She watches her thumb run across the back of his hand in the dim light and realizes everything is different now. She watches him pace the stage of an empty Carnegie Hall and realizes nothing will ever be the same again. She watches him leave New York for a different ocean and realizes he was never going to stay. To think sheād actually started to believe that maybe heā
There must be something wrong. With her. He said his head turned a long time ago, but her heart turned at half past three and for almost a day she was practically dancing on the street, floating down the river on his words, high on the memory of his touch, smiling at strangers passing by. Idiotic things she swore sheād never do again, not after Joel left and came back and left and then sort of came back for a night only to leave again. Except all of a sudden she was, but just as quickly as things fell into place, they completely fell apart.
When heās back in the city months later for a string of gigs in midtown, she tells herself sheās not going. And she doesnāt. But when she walks off stage after one of her own, heās waiting with a wry smirk and a cigarette. And when he brings the lit end of it up to his lips for a puff, his eyes burn just as bright. He buys her a drink and takes her back to his hotel room and itās worship, like the heavens themself said this is how itās meant to be. She falls even deeper with his arms around her and traces the truth across the back of his hand while he sleeps. When he leaves again, she lets him go. And when he comes back, she lets him have everything.
Every time heās in town, they do the same song and dance until she inevitably brings up the bag and he packs it away like his vulnerability on his way out of town. She knows it isnāt what he wants from her, that letting him see every show corset she owns, thatās what he wants from her, but knowing that doesnāt make being reminded of it any easier. She also knows how much he wants her to succeed professionally, so that might be melodramatic. If it is, then sue her. Add it to the growing list of legal troubles that she has a feeling barely scratch the surface of his.
She wouldnāt know though, because he doesnāt talk about them. Thereās a lot of things he doesnāt talk about, actually. California, his kid, his mother, his legal troubles, hisā¦ other troubles. Heāll listen to her talk about her kids, her parents, her ex, her legal troubles. And he always pays attention too, doesnāt zone out like Papa or interrupt like Moishe or pick fights like Joel. He laughs at her jokes, even the ones he says need work. She catches him staring more often than not, but he never looks away like heās been caught, instead smiling behind his handāthe one he doesnāt know she traces secret messages on.
Sheās either too much or not enough, and Mama offers up men like sheās Goldilocks and all itāll take to find her a second husband is going through a few bears. She tells Lenny this, venting to get it off her chest, and that night heās at the altar like heās got something to prove. He doesnāt, at least not to her. She already knows heās the best fit sheās ever going to find. But she also knows she doesnāt fit into his life the same way. Heās in town for two days a month later, for some meeting heād waved off as being unimportant when sheād asked, and theyāre at another bar, doing the song part of their song and dance. They run into fans of his as theyāre leaving and one of them calls her Lenny Bruceās girl.
For a moment she leans a little more toward him, not quite into his side but almost, and then heās saying sheās just a friend. And itās nothing she hasnāt said herself, but hearing how easily he dismisses it in front of a group of women that are younger than her and dumber than her, everything Penny was compared to her, is unexpectedly humiliating. Because she realizes that unlike a few years ago when Eugene had said it, this time she wants it to be true. She has no reason to feel irrationally jealous of these women, no reason to be upset that he defended her from the rumor mill, but she is.
It hurts the part of her that, through everything over the past four years, is scared. Scared of ending up all alone, of never finding the kind of love her parents have. Or worse, finding it but never getting to have it. She pictures them dancing in the kitchen, running in the snow, standing in the rain. Pictures waking up in arms that hold her the way none ever have before him, the way she knows none will after. Pictures a faceless little girl stood between Ethan and Esther, and maybe one more stood on Estherās other side eventually. Pictures staring over coffee in the morning and candles in the evening. Pictures sharing jokes and troubles and silence sometimes too.
She pictures all of this and knows itās silly, because sheās never going to get that life. That little life isnāt hers. She knows what her future looks like, that itās inevitable her kids will hate her and sheāll look for glimpses of him in men who will never compare and sheāll get so famous one day she wonāt recognize herself. Sheās going to have a big life, but itās going to fall short of what she really wants. Sheās been left and sheās done the leaving, she knows people donāt stay if they donāt want to. Still, when they get to his hotel, she holds on a little harder. She usually lays with her back to him, but this time she doesnāt. She slips a leg between his and drops her head on his collar, lifting her hand to curl around the back of his neck like Miami.
Heās had one hand hovering in the air since she first moved, clearly having expected her to roll away so he could wrap an arm around her and pull her back toward him. He doesnāt move it for what feels like the longest five seconds, but when he finally does itās to slowly let it fall. He gently, hesitantly, rests his left hand on her forearm and his right on the middle of her back. She wraps her own free arm under and around his bicep and ignores how tense the muscle feels in her grip. She watches his chest, waiting for his breathing to resume, and it does moments later with a sharp intake and a shuttered exhale, so quiet she wouldnāt have heard if her ear werenāt inches from his mouth.
She continues watching the rise and fall long after the clockās hands have reached their highest point, waits for his breath to even out and his shoulders to relax before she traces eight little letters on his nape, then looks at her arm and pretends he traces fifteen more. He doesnāt of course, and she squeezes her eyes shut before the only thing tracing a line on her skin is a tear. Heās awake when she opens her eyes, the sun just beginning to spill over the horizon and onto the sheets. He lifts his hand off her arm to trace a knuckle along her jaw, ending on her chin and tipping it up. His thumb pulls at her lower lip and then heās craning his neck to cover it with his own.
He sighs into the kiss, dragging the hand on the center of her back down to the small of it, and she arches into him. She tangles her own in his hair, the nails of her other hand digging into his shoulder. Heās never kissed her in the morning before, but as he shifts her so sheās underneath him, she goes easily, pliant beneath his hand. He could sense that her mood was off after running into those girls and at first heād made a joke about her having more fans than he did these days, which wasnāt exactly untrue, but they both knew that would never be what was bothering her. Heād gotten serious after that, asked if something was wrong, if she would rather go somewhere else and talk, because where sheās concerned heās the most considerate man sheās ever known.
Which only made the knowledge that he doesnāt want to actually date her all the more frustrating. Sheād given him some excuse about one of her kids doing something to piss her off earlier that day and heād let it go, but when he pulls away now, that look heād had that says I know somethingās up is back. āIām not saying you lied,ā he starts, his tone careful, ābut last night you said one of your kids had done something, and it pissed you off.ā
āI did,ā she nods once, equally apprehensive about wherever heās going with this.
Heās searching her expression, for what she doesnāt know, but he must see something because he continues, āDuring your set, you said your kids were with your ex.ā
She has two options here. She could lie again, say they were with her in the morning and Joel had picked them up at some point, or she could not lie, because he would definitely know. āYou paid attention,ā she deflects, staring at the tattoo on his upper arm so she doesnāt have to meet his eyes.
āAlways,ā he repeats softly. Against her wishes, and every part of her begging it not to happen, she feels that telltale sting building behind her eyes. He notices immediately, brow furrowing in concern, āHey, now.ā
āShit,ā she looks away, blinking, her throat tight. āIām fine,ā she insists, āI donāt know whyāā
āSweetheart, whatāsāā She shakes her head, using the hand she has on the back of his to pull him down just like in his very blue room all those months ago. When he tries to break the kiss, she lets him, then seals her lips to the side of his neck instead. āMidge,ā he groans, having failed to get her to pause, so she bitesāintending to leave a mark, and that shuts him up. She thinks sheās effectively made him forget anything except her name when he silently lights a cigarette at the end and tucks an arm under his head, taking a drag with the other and looking up at the ceiling. But then he turns his head, one eyebrow quirked, and she realizes heās really not letting it go. āI feel used.ā He says it like a joke, but he means it like requesting an explanation.
Sheās staring from over her folded arms, her cheek pillowed on them as she lays on her front beside him. Thereās a roiling in her stomach, like sheās going to be sick at the thought that she may actually have made him feel that way, because itās the way she hopes she never feels every time they do this, even if theyāre not together. She doesnāt know how to tell him this is so much more than that for her without telling him this is so much more than that for her. He gives her space, time to collect and arrange her thoughts, but for someone whoās made a job out of thinking on her feet in front of an audience, in front of him she canāt think of a single thing. āIf itās what those chicks at the bar said, then you knāā
āItās not,ā she cuts him off, too quick to not be suspicious, but short enough he doesnāt push.
He offers her the cigarette so she unfolds an arm to take it, propping herself up with the other and then setting her chin in that hand, the mattress dipping beneath her elbow. āIs there a guy?ā he asks on her inhale, completely neutral.
She coughs and has to pass it back immediately so she can bring her fist to her chest, eyes narrowing in his direction when he tilts his head in apology. āWhat do you mean is there a guy, you sound like my mother.ā
He lifts one shoulder in a half assed shrug, handing the cigarette to her again when she holds her hand out expectantly. He waits until after sheās taken a puff to speak this time, but when he does she would rather he hadnāt. āGet over someone by getting under someone else,ā he waves aimlessly, āisnāt that the shit people say?ā
She stares at him, incredulous. āAre you seriously asking me if Iām seeing someone when weāre,ā she pauses, ādoing what weāre doing?ā After what Joel did goes unsaid.
āYou donāt have to be dating to have feelings for someone,ā he explains, and she knows that. Obviously. āI didnāt mean to imply youāre anything like your ex. Any guy that doesnāt see the once in a lifetime chance he has here can only be a fucking moron. Itās why Iām still staring.ā See, if he keeps saying things that no other man would then sheās never going to get over him. Especially not when sheās getting under him at every given opportunity, but thatās not the point.
āThereās no guy,ā she tells him, and knows before he even asks a follow up question that one is coming.
He takes his arm out from under his head to scratch his jaw, then leaves his hand over his mouth, hiding the edges of his smile. Heās got stubble growing in, a new look for him, but one she likes. āMind telling me whatās bothering you, then? Iām a good listener,ā he murmurs and drops his hand to his chest, doing that shy Jewish schoolboy pout. It should be stupid, but itās not. Well, two can play that game.
She transfers the cigarette to her left hand so she can reach over and stub it out in the ash tray on the side table, then reaches for the hand on his chest, tugging it toward her as she rolls onto her side. She flips his palm up and he lets her maneuver it until she tries to straighten out his arm. He goes to pull his hand away, but sheās got too firm a grasp. āMidge,ā he warns, but sheās done listening. Sheās never been very good at it anyway.
Heās got marks on the upper end of his forearm, above his tattoo but before the crease of his elbow, that he never lets her see. Theyāre an angry shade, little dots that could cost him his life, and Midge the love of hers. Itās not hard to pretend this is whatās bothering her because it has been, and the tears that come in record time are proof of that. She can feel the tension between them shifting, turbulent the way itās been since Miami and their fight that morning outside her apartment, then the Mayflower and their second fight at Carnegie Hall, then the airport and him showing up at her gig, and now this. Whatever this is theyāve been doing, it hasnāt been smooth sailing.
Heās uncomfortable, that much is clear, backed into a proverbial corner. And heās likely to say whatever he needs to protect himself from having to hear whatever sheās about to say, that hard edge rearing its ugly head. Heās never mean, not to her, but his snark loses its playfulness and gets all too real. He probably tells himself he does it to protect her, but she doesnāt need protecting from him, or the parts of his life heās not proud of. She wants everything, even knowing heās been out of the Navy for more than fifteen years and heās still fighting a war.
She slowly reaches out with her left hand, holding his in her right as hard as she can, so he canāt try to pull away again. She traces the marks, follows one to another like they tell the story heāll never share. āIām worried,ā she chances admitting, delicate.
āNow you sound like my mother,ā is his dry response, but thereās no edge to it and heās not trying to get her to let go. Itās nice to know he has at least one other person looking out for him, because sheās only really met his friends the one timeāsheās not counting backstage at the Wolford, and she has no idea if they actually care or if this is something they do too and theyāre only hanging around for his name. Maybe itās an unfair assumption to make, but sheās only ever seen them on nights when he was doing well. Now, the short one with the dark hair, the one who asked after her ex-father-in-law, that one seems like a good guy. But the rest?
She knows she has no right to voice concerns about them when theyāve known him longer and sheās not his girlfriend. Sheās just hisā¦ whatever she is, so maybe itās not her place to be concerned about his buddies, but thatās what happens when you care about someone. Call it an occupational hazard of loving him. She leans forward to press her lips to the inside of his wrist, where his pulse beats, and his voice hitches when she does. āMidge,ā he breathes, so quiet itās like he almost hadnāt said it at all. It makes her think of something Mama said when she was younger, that the worst way to love someone is quietly. Then she thinks of what heād said.
She admits, āThere is a guy,ā with her lips still pressed to his skin. āHeās brilliant, and irreverent,ā she adds, letting amusement tug at the corners of her mouth. Then they lower to match a more serious admission when she acknowledges, āand kind of a mess.ā If thereās a chance here, then maybe she ought to take it. āAnd while he was sleeping, I fell in love.ā
He doesnāt say anything back for a long time, long enough that she feels like a fool, like sheād said Tag, youāre it and found out he wasnāt playing along. Like Ethan just standing there, he doesnāt do anything, so she lets go of his arm and tries to get up, to leave before the humiliation and devastation and all the other -ations fully register, but then his hand is catching hers and heās saying, āMidge, cāmon. Give me a minute to hold my girl.ā
She freezes, not quite believing what she heard, but when she finally meets his eyes she sees the same disbelief reflected back. She watches his thumb run across the back of her hand in the morning light and realizes everything is different now. Someday, sheāll watch him pace the hallway outside her apartment with a pink bouquet and realize nothing will ever be the same again. Sheāll watch him leave New York for a rehab center in Malibu and realize itās a promise heāll stay. Even if she doesnāt know it yet, sheāll get to watch him do those things, so he can give her everything. Sheās going to get that life. āOkay,ā she agrees, starting to believe it.
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