I Lived It I Wrote It 80 Years

When I looked into his sensitive eyes, I say the look of “true love”.  It felt so right.  I was so happy.  At the proper moment, Eddie produced the token ring, designed in tiers of three bands of fake diamonds, that ran the entire circumference of the ring.  The carefully chosen replica diamond band, a priceless seal, of our love and commitment, amidst the turmoil, of “war-time” America.  Al looked at me with much love and promise, as he placed it on my trembling finger.  We joyously kissed, in “proper 1940’s style”, left a gratuity with the Judge and together, with Judy and Eddie, left the courthouse, in a state of high elation and laughter.  After the ceremony, the four of us, practically slid, down the steep, City Hall steps, to splurge on a taxi, where Al and I cuddled in the back seat.  Fake or not, the diamond band, shone on my finger, like a shimmering halo, in the bright Broadway sun.  it reflected little rainbow circles around the taxi, as I wriggled it on my finger, in admiration and satisfaction.  I was now, Mrs. Alexander Esposito, wife of the finest trombone player in the whole country.  We were driven to “The Skillet”, on Broadway, to have breakfast---so-called, because of the way the eggs were presented, in a skillet.  I was fascinated with that, our “Wedding Breakfast”.  I believe Eddie and Judy felt well “rewarded”.  They were also struggling in the business.  We made it a point to take snapshots, (our wedding pictures), posed on Broadway, which I still treasure.  That evening, Al and I, still celebrating, went to see the Mousie Powell band, at a sidewalk, café, club, on Broadway.  When requesting a tune, we told him we’d just been married, he joked, “What in the hell are you doing here?”  Ecstatic with happiness, oozing newly-wed affection, we danced until midnight.  In getting back to the Piccadilly, for our “honeymoon night”, we were a little apprehensive.  Al ordered room-service Champagne, that we romantically toasted, to our promising future.  I became so chattery, that he held my tight, tenderly kissing my lips, to quiet.  Since we were both virgins, this shiny, newborn love, seemed magical.  The promise of “saving yourself for marriage”, revealing it’s loving rewards.  There’s a loving, intimate, beauty and excitement, in discovering love’s sweet secrets and surprises together, with the one you’ll be loving forever.  (In regards to present day sexual practices, I find it upsetting and rude, when I hear comments of, “They’re going to do it anyway.”---It seems to insinuate, that the young, have no self-control, or discipline, thereby, insulting their intelligence.  Perhaps it should be, “Of course they’re not going to do it anyway.  They can choose not to.”  A matter of regard and respect for one another).  It might sound corny, but it gave me a warm feeling of closeness, to see our clothes hung together in the closet, for the first time.  Part of love’s first realization, of becoming as one.

After our honeymoon at the Piccadilly Hotel, we moved to Irvington Hall on Fifty-First St.  a tall, front-desk, apartment building, that catered to show-people.  It seemed spacious.  Two bedrooms, a living-room, bath and kitchenette.  The kitchenette was set into a wall in the living-room, in a closet-like affect.  It was equipped with a gas-stove and oven.  I was ill-prepared, to do any cooking and was in no hurry to get started.