Jewish faith, we checked around for the nearest
church. We found a small inconspicuous one and didn’t bother to check out the
denomination. It didn’t matter to us, as long as the minister would honor our marriage
license, pronounce us husband and wife, and sign the document making our union legal.
I dressed in a simple pink suit and hat and Charles looked impressive in his blue suit.
Since we needed two witnesses, the church secretary and handyman served as our
bridesmaid and groomsman. Our marriage ceremony was over in less than ten minutes.
Under the glow of love and hopes for the future, we shared our first family dinner at
a modest-sized restaurant and spent the night in an equally modest-sized San Diego hotel.
The next morning, we returned to my apartment. This was our honeymoon, a far cry from
the newsworthy dinner-dance following my first marriage and the month-long cruise
replete with fancy wining and dining and lolling on the beaches of Hawaii.
Charles spoke increasingly about working with his brother and becoming a real
estate tycoon, but that’s as far as it went. He continued his work at the Broadway, and I
continued to commute back and forth to Encino. I looked forward to sharing supper over
a discussion of the challenges we’d faced in our jobs each day. Weekends, we’d take
walks on the beach or go grocery shopping together.
Over time, it seemed that Charles became unusually moody, sometimes to the point
of not talking when he got home or speaking in one-word sentences. When the weekend
arrived, he was too tired to do anything. “You go,” he’d say. “I don’t need the hassle of
all those crazy people mauling through the
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