Won't You Love Me?

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Names: Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis

Year: 1956

Ages: 39 and 30

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the Copacabana presents . . . Martin and Lewis!" The crowd goes ballistic, and one would have thought it was Ike himself coming out onto the stage. But no, it's just the broken-hearted Monkey and the Organ Grinder who refuses to break face—he would hold that mask over the scars beneath even if it killed him.

The act is seamless—a little too perfect—the usual fraternal glint in Dean's eyes is missing as he chastises the putz, and Jerry's smile trembles slightly as the voice in his head shouts above the crowd, "It's over! It's over, and there's nothing you can do about it!"

Finally their last song of the night comes, and the crowd can sense the turmoil that hangs in the air as the fated words are sung, "You and me, we're gonna be pardners." But the 'pardners' can taste it. They can feel it deep in their bones. That's why Dean looks out to the crowd in disdain as they shout and plead for the two to stay together as if they're in pain. As if they have any idea what it feels like to be torn apart from the inside out.

The last line comes, and Jerry wishes more than anything—like a kid on his birthday, eyes squeezed shut as he blows out his candles—that the line can last forever so it doesn't have to be over; really over.

"You and me will be the greatest pardners, buddies and pals." The words come out wrong in his mouth, a little strangled over the lump that forms in Jerry's throat, and he shoots a sideways glance towards Dean, as if seeing his partner distraught—just this once—would make everything better. But he has to swallow his disappointment as Dean just smiles towards the audience, unwilling to let anyone in, least of all Jerry.

No. No, it doesn't mean anything. Jerry refuses to let himself believe that Dean truly meant it—that Jerry's nothing more than a dollar sign to him. How can Dean not love him when Jerry loves Dean so much?

The two bow deeply, staring out at the crowd through blurred vision, and they stumble off the stage together as if it's on fire.

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Somehow Jerry ends up in his own room, flopped on the bed like a kid who's just been yelled at by his parents. His cheeks already shine with tears; he has no reason to conceal them—if anything they are a proud virtue—a mark of true love. A wave of nausea rolls over him as he realizes he has no idea what he's going to do for the rest of his life, and he wishes he could be sick. He wishes he could get all of the feelings out of him as easy as that.

It would be better to feel nothing at all than to feel this broken—this empty. His eyes flutter closed wearily, lashes thick with tears, and he feels himself falling, tumbling over and over in space like a feather—down into a trackless desert . . . No sign of life anywhere. Not a solitary bird crosses the sky. Even the stars are gone. I struggle forward, engulfed in a wide river of sand.

Suddenly the desert spreads open. A highway shimmers before me. I'm walking on it—to where? Then the movie marquee!—It straddles the highway; ornate, gilded, the lights flashing round and round.

There, appearing in bulging, silvery brightness is the most enormous word I have ever seen:

ALONE

I stagger, sink to my knees. I'm screaming at the top of my lungs: "ONE! ONE! ONE ALONE!"

Jerry holds a cigarette to his mouth with trembling fingers, and it takes a few tries to get it between his lips. He takes a deep drag and presses the base of his palms to his closed eyes until he can see sparkles. He can do it. He has to.