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New York. June 1961.
After Midge managed to get Hank a job as a bartender at the newly reopened Wolford, Dinah finds herself drifting over there after work most Friday evenings. The girls are friendly, and it turns out that the ham-fisted drunks who throw their money at the dancers don’t mind throwing a few extra dollars to the folks behind the bar, too, provided they keep the drinks coming like clockwork.
Dinah orders a cocktail and is watching Trixie’s latest routine when Hank comes over from behind the bar and stoops to kiss her on the cheek.
“There you are, I was just about to call you on my break."
“Didn’t I say I’d be over after work? You’d know that if you ever listened to me,” Dinah reminds him, taking a sip from her drink.
“No, I know that,” Hank tells her. “We’ve got a situation going on backstage, I think you might have to call your boss to come over here. You know how Boise is.”
“What’s going on?”
“You know that comedian who keeps getting arrested? Someone said he came here looking for your girl comedian, and he’s in a bad way.”
“Wait, do you mean Lenny Bruce?” Dinah asks.
“I wouldn’t say his name that loud,” Hank advises. “Like I said, he’s in rough shape.”
“Tell me exactly what happened.”
“Well, Bunny said he was asking for Midge, but she’s not here yet because she has the eleven o’clock slot, so him and a couple of the musicians went back into Boise’s office and locked the door, you know. And I guess he must have had too much, because those cats he was with split pretty quick. They don’t wanna get busted if the heat gotta show up.”
“You’re saying they just left him back there?”
“He’s a junkie, baby. He dug his own grave.”
“Hank, we will talk about that attitude later,” Dinah asserts, pointing her finger at him.
They both watch as one of the waitresses comes over from backstage and leans in to say something to another member of the waitstaff, shaking her head.
“Call Susie,” Hank repeats.
“I'm going to, but you should tell Boise that it would really not be good for business if they let one of the most famous comedians in the country die backstage," Dinah tells him, and charges towards payphones, hoping Susie hasn’t left yet for James’s set.
“What is it?” Susie answers.
“Susie, it’s Dinah. I’m at the Wolford –”
“You’re at the titty bar?” Susie asks. “Good for you, I guess.”
“I’m here to see Hank."
“Oh, come on, not him again.”
“You know Midge is the one who convinced Boise to give him a job here!”
“Midge thinks she’s helpful, she doesn’t realize how much productivity decreases when you’re arguing with him on the phone all day,” Susie complains.
“Okay, this is not what I called you about," Dinah says. "Midge is doing her set uptown right now, but she has a spot here after –”
“I know that. I’m the one who booked the fuckin’ spots.”
“Yes, but the problem is that Lenny Bruce is here and he’s… Sick,” Dinah says, casting a glance over her shoulder to see if anyone is around to overhear.
“Yeah, the papers have made that pretty clear.”
“No, Susie. He came here looking for Midge then went in the back with the musicians and took something he shouldn’t have kind of sick,” Dinah continues, lowering her voice. “Really bad, Hank said.”
“Oh, Christ.”
“And they just got this place up and running again,” Dinah laments.
“Why did you have to say it like that? He isn’t dead back there, is he?”
“What? No,” Dinah says quickly. “Well, I don’t think so. I think Hank would have led with that if that were the case. Boise is with him now trying to help him.”
"Shit,” Susie groans.
“I'm gonna go back there right after I hang up, I just thought I should let you know about this.”
"Thank you for that. You know, I was just sitting here wondering what else I could possibly worry about tonight, and a drug-addled Lenny Bruce was not on my fuckin' bingo card."
"I know. I didn't know him and Midge were that close, did you?"
"He's helped her out a few times, and I think he got her a ticket for his Carnegie gig. I don't know, I don't have the time anymore to keep track of all the places Midge whirls around to; she's like a fuckin' pinball."
"Yeah. Well, I guess I should go check on Boise and see if he's had a nervous breakdown yet."
“Hold on, did you see any depressed-looking housewives out there?” Susie asks.
“This is a strip club, Susie,” Dinah reminds her.
“Okay, can you ask the girls if they’ve lifted any pocketbooks of depressed-looking housewives lately? He needs Benzedrine, that shit they put in diet pills – and coffee – try to get him to drink some coffee. Jesus. I’m leaving here now, James is going to have to fend for himself tonight.”
Dinah finds Boise backstage carrying a bucket of ice, shooing the strippers away from his office, where several of the girls have huddled together in the hall, concernedly offering a number of unhelpful suggestions:
“You gotta do mouth-to-mouth on him, Boise.”
“Put some ice down his pants, that should wake him up.”
“I’m not going to do that,” Boise answers, shaking his head.
Several of the girls offer their ice-handling services at the same time, their voices overlapping with fragments of advice.
“Boise,” Dinah interrupts, stepping in front of him.
The stage manager turns to Dinah, quickly recognizing her from past dealings with Susie.
“Did you know Lenny Bruce has a surprisingly well-defined torso?” Boise asks.
“Um, I didn’t."
“I didn’t want to know that either,” Boise tells her. “But I do now, because your boss made me hire back Lenny Bruce’s girlfriend.”
“Midge is Lenny Bruce’s girlfriend?” Bubbles cuts in.
“Ah-ha, I was right!” Gloria exclaims, wheeling towards the dressing room to spread the news.
“I don’t know if that’s true,” Dinah levels.
“Well, he’s been mumbling apologies to her for the past thirty minutes, so make of that what you will,” Boise shrugs. “I’ve got to get some ice on this guy.”
“Wait – does anybody have any pills? I just talked to Susie, and she said that might help wake him up.”
“We can find some,” Trixie nods.
“Susie should be here massaging Lenny Bruce’s heart, not me,” Boise complains.
“Susie is on her way,” Dinah tells him.
“Thank Christ.”
Dinah sighs and turns to the group assembled by the door: “Can one of you girls make a pot of coffee?”
They have him upright and drinking a cup of coffee by the time Susie arrives, bursting into the office and quickly kicking the door shut behind her before anyone else can see him.
“Oh good, he’s alive. I was having a bitch of a time trying to figure out how we’d get his body out of here before Midge could see," Susie exclaims. She puts her hand on her chest as she catches her breath, and waves away the cup of coffee Dinah tries to offer her.
"Uh, no offense, Mr. Bruce," Susie amends.
“Mr. Bruce is my mother,” Lenny mumbles with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“Right. You want some more coffee?”
“You seen Midge?”
“He’s been asking that about every five minutes,” Boise adds.
“You two can get out of here," Susie says, nodding to Boise and Dinah.
“Do you want me to keep an eye out for her?” Dinah asks quietly.
“Yeah, try to head her off if you can."
“Got it.”
“Midge has a gig uptown,” Susie says, turning to Lenny after they have left. “You must have gotten your dates mixed up or something, I can see how that might happen.”
“No, listen," Lenny insists. "I know Midge is working here tonight, she told me that on… Tuesday,” he decides, squinting his eyes in concentration.
“You were with Midge on Tuesday? She told me had dinner with that blonde friend of hers on Tuesday.”
“Yeah,” he nods. “Midge came over and cooked dinner… Ah... Housewarming, she said. I played her some records... We had a bottle of wine. And I made breakfast before she went to work.”
“Midge stayed the night at your place,” Susie repeats slowly.
“She said she's doing a set here to test her new material."
“Hold on a minute, the two of you are –”
“Oops,” Lenny interjects.
“Are you kidding me? You are, right? Please tell me you’re joking, and that this is some sort of drug-induced fantasy,” Susie pleads.
“Uh, I’m not really known for telling jokes,” Lenny replies, scratching his ear.
“Jesus – she’s on network fucking television! She’s supposed to be with inoffensive pretty boys like Gordon Ford, not the most notorious comedian in the goddamn country.”
"Look, man, I told her that. I’m hip to a woman’s prerogative.”
“Holy fuck,” Susie mutters.
"No, really... I, uh...Promised her we’d keep this quiet," Lenny explains. He finds he is sobering rather more quickly than he would have liked for this conversation. “I thought you knew already.”
“No, she didn’t tell me, because she knows I would tell her she’s out of her fucking mind,” Susie exclaims. “Again – no offense.”
“Mm, sure."
“Does she know about this?” Susie asks, gesturing to his general state of dishevelment.
Lenny follows her gaze and notices with surprise that his tie is gone, along with his suit jacket, and half of the buttons on his shirt are undone for some reason.
“Uh, she does," Lenny nods.
He stops and backtracks after the incredulous look Susie gives him in response.
“Okay, yeah, maybe not the extent of it,” Lenny tells her, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. “She knows, but she doesn’t really know.”
“Believe me, I am well-versed in that woman’s power of delusion. She doesn’t know, because she doesn’t want to know, because she lives in a fucking fairytale.”
“Am I the prince in this fairytale?” Lenny asks.
“You’re the fuckin’ dragon, pal."
“You know, your bedside manner could really use some work."
“Yeah, I get that a lot," Susie agrees.
Lenny sighs and checks his pockets before casting a forlorn glance around the room.
“Listen,” he says heavily, “Could you…”
Susie hands him a cigarette and lights it for him. His sleeves are rolled up, and when he reaches for the cigarette Susie catches a glimpse of the inside of his arm in the movement, revealing a mess of purples and blues. She notices that the fabric of his shirt is sticking to the bloody patches at the crook of his elbow, and she can't stop herself from wincing.
“Jesus. Did a blind man do that to you?”
“Oh, uh – I’m not very good,” Lenny admits sheepishly. He puts his cigarette between his lips and hurriedly rolls down his sleeves. “My hands shake.”
He has never admitted that he is an addict. He would give anything not to. As he is buttoning his cuffs, he remembers something that Charlie, one of the musicians, had said to him earlier that night when they were about to fix. Charlie had whistled when he saw the livid red marks inside his arm and asked him: “Hell, why don’t you shoot up that other vein? The one you’re using hurts like a bitch; I never use it.”
“I don’t know. I always go here,” he told him.
“You white boys always gotta suffer, don’t you?”
“Man, I’m Jewish. I was taught at a very young that every moment of pleasure comes at a price.”
Charlie had laughed and shook his head, not knowing how much he meant it.
“How bad is it?” Susie asks.
Lenny takes a deep drag and holds in the smoke as he deliberates his answer. He doesn’t bother wondering how he ends up getting himself into these situations anymore; the challenge of finding his way out of a tight spot sends through him the same rush of adrenaline he gets from a fix, a spotlight, or a good fuck.
“Nearing the edge of as bad as it gets,” he concedes.
“Yeah,” Susie nods. “So, there’s that, and there’s the press factor. Great.”
“I’m telling you, no one knows."
“Do the two of you really think you can just casually date and mosey on down to a club together without people talking? You know this business a hell of a lot better than her, Lenny. This is the last thing she needs right now.”
“If it helps at all, I wouldn’t exactly call it casual,” Lenny mumbles from behind his cigarette.
“Do not explain what that means,” Susie says, holding out a hand to stop him. “Drink some more coffee. Do a couple laps around the room if you want. Then I suggest you get the hell out of here before Midge shows up – she shouldn’t see you like this.”
“No,” Lenny agrees.
He takes another drag and gets up heavily, rubbing his eyes through the smoke. “I want to say – I didn’t… Plan for tonight to end up like this." He stops and clears his throat, a pained expression overtaking his already weary features. “I’ve been trying to kick… Then some of the guys from the band offered me a taste, you know, and there it goes.”
“Sure. There it goes."
Lenny nods and turns to leave. He’s got that kicked puppy look to him, stuck down there in the depths of his vices. As much as Susie disapproves of Midge getting involved, she can’t find it in her to pile on to the damage he has already done to himself, and will no doubt continue to do.
“Did you come here without a jacket or tie?”
“Huh, you know, I didn't. I must have left my jacket back at the table.”
He doesn’t comment on the tie. His gaze flicks down to his right arm and then away from Susie’s face. He has some idea of where his tie went, one of the musicians had tied off his arm for him with it so he could fix, and he figures they took it off him for the next person to use after he was done.
“Hang on,” Susie says. “I’ll have Dinah get it for you. There should be a first aid kit in the storage closet there under all the boas and tassels and fuckin' glitter. You can clean yourself up a bit.”
Susie gets to her feet, struggling to find the right words for a delicate situation.
“Look... I’ll – I’ll tell Midge you stopped by.”
Lenny arches an eyebrow. "You will?"
“Well, she’s expecting you, isn’t she? I’m not gonna tell her about this,” Susie adds, waving her hand. “I’ll tell her some other shit, you know, like you came by looking for her and some fans were bugging you so you had to split. That way she can get through her set without freaking out… But after that, you know, you’re on your own.”
“Right,” Lenny nods. “Thanks.”
He reaches for the coffee cup and sinks back into one of the chairs. There is something painfully vulnerable in his posture, that makes Susie stop with her hand on the doorknob.
“Hey. I do hope you get yourself straightened out,” Susie tells him. “And not just for Midge’s sake, or my own goddamn sanity… Every fuckin’ comic in this business is going to be in debt to you for the path you’re clearing, I know it.”
“In that case, I’ll accept my reparations by cash or check.”
“Consider this my contribution,” Susie tells him. “I’ll send Dinah over with your jacket.”
When Midge shows up at the Wolford, she is buzzing with energy from her set uptown and in high spirits after a good gig. She stops to say hello to Dinah and Hank, who both give her a muted reaction, which she chalks up to their usual bickering, and hurries backstage. She has her comedy notebook out and is thinking about how she's going to touch up one of her new bits when she finds Susie sitting in one of the armchairs outside of the dressing room, staring morosely into her drink.
“Well, this is a nice surprise,” Midge says.
“Nice, yeah.” Susie nods. “Thought I’d stop by to say hello.”
“I’m flattered,” Midge beams.
Susie takes a long sip from her drink and doesn’t respond. Reticence seems to be the general order of the day, Midge thinks.
“So, how’s the crowd been?”
“Couldn’t tell you.”
“Oh,” Midge frowns. “Well, my first show went pretty well, I hit a couple of snags with the phrasing in the middle, but I think I’ve almost got it figured out.”
"Great, that's great."
"Are you okay? You seem kind of weird."
"Do I?" Susie asks.
"Yes," Midge confirms.
"Yeah. You know, I had an interesting encounter with Lenny Bruce," Susie tells her. "I gotta say, I was pretty surprised to see him here. Then I asked around, and some of the girls said he’s stopped by a couple of times, and not for their show; they made their bitterness about that very clear, let me tell you. They said he's been coming here to see you.”
"Lenny’s here?” Midge asks.
Susie watches her expression brighten at the mention of his name and feels the futile hope that Lenny was exaggerating their involvement quickly diminish. The look on Midge's face isn't one of nonchalant romance. The tenderness in her eyes is almost palpable.
“No, he had to go. He wasn’t feeling too hot. He’s sick. Did you know that?”
“Yes, I think I may have heard that mentioned once or twice.”
“Maybe you should bring him some soup,” Susie suggests. “That’ll fix him, right? You getting involved with him, that’s definitely going to help. Never mind the effect it might have on your reputation, let alone the career that you are just starting to get off the ground.”
“Hey,” Midge objects.
“Lenny fucking Bruce,” Susie utters, staring up at the ceiling. “It had to be him… And just when exactly were you planning on letting me in on this very poorly kept secret?”
“What did he say to you?”
“He didn’t have to say anything, why the hell else would he be in a place like this if it weren’t for a very fucking specific reason?”
“Maybe he likes the ambiance."
Susie gives her a stern look and Midge relents.
“I know,” Midge says. “I know I should have told you – I just... We’ve only just gotten around to admitting what’s going on ourselves.”
“You don’t know,” Susie insists. “That’s the problem.”
Susie sighs and finishes the rest of her drink. The strippers flowing past them between acts are shooting furtive looks over at Midge. She has paid off every single one of them to not speak a word to Midge about what had happened with Lenny tonight. “You’re serious about this," she observes.
“I am."
“All right," Susie nods.
Midge crosses her arms and furrows her brow, considering her manager.
“Is he really sick, or did you scare him away?”
“No, he is sick. It turns out the rumors are true, who would have guessed?”
“Susie, what happened?”
“Nothing. Go and get ready for your set,” Susie tells her, and waves her away.
The following afternoon Midge makes homemade soup and heaves it across town to the place Lenny rented in the East Village. She tries knocking and calls his name a few times, and when he doesn't respond, she shifts the pot of soup in her arms and tries the door, which swings open unlocked.
It’s only been a few days since she was at his place last, but she is slightly taken aback by the presentation of masculine disarray – his discarded trench coat draped over a chair, old newspapers, a pile of unopened mail on the kitchen table, empty glasses and bottles, ashtrays overflowing with a crumpled carton of cigarettes next to them.
“Lenny, I let myself in,” Midge calls. “This pot is really heavy.”
“You brought me pot?” Lenny inquires, emerging from the bathroom in just his trousers and an undershirt, a towel draped over his shoulder. “How thoughtful.”
While Midge is putting the pot down on the table he looks over his shoulder to the bathroom, double-checking that he put away the blemish removal cream he had been applying to the needle marks on his arm when she knocked.
“I brought you a pot of soup,” Midge corrects. “Susie said you were sick.”
“Yeah? Sounds like Susie’s been reading the papers,” Lenny chuckles.
“What?”
Lenny crosses the kitchen and kisses her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "I'm fine," he assures her. "But I appreciate the soup all the same. You are lovely."
“Thank you," Midge smiles.
He kisses her again, soft and thoughtful, and Midge melts into his embrace. It's only when his hands slip along her body to cup her ass that she remembers why she came in the first place.
"Hold on," Midge says, "Why the hell did Susie tell me to make soup for you?"
"Maybe she wanted some," Lenny shrugs.
"Did she say anything to you about soup?"
"No," Lenny laughs. "I can't say it came up."
“What the hell happened last night? Susie said she saw you at the club and one of the dancers told her you've been there a few times to see me."
"Jesus, the strippers copped out? What the hell happened to solidarity among performers?" Lenny wonders.
He smiles, but Midge doesn't laugh.
"You know, she put two and two together," Midge tells him.
"Oh," Lenny says. He shoves his hands into his pockets and shrugs. “Well, she was going to have to find out eventually."
"Why did Susie say you were sick?" Midge asks.
Lenny's face darkens, and he leans back against the counter. "Midge..." he says weakly. He finds he can't look her in the eye.
“Susie knows," Midge insists. "Shouldn’t I get to know too?”
“Sweetheart, Susie didn’t learn anything she didn’t already know. And neither will you.”
She had resolved to keep this part of him separate from her – the drinking, the drugs, the toll they have clearly taken on him. They haven’t talked about it, the elephant in the room; not after the night at the Mayflower or any of the nights that had followed. Lenny appreciated her commitment to the bit; she didn’t ask him to be the Upper West Side boyfriend, she didn’t ask him about the needles he stuck in his arms, she didn’t ask him for anything. And she had been content to follow that pattern, until last night. Something about the look Susie had given her when they were talking about Lenny didn’t sit right with her. She was used to the people around her acting like they knew more than she did; it was often true, but she thought it probably shouldn’t be the case with the person she was sleeping with.
“Are we going to have this conversation?” Midge asks.
“Personally, I’d prefer any other topic in the world – you pick.”
“Lenny.”
The exasperation in her tone makes him look at her again. He throws his towel over the back of a kitchen chair and nods, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck.
“I’m sorry I didn’t make it for your set,” Lenny starts, and she can tell he means it, his eyes shining with sincerity. “I got to talking with some of the musicians – I worked with this one cat Charlie a few times when I was starting out, back when I was working to the band because they were the only ones in the place who’d dig it. We got a little carried away with the revelry, and Susie rightly suggested that we take our party elsewhere.”
“I was worried, Lenny. I had half a mind to search the village for you in case you decided to make a sidewalk your bed again.”
“Oh, no, I save that little trick for special occasions only," Lenny tells her.
Midge scoffs, and Lenny takes a step closer and puts his hand under her chin, raising her head to look at him. Up close, Midge can't avoid the intensity of his gaze. She hadn't been surprised when he wasn't there for her set, their intimacy had been founded on uncertainty and serendipitous encounters, but she wasn't prepared for the dark places her mind had immediately gone.
“I really am sorry about last night," Lenny says. "You have enough on your plate as it is, never mind worrying about me.”
"It's a little late for that."
Lenny's fingers brush across her cheek. He leans in and kisses her, leaning his forehead against hers when they break apart.
"Thank you for the soup. And the concern. I want to give you less to worry about, not more."
Midge sighs. "There's a lot about you that I don't know anything about."
Lenny sets his jaw and nods. His eyes drop to the floor for a moment before he can summon up the courage to look at her again.
"I promise you, I'm working on it."
Midge hears the echo of his words at The Mayflower, all is well. She chooses to believe him.
“Good."
“I’ll just have to direct my energy to other pursuits,” Lenny suggests.
He’s smiling when he kisses her again. He smells like soap and mint, all evidence of last night’s sins erased by a long shower and a tube of blemish removal cream. His hands go to her waist, pulling her up against him firmly. He drops his head to kiss her neck and murmurs against her perfumed skin, “I’ll make it up to you, baby.”
“Oh, I believe that,” Midge laughs. “Although I have to admit, I’ve been daydreaming about the sounds you made when I gave you head the other night.”
Lenny's eyes flash to hers, a smile spreading across his face. Her words stun him for a moment. The rush of blood to his groin almost makes him feel lightheaded.
"Well, I think we can do something about that," he manages to say.
He kisses her deeply and pulls her by the hand into his bedroom, only too happy to let her push him back against the mattress.
Later, sitting up against the headboard while Midge dozes contentedly next to him, Lenny feels the guilt of last night boiling up inside of him. She wouldn’t say it, but he knows he let her down – let himself down, too, but he was used to that part. He finds himself combing back through the years; the lonely, unhappy childhood he has never been able to outrun, his father’s absence, both of his parents choosing their careers or other partners over raising him, sending him bouncing from one relative’s house to the next. He suddenly wants to explain it all to Midge, to tell her about working on the farm in Wantagh, the fear and drudgery of his time in the Navy, the tumultuous years with Honey – to try to make her understand how he arrived at this place, how his life has taken these turns.
Lenny trails his fingertips along her bare back, savoring the sweet, sleepy sound of approval she makes in response.
“Midge.”
“Mm-hm.”
“I don’t want you to feel like you don’t know me,” he admits.
Midge rolls over and props herself up on an elbow to look at him. Her face is clouded with confusion. He pauses for a moment, wrestling with what to say. Midge has heard his acts over the years, and seen what he was like when he was strung out and panicked; she is well aware of the unsavory parts of him, but she was still next to him, in his bed.
“I wasn't exactly lucid when Susie saw me last night,” Lenny tells her. “I mean, I was pretty out of my nut for a while there.”
He refrains from mentioning that Boise said he thought his heart had stopped beating at one point. He doesn't want to scare her any more than he already has.
"You mean that's why she said you were sick?" Midge asks, sitting up.
"Yeah, I guess," Lenny says, scrubbing his hand over his face. "I mean, I was. That's what got me into this mess in the first place."
Midge's brow furrows. "What do you mean?"
“Uh, I got sick in the war..."
“You were in the war?”
“Three years and four invasions with the Navy.”
Midge's brow furrows more deeply. Lenny can see her trying to do the mental math and realizes he's probably never told her how old he is.
"I was sixteen when I joined up," he offers.
“I’ve never heard you mention it,” Midge says.
"You can't sit around and talk about it," Lenny shakes his head. "You have to go on with your life, you know?"
Midge puts her hand over his, grounding him for a moment. There are images from those years that flash into his mind with crystal clarity, unaffected by the great lengths he went through to numb himself to them or the passage of time.
“Well, I survived... I saw a lot of people who can’t say the same." He squeezes her hand and reaches for his cigarettes, distracting himself with the familiar motions. “The stuff they gave me when I was sick – I got hooked on it, the way it made me feel. And it was good until I found worse.”
“Is that… That night I found you on that sidewalk?”
"I had too much. Any other time I was with you, I swear I wasn’t –” Lenny stops. He can’t finish the sentence. “I was really trying to get clean when I was out west. But last night, uh.”
“Lenny, if being in New York isn’t good for you –”
“Baby, it’s not that simple.”
He passes her his cigarette, watching the fierceness in her gaze flicker with uncertainty.
“This is my job, my life,” Lenny explains. “No matter where I go, that temptation is always going to be there. I’ve got this thorn dug in so fuckin’ deeply...”
“We can figure this out,” Midge declares. She puffs on the cigarette almost defiantly, her mind racing ahead of her. “I’ll talk to Susie. I’ll go to the library. I’ll ask my father – obviously, I won’t mention your name, he was a mathematician and now he’s a theatre critic for The Village Voice if you can believe it, but he’ll know some book that can help you I bet.”
Lenny doesn’t want to look like he’s laughing in a serious moment, but it’s a fault that has followed him all his life, he can’t stop the smile that spreads across his face. Midge Maisel, naked in his bed, her fingers tangling determinedly into the sheet across her lap; completely unaware of how gorgeous she looks in this moment, stubbornly fighting to figure out some sort of a solution.
“Midge,” Lenny says gently.
He plucks the cigarette from her slender fingers and puts it out in the ashtray on his nightstand.
“Yeah?”
“You know I’m crazy about you, right?”
“I had a hunch,” Midge confesses. She cups her hand beneath his jaw and kisses him, keeping their faces close together after they part. “I happen to share a similar affliction.”
“I don’t know if I can figure this out, but I’m trying. I’m trying to be better.”
“You can,” Midge reassures him, not knowing what it means as the words leave her mouth. “You have to promise to believe me when I say you’re not alone in this fight.”
“Yeah, I hear you.”
“I mean it. If I get hit by a bus tomorrow, I will come back as a ghost and haunt you for the rest of your life so that you never, ever forget it.”
“Oh, that’s great, now I have the perfect excuse for why I’m going to keep you in bed all day tomorrow,” Lenny grins.
They are both laughing as he pulls her close, tangling their bodies together again beneath the sheet.