Won't You Love Me?

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Names: Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis

Year: 1953

Ages: 36 and 27

Heart pumping to the same wild tempo of the audience's applause, Jerry steps up to the microphone, staring out victoriously at the crowd. He's done it. He's really performed at the Palladium. His dad would be so proud. His chest tightens for a moment when he thinks about that, but then pushes it aside to begin his ending speech.

"When we return—" Jerry's cut off midsentence by a distant but clear voice shouting, "Never come again!" Astonishment renders him momentarily speechless.

"Go home, Martin and Lewis!" The second shout is followed by complete chaos: the crowd erupts into simultaneous cheers and boos, sending Jerry's mind into a panic. Are they booing him and Dean? Why did they not want them to come back?

As the curtains cascade down towards the stage, Jerry catches Dean's eye, and sees those same questions echoing through his partner's mind.

The answer was simple: bad politics, Jack Keller had told them the day after the performance. Anti-American sentiments ever since the end of WWII. Most of the crowd was booing the people who had shouted in the first place. But try explaining that to the press!

Scum. Parasites. Those are just a few of the words Dean used to describe the British press as the event appeared on the front page of every major newspaper.

MARTIN & LEWIS BOOED AT PALLADIUM OPENING

Those headlines may not have been accurate, but the people didn't know that—nor did they care. Less and less people showed up to their remaining performances at the Palladium. A difficult thing, sure, but at the end of the day it was how Dean and Jerry would respond that would decide how bad things would get.

Dean sits upright on his bed, surrounded by several of the newspapers that had come out about the incident. The more he looks at them, the more aware he is of the rage pulsing through his veins. Who the hell do these people think they are? They're supposed to be reporting the truth, and this is a far cry from the truth.

Taking out a cigarette, Dean pinches it between his lips as he tries to spark his lighter. Click. Nothing. Click. Nothing. With a frustrated sigh, Dean crushes his cigarette in the ashtray and hurls his lighter against the wall. It doesn't leave a damn mark.

Fuming, Dean picks up the paper closest to him and tears it in half. He doesn't stop to think about why he's angry. He tells himself it's the slander. He tells himself they have no right to do this to him. He quickly pushes away the thought of how good it feels to finally be able to be angry about what they say about him. Really angry.

###

Jerry feels a lump form in the back of his throat. He knows what the papers say isn't true. He knows he and Dean did a good job—a great job, for heaven's sake! But still . . . other people might not know that. They might think they did a bad job. But what does he care about what they think? He doesn't know why, but he does care.

Swallowing his frustration, Jerry lights a cigarette. He can't let this get to him; not when Dean is so angry. He's gotta help him. Honestly, as much as Jerry wants to be as angry as Dean, he's a little bit shocked. This isn't like Dean at all, and he doesn't like this side of him.

He remembers back a few weeks ago when Keller was telling them about what really happened, and showing them the papers for the first time. Sure, Jerry had his own issues with the press hitting them below the belt like that, but it really unnerved him when he heard Dean exclaim, "We did the best show of our lives, and they run headlines like that!"

It wasn't exactly what he said—although that was odd, since Dean usually is the one to ignore those sorts of things— it was the way he said it. His face was twisted in anger, eyes blazing, and the words came out through clenched teeth. Jerry had felt like a kid who fell off his bike, and was looking up to his dad, searching for that comforting tone and soft caress, only to find eyes wide in panic and lips pressed tightly together.

The phone ringing pulls Jerry from his thoughts, and he reluctantly answers it. It's Keller. He's been trying to get in touch with Jerry for days. Jerry had been fine with no communication about work; it's called vacation for a reason.

"We've really got a problem here." Problem? What new problem could they possibly have? Oh. Dean.

Immediately after Keller hangs up, Jerry worriedly dials Dean's phone in L.A., chewing on the inside of his cheek.

"Hi, pallie." Dean's tone confirms everything Keller just told Jerry.

"Dean, please let it go. You're making this a very tough situation for us—" Jerry begins, but Dean cuts him off, his voice low and his words quick as he says, "Listen, pal, I've just begun."

"Come on, Paul, this isn't worth it."

"These scumbags can't get away with this shit! They're gonna be sorry they didn't go after Cohn and Schine instead of Martin and Lewis!" Dean's voice rises in uncharacteristic anger, and Jerry frowns, wondering. Wondering what to do to clean up Dean's mess. Wondering how to get Dean to see clearly. Wondering why this is making Dean so damn mad.

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Names: Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis

Year: 1954

Ages: 37 and 28

"Jerry?" Marilyn's voice is soft, distant, like she's not really talking to him.

"Yeah?" He glances away from the pool and to her beside him—she's wearing rolled up jeans and a white button up shirt, and he thinks it looks just beautiful on her. What wouldn't? She's gazing at him searchingly now, and says, a little stronger, "You're not dumb or . . . ugly."

"Thanks?" At the puzzled look on his face, Marilyn giggles softly, and adds, "No, that's not what I mean, it's just that, well, you make everyone think you are dumb and ugly, but you're not. You're not really the guy who makes funny faces and such. But you do it because you think that's what everyone else wants you to do."

Jerry glances away, cheeks burning. Those crystal eyes are too probing, too revealing. He looks down to the pool beneath his feet. The rippling surface is just splashes of ocean blue and lime green on which specks of light and shadow from the trees around them dance across. How does she know? Moreover, how can she blame him for that? Who wants to see the real Jerry Lewis? The Jerry Lewis who has opinions about everything. The Jerry Lewis who has worries about everything. The Jerry Lewis who's not so funny, and not so cool.