Won't You Love Me?

CHAPTER TWELVE

Names: Martin and Lewis

Year: 1946

Ages: 28 and 19

"You call this a room? Ow!" Jerry curses under his breath, hopping back and forth on his feet after banging his shin against the bedside table on his way back from the john. Dean chuckles, but it doesn't reach his eyes as he lies stretched out on the bed.

"What, that bad?" Sonny asks Dean with amusement.

"She had a roommate. Where the hell can a fella get lucky in peace and quiet in this damn town?" Rolling his eyes, Dean sits up and lets out a soft hiss of air between his teeth. Drawing a cigarette from his pocket, he leans forward as Sonny whips out a lighter. Jerry's sure it's a normal cigarette, but between Dean's stiff fingers, it seems at least half its size.

Taking the cigarette between his teeth, Dean gets off the bed and pours himself a Scotch. Swallowing it in one gulp, he sighs and relaxes his shoulders before turning to them with a cocked eyebrow. "You're not gonna let me drink this all by myself, are ya?"

Jerry shakes his head, offering a small smile, but he knows the strongest drink he's had is a hot cocoa. Still, he knows he can't pass up a Scotch from Dean. Holding up the bathroom tumbler to his lips, Jerry glances away, the strong smell of alcohol burning his nose and throat. But as Dean plays Sasquatch on his record player, Jerry tries to look as though he's taken a few gulps of the stuff.

4 hours later—1 AM

Sonny slouches over at the foot of the bed, mouth open in a silent snore. Jerry's on his stomach on the floor, enthralled as he gazes up at Dean lying on the bed, who's telling him about his reasons for leaving Steubenville. Only an occasional slur of words gives away the fact that the half-empty glass in his hand is his third—or was it his fourth?

As he listens, Jerry isn't tired enough to miss the 'I don't give a damn about anyone or anything' that practically gushes from Dean's words, but a small part of him wonders. Wonders if there's bitterness behind that easy smile. Wonders if there's a heart that got broken somewhere along the line.

"They call me the 'Boy with the Tall, Dark, and Handsome Voice.'" Dean says, gazing up at the ceiling that's stained with God knows what, and smiles grimly to himself. He knows there's not much to it. Just a bunch of doe-eyed broads who think he's all that because of the way he just is. He never did no training or nothin', he just likes to sing, and he happens to have a face that was nice to look at.

Jerry, on the other hand, agrees completely with the title. Who wouldn't? He wishes he could have just half of what Dean has. Not only could he get any dame he looked at, he was a man's man.

Dean breaks from his trance and pulls out a couple of pictures from the dress shirt he stripped off in favor of a grey beater.

"And look at me, a family man, too." He hands them down to Jerry, who marvels at the picture that looks like a promo for an MGM movie. A real family man, huh? He sure had the family, but the man doesn't exactly act like he has one. Then again, no one in this business does.

"Gee, she's real pretty, Dean."

"Yeah, she is. Look at my kids there, too! That's Craig, Claudia, and Gail." He points them out and glances to Jerry's face for his reaction before settling back on the bed.

"I've got a kid on the way, too." Jerry pipes up, an excited grin on his face as Dean bolts up with a shocked expression. It isn't something he anticipates seeing often, so Jerry studies Dean's face for a moment just to remember.

"You're kiddin' me. How old are you, pally?"

"I just turned nineteen," Jerry begins, a sudden blush crossing his cheeks. "But I've been married to Patti since October, and we have a baby due in July." Feeling suddenly like he's talking too much about himself, he abruptly asks, "How old are you?"

"Gettin' up there. About to turn twenty eight." Dean says slowly. When did he get that old? Oh well, he knew life would be like this, so might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

Jerry counts the numbers in his head. Twenty eight. Nine years older than him. Dean could be his big brother. He always wanted a big brother.

###

Names: Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis

Year: 1946

Ages: 28 and 19

"Here, I'll give you five bucks if you just let me borrow your uniform." Jerry whispers anxiously to the waiter busily arranging food on a platter.

"What? Why? I'm working, if you haven't noticed."

"It's for my act! I promise I'll give it back in twenty minutes at the very most—besides, five bucks is way more than you should get for it!" The waiter, a tall but scrawny teen with flaming red hair and just as shockingly blue eyes, bites his lip in hesitation before relenting and holding his hand out.

"Thanks, pally! You won't regret it!" Jerry breaks out into a relieved smile and slaps the five dollars into his upturned palm before helping him strip off his coat and bright red bowtie.

A circle of white light illuminates a part of the stage against Dean's strong frame as he holds the microphone to his lips with just the faintest touch. The rest of the stage is in shadow, so Jerry easily sneaks in from the wings without anyone noticing him.

His hands tremble slightly, and a nervous grin plays at his lips—why is he so nervous? He hasn't felt that way since he first started performing officially three years ago. Oh yeah, because he was about to interrupt Dean Martin in the midst of his song—a song that he would listen to for hours on end if he had the chance.

Alright. Now's the time—now or never. With a deep, ragged breath, Jerry forces himself to cough loudly, hacking and wheezing like his life depended on it. On cue, he's abruptly thrust into a light that makes the whole world go white for a moment. Also as if on cue, it's like a gear shifts in his mind, and all of the nervousness fades away into the background as he shouts at the top of his lungs in his Idiot voice, "Who ordered steak?!"

The music comes to a dysfunctional stop, and so does Dean. For a second as Dean stands there as straight as a board, Jerry's stomach twists. What if he had misjudged things? What if Dean got mad at him?

But instead of yelling insults or furiously shoving him off the stage, Dean turns his head slowly to the opposite side of the stage Jerry was standing on as if looking for him, and surveys the audience, who by this time are practically falling out of their seats laughing, to finally let his gaze rest on the frightened monkey who had ruined his song. Although Jerry expected to find anger in Dean's eyes, he finds playful amusement tugging at the corners of Dean's lips. He feels that everything is alright. In one moment, a man finds a boy who will teach him to open his heart, and a boy finds a man who will be the missing piece to his heart—the piece is frayed and worn around the edges, but it fits.