by Gary Beck
EXTREME CHANGE
A NOVEL BY
GARY BECK
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Extreme Change
COPYRIGHT 2020 by Gary Beck
First Edition, February 2020
Cover Design and Formatting by Winter Goose Publishing
ISBN: 978-1-941058-99-2
Published in the United States of America
To the homeless families with children who survived
the Latham and Prince George Hotels
CHAPTER ONE
Peter was still jittery when he waved goodbye to Beth and the kids at the departure gate for the flight to New York City and got on the plane. It wasn’t that he was afraid of flying. He only pretended to be and Beth went along with the charade. He could never admit to himself, let alone to her, that it was separation anxiety. The last glimpse of her caring smile was comforting and that’s the way she had been since the night they first met in his junior year at Michigan State University. As the plane waited its turn in the takeoff pattern, he sat back, remembering the memorable evening in 1995 that brought them together. A friend of his had dragged him to a party on the M.S.U. campus. He had been reluctant to go, but Bill kept goading him, threatening public disclosure of his shyness, so he attended, albeit apprehensively. From the moment Beth approached and offered him a drink, he felt an unaccustomed ease in her presence. She was one of the hostesses for her sorority, but somehow, she always seemed to have a few minutes to spend with him. Her attention brought out a sense of humor and charm in him that he never displayed before.
It took several weeks until he was able to arrange another meeting with her, but after that Beth took charge of their relationship, a role that came naturally to her. Beth had grown up on a farm near Sault Ste. Marie, a small Michigan town near the Canadian border that was isolated by climate and geography. She was the youngest of five children and her four brothers fled the farm as soon as they were old enough for military service, or college. This left Beth a solitary farmhand from the age of fourteen on, until she graduated from Gerald. R. Ford high school when she was seventeen. M.S.U. meant freedom after the loneliness of the farm and she joined the social whirl and was swept away. Beth was barely five feet tall, but her body was firm from hauling sacks of feed for recalcitrant dairy cows that sometimes had to be shoved into stalls. Her light brown pageboy haircut framed an honest, open face that would light up from her inner glow. Her best feature, her eyes, were deep cups of cocoa that radiated empathy. She wasn’t a traditional beauty, but she attracted enough horny males and quickly learned that she didn’t want casual sex.
Peter was a refreshing change from the urgent demands that most of Beth’s dates presented. When she discovered that Peter only had two hands, rather than the normal four appendages of the heavy breathers, she decided that he was the right man for her. Peter had grown up in a tiny, backwater town near East Lansing, with the non-glittering prospects of working in the local diner or 7-11. The traditional way out was sports or brains and Peter just managed enough smarts to escape a dreary existence. He detested contact sports, but kept reasonably fit by jogging. He was tall and thin, with dark hair and pale skin. His features were neat and well formed, but he eluded handsomeness because of his lack of confidence. His innate shyness made him seem drab and he was virtually invisible to women seeking candidates for the mating ritual. Beth was the first woman to take an interest in him since the days of clumsy high school fumblings that had always ended awkwardly.
When Beth’s friends noticed that they had become an item they denigrated her choice, insisting she could do better. They didn’t understand that she felt comfortable with him. When they babbled about passion and wild sex, she smiled serenely; content with the warm satisfaction she felt with him and ignored their teasing. No matter how much they pressured her, they couldn’t change her mind. After a while, they took Beth’s relationship for granted and let her go her own way. Peter’s few friends demanded intimate sexual confessions that embarrassed him, and he refused to answer. They pressed him for sizzling sexual details about Beth, but his constant refusal to speak made them forget about him. So Beth and Peter’s relationship started with a strong character commitment and they gradually discovered their need for each other. Amid the clamor and energy of campus life, they found a quiet companionship that was very fulfilling.
Beth’s sorority house roommate, Teri, was her complete opposite. Teri spent hours on personal grooming and always wore sophisticated make-up. Shopping was her number one activity and attracting men ran a close second. She was fastidious in dress and appearance, but her side of the room invited porcine visitors to feel at home. She was blonde, blue-eyed, soft-fleshed and sexy, with her tough nature concealed behind an innocent mask. Men flocked to her and clashed horns for her favor, but she always controlled the situation without letting the lusting males know that they were being manipulated. Beth admired the way that Teri handled people and appreciated that she didn’t try to influence her to drop Peter. The only thing about Teri that irritated her was that she never seemed to study, yet she always got high marks. Despite that quirk, they got along exceptionally well.
Peter shared a dorm room with three jock wannabes. The wannabes played touch football, wrestled, punched, shoved, belched, blared gangsta rap music, swilled beer, filled the room with pot fumes and frequently puked before reaching the bathroom. A housing shortage left Peter marooned with the troglodytes until another room became available. He followed students on campus, assessing their health, seeking signs of an imminent stroke or terminal illness that would mean a vacant bed. He developed fantasies about murdering someone to inherit his bed, until the festering morbidity alarmed him and he focused his imagination on his roommates. He devised all kinds of scenarios that would bring about their demise and lead to his tranquil occupation of the bedlam room. His favorite was a fatal car crash that killed two of them and left Chet, the most obnoxious of the three, in a permanent coma. They had no idea that he was secretly dreaming diabolical plots that would end their residence. He spun a cocoon in his small corner that even the frequent trespasses couldn’t penetrate.
Beth and Peter spent as much time together as they could contrive, since men weren’t allowed in the sorority house, except at approved parties. It was inconceivable to bring Beth to the chamber of schmutz inhabited by his roommates. They found meeting places in the cafeteria and library, but their favorite spot was in one of the theater department’s experimental black box spaces. It was in use almost every night and they sat in a dark corner in the last row, whispering urgently about whatever came into their heads, then kissing and touching tentatively. Everyone in the theater department took their presence for granted and the only time their delicious haven was unavailable was when it was closed for holidays. Most of the students went home for Christmas and Easter, and blessed event, so did Peter’s anthropoid roommates. The privacy didn’t change their behavior; it just allowed the gradual exploration of lovemaking to go a little further. At the end of spring break, the return of the pestilential primates was particularly disturbing. The blossoming lovers finally discovered frustration.
Beth and Peter went home for the summer, since the
y couldn’t afford to stay on campus. They phoned each other regularly, until thrifty parents limited their calls. They exchanged long letters and wrote things that they had never dared say in person. The months dragged like a millennia in their impatience for fall. Their parents were sick of their absent-mindedness when they finally waved goodbye to their irritating children at the bus depot. Absence had not only made the heart grow fonder, but it also shattered barriers that had made them cautious of opening to someone else. They both got to campus the same day and they looked for each other for hours. They just missed each other at the sorority house and the registration office, and they left messages all over campus that went unanswered. Peter was beginning to despair when he saw her at a distance near the library. He yelled her name; she saw him, and they ran to each other, hugged breathlessly, then babbled about where they had looked. The anguish of separation was over.
Peter’s roommates hadn’t returned, and the new replacements were nervous freshman, who deferred to his seniority. In the boldest action of his life, Peter established room rules, which included the newcomers spending several evenings out each week until their sophomore year. The unexpected privacy was delightful. They found new security in each other and began to make plans for the future. Beth was a music major and her greatest dream was to give recitals, but she didn’t expect to earn a living as a concert pianist. Her minimal childhood training, sporadic lessons from a farm-wearied mother and insufficient practice time on the yellowed keys of the peeling black upright, because of too many farm chores, doomed a recital career.
She had refused to be discouraged by various music teachers in high school, who took pleasure in telling her,
"Too little, too late."
College was music heaven. She enjoyed practice every day and made a long-term music plan to develop several concert programs over a five-year period. She accepted that she wouldn’t play Carnegie Hall, but there were other places. Always practical, she decided to teach music for a livelihood.
Peter was a speech and communications major and wanted to work in broadcast radio. He was too unsure of himself to risk the nerve-racking exposure of television, but the anonymity of radio meant safety. In his early teens, in the privacy of his room, he made up little plays and stories that he read aloud to his discarded action figures. He wasn’t bold enough to try out for the drama club in high school. The thought of going on stage terrified him. In college, when he discovered that radio still thrived, he got involved with the university FM station and this led to a career choice. Music and broadcasting had enough affinity to make Beth and Peter feel closer. They discussed endless permutations that would let them stay together after they finished their senior year. The biggest concern was that they might not find jobs near each other, so they decided that Detroit, despite its intimidating reputation, offered the best opportunities. They drew up long lists of what they wanted and how they would live, avoiding the subject of marriage. They were so happy with each other that they didn’t worry about the future.
Beth’s steadiness of character kept Peter applied to his studies when he drifted into a dreamy state of idleness. She stabilized his insecurity and they both benefited from it. As graduation approached, Beth realized that their relationship would have to be resolved, or they would have to go home to their parents for the summer. The prospects of living with Mom and Dad instead of each other resulted in instant engagement. The day after graduation, their families and friends attended the small wedding in the university chapel. Beth and Peter honeymooned for three un-luxurious days in a decayed, rustic cottage on Drummond Island, which wasn’t too far from her hometown. It was much too cold to swim, but they took long walks in the woods, made love and enjoyed playing house.
CHAPTER TWO
The newlyweds returned to the campus and moved into Peter’s room that he was entitled to occupy for another two weeks. They started an immediate job hunt and apartment search in Detroit. Peter was offered a position with the public radio station writing filler items and subbing for the newscasters, which he eagerly accepted. He had been fortunate enough to apply at a time when the station had reached its tolerance limit with has-been broadcasters who looked down on public radio. The fresh face approach overcame all objections to his youth. Even Beth was impressed by his munificent salary of $24,000, plus benefits that provided a family health plan and two weeks paid vacation. Beth felt lucky to get a teaching job in the music department of Martin Luther King high school, even though it was in the inner city and it wouldn’t start until September, which was three months away. When Peter was requested to start work immediately, they moved into an inexpensive Detroit rooming house that included breakfast and dinner in the weekly rental.
Mrs. Barzuska’s guest residence had fallen on hard times. The Victorian house of the seven gables once had pretensions to grandeur, but urban decay and white flight had abandoned it to slow decline. It was improbable that Mrs. Barzuska had ever occupied a niche of any social stature, but she acted as if she was presiding over an elegant salon. The fact that most of her lodgers were down at the heels working people didn’t deter her in the least. She was a stout woman, 65 years old, with a florid complexion that was framed by dyed red hair that looked like a fright wig. She had large, flabby arms and thick peasant legs that were exposed by her wearing short sleeve gingham dresses from another era. She always wore nylon stockings and high-heeled shoes, even when she went out in the cold and snow. She had some kind of Balkan accent and spoke slowly in an attempt to conceal it. When she found out that Beth was a musician, she constantly urged her to play after dinner, despite the complete lack of interest from their fellow lodgers.
This was Beth and Peter’s first exposure to the big bad city and they were both shocked to the core at the manic contrasts of great wealth and extreme poverty. They bought a used Ford from a departing lodger and began to explore the urban nightmare. With only a few exceptions, the lines were sharply drawn between the haves and have-nots. Although their only references were from the movies, they wondered at the multi-million dollar houses in protected enclaves, and the debilitating grind of public housing on the poor. They found it hard to believe that privilege and deprivation could exist side by side and not explode into class warfare. It was easy for them to understand why past race riots had periodically erupted in violence, arson, and looting. They concluded that only a strong police presence must have confined the rioters to poverty communities, where they could only vent their rage on their own neighborhoods.
Beth and Peter quickly discovered that they couldn’t afford the rentals in nicer areas. When Beth found a four-room apartment in a three family house, despite it being in a marginal neighborhood, they eagerly signed a two-year lease. The prospect of a nest of their own was exciting. They promptly gave notice to Mrs. Barzuska, who was disappointed at losing her cultural attaché, but wished them luck. They moved on July 1, and set about making their new apartment habitable. Beth took charge and found only slightly used furnishings for the living room and dining room/kitchen. She wouldn’t consider anything but a new bed and that was their most expensive purchase. They installed Peter’s computer and television set, her CD player and they had all the basics of domestic life. When Peter surprised her by having a rental piano delivered, she felt the bonds between them grow stronger as they settled into married life.
Peter would leave for the radio station at eighta.m.and Beth would job hunt until early afternoon. After the unsuccessful effort she would go home, practice the piano for two or three hours, then make dinner. She tried not to become frustrated at not finding a job, since she didn’t have high business skills and couldn’t risk damage to her hands as a typist, or at a fast food place. About two weeks after they moved in there was a knock on the door and it was her downstairs neighbor.
"Hi. I’m Millie Schwenka. I’ve been meaning to stop by and welcome you, but I wanted to give you a little time to get used to the place."
"Thanks. I’m Beth Harmon. Come on in. Would y
ou like a cup of coffee?"
"Another time. I want to talk to you about your piano playing."
Beth felt a pang of alarm. "Is it bothering you? I can play quietly."
Millie laughed. "Not at all. I’ve been thinking about piano lessons for my daughter. Do you teach?"
"Oh, yes," Beth said with relief.
Within two weeks she had two more students, as word spread through the neighborhood. She had no idea what to charge and asked for $10.00 an hour. Apparently, it was very reasonable, for she soon had four more students and all of them came twice a week. It wasn’t a lot of money, but it eased her financial worry and made her feel like an active contributor to the household. There were good prospects for more students, and she savored the sense of independence that earning an income fostered. With a job in the fall and the apartment functional, Beth concentrated on preparing a recital program. She started with some Chopin études, which would be her audition pieces, if a concert hall would consider booking her. She knew the possibilities of a booking for an unknown pianist were improbable, so she began to put aside money each week that would pay for rental of a recital space, programs and any personnel needed for the evening. She was just mastering the second étude when she learned she was pregnant.
Peter was thrilled yet terrified at the prospect of a child. Beth reassured her number one baby and concealed her distress at the disruption of her concert plans. Once school started, her schedule was so demanding that after nine to three with students who only wanted hip-hop, then her neighborhood students in the afternoons, she was generally too tired to practice. Their treacherous car, trained by a diabolical Ford lackey to devour cash in ongoing repairs, and preparations for the birth of the baby, consumed her meager savings. They managed to pay their bills, but there was no money for a concert. Two weeks before the end of the fall semester, the chairman of the music department informed her that the music instructors would perform in a student/teacher concert. She was requested to accompany the students for Christmas carols and play a solo piece. Her protests of insufficient preparation time were ignored, so she dusted off the neglected Chopin. Peter proudly attended, sitting in the rear of the auditorium, applauding enthusiastically. Everyone enjoyed the carols. Halfway through the étude, which she was playing credibly, she felt the audience’s lack of interest and segued into a Scott Joplin rag that rocked the somnolent house. Her debut at Martin Luther King high school was a smash hit.