Won't You Love Me?

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Names: Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis

Year: 1953

Ages: 36 and 27

"What are you doing?" Dean tries to sound casual, and succeeds—he doesn't sound like he cares what Jerry's response is, actually.

"Darning a sock." Comes his reply through the phone, and Dean just sits there, breathing out smoke through his nose. Waiting until the Kid remembers he's already told him that joke. "Why, what's up?"

"Wanna take a ride?" Dean asks, barely able to conceal the pride in his voice.

"Ooh, goody, I love rides." Jerry exclaims, sliding into his Idiot voice, and then out of it the next instant: "Where we going?"

"It's a surprise. See you outside." Hanging up the phone, Dean crushes his cigarette in the nearest ashtray and bounds out of his trailer, taking a moment to admire the new, glinting blue paint on his Cadillac convertible parked just a few feet away before hopping behind the wheel.

A minute later Jerry appears from his dressing room, and when he catches sight of Dean in his car, grinning like a madman, he shakes his head, but smiles nonetheless. As soon as Jerry slides in beside him, Dean starts the engine. Sweet music to his ears.

As they get the okay to pull through the studio gates, Dean grins. A break from running lines for the next scene or sitting around waiting to sing to some broad. Time to relax. They pass a few tourists who have stopped to stare at the pillared arch of the studio, all of whom point and stare with eyes just about to fall out of their heads. What a kick.

As they ride down Sunset Boulevard, warm air tugging at their hair, Jerry holds his arm out the window and closes his eyes, feeling the warmth of the summer sun on his eyelids, and smiles. He doesn't have to look around to know that they're attracting a lot of attention—simply because of the car. And he loves it.

A sideways glance to Dean tells Jerry he loves it, too. The warm crinkling at the corners of his eyes, the grin that tugs at the corner of his lips as he smokes his Camel. What's not to love?

Dean finally stops the car and Jerry glances up to see the blue, circular sign titled "Music City", and his eyes drop to the tall store window, in which is a huge picture of Dean to proclaim the arrival of his new single, "That's Amore."

Resting one arm behind Jerry's headrest, Dean points with the other and says gleefully, "Hey, is that a handsome Italian, or what?"

###

Names: Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis

Year: 1953

Ages: 36 and 27

"Is this an endurance contest? When can I get some real food?" Dean complains as soon as Jerry enters the hospital room, eyes flashing with the anger of one truly starving. It's only been a few days since he got an operation for his hernia.

"I'll go to Lindy's and get you some nice chicken soup. That'll be good for you" Jerry answers immediately, springing on the opportunity to do something for Dean. Somehow he still hasn't managed to forget what he did a month ago. How stupid! The very thought of it makes him shudder in embarrassment. He really thought that it would be a good idea to learn golf so he could play with Dean. Wrong! It ended up just being him taking yet another thing that Dean alone is good at where he doesn't have to be around all the chaos.

So that Dean wouldn't be able to argue, Jerry ducks out of the room and passes the elevators to sprint down the stairs. He had made the mistake of heading up here in the elevator, and had to go up the entire time listening to a wheelchair-ridden older man struggling for breath. Images flashed through his mind of his grandmother on a stretcher being taken out of the house, mouth unable to form words, glassy eyes helpless.

Finally Jerry makes it out of the hospital and flags down a cab in record time.

"Where to?"

"Take me to Lindy's at Fifty-first Street and Broadway, and step on it!" Jerry gives the driver kudos for trying to step on it, but God just doesn't seem to be on his side this time, for as they cross 121st street, out of nowhere they're hit with a thunderstorm. Lightning, thunder, rain pouring like its gushing from the ocean, the whole shebang.

It seems like they're moving less than a mile an hour, and Jerry finds himself checking his watch every thirty seconds, which, surprisingly, doesn't speed anyone up.

Finally, an hour later, they're at Lindy's, and five minutes later Jerry's back out in the rain, holding a very hot cup of soup in a paper bag, doing his best to shield it from getting wet. It takes him only a second to realize that he made a mistake. A soon to be very costly mistake. There's no taxi available, so, with heart sinking to the pit of his stomach in despair, Jerry begins the long walk back to the hospital.

He just thinks about how happy Dean will be to see that he did all of that for him, and how proud he'll be. But it's hard to hold onto those images when right now your clothes are soaked through, and you can feel the heat being sucked from the soup as each block goes by. Jerry's legs are starting to ache, and each new gust of wind sends him into an episode of shivering so hard he's sure his bones are rattling inside.

###

Jerry doesn't even know how many minutes—or hours, for that matter—have passed when he sees he's on Broadway and 112th Street. At the thought of having to go another twenty-five blocks, he feels like giving up right then and there, but he just wants to see the look on Dean's face—he's convinced himself somehow that Dean needs him, because that's a little less shameful.

Suddenly he starts hearing this flapping—or smacking, rather— against the pavement every time he takes a step. It doesn't take Jerry long to realize the next unfortunate incident that has befallen him is that half the sole of his shoe has come unglued. Damnit. Not only does he have to very probably get hypothermia, but now he's gotta be annoyed to death?

###

Finally...finally he's in the hospital, too tired to even feel the stares of those around him, his only mission to get to Dean's room. To his astonishment, Dean isn't the worried mess he thought he'd be, he's sitting in bed, watching some John Wayne movie with a Lucky in his mouth.

With numb fingers Jerry strips the soaked paper bag from the jar he can hardly believe was ever piping-hot, and displays the soup with a triumphant smile. Dean just glances over at him, taking in his . . . wet state, and says with a completely straight face, "No matzo balls?"