Mob Girl

Arlyne did not see her husband again before he left for Sing Sing.

The full weight of her misery did not settle upon Mrs. Brickman until after the wedding, when the contrast between her circumstances and those of her sister became all too clear. While Barbara and her new husband honeymooned in Europe, Arlyne was back at home with no husband and a baby on the way. Pregnancy, furthermore, was not the glamorous interlude she had imagined. She suffered from morning sickness. She suffered from nerves. Despite the former and to assuage the latter, she ate ravenously, gaining fifty-five pounds. As her depression deepened, her mother thought it might be a good idea for her to go to work for a few hours a day at Chester Motors to keep her mind off her troubles. Irving Weiss had recently lost his secretary and could use the help. This arrangement, however, caused Arlyne still more discomfort. She knew her father despised people who let themselves go. There was never an excess pound on his frame. Billie, too, was always reed-thin. Now, waddling around under his critical gaze, Arlyne felt she was repulsive to him. She wished for two things only: that the hateful pregnancy would end, and that she could regain her freedom from Norman Brickman.

Given their stormy history, she had believed that Norman was as eager to be out of the marriage as she was. When a decent interval had passed, she wrote him at Sing Sing asking for a divorce. She received a reply that said, in essence, “As long as I’m rotting, you’re going to rot.” Arlyne’s already precarious emotions now swung wildly between depression and hysteria. Weeping, she went to see her father’s old friend, the congressman, to ask if he would handle her divorce. He informed her this wouldn’t be proper since he already represented Norman in a criminal matter. Noting her distracted behavior, he warned, “Arlyne. You keep acting this way and you’re going to have a very nervous child.”

Arlyne’s disposition did not improve. Her delivery date came and went without a sign of a contraction. The days dragged by. One week. Two weeks. Still no baby. The Weiss family kept a vigil. For hours on end, Arlyne played gin with her sister and new brother-in-law. Occasionally, someone would break the silence with a polite query into her condition. Arlyne felt she might scream.

Seventeen days late, Arlyne went into labor, a painful, arduous labor that lasted more than twenty-four hours. Late in the evening she gave birth to a daughter. When the nurses tried to bring her the baby, Arlyne did not want to see it. For several days after delivery, she suffered from postpartum blues. All of her parents’ friends sent bouquets. But Arlyne, who had always loved flowers, was now terrified by the sight of them. They reminded her of the wreaths at her grandmother’s funeral parlor. In her troubled state, she reasoned that she had died.

When the black mood passed, she sent for her daughter. Little Leslie Rebecca Brickman was an undeniably beautiful child. Arlyne studied her white skin and plump limbs with pride. Before Leslie’s birth, Arlyne had worried that Irving might not accept the baby. Her fears were soon laid to rest. From the moment he saw her, Irving Weiss fell in love with his little granddaughter. He carried her home from the hospital and ensconced her in a nursery where she was tended round the clock by a nurse. The baby was denied nothing. Whenever she cried, her grandfather demanded she be given a bottle. As a result, she grew fat. When she was old enough to sit up, Irving bought her a custom-made baby carriage with a window in the back. It looked like a Cadillac. He took her shopping at Little Royalty, one of the finest baby shops on Queens Boulevard. By her first birthday, Leslie had a closetful of little velvet dresses with pantaloons.

Leslie returned her grandfather’s affection. When she took her first step, it was to him. After that, she toddled after her “Poppy” wherever he went. He would take her with him to Chester Motors, where she played on the leather seats of his vintage Rolls-Royces. When she was older, he would take her to ride ponies in Oyster Bay. As time went on, Irving Weiss began to think of himself as Leslie’s father. The thought of her real father returning at some point to claim her was more than he could bear. He offered Arlyne a deal. If she would get a divorce from Brickman, he would take care of Leslie for the rest of her life.

Arlyne called Sing Sing and asked to be put on the list to see Norman Brickman.

“Who are you?” the guard asked.

“I’m his wife,” she replied. “Mrs. Brickman.”

“What kind of game are you playing, lady,” the guard replied. “You’ve been coming up here to see your husband every week.”

Organizing a war party that included both Billie and Ida, Arlyne—dressed in her most provocative ankle-strapped shoes and her furs—set out for Ossining to pay a visit to the warden, who, as it happened, had once bought a car from Irving Weiss. The warden received the delegation politely.

“Now tell me,” he asked, “are you Mrs. Arlyne Brickman?”

Arlyne showed him her birth certificate and marriage license.

“Well, wait a minute,” the warden replied. He called a guard. “Is this the woman who sees Norman Brickman every week?” he asked. “No,” replied the guard. “That’s a blond.”

Arlyne knew she had Norman dead to rights. The false Mrs. Brickman had to be Chickie. It was time, Arlyne felt, that Norman be made to realize the power she had over him. She informed the warden that her husband had been sneaking in a mistress with false identification. The arrow struck its mark. Norman was punished with a transfer to an even less congenial maximum security prison in Auburn. But if he was chastened by his wife’s guerrilla tactics, he didn’t show it. When she asked, once again, for a divorce, his reply remained: As I rot, you shall rot.

Arlyne had no choice but to wait for her next opportunity. It arose approximately one year later when she went for her weekly appointment at the beauty parlor in Brooklyn. While she was having her hair teased, she heard a woman next to her telling the beautician about her “son-in-law,” Norman. Arlyne shot a glance at the speaker. She was a haggard bleached blond. Arlyne did not need to be told that this was Chickie’s mother. Norman was apparently out on parole and living in Brooklyn with his old paramour.

When Arlyne relayed the news to her father, Irving Weiss was decisive. They must somehow catch Norman in the act of infidelity. That would provide the evidence Arlyne needed to start divorce proceedings against him. Wasting no time, Irving hired a pair of private eyes who set about planning a “raid” on Chickie’s apartment. They would need a family member or a close friend to accompany them for the purpose of establishing that the woman with whom Norman was living was not his wife. This gave the Weisses pause. Irving and Billie were not willing to compromise their dignity by participating in this sordid outing. Arlyne was the logical person to go but to pit her in the same arena with Chickie was asking for a nasty scene. The family decided to send Sadie.

Late one evening Sadie and the detectives left for Brooklyn. When they knocked on the door, one of the private eyes instructed her, she was to look for an opening to slip inside and head for the bedroom. Norman answered the door in his favorite blue boxer shorts. Sadie, seizing her chance, slipped past him to the foyer where she nearly collided with Chickie, who was wearing a short nightgown and dangling a baby over her arm. Sadie fixed Chickie in her gaze. Chickie shouted, “Get out of here!” Having the proof they came for, the party retreated.

The raid put Norman in the mood to negotiate. In the days thereafter, he and Irving met to discuss the matter like gentlemen. The upshot of this summit was a solution satisfactory to both. Norman would grant his wife an uncontested divorce and give up all claim to the baby; in return, Irving Weiss would assume all responsibility for their support. When Arlyne went to court to formalize the dissolution of her marriage, the judge asked her if she didn’t want at least one dollar, as this would leave the door open for future support payments. “No,” she replied adamantly. “I want to be rid of him.”

Norman Brickman made only one more appearance in Arlyne’s life. Several weeks after the divorce became final, she was strolling the baby, by now over two years old, down the sidewalk in Forest Hills. She looked up and saw Norman crossing the street in her direction. Her first instinct was panic. She was very happy with the promise her father had made to support Leslie and she was afraid that if he saw her talking to Norman, he would be so angry he would renege.

“What do you want?” she hissed.

“I want to see what my daughter looks like,” he replied. He glanced at the child in her stroller, then turned his attention back to Arlyne. He was leaving, he said, for California and she would never see him again. And with that he walked down the block and out of her life. That night, Arlyne went through her photo albums destroying images of Norman. The Weiss family held council and decided it was best to tell Leslie that her father was dead.

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