Chapter Text
In summer’s heat, I learned to dread, the comin’ of the night
The awful things we do to make the head go quiet
You’d press your body to the concrete when you were small
The rains of winter seemed to never leave the walls“Uiscefhuaraithe”
Las Vegas—February, 1967
“You’re sure people know I’m going out there?”
“Your name is on the playbill, the sign outside, and the ticket. If someone is surprised to see you, I’d be more concerned with their reading comprehension skills.”
“We’re performing in a casino—I wouldn’t be surprised if a bunch of drunk gamblers accidentally waltz into the theater.”
“Will you stop pacing? You’re making me nervous.”
Lenny ceases his movements, dropping his fourth (or eighth, he stopped counting a while ago) cigarette on the ground and snuffs it out with his foot. He turns to look at the headliner.
“Am I? Could’ve fooled me.”
“Lenny,” Midge says from the green room couch. “It’s going to be fine. I promise you have more supporters than you think.”
“And if I get booed off the stage?”
“You won’t.”
“But if I do?”
“You won’t.”
He can’t help the small smile that flickers across his face. “Humor me.”
Midge sighs, bemused. “If you get booed, just keep going. I’m sure you’ll win them over by the time your 30 minutes are up.”
Lenny pulls another cigarette from his pack, shaking his head before lighting it. “I think you have a little too much faith in me, Mrs. Maisel.”
“Nope—I have a realistic amount of faith in you; you’re just annoyingly self-deprecating.” She smiles at him before standing up, walking over to the other side of the room—right in front of him—and pulls the cigarette out from his mouth.
“Hey!”
“You’ve had enough,” she says, taking a drag herself before placing it in the ashtray behind her.
“What are you, my mother?” He mumbles. Lenny knows Midge is right, but to calm his nerves before a show, he used to get a fix from a random backstage hand if he didn’t already have some dope on him. In terms of coping skills, nicotine was definitely the better option.
He’s been clean for six months, per the contract Susie wrote up for him shortly after he accepted Midge’s offer of opening for her. It specifically stated that if he was found with any drugs on him (weed included, to his chagrin), he’d be kicked off the tour and wouldn’t see a cent of the revenue. Midge doesn’t know this, but he’s also required to take a drug test every time they travel to their next city. Thankfully, their tour manager, Eugene, knows how to be discreet and takes his urine samples without judgment or complaint.
He was surprised Susie was even able to get her hands on that many drug tests in the first place. Lenny had only taken one before—during his preliminary hearing when he was arrested for drug possession. The practice was still in its infancy, so he wasn’t sure how accurate it was. But it worked during his trial, and he wasn’t going to risk his job for a fix—not anymore.
Not to mention the disappointment he’d face from not only his family but also Midge.
She’s doing Lenny a huge favor by having him join her first national tour. Frankly, it’s saving his career. After his conviction and overdose, there was no way he was going to be welcomed back to the stage with open arms. His reputation was at an all-time low (which is saying a lot), and if it weren’t for Midge, he probably would’ve spent the rest of his life writing under a pseudonym—never to step foot on a stage again.
Midge already explained why she decided to ask him to be her opener, but Lenny still can’t quite wrap his head around it. There are plenty of better comics who wouldn’t risk a protest the second they walk onstage like he would. She denies it, but he knows their history definitely influenced her decision.
But he won’t look a gift horse in the mouth any more than he already has.
“Susie said the interview you did with Rolling Stone helped a lot,” Midge says, turning to the vanity beside them. She pulls out her makeup bag and grabs the red lipstick inside. “Kessler even said it made a lot of people question your conviction, which will make it a lot easier for it to get overturned.”
Not long after he accepted the job, Midge recommended her lawyer to him. Apparently, Michael Kessler followed Lenny’s court case very closely and offered to take his case for a small fee compared to his previous lawyers.
“That’s good.”
Midge scoffs. “You can sound a little more excited, you know.”
“In my experience, keeping my expectations low is better.”
“Well, I can be excited enough for the both of us.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
After reapplying her lipstick, she turned to face him, leaning against the vanity. He gave her a cheeky smile, causing her to roll her eyes.
The door suddenly opens, revealing their tour manager.
“Lenny, you’re on in five.”
“Thanks, Gene.”
He nods and closes the door. Lenny takes a deep breath in—his hand twitches, eager for another cigarette. Lenny hasn’t performed in front of this many people in months, maybe years. His lack of knowledge of how the audience might receive his presence didn’t help much, either.
Suddenly, Midge was in front of him again—readjusting his tie before patting down the collar of his suit jacket. He surmises that she could see how nervous he was, which didn’t surprise him. It was a redundant gesture, especially since his suit probably didn’t need much adjusting. But the feel of her hands on his chest elicited a calming sensation all over his body. If he didn’t know any better, he’d bet she knew that.
“Tits up.”
Lenny couldn’t help but laugh. He was not expecting her to say that.
“You know, you never explained to me what that meant,” he says.
“It’s just something I say before I go on. Susie said it to me the first time I went to court—she thought my good posture could help convince the judge that I did, in fact, have ‘upstanding moral character.’”
“Ah yes—nothing says ‘upstanding moral character’ like an appropriate amount of cleavage.”
Midge giggles and starts to push him toward the door. “Come on, I’ll walk you to the stage.”
“So chivalrous,” he says whimsically.
Los Angeles—October, 1966
After grabbing his things from the nurse, Lenny started his languid descent down the stairs. He couldn’t help but compare it to the times he’d been in jail. He let out a small chuckle under his breath, knowing that one way or another, he was going to end up in either scenario.
He had just finished his two-month rehabilitation after overdosing in August. It’s the longest time he’s been in rehab—usually spending no more than a few weeks during his last visits. But it was different this time.
It was a close call. If his manager hadn’t miraculously decided to visit him that day, he’d be dead right now. One would think that almost dying would be enough of a wake-up call, but it was his daughter’s reaction to seeing him in a hospital bed that genuinely made him want to get clean—if not for himself, then for Kitty. Seeing her hysterically beg him not to leave her alone filled Lenny with the worst shame and guilt he’d ever experienced.
He felt awful about putting her through this—his inconsistent presence, being moved from his place to his mother’s every time he relapsed. She didn’t deserve to have a father like him. So Lenny vowed to himself that he would never again be the cause for Kitty’s pain—especially regarding his addiction.
But now that he was out and sober, he had no idea what to do next. His conviction will make it extremely hard to find any gigs—the only places he’ll be able to perform at are basket houses and 24-hour diners that would be too lazy to kick him out. His manager mentioned getting him screenwriting gigs for Hollywood or publishing another book, and while writing it was a cathartic experience, Lenny didn’t have another book in him. He had nothing more to say, especially about himself.
When he turned the corner, the last person he ever thought he’d see was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs.
“You’re not my mother.”
“Nope. Wife and/or sister, remember?”
Lenny was too stunned to see her to keep the bit going. He hadn’t seen Midge since 1964, and their last conversation was…less than pleasant, to say the least.
She hadn’t changed much. Her hair was longer and even more voluminous, if that was even possible. Her outfit was slightly different from what she used to wear—opting out of her sleeved dresses for a sleeveless shift dress. Her white go-go boots were enormous, in his opinion (which didn’t mean much—he found one outfit that worked for him over ten years ago and hadn’t thought once that it might be time for a change). But it was all still inexplicably Midge.
Despite their lack of contact, he still kept up with how she was doing whenever he could. He knew she was getting more and more successful by the year, and had finally played The Copa for the first time in ‘65.
He remembered there was a time when she was willing to put her career on hold for him—Lenny knew she wouldn’t be where she was now if she did. Which begged the question even more as to what she was doing here.
So he asked. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I’m here to drive you home.”
“You flew all the way from New York to drive me home? You’re really in the big leagues now—blowing money on first class at the drop of a hat, unless you got a private jet I don’t know about.”
He could tell she was resisting a grin. “Let’s just go, okay? I only fed the meter a few cents and I’ve already annoyed the cab driver.”
“Why are you here, Midge?” He asked, more acerbic than the last.
If they were in New York, and she had just bailed him out, he wouldn’t be acting like this. If this also wasn’t the first time they’ve talked in two years, he wouldn’t be acting like this. But he knew her—she wanted something.
“I’m here to offer you a job.”
Lenny pulled a cigarette out from his bag, lighting it and taking a long awaited drag. The nurses were pretty strict about smoking. He was only able to smoke once a day—a significant decrease from his usual amount. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m retired.”
“Says who?”
“The cops, my lawyers, the judge, my prosecutor, the press—”
“I’m being serious, Lenny.”
“So am I.”
Lenny walked past her and out of the lobby. Midge followed close behind him.
“I’m going on tour at the beginning of next year. I want you to open for me.”
He stopped in his tracks and slowly turned around, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth. “What?”
“Just hear me out, okay? Please?” Midge rushed past him and opened the door of the taxi parked on the curb. When she got in, she left the door ajar, silently pleading for him to join her.
Lenny shrugged—what’s the worst that could happen? It beats walking, especially with his lungs.
He closed the car door himself when he stepped into the cab.
“Susie told me I was given free rein to pick my opener, and I think you’d be perfect.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean why?”
She can’t be serious, he thought. “You just picked me up from rehab, and the last place I performed the club manager didn’t even mean to book me—he thought he was getting Bruce Lee. Not a lot of people want to see me perform anymore since my conviction.”
“Well, those people are idiots. Besides, if there are a bunch of people who like my sense of humor, they’ll like yours too.”
“I don’t know Midge…”
“Please, Lenny. You’ve helped me so many times. I want to return the favor.”
There it was.
This was exactly what he was afraid of—she felt indebted to him. Even if he did expect some type of reimbursement, she’d paid it a hundred times over.
“I didn’t help you back then so you’d pay me back.”
“I know, but…”
Lenny knew she didn’t want to say it to save his pride, but he needed her help. Opening for Midge could single-handedly save his career or ruin hers. She must know that, yet she’s here offering him the spot anyway.
“Susie talked to your manager, and they agreed that if you stay clean till January the spot is all yours—you’ll also have to be sober for the duration of the tour.”
Lenny could see her hand in his peripheral inch closer to him on the seat. It didn’t even seem like she realized she was doing it. He wanted to meet her halfway—grasp the palm he’s longed to feel for years. But instead, he kept his hands to himself, busying them with his half-smoked cigarette.
Her eyes softened. “Will you at least think about it? I know we haven’t…been on the best terms but, I want you to do this.”
The cab stopped in front of his house. He could see Kitty and his mother waiting for him on the porch. He couldn’t help the side of his mouth curve upwards when his daughter’s face lit up the moment she realized he was in the taxi.
He turned to look back at Midge, who was still staring at him with that same pleading look she knows he can’t say no to. So in silent acquiescence, he nodded.
Her eyes gleamed with victory before reaching in her purse, pulling out a piece of paper. “This is my hotel room number. Susie booked me a few gigs here so I’m staying for a week. Call me when you make your decision?”
He didn’t respond, instead grabbing the paper from her hand.
“You wanna come inside? I’m sure Kitty would love to see you,” he asked, but immediately regretted it when Midge’s hopeful expression fell to despondence.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
Lenny’s learned to hide his disappointment well—especially when it came to her. So he nodded once more and opened the door, throwing his cigarette onto the curb.
They didn’t exchange goodbyes, exactly like their last meeting.
She was probably right. The last time Kitty saw Midge, her and Lenny’s relationship was a lot different. And he never really explained to his daughter what happened between them. Whenever she asked, he’d give her some vague answer and just hope she wouldn’t question further. She’s busy in New York. We can’t call her, the long-distance phone bills are racking up. We’re just not as close anymore now that we live in different states, but everything’s okay.
If he told her the truth, she wouldn’t understand. Having to explain rehab was going to be hard enough, he didn’t want to add Midge into the mix and make things even more confusing.
He watched the cab drive away when he’s nearly knocked over by Kitty—who tightly wrapped her arms around his torso.
“I missed you,” she said into his shirt.
“I missed you too, kid.”
He glanced up and met his mother’s eyes. She was still on the porch, arms crossed. She didn’t look angry, but it was familiar nonetheless. It was the same look she used to give him every time he swore he was going to get clean.
Lenny didn’t blame her for being weary. He’s disappointed her more times than he can count, conditioned her into being dubious of his “fresh starts,” which usually lasted no more than a few weeks.
Once Kitty dragged him inside, he noticed his house was a lot cleaner than when he left it. Sally must have had it cleaned after getting rid of all his hidden stashes. The furniture was rearranged as well, making the space look almost unrecognizable. If his family wasn't waiting for him, Lenny would probably think he had walked into the wrong house. The floors gleamed, and there was a fresh scent lingering in the air, a stark contrast to the chaos he left behind.
And he's sure as fuck thankful for that.
As he walked further inside, Lenny couldn’t help but feel a sense of disorientation. Every corner he turned revealed a tidiness and orderliness that was absent before. The living room, once cluttered with his things, now looked like a page out of a home decor magazine. He paused for a moment, taking it all in.
Kitty offered to take his suitcase to his room, leaving him and his mother to talk while he made them lunch. She insisted on making it herself, but Lenny waved her off. He wanted to feel useful, even if it was as inconsequential as making his daughter a sandwich.
“Did you know she was here?” He asked as they walked into the kitchen.
“She called me.”
“When did she get your number?”
“When she came to visit you in the hospital.”
He stopped searching the cupboards, turning his head slightly to glance at her over his shoulder, a look of curiosity and mild confusion on his face. “When exactly did she do that?”
“You hadn’t woken up yet.”
“And you’re only telling me this now because?”
“She asked me not to say anything.”
Of course she did, he thought to himself. She knew he wouldn’t want her to see him like that, especially after not seeing each other for so long. He’d hit rock bottom—very nearly killed himself.
Just like she said he would.
Seeing her at his bedside definitely wouldn’t have made things better. If anything, Lenny probably would’ve seen it as a ‘See? I told you so.’
The last thing he needed was another reminder of his failures and the people he had let down. Her presence would have only amplified the guilt and self-loathing that already consumed him, making it harder to find the strength he desperately needed to pull himself back together.
“You should take the offer,” His mother added.
He turned back towards the counter. “I’ve already been gone two months, Ma. I need to stay here for Kitty.”
“What you need is a job. You think you’re gonna get any better gigs? There’s no point of staying here with Kitty if you can’t afford to take care of her.”
“I can get a different job.”
“No, you can’t. You’re a comedian, Lenny—whether you like it or not.”
“You think people are still gonna want to see Midge when they find out I’m opening for her?”
Convicted felon and dope addict Lenny Bruce? they’d say. I thought he was dead.
“No—I’m not doing that to her.”
“She wouldn’t be asking you if she didn’t know the risks.”
He let out a long, depleted sigh. “She’s asking because she thinks she owes me,” he explained, his voice tinged with a mix of frustration and resignation.
“So what if she is? Can you put your fucking pride aside for one minute and think about how beneficial this will be for you? That woman is giving you a chance—a chance that, frankly, you don’t deserve from her. And if I remember correctly, you did the same thing when she was just starting out. Why is it so wrong for her to want to do the same?”
“Because it’s not the same.”
His retort came out louder than he intended. Lenny glanced at the stairs, hoping that Kitty didn’t hear him and come rushing down. “It’s not the same,” he repeated, akin to a whisper. He started talking with his hands—something he had a habit of doing when he gets worked up, and pointed at himself. “I wasn’t putting my own career on the line to help her. All I did was put on one show at a dingy cafe for free—this is a completely different scenario.”
Sally sighed and shook her head. “I just think you need to stop thinking about what it’ll mean for Midge and instead think of what it’ll mean for you. She’s obviously thought this through—she wouldn’t be here if she didn’t.”
The top of the stairs creaked, followed by the patter of light yet enthusiastic footsteps. Kitty used the newel at the bottom to pivot her body in the direction of the kitchen.
“Your suitcase is in your room. Were you talking about Midge?” She asked when she joined the two of them by the counter. “Is that who was in the taxi with you?”
Lenny hesitated before answering. “Yeah, it was.”
“She didn’t come say hi,” her voice faltered slightly—her disgruntlement evident.
“She’s a busy woman, kid. Maybe next time, yeah?”
He didn’t know if there would be a next time, but the empty promise made Kitty smile, and in that moment, that’s all that mattered. Sally grabbed the piece of paper with Midge’s number, which he had haphazardly tossed into a bowl with his keys and wallet, and pressed it to his chest. “Call her.”
He took the piece of paper from her, feeling its rough edges against his fingers. The number seemed to almost glow in the dim light of the room, a beacon of possibility amidst the uncertainty that clouded his mind.
Las Vegas—February, 1967
The applause was deafening.
It didn’t register immediately—too focused on adjusting his eyes to the spotlight shining on him. It’s been a while since he’s performed in a place that even had a spotlight. He usually only had to work with dim lighting to keep the “ambiance” despite the fact that no one could see shit in those basket houses.
When the glare finally went away, he was welcomed to Las Vegas by hundreds of people cheering for him. He could see Midge in the wing in the corner of his eye, her smile just as bright as the lights above him.
“Not the reaction I was expecting, I’ll be honest. How about this—you keep up this energy the whole time, and I won’t pull out the court documents. I think that’s a fair trade, don’t you?”
It was his first laugh of the night, and he was immediately reminded of why he belongs on this stage. His mother was right—he couldn’t be anything else.
Los Angeles—October, 1966
It wasn’t hard for Lenny to figure out where Midge was performing that night. With her rising celebrity status, it was a big deal for Mrs. Maisel to do a show anywhere other than New York. She was at the Ice House, a venue where Lenny performed a gig not long after his show at Carnegie Hall.
It felt weird to call her. They were never the type of friends who spoke on the phone (before their falling out, they preferred to write each other letters—only calling when either of them had news that couldn’t wait), so he opted for his usual approach. When he walked into the club, he could faintly hear Midge talking over the thunderous laughter that filled the room. Lenny stood in the back, hoping not to draw any attention to himself. Lenny saw a few patrons glance his way in confusion and awe, but he just focused on Midge, ignoring their looks as best he could.
“You’ve been a great audience. I’m Mrs. Maisel. Thank you, and goodnight!” Midge took a slight bow as she took in the applause. He could hear her inadvertently giggle in delight at the praise, causing him to smile. It was one of his favorite sounds, and he almost forgot what it sounded like.
Midge stood on stage for a few seconds longer as the applause continued. She looked sheepish as she waved. She eventually walked off and disappeared behind the curtain, most likely toward her dressing room. Lenny promptly followed, meandering between the crowd. He ultimately made his way in front of a bouncer.
“Any way I could go backstage and visit the talent? She’s an old friend of mine.”
“Mr. Bruce!” The bouncer’s eyes widened. Lenny couldn’t remember when someone other than a nurse or therapist called him that. “Of course, come in!”
He pushed his hands into his pockets as he walked down the hallway, searching for the door labeled “Mrs. Maisel.” He found it at the end of the hall, and before lightly knocking, he took a deep breath.
I could really use a cigarette right now.
“One second,” she said. Lenny used the few more moments he had left to search his pockets for a pack. He found one right when he heard the creak of the door—and when he looked up, he came face to face with a bewildered Midge.
“Lenny?”
“Hey.”
“What are you—how did you even know I was here?”
He shrugged, placing a cigarette between his teeth and lighting it. “Well, the sign out front has your name plastered in big letters,” he exhaled the smoke, taking the stick out of his mouth. “So I used my inference skills.”
She let out a breathless chuckle and opened the door completely, silently inviting him inside.
“I told you to call me.”
“Eh,” he waved her off. “Not my style.”
“Don’t I know it,” she mumbled. “Did you see my set?”
“I saw the last bit of it.”
“And?”
“Nice try.”
“Goddammit—it was worth a shot.”
He laughed. “The city seems to like you.”
“I won them over by making fun of the east coast—I didn’t think it would work as well as it did.”
“There’s nothing the west loves more than the vindication that they’re the better side of America.”
“I guess I shouldn’t let it slip that I prefer the other side.”
“Yeah, they’ll eat you alive.”
Midge laughed, sitting down on one of the many ottomans spread around the room.
“So,” she said. “Are you here because you’ve thought about my offer?”
“Possibly.”
Midge leaned forward in anticipation, placing her intertwined hands in her lap. “Well?”
He started aimlessly pacing in a small area near the entrance and took another drag. “You are aware that having my name alongside yours might upset some audiences?”
“I don’t care about that.”
“You should.”
“Susie and I have a plan.” Lenny stopped his movements and turned, coaxing her to continue with a nod of his head. “She’s trying to get interviews lined up for you—tell your side of the story, and not what the courts have made people believe. We’ve already got a journalist for Rolling Stone willing to write a piece about you. And for your legal troubles, I want to give you my lawyer’s number.”
Midge grabbed her purse and handed him a business card with the name “Micheal Kessler” written on it. “I’ve already talked to him and he’s agreed to take your case.”
“Technically, I don’t have a case anymore since the judge banged his little gavel.” Lenny said, mimicking the gesture.
“You know what I mean.”
“I don’t exactly have the money to pay for another lawyer, I’m still paying off my old ones—wouldn’t be surprised if I was on my credit union’s hit list.”
“Susie said she could take a percentage of what you’ll get from the tour for the fees.”
“Either way,” Lenny took one last drag before dropping his cigarette on the ground and snuffing it out with his foot. “None of it will matter if everyone refunds their tickets the second they see my name next to yours.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“How do you know for sure? I’ve made peace with my botched reputation, but I’m not willing to take you down with me.”
He could see the ghost of a smile flicker across her face before it disappeared just as quickly. If Lenny wasn’t—well, him—and she wasn’t her, he probably would have missed it.
“I appreciate your worry for my career, but I’ve grown quite a bit of loyal fans since the last time we saw each other. Me vouching for you has more merit than it used to.”
When he didn’t reply, Midge sighed. “Stop looking for reasons to say no. I did that once too and you yelled at me for it, remember?”
Of course I remember, he didn’t say. How could I forget that night?
“Window’s open,” she added.
Quoting his own words back to him—he shouldn’t be surprised. The reason Lenny told her that was because he knew he was catapulting himself onto that same path, and the last thing he wanted was for her to follow in his footsteps—something she’s proudly admitted of doing on more than one occasion.
“Why are you doing this?” His tone was serious, and Midge knew what he was really trying to say: After everything that’s happened between us, why are you so willing to help me?
“And don’t give me that ‘I helped you back in ‘58’ bullshit.”
She didn’t say anything immediately. Instead, she quietly mulled it over as she looked down at her feet.
“Did I ever tell you what Susie said to me that night you bailed me out, at that cafe?”
He shook his head.
“She told me that the best comic in the business was behind me. Imagine my shock when I turn around and it’s just you.”
He sharply exhaled through his nose with a smirk—not exactly laughing, but a rueful chuckle at her quip.
“To this day I’ve never seen her more flustered,” Midge laughed to herself before giving him an ingratiating look. “You’re an amazing comic, Lenny. If it weren’t for you, me and a bunch of other comedians probably wouldn't be able to talk as freely as we do. You’ve sacrificed too much of yourself to deserve being made an example out of—you’re too good to be silenced.”
He didn’t know how to respond. She’s complimented him before, but never like this. No one has ever told him he didn’t deserve what happened. All the whispers and murmurs around him consisted of different variations of ‘What did you expect?’ or ‘If you didn’t want to get arrested, you shouldn’t have been running your mouth’. He’s heard it so many times he started to believe it himself.
“I know you don’t think so, but you’re worthy of a second chance.”
Lenny had moved his attention to the ground sometime during their conversation, unable to maintain her stare. When he eventually gathered the courage to look back up, he wanted to hurl.
Don’t look at me like that, he thought. Don’t look at me with so much hope. I’m just going to disappoint you. You should know that better than anyone.
I’m nothing. I’m too far gone. There’s nothing left for me on the stage.
But when you look at me like that…it makes me hope I’m wrong.
“Also, if you go on tour with me you wouldn’t be able to escape me asking for your professional opinion—it wouldn’t be a favor from me if there wasn’t some sort of self indulgence hidden in there.”
His internal melancholy was abruptly halted—something only Midge and Kitty have been able to do, and he laughed. “There it is,” he said, snapping his fingers.
She laughed with him, a brief respite before her expression turned grievous. “You have to stay clean, Lenny.”
“I know.”
“Can you do that?”
“If I can’t, then I wasted two months in rehab.”
“Lenny.”
He sighed. “You know I can’t guarantee that—but I’ll do everything I can, I can promise you that.”
She gave him a skeptical look, narrowing her eyes. He knew why—she’s heard this before.
“It’s different this time,” he added.
If Midge wanted him to elaborate, she didn’t express it outright. Instead, she stood up and moved until she was in front of him, cautious of their proximity. “So you’re accepting my offer?”
He couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll have my manager call yours.”
Lenny could tell she was trying to keep her cool, fighting back the wide grin from forming. It was endearing, to say the least. For a second he thought she was going to hug him, but instead, she extended her hand out. “This isn’t binding, but I feel like we should shake hands—seems appropriate.”
When they touched for the first time since she’s been here, it burned—inside and out.
Las Vegas—February, 1967
After her hour-and-a-half-long set, Midge thanks the audience for their time and revels at the standing ovation. Lenny is watching in the wings, clapping along with the others.
When she eventually leaves the stage, she runs right into his arms.
He wasn’t expecting it, but his arms habitually wrap around her waist. She’s so gleeful and high on praise that he wouldn’t be surprised if she didn't even realize it was him. But it doesn’t stop Lenny from closing his eyes and availing himself of her touch.
He missed it more than he’d like to admit.
His chest tightens at the sound of her laughter in his ear. Midge slowly pulls back, and his suspicions of her not realizing it was him are further proved when her eyes widen when they meet his. “Oh—”
She unravels from him and takes an inanely large step back. He might’ve been offended if he wasn’t so entertained by her fluster.
“Sorry—uh—”
“Great show, guys,” Gene says, saving Midge from overexplaining herself like he knows she would’ve done. “The bus to Phoenix doesn’t leave until tomorrow morning. So get drunk, gamble irresponsibly, get married—whatever else people do in Vegas—and we’ll meet outside the hotel at nine.”
Lenny salutes him. “Yes, sir.”
Gene rolls his eyes lightheartedly before leaving. They can faintly hear him directing a bunch of stagehands in his authoritative tone, which Lenny has become begrudgingly familiar with throughout the months since he met him.
“You were amazing out there,” Midge says.
“Ah ah ah,” he points his finger at her. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do.”
“Just one word.”
“Nope.”
“Oh, come on!”
“You don’t need me to tell you how you did,” he nods at the audience leaving their seats. “I think their reactions can speak for themselves.”
“What will it take for you to say one nice thing about my set?”
“Five thousand dollars.”
“Five dollars.”
“Fifty.”
“Ten—final offer.”
“Ten dollars and the first round of drinks.”
She narrows her eyes. “…Deal.”
They end up at one of the many bars scattered around the casino, where Midge holds up her end of the bargain—buying their first round and slipping him a ten—but he still hasn’t said anything about her act.
“You know, I’m not sure if I want to waste this leverage I have on you,” he says, nursing the scotch in his hand.
“Going back on your word? Some might argue that’s all you’ve got left.”
“Touché.”
“So?”
Lenny has always been hesitant to give her feedback. Nowadays, it’s more for his entertainment, tantalizingly leaving her in anticipation. But in the first few years they’d known one another, she had put him on such a high pedestal. At first, seeing her value his opinion so highly was flattering, but now he believes he doesn’t deserve it. He wants her to see him as an equal—not some stand-up messiah who dictates what’s good and bad. With how far he’s fallen, she shouldn’t care about his opinion this much.
But a deal’s a deal, right?
“It was spectacular,” he finally says, meeting her gaze. “You, Mrs. Maisel, are a marvel on stage.”
She smiles, staring back at him just as intensely as he. “Thank you.”
They stay like that for a while, unaware of anything else in the bar except each other. It was like that every time they got together—everyone around them seemed to disappear.
They’re interrupted by the bartender placing Midge’s martini in front of her. She thanks him, breaking their trance to take a long swig of her drink.
“Can I ask you something?” She says.
Lenny thought of making a joke, but her solemn expression ceases his original response.
“Sure.”
“Back at The Ice House, in my dressing room—you said it was different this time,” she turns to him. “Why is it different?”
“Because,” Lenny sighs. “Kitty said something to me when I was in the hospital.”
Midge stays silent, hoping he’ll continue. He’s not exactly comfortable admitting this, but if there’s one thing he learned from those mandatory therapy sessions, it’s how vital communication is (and how much he fucking sucks at it).
Something he’s failed time and time again with her.
“As you know—I’d been to the hospital before, but I always told my mother not to bring Kitty. At first, I thought it was because I was too ashamed to let her see me like that, but I think it’s because I knew that she was the only one who could convince me to get my shit together.” He takes a drink, refusing to look over at Midge. “And I wasn’t ready to give it up.”
“Since I was unconscious for a few days, I didn’t have the chance to tell her to keep Kitty away. So when I woke up…she was hysterical. It took both me and my Ma, as well as a visit from the doctor, to convince her I was going to be okay.”
Midge reaches over and places her hand over his, her fingers lightly curling under while her thumb slowly caresses his wrist.
“She was begging me not to die—telling me she’ll be a better daughter, and hearing her say that…”
Her grip tightens.
“I didn’t want her to think she wasn’t enough—that the problem wasn’t her, but me. And I knew I couldn’t be a good father to her if I didn’t get clean, so,” he shrugs. “here we are.”
He’s been staring at a specific spot on the wall behind the counter, but decides that he should probably see Midge’s reaction to his extremely depressing wake-up call. When he glances over, he immediately notices the unshed tears in her eyes threatening to trickle down her cheeks.
“Hey,” he whispers, flipping over his hand to hold hers properly and squeezing it. Midge blinks, and a few stray tears fall. Without thinking, Lenny uses his other hand to wipe them away.
“Don’t go crying over me now—there are much sadder things to cry about. Like the Watts riots, the Vietnam War, cigarette prices are going up, people are having way too many kids, and I know it’s been like 20 years, but I think Jews can still feel bad about the Holocaust—”
Midge laughs—at least as well as someone currently crying can. It came out as more of a stunted exhale, causing Lenny to smile. His hand was still on her cheek, but there were no more tears to wipe away. She turns to meet his soft gaze, and Lenny’s hand slowly cups the side of her face.
The air between them suddenly shifts. It feels anticipatory—like they are just on the precipice of something, and Lenny fears he knows precisely what that something is.
He needs to pull away—untangle his hands from her completely.
He can’t be reminded of how she feels under his palm; it’ll make this tour a nightmare for him. Because he knows he can’t have her.
He’s screwed up too many times. She deserves better.
But it’d be so easy to give in—lean in and capture those lips he hadn’t tasted in years.
Midge leans into his touch, inching closer to him. She glances down at his lips as he does the same.
He can’t have her.
He’ll just lose her all over again, and he wouldn’t survive.
He could tease and harmlessly flirt with her, as that was already a part of their camaraderie before anything romantic happened, but they shouldn’t cross this line.
“Midge.”
“Yeah?” She whispers.
Lenny gently pulls his hand out of her grasp and drops the one on her cheek. “We can’t.”
The tone of his voice causes her to freeze. She whips her head away from his stare, trying to find anything else to look at.
“Right. No, you’re right.” She sounds so defeated that Lenny almost wants to retract his words immediately.
“It’s just that—”
“We’re on tour.”
“I think it’d be better if we kept things…y’know, professional.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Midge shakes her head as if trying to rid herself of the thoughts of what could’ve happened. “I—I’m sorry.”
He could tell she was embarrassed, and if they were in literally any other situation, he might’ve teased her. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”
It was awkward—something that was unfamiliar in their dynamic. What do you say to a girl you just rejected? Especially when that girl happens to be your ex-girlfriend/ex-lover/ex-whatever the fuck they were doing.
“Friends?” He says, grabbing his glass and tipping it towards her. She couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle before holding her own and meeting his halfway with a resounding clink.
“Friends.”
They put the drinks down—their hands right next to each other on the counter, almost touching. It feels too close and too far away at the same time.
“But if you call me spectacular again, I can’t promise I’ll have the same restraint.”
He laughs. “So that’s why you’re so eager for my opinion—need an excuse to jump my bones?”
She shoves him lightly, but he could see the smile growing on her face. “Shut up.”
Thankfully, the awkward tension was broken, and the two talked again as if their last conversation never happened. He thanked whatever god that was up there for that.