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The Heart of the Matter

Summary:

Filling a prompt from Jackal: midgelenny reconciling after carnegie hall

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When his flight touches down on the Idlewild runway, Lenny feels a sudden sensation of being home. It’s a strange feeling that he’s not sure he’s ever felt, not when he actually had an apartment in New York City, or even when he, you know, grew up on Long Island. Seven months is maybe the longest he’s been away from the City So Nice They Named It Twice. Maybe that’s why.

Or maybe it’s because he’s feeling clearer-headed than he has in years. He’s been clean since Hannukah, when his daughter informed him that all she wanted was for him to be around more. Nothing like the combination of a little guilt from the sweetest, brightest child and the accidental overdose death of a buddy to make you toss all drug-related paraphernalia into the dumpster. 

Not to mention the image ingrained on the insides of his eyelids of Midge’s confused and troubled face when she accidentally came across his little black bag. He had never meant for her to know about that terrible habit of his. She was possibly the only person in his life who wasn’t fully aware of his nasty habit and he loved that, loved who he could be around her.

Maybe loved her, but he isn’t ready to face that thought quite yet.

And of course he screwed that up, too. 

In any case, it’s a strange feeling when his actual house and his remaining family - Kitty and his mother - are in California. And when he’s only here for a few days, for a gig, rare in NYC these days, and also to see if there is any repairing his relationship with one Midge Maisel. 

He would have denied anything of that sort in the past, flying across the country to see a woman. But life is too fucking short. He wants to see her, he misses her. Even if the rumors about her and Gordon Ford are true, he still wants to be her friend. Having a little bit of her is better than the nothingness he’s had since he handed her her ass at Carnegie Hall. 

All of this is how he finds himself in an overpriced flower shop on the Upper West Side, staring at flowers. “All of our flowers are local, from gardens in Westchester County,” the person working there tells him. “This is a great time for fresh local flowers.”

Idly, he wonders if she means because it’s late spring or if the 1960s is when tulipmania will hit the US. He doesn’t ask, though, just points to an arrangement of roses in various shades of pink. “Beautiful,” the flower woman says, as if she would say anything in there was ugly. 

And then he’s outside her apartment. He had to wander a block or two before he recognized the outside of her building from that one time he stood out there partially shoeless, hungover, and full of shame, fully flipping out at Midge. It hadn’t taken her long to forgive him that time. He feels like this is going to take a bit more than a beseeching look and “I’m very sorry.”

He stands across the street, staring at the stately old building, taking deep breaths, getting up his nerve. If she doesn’t forgive him, if she throws the flowers back at him, he wouldn’t blame her. He convinced her to go to bed with him, accidentally revealed his drug problem and then lied about having it under control, and shouted at her about throwing her career away. And then disappeared for half a year. 

He would hate him, too. 

He begins to wonder if a better bet would be to leave the flowers with the doorman with a note for her, just so he doesn’t have to see the anger and disappointment on her face. But before he can leave in search of paper and a pen, a posh voice says from behind him, “Leonard?”

It’s Midge’s mother, a tiny dark-haired vaguely terrifying woman. And next to her is a silent Midge, holding the hand of a small girl. Midge’s daughter, he assumes. She’s looking at him with wide eyes and a pale face, but her face is always pale. That lovely ivory skin has haunted his dreams for months now that he knows exactly how soft it is. 

“Yes, hello,” he says lamely. 

Midge is still silent as her mother turns to her, looking curious at the usually loquacious Midge’s silence. The little girl is the one to break the stalemate. “Hi,” she says in her little girl voice, not unlike Kitty’s when she was that age. “Who are you?”

He bends down so she doesn’t have to crane her neck so much looking at him. “I am, uh, a friend of your mom’s,” he says, stumbling a bit. He smiles, and she returns the smile before ducking behind Midge. “My name is Lenny. What’s your name?”

“Esther,” the little girl replies from behind her mother’s skirt. 

“It’s very nice to meet you, Esther,” he says. Once he straightens, he sees Midge still staring at him. It’s possible she hasn’t moved since she first saw him. 

This doesn’t escape her mother’s notice either. “Why don’t I take Esther up so you two can talk?” she says smoothly, taking Esther’s hand. “It was nice to see you, Leonard. Those are lovely flowers”

As they walk away, Esther looks back and says, “Bye Lenny!” He waves back at her. 

Once they disappear into the building, he turns back to Midge. She’s moved, but only to cross her arms. She raises an eyebrow, clearly waiting for him to speak first. His mouth suddenly dry, he clears his throat before finally saying, “Hello.”

“Hi,” she says in a clipped voice. Yup, she’s mad.

As he thinks of the words that could possibly convey how sorry he is, he takes in her appearance. Even looking outright hostile, she’s a picture. Her hair - he knows how soft and sweet smelling her hair is now - is perfectly curled, she’s wearing a light blue dress that looks equally soft, and her hat, shoes, and purse all match. She looks the same as she always has. He wonders if he does. He thinks not. He’s gained a little weight, a byproduct of no longer sending illicit substances into his veins to eat away at his insides. He probably looks rumpled from the long flight and he suddenly wishes he had hopped into the shower in his hotel room before coming here. 

Her jaw clenches and she almost spits out, “Well, it was nice talking to you.”

As she turns to go, he grabs her arm gently. “Wait,” he begs. “I- I’m trying to find the words to tell you how sorry I am.”

She faces him but doesn’t look straight into his eyes. “For what? Yelling at me at Carnegie Hall? Fucking me, then disappearing without a word for months? Something else I don’t know about yet?”

He feels about two inches tall. “All of the above. I am truly, very sorry. I am here to grovel.”

“I started reading Papa’s papers, looking for an article saying you were dead.” She still won’t look at him. 

“Midge, I apologize, completely and totally. I was wrong to disappear from your life like that. I promise there was a good reason,” he beseeches. 

She purses her lips. “I don’t even have your number for… wherever you actually live. I know what your dick looks like but I don’t have your address or phone number. I figured we would just run into each other like we usually do, but after some time waiting and fucking hoping like an idiot, I started thinking you were dead or in a workhouse somewhere.”

“California. That’s where I live, most of the time. My daughter and mother live there.” Had he never told her that? He must not have because Midge’s mind is like a steel trap - she never seems to forget anything. Fuck, has he really been that closed off to her? Did the drugs turn him into that much of an asshole? He rubs his face, exhausted and disgusted at himself. 

“Well,” she says, shifting as if to go, “Now I know to just check the California papers for your death.”

His hand finds her arm again. “Midge, please ,” he says desperately. “Please just hear me out.”

She finally looks at him, her eyes chilly, and says, “Fine. Explain away.”

He takes a deep breath and begins babbling away, afraid that she would walk away before he finished. “I was in California getting clean. Well, not at first. I went to California to be with my daughter through the holidays, but also because I was pissed at you. I was supposed to come back here in January, cash in on the momentum from Carnegie Hall, but I got word that a friend died. He was my one buddy from the war because I was too busy being a little shit. But he was hooked on the same crap I was and I went to his funeral. It was terrible and I realized I didn’t want to go that way. And if I kept doing what I was doing, that’s what would happen.”

“So when you promised me that all is well…?” Her voice is flat. 

“I didn’t think that was a lie when I said it, I swear. I thought I had it under control, but that was hubris. When it comes to these kinds of drugs, there’s no having it under control. I know that now. So instead of coming back here in January, I used the money I would normally spend on drugs and went to rehab instead. I was there for 4 months, getting clean.”

Her eyes look maybe a little thawed, which gives him the courage to keep going. “And then I spent time with my daughter. Kitty. I hadn’t spent more than a few days with her at a time since she was a baby, because I didn’t want to be high around her.”

She nods. “Okay, fine. But do you not own a telephone? Is there a pay phone shortage in California that’s being kept under wraps?”

“Short answer? I was fucking terrified of calling you. I knew my disappearing act would piss you off and so I put off calling you until it would have been awkward to do this over the phone. It had to be in person. That’s the only way to apologize for sleeping with a woman, yelling at her, then leaving without another word.” He sighs. “I am, again, so sorry.” He suddenly remembers the flowers in his other hand and holds them out. “These are for you. A peace offering.”

A tiny smile appears on her lips as she takes them and he holds in a huge sigh of relief. “Well, thank you,” she says, her voice finally back to normal. “But while we’re being honest, I need to ask you. That night, in that very blue room? What was that for you?”

He pauses for a brief moment, wondering how much of himself to give away. Fuck it , he thinks. Life is too damn short. “Everything,” he says quietly. “It was everything I’d been wanting for so long. Not because of the thrill of the chase. But I’m not used to getting what I want in life, so it scared the fuck out of me.”

She nods, her face solemn. He wants to ask her what it meant to her, but he knows he can’t. She’ll tell him if she wants. “And now what do you want?”

“You,” he breathes. “Whatever you will give me. If it’s just friendship, if that ship has sailed or if that ship was never even an option, I’ll take friendship. That would be greatly preferable to these past months of not having you in my life at all.”

“Friendship,” she says slowly, as if turning the word over in her mouth. “No,” she adds. “I don’t think that’ll work.” 

His heart starts to sink and he tries his best not to let it show. But then she’s closing the distance between them - when had they moved so close to each other? - and her lips, red and soft and waxy and perfect, are on his. It’s brief and far from enough, but he remembers where they are and just how much he doesn’t need a public indecency charge. Instead, he reaches down to stroke her cheek gently and press his forehead to hers. 

“What are you doing tonight?” she asks after a moment, stepping back and wiping the lipstick from his mouth. 

“I have a gig at Upstairs at the Downstairs. It’s late. You?”

“Taping for the Gordon Ford show, but it ends early. I’ll come and then you can take me to dinner. I think you owe me a few dinners and maybe a few other things,” she says, smiling a little wickedly. 

“A few other things?” He hides a smile behind his hand. “I think that can be arranged.”

END