaurant after what promised to be a farcical ceremony with the enormous bride dressed in an oversized yellow gown and having her little son act as a ring bearer.

Marge found it hard maintaining her sanity as her two old friends badgered her with questions. “Would Ernie be arriving later?” “When are the two of you getting hitched?”

At this Helen and Evelyn shared that look they frequently did causing her to wonder just how close the three of them were.

Things really soured after Helen who had drunk too much wine and argued with her husband started to pass comments implying that Marge must have made eyes at Karl because he certainly appeared to be infatuated with her. Then, as if preparing a report, asked her, “Where is Ernie really? Has he taken off? Did you tell him about the Good Shepherd? Did he dump you after you lost the baby?”

EPISODE 18 He looked back once then slammed his bedroom door. “I expect you to be gone by the time I emerge,” her father shouted from the other side. She would not cry, and that must have been what drove him wild, more so than that of which he accused her.

He had begun by sending Pat out with a long grocery list, adding, “Don’t forget the fish, dear.” As her sister had left almost skipping, Marge now thought, she must have known what was coming.

With the two of them alone in the apartment, her father started singing off-key and in a monotone, We was rafting on a river ‘til the rain changed our plans, and then pounded his fist on the kitchen table while repeating, the rain changed our plans, oh, the rain changed our plans…

She asked, “Is something bothering you, Daddy?”

“Is it true what I’ve been told? You’re going to have a child?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Don’t act the wise-ass with me, girlie,” he said, his cheeks reddening. “I’m your father!”

“I wish you’d act like one,” she snapped.

He rose as if to slap her, but when she raised a hand in defense, seemed to think better of it. “After your stint in The Good Shepherd, I thought this kind of irresponsible nonsense was all over with. I want you out of this house.”

He glared, looking rather sick. “I’ve got your sister to think of.”

“Yes. Innocent little Pat,” she said. “As you wish.”

EPISODE 19 It was only a quarter moon, but it meant that she had not seen Ernie for two months. After she and Helen mended fences, she asked Marge to stay for a while until she could find her own place, which turned into three weeks, but she grew tired of unfolding their Castro each night. Often, she came home from the restaurant and after watching Amos ‘n’ Andy or I Love Lucy with Helen and Karl, would fall asleep in the blue chair.

Sitting through some of The Frank Sinatra Show and thinking he was starting to age badly, she told Helen she wanted to go out for a while.

On the train, she met Jim Burns and his wife heading out carless to a party. He was always a responsible drinker, and she appreciated when he said, “Marge, if you ever need anything, call us,” but she knew she would never call while he was married to graceless Grace.

At Feeny’s, she was not surprised to find Ginny sitting bombed in one of the booths, but was when Ernie came through the door with friends. He seemed genuinely happy to see her, and told her, “I just got off the ship hours ago, and went to my mom’s to catch some shut-eye. I intended to try and get in touch with you, but then these guys…

Ginny came up beside him, and almost growled, “Hey, handsome.”

Without responding, he reached for Marge’s hand. “Say, why don’t we blow this joint?” .

EPISODE 20 The letter lay unopened on the table between them throughout their cocktails until he went to the mensroom and she put it into her handbag. She would never read it before misplacing it entirely months later. He told her he had had a shipmate help him write it, and she knew it must contain an affirmation of sorts, but wanted to hear the words in the meadow as it were rather than from a third party.

Choosing from the menu, she selected an inexpensive meal, and afterwards, over coffee, she explained her current situation. She told him why her father had thrown her out, about the baby given up for adoption when she was seventeen after having spent six months in the House of the Good Shepherd, about the miscarriage the year before she met him, how she had become estranged from her brother because he had smacked her around after hearing vicious gossip and they no longer communicated with each other.

She coughed while telling him how her father found no imperfections in two of his children and belabored the point when he regarded all of hers, though no tears came to her eyes.

“The bastard,” he said, but she raised a hand.

“He just wanted more from all of us. When my mother died, I think it frightened him.”

“Come stay with Mom for a while,” he said, “I enlisted for a transport guaranteeing quite a bit of dough, and when I return, we’ll get our own place.”

EPISODE 21 Pain shot through her abdomen, causing her to cry out. For a few days she thought she was going to miscarry yet again, but then a visit to a doctor alleviated her concern. It was just the baby vigorously kicking around inside. “Not to worry, Mrs. Brown,” the doctor said, “He’s not ready to come out yet although he seems to think he is.”

“How do you know it’s a boy?” she asked.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, “We don’t know yet. That’s just my terminology. There is a new saliva test through which we can try to predict the baby’s sex. If you’d like, we can do that procedure. It’s fairly simple, but it isn’t one hundred percent accurate.”

The nurse, whose name was Amber, and had been so gentle with her seemed to be indicating otherwise, and Marge took it as a sign. “I guess I’d rather not know yet,” she said.

Rain was falling as forecasted. She had passed a playground filled with children on her way to the clinic, and didn’t like seeing it empty on her way home. Relieved that soon she would have a child of her own to take there, she only wished Ernie had stayed with her long enough to witness the emergence of his firstborn. She could try delivering a message via his mother, but was not sure how he would respond, and could bear the disappointment if he did not.

That night she recalled she had never read his letter.

A Blue-Collar Romance June 2, 2012 I knew it was a lie but felt I had to tell it. It’s not really a lie though—more of a soap opera. The succession of events at times put me in a depression, and at others lifted my spirits.

I felt I was back there with them before I was even a glint in my mother’s eyes or a yellow word on my father’s lips. I had let an awful lot of time slip by without saying anything here, so I went back to the beginning of the year, gathered all the prompts I could find, and soon found myself in a race to execute what I originally had in mind to do, that is, write a blue-collar romance about familiar characters (much of it fiction, as I could not, by definition, have been a witness). I dedicated an entire weekend, beginning with Friday’s fury to composing twenty-one 250-word (no more, no less) episodes in a storm of 10-minute bursts, honed by mud-spotted activity. I enjoyed the whole cathartic process.

If you feel like indulging this writer, I suggest starting with Episode 01 and proceeding forward, unless you are the type who likes to peek at the ending first. I sometimes do myself. In any case, I hope I can pop in here often to get more written and to read and comment on your excellent writing.

I thank you for your time and mine. If I had not felt the pull, I would not have made it.

God Bless the Child When I was twelve years old, I spent the first of six Junes vacationing with my Uncle Ray who lived in Maryland just outside of Washington DC where he worked as a US Marshall.

He was a bachelor and he lived in a four room apartment that was more like a house. He had many friends we would visit in the evenings and we often went out to dinner. He bought me almost everything I asked for including The Beatles' White Album and my very own phonograph to play it on after I went home, though I could listen to it on his huge console while I was staying with him.

He had been in the Navy and he built scale models of each of the aircraft carriers on which he'd served.

He had a typewriter, on which I would tap out vignettes during the day while he worked. He believed at twelve, I could be trusted to take care of myself, and I found ways to keep busy. I was even allowed to cook my own lunch on his electric stove, though he advised me to check twice to make sure I had turned it off after using it. I did.

His friends had lots of children and I got on well with most of them. Once I remarked to Karen Landes that I thought her accent was funny and she said, "Accent? I don't have an accent. Y'all from New York. You have the accent." I told her I thought that was funny.

Near the end of June when I was scheduled to return home, Uncle Ray and I sat around talking while we drank tall glasses of pink lemonade. "Do you miss your dad?" he asked.

"Sometimes," I said, "But Bill is like a dad to me. He takes us out to the movies once in a while, and sometimes Mom visits the bar where he works and I go with her. He's real good at his job.

Do you miss Dad?" "Well," he said, "We weren't the closest of brothers." Then he asked me, "How would you like to go to school down here? I was thinking of asking your mom if she would let you stay here to go to school and you could visit home during Christmas and summer vacations. That is if you wanted to."

I told him I liked that idea very much.

The four hour drive home to Brooklyn was enjoyable until we were crossing the Verrazano Narrows Bridge. We had stopped at two diners along the New Jersey Turnpike and he had bought me a box of salt water taffy at the Howard Johnson's. I was saving the taffy to give to my mother, but as we drove over the bridge, I opened the box and ate a piece. I told him I hoped my mother would say yes to my going back to Maryland in September.

"Maybe we shouldn't ask her this time," he said, "How about we wait until next year, or you could finish out elementary school up here and go to high school down there?"

In my experience, things that were put off never came about and I told him I would rather ask her now.

We came off the bridge on the Brooklyn side and it was a particularly hot day, but inside Uncle Ray's air conditioned car it was as cool as could be. "Well, if you think she'll go for it, we'll ask," he said.

He found a spot to park right in front of our building, one of a row of four ugly brownstonelike tenements. The women sitting on the stoop watched us even before we emerged from the car. I only recognized Mrs. Parker from the adjacent building. She always came over to sit on our stoop. She smiled at me and said something to the dark haired heavyset woman sitting next to her.

I was about to extract another piece of taffy from the box as Uncle Ray turned off the ignition and he said, "Hey, I thought those were for your mom?" I dropped the wrapped candy back into the box and closed the flap.

We took my two suitcases out of the trunk and Uncle Ray carried the heavier one and the things he had bought for me to give my mother and Bill. As we passed the ladies on the stoop, Mrs. Parker asked, "How're you doing Big Boy? Did you enjoy your vacation?" She was asking me but she was smiling at Uncle Ray. I looked at him to see if he was interested in getting to know Mrs. Parker because I knew her husband had died, but Uncle Ray was looking into the hallway. The bulb had blown out again.

I nodded to Mrs. Parker to indicate I had enjoyed myself and she said a little louder than necessary, "Careful in that hallway. The super had to go and get some lightbulbs."

We walked up the four flights and knocked on our door.

My mom called out, "Just a minute. Be right there."

She made tea for us and seemed very pleased with the taffy. She shook her head when I showed her the phonograph, but smiled so I would know she wasn't annoyed that Uncle Ray had bought me something she'd been telling me we couldn't afford. Then she asked if I would be able to play her Billie Holliday record on it.

"I haven't heard that record in about twelve years," she said. She liked the scarf and said she felt sure Bill would like the tie, but told Uncle Ray the sweaters were unnecessary.

Then she asked me to go to the store for some bread and milk. I looked at Uncle Ray and he nodded. I knew he would ask her about my going to school in Maryland while I was out at the store. He took some money out of his wallet and said, "Get a big bottle of soda too, okay?"

I reached for the money but almost didn't take it when my mom said, "Ray, that's not necessary." But as nothing further was said or motions made, I took the money and headed out the door. As I was leaving, I heard him ask her, "Marge, have you heard anything at all from Ernie?"

I went to the good German delicatessen, which was five blocks from where we lived, rather than the Spanish grocery store on the corner. I figured I would give Uncle Ray and Mom a good long chance to discuss the possibility of my moving down to Maryland. I took my time walking there and back to our apartment.

I was thinking about some of the funny things Karen Landes had said to me about having a New York accent. I remember thinking that sounded silly because nobody I spoke to had any kind of accent except the man who owned the Spanish grocery store. Not even Mrs. Parker whom Bill called a polack sounded different to me. The women were not sitting on the stoop when I returned, but I was so absorbed in thinking about how people sounded when they spoke, I hadn't noticed something else was missing from in front of the building.

Mom was washing dishes when I walked into the apartment.

"Just put the milk and soda in the fridge, will ya? Then there's something I want to talk to you about."

"Where's Uncle Ray?" I asked.

"That's what I want to talk to you about." She dried her hands on a dish towel. "Sit over here," she said.

I put away the milk and soda and sat in the corner chair. I could feel my eyes welling up and I knew my face would become flushed in a moment or two.

"Don't start crying," my mother said, "Look, when your father left us, I made a promise to myself that we would not go hungry and that we would get by, that we would always have clothes on our backs and a roof over our heads. And we always have. We don't live in luxury, God knows, but we are not so badly off."

"I didn't say anything," I said.

"I know you didn't, but I'm telling you these things because I don't want you to start thinking the grass is greener somewhere else. You've been going to St. John's for six years. You've only got two more years to go. We've got too much invested in this for you to change now. Maybe when it's time for high school we can think about you moving to another town."

"But, Uncle Ray says..." I started to say but my voice was catching. I was going to cry and I already knew the outcome was decided.

"I don't care what your uncle says. I'm your mother, and I say for now you're not going anywhere. This is not going to happen at this time. End of discussion." She began to put the dishes away in the closet.

I sat at the table sobbing.

"Don't cry now," she said, "You're a big boy. Did you see what I made for you? In the refrigerator?"

"No," I said, "What is it?"

"Go look."

I hesitated to move. I wanted her to think no matter what she'd made I wasn't interested. I wanted her to think I hated her for not allowing me to have a better life. I wondered if she had become angry when Uncle Ray had broached the subject. I wanted anything but to be sitting in that warm uncomfortable kitchen feeling like I could never escape from Brooklyn until I was old enough to move out on my own.

"Can I, can I go down to visit him for Christmas," I asked wiping my eyes.

"Maybe for Easter recess. We'll see."

I slid off the chair and went to the refrigerator and opened the door. On the bottom shelf was a chocolate covered layer cake. "I

used two cans of frosting," my mother said, "Hey, what do say we see how that old record sounds? I haven't heard it in so long."

"Do you want to hear The Beatles?" I asked.

"All right," she said, "Then afterwards we'll listen to Billie Holliday and you'll hear what I used to listen to when I was a young girl, just before I met your father."

Alphabet Soup They were sitting at Nana's kitchen table, just Michael and his father. There was a bowl of vegetable soup still too hot to eat in front of Michael and a can of Rheingold in front of Dad. There was also a bowl of soup in front of a third chair in which Raymond had been sitting, but he was in the living room with Mom who was talking to Nana.

The sounds of the television drifted out to Michael's ears, but he couldn't make out what was being said because he heard a mixture of the actors' voices and his mother's and his grandmother's.

It sounded like, "Marge, you know...seems to me, you'd...that he always...when his brother Ray would...if he can't come up with...but he always did...even as we speak, the big...maybe next week...not this one, oh no, not a...but all the time, Mom...could be that one..." He heard Nana mention his Uncle Ray who was Dad's brother and he remembered Dad never came to visit Nana when Uncle Ray was home from the Navy.

The only thing he could clearly follow was when the television started singing, "Brylcreem, a little dab'll do ya..." and he could see in his head the little puppet with the shiny hair and the puppet girl who loved to get her fingers in his hair. He always wondered how she could put her fingers through his hair when it wasn't made up separate strands like his was but was a solid shiny thing like a helmet.

He looked at his father's head, which was all shiny and bare except for the tiny orange-brown hairs on the sides and in the back. His mother had told him, "Your father had a full head of red hair when we were married. I don't know how he lost it so quickly." It was true Dad had a lot of hair in the picture of him and Mom that she kept in the top drawer of her dresser at home.

Michael wasn't supposed to be looking in there, but he did a lot of things he wasn't supposed to and he rarely got caught.

Dad took a slug of his beer and said, "What about that soup, Mickey? Don't let it get cold."

The soup still had smoke coming up from it's surface. "It's not cold, Dad," he said, "Look it's still hot." he pulled his coloring book closer and as he did so, he allowed the stiff edge of it to push the bowl a little further away, but Dad noticed his little ploy.

"I told you to leave that until after you eat."

"But it's still too hot, Dad." he wanted to show him some of the pictures he had colored in school. The one with the Easter eggs and the rabbit was his favorite because after looking at his work Sister Saint William said he was going to be an artist when he grew up. He never went outside the lines on that one, not once. He flipped open the book carefully so he wouldn't get soup on it. "Look, Dad, see this picture? Can I color this one while the soup is cooling?"

"You still play with coloring books?" Dad asked. "I thought you were going to school already."

"I do," Michael said, "I'm going to be in the first grade when I go back."

"I thought you were in the first grade."

"No, Dad, you have to go to kindergarten first."

"I know, I know," he said, "But I thought you did that last year."

Michael wished he could see his father more often. Then Dad would know that he had only gone to kindergarten so far and that first grade was next year. He turned the pages until he came to his Easter picture. "Look at this one, Dad. I didn't go outside the lines. Sister said I'm going to be an artist."

"Artists paint pictures with paint," his father said, "They don't use crayons."

"I used paints some times. We used finger paints, but not

on these pictures. We had to do them on the thick paper. I made a turkey with my hand like this." He outlined his splayed fingers with a black crayon on a blank page in the back of his book. "And then I painted him inside. See, this makes the tail. Mom put the picture up on the refrigerator.

You want me to paint a turkey for you?"

"I don't have a refrigerator. You could do one for your Nana and I'll see it when I come over here. Did they teach you to do letters?"

"You mean teach us to write letters, like when I write to Santa Claus? I know how to do that."

"No, I mean letters, like A-B-C." His father folded the beer can in half with one hand. Then he got up and went to the refrigerator to get another one, and at the table he popped two triangular holes with a can opener in the top of the can.

Michael remembered Dad told him you had to put a hole in both sides or you couldn't pour out the beer. He had showed him it was true by only popping one hole and then holding the can upside down and only a little trickle dripped into a glass and the rest stayed in the can.

"I knew the ABCs a long time ago, Dad. Don't you remember?"

"Write the ABCs for me there next to your turkey." He used to give Michael a nickel when he would say them out loud, and if he could remember how to say them with his eyes closed, Dad would give him another nickel. But that was last year.

He wrote an "a", then a "b"...

"No make them bigger," Dad said. So he wrote his "c" almost as big as the finger outline, then a "d". If he made them all that big, they wouldn't all fit on this page. His father looked at what he was doing and said, "Don't be silly, making them so big," so Michael made the "e" middle-sized and when he started to write the "f," Dad said, "Don't make them capital letters or you won't fit them all on the page." He was surprised that Dad seemed to think

that capital referred to the size of the letters. Michael knew the capital letters looked different than the ones he was writing. He learned capital letters all by himself last year.

These, Sister called lowercase letters.

The cat clock over the stove was going tick-tick-tick-tick loudly. The cat's tail was swinging back and forth and it's eyes were going back and forth too. Tick-tick-tick-tick. He was going to have to eat his soup and he didn't want to write the alphabet anymore. He wanted to show Dad how he could color, but Dad didn't seem to think being able to color and stay inside the lines was a big thing.

"Look, Dad," he said spooning up some of the soup. There was an M and an E along with some carrot cubes and a pea on the spoon. "These are capital letters. This one's in my name and this one's in yours. This says ME, but if I hold it with this hand, it says WE." "Don't play with your food," his father said.

So he ate the rest of his soup without saying anything. It was already cool and he didn't really like it that way. He wondered why Rayray didn't come out to eat his soup now that it wasn't hot anymore.

Nana must have turned the television off because now he could hear her voice saying, "Do you have to bring the children down with you every time you go to the office?

What about when Mickey's in school?"

Mom answered her, but he couldn't make out the words.

"Are they going to come looking for Ernie?" Nana asked.

Then Michael knew what they were talking about. The Welfare.

One time when he asked how come they had to be on Welfare, his mother told him, "You know if they could find your father, they'd try to make him give us money, but he never works steady, and then we wouldn't have any money to eat or pay the rent."

Sometimes they went down to the welfare office and had to sit there all day before the investigator called Mom into her

office to talk to her. Then he and Rayray had to sit there with Aunt Kath for about another hour until Mom came out with some money. They always went down there with Aunt Kath so she could watch them. She was sixteen and she lived with Mom's other sister Aunt Mary. He knew they needed money to pay the rent, but he wished Dad could get it from his job and help them out.

Mom said Dad used to be a Merchant Marine before they were married, but he had to stop because he had a quick temper and he drank too much and they threw him out.

Now he only worked part-time at a bar. She said that was because his father couldn't read, and she wished she knew that before she married him. She said he fooled her because he signed the license. Writing his name was the only thing he knew how to do. That and drinking beer. Dad was always drinking Rheingold whenever he came to Nana's.

He put his can down on the table and it made a loud plonk noise because he put it down hard. He looked like he was annoyed and that was probably because he could hear them talking in the living room. Sometimes he would sing a song that went, "Please don't talk about me when I'm gone..." and Michael thought Mom and Nana probably didn't know they could hear out in the kitchen some of what they were saying in the other room.

"Finished Dad," he said, "Look." He pointed to the empty bowl. He had eaten all the cool vegetable soup.

"Good boy. You want some more?"

"No, that's okay, Dad." He knew there was no more in the pot and he thought Dad was going to ask Nana to come out and open another can.

"Here, have some more of this." His father picked up Raymond's bowl and started spooning it into Michael's.

"No, Dad, I don't want to take Rayray's soup."

"He's not going to eat it," his father said. "You can't let it go to waste."

"He's gonna eat it. He just went in with Mom to let it cool

off." Michael didn't want to eat another cold bowl of soup.

He wanted Mom to send Rayray out to eat it, so he wouldn't have to. "Mom," he called out.

"What is it, hon'?" she called back.

"What're you calling her for?" his father asked. "Just eat the damn soup."

"I don't want to, Dad," he said, "Mom, Dad wants me to eat Rayray's soup. I don't want anymore now." He didn't know why he said that and knew immediately that he had done something very wrong.

The look on his father's face changed in a bad way. His eyes grew small and mean looking and he was pinching his lips. His eyebrows came together in a V. Suddenly he banged Rayray's bowl down on the table splashing what had been left in it all over the table. The bowl cracked and a large piece of it flew against the back wall. Some of the cold soup was on Michael's cheek and he just looked up at his father's face.

"What am I raising here, a rat?" his father hollered, "A goddamn rat? You rat me out to your mother? You think she's friggin' better than me?"

Michael started to cry and the tears felt hot as they ran down his cheeks. He scooted off the chair and ran past his father into the living room. He ran to hug his mother who had been sitting in Nana's big chair and was now standing.

Nana, still sitting looked up at his mother than out towards the kitchen. Raymond had been sleeping on the couch next to Nana, but now was waking up and rubbing his eyes.

"You're not raising anyone," Mom hollered out to Dad. "These are my kids."

"A goddamn rat," Dad repeated. "Son of a bitch.

Somebody's gonna be sorry around here." He went into Uncle Ray's room off the kitchen and grabbed his jacket off the bed.

Mom said, "Yeah, somebody's gonna be sorry, and it's gonna be you."

"Are you threatening me, Marge?" he shouted in her face.

"Are you threatening me? You better not try that."

"I'm not threatening you. I'm just telling you you're not raising these kids. I am." Michael could feel Mom's leg shaking where he was holding on to her. He was only sobbing now, but Rayray was crying.

"I'm not talking about these kids," dad hollered. "I'm talking about my kid. My kid," he repeated pointing to his chest with his thumb.

"Ernie," Nana said.

"Give me some money, Ma," he said to her in a softer voice, "Just give me a few bucks and let me get outta here."

She reached into the pocket of her housedress and pulled out a few dollars and he took it and walked out the front door of the bungalow. Michael could see him through the curtained window. He was walking toward the front of the courtyard and that meant he was going to Whitey's. If he went out the side that meant he was going to visit his girlfriend Ginnie.

"Let me sit down, Michael," his mother said. She was crying now and Rayray climbed down off the couch and toddled over to her. He had his thumb in his mouth.

Michael remembered Mom saying that Rayray had stopped sucking his thumb early and now he was doing it again.

"Come here, Mickey," Nana said and held out her arms.

"Come over here by Nana," and she waved him towards her. He went and stood next to her leg. "Are you all right, Marge?" she asked "Should I make some tea?"

"You see how he is, Mom, the things he says?"

"He loses his temper sometimes."

"I'm not talking about that. He had no right to say that.

These are his kids. Yelling things like that in front of them.

It's not right." Mom wiped her eyes with a tissue and then she lit a cigarette with her shaking hand. She had the other arm around Rayray who had his head in her lap.

"Should I make some tea, Marge? It'll calm you down."

"I'm all right," Mom said, "I've got to get these kids home.

We've got that long bus ride all the way back to Bay Ridge and I don't want to be here when Ernie comes back."

"Oh, he won't be back tonight," Nana said. "He'll go to Ginnie's. I won't see him until next week some time. When he needs money."

"I wish you'd told me he was going to be here today."

"I didn't know he was," Nana said, "He came in just before you got here with the children. Ray's supposed to be coming home in two weeks, so Ernie'll probably come around next week and then I won't see him for a month."

"You didn't tell me Ray was coming home."

"Yes, he wrote me last week."

Michael looked over at the china closet filled with dolls Uncle Ray had brought for Nana from all over the world.

Spanish dancing dolls and lots of dolls in what Nana called "native costumes." They weren't the kind of dolls the little girls in his neighborhood played with. These were very hard and shiny and all of them were full grown ladies and men. None of them were boys and girls except the little black ones with braids that Nana said were called golliwogs. There was a closet full of clocks in the bedroom too, all kinds of clocks that chimed and had little ballerinas in them. Uncle Ray always brought Nana gifts when he came home and he never asked her for money. He gave her money.

"I should have married Ray instead of Ernie," Mom said.

"That wouldn't have worked out. Ray's not the marrying kind," Nana said. "He wants to make a career out of the Navy."

"This is better? Oh, what am I saying? You can't cry over spilt milk," his mother said and Michael thought of the soup all over the kitchen table and he would bet it was all over his school coloring book too. He knew Dad had only gotten angry because of the soup.

He wished he could see him when he came around next

week. He would ask him to take him to Whitey's. Dad was so proud of him the last time he took him there. He was telling all his friends, "Yessir, this is my boy Mickey. He's gonna make his old man proud of him someday. You wait and see."

Mom had changed Rayray's outside clothes for pajamas.

She always did that because he would fall asleep on the way home and then he would be grouchy if she tried to change him before putting him to bed. Now she was putting his little jacket on him.

Michael was holding his own jacket. He hesitated to put it on because he wanted to ask Mom a favor. "Mom," he said, "I haven't stayed with Nana in a long time."

"You stayed here for two days about two months ago," she said.

"But couldn't I stay here for a week this time? Couldn't I, Nana? I don't have to go back to school until after the summer's over. Please Nana? Please Mom?" "Oh, that would be nice," Nana said.

"I need you to help me with things at home," his mother said.

"I'll help you, Mom," he promised. "I'll clean up my room everyday and I'll help you with Rayray. You can get Aunt Kath to come over while I stay with Nana. Please Mom, just for a week?"

"Let him stay here for a week, Marge. It'll give you some time to sort things out."

"Would you rather stay here knowing your father is coming back than coming home with me?"

"Dad won't be mad, if he comes back. I know he won't."

Nana had her hands clasped around Michael, as if she already knew Mom would say yes.

"If you really want to, I guess it's all right. You sure it'll be all right, Mom?" "Oh, sure Marge," Nana said, "Ernie'll blow off a little

steam tonight and when he pops in next week, he'll be so happy to see Mickey here. He'll be all over the child."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Mom said. "That's exactly what I'm afraid of."

Her Way 1967 “Marge,” Ray said, “When was the last time you saw Ernie?”

She was lowering the volume of the radio. “That jimope,” she said. “I haven’t seen your brother in a dog’s age. Last time I brought the boys over to your mother’s, she told me he hadn’t paid her a visit in over six months.

“I told her she was well off because all he ever does is ask for money he never intends to pay back. He pisses it all away on booze and at the track. Never pays attention to anything going on in the world. Won’t even look at the pictures in a newspaper.

And he calls me dumb.”

“Well, that’s what I came to tell you about. I don’t know how to say this, but Ernie…”

“No. Ray, no…” she interrupted, her cheeks coloring.

“I’m afraid so. They found him in a doorway of one of the abandoned buildings near Mom’s place.”

“Not Red. No…” “I guess he’d been trying to get in out of the cold. He’d been gone about three days by that time. It was cirrhosis.”

She glanced at the radio playing songs from Frank Sinatra’s television special the month before. When he sang, “The world still is the same. You’re never gonna change it…” she lost control. “It can’t be,” she sobbed, “His fortieth birthday’s next week.”

“I’m so sorry Marge. Is there anything I can do?”

“There’s nothing anyone could do,” she said, “Now or then. We tried so many times.”

1952 Someone popped a few nickels in the jukebox, and The Voice started singing: There are those who can leave love or take it Love to them is just what they make it A young sailor tapped the shoulder of the dark haired beauty who seemed rapt in the conversation passing between two old codgers. She did not appear to be contributing, rather, merely

listening, and nodding when one of them directed a sentence toward her. “Would you care to dance?” the sailor asked.

“You’re Red’s brother, aren’t you? The one in the Navy. Good looks run in the family.”

“You seem like a nice girl, Marge. You could do a whole lot better than Ernie. He’s my brother and all, but he’s bad news, and if you hook up with him, he’ll cause you heartache for sure.”

“I’m not such a nice girl. All this is just for show. I come from a very old-fashioned family, with a father who punishes our every indiscretion. I’ve served my time, and refuse to live under his thumb. Perhaps that’s why I like Red so much. He doesn’t take any bullshit from anybody.”

“When he’s drinking.”

“Yeah, well, there is that. I think he’ll straighten up and fly right when the baby comes.”

“He got you pregnant?”

“I got myself pregnant, with his help. I told you I wasn’t such a nice girl.”

And still I fall in love too easily I fall in love too fast The song finished, and so did their dancing. “Raymond,” she said, “Your name has a nice ring to it. That would probably be much better than Ernest, Junior.”

1955 “Married two years, of which we’ve spent eighteen months separated. You hardly see the baby, and won’t acknowledge the one on the way. Couldn’t expect you to, not being certain it’s yours.” [click] Love has lost its meaning and so have the stars.

“Remember how you never wanted to play this new Scrabble game,? I wasn’t trying to embarrass you, Red. I’d forgotten you never learned to read.”

Nothing’s what it once used to be.

“Went to the movies with a girlfriend and couldn’t believe when the kids jumped up to dance to Rock Around the Clock. Never saw anything like that before, and wanted to join them. Would have been difficult with this big belly, but still, I had the yen.”

Song birds say it’s spring. I don’t believe them. “I’m not the teenager I was.

“Churchill resigned, but I have a feeling he’ll be back.

“They’re taking down the Third Avenue El. That we’ll never ride again.”

Once love was king, but kings can be wrong.

“A program’s coming on the television called The $64,000 Question. What I wouldn’t give to have a go at that, even though I’m not smart enough to win anything big as you’ve told me often enough.

It’s a new age. The War’s been over for ten years, and it’s about time for a change. We’re all due for a hearty laugh.”

A smile will help hide the ache in my heart. [click] “It’s late, and I was wondering if you’d stay tonight.”

1959

a

production