Won't You Love Me?

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Names: Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis

Year: 1945

Ages: 28 and 18

Sotto voce? Why do they always put that kind of crap on billboards no one understands? Sotto voce? What was wrong with JERRY LEWIS: SATIRICAL IMPRESSIONS IN PANTOMIMICRY? Oh yeah, now Jerry remembers.

His eyes wander up the board to the image of him in his all-too-expensive suit and a smile on his face that's trying a little too hard to be suave. Geez, when did he get that weird-looking? Jerry shrugs to himself. That's why he's a comedian, not an actor.

Ding. The elevator doors slide open a few feet away from him, and his gaze follows the stream of people into the lobby, trying to catch a glimpse of someone worth looking at. Nope. They're just a group of older ladies...and him. Something is so familiar and...breathtaking about the guy that stands a head above the ladies-what is he, 6'4" or something'?

He saunters through the lobby, a short cigarette pinched in large, manly hands. As the man comes closer to passing him, Jerry catches a closer glimpse of his features-long, rugged face, great profile: thick, dark brows and eyelashes. And a suntan in March! How'd he manage that?

As he strides past Jerry, his wavy, coal-black hair is somehow perfectly tousled by the breeze that passes through the hotel entrance just ahead. Jerry's glance falls to the man's shining red leather shoes that just scream successful. The fella pauses for just a moment at the entrance to chew fat with the doorman before disappearing into the bustling crowd for good.

Jerry waits a second before walking up to the doorman casually and asking, "Who was that?"

"Dean Martin."

"He looks important."

"Could be. He sings on WMCA."

"No kidding. What program?"

The doorman shrugs and reverts his gaze to the approaching ladies from the elevator. Jerry takes the hint and walks back to his place by the lounge. His mind was racing with this Dean Martin who, in one moment, replaced the awe-inspiring legend that was Danny Lewis.

Dean had all but one passing thought of the funny-looking Jewish kid gawking at him like every other dame in the building.

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Names: Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis

Year: 1945

Ages: 28 and 18

Noise swirls around Jerry, drowning him-the distant laughter of children scurrying from their mothers, the rumble of engines, the wind whistling by him that tugs at his coat-but anything was better than surrendering himself to the thoughts trying to creep their way into his mind.

"Hey, Kid, that fella over there's Dean Martin. Here, I'll introduce you to him." Sonny exclaims suddenly, pointing at the man across the street at Broadway and Fifty-fourth coming their way.

"Oh, okay." Jerry says with a nonchalant shrug, pretending his heart isn't hammering in his chest. He watches Dean come closer to them, and stares at his Harry Horseshit coat and red and white pimp shoes.

"Hey, Dino!" Sonny says to Dean once he and a short, older man with cool eyes stop in front of him and Jerry. "How ya doin', Lou?" With a slight, disinterested nod, Lou acknowledges Jerry. Excitedly turning to Dean, Sonny says, "Dino, I want you to meet a very funny kid, Jerry Lewis."

Dean grins lazily-but warmly-at Jerry, extending a big, calloused hand. Jerry takes it and stares transfixed for a moment as his hand disappears under Dean's paw. Dropping his hand, Jerry smiles to himself. He likes Dean immediately, and he can tell Dean's glad to meet him too-that's a first.

As they stand there, Jerry's mind works furiously to come up with something to say-anything to say. He feels this overwhelming need to make Dean smile at him again.

"You workin'?" Jerry asks eagerly. There it is, that million-dollar smile.

"Oh, this 'n' that., you know," Dean says, an instantly recognizable Southern lilt to his voice-gee, he could almost pass for Crosby and Jerry hasn't even heard him sing yet! "I'm on WMCA radio, sustaining. No bucks, just room." Jerry watches Dean closely, sees the sun-kissed skin, the faint trace of a healing surgical cut on the bridge of his nose, and the crinkling at the edges of his soft, brown eyes as he smiles.

Jerry's sure that there's a guy who's got it all together, someone who doesn't have a care in the world. Only the subtle narrowing of Dean's eyes gives away the ocean of debt he was barely wading through. "How 'bout you?" Dean asks Jerry, who nods enthusiastically and answers with a voice just a mite lower than usual, "I'm just now finishing my eighth week at the Glass Hat. In the Belmont Plaza."

"Really? I live there."

"At the Glass Hat?"

 "No, at the Belmont. It's part of my radio deal." Dean says with the pride of one admitting to living in the Ritz-Carlton.