CHAPTER SIX.      A WIVES' TALE

☆

     Exiting the shabby office of her residential priest, Valerie felt infinitely better than before when she was storming out of Midge's Upper West Side apartment with the taste of bitterness still on her tongue. That hole that punctured her chest cavity mere months ago still hadn't calloused over, but there was a momentary brightness shielding her from the resentment, and the sadness, and the constant loneliness. Father Hagan kept his hand tenderly on her back, guiding her to the front of the church, past the short-lengthen pews. 

     "I hope your stand up goes well," He sincerely implored, "When you get some club dates, I could always show up for some moral support."

     Valerie snorted good-naturedly, "Is it really appropriate for a priest to watch a dirty comedy set at some seedy club?"

    "Just because I'm a servant of the Lord does not mean I can't 'cut loose', as you young people say it." Father Hagan jokingly replied, making his blonde companion giggle. They stopped in front of the open entry way of the church, the parting sunlight glazing the lower half of the Brooklyn street. Valerie clutched her coat tighter together, feeling the brush of the Fall breeze. 

     "Well, nevertheless, if I even manage to book some clubs, I'll let you know." She politely affirmed, though in the back of her mind she knew she wouldn't be inviting anyone she knew until her booking was at a decent joint and her material was somewhat comical. The last thing she wanted to be was a Joel Maisel at the Gaslight bombing in front of his wife and friends - though she supposed that was less due to his newness on the stage and more his lack of talent.

     Valerie opened her mouth, prepared to once again thank him for his soothing words and say her goodbyes, but an airy, high-pitched voice interrupting the steady atmosphere stopped her. "Oh, Father, just the man I wanted to see!"

     She looked over her shoulder and immediately wanted to scramble back into the safe haven (non-literal) of the church. Dottie Milton, the most WASP-y woman Valerie ever had the displeasure of ever knowing (which made it even weirder she owned one of the biggest townhouses in an Irish neighborhood) and co-chairman of the Brooklyn chapter of the Vigilant Women for the Bricker Amendment (VWBA). Perfectly blonde curls, finessed foundation, and desperate to get rid of the added weight after baby #3, she was an old family friend of her former in-laws and the polar opposite of Valerie. She reminded her of Imogen but to a much meaner extent.

     "We need to discuss the garden party for the food pantry..." After prettily ascending the three steps, her eyes finally noticed the tinier blonde next to the priest. Her hand flew to her exposed collarbone, graced by a silver cross. "Oh, Valerie, I didn't expect to see you out and about."

     It's been four months, should I stay coped up in my apartment and officially declare myself a spinster for the rest of my years. Thanks to the boost of positive thinking from Father Hagan, Valerie was able to gathered enough energy to plaster a fake smile across her face. "Dottie, how are you?"

     "How am I? How are you?" The woman's unnervingly large eyes zeroed in on her with immense curiosity. Dottie was a notable gossip in her social circle. "I can't imagine what you're going through." 

     "I've been..working through it, thank you Dottie." responded Valerie, quickly, hoping this chit-chat would end soon. "How's your husband and kids?"

     "Oh, they're fine, hun." She swiftly dismissed. "You know, my sister and I attended this grief group this one time for my cousin who died. Very harrowing, but I really do think it helped me on my healing journey. What about you? Any meetings?"

     The jarring brusqueness of her teeth scraping reminded her to hide her clenched jaw and put on an even more painful smile. "No, I haven't. I will consider it though, thank you for telling me."

     She tsked disapprovingly, "Better to wrap it all up then let it linger. More to the point, you're still young, sweetheart, shouldn't waste your time in the grieving process — then it will be too late to find yourself a new man."

     A frilly chuckle left her mouth at the end, like she was giggling with another pal about a clever joke she made or about steamy gossip surrounding a hot fella. Her hand gently swatted the side of Valerie's arm. The young woman felt her resolve waver, the absurdity of the words 'new man' and 'still young' drumming through her ear in a raging pace. She took a step forward, ready to give the Anita Ekberg-wannabe a piece of her mind, but Father Hagan briskly stepped in. "Ms. Milton, why don't we step inside and discuss the garden party."

     "Always straight to business, Father." Dottie quipped, eyes roving the older man's stature once, then twice, tone kind but stare judgement. She was aware Hagan wasn't like other priests in the area, representing a smaller church with a more urban, poorer congregation, but that didn't stop him from participating in his Christian mandated volunteer events. Dottie's regard swerved back onto the silently fuming blonde and perkily said: "Nice seeing you, Valerie. My condolences to you and Mark's parents, truly. I wish you strength on your own healing journey."

     She gracefully climbed the stairs of the holy building, plump purse swinging in tandem with the breeze. Only tense silence bridged the moment between the priest and the fermented blonde until Father Hagan pushed the front of his hair back. "I think, somewhere in that mess, she was actually sincere with her condolences."

     Valerie scoffed, though no bitterness was directed towards him. "Yeah, beneath the narcissism and insensitivity, I'm sure there was some pity for me as well. I should probably go before I march in there and say some very unholy things to that woman."

     Father Hagan briefly squeezed her hand, "Come around and see me sometime - to talk about God or the meaningless of life, or if you just need a sounding board for those new jokes of yours." 

     Vaguely, she felt the twitch of a smile on her face. "Will do." 

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

     Coming out to David an hour later about her new career choice carried the same amount of enthusiasm as Susie, but in a simmering-beneath-the-surface kind of way that was uniquely David, who as a struggling musician most his life, learned to reluctantly be happy when hearing good news. Valerie watched with a fresh flush across her face as her roommate rummaged through the old cupboards of their kitchen for an unopened bottle of champagne. Eventually, after some chatter, the man come around the corner to face the living room with a half-filled bottle of red wine and a row of wrapped crackers. 

     "This isn't the best celebration party," David shrugged his shoulders lazily, "But at least the crackers are Ritz and not Club."

     From her relaxed position across the couch, Valerie rose one of her brows, "No cheese?"

     He grimaced, "I think the cheese in the fridge is past expiration." 

     "A pass, then." Valerie scrunched her nose and gestured for him to sit down. Towering over their shared glass table, David filled two cups (not glasses, they weren't that fancy) of wine and spread the array of crackers out. After he settled across from her, he clinked his cup with her own.

     "To trying new things," The brunette wavered the drink close to his lips. "And hoping not to fuck it up."

     "To not fucking it up." 

     Together, they drank half of it in one go, the nerves and excitement over this new announcement conjoining as the alcohol deposited in their system. David rested his elbows on his legs, cupping the mug with both hands, inquiring hesitantly: "So, Susie from the The Gaslight is gonna manage you?"

     "Yeah, well she's the one who pushed me towards it the most." Valerie cleared her throat, settling into one of the cushions. "Besides Mark anyway. She's got all of these ideas about how I should start — my first gig being at The Gaslight, obviously. She doesn't want me to get the prime spots just yet, in case I suck in the beginning, which I probably will." 

     "You'll get better." He said off-handedly, like it was already a fact. "You got a general idea of what you're going to perform?"

    "Yeah, just revamped versions of what I did when you and the others were on tour, but with more...me in it, I guess. No hyped-up gimmicks anymore." Valerie pondered at the ceiling above her. "It will be weird to not perform as an introduction to another group. It's all about me this time."

     "You could get some gigs opening for bands or something, if that would help you get back into the groove of things." suggested the man. "It got you some favorable reviews last time."

     "Yeah, maybe." She quietly responded. Only difference was that this time she was trying to make a name for herself in an already populated, male-dominated crowd. On the tour, she was just helping out her sister and the managers who didn't want to pay actual comedians to do a less than ten-minute set.

     David settled his drink on the table, "Well, no matter what you decide, I know you're gonna be great at it. You've always been hilarious and you were brilliant while on the tour."

     She waved off his compliments, but appreciated the encouragement nonetheless. "Well, thank you for the vote of confidence. I just...need a change in my life, because I don't want to be stuck in this cycle anymore, and I think maybe this could be something to get me out."

     David stared at her for a moment, eyes glazing into something sad for a moment. "Yeah, I know what you mean." He said quietly, before drowning the rest of his wine. When he spoke again, his voice was raised slightly, to hide the abrupt melancholy. "So Midge quit on you and Susie?"

     "Yeah, for the second time!" Valerie exasperated, silently grateful for the shift in tone. "It was such bad whiplash, going from oh we're gonna do this thing together as a team to no fuck you, I've changed my mind, you're on your own. I mean, she didn't say those things in explicit terms, but it felt like it."

     "To be fair to the Princess of the Upper West Side," David's lips quirked amusingly. "Joel has just left her with two kids and a pair of judgmental Jewish parents. I'm sure she's going through a roller-coaster of emotions herself." 

    "Don't be reasonable." mumbled Valerie. "I will say though, despite the double-abandonment, I am on her side with the whole Joel fiasco! I mean, leaving your wife and kids in the middle of the night all, because you're not as funny as Bob Hope — not to mention the fucking of the secretary on the side." 

     "I'm sure he feels like a real man now." He mused somewhat contemptuously, reclining in his chair. "Does he know you're gonna stop writing and do stand-up yourself?" 

     "I'm not sure, and to be honest, I have no interest in going out of my way to tell him myself. We've never been friends, not in a real way, and if I have it my way, I won't be seeing him for a while. Otherwise, he'll get a mouthful out of me and I'll be banned from that fancy apartment building of theirs." Valerie explained scornfully. "Those two kids will be learning all the cuss words before they're able to sing the alphabet."

     "Midge will be putting three barricades between the two of you now." chuckled David. "World War III will break out otherwise."

     "And it will be Ireland for the win." Valerie firmly retorted. A sigh left her mouth shortly after, "First I have to deal with Midge's mood swings, then I had to listen to Dottie and her fake sympathies for ten minutes..."

     David swirled his cup around, watching the baby droplets of remaining red chase each other around the rim. His head rose curiously. "Dottie Milton? The lady who proposed cutting the size of park benches so that homeless people would stop sleeping in the parks?"

     "The very same." She propped herself up, animated at the prospect of venting about the other blonde. "She's probably the tenth, or the millionth person, to talk to me about grief groups, and my healing journey, and relating my husband's death to the passing of their goddamn cousin or something! I wish everyone could keep treating me the way they did right after it happened, which was sending me food and cash slipped in sympathy cards, and not talking to me."

     He let out a short chuckle, "Your old kitchen was filled to the brim with cuisine."

     "Didn't eat much of it, but it was nice not to cook for a while." Valerie admitted, anger still fueling inside about her one-sided conversation with Dottie. "It just made me so mad when she was talking to me like that! I wanted to tell her where she could put her grief group nonsense, but I chose to be the bigger person and kept polite." 

     David looked amazed, "You kept polite? You just got out of jail for assaulting your boss — which, by the way, still offended you didn't call me to bail you out."

     "First off, I already told you I couldn't call you, because you had that gig that night." The blonde quickly responded, her finger pointing directly at him. "Second off, I had just spent nearly an hour talking to a priest inside a holy establishment and I was feeling a certain type of way, alright?"

     "Looks like Jesus finally stepped in and took over for you for a moment." David determined with a humored smirk.

     "He didn't cleanse my thoughts though." Valerie muttered, flexing her hands against the surface of the pillow she griped into her lap at some point during her moment of vexation. "I still wanted to throttle her. Healing journey? What the hell even is that?"

     "Something you would put on an overpriced candle." 

    "Exactly!" 

     David contemplated for a moment, looking around for something, until he spotted her thick and fabric bound notebook sitting on the edge of the kitchen table. He sprung from his chair and grabbed it, rummaging through one of the drawers for a pen, before throwing both items into Valerie's lap. An elevated expression captured his face. "Write about it."

     "What?"

     He leaned in like he was sharing a secret, enraptured. "Listen, whenever Mark or Seb or Tony or even me were feeling pissed off and angry at the world, we wrote it down. Slowly, that anger turned into lyrics. Comedians are the same way, I figured."

     "Wise advice, I'm sure that's how Bing Cosby wrote his Christmas album."

     "It worked, didn't it? We made some good songs. And I bet you anything, you'll find your best jokes if you just relay your anger and frustration into humor." He nudged the book closer to her, gaze stern, daring her to make another guarded joke. "The point is this: Mark took his feelings and made it into music. Why don't you take your anger and make it into laughter?"

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

     Thursday night rolled around in a fast wave of caffeine-induced consciousness and determination. Valerie didn't notice the transition from day to night, day to night, as her mind switched solely onto writing Dear Margo letters and finessing her first ever set for The Gaslight. Her spine had become permanently bent over the past couple of days due to curving over the kitchen table, hands occupied either with writing half-brained routines or typing responses in her typewriter. The only time she took breaks was to go to the bathroom or when David would force her to revisit reality with a small plate of food and a cup of coffee. Susie was up her ass when she could get away from the duties at The Gaslight (not that Valerie, for all the years she's known Susie, could pinpoint what exactly she did), inquiring anxiously about the progress of the set, making her go over jokes, scratching various bits that wouldn't work, determined to figure out if she was going to bail like Midge did. 

     "I swear to God if we introduce you up there and you're a no show," Susie threatened one afternoon over the phone, the breach of Thursday night's performance clearly getting to her. "There will not be a single place in this city where you can hide from me. I'll make you wish your family stayed in Ireland with their fucking potato famine and typhoid."

     Valerie was unperturbed, sleepily clutching the phone close to her ear, trying not to fall asleep again over her typewriter. "Listen, I'm touched with the check-ups, but you're worse than any Irish mother I've ever met. I promise you, I am going to be there tomorrow night at ten o'clock sharp, okay?"

     She recalled Susie letting out a loud breath of relief. "Okay."

     "And by the way, the potato famine isn't really an accurate description, it was more of a mass attempted genocide by the British Empire to destroy the native Irish language and displace -"

     At that point, Susie had hung up, and left Valerie to her devices until the two met Thursday night. In all her determination to not only get her work at the Herald done and prove to the bosses that she was worth keeping around for a revamped edition of Dear Margo, she hadn't focused on the anxiety peddling inside her over the prospect of performing as a real stand up comedian — or at least an amateur one. As she walked down the cement path towards the ablaze sign above the underground club, the nerves of this evening were finally starting to catch up. Naturally, it felt different from all her times MC-ing on her sister's tour; there was more weight this time, more stakes placed into this as she now had a manager she didn't want to let down and a career she wanted to triumph. 

     Valerie paused before she could walk down the steep grated steps leading to the entrance. One of her hands reached to clench the black steel curling around the railing. She itched for a cigarette and a moment alone with her thoughts to actually smoke it, but knew she didn't have the time. Secretly, and maybe with a bit of discontent as she really didn't need anyone, she wished Midge was here. She remembered seeing the way she encouraged Joel in his short lived shtick at comedy, how she always bore compliments even when he sucked, and always supported him. It would have been nice to have a friend with a certain amount of radiating warmth here tonight, as Susie was most likely going to be a bundle of nerves and brutal commentary, and in no position to be offering faux accolades.

     Finally, Valerie gave herself the final push and entered the dim atmosphere of The Gaslight, weaving through scattered tables and avoiding the spotlight as everyone watched a black woman of about thirty performing, well, something while on stage. As she made her way to the bar, she snuck quick glances at the crowd, counting as many heads as she could and taking some measure of consolation at empty tables. She caught sight of Susie vibrating behind the counter of the bar, a cigarette clasp between two fingers, eyes narrowed like a shark's as she surveyed the club. After a brief minute, she noticed Valerie as she was a couple of paces away from the bar. 

     "It's about time! You're on in five minutes!" Susie whipped her head around to check the clock on the wall, jerkily snubbing out her cigarette into an ash tray.

      Valerie furrowed her eyebrows and gestured to the woman reciting garbled poetry into a microphone. "You've got a woman speaking tongues on stage and you're concerned about me showing up late. Besides, going on in five minutes means I'm still early."

     "Not early enough for my liking." Susie barked, though the blonde could tell it was less out of annoyance and more out of apprehension. She could see some of the tension bundled in the tiny women disappearing once Valerie arrived, though that still didn't change the jitteriness of Susie's posture. 

     "Here, I got you some of this." Susie brought two glasses from behind the counter that were filled with an amber liquid and slid them towards her. Valerie sniffed it hesitantly, before drowning the shot. "Irish courage. Your favorite, minus the cherry."

     "You guys got to start buying cherries." Valerie said through a wince, shivering slightly as the whiskey warmed her blood and flushed the paleness of her skin. "And not the half-cut ones, the Maraschinos." 

     "Hey, when we become rich and famous off of your jokes, you can buy all the Maraschino cherries you want." Susie jabbed her finger in her face, eyes stead fast and deadly-serious. "You can buy stakes in the Maraschino cherry enterprise. You can hoard bottles of Maraschino syrup to make all the Cherry Coca-Cola concoctions you want, as long as you perform like you did at the Stork and make us some money."

     In the face of Susie's daunting warnings, Valerie remained unfazed, and let out a longing sigh. "I would kill for a cherry coke right now."

     "Oh my God." Susie whispered in exasperation, one hand dropping helplessly to her side. Two of her fingers came to pinch the bridge of her nose. "Please take this seriously — I am introducing you to the cats and dogs of this establishment that, unfortunately, keep this place busy."

     "I am taking this seriously, honest to God." Valerie replied, keeping eye contact with Susie, wanting to ease some of the troubling worries weighing her down. 

     Susie seemingly noticed her sincerity as she loosened up slightly, the concerned lines busying her forehead vanishing. "Alright, good." Some of her confidence swept back in as she clapped her hands and came around the bar. "Now, let me see the outfit."

     Confused but willing, Valerie open up the sides of her coat. She wore tight brown trousers and a black top that hung just off the cusps of her shoulders. With her hair down in loose waves and a light amount of mascara coating her lids, it was admittedly one of the few times she's dressed up to actually look nice since Mark's passing. A few weeks ago, she would have considered getting out of a bed a success, and now she was performing in front of at least a dozen people in some of her best clothes, dressed to kill. She was a bit proud of herself, to be truthful. 

     Susie let out a low whistle, a satisfied smirk gracing her face. "Damn, you do look hot." She forcefully spun Valerie around and helped slip the entire coat off, hanging it off the back of a stool. "Even if your jokes suck tonight, at least you'll keep the audience interested enough to keep their eyes on ya."

     "That's comforting." mused Valerie, straightening her shirt and discreetly wiping off some of the sweat on her palms with the back of her pants. The woman on stage was bowing gracefully as a couple of people in the audience clapped. "Any last minute advice?"

     "Nope, other than don't pass out. Do one forgets a 'passer'." Susie rubbed her hands together, glaring at the half-raised stage feet in front of her like it was an enemy that needed to be vanquished. "And don't vomit — Jackie's not working tonight and if you vomit, I have to clean it up."

     "Thanks for the pep talk, manager." grumbled the blonde.

     "Never been good at those. You'll be fine, kid." She patted her once on the back and flourished onto the stage. She gripped the microphone in front of her and gestured to the people. "This next lady is a stand-up comic, not a singer, who will blow your socks off. Please welcome...Valerie King!"

     To leisure applause, Valerie straightened her back and walked onto the stage. The spotlight immediately blinded her vision as the person behind it focused on her. Not daring to look back at the audience yet, she occupied her slightly shaky hands with releasing the mic to her hold and dropping the bracket to her level. After the applause died and her voice could be heard at the mic's level, she looked up to the dozen people watching her who seemingly had doubled into a whole sea of people. She could heard the clink of coffee mugs meeting the table, the vacant coughs of individuals in the back, the watchful stare of Susie begging her not to fuck this up too badly to the point of no return. It wasn't like opening up for someone else' tour at all. 

     Just when she felt that maturing croak in her throat, and contemplate how badly Susie would hurt her if she just ran off stage instead of passing out, she saw that familiar pair of eyes in the mindless haze of the broad crowd. A wide set of hooded brown eyes that always sparkled with mischief, and joy, and delight; belonging to the same face that held that charming grin she always loved, that hair she'd run her hands in all night, that jaw she use to bite and kiss. He was sitting there at some random table, gazing up at her, wearing that prideful grin that always meant he was watching her doing something that he loved, that he found awe-inspiring and wonderful. Mark was there and didn't possess the anxiousness Susie had or even she herself had; he just knew she would be good and alright, because she always was. 

     Some tight fist that had been crushing her chest released; the light shining in her face didn't blind and Valerie could finally see the audience clearly. There was no more trepidation, only calm. She brought the mic to her mouth and smiled. "Has anyone else ever been attacked by a W.A.S.P outside a church before? By W.A.S.P, I'm not talking about the insect — though they do share an alarmingly amount of characteristics — but a White Anglo Saxon Protestant American. This is a subgroup of white people in the United States — very separate from the Italians, the Irish, the Catholics — who live very different lives than the majority of Americans."  

     She could see a few acknowledgement nods from the crowd. "Now, the women from this subgroup are a novelty to this side of New York — they don't venture down here unless it's time to clean up the city and get the cross-dressers out of the police union's benefit function — so I'll give you all a cheat sheet. They're the P.T.A. moms, they take their babies strolling through Central Park even though no one fucking strolls through Central Park willingly —" A couple of louder chuckles came out. "— other than tourists, and when it was reported that the Jews were being slaughtered over in Europe, they were hesitant to help out." 

      "Normally, I have no problem with any particular group, but I am half-Irish, half-Italian, and Catholic — I know, triple threat — and historically, we have not gotten along. Now, I'm outside a local church in my neighborhood in Brooklyn," She paused to allow the brief spouts of cheering coming from fellow Brooklyners in the audience. "We're in Manhattan right now so that is something to cheer about. Uh, anyway, I'm outside this church, talking to the priest who operates the building, and a woman I was vaguely acquainted with through my husband's family walks up to me."

     "For some backstory, my husband died four months ago and I've isolated myself from...well, relatively everyone." There was a few awkward chuckles, like they didn't know whether or not it was appropriate to laugh. "My husband came from a very wealthy family, their money coming from a big rum empire in Cuba, and basically ever since we got married, I've avoided the circles of old money-type people he's been forced to associate with for his whole life — so, I can't even use his death as an excuse as to why I don't willing talk to this woman."

     "Now, this woman, whose radicalized all her friends into thinking poor people in Alabama should not receive welfare stamps and probably should have gotten a dog instead of a child if she wanted an accessory, knows that my husband has passed and of course, twists the situation to make it all about her." Valerie swung the cord of her mic away from her feet, pacing slowly around the front rim of the stage. "Like any W.A.S.P-y lady, she observed a situation out and when she sees a point of attack, she stings. She saw a vulnerable woman talking to a priest, and she thought perfect opportunity to intervene." 

     "She talks, and talks, and mentions how she attended a grief group with her sister when her cousin died and how it really helped her on her healing journey. She then proceeded to wish me strength for my healing journey. Now...," She clasped the microphone tight in her hands. "If I hear one more person offer me strength on my healing journey, I'm going to throw a balloon of acid into every candle store on Long Island."

      Her first roar of absolute laughter, mingled with claps and hoots coming from people who seemed to resonate with what she was spitting out. "Because anyone who is going through what I am going through knows it's not a healing journey. And calling it a healing journey, by the way, makes it worse, because when it's the middle of the night and I'm staring up at the sky from my window contemplating the point of existing, it doesn't feel like a healing journey. I'm always like 'I think I'm fucking up my healing journey right now', and it feels like I've just received an F on a homework assignment from school. I'm gonna get a bad report card, a letter from my teacher, and a very stern conversation with my father." 

      More laughter, and it felt like she was getting high off of it. She continued: "If they would call it a 'numb slog', or a 'depression session', or even just a case of 'low spirits', then I could at least go, 'I'm nailing it, alright, I'm right where I need to be'. Another thing this woman mentioned was grief groups and how I should attend them, which shows she clearly doesn't have a fucking clue about how the Irish work." 

      "You see, it's been drilled inside my head that I should not show any emotion whatsoever, and since I was mainly raised by my father my entire life, my mother's Italian never kicked in and now I don't even know how to express myself through yelling," One of the ladies up front was slapping her knee so hard as the rest of the people hide their laughter behind their raised hands. "All I know is two extremes: bottle up my emotions or punch. Those are my only two options! Bottle up or punch, which has gotten me into so many bad situations. 'Cause this is how the Irish work, okay, they're just like —" She bent down slightly and caged her fingers against her sternum. "'I'll keep all my emotions in here and then one day, I'll die.'" 

     More laughter. Laugh after laugh after laugh. She couldn't recall feeling more joy in the last four months. "In Ireland, if your child dies, it's like 'okay, do it quick, bury the boy, just do it' and then you wither away in misery for the rest of your life in silence. The Irish don't want comfort — look at a sweater made in Ireland, it's like a turtleneck made out of steel wool! They like the pain, it gives them power, it helps them transcend above the British!" 

     "Italian men are very similar to all the Irish, but Italian women are very expressive with their feelings, very emotional, which is something I've always admired but also been uncomfortable with. And that very much sums up my lack of function as a human being." She took a moment to clear her throat, attempting to get rid of the dryness, while the audience clapped and clapped. They looked at her like they related completely, like they understood her and her world view. It was an odd sense of comfort in a place where she was standing alone on a stage. 

     "Shortly after my husband's funeral, my older sister Gene offered me to stay with her for a few days in Boston, which is where I'm originally from. I said yes, because truth be told, I didn't want to be alone in my old apartment with an abundance of food I wasn't going to finish and all the alcohol in the world at my finger tips — that seemed like a recipe for disaster — so I said yes. I stayed for a few days and you know, it wasn't the worse in the world. I did little projects around the house and played with the kids just to keep my mind off things. One morning, I offered to take my niece and nephew to school after they had been absent for a couple of days due to their uncle dying."

     "So Monday morning, I've driving the kids to their elementary school — my old elementary school, in fact — and keep in mind, I haven't sleep in like four days, and as we're walking up, it looked like a junkie had found two kids and was just like 'they said the grown-ups get free apple slices, is that true?'" She had changed her voice into an exaggerated Boston drawl with a lot of hoarseness. "And as I'm on the edge of hallucination at this point, from grief and sleeplessness, all of their little friends, who had been told over the weekend what happened and were sat down by their parents, are coming up and firing questions at me. Worse part is they're not meaning to be mean, they just have no filter, they're little kids!"

     "So, I'm surrounded by these adorable faces saying, 'when Fiona and Aiden's uncle died, were you saaad?'" She groaned silently as she drew her head back and blinked at the ceiling. People in the crowd laughed, but also winced alongside her, feeling her pain. "And me having to be like 'yes I was very sad, honey.'" She pretended to have uncomfortable laughter coming out of the back of her throat. "'Isn't it great to talk to children?'"

     Valerie switched her voice back, "A couple of their friends, without meaning to, let slip a little too much information about their home lives, though, in their questions, which was kind of interesting. One of the kids asked, 'Are you going to have a new husband', to which I said 'I'm not really thinking about that right now'. She said back —" Valerie continued in an adorable, five-year-old voice, "— Because when my mom and dad stopped living together, I had a stepdad right away!'"

     She grimaced along with the crowd, "I said 'I bet you did. Is he teaching you how to fix the sink right now, because...I bet he's not being paid to do that sort of stuff around the house anymore.'" 

      Valerie allowed herself a brief break, not really to get her breath back, but to bath in the warmth and energy radiating off the small crowd. She inhaled deeply, letting a bright grin take over her face, before her eyes roamed towards the side of the club and she caught sight of a brunette in a rather brilliant red cocktail dress. Midge was standing by the door in a beige coat and her whole body humming with vitality, that familiar unhappy frown drowning her entire expression in unpleasantness. The two locked eyes, and without saying a word, Valerie understood what Midge needed. She cleared her throat, glanced at Susie behind the bar, and apologetically addressed the crowd, "Unfortunately, I'm going to have to cut this bit short as I have a friend here who I think is equally, if not more, entertaining and deserving of being up on this stage. So if you all could gracefully give her a hand, here's my friend Midge Maisel."

    She didn't bother with exiting the stage, instead taking root in the giant orange chair at the very back of the arena, watching as Midge arrived in a flush of red, spitting Russian into the microphone and cursing the newly revealed incompetence of her husband. She paced the stage in an uncoordinated effort, digging her heels into the stairs and floorboard as she swerved around the circular tables and talked directly to the people. One in a while, Valerie would chime in with a comment, that would get laughs for the most part, but she mainly watched as Midge worked in unplanned movements and speeches. She was wonderful, Susie was right about that, even if she hadn't had a forethought about what she was going to say next.

     And then there were the cops, and the profanity, and Midge being walked off stage by some junior deputy, and of course, because Valerie is Valerie, she had to say something and join her. It was still the greatest night she's had in four months.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

     By the time they settled the two women into the same holding cell as last time, Valerie was wondering if she should hide some magazines around here just to make the next time more entertaining. When she suggested some games to Midge, like I Spy or a guessing game of who was in here for what crime, the brunette was unamused. Still perfectly put-together in her red evening dress, Midge kept her back perfectly straight as she stared at the only door in the room, patiently waiting for their bail payment to be announced. Valerie was incredibly relaxed, slouching against the yellowish wall and bracing both legs on top of the bench.

     At the other corner of the holding cell, there were two women conversely quietly with one another, their clothes ruffled, their hair disarrayed, and the familiar splashes of dried up blood across their bosoms. Funny enough, they were women that reminded Valerie of home back in Boston.

     Valerie nudged Midge's thigh with the tip of her flats, whispering discretely. "What about them? I'm thinking robbery gone wrong, but it could go a million different ways."

     Midge glanced at her, scandalized, "You can't say stuff like that!"

     "I just did." Valerie blinked, confused.

     When the brunette didn't respond, Valerie resumed her position against the wall with a huff. They could hear the faint whistling coming from the cops outside the glass door, the subtle clack of keys swinging around their finger tips. 

     "No, this is the guy I met two weeks ago at the Bon Soir, the one who's going bald on top?"

     "...the one with the greasy mustache?"

     "Yeah, that guy!"

     The two women in the corner were growing more lively in their conversation. The woman in the black shook her head in disbelief, "This blows my mind."

     "I know, you know? Then he says... get this... he says 'so, the cash, now' just like that. You know me, I don't put up with shit, so I grab his knife and —" The opposing woman made some very aggressive jerky motions in the air. Valerie could see Midge flinching even with her back still turned, her imagination probably running wild. She tried to glance back just to catch a glimpse as to what these women looked like, but the blood soaked one reliving her tale like it was Shakespeare in the park quickly barked at her, "Do I owe you money?"

     "No, sorry!" Midge quickly apologize, eyes firmly back onto the door in front of her.

     The woman went back to her companion, shrugging, "I though he'd move."

     "Hey, everybody dies." 

     "Worst part was the blood. It was everywhere." The woman complained in exasperation, her scrunched in disgust. "On the walls, on the floor. I mean, look at this." She gestured to her shirt. "He was like a fire hydrant, and I love this top."

     Midge found it pertinent to speak up. "Salt it!"

     "What?"

     Gulping, she continued, "The stain. Salt it, then pour boiling water on it till the water runs clear. Stain should be gone."

    Oddly enough, the woman appreciated the advice. "Neat. Thanks." She pinched the different stained spots of her shirt, grumbling, "I'm gonna need a lot of salt..."

     Valerie turned her attention back onto Midge, "Why weren't you giving me laundry advice when my asshole boss punched me and ruined my blouse?"

     "I was a little preoccupied," admitted Midge, giving her a side-eyed glare. "With the fact that my life had just been shattered into a million bits."

     "You couldn't have spared a moment of consideration for me?" Valerie retorted, completely in jest, even if Midge huffed and kept her gaze pointedly at the wall. Truthfully, despite the unfortunate circumstances of tonight, Valerie was feeling quite okay with herself even as time trickled slowly in a jail cell. She was still riding that high from her performance, the exhilaration of finding a new drug keeping her mind clear of any anxiety or worries of what tomorrow would bring. She thought of their laughter, their claps, how she felt completely in-tune with herself and what she was trying to showcase to that tiny underground club. Most of all though, she marveled with how at peace she felt, how she felt Mark's silent regard on her the entire time. It was probably the closest she had ever felt to God, and it didn't even require prayer.

     The fact that Midge had reappeared as if magically summoned elevated the night as well. It still stung about the failed promises for building a bubbling career together, but she could forgive that easily, more so if Midge was here to stay this time. Remarkably, Susie was also right; Midge really did glow when she was on stage, beam in a way Valerie had never witnessed except when she was giving her toast at her wedding with Joel. She could be good with a little fine tuning and together, maybe this road to success could be made a lot easier.

    Despite her eagerness to confirm whether or not Midge rethought her decision, she knew now wasn't the time. So she let Midge lightly doze off as an hour or so trickled by, let herself catch up on some sleep as well considering how much she's missed this past week. Eventually, the two women were startled awake by the sound of a female deputy's voice, the same one from their first arrest. 

     "Maisel, King, both of your bails have been paid for." The woman blankly announced.

     Craning her neck from side to side, Valerie followed Midge out of the brig and followed the officer into the hallway. The officer gave a bored one-over to Midge, "You're possessions are in the next room over. I just need you to sign some papers for their release."

     "Oh, okay..." Midge tossed a hesitant look over towards Valerie, whose purse and coat were luckily back at The Gaslight. 

     Valerie waved her off, "I'll meet you downstairs, okay?"

     Midge nodded and followed the female deputy into the conjoined room. With now another officer on her tail, Valerie started her descend down the metal staircase, fingers skimming the peeling railing paint as she went down. The officer, who looked somewhat familiar, kept glancing at her distastefully. "I would have thought you would have learnt your lesson after the first time."

     Okay, must be the same guy that hauled her off to the cop car after the fiasco at the Herald. Was this precinct really that short-staffed? Valerie gave a short chortle of amusement, every step she took light as the hum of a good performance still thrived in her body. "No, my plan is to hit all five boroughs — might make things more interesting." She reached down to one of the back pockets of her trousers, realizing an empty weight. "I had a lighter in here...did one of your guys steal my lighter while feeling me up?"

     "By feeling you up, do you mean arresting you? Doubtful."

     Valerie scoffed loudly, "Your concern for stolen possessions is really reinstating my faith in the blue line."

     She was getting closer to the lobby floor, edging around the last corner. The officer inquired a few steps back, "You got a coat? It's cold out there!"

     Before reaching the final platform, she gave him a quick glance. "Susie probably has it..."

     Valerie faced the downward slope of stairs, expecting to see her little lady manager with a leather jacket in tow to warm her up, but instead met the hooded and gentle expression of Lenny Bruce, standing in front of the main desk in his beige coat with his shoulders slightly hunched, head cocked to the side. The blonde blinked at him, pulling her hand off her ass cheek and hoping the restless past hour in a jail cell didn't do anything bad to her hair. "You're not Susie."

    "Nope."

     Cautiously, she treaded the steps down. "I thought Susie bailed me out."

     "I was working down the street, heard some cute blonde got arrested doing a set." He explained with a teasing tone, regard steady on her own as she left the staircase and approached. Christ, he was tall when you got close to him — or maybe she was just short. "Then found out her uptown friend got arrested alongside her. I put two and two together, and..."

    His hand fluttered to rest on the hickory surface of the table as he gauged her reaction. "Well, thanks." She eventually said, still processing the craziness of this interaction, of the most famous comedian in New York bailing her out of jail. After a brief moment, the strangeness of the situation faded and some of her confidence slithered home; she craned her head up and met his notice easily, "And correction, I wasn't arrested for doing a set, I was arrested after my set and for defending my friend."

     "Aw, my apologies." Lenny put his hand over his heart, a smirk dancing on his lips. He gestured up the stairs. "Your friend getting her belongings."

     "Yep, probably trying to figure out if they repossessed her credit cards."

    He snapped his fingers, "You know, I always find I'm missing cigarettes, hard cash, or joints whenever I come here." 

     "They must enjoy your company so much, they want tokens to remember you by." Valerie suggested with a grin.

     "Why need tokens when this is practically my weekend rest stop nowadays?" He countered easily, a sparkle in his eyes. 

     After a moment, she held out her hand, "I'm Valerie, by the way. Valerie King."

     He shook it, "Not Val?"

     "Only to my gynecologist."

     "Oh shucks, we're not there yet." He snapped his fingers again, seemingly just for the point of moving without really fidgeting. His teasing ceased for a moment as he greeted her properly. "Lenny Bruce."

     Valerie rolled her eyes in good-nature, "I know who you are."

    From up above the labyrinth of stairs, she heard the repetitive nature of heels clicking against the marble floor. Midge's pristine voice carried through out the lobby as she came more into view, "Lipstick, cigarettes... Hey, I had some Necco Wafers in here. They're gone."

    "Little lesson the crime doesn't pay!"

    She stopped on the platform and her face transformed into the same expression of sudden surprise as her own did. Midge blinked a couple times as she fully absorbed Lenny Bruce's repeated presence only a couple feet away from her. "You're not Susie."

     Valerie gestured towards the man, "We've got our own fairy godmother tonight."

     "Please, I'm at least one of the dancing mice turned chauffeur."

    Midge shook her head in disbelief, "This is just getting weirder and weirder."

    "You're telling me." Valerie mumbled. Once Midge was down the stairs and depositing her slip of paperwork across the front desk, she said: "Lenny, this is Midge Maisel."

     Lenny shook her hand as well, "Ah, good stage name."

     "No, it's my actual name."

    "Seriously?" His face scrunched.

    "Seriously." 

    His lips pursed for a moment. He then shrugged off his surprise. "Well, I guess this means we're all even then."

    "Hey, we threw in cab fare." Valerie chimed.

    "Oh, rats!" Lenny snapped his fingers, not looking the least bit bothered that there was one small favor in their leverage, and slowly joined the two women's amble towards the double-doorway of the precinct. The Manhattan air outside was still brisk and cool, a good cool-off for Valerie after being stuck in a musky jail cell. When Midge had called Susie on the one-time-only telephone line, the plan was to relax at a nearby restaurant after she posted the bail money. Hopefully, she had gotten caught up with Midge's mother and wouldn't bother showing up to the precinct. 

     Lenny wiggled his fingers between the ladies. "So, are you two just starting off? I'm sorry to say I haven't heard of either one of you through the grapevine before."

     "Yes, we are. Tonight was my first official performance," Valerie answered, shivering moderately as the effective warmth from the alcohol she drank earlier lost its touch. "And Midge's second unofficial performance."

    The burrowed-browed, confused expression didn't stamper off his face, but once again, he didn't bother for further clarification, like a true New Yorker who had seen and heard odder things. Once Lenny noticed the way Valerie was crossing her arms closely to her chest, he was immediately slipping off his coat. "Here, take this."

     She allowed him to drape the beige coat over her shoulders, which practically engulfed her. "Thanks." 

    As they continued to walk, the ominous stature of the police headquarters growing more distant in the background, Lenny inquired curiously at Valerie, "So what caused you to end up in the back of my police car anyway?"

    "Your police car? Didn't realize you owned it." teased the blonde.

     "Oh, yes, they wouldn't let me claim it for taxes purposes, but I carved my initials underneath the back seat so we could make it official." He professed dramatically, hands waving in mid-air. Already, she enjoyed talking to him, the banter coming as easily as smoothing butter across two pieces of bread.

     "Well, on that night, I got into an argument with my boss. Words were exchanged, there was yelling, and I ended up punching him in the face." explained Valerie, watching as Lenny's face contorted into something akin to impressed. There was also a thread of amusement intertwined, a funny image in his head of this petite woman fighting a grown man. "He didn't like that at all so he ended up punching me right back, hence all the blood."

     "And the cut-off blouse was just you rough-housing?" He gestured with his fingers a slash in the middle of his chest. 

    Ah, so he did notice her bra. Valerie tried not to blush at that — she was never a prude anyway. "That was me making a point about misogyny in the workplace."

     "I'm sure it was a keen lecture." Lenny curved his head around to look at the brunette. "And what's your story Midge? I remember seeing you in that exact holding cell as well."

     After a hefty sigh, she answered: "I ended up at The Gaslight after my husband left me and my two kids, and I ended up drinking a whole bottle of wine," An embarrassed flush was crawling over her skin at the turnout of that night. "I just got up on stage to let off some steam and everything sort of...came out, including some curse words, which is apparently illegal."

     "Yes, well, you can't say words like that or you'll damage this Christian society of the United States forever!" He made a wide-sweeping gesture, mimicking the tone of one of his loud critics she assumed. 

     "What about you?" Valerie asked, "What was your big crime that night?"

     "Similar to Midge besides the wine and the schmuck husband." Lenny admitted, "I was doing my usual rounds around the club circuit, said some words that caught the attention of some cops on duty, and found myself back in a jail cell. Believe it or not, it wasn't an unusual night for me."

     Valerie hummed and continued her leisure pace to the restaurant. She was resisting the urge to bombard the man with questions, knowing it probably would be annoying as this man wasn't offering to be her teacher and was just presenting a monetary helping hand of kindness (or a favor owed, if you viewed it that way). At least the shock of standing and talking to the infamous Lenny Bruce was wearing off, as she'd rather not make a fool of herself in front of him. Soon enough, the dainty coffeehouse in the middle of an entire row of diners appeared. Valerie quietly wondered if Lenny was going to just drop them off and bid his goodbyes, or actual come in. Her question was answered as she reached for the door and Lenny's hand quickly appeared from behind, clasping the handle.

    "I got it, I got it." He said quietly, keeping it open for her and Midge. Valerie thanked him under her breath and slid off his coat, handing it back gratefully. Quickly, her and Midge spotted their manager, sitting at a four-person table with a cigarette in one hand and a newspaper displayed across the table. Lenny made a quick b-line to the cigarette machine in the corner while Midge and Valerie joined their friend on the other side.

    Midge slid into her seat, dangling her purse across the side of the chair, "Hey, I thought you were bailing us out. What's wrong?"

    "Your mother, that's what's wrong." Susie replied testily.

    "So you called her..." 

    "Yeah, I called her and it was awful." Susie asserted, her eyes tired as if she had been through quite the ordeal. "I mean, I forgot my own name, how does that happen?"

     "My mother can intimidate." Midge absentmindedly commented, checking the state of her makeup through a compact.

     Susie drilled on, "I was Carol for a second, then I was Donna or some shit, then I was Mrs. Miniver for like a full three minutes."

     "Mrs Miniver? From the movie?"

     "She was spinning webs around me, man!" She incredulously exclaimed, "She was like a evil web-spinning spider death sorceress! I almost confessed to the Lindbergh kidnapping."

     "They caught that guy." Midge replied, putting away her compact.

     Valerie relaxed in her chair, glancing at her manager, "Well, at least we now know you wouldn't do well in an interrogation."

     Susie didn't respond; her eyes had suddenly gone wide as she looked past Midge's shoulder. "Oh shit. You're not gonna believe this! Holy shit."

    "What?" Both women looked behind themselves to see what the fuss was about. 

     Susie leaned forward, speaking hastily, "The best comedian...I mean, the best fucking comedian in the business is right over there."

     Valerie's gaze drifted to where Susie was pointing and sure enough, Lenny was in her clear view, standing tall in that black suit of his, hitting the cigarette machine grumpily. Combining their last two encounters and now witnessing the battle between him and a cigarette machine, the unspeakable glamor of Lenny Bruce was quickly wearing off, especially when he didn't exactly act like a star.

     She jerked her thumb towards the man, "You mean Lenny?"

     "Really? Lenny? Like you know him?" 

     "Yeah." Valerie nodded, looking at Midge, who gave confirmation as well.

     "How the hell do you two know Lenny Bruce?"

     "He bailed us out." Valerie stated.

     "Why?"

     "'Cause we bailed him out." said Midge nonchalantly.

     "What the hell is this? We've only been working together for a week!" Susie hooted in bewilderment.     

     Before the three women could say anything else, Lenny was sauntering back over, coat clutched in one hand, the other free of any cigarettes. No longer in the dimness of the precinct or bathed in the midnight sky, Valerie could see more clearly the bags that lied underneath his eyes, the lines that stretched into weariness across his face. It didn't take away from his good looks, but it sure emphasized the long nights and hours of his profession. Valerie recalled seeing those same looks on her sister and husband, though with less sullenness to them.

    "Machine ate my quarters." He interposed defeatedly.

    "You should tell someone." Midge suggested, but he waved it off, not bothering.

    As if she stuck her finger into an electrical socket, Susie perked up, gesturing to her own packet of cigarettes. "Have one of mine, Lenny, please."

    Lenny glided into the chair next to her, grasping the white stick. "Thanks. You got a light?"

     "Yeah." Susie flicked her lighter and held up the flame as Lenny ducked his head low, cigarette aimed between his lips. While he was occupied, Susie mouthed the words 'what the fuck' to the girls, who just remained amused by her star-struck appearance. Valerie knew from the mouths of customers in and out of The Gaslight, and from Susie herself, that she had met celebrities before, both when they were nobodies and up-and-comings. But the slightly dazed look crossing her face now was something to behold and probably not an expression she had worn with any other comedian.

     Trying not to giggle, Valerie nodded her head between the two, "Susie, this is Lenny Bruce. Lenny, this is Susie."

    "Oh yea. From The Gaslight, right?" He politely croaked after a puff.

    Susie let out an unexpected huff of high-pitched air and looked at him stupidly for a moment, stunned either by that fact he was staring right at her or was actually acknowledging her existence. "Yeah, I guess I preceded me - my...uh..r-reputation does..."

    Deciding to help out, Valerie interjected, "Susie runs the Gaslight, but she does more than that."

     "Yeah, uh, I'm branching out at the moment..." Susie added weakly, "Very big plans in the works, very big plans."

     "Cool," said Lenny, oblivious to the effect he was having. "What plans?"

     Susie blinked for a couple seconds, then admitted with a helpless shrug. "Blank — second time tonight — I need some coffee —" She raised her cup to the nearby waitress, but the lady just kept walking. 

     In the middle of this awkward introduction, Midge had fished something out of her bag, a white pieces of paper looking very formal. As her eyes skimmed over the lettering, her face twisted in disbelief. Lenny pointed at it, cigarette waggling. "That looks scary, and familiar."

     "We have to appear in court." Midge quietly announced, nudging the paper for Valerie to read. She wasn't surprised, because unlike the brunette next to her, she understood how the criminal justice system worked, flaws and all. Thankfully, this was just about tonight's arrest at The Gaslight for profanity and performing without a cabaret license (which, when was that a thing?), instead of the assault.

     "Oh, what's more fun than that?" Lenny sarcastically quipped, rubbing the center of his forehead, probably reminded of his own pending legal troubles that mounted the two girls. "A late in life bris, that's more fun."

     Susie swiped the paper from Valerie's hands, "Let your manager take care of this." A lightbulb clicked above her head, making her turn to Lenny all  fiddly, "Manager — that's what I blanked on earlier. I'm a manager now..."

     Either just as uncomfortable as Susie or not caring anymore, Lenny's eyes wandered around, "Cool...."

    Confidently, Susie whipped her focus back onto Midge and Valerie, "I will get you both a lawyer."

     "Lawyer talk, that's my cue to leave." Lenny stood up and grabbed his coat off the back of his chair. 

     "Thanks again, Lenny, really." Valerie implored, looking up with grateful eyes.

    "Anytime." He remarked easily, then remembered something. "Oh, hey, I'm introducing a friend's combo at the Vanguard Friday night, you should come by — all three of you."

    "We'd love too." Valerie answered pleasantly, trying to figure out if he meant it genuinely, or if it was one of the show business things where one person says 'we should hang out sometime' just to be faux-friendly. Then again, Lenny didn't seem like the guy who said anything without thinking twice, and he did just bail her out.

    Susie stood up from her table, as if standard protocol, and nodded her head shakily, "I will, uh, very seriously consider that Mr. Bruce, uh, thank you..."

     Lenny didn't know what to do with that. He tossed a low 'see you' and stalked off to the main entrance, slipping back on his coat and dipping his chin. Susie returned back to her seat, slightly embarrassed, and scoffed aloud, "Figures."

     "What?" Valerie absently questioned, eyes pinned through the window as Lenny huddled in his coat and smoked his cigarette, walking back down the path they originally came, becoming another shadowy figure in the New York night life.

    "You two get arrested and get bailed out by Lenny Bruce." She surmised, "If I got arrested, I'd be bailed out by whatever Village tinker bell has blow job money left over from the night before."

     "Well, at least someone would bail you out." Valerie reached out to sneak a cigarette from Susie's open packet, grabbing her lighter as well. "Some people don't have anyone at all."

     Susie looked at her up and down weirdly, "Okay, Charles Dickens, no need to get sappy."

     Midge interjected between the two, "Okay, how about we focus on how you'll be getting us a lawyer." 

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

    "So, are you going to tell me how it went?"

    Valerie blearily opened one of her eyes to see David twiddling with the lace curtains showering her windows and placing a sizzling glass of water next to her counter. She hide a yawn in her pillow and gruffly sat up against the headboard, slapping away stray strands of straw colored hair out of her face. Dawning trousers and a button-up, David look every bit put together as he grinned stupidly at her.  

     "Did you know it's a bylaw in New York now that no one can look as smug as you this early in the morning?" She countered drearily.

     "Did you know deflection is a sign of poor coping skills?" David pulled the curtains fully open and tied it around the post, "And it's nearly twelve noon."

     Valerie huffed and took a sip of the water that he was kind enough to put in a seltzer tablet. She taped her tongue against the roof of her mouth, trying to get rid of the sweetness. "I got home late, I needed to sleep in."

    "I know, I came home after my gig and checked on you sometime after midnight." He situated himself at the corner of her bed. "You weren't here, so I took your show at The Gaslight had gone well."

     "Aw, you check up on me? You really are a mother-hen." She chaffed light-heartedly.

     "How about you just tell me how last night went?" He calmly retorted, not falling for any of her diversions. "Success or disaster?"

     Valerie bit the inside of her cheek, resisting the smile threatening her face. "The show was a success." Her voice was light, airy, something close to pride. "The show went great, until afterwards the cops showed up and arrested me, and Midge."

    His eyebrows rose up to his hairline, "Arrested? Again?"

    "Not for assault this time though," Valerie appraised, "Apparently, it's a crime to contradict the police in anyway. Midge was actually caught doing her set, so I got lucky in that regard."

    "So the princess finally plucked up the courage?" He asked amiably. 

    "For now, at least." mumbled the blonde. "We'll see if she sticks around. Susie got us an appointment with a lawyer in like two hours, she might have changed her mind by then."

     "I wish I could have seen your first official gig." David quietly admitted, patting her blanket covered leg. "Next time, I'll make the time to come see you."

    Valerie waved him off, "How about we actually make plans for you to come and see me when I actually get great? I mean, last night was good, but...I could be better."

    He nodded in understanding, then became silent, staring down at his clasped hands. Finally, he looked up, nervousness crumpling his face. "I got a call this morning from Mark's parents."

    The good mood rooted in the past few hours began dwindling, a frustrated huff slipping from her lips. She rubbed her hand across her exposed collarbone, then across her forehead. "Did you take a message?"

     "I just told them you were at work and you would get back to them later." He explained, hands up in premeditative defense. "Well, it wasn't actually Benito, it was Selena."

    "Of course it was." She muttered, a little bitter. "I'm sure he's trying very hard to forget the fact that I was ever in his life to begin with. He probably took a Sharpie to my face in all of the wedding photographs." 

     David ignored the comment, "She said she has some old stuff of Mark's she was wondering if you wanted to look through, maybe keep a couple of things." Reluctantly, he added, "I think it's more of an excuse to spend some time with you."

     Valerie gazed up at her bedroom ceiling, fighting hard not to let the guilt gnaw at her insides. She had not seen her in-laws since the funeral, a move she thought considerate as they had lost their only son and she figured all parties involved needed space. However, it was now four months passing and Valerie hadn't extended her time yet. She didn't know if she was doing that for her sake or theirs, or even both. 

    David elaborated in the face of her silence, "I think it would be a good thing for the two of you to reconnect. I know you weren't exactly Benito and Selena's favorite person in the world, and you weren't exactly close, but you both have something in common now."

     "Oh yea," Valerie quietly challenged, being stubborn. "What's that?"

     He cocked his head to the side, serious, "You both lost Mark, and she's one of the few people in your life who could actually relate to what you're feeling." 

     The blonde remained sullen, pondering for a moment, before letting out a long sigh, "I guess I can...at least stop by the house. Not that going through Mark's stuff would be the most uplifting thing in the world, but if my mother-in-law wants to do that, then...I will appease for the time being."

     "Good." David smiled widely and made a move to stand up.

    "Hey, when was the last time you saw her?" She asked, curiously.

    He looked at her regretfully, "We get brunch every second weekend of the month."

    Okay, now that really made her feel shitty.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

     "She's late, again."

     "If you're going to be her manager, you're gonna have to learn to deal with it." Valerie snickered, tapping her fingers against the leather armrests of the green chair she was positioned in next to Susie. The lawyer's office, who Valerie had vaguely heard about even before Susie mentioned him, was covered in an unappalling lime green color and filled to the prim with stacks of paperwork, but if he was as good as her manager said, she could look past the distaste of his office. From a couple rooms down, they could hear the muffled yelling transpiring between himself and someone else, possibly another lawyer. Only problem was Midge was still not here.

    "I got her a meeting with a cheap yet respectable lawyer." Susie chided, shifting anxiously in her seat, glancing back at the open doorway. "The least she could do is be here on time."

     "Don't take it personally, she's late to everything." Valerie reassured. "I remember at her wedding, she was twenty minutes late walking down the aisle. Her mother had to restrain her father from getting up to go into the dressing room and dragging her out himself."

     Just then, in a flash of purple and silk, Midge finally arrived, looking more and more suspicious as she took the environment in. As easy as it was for her to spend occasional nights hanging out at The Gaslight for the sake of her husband, it must have been complete whiplash to experience not only jail twice, but now the rundown office of a depraved lawyer outside the Upper West Side.

     "Is this the lawyer's office?" Midge questioned, eyes wide.

    "Yes, it is."

     Her nose scrunched, "Smells like mildew."

     "Well, that could be me." Susie conceded, taking a sharp intake of Midge's fancy attire. "What's with the duds? You got a shoot with Harper's Bazaar later?"

     Midge began to take off the purple slips of her gloves and folded them, "When Joel and I met our co-op board for the first time, I made the mistake of wearing pedal pushers and they made us come back three times. Is this a sandwich?"

    She pointed as a half-eaten, moldy piece of slapped together vegetables on the side of the desk. Susie even look at it distastefully, "Use to be. Here, sit down."

     She removed a pile of newspapers on a nearby chair. Midge smoothed out the skirt of her dress and occupied the space. The lawyer from the next room meandered back into his office, a landline clutched in his hand, the spindle cord dangling wildly as he reverently spoke, "No, no, listen, Lizanne, Terminiello v. Chicago. Douglas says the function of free speech is to invite dispute! Yeah, that's fucking poetry, goddamn it!" He slouched down into his chair and gave a quick glance at the trio of women. "I say so, too. I'll call you later."

     He slammed the phone back onto the receiver. He quirked an eyebrow at the woman, "You're my eleven o'clock  -"

     "Yes, sir!"

    "Susie, right?"

     The woman leaned forward, "Yes, and this is Miriam Maisel, and Valerie King. This is Michael Kessler."

     The stoky man, who was very tan and possessed a dark mustache, leaned forward to shake hands. When he reached Valerie, he said very genuinely but curtly. "I'm sorry for your husband's passing."

     Valerie let go of his hand and retreated back into her seat. "Thank you."

     Thankfully, he didn't drag on with the sentimentality. He took in Midge's attire, "You going somewhere after this? Country club? White House?"

     "I dressed for the meeting." Midge explained, trying not to bristle at the growing amusement on Kessler and Susie's faces. 

     "You dressed for the meeting." Kessler snorted.

     Susie was struggling to contain her giggles, even after Valerie smacked her in the arm, "She dressed for the meeting."

     Midge glanced between the two, annoyed, "I dress for important meetings."

     "Well, you've come to the wrong place." Kessler muttered, pouring one cup of coffee into a cleaner mug. He noticed Midge's eyes drifting towards a half-hung painting on the shelf behind him. "You like that? Kirk Douglas gave me that. He used it when he played Van Gogh in that movie."

     "Really? W-Wow. I love Kirk Douglas."

     "I worked pro bono for his pal, Trumbo, when he refused to name names to Congress."

     Midge's eyes widened, "You worked on that?"

     "Oh, Michael here has defended them all."

     "Mainly constitutional things." 

      Susie stressed, "Yeah, Jim Crow, he's on it. Voting rights, he's on it."

      Valerie raised an eyebrow at him, "No wonder you're not very like on this island."

     "Or in D.C., as it turns out." Kessler winked at her and sipped his coffee.

     Midge was floored, "What's happening with voting?"

     "Besides states keeping Negroes from the polls, you mean?" Kessler stated.

     "Yeah, Ethel and Julius Rosenberg, he was on their team." Susie pointed out. 

     "Took four zaps in the chair to kill poor Ethel." Kessler shook his head, disappointed. "There was smoke coming out of her ears."

      Susie shrugged, "Jewish women are known to be more difficult."

     "This is really fascinating." Midge responded, looking bewildered, like she had never gone outfit or turned on the news before. Then again, maybe the bubble that was the Upper West Side was harder to penetrate than Valerie gave them credit for. "I'm gonna read up all this stuff when I get home."

      Kessler chuckled, "You mean right after your cotillion?"

      "My what?"

     He waved her off, "I'm just joking!"

     "You are dressed very fancy." Susie remarked.

     Midge looked down at herself and clung her coat more closely around her body. Valerie sneaked a pat on her back and mouthed 'you look good'. She blushed and nodded. Kessler clapped his hand and finally got to business, opening both of the women's files, "Okay, so for Mrs. King, we've got 'performing without a cabaret license' - bullshit - 'public indecency' - bullshit - it says you assaulted your boss?"

     "That charge was dropped." Valerie quickly pointed out.

    "Ah, yes." Kessler pointed to some part of the file, most likely where it said no charges were being pressed. He mumbled something under his breath while reading more, "Gave him a good shiner too."

     Valerie relaxed in her chair, pleased. Kessler continued, "For Mrs. Maisel, there's the similar charges: 'performing without a cabaret license', 'public indecency' — I'm assuming you both said stuff that would make a nun blush, but you didn't say it in a convent?"

     "We were not in a convent." confirmed Midge.

     "I said a couple of bad words on stage," Valerie elaborated dismissively, "And a couple in front of the cops."

     "So, where's the crime?" Kessler questioned, and Valerie knew she liked him already.

     Midge felt the same way, apparently, agreeing with him excitedly, "Right!"

     "Wow." Kessler suddenly said, reading more of Midge's file, "'Stimulating a sex act while on stage'"

     "'Sex act'. What?" Midge turned to Susie for confirmation.

     "No, I would have remembered that." 

    Kessler explained, "Says something here about miming a whore tickling a man's testicles."

    Both Midge and Susie gasped in realization, "Oh, I did do that."

    "Oh, yeah, she did," conceded Susie, "It was fucking funny!"

    "And apparently you exposed your breasts." Kessler finally finished the file and pushed it to the side.

     "I do not remember that." Midge stubbornly determined.

     Susie raised her hand like a five year old girl about to ask a dirty question, "I do, and I got to tell you, Mike, when she whipped those things out, I ducked. I'm telling you, boy, they were glowing. It was like a Mack truck was coming at me. It killed!"

     Valerie mumbled under her breath, "The one time I go to an office party..."

    "We will fight it all!" Kessler announced.

     "Good," Midge sat up straighter, "I would like to be found innocent, and Valerie to be found that as well."

     "Innocent would be the favored outcome." said the blonde.

     "I would like that, too." Kessler reiterated, shaking his head contemptuously. "Cops that hang out around outside clubs waiting to harass entertainers for doing their thing, I hate that. Passionately. You start controlling speech, you're slip-sliding toward fascism, and we saw how that turned out."

     "Great!" Midge clutched her bag enthusiastically. "You're hired!"

     Susie leaned over to talk lowly to the brunette, "It's kind of up to him. The meeting is more to get him to do it." 

      Wide-eyed, Midge turned back to the man, "Oh, will you do it?"

     Valerie looked at him, hopeful, "For nothing?"

     Kessler offered no change of expression, but there was a subtle kindness underneath the broadcasted toughness of a lawyer, "If only you had dressed for the meeting." 

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

- I just wanted to apologize to everyone for how late this chapter is. I've said it before, but I'm a nursing student going into my second year of college, plus I have a part-time job, so my schedule is very busy. However, if you haven't read my recent announcement on my profile, I created a writing schedule for July so everyday I at least write something. Besides Exile, which is my X-Men story, this story is taking top priority. I really do love what I have planned for Valerie (my outline for her story is on episode two of season three so I'm progressing pretty fast). I'm going to try to get a lot of writing done this summer as when the semester starts, I'm probably not going to have a lot of time on my hands. 

- Also, did anyone else see the behind the scenes photos that leaked from the season 4 set? I'm so fucking excited for season 4, I just can't stand it. Especially since it's been clear via the photos and interview with the creators that Midge and Lenny are going to have more scenes together. There's this video on IG someone took of Rachel Brosnahan and Luke Kirby filming a scene as the two outside Midge's apartment building (I guess Lenny spent the night and met the kids 👀) and they get into an argument. If you watch the whole thing, I think it's very telling as how their potential relationship is going to be explored in s4 and how a lot of Lenny's problems/personal life is going to be depicted (for example, in the video, Lenny's daughter Kitty is finally mentioned). There were also some behind the scenes photos that showed Midge going to Lenny's famous Carnegie Hall performance in the season finale (?), which let me tell you, when I saw that, I squealed out loud. I know for some reason not many people liked season 3 or it isn't their favorite (which is untrue for me as it is my favorite season despite its flaws), but I have high hopes for season 4, both in terms of Midge/Lenny, but Midge's progression as a character. If any of you guys have seen the photos online or you want me to link the IG video (cause you can hear a sizable bit of dialogue), let me know in the comments because I'd love to talk about it!

- I hope everyone enjoyed Valerie's first standup bit. It's not very long, but neither was Midge's first two sets so I wanted to sort of keep it in that fashion, especially since Valerie hands the mic over to Midge in this chapter. The two real-life stand up bits I took for Valerie's was from Patton Oswalt's Annihilation Special on Netflix and John Mulaney's New in Town Album. Patton Oswalt, in that special, had just lost his wife and was capturing a lot of the grief he experienced so obviously I felt his material related a lot to what Valerie's going through. With John Mulaney, I just think he's brilliant and I adore his bits on the Irish.

- I know the first two episodes happen within like two days, but I stretched it out to a week so Valerie could have enough time to work on her set since she's not performing based on impulsivity, anger, and adrenaline like Midge is. 

- I also hope nobody minds how I wrote Valerie's stand up. It was very difficult to write a whole monologue and still make it funny, but I think it turned out somewhat decent. I don't really want to do that thing where I mention every time the audience laughs, because that's not really genuine, so I wanted to emphasize where her punchlines/jokes would be.

- For some of the historical context used in this chapter:

     - The Vigilant Women for the Bricker Amendment was a real thing for conservative women back in this time period. The Bricker Amendment, which occasionally a congressmen will try to get passed nowadays, that wanted to limit the president's exclusive powers, especially when it came to foreign policy and potential war. It was basically a huge push against internationalism, which was a growing thing in the US after World War II

     - As explained by Valerie in her bit, WASP is a term for White Anglo-Saxon Protestants who come from an upper-class economic status. Very culturally different from minorities and immigrant groups of this time (Irish, Italian, Polish, ect.), not to mention the whole Catholic vs. Protestant thing. A lot of prejudice came from WASP communities against the Irish and Italian. 

     - Valerie's drink of choice is either Irish Whiskey or a Manhattan cocktail, which is whiskey, sweet vermouth (a type of wine), bitters (adds the bittersweet flavor), and maraschino cherries. This comes from me as my dad who passed a couple of years ago always use to drink Manhattans and use to always give me the cherries when I was a kid. So now whenever my characters have to drink, they have a Manhattan and love cherries. I think it's a nice juxtaposition with Midge, who likes a very fancy drink like a martini with olives, to Valerie who grew up middle-class and likes plain whiskey, which can be very cheap. 

     - Valerie tries to explain to Susie how the infamous potato famine that occurred in Ireland in the mid-to-late 1800s was actually a genocide instead of an actual 'famine'. I am not an expert on Irish history or the potato famine, but from what I read, it is an event in history whitewashed by the British and the rest of the West. Apparently, the starvation of certain parts of Ireland was very deliberate by the British government and led to a cultural destruction in Ireland. It also led to a mass exodus of Irish people into America and is a large reason why no many people in Ireland today speak 'native' Irish. I imagine Valerie who is up the date on both American and foreign politics, and can be very passionate (I mean, she is a journalist).