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He stumbled upon Washington Square Park at an hour that was either extremely late or incredibly early, depending on one's perspective. When the light was still blue, and the only people in sight were the deliverymen and last night's drunks. As a comic, Lenny was no stranger to this time of night—or was it morning?—and like a vampire, he was headed back to shelter, praying to God he made it before the sun came up. For it only felt truly wrong if he stayed awake long enough to witness the next day's sun rising.
Where the fuck were all the taxis anyway?
He cut through the park, hoping he'd have better luck on the north side, and had the misfortune of spotting two cops on patrol. Maybe he knew them, maybe he didn't. Either way, it was too late to turn and scurry away, so he kept walking like he was a man on an important mission. Collar up, head down, he discretely passed them at a brisk pace. Not that he had been doing anything overtly wrong, but when you had a face that had been on TV and a reputation like his...well, suffice to say that cops tended to ask questions.
The fountain was in sight, and the road he sought was just beyond that. However, thoughts of finding a cab were abandoned when a strange scene played out in front of him. He stopped a few yards away and cocked his head as he took it all in—and then pondered if he was more stoned than he realized. It was too unbelievable to be real, and yet too impossible to be a dream. His brain could never have imagined that.
Like, if someone had locked him in a shed with a case of booze, a pound of cocaine, and several notebooks, and then asked him to write down all of the scenarios in which he would see Midge again, he still wouldn't have arrived at this scene.
Had he missed her? Maybe a little. It wasn't as if Florida had suddenly become a miserable place when she left or anything. It had always been miserable. All those bright colors, and that fucking sun especially, deeply offended a creature of the night like him. But it had changed, and miserable somehow became intolerable without her there to laugh with.
A general retreat back north had therefore been in order. Though, frankly, he should have given serious consideration to staying in the sunshine state until the end of her tour. Because since being back in New York, her voice had followed him everywhere.
Fucking everywhere.
The first time he heard her, he was in a cab and thought he was having an auditory hallucination. It took a moment before he realized that it was just her voice on the radio, trying to sell him some hosiery. But it hadn't stopped there. He heard her in a bar, in the barbershop, and all the way out on Long Island when he'd gone to visit family. Without thinking, he'd mentioned to his mother, “I know her,” and then had to endure the questions that followed.
Last week, when he hadn't been able to sleep, he turned on the radio in the hope of hearing her voice on purpose. It had not been a good night.
Had he missed her? Maybe a lot more than a little.
And now Midge was there, in corporeal form, several yards in front of him. He knew it was her because her profile was intimately familiar to him—having studiously memorized every inch of it that she'd allowed him to thus far. But the clothes...they were all wrong. She was dressed like her vertically challenged manager, except in heels. And pajamas.
He didn't know what it said about their relationship that pajamas weren't even an out of the ordinary thing for her to be wearing during a chance encounter. He did doubt that they were her regular Village attire, however. So, while the pajamas were probably not indicative of anything good, they weren't what was strange about the scene. What he couldn't comprehend for the life of him, was why she was trying to beat the lamppost into submission with a newspaper.
He blinked. Yep, that was definitely what she was doing.
He was pretty sure that if he was merely imagining Midge, he would have had the good sense to picture something better. Like her arguing with the newsstand vendor and then smiling when she turned because she was happy to see him. Or her throwing her arms around his neck in a hug, and then telling him how much she had missed him.
Funny how that was where his mind went most of the time when he thought about her. He could get sex anywhere, but this thing he had with Midge...the end goal wasn't to get her into his bed. It went beyond that. He wanted to spend time with her, and joke and tease, and hold her while they danced.
Jesus Christ. Who knew he was such a romantic?
He sidled up to Midge unnoticed. “I get frustrated by the crossword too, but that's no reason to take it out on the lamp.”
The hand holding the newspaper dropped to her side, but she didn't turn to face him. Instead, she laughed.
It was not a happy sound. No one who was in their right mind laughed like that. If he wasn't worried before, he certainly was now.
“I thought you were in Florida,” she said, all trace of mirth suddenly gone.
“I was. Now I'm here,” he replied. “Aren't you supposed to be in Europe?”
It was the wrong thing to ask because she let out a roar of frustration and went back to assaulting the lamp.
“Fucking Shy--” whack “--fucking Baldwin--” whack “--fucking fucking fired me!” Whack, whack, whack.
That explained the attempted destruction of public property, he supposed. Lenny looked around for the cops. Maybe he was paranoid, but he expected to see them come running, handcuffs at the ready.
“Yes, that is bad, and probably warrants taking out your frustration on an inanimate object,” he conceded. “But getting yourself thrown in jail is no way to stick it to the man. Besides, the lamppost is innocent in all this.”
She stopped, slumped forward, and rested her forehead against the aforementioned post. “You should see what I did to the cab.”
He wasn't even going to pretend to understand what that meant. “One lost job and you're ready to trade in comedy for a life of vandalism?”
“Why is it always you, Lenny?”
He shrugged, baffled. “I don't know. Why is it always me?”
She finally turned to him. “You always show up when I'm at my worst—”
“I have seen you at your best too, so it kind of evens out.”
“—and in my pajamas—”
“Next time I'll wear mine, I promise.”
“—and when I need you the most.”
Ah. Something about that last statement made him happy. Not Midge's misery, but the fact that he could be there for her. That he was 'a guy that did that kind of thing', if only for one woman. Happy that she let him.
“Well,” he said, “You have a habit of doing that to me too. Steve Allen's show comes to mind.” He never told her how much it had meant that she had provided much needed moral support for him that day, but the flowers had hopefully clued her in.
They shared an intimate look in which nothing was said, but everything was understood. Call it fate, or destiny, or part of God's grand plan, but some force of the universe wanted to make sure that their paths kept crossing. He hadn't known her that long, not relatively speaking, but he also couldn't imagine a life that didn't have her in it now. He didn't know what to do with that feeling—he had no words for it.
But in that soft blue light, in a place where neither of them should have been, if normal societal conventions were adhered to, he thought she looked like she felt the same. Some day, he might be able to tell her in actual words, but until then, he might have to put a florist on retainer.
“I take it that you just found out about this, uh, change in employment?” he asked.
“A few hours ago, when I was standing on the tarmac about to board the plane.”
“Ouch.”
She slapped the battered newspaper against his chest. “Here, you can read all about my replacement in this morning's paper.”
He looked down at the open page and his eyebrows rose. “Jack Ballard? Didn't he retire after that communism scandal in '56?”
“Maybe he's been touring around Europe with his comrades.” She took the paper back and started pacing. “You realize this means that they knew. They knew, and they made me drive all the way out there anyway. They planned this. They wanted to humiliate me.”
“Yes.” It was a shitty thing for them to do, but it also could've been a lot worse. He was smart enough not to point that out, however.
It looked like she was winding up for a tirade, but then the bravado left her and her shoulders sagged. In a small voice that was very much not Mrs. Maisel, she said, “I thought he was my friend. I messed up.”
He didn't know the details, but he could guess. It wasn't always easy to find the line of what should and shouldn't become part of the act when it felt like everything in your life was fair game. Combined with that was the fact that most of the people who closely surrounded you in the business were not actually your friends. It was a hard lesson to learn, but a mistake generally only made once.
The dejected look on Midge's face tore at his half-shriveled heart, so Lenny did something uncharacteristic and pulled her into a hug. He wasn't sure until he had her against his chest that it was the right move, but when her arms tightened around him like he was a life preserver in choppy seas, he felt like her goddamn savior or something.
“It's going to be okay,” he said softly, in a voice that was not at all Lenny Bruce.
She had said those words to him once, and at the time, he hadn't quite grasped how she could say them with any amount of conviction. But now that he was on the other side of it, he understood. It would be okay because it was Midge. She would find a way to recover from her misstep and turn out stronger for it.
Unconditional support and unwavering faith. That was how their relationship worked. What a rare thing to have found. Especially in their line of work.
“I'm feeling very sorry for myself,” Midge said.
That made him smile, though she couldn't see it. Apparently, he wasn't the only one thinking about that night in the despicable bar. “This is me trying to make you feel better. Is it working?”
“Don't let go and we might find out,” she murmured against his chest.
Fine by him. He'd keep her close forever if she'd let him. But eventually one of them would have to take a piss, and then it would get awkward. “What are we going to do if both of us ever have a breakdown at the same time?”
“Not allowed,” she said. “We'll coordinate schedules to make sure it doesn't happen.”
“You get the even days and Yom Kippur—”
“Obviously.”
“—and I'll take the odd days and Thanksgiving.”
“What about Passover?”
“We'll swap every other year.”
He felt her relax against him. “Say it again.”
He rubbed her back through the leather coat. “You're going to be okay. A year from now we'll look back on this and laugh.”
“I want to believe you.”
Then he was going to do everything in his power to make it come true.
Eventually, she let him go.
“Thank you.”
“Any time.”
They both looked around, as if suddenly cognizant of where they were standing. The sky was getting brighter, and more people were bustling about.
“I should probably get back,” Midge said.
“To your tent?”
Her brow furrowed.
“I assume that because you're between places, and you're here in your pajamas, that you're camping out in the park now.”
She gave him a look that told him exactly what she thought about his assumption. “I'm staying at the Gaslight.”
“You say that like that's somehow better.”
“It's just for tonight,” she assured him. “I bought my old apartment back and—oh god, I bought my old apartment back, and now Moishe is going to kill me because I borrowed— Nope. I really don't want to think about that right now.”
He placed a hand on her arm and gently steered her away from the lamppost, lest she start battering it again. “C'mon, I'll walk you home.” He gestured, and they left the park in the general direction of the Gaslight.
“Ugh, the sun's almost up.”
He grinned. “Yes, time for us to return to our crypts for the day.”
“We have very weird lives, Lenny.”
“I did try to warn you.”
“Did you?” she teased. “I only remember the part where you came back to ask the woman you'd just met for twenty bucks.”
“And she handed it over to a known criminal without hesitation. That says more about her than it does me.”
“Maybe she thought you were charming.”
He nodded. “I did worry that she was going to try to get in the cab with me.”
“That would've been an awkward ride. You sandwiched between your wife and your comedy wife.”
No kidding. “That reminds me, tell me about this cab that you did nefarious things to.”
“Oh, you know how it is. You're on your way home from the airport, you lose your mind, and the next thing you know, you're telling the driver to pull over so that you can beat the shit out of his car with a tree branch.”
“And when you say tree branch...”
“I mean a big fucking branch, pine needles and everything. It was basically a small tree. And I wielded that sucker like I was a cave woman killing her dinner.”
A delightful image formed in his head of Midge in a leopard-fur bikini. “I'm sorry I missed that.”
“Then you're going to be really sorry when you hear that I was in my underwear the whole time.”
He laughed loudly, then realized she hadn't joined him. “Oh, shit, you're serious?”
“I am. I started stripping in the cab and finished right there on the street. I threw my hat and clothes right out the window.” She mimed the action with her hands.
The tree branch he believed, but this was too much. “You?” He pointed at her. “Threw away clothing?”
“I know,” she said like she couldn't believe it either. “But I didn't want any reminders of what happened at the airport. Susie literally had to slap some sense into me and force me back into the cab.”
“And so you stole her clothes in revenge?”
She held out her arms and did a twirl. “What do you think? It's part of my new 'I don't give a fuck' look.”
He gave her an appraising look. “Oh, yes, the curlers are an especially nice touch. They really do things for me.”
“Sexy, right?”
He took her hand and put his other on her waist, and they danced a few steps. “Sweetheart, I think you'd look beautiful in anything.” He said it with just enough humor that she could interpret it however she wanted. Then he let her go.
“Lenny...” She looked away in an abysmal attempt to hide her blush.
She had taken it literally. Good. Because he had meant it.
When she looked back, she had recovered. “Want to hear something funny?”
“Always.”
“When I was married, I used to—you know what? Never mind. If I tell you that story you'll just make fun of me.”
“Midge, I'm a comedian, that's what I do. And telling me to forget it only makes me want to know it more.” He flashed her a charming smile.
“I hate that smile,” she said shaking her head, but there was no malice in her words, and her eyes held a certain fondness.
“Why?” he teased.
“That smile,” she emphasized by poking his chest, “could charm the pants off a snake.”
He didn't think that was how the expression went, but he ran with it anyway. “And how exactly are you imagining that the snake is wearing these pants? Is it one long tube, like a single pant leg? Or is it just the bottom half, held up by tiny suspenders?”
“One long tube, held on by a belt. And he wears a shoe at the end.”
“Shirt and tie?” he asked.
“Of course. He's a very well-dressed snake.”
They shared a laugh, which earned them a look from a passing pedestrian.
“If you must know...”
He nodded enthusiastically. “I must.”
She sighed. “I used to wait until Joel was asleep, then I slipped out of bed, took my make up off, and put my hair up in curlers. Then I'd wake up before him in the morning and do it all in reverse. I'd get back into bed, and pretend to be asleep so that when he woke up I'd look perfect.”
Good God, it was worse than he'd imagined. “Every day?”
She nodded. “For five years. He never once saw me like this.” She gestured to her makeup free face. “Never got to see the sexy curlers.”
A part of him enjoyed knowing that he was seeing a side of her, vulnerable and real, that she hadn't even shared with her husband. Silly of him, yes. But even still, he couldn't find the humor in her admission.
Instead, he said the first thought that came to mind. “That must have been exhausting.”
She paused, brow crinkled, and considered this for what was possibly the first time. “It was. And I was prepared to do it all over again with Benjamin...” Then she turned to him with a smile that was fake. “Aren't you going to crack a joke and tell me what an idiot I was?”
The only idiot was her ex for not realizing how much effort she went through for him. And then not appreciating or deserving any of it. “Nope.”
They stopped to let a car pass before crossing the street.
“I wouldn't do it with you,” she said, once they'd made it to the other side. Maybe she had only just figured out that she didn't need to. “I'd let you see all of my warts.”
In essence she was promising to be honest with him—share the good and the bad. He wanted to reciprocate, but they were circling too close to feelings unspoken. If he didn't pull back, and keep it light, he risked scaring her off.
“Oh, you have warts? Good to know. Myself, I have a vestigial tail that I wasn't sure how to tell you about.”
Her face erupted in a grin, a real one this time. “You do not.”
He shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”
“Yes, but if I take your pants off here, we'll both get arrested again.”
“It might be worth it.”
“Nope. When I take your pants off, you're not going to want any interruptions.”
“This is true.”
They let that hang in the air between them. Both perhaps remembering their last stroll in the blue hour, and how it had almost ended. He wondered if she thought about the what ifs. What if she had come in? What if she had stayed the night?
Maybe it hadn't been the right moment then, and they had both known that. But someday... Someday, man, the stars would align, and it was going to be magical.
Until then, he was content to continue on the slow path.
He nudged her arm. “Hey, did I mention that I caught some of your work recently?”
She looked confused. “No, you didn't. Where—”
“I thought it was good,” he said. “So good. Soooooo good.”
She shrieked and gave him a playful shove. “Asshole. I thought you were being serious.”
He bit his thumb to hold back his grin. “Whatever pays the bills, right?”
“I wish,” she replied. “They paid me in tampons and pancake syrup.”
He let that process for a moment. “...As in, together?”
“No,” she laughed. “For two different jobs.”
“Oh, okay, for a second there, I was worried there was some kind of cross-promotion I wasn't aware of. But you know, next time, I'd ask for money. It's a more universally accepted currency.”
“You're telling me. The exchange rate on tampons is a killer. A box of forty won't even buy you a cup of coffee these days.”
“I'm sure there's a joke in there,” he said, “But I'm not going to touch it.”
“That's probably wise.”
Finally, the Gaslight was in sight.
“Well, this is me,” she said.
“So it is.”
“Lenny?”
“Yes?”
“Are we friends?” she asked. “I thought...I mean, I thought—but recent events have made me question, well, a lot of things. And if we're not, then please just tell me now.”
The truth was, he didn't know what they were. In the sense that she meant, sure, they were friends. But they were also so much more. Calling them just 'friends' didn't describe the depth and nuance of what they had.
He took her hand in his. “Do you remember how I introduced you on Brye Adler's show?”
“Yes, but that was an act,” she replied.
“Was it?” Hadn't he told the world, or at least the small part of it that had tuned into Miami After Dark, that he was there with someone he loved dearly?
“Wasn't it?”
He wished she would hurry up and catch up to him. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “We're friends, Midge. No worries. Honest to goodness 'I'd take a bullet for you' kind of friends.”
It was meant to be reassuring, but something about his declaration turned her contemplative.
“You'd take a bullet for me?” she asked.
He let go of her hand. “The bullet was metaphorical, but, yes, if I saw one headed towards you? I'd jump in the way. Make the heroic sacrifice.” Her life was worth more than his anyway. “What's the matter? Are there snipers on the loose in Manhattan that I'm not aware of?”
She shook her head to clear her thoughts and then smiled up at him. “Just something my father told me once. He said that I should pick my friends as if there was a war going on.”
“Ah. Good advice. I'd listen to him if I were you.”
Her smile grew, but she bit it back. As if she was trying not to laugh at a joke that only she knew the punchline to.
“Clearly, I'm missing something here,” he said.
“I'll tell you someday.” She looked at the door and then back at him. “Are you in town for a while?”
Unfortunately, he was leaving the next day. It seemed that though fate had ensured that their paths kept crossing, they were doomed to never be docked in the same port for very long. “I have to head out for a few weeks,” he told her. “But then I'll be back.”
“Call me when you are so that we can grab dinner?”
He shook his head with a grin. “Nope. You know me. I prefer the sneak attack. I'm going to show up when and where you least expect it.”
“What, like at temple?”
He laughed. “That would be unexpected,” he conceded. “But now you're expecting that, so no. Someplace else.”
“I look forward to it,” she said sincerely.
So did he. “Then it's a date.”
That earned him another smile, and then she went up on her toes and put her arms around his neck. On the way back down, she kissed his cheek.
“Good night, Lenny.”
“Good morning, Midge.”