Won't You Love Me?

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Names: Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis

Year: 1949

Ages: 31 and 22

"What the hell, Dean?!" Before the front door even shuts behind him, Betty's shout pierces him, sending his heart racing as he thinks about everything he could have done that she could be angry about. It's an extensive list.

With soft steps, Dean hesitantly rounds the corner into the kitchen, and as soon as he catches sight of the basket of oranges, his heart drops. Jeanne.

"Do you have something to tell me?" Betty demands, face flushed and hands trembling slightly. It doesn't take Dean long to guess that she's been drinking.

"Have an orange." He picks one up out of the box and holds it out to her. She doesn't have a leg to stand on; he is a pretty famous guy, after all. "They're good." She smacks it out of Dean's hand, eyes darkening.

"Read the tag. I'm not stupid, Dean." Mouth going dry, Dean glances at the tag attached to the crate out of the corner of his eye, and sees the cursive, flowery letters. For the first time, Dean finds himself unable to say anything, unable to defend himself. "I know you go out with other girls, Dean. You're an attractive man and you've always had girls throw themselves at you. I know. But you can't do this. She's sending things to our house! The kids live here, Dean! I live here! Who is she? Do you even love her? What can she give you that I can't?!" Betty's cries fall on deaf ears, and Dean looks down at his shoes before saying softly, "I should go, Betty. This isn't making me happy, and I'm sure not making you happy. You don't deserve to be hurt by me. We've had four beautiful children together, and—"

"No, Dean! You can't say that! You can't give up on us! Remember your children! They can't have their father leave!" Betty desperately grabs the sleeve of Dean's jacket, her final attempt at communicating something that can only be felt. He places a big hand on hers and gently pulls her fingers from his sleeve, before leaning forward to kiss her forehead.

"I'm sorry."

Two Days Later

"Hey, Paul?" Jerry's voice seems far away, and Dean doesn't feel like answering.

"Paul?" Dean's eyes remain glued to something outside the window, and Jerry frowns before trying again, but this time he grins mischievously and uses a slightly higher, more feminine voice like he does sometimes in their act: "Deanie?" Finally Dean blinks back the moisture in his eyes and turns his head to face Jerry.

"Sorry, Kid. I was just thinkin'. What's buggin' you?" Dean still sounds a little bit distracted, but he's obviously making an effort to focus.

"Well, I've noticed you've been a little bit down lately, so I, uh . . . " Jerry glances down, abruptly bashful. "I got ya somethin'. Nothing big, just thought it would make you happy." With that, Jerry reaches behind the couch he's sitting on and pulls up a brand new golf club with a little green bow messily tied around the handle.

A wide smile breaks onto Dean's face, and he shakes his head as he takes the club.

"Ya didn't have to do that, Jer. Thanks a lot." Jerry's practically beaming as he points excitedly to the area just beneath the rubber handle and says, "And see? I have a little something written there." Dean glances to where he's pointing and reads the words etched into the metal: LOVE, THE JEW. He finds himself grinning as he stares down at the words, but then a wave of coldness washes over him. He's no good. Just like he hurt Betty and his kids, he's bound to hurt the Kid sometime. Here he is, never having given the Kid anything bigger than someone to talk to—who wouldn't necessarily talk back, and the Kid spends all this money on him with nice things written trying to make him feel better.

"Thanks, Jer . . . I'm gonna go see what westerns are on now." Dean mumbles, rising from his seat and leaning the club against the wall, but as he turns to go to the other room, he catches sight of Jerry's face falling in disappointment. Dean hates himself for it, but he purses his lips and whispers just loud enough for Jerry to hear, "You want I should watch by myself?" Almost as if on cue, the Kid's face brightens, and he leaps up to follow Dean into the other room.

###

Names: Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis

Year: 1949

Ages: 31 and 23

Red. What a color. That brilliant, blinding scarlet takes up all of Jerry's vision, and the breath hitches in his throat as his mind blanks on the next joke. Dean senses something is wrong before Jerry has to glance at him in desperation, and Dean kindly makes up a reason for going into another song.

Jerry forces his legs to move as he stumbles off the stage, heart racing in his chest as he curses himself for messing up over some broad. But as soon as he's in the wings, invisible from the audience, he can't help looking over to see if she's still there. Yep. That flaming dress, those wild blond curls, those piercing eyes—man, he wants to see what color those eyes really are.

It takes him another awed second of staring to realize that she's smiling up at Dean, and he's singing solely to her. Shit. Why would she want the monkey when she could have a whole god?

But his awe immediately disappears when he realizes he's not the only one who has noticed the connection between her and Dean. A rather disgruntled-looking man beside her who seems to be her boyfriend is glaring at Dean so furiously Jerry's surprised there isn't fire coming from his eyes.

Jerry continues the rest of the show, forgetting about the girl until he walks into the restroom afterwards. He can hardly believe the sight that beholds him, and his heart drops like a stone. That broad's boyfriend is standing less than a foot from Dean, jabbing a .38 into Dean's stomach. An image instantly pops into Jerry's mind of Dean slumped on the bathroom floor, clutching at the scarlet that blossoms across his shirt, and when he somehow focuses enough to look at the man's face, he realizes that was more than likely to be a reality. The guy pointing the gun was a low-level hood who would not have a problem in the world with knocking off someone who was flirting with his girlfriend.

Before giving terror the chance to grip him and render him completely useless to Dean, Jerry steps in between his partner and the gun, the cold metal sending goosebumps crawling up his arms and legs.

Jerry makes a quick calculation and says as convincingly as he can despite the hammering in his heart, "Listen, you have to understand something. People make mistakes—that's why they have erasers on pencils. Now, I'm going to admit to you that my partner made a mistake. I know Dean did what you said he did, but I'm going to offer you my hand, to give you my word of honor that I know my partner, and I know that out of respect for you, out of the same respect I have for you, he would never have done this if he had known who this young lady was."

With that, he extends his hand and watches breathlessly for a reaction. The man's dark, narrowed eyes flit from Jerry's hand to his gun, and back to Jerry. Another painful moment passes, and then the man puts his pistol back into his waistband. Jerry exhales in relief.

"This one time. This one time. But if he ever—"

"He will never," Jerry hastily interrupts.

"Ever," The man repeats.

"Won't happen," Jerry swears—he doesn't care if it's a lie, he just wants to live. The man stares down Dean until he's satisfied they're telling the truth, and then he stalks out of the men's room as if nothing happened.

Jerry was so preoccupied with disarming the situation he didn't get a good look at Dean, but now it's just him and Dean staring at each other wide eyes, and now Jerry knows what he must look like. Dean's got the hem of his coat clutched in a white—knuckled grip, and a sheen of sweat covers his colorless face. The silence that's descended upon them is thick and hot; Jerry feels like he's going to choke on it. That or break into tears.

Finally Dean breaks the silence and says with a voice just slightly louder than necessary, "I've never seen a more stupid son of a bitch—you could've been killed!"