Won't You Love Me?

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Names: Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis

Year: 1952

Ages: 35 and 26

Finally this is Jerry's chance. His last prank failed miserably when he had replaced Dean's Woodhue with coca-cola and water, and Dean had found out but kept silent about it for days so that Jerry was on edge the entire time just waiting. But now he has the perfect idea.

The car ride back to the Ambassador Hotel is quiet as both Dean and Jerry sit exhausted from their final show, with the only difference being that Jerry's mind is working like crazy. It's finally the end of their two week stint at the Chicago Theater, where they had been doing seven shows a day.

As tired as he felt, Jerry was shocked nonetheless when just before stepping into the limo from the show Dean had turned to him with heavy-lidded eyes, rubbed his hand over the side of his face, and said, "Jer, I'm outta gas. I'm really very tired." There was something about Dean saying that which made Jerry realize he had a right to be legitimately tired.

Finally they arrive at the hotel, and, needing an excuse to get back into the suite before Dean goes up, Jerry manages to convince him to have a nightcap in the Pump Room. As soon as they order, Jerry says as casually as he can, barely able to hide his smile of glee, that he has to go to the men's room. Dean shrugs, slouched in his seat with legs stretched all the way out under the table, and Jerry hurries into the elevator despite the aching in his legs.

Once Jerry's up in their suite and spots Dean's bed, a thrill of energy runs through him as he begins the process of short-sheeting the bed. It's not very hard to do, and doesn't take Jerry more than three minutes, but it feels like there's some invisible weight pushing down on his arms, and he has to stop and rest every thirty seconds.

Finally he's done and he steps back with a grin. Dean won't suspect a thing.

Dean's hunched over frame disappears behind the doorway to his part of the suite, and Jerry waits there just outside the door, heart thudding as he awaits Dean's reaction—hopefully a laugh. Two thumps of Dean's shoes falling at the foot of his bed, the rustling of him pulling back his sheets, and a heavy sigh. No laugh or cry of annoyance.

Jerry strains to hear something, anything else! But silence descends upon the room, and Jerry purses his lips, confused. A moment or two later he decides to risk it all and take a look to see what went wrong.

As soon as he rounds the door, Jerry spots Dean fast asleep, curled up at the corner of the bed with the softest snore escaping his parted lips. He must have been so exhausted he never even noticed!

Jerry shakes his head, disappointed. Maybe next time.

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Names: Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis

Year: 1953

Ages: 36 and 27

"Well, hot diggety. I've never seen so many books 'cept in the library—even then, I've never been inside one!" Dean exclaims with an appreciative whistle, hands shoved in his pockets as he looks back to Marilyn and Jerry from the living room wall that is in fact a bookshelf.

"I just like to read, that's all." Marilyn says quietly, lips curving upwards as she gazes at the ground shyly. Dean and Jerry exchange a knowing glance, and then Jerry exaggeratedly flings himself onto the long white couch and says with jaw jutting forward, "Anyone got any drinks around here?"

With the softest of laughs, Marilyn looks up at Jerry stretched out on the couch and goes into the other room to get them drinks. Still at the bookshelf, Dean traces a row of books with a finger until he settles on a wide-spined red one whose title Jerry can't see from there, and plucks it out of the row.

Jerry then watches in curious amusement as Dean crosses the room in two long strides and sits down on the far end of the couch with legs crossed, cracking open the book and leafing through the pages with a contemplative expression. Jerry knows full well Dean doesn't read. Period. Save comic books, at least, and so it takes Jerry every ounce of self restraint not to call him out on it, because at the end of the day he knows Dean's lack of formal education is a bit of a sore spot.

When Marilyn comes back in, she seems slightly surprised, but also secretly pleased, as she hands Dean a martini on the rocks, and ends up sitting between us with her legs curled up underneath her.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" Dean abruptly says, but upon noting the torn expression that crosses her face, adds almost without pause, "You must be tired from everyone saying that to you." She doesn't say anything, but just kind of gazes out the window towards the backyard, a distant expression in her clear eyes.

Before either of the two can say anything else, Marilyn says with a strong voice, "They're always saying how lucky I am. How pretty I am, and how much money I have. What a nice house I have."

"But . . . ?" Jerry asks, for Marilyn had said all of that with an odd disdain, still staring out of the window with wide eyes.

"I don't mean to sound . . . ungrateful, but I don't want it. Any of it. It's no use, I never even get to go places I want and see people—" Marilyn's voice that has gotten softer and softer is cut off by Dean standing up and helping her stand as well. Jerry just watches, a little stunned, as Dean leans in to whisper something into Marilyn's ear. Immediately the haunted expression leaves Marilyn's face, and she breaks into a toothy smile, murmuring something back to Dean before leaving the room.

After buttoning his jacket and straightening his collar with hands that seem too large for his body, Dean nimbly retrieves a cigarette and pinches it between two fingers.

"Light?" He turns to Jerry, as if nothing had happened, and Jerry just squints at him and fires back, "What the hell was that all about?"

"Oh, nothing. Mar's just tired. She's gonna get some shuteye." Dean takes out a match himself and lights his cigarette before sitting down in the chair across from Jerry. An odd feeling washes over Jerry as he stares at the almost . . . bored expression on Dean's face.

"No, seriously, Paul, what the hell was she talking about?"

"You're thinking too much about things, Jer. She was just tired. She's been kinda stressed out lately with all her work, that's all. Now, do you want Chinese or burgers? We can stop by that great new place on 34th street on the way back to the hotel." Dean's already getting up and putting on his overcoat, puffing lazily on the cigarette between his teeth.

A cold feeling washes over Jerry, and he frowns, not sure why he feels like something's off with the whole situation. He could have sworn Marilyn was saying things that weren't normal . . . like she was unhappy, but Dean seemed so sure. Dean wouldn't have any reason to lie to him.