Crushed Love Well Shaken

By Bob Young

Bert, 4F and gimpy, desires June, the married woman down the hall in his rooming house in 1943. Her husband is away at war and missing in action. Bert works as a clerk in the town butcher shop. In the depths of this emotional poverty, a red, hot blonde steps into his life with an offer he can’t refuse. Gracie, the grandniece of Bert’s landlady, is pregnant with her married supervisor’s child. She needs someone to save her reputation. He marries Gracie.

As Bert comes home after work his first night married, he finds that June and Gracie are co-workers and friends at the textile mill in town. Bert decides he has to find a way to love them both.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Class Act Books
• Release date: Aug 14, 2014

Bob Young

Bob Young is a historian for the state of Washington and co-author of two books. He has lived in 10 states and one foreign country. He holds degrees from Boston University and Emerson College, where his thesis film won a student Emmy, presented with a peck by Loretta “Hot Lips” Swit. He spent 26 years as a full-time journalist, including 15 with The Seattle Times, where he played very modest parts in Pulitzer Prize-winning coverage of the Lakewood police massacre and the Oso landslide. He was also research director at Congress Watch in Washington, D.C., where he investigated the pharmaceutical industry’s political influence. He was awarded a Knight Science Journalism Fellowship at MIT in 2014-15. He has been a longtime volunteer at animal welfare organizations.

Book preview

Chapter 1

I can’t tell you the details of my early life, Katie!

Grandpa Bertie, I’m a college senior now, Katie reminded him. You can’t embarrass me.

There’s a lot of sadness in it, a lot of decisions I wish I hadn’t made, and some terribly selfish and salacious behavior that is not good to share with you.

What little I do know makes me beg you for the whole story so that my life is informed by the illicit as well as the glorious, she went on. You don’t want me to start a new, serious relationship without knowing your story.

Your mother would kill me.

My mother is the point.

I’m not promising anything. It’s also going to take more time than you think.

I want your story! she demanded.

This is going to go badly somehow, but I’ll start, and we’ll see how far we get. I took a deep breath, deciding where to begin, to worry more later about how bad an idea this was. You need to know more about one of the big characters of the story. Chizek’s Butcher Shop.

Oh, yes. Chizek’s.

You know the place as the phone store. It’s in a great spot downtown in Greens Park and in 1943, when my story really begins, many of the staples of life could be bought along Main Street. The shop was painted white and had red awnings over large show windows on either side of the front door. From the sidewalk, passersby could glimpse the meat in the cases inside. Above the front door was a large sign with the shop name.

I was warming to my story now, a bit enthused.

Above it, lights were attached to illuminate the sign and the space in front of the door. The door itself was mostly glass, which helped to pull people in. Once through the door, the product cases stretched across the shop in front of you. They filled almost two-thirds the width of the building. Where they stopped sat the cash register and a gap to a doorway that led to the space where the meat was cut and stored in cold rooms. To the right of this door was a space that ran the depth of the building in which dry goods were displayed available for sale. The public area of the shop then was L-shaped. When I was in my spot behind the customer product cases as store clerk, which is all I was in 1943, the floor was a bit raised so I could see over the counter and talk to the customers. From my slightly elevated perch, I also had a view of part of the grocery shelves.

"On this particular day, Katie, June was checking out the new grocery aisle. She must have stopped in the shop first after work at the Mill. It took all day to build and stock that new aisle. I had told June it was coming, and there she was. I wished we had something new to draw her every day.

Grandpa, Katie interrupted. June would come into Mr. Chizek’s store back in 1943?

Yes, Katie, but let me tell the story for a while before you ask any more questions.

Yes, Grandpa Bertie. She sounded so agreeable, like a little girl.

June had found a couple of things. She looked as sad as ever. Still no news about her husband. She had told me months before that he was missing in action in Italy.

~ * ~

1943

Yes, Mrs. Maloney, I said. When you get your next ration card, we’ll have more pork chops for you. I hope you enjoy these.

But Bertram, are you certain? You know how much I and Mr. Maloney love a pork chop.

The farmer is local, I assured her. You know the Jenkins family.

Oh, you are right, Bertram. She nodded. Such a nice family, the Jenkins. Mrs. Jenkins and I roll bandages together every week.

They are promising us a steady supply of pork. They just can’t send us a lot because they supply the army mess at Camp Shanks.

I’ll have to tell her how much Mr. Maloney and I enjoy her pork chops. Goodbye, Bertram. See you on Friday.

Goodbye, Mrs. Maloney. I raised a hand in farewell as she wobbled out the door.

Bert, you okay out here?

Yes, Mr. Chizek. Ed Chizek was the best butcher in town, but he could barely afford to keep me, with as little meat as he could get. He popped up front every now and then to make sure I wasn’t overwhelmed.

Another arrival customer drew my attention. Hi, Bert. Did you get in those turkey legs I ordered?

Yes, Mrs. Beccone. I have them in the cooler in back. Please let June stay. Please, please, I was thinking to myself. I hustled to get the turkey legs and ran back. Mr. Chizek smiled. He had no inkling of my real motivation. Oh, good. She’s next in line. Here they are Mrs. B.

Great, Bert.

$1.27.

Here you are. She handed over the cash.

Thanks. I put it into the register. Enjoy.

Bye, bye, Bert.

Bye.

~ * ~

June put six grocery items on my counter. She was the same age as I. I had watched her grow up. At first, she fascinated me…like some foreign exchange student from Morocco or India might have, although she had always lived in Greens Park, like I did. Nevertheless, she always remained outside my circle of friends, eventually dating and marrying one of the guys on the football team. She had been happy then, those last days of high school. Now, there was never a smile. Her guy was missing and presumed dead.

She was physically as close by as she had ever been. She lived in a tiny apartment down the hall from mine, as much good as that ever did me. June had always been slight, but her worry, sadness, uncertainty, and the blue collar job at the Mill had turned her into a wisp of a woman. Through my eyes she was, as always, beautiful, but even my idealized view of her had been tempered by seeing her physical decline. I could only guess at her emotional darkness. It could only be much deeper than I could imagine.

Of course, I had my own damage. Literally. A truck had backed up and pinned my right leg between it and my father’s car when I was twelve. A final surgery with a vascular surgeon at Rochester General made me right enough to stand on my feet fifty hours a week. While now able enough, I was still working out the emotional traumas of never having played an inning or a down for my school, and being 4F for my country at war. About six months after my last surgery, my parents left me in Greens Park with a distant cousin while they moved to Rochester, where an old house had been bequeathed them by my grandmother. They were so poor they had to move to save housing costs. It was a decision poor people often had to make to survive. At the time I worked at Chizeks.

I still felt the effects of that dislocation from my parents. While my losses mixed in with my own strange sense of losing June to her husband, I got the idea that I was one of June’s eyewitnesses to the depths of her grief.

~ * ~

$2.05. I told her.

Here you go, Bertie. The grocery section saves me a long walk. Thanks. She flexed some muscles in her face to change the expression of her mouth. The changed look wasn’t a smile. It was simply an acknowledgement of my humanity and our slightly shared history.

We’re happy it helps, June.

She left the shop.

For a few moments, I had no customers and my severe loneliness washed over me. I had the same weird sensation I had with heartache. My leg injury ached in sympathy. I was fighting back tears for June’s lot and mine, and I just had to move. I walked back and forth behind the sparsely-filled meat cases until the ache left my leg and my composure returned.

I loved seeing June, but my unrequited and unholy feelings for this married woman just ate at me. I had to get over her. The fantasy needed to be left behind— that being with her would be an answer to poverty, my parents’ move to Rochester, and my gimpy leg.

Luckily, the after-work traffic returned to normal and I was too busy to think right up to 6 PM, when we closed. I automatically went through the cleanup, said goodnight to Mr. Chizek, and walked home.

Of course, the closer I got to the rooming house the more I thought of June. I was quietly swearing in frustration as I started up the steps. The smell of the landlady’s cooking began to battle against my darkness.

Bertram! Her call stopped me.

Yes, Mrs. Napoli?

I have dinner on the stove. Come in and eat, she called from her open window.

It sure smells great, ma’am, I responded in my severely weakened emotional condition.

We’ve already eaten, but I have plenty.

That’s very nice of you, ma’am. In my fatigue, I wasn’t thinking who ‘we’ might be, since Mrs. Napoli lived alone. By the time I got to the lobby, she had the door open to her place.

Come in, Bertram.

Thanks for dinner, I said softly. I walked in. Sitting at her table was a young woman.

This is my grandniece, Gracie Cupertino.

Hi, Gracie. I nodded.

Hi, Bertram. Sit here, Gracie said, offering me the chair next to her.

Call me Bert.

Well, Bert, Aunt Polly tells me you’re a butcher.

I will be some day, I hope. I said it quietly.

After the war, you are going to be a busy guy. Rationing will be over, and everyone is going to come to you to buy steak in celebration.

I hope so. It should happen.

How ’bout some manicotti tonight, Bertram? Mrs. Napoli said. She set a plate before me.

Looks and smells fantastic. I took a small bite, swallowed, and smiled at them both. Wow. That is delicious.

And did you know, Bertram, that Gracie made this? Mrs. Napoli spoke up.

That’s not completely true. Gracie gave her aunt a sideways glance. Aunt Polly suggested her blend of spices.

But you did everything else, her aunt denied any assistance in the preparation.

Do you work at a restaurant? I asked her.

No. I’m just a good Italian girl.

I took a second bite. Well, that’s very clear, I said with a smile. The two women laughed. The warm well-being that good ethnic cooking was supposed to provide was actively attacking my sadness. I slowed down, sat back, looked at them both, and said Are you both angels? They laughed again.

Aunt Polly, this man needed a night off from peanut butter sandwiches. Gracie said it decisively.

Well, Gracie, then maybe we are angels.

All three of us laughed. Thank you, both, said. This is a very nice treat.

It’s a nice treat to make a meal for a hardworking guy, Gracie said.

So if you don’t work for a restaurant… I decided to find out more.

I work at the Mill. Sewing room.

Oh, that’s great. Thank goodness for the Mill. My mind raced, wondering if Gracie knew June. Even so, my feelings for her had to remain secret because of her husband. I was smart and stable enough to shelve talking about June.

It turned out Gracie and Mrs. Napoli had well-made plans to erase her from my mind. They just weren’t aware they needed to erase her from my mind. With this great meal, they certainly had my attention. Were they angels? What were they exactly? This form of womanhood was very far out of my experience.

I ate slowly and participated in the kind of mindless conversation skirting the horrors and deprivations of war time. Gracie and Mrs. Napoli were related, but didn’t speak of any family matters. They talked about what they couldn’t buy, what funny situation they had heard on a radio program, how they were going to win a sweepstakes they had entered, and how Mrs. Napoli would start a restaurant after the war, if she were forty years younger. Gracie’s goal was to be the lead seamstress at the Mill. Beyond that, Gracie didn’t seem to have any plans. I finished what was on my plate. They pounced immediately.

Bert, have seconds, Gracie pushed.

I’m not used to a big meal at night like this, I explained. I’m fine.

I’ll put some more in a soup bowl and you can put it in your ice box for tomorrow, Mrs. Napoli offered.

I wouldn’t want to take your share, I protested.

I can spare this little bit, she said with a smile.

You’re very generous, Mrs. Napoli. Thank you.

Gracie spoke up. Bert, let’s go for a walk, you and I. Take the pasta smidge upstairs and then let’s walk.

Ok, Gracie. My mind raced to understand the motivations of this girl I had never seen before.

As I went up to my apartment, I was trying to think ahead to what might be coming. I was a clerk in a two-person small business. I barely made four times my monthly rent, and had only managed to save $100.00 in a bank account over the course of a year. My parents were on relief, having paid for all of the surgeries on my leg except the last. They were living hand to mouth in Rochester. My last surgery had been experimental, and the surgeon had arranged for the hospital foundation to pay for it. I was less than whole physically and very much walking wounded emotionally, having been left with a cousin in Greens Park. What did Gracie want going on a walk with me?

I went. I was already out of my mind. So I went. As I passed June’s door, I prayed she would walk out, as she had done only once in the two years I had lived there. She didn’t come out of her place. I was on my own.

Here are a couple of cookies, Mrs. Napoli said as she passed them to me on a piece of wax paper.

I already have mine, Gracie said.

Thanks, Mrs. Napoli. We went down the steps out of the rooming house and onto the side walk.

Let’s go this way, Bert. Gracie led me toward the roughest part of town where there were more taverns than anything else.

I risked taking my first complete look at Gracie since meeting her. She seemed to be about the same age as I. She was blonde and curvy. While June was slim, Gracie was statuesque.

I don’t remember you from Grant High days. Of course, I wasn’t very involved in things…

I didn’t go to Grant. I’m from Long Island, she said.

Oh, no wonder I don’t remember you.

I wish I had grown up here.

Most people like this town, although it’s kinda small. I don’t remember seeing you around Mrs. Napoli’s place before, either, I added.

I don’t want to live in her building Gracie said. I like my privacy. She’d be watching every move I made. We walked up to the old smoke shop. The pool hall upstairs seemed to be very busy tonight. Let’s sit on this stoop, she suggested.

These cookies are good. I nibbled one of mine.

Have my last one, she offered. I took it. Aunt Polly said you were a good man. You haven’t touched me once this whole walk.

I just met you. I gulped down part of the cookie. I was really confused at this point. I hadn’t touched any woman since I was in high school over five years before.

Don’t panic, Bert. I need a good man. I don’t need more of the sick dolts I’ve run into in my life.

I’m only good because I can’t afford to be bad, I said, trying for humor. She smiled softly.

Actually, this could be a very profitable day for both of us. She sounded thoughtful.

Profitable? I was really clueless.

I understand why you wouldn’t think so, sitting here with me in the seediest part of town, us two without two pennies to rub together.

I have pennies. I laughed. Not a lot of them, but I have some.

Wow. Feed you and you’re a regular George Burns. But our poverty is going to be short-lived, Bert, if you are willing to help a girl out.

Sure, what can I do?

You are so sweet, but this is a big favor. She turned to look into my face. The light from the pool hall above us illuminated her thoroughly. She looked me in the eye in a way making me believe I was about to get in deep. I was finally wary and sorry I had eaten that meal and gone on this walk. I ate what was left of the last cookie. I want you to marry me and soon.

I nearly choked, swallowed and gasped, You’re not serious…

I wish I wasn’t serious, but listen for a minute. This could turn out to be a very good thing for you. Gracie paused, her left hand resting on my arm. I noticed it immediately. She stopped and watched my face.

I must have looked less incredulous than I was feeling, somehow, but I hadn’t walked away. What was so good about my life any way?

Thanks for hearing me out. She took both of my now cookie-free hands, looked at me head on, and said, A married supervisor at the Mill had sex with me and I’m pregnant with his child. Actually, we had sex many times. He’s not a Borneman, but he is pretty high in the pecking order. He’s made me a deal. If I don’t reveal him as the father I’ll get the promotion I want and $2,000.00. But for that, he’s demanding I come up with a husband and a father for this baby so there is no chance of questions and scandal. He has a lot to protect, and he’s willing to pay.

I was stunned. And I must have looked it. I don’t think I’m strong enough…

Aunt Polly and I were worried this might be too much for you. Think about it this way. You will get a wife who will be forever and very actively thankful to you for saving her from disaster. You will become instantly stable financially. If we are quick about it, there will be no scandal for you. You’ll take some kidding from your friends for a couple of days and then they’ll be jealous as hell. I’m not exactly ugly. She paused to let all of this sink in. No more peanut butter sandwiches. No more loneliness. A loving wife in bed with you every night. She paused again.

I was overwhelmed. I was scared to death. What about June? And what will I say to her…?

That was crazy. June didn’t have a clue and she was already married. What would I say to my parents, to Mr. Chizek? Then it came to me. Gracie couldn’t work if she had a baby.

What happens when the baby comes? You won’t be able to work.

Well, actually, that’s the best part, now that you bring it up. My mom is willing to find someone from our family in Long Island to take care of the baby during the day. Aunt Polly would rent her a room and I would move in with you.

I stood up and paced the sidewalk in front of her. I added it all up in my head. Could it really work out the way she said it would? Would I even like her after a week? Could I be any kind of husband? I had gone out with two girls so far in my life. I had kissed them, nothing more. What if I failed at all of it? I wouldn’t be any possible help for June. What if her husband really had been killed? She would be free, and I wouldn’t be, and for what? I would have bailed out some nameless bigwig at Borneman Textile. I would probably end up as lonely as I was before I came home from work tonight.

My lack of immediate parental emotional support since junior year in high school had been unremitting. The emotional poverty of my life was a secret, but it was like a concrete straight jacket around my heart. I looked at her. She was promising to put more money into my savings than I could make in six months. She was promising to make great meals every night. She was promising to treat me like a husband when I had never had a girlfriend. She was promising to end my loneliness. I could solve all of my most lively fears by saying yes to her. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move.

She took my hand and walked me home. When faced with my unlocked apartment door, I pushed it open and she walked in, pulling me toward the bed, which she found with only the illumination from the streetlights pouring through the windows. I pulled free and she stood there looking at me. I thought about running from the building.

After a moment, I shut the apartment door, slowly walked across the room, and lay down on the bed with her. It turned out she was quite grateful.

Chapter 2

When I woke up the next morning to the alarm clock rattling around on my dresser, I found a note on the bed from Gracie. It was a very intimate note followed by a five item to-do list. The key event on the list was to go with her to Town Hall at noon to pick up a wedding license and make an appointment for a magistrate to marry us Saturday morning.

I had never asked Mr. Chizek for any time off. I was already terrified by my arrangement with Gracie. It seemed I would feel frightened over and over again.

Mr. Chizek, I choked out, my throat closed by emotion.

Yes, Bert, he responded testily. He hadn’t had any coffee yet. I wouldn’t have approached him until later in the day, but I needed to meet with Gracie before he was usually worked up into a good mood.

I-I need to ask for a favor.

You’re not asking me for a raise, are you, ’cause…

No. He had just made it easier. I need an hour off away from the shop at noon. I held my breath.

Are you okay, Bert? Is your leg bad?

No, sir. I’ll be going to Town Hall to get a marriage license.

You’re kidding! He was perking up.

Really.

Why didn’t you tell me you had a girl? That’s fantastic. Geez, you sure are the strong, silent type.

I stood there completely embarrassed, frozen in relief that he wasn’t screaming at me. He came over to me and pounded me on the back, which was almost worse.

Congratulations, Boy! What’s she look like?

She’s pretty… How to describe a woman I barely knew?

Details, man!

A little shorter than me. Blonde hair. Good figure. She’s a great cook, too.

She sounds terrific, Bert.

You’ll meet her. She’s going to stop here at noon.

That will be fine. It will be great to meet her. Take whatever time you need to get your license.

Thank you, sir.

I’m glad you found somebody, Bert. Some days I thought you were going to evaporate right in front of me, you looked so lonely. He walked to his worktable to prepare some product for the display cases.

That went so easy I couldn’t believe it. Why was this strange situation falling into place? It seemed to be a part of someone else’s story. Or, since I had only known struggle, could this be what Good Times felt like? Had Fate finally taken control in a good way, and things were going forward happily? Was this a happy turn of events? Just because Mr. Chizek saw this as a good thing, was it? As I opened the front of the shop, turned on the lights, and made us ready for the public, I decided I was in an unreal situation. I, who was barely getting along yesterday, now had volunteered to help out someone who was certainly in much deeper trouble. I was a volunteer fireman for Gracie. Her life was on fire. I was her answer. In turn, she would meet my every need.

This very rationalized, mythical understanding of what I had gotten into kept me sane as I did my job. It’s remarkable how your brain will anesthetize you so you can function in a crisis. I did watch the clock more than usual, but Gracie walked in a little early.

Hi, Gracie.

Hi, Bertie. She was beaming.

Mr. Chizek? I stuck my head into the work room.

He looked up at the clock. Is Gracie here? He came out to the counter.

Mr. Chizek, this is Gracie Cupertino.

Gracie, it’s great to meet you.

Thank you, Mr. Chizek. She smiled.

Bert, she’s much prettier than you said.

Why, Mr. Chizek, that’s so good of you. Bertie was saying how nice you are. I see it’s true. She gave Mr. Chizek another even warmer smile than she had given me the day before.

Bert said good things, did he?

"Yes. It’s really important to us that he works for you in such an important