CHAPTER THREE.      WHO'S SORRY NOW
("WHO'S HEART IS ACHING FOR BREAKING A VOW.")

☆

     "You caught working the streets?"

     Valerie looked up at the female deputy, stiffly facing her as the officer behind her kept his tight grip on her handcuffed wrists and used his free hand to pat down the sides of her legs. The precinct was freezing, evident by the hair standing up from her arms and the slight trembling of her exposed stomach, but from the forced outing of the police car to the booking to guiding her upstairs to the jail cells, no one had bothered to offer her a coat to hide the bloodstains and her brasserie. Apparently, police officers weren't taught manners in the academy. 

     She scrunched her face up in confusion, glancing between herself and the deputy a few times, before realization kicked in, a weak chuckle escaping her lips. "Oh! No! I, uh, punched one of my bosses."

     The deputy pursed her lips up, her expression crinkling into something almost impressed, "I've wanted to do that a couple of times ― of course I couldn't." 

     "You should try. It's exhilarating!" She quipped, before the officer clutching her from behind whipped her away and forced her towards the row of large jail cells. He opened up the door, the metal creaking and interrupting the cold stillness of the wide floor, before giving her a light push inside. The bared door shut loudly, the lock clicking and the office walking away; finally, Valerie was left alone. Well, alone as one could get in a freezing holding cell of a New York precinct ― from a reasonable distance away in the neighboring chamber was Lenny Bruce, sitting in the middle of a wooden bench, his head hanging low, his eyes wearily closed, and his arms crossed against his beige trench-coat. He looked so much smaller from across the room, that large coat and the way he curled within himself a cause of it, but she knew from walking beside him earlier when the police brought them in that he was taller ― so much taller considering her nose probably met his collarbone, and that was with heeled shoes! 

     Awkwardly, Valerie glanced around, her arms dropping to her sides; she then dropped lazily onto her own bench, pressing her back against one of the bars and slumping back. The adrenaline was slipping from her system and finally she was able to take everything in with slow breaths ― oh god she's been arrested. She was arrested considering she already did booking and now was just a waiting period before someone bailed her out (Jesus - would it be David? Cliff? Maybe Herb? God forbid, it would not be her sister). She inhaled, shakily, her wide eyes searching around: the green walls were cracked, the bars rusted, the floor stained with substances she refused to put a name on, and oh God, she's been arrested! Never once had she ever been arrested before. Unsurprisingly, she had her rebellious teenage years of sneaking into clubs she wasn't old enough to get into, drinking on top of cars during drag races, disobeying her father by dating boys that would probably drop-out before senior years ― typical actions of a sheltered Catholic girl who grew up in a small neighborhood where the local priest knew your voice, and you couldn't start the car up without waking everyone up, and really, drinking was the only fun activity you could do without having to go into the city. 

     But she's never been arrested; there was that time when she was fifteen and her and her brother got caught skipping school together, resulting in a very stern warning from the sheriff about the value of the American education system; and that one time when she was a reporter on her sister's tour when their car was stopped supposedly for the taillights being out but in reality, it was just some asshole deputies on a power trip who wanted to hassle some rock singers. None of those ever involved handcuffs, and being dragged away, and locked into a cell. And now the precinct had her inked fingerprints and oh God ― she's been fucking arrested! Not just a regular arrest either ― an arrest with Lenny Bruce.

     What was he doing here, Valerie thought to herself curiously as she casually sneaked a peak at him. The seemingly older man ― maybe about ten years older? A little less? ― remained in the same position as before expect his head was tilted back and his eyes were staring up at the ceiling. This must have been a semi-normal experience for him since he didn't seem to be going through the same internal panic that she was. Or perhaps, he was just better at hiding it. She didn't know, because before tonight, she had never met the man, or a comedian that had the same type of notoriety that he possessed for that matter. Through her husband's influence and the tour, she met plenty of famous artists, but this was the first one in a while and she almost felt embarrassed that she had never seen one of his performances (or even owned one of his records, if he even had one).  

     Valerie knew the man through the news, mostly for his "obscene" material and getting a lot of press for being so outspoken about it. Instantly, from hearing that, an admiration for his work grew out of nowhere. And now she was stuck in a jail cell right next to his. God, if her husband could see her right now, he would be laughing his ass off. 

     Pointlessly, the blonde pulled the two ends of her shirt and tried to hold them together, covering the bra and the spurts of blood. She began clenching then unclenching her fist, watching the way her knuckles bent and pulsed with deep redness under the buzzing light. Boxer's Knuckles, as her father always called it, was what she was going to get one day, he also said, if you don't stop trying to defend everyone and everything. Though even from a different state, she could feel his pride over what happened hours prior. Even now, hours later after the adrenaline eased from her veins and the prospect (or more like definite outcome) of losing her job was hanging over her head, Valerie found little regret over the fight. The asshole deserved it and it wasn't like anyone else was going to defend her. Yeah, punching someone square in the face wasn't the most orthodox of methods to deal with an argument, but it solved the problem in some ways ― 

     The door swung open again, the clutter of multiple rushed footsteps followed, and suddenly, Midge Maisel was being shoved into the room with wet hair, dripping makeup down her cheeks, and clad in a baby blue nightgown that while reached her knees, didn't hide her large chest area. Midge didn't notice her at first, despite the bug-eyes and embarrassingly gaping mouth, instead opting to glance around the room with fear in her eyes and the same body posture of a cat that's just been shocked. The police just started patting her down once again when Valerie finally found her voice, though it came in a hasty whisper. "Midge!"

     The brunette glanced up, his face replicating the same shock conveying on her own, "Val?"

     The police woman shushed both of them, but neither could stop looking at one another. Finally, when the shorter brunette was led towards the cells and (thankfully) was put into hers, their hands grasped for one another. Hastily they sat down on a shared bench and began speaking hurriedly, as if both were on limited time and needed to confess their dying wishes. 

     "Oh my God!"

     "Christ on a stick!"

     "What the hell happened to you?"

     "What the hell happened to you?"

     Valerie spluttered, "I told my bosses off for being unfair dicks and punched one of them! He slapped me, but I hit him pretty hard ― really fucking hard! It felt good though, really good. Then the cops were called and they arrested me."

     Midge's eyes were massive by the end of her brief recap, "You punched your boss!"

     "The ass deserved it." Val hissed in confidence, glancing over the other women's shoulder to see the female police officer watching her in judgement. She narrowed her eyes in return, "He did!" She turned back around to Midge, "What happened to you?"

     Her eyes blinked rapidly, her mouth gaping open-and-shut, as if her brain was malfunctioning. "Joel...left."

     Valerie jerked back, puzzled: "Left? What do you mean left?"

     "He packed up his clothes ―" She was struggling to explain. "―in my suitcase and walked out of our apartment." At the opposing woman's obvious disbelief, she continued: "He's in love with his secretary."

     She blinked, "Oh..my god, Midge. I ―"

     Her apologies hung off the tip of her tongue, but they couldn't get out. Was she surprised by Joel's action? No? Yes! Maybe? In all her years of knowing the happy (seemingly) couple since their fateful wedding day, she had always thought of them as an uneven frame; sure, perfect couple, both parties beautiful and handsome and relatively likable, their extended families rich and respectably Jewish, the groom and the bridge straight out of college and prepping for children like every other young twenty-year-old. But with those flaccid observations came the fact that Valerie had been friends with them for years, had been in and out of their apartment, and didn't have any reason to lie to herself about what was going on inside the Maisel household. Midge was too domineering at times, her attitude being her way or the highway, while Joel was flip-floppy, sometimes growing a backbone while other times unable to be honest to his wife. Midge let him push her around sometimes, though on other occasions she was the one doing the dragging; Midge always saw herself as an extension of Joel while her husband always had his father snarling in his ear.

     But did any of that really matter right now, she asked herself. Pushing aside the early marital disputes Valerie had only been privy to (along with all the other parenting and livelihood choices she disagreed with), her friend was sitting across from her in shock and who cared if Midge had made some mistakes in the marriage, had some false expectations and fantasies? She didn't deserve this - this betrayal of their vows.

     "I'm so sorry." She finally responded, authentic, genuine - and with a sudden flash of rage towards the missing-in-action Mr. Maisel. A two-bit clown with no spine, no morals, no realistic goals for himself who had to buy some measly jokes off a widow just to give one laugh on the stage at The Gaslight.

     Midge hand rose then dropped on her lap, her lips pursed as she attempted to keep the tears at bay. "I don't know how this happened. Or what's going on? I've never been arrested before and now I'm stuck in a jail cell with the wrong pair of shoes and no husband!"

     Valerie glanced down and saw a beige set of heels on her feet. "What happened to your pumps?"

     "I don't know!" She replied on the verge of hysteria. "I was in this other jail cell with other criminally-illicit ladies, but they put me in here 'cause of overcrowding. They were there one minute then the next ― BOOM ― they're gone! Who steals shoes in a holding cell?"

     "How'd you get arrested?"

     Through the tears, Midge scoffed loudly, "I went down to The Gaslight ― wanted to see what the big fuss was about, what Joel so badly wanted to achieve ― and said some stuff on stage. Apparently, I need a license to do that ― and I cursed, which apparently isn't to be done in public. It's completely ridiculous ―" 

     "Wait," Valerie stopped her, raising her brow, cautious, "You did a set at The Gaslight?"

     "Well, I mean..." Midge thought about it, shrugging reluctantly. "Kind of, I guess. People were laughing. All I was doing though was crying and talking about how much life is utterly ruined." 

     Patting her on the back, Valerie quickly made up a plan. Midge wasn't going to last twenty-four hours in here and truthfully, neither her nor the police guards were ready to handle a mental breakdown. She rose up and grabbed the white bars of the cell, looking towards an officer. "Excuse me? Do you mind if I get my phone call now?"

     He rose his brow lazily, "Not liking our five-star treatment?"

     A glare froze her face, "No, the towels aren't folded and the pool is under maintenance. Now, can I get my phone call?"

     He huffed, as if granting constitutional rights was an inconvenience, and fumbled with his keys to get the door open. Once she was out, she made her way to the phone booth in the hall as she felt the firm stare of the officer on her back. Sliding in a quarter and typing away the numbers, she anxiously listened to the hum of the operator's station and waited.

     "What?"

     "Susie? It's me, Val."

     "Oh Val!" Alongside Susie's voice was the trestle of moving chairs and tables groaning. The Gaslight must be closed at this point. "Listen, um..." She heard the click of her tongue on the other end and knew the woman was struggling with something unconscionable. "What I said earlier, you know, about Mark and stuff...uncalled for. I would offer you a complimentary drink as a consequence, but I wouldn't bestow this shithole's piss-scented liquor on my worst enemy."

     It was the closest apology from Susie she was ever going to get. She took it. "Now of that matters, right now, just listen!" She paused, lowering her voice as if someone important was going to hear. "I'm in jail right now."

     "WHAT?"

     Valerie winced at the startling volume; the deputy nearby glared. "Calm down!" She hissed into the telephone. "It's just a misunderstanding between me and one of my bosses down at the paper."

     "What kind of 'misunderstanding' lands you in a holding cell?" She questioned fiercely.

     She hesitated: "The one that may get me assault charges."

     "Oh sweet Jesus." Susie's distant voice whimpered, insinuating she had dropped the phone and was trying to brace herself with reality. Valerie could sympathize.

     "I don't need him right now, I need you." She asserted. "I'm not calling down any of my coworkers, I'm certainly not calling my sister, and there's no way I'm waking up my in-laws about this. Please, can you just bring down some bail money for me and Midge?"

     "Sure, why not? I've got money shooting out of my ass -" She stopped abruptly, "Wait, Midge?"

     "Yeah, she said she was at The Gaslight earlier."

     Silence.

     "Cute Jewish girl with the brisket? Not-so-funny husband?"

     More silence.

     The blonde let out an irritated huff of air. "The pathetic one in the nightdress who did an opening."

     "Oh! The doomed housewife!" Susie chuckled loudly, "Yeah, she was here about twenty minutes ago." Her laugh increased: "Did a whole bit about her jack-off husband leaving her for some secretary. I gotta tell ya, Val, it was the funniest shit this place has seen since that one dude a year ago went into anaphylactic shock from eating the meat."

     "I'm sure a crying mother really got the whole crowd off their feet." She quipped disapprovingly, but the twitch of her lips bore another meaning. She felt something akin to pride swell up inside her, as if the bounds Joel had strapped around his wife's chest were finally loosening.

     "She did! Everybody stood up and clapped when she got fished by the police; it was the New York equivalent to a Bolshevik revolution." exclaimed Susie, most likely grinning. "Though maybe the flashing of her knockers was what got everyone standing."

     Valerie's eyes widened, "She flashed the audience?"

     "Whipped those zingers out and said 'pledge allegiance' to my tits!" hollered the woman on the other side. "Even Hugh Hefner would have fainted."

     "Or her very Jewish rabbi would have." Valerie muttered, palming her forehead and rubbing it gently to soothe the oncoming migraine. This whole fated night was delving further and further into a pit of misery, and embarrassment, and course-changing failure. She eventually let out a sigh, focusing on her first goal. "Can you get us out or not?"

     "You are my friend, so, I will do what good friends do, and get you out." Susie replied easily. "And I'll get the homemaker out as well."

     "Thank you. You'll know the precinct we're at, probably got some old girlfriends stuck in here as well." And before the woman could angrily respond, Valerie cut off the line and gestured for the deputy to escort her back to the cell.

     Once the bar door had stuttered shut, Midge leaped at her and dragged her back onto the bench, her still pristine nails wrapped around her elbow. "What'd your friend say?"

     "She's coming to get us." smiled Valerie. She pushed some strands of hair behind her ears and straightened in her seat; suddenly, this hopelessness that had settled deep inside her ever since she was forced into a police car had begun lifting. "We'll be out soon. I don't know how long it will take though, considering her tiny legs."

     Midge let out a loud huff of air, relieved, relaxing against the metal bars. "Thank God. If I had to call my parents for bail, my mother would have given birth."

     Another thought rendered Valerie and she turned to Midge, her face scrunched up in both amusement and confusion. "You flashed the audience?"

     Midge's face blanked: "What?"

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

     Valerie would have compared the first step she took down the precinct stairs to the main lobby as her 'first breath of freedom', but even that was a bit extreme. When an unknown officer came in and announced both of their bails had been paid, both girls couldn't quench their solace; not even when the female deputy rolled her eyes and roughly guided them down the hallway. Before the door to the holding cells closed, the blonde glanced behind her shoulder and caught a second-long look at the man that had occupied her seat in that police car, how miserable and exhausted he looked while slumped on his bench (Lenny Bruce ― Huh? Something to tell Irene about).

     When they entered the main lobby, Midge was beginning to shiver in her pathetically-light nightgown and the wave of prolonged tiredness was finally hitting Valerie to the extreme. Susie was flopped against the bench near the front desk. The female officer gave both ladies encouraging pushes, before heading upstairs without a second look, "Here you go!" She announced lazily.

     "Thanks Judy." Susie replied, opening her eyes and looking at them.

     Valerie raised an eyebrow, "You and Judy good friends?"

     "Yeah, we help each other with Sudoku every Sunday." She quipped coolly. "By the way, this is my one good deed for the year. No more after this." She finally met Midge's skeptical gaze, casually inquiring: "You get chick raped?"

     "I don't think so." Midge hoarsely answered.

     "We weren't recruited to any gangs either." Valerie added as Susie rose from her spot and handed Midge her famous pink coat. She must have left it at The Gaslight in the whirlwind of the arrest. "I felt kind of insulted."

     "Unless the Irish mafia is looking for dainty blondes, you're not wanted."

     Midge was looking around at the glass structure in the front of the building. "It's still night out."

     Susie was helping her slip her arms into her coat, "Yep."

     "Don't suppose you bought a second jacket with you?" Valerie questioned unhappily.

     "Well, I didn't think I'd be meeting Crystal-the-Brooklyn whore this evening." She scathingly retorted, her black eyes mockingly roaming her exposed bra and unbutton shirt. After noticing the distinguished pout forming on the blonde's lips, Susie sighed and began stripping off her leather jacket. "Here."

     Valerie said her gratitude, took it, and while putting it on, mumbled under her breath: "My stripper name would not be Crystal."

     A second later, both women noticed Midge staring intently at Susie. When the woman in question looked back at her, Midge spoke in a hushed, uneven tone. "I feel different."

     Valerie refused to roll her eyes. Susie didn't. "You were in there for an hour."

     "An hour can change you."

     "I'm a con now." She continued, glancing at Valerie. "We're cons now."

     "My step-mother always said I was an at-risk youth." Valerie dryly conceded.

     "Not quite."

    "I've got a rap sheet."

     "No, you don't."

    "I'm hard." Midge proclaimed, furrowing her brows in determination as she unfurled her scarf from her pocket and wrapped it around her neck. "I'm a hard, used woman. Is my hair grey?"

    "No, it's not."

    "Feels grey!"

    "Jesus Christ!" exclaimed Susie, pausing their walk out of the precinct to glare at the woman. Midge paid no mind as reality finally laid its stones.

     "I had it all." She whimpered, her bottom lip quivering, "I had everything I'd ever wanted and now it's all falling apart."

     She was reaching for a sob, the paleness previously residing on her face when she walked into that holding cell now returning. Susie looked at Valerie, never knowing how to comfort anyone or what to do in these types of situations, but Valerie remained quiet and gave the shorter woman a pleading look. Suddenly, punching her boss and losing her job didn't look so bad when the father of your children just walked out. God, Valerie was going to kill Joel next time she saw him.

     "Okay, come on." Susie said, placing a hand on Midge's back and gesturing her forward. Valerie followed on the woman's other side, tightening the leather jacket around her figure (after she saw one of the nearby officers eyeing her suggestively) and quietly listened to the hum of the city as their three pairs of footsteps clacked against the sidewalk. Surrounded by this beauty of the night, she could almost forget she probably just flushed her writing career down the toilet.

     Eventually, Susie led them into an Irish bar called the Kettle in the Fish ("Did you only bring us here 'cause I'm a mick?" "Thought you'd feel more at home.") and settled at a lonely table in the middle of the room. Susie called for the bartenders to send over shots; once Valerie's bottom touched the seat, she knew it was over and she wouldn't last another hour or so without getting some sleep. She missed the days in her early twenties, when she was touring with her sister and staying up for days on end listening to bands from around the country, when she didn't need eight hours of sleep.

     "Oh, God, I'm so tired." Midge groaned, vocalizing Valerie's similar sentiments. "I don't think I've ever been so tired."

     "Have some nuts." Susie pushed a small cocktail glass filled with them. Eagerly, Midge began dipping into them.

     "Did you notice I'm not wearing my own shoes?" Midge questioned Susie. "I'm not. Don't know what happened, either. Now I'm just a single, gray-haired ex-con drinking hooch and eating old nuts in someone else's shoes."

     "Listen, if you're still upset about your husband, "Susie began, "Don't be. That guy was a fraud and a loser."

     Valerie raised her shot glass, said 'amen to that', and drank the whiskey in a single gulp. The burn was surprisingly helping her stay awake.

     Midge stared pensively, "You don't know him."

     "I know he was doing Bob Newhart's act." She elaborated: "And I also know he was paying Val to write him jokes."

     Valerie's hand, which was twitching upward to her open mouth while holding a nut, froze mid-air. Midge's eyes went huge, her cocked head serving over to the blonde. "Excuse me?"

     She dropped the nut quickly back into the cup and tried to wave dismissively. "Listen, it was a one-time thing. He came to my apartment, wanting me to write him a couple of one-liners. He also wanted me not to tell you." When Midge opened her mouth to argue, Valerie beat her to the chase. "And while you are my friend, and I care for you dearly, I do not have the luxury of putting principles above rent-money, okay? Besides, it's none of my business how he's spending his money or if he was keeping that from you."

     The brunette leaned back into her chair, silent but still looking perturbed by her friend's confession. Looking even more miserable than before, Midge grasped a filled shot glass and lifted it upward. Lazily, she looked back at Susie. "Everyone steals though, right?"

     "You didn't."

     "I didn't what?"

     A random man slid between Valerie and Midge, placing an aggressively red-and-black flyer in front of them with a bold font. "Houseparty tonight."

     Valerie stared at him weirdly as he slithered away. Meanwhile, Susie clarified herself. "Steal. You didn't steal. Your shit was totally original. Don't get me wrong, it was rough, but I'm telling you, there is definitely something there. I'm thinking maybe we can meet somewhere, bigger club, if I could just get Baz to die ―"

     Valerie could see the gears running rapidly in her head, could sense where this path was leading. She straightened, pulling on the last of her sobriety quickly, and stated, sharply, "Don't go there again."

     Susie seemed incredulous. "You can't be serious? You lose your job, your boss is probably gonna sue the shit out of you for breaking his nose, your friend's husband walks out on her, and still, you're against the idea!"

     "I told you I'm not doing it." She replied, firmly.

     "But this is so much of a better idea!" insisted Susie as she gestured between her and Midge. "A double-act, a perfect duo, you guys can work on your sets together so it's less scary!"

     Midge turned to Valerie, "What is she talking about?"

     "Your guys' acts!" Susie answered loudly.

     Midge scoffed, then chuckled and looked at Valerie, as if they were being punked. "We don't have acts."

     Susie's grin widened underneath the veil of her hooded cap. "You both will once we're done."

     Valerie gulped, shuffling in her seat and crossing her arms. "Acting devious does nothing to help your life expectancy."

     "Henry Kissinger would disagree."

     Midge was still in a strange state of trying to comprehend. "I-I don't understand."

     "You should do stand up, and I can help you." Susie expressed with complete confidence.

     "Oh, come on!"

     "I'm serious!"

     "I am a mother." stated Midge, as if that was a disqualifying factor.

     "Great!" Susie said enthusiastically. "We'll use that! One of your kids do something weird?"

     "Tonight was an isolated incident.There are medications I can take to make sure that never happens again." Midge remarked with the air of superiority, as if she couldn't quite wrap her head around what Susie was proposing. Suddenly, in the midst of sipping her drink, another realization came to her. "Wait...why do you want... Val to do... this... as well?"

     She spoke slowly, reluctantly, as if afraid she was going to receive another bombshell, like her husband paying for jokes. Valerie breathed in, bracing herself for the tirade of shorthanded comments and questions she was about to be granted. But Susie, thankfully, beat her to it. "I've been trying, for years, to get Valerie in the stand-up industry."

     Midge went agape. "Really....really?"

     "Yes!" Susie affirmed urgently. "Ever since I saw her do an opening at one of her husband's shows here in New York. She got the entire crowd laughing their heads off; just ten-minutes of her talking and she was blowing the roof off the place. Even Mark said he might as well not sing, just let her talk!"

     Valerie shifted uncomfortably in her chair, "I'm his wife, if he said anything bad, I'd take blowjobs off the table for a month."

     Susie ignored her, "But then there was all these bullshit excuses of oh, I'm a writer, not a comedian, or it's not my thing, it's only for fun, or ohh, my panties are in twenty-four hour bunches, I can't!" She waved her hands around, her voice high-pitched and whiny. Despite Valerie's affronted look, she continued in her normal tone. Her thumb jabbed in the blonde's direction, "She's got more talented than half of the greasy gorillas that waltz into The Gaslight acting as if they know their shit!"

     Midge blinked, still trying to process everything. "I-I mean,...she's always been soo talented, Joel even said so -"

     "As a Catholic, I have to reject every compliment I've received this night." Her face warmed and her facial muscles twitched slightly, her eyes downward. "And I would appreciate it if you two gossipers would stop talking about me like I'm not here."

     "I can put you two on a stage and we can really get this machine oiled!" Susie exclaimed excitedly, her gaze snapping between the two other ladies. "We can make you guys the best comic duo New York has ever seen! I'm talkin' starlight magic, Hollywood-gold, like Martin and Lewis but with a double set of tits!"

     "Awfully confident for a woman who's never managed anyone before." Valerie commented slowly into the glass of her booze.

     "I've got an instinct for this thing, alright!" insisted Susie. "Look, years I've been working in clubs, okay? Years watching every kind of loser get up there thinking he's Jack Benny. Three times have I seen someone deliver the goods. First time, guy walks in ― West Coast, suntanned, arrogant pain in the ass ― three words into his act, I fucking knew it. I turned to Baz, and I said, 'That guy's gonna be famous'."

     "Who was he?"

     "Mort Sahl?"

     "Oh, he's good." Midge conceded, looking mildly impressed. "We saw him at Grossinger's last year."

     "Second time ―" She pointed her finger at Valerie and looked her dead in the eyes. "- was watching this chick open up for Mark King, circa 1956, at the Stork ― and the third time was tonight."

     Midge cocked her head, slowly becoming frustrated. "Stop it."

     "Please." sighed Valerie.

     Susie shook her head, "I know I'm right about this." There was enough conviction in her voice to make Valerie double-guess her own stubbornness, though just for a split second. "Just like I know that unless I somehow get rich enough to hire some German broad to walk me around the park twice a day in my old age, I'm gonna spend my entire life alone."

     Valerie drowned the rest of her shot in one go and remained silent. She had nothing to say since she might as well mark her future days in her calendar as being utterly alone. Midge, however, was more sympathetic. "That's not true."

     "It's fine." She responded simply. "I don't mind being alone. I just do not want to be insignificant. Do either of you?"

     She flickered her stare between them, waiting for a response. Valerie couldn't come up with a conceivable argument as to why she liked her invisibility in society and wanted it to remain that way. She didn't mind no one knowing she was 'Dear Margo', that was the whole point of an advice column; and she didn't mind people rarely acknowledging her brief stint as a music journalist, reporting on the biggest up-and-coming stars while on tour. Then again, it's not like she was attracted to notoriety; she wasn't repulsed by people noting her as 'Mark King's Widow' or 'Gene Donovan's Younger Sister', and sure perhaps, when she was young, she dreamed of a time where someone important would be handing her awards for writing fantastic pieces of journalism in newspapers. The more she thought about it, the more her own opposition against this whirlwind of an idea started to die down in her throat; wasn't that why tonight unfolded the way it did? She wanted to be bigger, wanted 'Dear Margo' to be more adventurous and more bold, wanted some attention and appreciation for herself at the company? And wasn't that why every time Mark asked her to open up for him and his band, wanted her to do some lavish and funny stand-up routine for the audience, she always jumped at the chance? She adored the laughter thrown her way, adored the way her co-workers patted her on the back when 'Dear Margo', once again, struck a chord in the hearts of New Yorkers. Perhaps that was why she made a little side-gig as a ghost writer ― because in a lot of ways, selling little pieces of her comedy was better than no one knowing the humorous shit running through her mind constantly.

     "Don't you want to do something no one else can do?" Susie further questioned, as neither woman had responded to her first declaration. "Be remembered as something other than a mother or a housewife or member of the Communist Party?"

     "When did I become a member of the communist party?"

    "The moment you took that flyer."

     "Oh shit." Midge huffed as she finally retrieved the flyer that had been haphazardly thrown on top of the table and noticed the unshy sashes of red against a black background. Her eyes drifted towards the tiny cocktail glass filled with nuts, and her eyes suddenly grew large. "Oh no, oh no, no, no, no!"

     "What?" Valerie perked up.

     "It's Yom Kippur!" Midge implored, as if either gentile women were meant to understand what she was saying. "I'm supposed to be fasting, atoning for my sins in the eyes of God!"

    "So?"

     "So I'm eating peanuts!"

     "Jews take the crown for most self-torturous." Valerie slurred as Midge quickly drowned her last shot and began standing up. "Even us Catholics are allowed to eat fish on Good Friday."

     "You showed your tits to half of Greenwich village!" Susie blatantly pointed out, "You think the fucking nuts are what's going to piss him off?"

     "I have to go! Thank you for my coat, I paid full price at Saks! " Despite the onslaught of protests stemming from Susie and half-heartedly coming from Valerie, Midge bounced out of the room and hurried towards a cab outside. Susie was halfway out of her chair, but sighed and dropped back down once she saw the familiar yellow automobile pull up for the nightgown clad woman.

     Valerie watched her friend succumb to disappointment and found no words to comfort, only the will to drink more. "Use to women running out of you, Susie-bear?"

     Susie shook her head, then sharply turned to Valerie. There was almost a pleading expression on her face. "Tell me you'll give this a shot?"

     "I...can't." Ignoring Susie's angry exclaim, Valerie explained: "I like my job at the newspaper, or...actually...I did back when I had it. But you know what, I am a writer and I will find a job I will enjoy somewhere else in the city. I know you think I've got some sort of god-given gift for stand-up, but you're mistaken."

     "God, why can't you take a chance on this?" Susie loudly chided, appearing more and more irritated. "I've been pushing this for months, years even, but you're too scared to take a risk! All I hear are these bullshit excuses like fucking clockwork! I mean, why can't you just -"

     Valerie slammed her glass onto the table. She closed her eyes and inhaled quietly, reeling herself back in. When she opened her eyes, she saw the slightest bit of shakiness in her hands. She clasped her hands together and buried them in her lap. When she looked back up at Susie, she felt completely sober, and knew her glare was cold. "I know it's hard for everyone to understand this ― you, my father, my step-mother, my siblings, my fucking boss, my fucking neighbors, the fucking acne-ridden teenage who bags my groceries at the store, but I'm not willing to try something new, to get on with my life! I know you think going into comedy will somehow reinvent my life, make it better, somehow erase what hell the last five months have been, but I don't want a reinvention!"

     She continued, her voice unable to remain steady even to her own ears. "Maybe I don't want things to be different. Maybe I want the same boring, uneventful job I've always had, maybe I want to keep my routine the same and have nothing be different; God knows, everything else in my life is different now. I have a different apartment, I have a different bed where I'm missing someone by my side, people don't refer to me as 'mrs' anymore but 'ms', I get different looks from people ranging from pity to sad to fucking pathetically empathetic." She found her voice getting watery. "So maybe I don't want to try something new."

     For a moment, they were both silent; only the hum of whatever down-ridden jukebox in the corner of the bar was heard. Susie's indignation settled into guilt. Awkwardly, she tried to console. "I-I didn't mean to...I wasn't trying to push you..."

     Valerie didn't want to hear anymore; she pushed herself up from the table and exited the bar, hating the way the crisp air made her bare skin aflame with nerves, but grateful that it took away the alcoholic buzz muffling her thoughts. She walked, and walked down the street, aimlessly towards her apartment; she couldn't bring herself to hail down a taxi, the adrenaline pumping through her body making the concept of sitting down for a car ride implausible. Finally, she felt winded and slowed down, glancing around at the alive New York nightlife and finding herself lost in the lights. Around the corner, there was a brown telephone box.

     She swung the door open and huddled inside, kept safely away from the autumn coldness for a moment. She considered calling David, but she didn't want to wake him if he was home from his gig; he always came home exhausted after them and slept well-into the morning. She knew no one else in the city, not personally anyway, not enough for a phone call in the middle of the night; most of her friends were Mark's friends and she had slowly isolated herself from them after his passing. The prospect of calling Cliff or Sheila was out of the question. Her fingers hovered over the number pads of the telephone and after a long moment of consideration passed, she pressed in a number.

     The dial rang periodically...beep...beep...beep until the monotone voice of a woman appeared. "We're sorry, you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service ―"

     Valerie closed her eyes, tightening them so firmly it began to hurt. She was trying to stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks; crying in a telephone box was by far the most pathetic thing she had done this night. "O-kaay, nice to know my old apartment hasn't been sold yet."

     She sniffled and listened to the empty ringing on the other end. She leaned her elbow against the glass structure, letting her fingers dig into her messy hair. She couldn't stop shaking. "I really wish you would pick up." She whispered into the phone, before a sob caught in her throat.

     "You can't just die." Valerie's lip wobbled; she tried to nimble on her nail to stop it, but it wasn't working. "Why the fuck did you have to die? It's not fair..."

     Her head bowed, her hand moving to cover her forehead; she let the black phone fall to her shoulder as she cried. She didn't know how long she sobbed, if the people walking by noticed or even bothered to notice in their late-night, drunken hazes. She found that she didn't care, at this moment, if the whole world witnessed her heartache. Eventually, she came back up for air, breathing in harshly and raucously. She leaned her forehead against the dialer and found herself gasping; her lungs still constricted within her chest painfully.

     Slowly, Valerie anguished: "I have lost my home, I have lost all of my friends due to my own stupidity, I have now lost my job ―" She laughed hysterically against the hard metal, "And I lost you ― and you were my best friend."

     She moved to rest her temple on the box, letting her fingers anxiously twist the coiled wire. "But this needs to stop ― this needs to stop, because I have now lost everything and I need something to cling onto; because if I don't, I'm gonna end up drifting by life like my dad or throwing myself out of a window like Frank Olson or that psycho Jezebel." She made herself laugh, mostly because she knew if Mark was here, he would have laughed as well. She finally found herself calming down.

     "Being on stage with you, making the audience laugh and seeing you so proud of me, that's what made me happy." She nodded to herself confidently. "I guess the reason why I'm so hellbent against doing stand-up like you wanted me to do, like Susie wants me to do, is that...I don't want to disappoint you, Mark; wherever you are, I still don't want to make you unhappy. Aren't I such a good wife?" She chuckled, but grew serious quickly. "I need to do this, I need to do something otherwise my life is just gonna go down the drain. I know you'd want me to do this...so I'm gonna do it."

     She smiled into the phone, the tears on her face fresh, but not as sorrowful as before. "I really wish you were here."

     Blame it on the forced Catholic upbringing, or her familial belief in Irish spirituality, but somehow, Valerie felt her husband's warmth, felt his guiding hand and knew he was happy with her choice. It was closest she ever felt to God, but she'd never admit that.

     Hours later, when she stumbled home in an exposed bra, a broken blouse, and dried blood, and her landline rang with Midge's voice booming through, telling her, "I'll only do this if you're in this with me", Valerie felt lighter than she had felt in months. 

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

SOME NOTES:

* Sorry for the lack of updating; I sort of fell off the Marvelous Mrs. Maisel wagon and lost some interest in the show. However, I renewed my Amazon Prime account and began re-watching some scenes, and my interest in the show returned! I'm super bum that we're not getting a season four this year, but from what I read in articles, the cast and crew is taking this pandemic very seriously, which is wonderful. 

* The weird thing about writing for this show is that, because the humor is so front and center, and obviously making you guys laugh while reading this is vital, I feel that my typical writing style is sort of tampered, because I'm so focused on trying to make the narration/dialogue/overall style funny. Even the last scene of Valerie in the telephone box felt off, because I had just spent the other three-quarters of the chapter attempting to be funny. 

* Next chapter, I am planning on including a flashback to where you see Valerie open up for Mark on one of his shows so you can see how much she adored it and how she was a real good MC 

* Also, you will have Lenny and Valerie officially meeting in the police station scene in the next chapter so that's something exciting ;) 

* I hope no one feels uncomfortable about the Catholic/God mentions (it's not my intention). But Valerie was raised Catholic and that plays into her whole being, including her future stand-up. 

* To clarify some references/jokes I made in here:

         - Frank Olson was a biological warfare scientist who worked for the US government in the early fifties; one night, he took LSD and had a really horrific, very paranoid experience filled with intense hallucinations. A couple days later, he jumped out of a window of a DC hotel. It was ruled as a suicide. Jezebel was a female figure in the Hebrew bible who was thrown out of a window after viciously persecuting people of Jewish faith. Turns out, dying via throwing your body out of a window is called Defenestration. Who know?

          - Henry Kissinger is a major political figure in the US due to his involvement in American foreign policy; he became Secretary of State during Nixon and Ford's administrations. Both prior and after that, he was still heavily involved in foreign policy. Some people find him a foreign policy genius and expert; many others, including myself, would say he's a horrible human being who caused devastation to a lot of foreign nations. He didn't quite have the same notoriety in 1958 as he does now, but it was such a good line, and something Susie would so say, so I had to include it.  

* Title comes from Connie Francis' song Who's Sorry Now