The GI Bride (17 page)

Bob, I learned, was a bit of a namedropper.
It was obvious that he was trying to impress me. He told me that his uncle had initially
made his fortune in whiskey distilling and filmmaking, but was now a major shareholder
in Phillips Petroleum Company; he was also part owner of the Houston Oilers football
team. I could certainly understand why Bob preferred to consider himself his
uncle’s son, rather than the son of a lowly labourer who lived in an attic
apartment. He made a point of telling me that his uncle and aunt had no children of
their own and, since they had practically raised him, he would inherit most of their
fortune.

Bob, or Palmer as I came to call him (it was
less confusing since I had just been divorced from a Bob), was at the time second in
command at the Chicago Convention Bureau. His position afforded him the privilege of
wining and dining many of America’s rich and famous people on his seemingly
limitless expense account. The responsibility of the Bureau was to woo corporations and
organizations to hold their meetings, conventions and
exhibitions in
Chicago. There were many millions of dollars at stake each year so it had carte blanche
to do whatever was necessary to persuade groups to make Chicago their choice of venue.
At that time I knew little about the use of credit cards and was shocked to see how many
Palmer had in his wallet. The only previous knowledge I had of credit was my recently
acquired fifty-dollar account with Goldblatt’s and buying things on the
never-never back in England never-never meant you never finished paying for whatever you
had purchased and the ‘tallyman’ came to the door every week to collect the
instalments. Things were different in America.

Palmer wined and dined me in grand fashion,
and from the first week of our friendship, I received a dozen red roses every Friday. He
bought little gifts for Wayne too. He had once been engaged to a Jewish girl, but for a
very short time. They had met at college but her Orthodox family had threatened to
disown her if she married outside the religion so the romance had ended. He explained
that in Orthodox families, if someone married out, the family sometimes held a funeral
and considered the person dead. I had never heard of such a thing and was shocked.

Another thing that impressed me about Palmer
was that sex wasn’t high on his list of priorities. When we eventually made love,
it was not particularly successful. I put that down to us both being nervous.

Palmer was an avid golfer, card player and
drinker. I didn’t recognize that his drinking might become a problem: I thought it
went with dating, socializing and his job. There were a number of times when he failed
to show up
for a date, or was extremely late and had obviously been
drinking, but the excuse was always that he had been with clients. I came to accept it,
but hoped it wouldn’t happen too often.

Palmer had a small circle of male friends
whom he golfed with, and all but one were unmarried. His poker-playing friends, most of
whom lived in a funky old residential hotel called the Central Plaza, were what you
might call classic Damon Runyon-type characters. The hotel was where many of the
racetrack crowd stayed during racing season it was always full of colourful
characters.

One of Palmer’s friends, an elderly
Jewish woman named Merle Schneider, had lived in the hotel for many years, and worked
for the City of Chicago in the Mayor’s office. Merle had a deep, gravelly voice,
always had a cigarette hanging from the corner of her mouth, and called everyone
‘kid’. She often called Palmer in the evening, sometimes even if it happened
to be one of our date nights, when Wayne and I were at his apartment sharing a pizza or
such.

‘Hey, kid, ya wanna play a little
poker?’ she’d ask, and if a game started, it would invariably end up an
all-nighter. Wayne and I would leave them to it and walk home. Merle wasn’t happy
when I came on the scene: it interfered with her social life. She’d shuffle into
the apartment, cigarette dangling. ‘Hiya, kid,’ she’d say to me. Then,
‘Hey, kid,’ to Wayne.

Joe Kalny, a travelling salesman, was
another character. I’ll never forget him telling us that, when he travelled, he
travelled light. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I just take one white nylon
shirt with me. I wash it on my body when I take a shower at night,
and then I hang it up to dry and it’s ready to wear the next morning.’ I
thought, Wow, that’s clever, but I also thought it a bit weird.

Then there was Pete Huber, one of the nicest
people I’ve ever known. Pete, to the envy of the rest of the group, made tons of
money selling Titleist golf balls. His job was to travel the golf-tournament circuit and
socialize with the big-name golfers. Everyone teased him about his easy life and the
fact that Titleist golf balls didn’t need anyone to sell them: they sold
themselves.

Yes, most of the people in Palmer’s
circle of friends were not only single but also heavy drinkers who played hard. I was
never aware of any of them dating they probably didn’t have time and I’m
sure it came as a shock to the group when Palmer suddenly produced a girlfriend. I
sometimes got the feeling I was messing up their routine but they always treated me with
the utmost respect, especially since I didn’t interfere with their golf or card
games. Wayne was the only child around and everyone made a fuss of him, which he
thoroughly enjoyed; Palmer would even take him to the golf course on occasion, which I
thought was sweet. I began to think that this relationship might be worth keeping.

After Palmer and I had been dating for a
couple of months, two things happened that just about knocked me off my feet.

It was Saturday morning. I opened my mail to
find a sizeable international money order from Chuck, the man I’d dated in England
who was not interested in marriage or a serious relationship. There was a letter with it
saying
he’d visited my parents, who had told him I was
struggling financially and that they were worried about me. The letter went on to say
that he just wanted to help since he made more money than he knew what to do with and
that this was a gift. As I sat there staring in disbelief at the money order and the
letter, the doorbell rang. It was Western Union, delivering a telegram.

WANT TO MARRY YOU STOP IF YOU SAY YES
WILL ARRANGE TO COME FOR YOU OR USE MONEY TO BUY TICKETS HOME STOP REPLY BY RETURN
PLEASE STOP MISS YOU STOP LOVE CHUCK

I sat there in stunned silence. My head felt
as though a herd of wild horses was stampeding inside it. The shock had paralysed me. I
don’t know how long I sat there, shaking from head to toe. The telephone rang,
bringing me back into the moment, and like a zombie, I stood, walked to it and picked it
up. At first I couldn’t speak.

‘Hello, is that Iris? Can you hear me?
This is Chuck. Did you get my letter? Did you get the telegram?’ He sounded
nervous and excited.

‘Yes,’ I managed to croak
out.

‘I couldn’t wait for your
answer,’ he said. ‘What do you think?’

‘I can’t think,’ I told
him. ‘I’ve only just got your letter and telegram and it hasn’t sunk
in yet. It’s too much of a shock. I don’t know what to think, I just
don’t know, I’m sorry,’ I blabbered, then broke down and cried. Oh, my
God, I thought, I’ve just got over him, pushed him out of my mind, and now this.
At last I was able to gather my
thoughts. ‘It’s too much
to take in right now, Chuck. Please don’t do anything drastic. You have to give me
time to think. It’s all too complicated there’s so much involved.’

‘Shall I call you back? How long do
you need?’ he asked, and of course, I couldn’t tell him because I
didn’t know the answers. I said I’d be in touch as soon as I could, and
promised not to keep him waiting.

After we’d hung up, I sat there,
hardly able to breathe. My heart felt as though it was going to burst out of my chest. I
tried to concentrate on taking deep breaths but it was impossible: there were iron bands
around my ribs and they were crushing me. I was glad Wayne wasn’t at home to see
me like that: it would have scared him. At last, I managed to get myself into the
bedroom, where I curled up on the bed and pulled the covers over my head, hiding from a
world that had suddenly spiralled out of control.

Later that evening, I went next door to see
Joan and spilled out all that had happened. We talked for a long time, discussing the
situation over a few strong drinks, and then she took both my hands in hers and looked
me straight in the eyes.

‘Are you in love with this man? Even
if you do love him, are you willing to face the legal battles involved with taking Wayne
out of the country? Do you love Chuck enough to take Wayne away from his father?’
Her questions stunned me into reality. They were the questions I’d needed to ask
myself, the questions I would have to answer honestly before making such a monumental
decision.

The following day, I called Chuck and told
him I had already begun seeing someone else, that it was obvious I
didn’t know my own mind. I told him of my concerns about taking Wayne to the UK,
but he counteracted by offering to move to America. I wondered if he really loved me or
just felt sorry for me. With that in mind, I said it had all happened too suddenly, that
both of us needed time to think before we jumped into something we might later
regret.

I sent Chuck’s money order back to him
and told him I thought we should forget the idea of getting together, that I
wasn’t convinced we could make each other happy. I never heard from him again.
Some time later, I learned from my friend Sheila that Chuck had moved to another town
and had left no forwarding address. I felt terrible, but still believed I had done the
right thing.

While I was still reeling from what had
happened between Chuck and me, the next bolt of lightning struck. Palmer asked me to
marry him
and
he had already bought the ring. I told him it was much too soon
and that I would have to think about it. In addition, I still hadn’t met his
parents. When I mentioned that, he told me they’d probably think no girl was good
enough for him, and they would never approve of him marrying a divorced woman,
especially one with a child.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about the
prospect of yet another rejection but Palmer was pressuring me to accept. He assured me
that his parents would rarely visit Chicago, so why worry? I wasn’t sure how I
felt about him, but after the Chuck incident, I was vulnerable and insecure. Palmer was
good to Wayne and me, we had great times together, he seemed genuinely to care about
Wayne and, of course, he was here. After much deliberation, and
taking
everything into account, including the security of his impressive job, his treatment of
my son and that he was so much more sociable than my first husband had been, I accepted
his proposal. His friends were flabbergasted. They’d been convinced that confirmed
bachelor Palmer would never marry. And I felt quite special to have landed such a prize
catch.

Not long after that, Palmer showed up at my
apartment, stinking drunk from one of his ‘business meetings’. He stumbled
up the stairs and fell on the floor, slobbering and blabbering about how sorry he was
and how much he loved me; he had also wet his trousers. I wasn’t sure if it was
beer or urine, but whatever it was, he stank, and I was disgusted. I threw his ring at
him, told him to leave and that I never wanted to see him again. I don’t remember
ever being so disappointed, angry or hurt before. I didn’t need that crap in my
life and especially not in my son’s life.

He went away for a while, I supposed to have
more to drink, and then he was back, banging on the door, throwing pebbles at my window,
crying and begging for forgiveness. The neighbours threatened to call the police so I
relented and let him in. He went to sleep on the couch after blubbering for a while, and
when he woke up, in a more sober condition, he was contrite and embarrassed, promising
never to do such a thing again. I didn’t take the ring back right away, but after
a few days of bouquets and other peace offerings, I gave in. I didn’t understand
the signs, couldn’t read the writing on the wall otherwise I’d say I must
have been mad. We tentatively set a wedding date.

I met his parents when they came to town for
a
weekend, I supposed to inspect me. We had dinner together and were
all visibly uncomfortable. They didn’t have a lot to say and I was grateful that
Palmer did most of the talking. His mother, Esther, was on the dowdy side and kept her
lips pursed, which told me she was trying to hold her tongue so that she didn’t
say something she might later regret. It was fairly obvious that she had decided not to
like me. His father, Dan, was quiet until he had a few drinks in him, then proceeded to
talk about life in Peoria, or perhaps I should say death in Peoria, since he went on
about all the people he’d known who had died there. Later, he began to ask me a
lot of personal questions and I was grateful that Palmer put a stop to the
interrogation. Dan also had a nervous tic, which was a little unsettling. I later
learned he had undergone several operations on his nose, supposedly for a deviated
septum. The result was that he snorted like a pig all the time.

Apparently, his parents had not lived
together much when Palmer was a child, as his father had been sickly and had always gone
to stay with his own mother when he was feeling poorly because he thought she took
better care of him than his wife did. I found that most peculiar but at last I
understood why Palmer had spent so much time living with his Uncle Art and Aunt
Gladys.

I had been divorced for less than a year
when we were married in the private chambers of Judge Abraham Marowitz, a well-known
political figure in Chicago; I also heard that he was a major figure in the city’s
Machine. Palmer’s friend Merle Schneider had arranged for the marriage to take
place ‘in chambers’. She knew all the political bigwigs in Chicago from
working in the Mayor’s
office and having also been active in the
Democratic Party. The only people to attend our wedding were my brother Peter, one or
two of Palmer’s colleagues from the Convention Bureau, Merle Schneider and Pete
Huber’s brother, Joe, another of his golfing friends. His parents didn’t
come. His colleagues gave us a lovely wedding luncheon at a downtown hotel, plus two
nights at the grand old Edgewater Beach Hotel.