Names: Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis
Year: 1949
Ages: 31 and 23
They hear the wild, ear-splitting screams erupt from just about everyone in the room except them before they see Frank Sinatra stepping into the light of the stage. As Jerry stares at that dark blue suit, those shoes that glint in the spotlight, the flower handkerchief in his breast pocket, all he can think about is how he wants to look cool like that. The screaming fans just about to die before a note even leaves his mouth, the nice clothes that mean something—that mean you have money, security, success.
Jerry watches the performance on stage, sees the way Frank looks out at the audience as he sings, and sees himself doing it even better. He hears an uncertain note and shakes his head, smiling to himself. He could have sung that just right—he'd like to think as much, at least.
Dean stands there with his hands curled tightly around the railing, absorbing it all—the lights, the band, the music, the god-like character in the center of the stage, the fans. He feels this overwhelming weight on his shoulders, pressing him down and down, and he's not sure why. His hands grip the railing tighter as if that can make the frustration go away, but it doesn't.
###
It's been over an hour, and the only words exchanged between Jerry and Dean since the concert was when Dean asked if he wanted to get coffee. So, here they are in a booth at the drugstore, Jerry sipping at his vanilla milkshake shamelessly, and Dean nursing a cup of black coffee.
Jerry's still energized from the whole experience, and wants to say something, but doesn't know what. He doesn't have to when Dean abruptly says with a strained voice, "Man, I couldn't believe the way that guy phrases a lyric."
"Yeah, it makes you feel—"
"Jealous! That's what it makes you feel!" For the first time that night, Dean lets himself look at what it is that makes his hands curl into fists at his sides and brows furrow. Jerry ponders being jealous of Frank's abilities, but after a moment shrugs.
"Yeah—I guess you're right. I kept seeing myself up there in front of four thousand screaming fans."
"It's great to live in a country where a kid from Hoboken, New Jersey, can have the world in the palm of his hand." Where a nobody can become a somebody, Dean doesn't say, but they both think it. They've been nobodies all their lives.
"Well, I guess we can dream." Jerry sighs wistfully, hand on his chin. He jumps when Dean suddenly slams his palm down on the table, making their glasses clink.
"Dreaming is for loafers who never do anything. I don't have time for dreams. I want action. I want a car and a home and all the things you get when you get there. If you don't push through the crowd, you'll be stuck here your whole life." Emerald eyes wide, Jerry just stares at Dean wordlessly. He has never heard Dean talk like this. He honestly thought that out of the two, he was the only one that had the big ambitions—that he was the dreamer.
"Well . . . " Jerry finally manages, not sure how to respond, "I bet my impression of Sinatra will be better tonight then it ever was before."
###
Names: Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis
Year: 1949
Ages: 31 and 23
As Dean steps up to his mark, waiting for the scene to begin, it strikes him as odd that Don didn't look very nervous at all. Given that Dean was about to punch him in the face, he was either very good at taking blows or very stupid. However, Dean didn't have time to voice his concerns when the yell echoed through the set, "And . . . ACTION!"
Dean gives himself the count of five seconds before opening the door in front of him leading to the set of Dianna's character's room and immediately wrapping his arms around her waist, exclaiming cheerily, "Jane, honey!"
"Uh, Steve! What are you doing here?" She stares at him with a petrified expression as Dean hugs her closer to himself.
"I'm so glad you sent for me!"
"That's cozy, but what about me!" Comes Don's voice from the opposite side of the room, and Dean steps away from Diana with raised brows.
"You?"
"Yes, me. I happen to have a date with Jane tonight." Don states matter-of-factly, clasping his hands together proudly.
"What goes on here?" Dean turns to Diana, hands on his hips.
"Yeah, what goes on here?" Don echoes. Diana smiles nervously, stammering, "Well, I—I don't know what to say!"
"Well, I know what to do!" With that, Dean turns on his heel and punches Don square in the jaw. Having done this enough times to know how to form a fist correctly, Dean knows his hand isn't broken, but he knows he's sure gonna feel it tomorrow. Diana cries out like she's supposed to, but Don doesn't get up and the director yells cut hurriedly.
"Hey, pallie, are you alright?" Dean kneels down beside Don and puts a hand on his shoulder, and a moment later Don turns his head so Dean can see the blood practically pouring from his mouth.
"You punched me!" Don manages as Diana pulls him up with a shocked expression.
"Yeah, I know! Oh . . . " Dean trails off when the pieces fit together in his mind. "Sorry, Don. I didn't know I wasn't supposed to. I'll pay for any work you gotta get done. Really, I'm sorry." As a few other staff members take Don away, Dean stares after them with a grimace. He really hadn't even thought about not actually punching Don, and nobody had told him otherwise!
He's jerked from his thoughts by someone laughing hysterically, and he glances around to find Jerry rolling on the ground, tears streaming down his cheeks.
"You . . . you . . . punched him!" Jerry manages through his peals of laughter, and Dean crosses his arms indignantly.
"How was I supposed to know?" Those words send Jerry into another fit, and Dean walks away shaking his head, a grin tugging at his lips. He actually punched him. You can take the boy out of Steubenville, but you can't take Steubenville out of the boy.
YOU ARE READING
Won't You Love Me?
Historical FictionA lonely, gawky Jewish boy who hides behind the face of a clown to gain love and acceptance. A smooth-talking, Italian singer who wished the world didn't love him so much. Could it be that these two polar opposites could become the greatest comedy d...