The Long Island Center For Women (a euphemism for abortion clinic) couldn't give Rita an appointment until the following Monday. It was now Friday afternoon, Eddie was playing that night in a club that didn't accept her proof the last time he was there and Rita didn't care a bit. The tiny piece of life inside her had become a weight, a physical and mental presence and the more she thought about it the more frightened she became. Unlike her fear of sex with Eddie (although one of the possible causes had certainly, no pun intended, borne fruit), the reason for this fear was clear in her mind. Would she come to regret snuffing this life, would guilt haunt her as a different guilt was haunting poor Mrs. Brodsky? And she was just trying to love poor old Mr. Stoneman. Rita thought, I'm..... she stopped thinking.
Margaret Brodsky, out of a job (there's been no official notice, but it seemed clear to everyone on the Island that the F.W.Woolworth would not re-open for its last few scheduled weeks) and still feeling dreadful, was finding some solace in comforting Rita while using their phone chats to vent her own emotions. The two women, over thirty years apart, had become very close in these last few days. To Rita, Margaret was obviously playing the role of mother and her playing that role was exactly what they both needed.
On Thursday, Detective Dunne again visited Margaret. Coroner reports confirmed carbon monoxide poisoning and death some time last Saturday night he told her. Dunne's visit seemed somewhat superfluous to Margaret. He asked many of the same questions and stayed just a few minutes. She had an opportunity to prepare herself physically for his latest visit and wondered if he noticed. But if he did, he gave no sign and Margaret found herself left with more guilt, this time about her interest in Detective Dunne. A call to check on Rita's spirits worked wonders for the widow Brodsky, but sleep came no quicker that night than any other night since she'd heard about Harold.
It took Eddie longer than Rita or anyone might have hoped to realize the gravity of the situation, but he had. On Thursday and Friday he had smoked pot on the job, something he'd never done before. He wasn't eating much (he'd always been able to eat. He ate a whole pizza the day his dog died and he really loved that dog) and unlike Rita, he had no one to dump his emotions on.
Eddie would lie in bed or on boxes in the back of the store and imagine telling Rita to "keep the baby; we'll get married right away and everything will work out, you'll see." He just couldn't get himself to believe in his words. He mulled it over and over again in his mind, trying to analyze why he didn't believe. Do I love her? Of course. Would I like to be a father? Yes, I think so. Do I want to be married? Tough one. What would my parents say? He couldn't decide.
On the ferry back to the Island late Friday night, Eddie sat in his car looking at the ocean. He began to visualize Rita on a table with a doctor sucking his child out of her body.
Eddie's phone call woke Rita on Saturday morning.
"I didn't go to work. Get dressed and I'll pick you up in an hour. We're going to the Hamptons and I'm gonna buy you some stuff. Start thinking about what you want."
Rita rubbed her eyes, smiled and said okay. By nine-thirty they were on the south ferry. But the mood since their phone conversation had changed. Eddie was, even as he sat holding Rita's hand, deciding just what he wanted to say. And Rita, ever closer to changing her mind about the abortion, was doing much the same. They drove off the ferry and through Sag Harbor and Bridgehampton. Eddie parked on a Southampton side street and the two now silent lovers walked the streets with the tourists and the townies. A couple of times, for just a moment, Eddie would forget their "problem" and for those few seconds he'd again get that feeling that only being with Rita, touching her, could bring him. Coming back to reality was annoying, like stubbing your bare toe on a chair leg and it noticeably pissed Eddie off. Each time it happened, Rita would begin to ask him what was wrong, but each time she caught herself. Whatever conversation they were going to have, Eddie would have to initiate.
They walked in and out of several shops, most of the contents of which they couldn't afford, couldn't identify or didn't need. They stopped at an ice cream shop, got a couple of cones and sat in front on a bench.
"Do you love me?" Eddie asked.
"You know I do."
"Okay, here's the plan. We get married as soon as I get back from the tour. There's plenty of room in my parent's basement for a baby and us. I know I can find another day job and maybe Cooler Heads will be a big hot band by then. That's it. What do you think?"
"I think I'm real glad you said that," Rita said. "I was going to tell you I couldn't go through with an abortion. I was just afraid of what you'd say. I feel so much better. Let's celebrate."
"What do you want to do?" Eddie asked her.
"Let's rent a motel room," she said.
The last several days before the band was to leave were absolutely the best of times for Eddie and Rita. Their future (sort of) set, a weight taken off both of them and guilt- free sex plus knowing they'd be separated soon made every night a party. And Rita's days were spent looking for a job and meeting Maryann (now waiting tables at Mitchell's) for lunch in Greenport.
Margaret wasn't faring as well as Rita. Since Rita called to tell of her decision to keep her baby, Margaret's initial feeling of tempered happiness for her young friend had floated away. She was clearly experiencing depression. She'd lost her job, hadn't gotten over Harold's suicide and just didn't feel like dating. In the two weeks since "that night," she'd gotten several calls from Carol to do things and two old boy friends had called for dates. She'd become a couch potato, soaps in the day, old movies at night. Strangely, or maybe not so strangely, the one person she wanted to see was Rita. But with Rita's trouble (not troubles) over, Margaret felt funny about calling a not yet seventeen-year old. She struggled to come up with an excuse until she remembered seeing Rita's birthdate on something at the store. It was June 30, 1960 and in a few days it would be Rita's birthday. Margaret decided she'd call Rita and tell her to bring Maryann along and they'd go out to dinner in some classy Sag Harbor restaurant to celebrate. She called Rita's house and got a man's voice.
"May I speak to Rita, please."
"She's not home," Big Bob answered, popping a beer can. "Who's this?"
"It's Margaret Brodsky. We used to work at the store together. Could you tell her to give me a call?"
"Hey, that was really something about Stoneman. Were you surprised?"
"Sure, we all were. Nobody expects things like that to happen."
"I heard he was out with a woman the night he offed himself. Couldn't get it up and freaked."
Rita had made Margaret aware that her father was a police officer working eastern Suffolk County. But apparently, she thought, he'd only heard part of the story or at the very least he'd forgotten the name of Harold's date.
"That's kind of what I heard, too. Please tell Rita I called."
She hung up and after a moment of renewed depression she
decided that if a cop didn't know it was her, maybe a lot of
people around the Island didn't know. Of course she was wrong,
but how could she have known years of hard drinking were already
affecting both Big Bob's short-term memory and, in this case, his
comprehension level. She had just spoken to one of only a handful
of Greenport and Shelter Island residents who didn't know
everything (and then some) about one of the stranger nights in
the little Island's history.
Questions? Comments? Please send e-mail to jbearden@ieee.org
Material Copyright © 1998-2003 by Jim Bearden