#ch: midge maisel | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

alixinwwonderland · 1 year

Text

(I had a TMMM-themed dream the other night, and the bit of dialogue in it stuck in my head until it turned into this. Enjoy?)

Despite that rather sweet apology from Sylvio, Midge still looks over her shoulder a little too often when she walks through Riverside Park. So, from time to time, when she wants to be completely and totally assured that a peaceful walk won’t be disrupted by a handsome former lover, she heads down to Washington Square Park instead.

It’s been working great, until today.

At first, Midge doesn’t quite believe what she’s seeing. The man on the bench just a few steps away looks tired, to be sure, but not in the way he looked that awful, awful night at that awful, awful club, with a stool covered in court documents and a set spiraling rapidly out of control. He still looks too thin, but not as frighteningly so. His hair is endearingly rumpled, curls outlined in the midday sun, and his jacket is discarded on the bench beside him, revealed rolled-up, also-rumpled white shirtsleeves — a particular brand of casual, relaxed intimacy that takes her back to a humid stroll on a Miami boardwalk.

But it can’t be him.

She’s read the headlines. She’s heard the gossip. She knows what’s been happening. She saw it firsthand. And besides, even if he were back in the city, what are the odds he’d be out in the middle of the day, sitting on a bench in the very same park where she is?

But they’ve always had an instinct for finding each other, haven’t they? No matter how big the place, the city, or the country, they wind up in the same rooms, as if someone secretly placed magnets beneath their skin so that they’d always be drawn to each other across any distance.

But it can’t be him.

But it is him. Lenny Bruce, back in New York, slouched on a bench in Washington Square Park, and Midge has a decision to make. And yet it’s not really a choice at all, is it?

As Midge approaches, she stops in her tracks as a small, blonde girl, who looks perhaps a year or so younger than Ethan, runs up to Lenny. He looks down from the book he’s reading, says something to her, then smoothes back her ponytail with a smile and sends her back off to where she’s playing with a few other children.

Midge debates turning back now, not wanting to intrude on a part of Lenny’s life that he has clearly worked very hard to keep away from everyone, her included. But she remembers the sheepish pride in his voice when he mentioned his daughter in that long, lonely terminal, and the glisten in his eyes. She realizes, then, what she hadn’t in that moment, having been so focused on her own shame from their last conversation (and so flustered from the way his gaze had flicked up and down her body when she approached, just like it had when he’d peeled a dress from her shoulders and gazed at her in her show corset and garters before following the path of his eyes with nimble, strong hands).

He’d been trying to show her that this was different. That she was different — someone he could talk to his daughter about, not rant defensively about being creatures of the night. And she’d just… brushed it off, tried to reset them to a casual place, without even acknowledging that the ship had sailed.

Besides, she’s still not convinced he’s real and not a figment of her exhausted imagination.

Faster than her brain can weigh the pros and cons, her feet are carrying her over to stand in front of him. He looks up from his book, and she can see the flicker of surprise cross his face. Before he can open his mouth to say anything, she’s reaching out, brushing her fingers against crisp, wrinkled cotton and feeling the solid warmth of his upper arm beneath it.

Lenny looks at her hand on his arm, then back at her.

“New form of greeting take hold since I was last here?” he asks.

“Well, you have been gone a while, you might have missed a few trends,” she replies, letting go now that she can be sure.

“You wanna sit?” He picks up his jacket and moves it into his lap. Midge hesitates for only a moment before sitting in the empty spot beside him. She folds her hands on her lap, the better to resist the urge to touch him again.

“So. Back in New York, I see,” she says.

“For a few weeks. I got a couple meetings. Couple of gigs that haven’t been canceled yet.” He shrugs. “Nothing like you, Mrs. Maisel. I see the TV bigwigs have finally picked up on what the rest of us knew years ago.”

“That hiring me could singlehandedly send their entire costuming department into overtime?” she quips. A half-smile plays at Lenny’s lips.

“That. And, that you’re too funny to be away from the spotlight too long.” He smiles for real at her, softly, in that way that Midge has learned over the years seems to be mostly reserved for her.

“Are we really doing this?” she asks. Lenny’s brow creases.

“Doing what, exactly?”

“This.” She waves her hands. “Small talk. How’s work, what’s new—”

“Who’s got gout?” Lenny offers, smirking behind his hand.

“Stop that.” Midge can’t help the smile that spreads across her own face, but she does her best to stay focused.

“I’ve heard about—”

“Ah, don’t believe everything you read in the papers,” Lenny quips, fumbling for a cigarette and lighting it. He offers Midge one, but she shakes her head. “Besides, you’ve got more important things to worry about.”

“Do I?” Midge asks, and there’s that look on his face again, the one that means she’s touched on something real and that big, beautiful, fast-paced brain of his is whirring like crazy to decide whether or not to brush her off.

He sighs, running his free hand over his face with a groan.

“Fine. What you are to the NBC costume department, I am to the entire legal industry. Prosecution and defense alike,” he says.

“Not the judges, too?”

“A little out of my price range,” he quips back, but there’s an exhaustion beneath it that worries her, as he takes another drag off his cigarette. “I hate California,” he admits, more quietly. “Too much sun, too warm, everyone is just sunshiney all the time. And the sand gets in your fucking shoes and it never gets out! Never! How the fuck is that possible?”

“Let it all out, honey,” Midge says, bridging the space between them to pat his shoulder sympathetically while stifling a giggle. He looks back up at her with a glare.

“This isn’t funny. I have found sand in places I cannot mention in polite company.”

Midge looks around dramatically.

“I don’t see any polite company here, do you?”

That earns a short, bursting, “ha!” out of Lenny, and a very bad smile.

“My mistake. Only the rabble-rousers and delinquents here,” he replies. Midge realizes she still has her hand resting on his shoulder, but neither of them seem to mind much.

“Seriously, Lenny,” she says, ducking her head to force him to meet her gaze. “What’s really going on? Are things better… or worse… or?”

Lenny takes one more drag off his cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray by his side of the bench. He can’t quite meet her eyes.

“Some things are worse,” he admits, thinking of the growing line of court cases with his name involved. “Some things got worse, but… might be getting better.” And that’s a memory he’d rather not share with her: the aches and the sweats and the roiling stomach and the sheer force of will to not seek out the very thing that would bring an end to the misery, but would also make all of that exact same misery be in vain.

(He would know — he’s been down this path before, and he’s always wound up right back at the starting line eventually).

Midge nods as if she understands. She doesn’t, not deeply, but she cares so much, and he adores her for it.

“And some things… some things are a little better,” he admits. His gaze pings away from his lap, and she follows his gaze to where the little blonde girl is playing, oblivious to anything except the toys and her new playmates.

“Is that—?”

Lenny grins, and oh the proud papa look suits him, Midge thinks.

“Yeah. Hey, Kit! C’mere!” he calls out. The girl — Kit — looks up and bounds over. Up close, Midge can see the resemblance. She might be fair and blonde, and her eye color is lighter than his, but there’s a spark of lively mischief there that she knows all too well, and a lilt to the way she carries herself that echoes her father’s lanky gait.

“Kitty, I want you to meet my friend. This is Midge,” he says. “Midge, meet Kitty.”

“Your name is pretty. And so’s your dress,” Kitty says, sticking her hand out to shake. Midge takes it with an amused smile.

“Thank you. It’s short for Miriam. My name, not my dress,” she jokes, and Kitty grins.

“My name is short for something too. Brandy Kathleen,” she declares proudly, and Midge bites back a grin as she sees Lenny squirm out of the corner of her eye.

“I think that’s very pretty too,” is all she says, solemn to this twinkly, wise little girl.

“Do we have to go now?” Kitty asks Lenny, who looks at his watch and grimaces.

“Actually … we do. Uh… where’s your sweater?” Lenny asks, looking around. Kitty points to a spot over where she was playing. “Well then, go get it.”

As Kitty bounds off, Lenny speaks quietly to Midge.

“It’s been a good day,” he says without taking his eyes off Kitty. “Lot of times, the kids aren’t allowed to play with her. They say her daddy says bad things and their parents won’t let them.” He places a humorous emphasis in the sentence, but the smile twisting his lips is far from genuine good humor. Midge’s heart just about cracks open.

“Lenny—” she starts, but Kitty’s reappearance cuts any conversation short. The little girl looks up at Midge.

“Do you want to come over for dinner? Daddy cooks!” she says enthusiastically.

Midge grins.

“Oh, does he?” she asks. “Let me guess … does he wear an apron while he does it?”

Kitty nods, beaming.

“It’s too short for him so it looks silly,” she confides, judgmental in that way only a child can be, and it takes all of Midge’s experience with her own children’s oddities to keep a straight face. “But it’s such a pretty blue.”

Midge looks up to meet Lenny’s gaze.

“A pretty blue, huh?” she says. “So that really is your favorite color, then?”

Lenny shrugs. “It is now.”

—

Dinner is, well. It’s strange. Not in a bad way, necessarily. Lenny’s apartment in the Village is simple and lived-in. He’s no Zelda in the kitchen, but who is, and frankly, he’s the only man of her acquaintance who can acquit himself around a stove and actually turn out something not just edible, but very tasty. She would have thought the presence of his daughter would make things more awkward, but, it turns out, Kitty is just the ticket to keeping things light and pleasant, smoothing over the lingering tensions with non-stop chatter and questions.

When Kitty is finally sent to her room for the night, Lenny gets up and wanders over to the sink to do the dishes. Wordlessly, Midge gets up, finds a dishtowel, and dries.

“What is this, Lenny?” she asks softly. “You leave — almost without saying goodbye. You get yourself into an awful mess. You push everyone away who wants to help you. And now… what, you just show up in New York like nothing has happened, like we can go back to sneak attacks and bantering at clubs?”

“Well, the latter might be a little difficult, given my status as persona non grata at so many fine establishments,” Lenny jokes, turning off the water as he hands the final plate to her. Midge sets the plate down, still wet.

“Lenny.”

The smile slides off his face as he turns to look at her, really look at her.

“Okay,” he says, giving her that tiny, tiny nod that means he’s serious. “Okay,” he repeats, sitting back down at the kitchen table and gesturing for her to do the same. “What do you want to know?”

And what doesn’t Midge want to know? She settles on the first thing that comes to mind.

“The last time I saw you … all was very much not well,” she says. Her voice is gentle, but firm, making it clear that there’s no joking out of this corner this time. Lenny ducks his head, nods again.

“I know,” he says, more quietly than Midge has ever heard him. “I never wanted you to…”

“But I did,” she replies. “And now I want to know… I don’t even know what to ask.”

Lenny fiddles with his hands for a moment, twisting the corner of the dish towel that Midge had still been holding when they sat down.

“If I’m clean?” he asks. Midge swallows, then nods. The words sound so harsh, but, she supposes, that’s appropriate for a harsh reality. After a moment, Lenny nods too.

“I am,” he offers. “Have been for… a little while. After… after that, I couldn’t… I wanted to just… disappear. I just wanted…”

“Hey.” Midge covers his hand with hers. “You don’t have to … if you don’t want.”

“No, no. It’s okay. You should… you should hear it. So you can make an… informed decision.”

“Informed decision? About what?”

Lenny pulls his hand out from under hers and bounds up, picking up the towel to hang up.

“Nothing. I, uh. I think I just…”

“Complete sentences, please,” Midge nudges.

“I just thought… if you wanted… and I definitely do… I thought…” He looks at her with those big, angst-filled eyes of his. “I thought… maybe I could call. This time. But I definitely misread the—”

And now Midge gets it.

“You didn’t misread,” she says, getting up to stand at eye level, or as close to it as they can get with their height difference. “You didn’t.”

“But I thought you said ... we didn’t do that,” he points out, and Midge winces.

“I shouldn’t have said that. I was just ... i was so embarrassed, Lenny. After Carnegie Hall. I thought ... I thought I could pretend nothing was different, but I was wrong, and I’m sorry. And now...”

She takes a deep breath — if he can do this, so can she.

“I was just confused because you made it sound like there was a decision that needed to be made. And if we’re talking about the same thing… that’s a decision that was made a long time ago.”

Midge Maisel has surprised Lenny time and time again. At this point, he should be surprised at being surprised. And yet, she always manages to catch him off guard with how matter-of-fact she is about caring. Lenny is used to people hiding their hearts, keeping them tucked away because caring is dangerous in this business, caring is what holds you back and gets you hurt. But Midge has always worn her caring like a badge of honor, and there’s something about it that makes him wish he could be that way too — and maybe he can, a little. If it’s her.

He realizes, a moment too late, that he’s gaping at her. She shrugs and smiles, a little self-conscious.

“When a guy gives you advice without laughing at you, bails you out of jail, takes you to a jazz club, offers to be sympathetic, talks you up to a wary crowd, and works for free just to give you one last chance… what’s a girl to do?” she asks gently.

“You make me sound like some knight in shining armor, Midge,” Lenny mutters bitterly. “Haven’t you learned by now?”

Midge shrugs again.

“Eh. Knights are overrated. I prefer cranks in trench coats.” That earns a laugh, huffing out in a breath as Lenny tilts his head down to meet Midge’s.

“Fuck, Midge. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” he confesses. “I’m clean now, but I could fall off the wagon at any moment. I got enough court cases to keep the entire state bar of New York — and possibly multiple other states — employed for several months. I’m still living in California—”

“Which you hate. Sun, sand, Mickey Mouse,” Midge quickly points out, and he chuckles again.

“My point is, my life is a mess right now. There is a very, very high likelihood that I have peaked and it is all downhill from here. And you? You’re on your way up.” He snaps his fingers for emphasis. “The world is at your feet, and people are taking notice in the best possible ways. I’m not about to be the schmuck who drags you down. You’ve had enough of that for a lifetime.”

Then, there are cool hands on either side of his face.

“Have you considered the possibility that maybe the reason you’re feeling so weighed down is because you’re trying to carry it all yourself? Sisyphus, wasn’t it?” she asks.

“Without the fabulous hair,” Lenny quips back, echoing the last time he let the door crack open and let Midge see just how much it cost him to be Lenny Bruce. Her lips curve upward just slightly at the corners, and he knows she’s in the same memory he is.

“I don’t know about that, I like your hair,” she teases. She runs one of her hands up to tangle in his curls, and he can’t help letting his eyes flutter shut for a moment as he leans into her touch.

“I remember something of the sort,” he can’t resist saying, and he opens his eyes just in time to see a pretty flush color her cheeks at a different sort of memory.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Midge says, drawing back just an inch or two but not letting go. “I let you in. I stop running from being scared I’ll ruin everything good in my life by being too much. And in return, you let me in. As much or as little as you can manage. Long-distance phone calls, if that’s what you want. Business cards for lawyers, if that’s as much as you’ll allow. Help with moving, if that’s what you decide. But you give me a little bit of the load. I’m strong enough to take it, now.”

He should say no. He should kiss her forehead and thank her politely and send her on her way and then crawl out of her life again. But there’s a piece of him that thinks (that knows) she’s right, logically — things don’t feel so heavy when someone else is carrying a little of the weight.

So instead, he leans down, slowly, so she has plenty of time to change her mind. But she doesn’t, and his lips settle on hers. And it feels… right. It feels like something he’d like to experience over and over, night after night, until years of arrests or years of drug use or just the general human condition catch up to him.

“Yes,” he says, and the smile he gets against his lips in return feels like more trouble than the law ever gave him, and he cannot wait.

#midge maisel #lenny bruce #midgelenny #the marvelous mrs. maisel #tmmm #tmmmfic #midgelenny fic #tv: the marvelous mrs maisel #ship: you're still staring #ch: midge maisel #ch: lenny bruce #mine

57 notes · View notes

alixinwwonderland · 1 year

Text

@wonderlandleighleigh requested a follow-up for this fic, so here we go, just in time for whatever the hell 501-503 throws at us.

If you’ve been steering clear of season 5 reviews and spoilers, do not keep reading!

Midge isn’t sure whether she’s thrilled or furious when Dinah informs her that Lenny is, in fact, back in town and has been for a little while.

What she is sure of, however, is that whatever she saw in Susie’s office still has her severely freaked out, and that dominant emotion is what sends her to a club one night. When she walks in, she notes with concern the shabbiness of the chairs, the scuffed floors, the less-than-clean smells. It’s not a dive, exactly, but it’s certainly not Carnegie Hall, and it’s a little too close for comfort to a not-quite-a-memory that’s been roiling through her head since that day in Susie’s office.

She settles in, far enough from the stage that she feels confident she won’t be seen until she wants to be.

Lenny’s great (what else is new), but there’s something frenetic and almost jumpy about him that worries her. When his set is over, she has almost no time to plan her next move because there he is, appearing right in front of her.

“How’d you know i was here?” she asks, genuinely baffled this time.

He shrugs.

“I got your pigeon?” Off her glare, he amends, “I heard your laugh,” and her heart does that annoying leap it has taken to doing around him ever since he leaned against a hotel bar in miami and complimented her dick jokes.

Something in her face must give her away, though, because the smirk fades and is replaced by something more like concern.

“I can go, if you don’t want to-” He’s cut off by her grabbing his jacket cuff, an anchor to keep him there and to remind herself that he is, in fact, right there and not a ghost or a memory that will slip through her fingers at any second.

He studies her again.

“Midge? Everything okay?” And everything is very much, not okay, and she suddenly finds herself at a loss for words. She’s only able to shake her head. Instantly, her hand is enveloped in his, and he’s steering her out of the club and into a quiet alley, where the bite of the night air helps her shake off the cloud of terror that’s been following her around.

She looks at him.

“If I tell you something, promise me you won’t think I’m crazy,” she says. The two of them have always had that ability to be on each other’s wavelengths - it’s what’s made them so good at trading banter and building on each other’s jokes, but it’s also what has allowed them to both realize when there’s nothing to laugh at. And, thank god, Lenny seems to understand that this is one of those times, and simply nods, leaning back against the brick wall without taking his eyes off of her.

Midge takes a deep breath, then lets it out.

As the story flows out of her, she watches him closely. To his credit, he does little to give his reactions away, but somewhere along the line, she learned to read him as well as he can read her. She notes the twitch of humor in the corner of his mouth when she rattles off the famous men she married and divorced (and jilted). She sees his jaw clench just a little when she admits how she and Joel could never quite fucking let go of the past. She sees his eyes soften in sympathy when she chokes up as she narrates what happened with her kids, and worst of all, with Susie.

Then her vision goes dark as she finds her face pressed into dark fabric, his arms wrapping around her and his hand gently stroking her hair as she cries.

“And now you probably think I’m completely fucking crazy, and I’m just...” she loses the end of her sentence in another sob, and Lenny just chuckles softly.

“Sweetheart,” he says, the term of endearment tripping off his tongue so naturally, it’s as if he’s been saying it forever, “I already knew you were a little crazy. The best people all are.”

And that, at least, gets a wet giggle out of her, and she pulls back, trying in vain to restore some sense of dignity.

“At the risk of sounding self-serving, uh...” Lenny flounders. “Can I inquire as to where...”

Midge looks up to meet his eyes, and his mouth snaps shut.

“Ah. I see,” he says. “I suppose that’s not surprising. Can I ask-”

“August. ‘66.” she says, and they’re quiet for a minute. “I don’t meant to-”

“To... what?” he asks. She shrugs.

“I... I heard what you said. At Carnegie Hall. I don’t want you to think I pity you, or I’m trying to fix you, I don’t want you to-”

“You don’t want me to... what?”

“I don’t want you to... You know. Feel pressured to do something, or not do something, because some crazy lady told you that a magician gave her a vision of the future.”

Lenny rubs a hand over his face, and Midge is suddenly struck by how tired he looks.

“Well, it’s a moot point anyway,” he says. “Because I already did something - or decided not to do something for a change - because some very funny lady looked very sad and that just about broke what’s left of this shriveled organ I call a heart.”

She looks up at him.

“Do not mother me,” he says in warning. “I meant what I said. I don’t want your pity. Fix you, and let me worry about me while I do this.”

“I’m always going to worry about you, haven’t you figured that out by now?” Midge replies instantly, and despite the lightness of tone, there’s a truth there that earns a tired but real smile from him.

“So does this mean you believe me?” she asks. He shrugs.

“The way I see it, it doesn’t matter if Susie’s little weirdo actually did magic or if it all was in your head. You got a glimpse-”

“More than a fucking glimpse,” she mutters.

“-A look,” he amends, “Of a future you didn’t like very much. Right?”

Midge nods.

“Okay then. So then, do things differently.”

“You make it sound so easy,” she says, a little petulance in her voice that makes Lenny grin.

“You seem very stressed right now, so I won’t make the ‘easy’ joke that just sprung to mind,” he quips. It’s Midge’s turn to shrug.

“I wouldn’t mind. I probably thought of the same one.”

Lenny smiles at her.

“Drinks?” he asks. “That’s one vice they’ll have to pry from my cold dead hands.” Off Midge’s look, his face falls. “Sorry, I didn’t-”

“Drinks would be nice,” she says, and as they walk, she slips an arm through his.

postscript: one week later

"Midge! What can i do for you?” Gordon asks as Midge flounces into his office.

“So, here’s the deal, Gordon, and I want to make this very clear,” she says, sitting neatly on the chair across from his desk. “I am never, ever, under any circumstances, in this life or any other, going to sleep with you. I don’t care what arrangement you and Hedy have. But it is never going to involve me.”

Gordon’s mouth drops open.

“We’ve got two options, now.” She leans forward. “One: you get over your habit of thinking with your dick, realize that I’m actually really fucking funny, and let me do what I’m good at. Or, two - I walk right out that door and I don’t come back, and the next time you see me will be sending the ratings skyrocketing for Jack -”

“Don’t say it,” he grits. Midge smiles beatifically.

“So, option one, then?” she says, sweet as pie, and oh, this future is going to be fun.

#the marvelous mrs. maisel #tmmm #tmmmfic #midge maisel #lenny bruce #midgelenny #tv: the marvelous mrs maisel #ship: you're still staring #ch: midge maisel #ch: lenny bruce #ch: gordon ford #mine

45 notes · View notes

alixinwwonderland · 11 months

Note

What would you say the show showed Lenny’s love language as? Quality Time?

Actually, I'd say it's acts of service and/or words of affirmation.

Even before he's a "love interest," while he's still primarily a friend and mentor to Midge, Lenny lets his generosity do the talking. He bails Midge out in return for her bailing him out, but then he goes further: he makes sure she gets to Susie okay, he invites her to the Vanguard, and, later, he breaks Sophie's blackball for her. He does favors for her that he wouldn't for anyone else, because, as he says, "You know I like you, and normally I would do anything in my power to make you feel better."

But mixed in with all of that is his words of affirmation. It starts simply, with him using his microphone (literally and figuratively) to tell others how great she is.

But then it goes beyond that. The deeper he gets into being actively in love with her, rather than caring about her solely as a friend, the more he lets his guard down, and the more he says the loveliest things to her in lieu of actually saying "I love you."

And it seems like he blossoms under the same things. Midge's words to him aren't phony, or trying to get something from him — so her compliments mean something. Just look at the glistening eyes and hear the crack in his voice when she says "lucky girl" about Kitty coming to stay with him, as if no one's ever said that about him. But even more than that, see the way he reacts when Midge shows up for him the same way he shows up for her. It's how he falls for her.

#lenny bruce #midgelenny #tv: the marvelous mrs maisel #ship: you're still staring #ch: lenny bruce #ch: midge maisel #misc: asks #thank you for the asks feel free to keep them coming #it's a great distraction from how slow my current fic writing is

27 notes · View notes

alixinwwonderland · 2 years

Photo

midgelenny + tales from the group chat (pt. 1)

#midgelenny #the marvelous mrs. maisel #tmmm #midge maisel #lenny bruce #tmmmedit #mrsmaiselsource #tv: the marvelous mrs maisel #ship: you're still staring #ch: midge maisel #ch: lenny bruce #i have so much material for these #enjoy snapshots from the hell-atus #love you friends you know who you are

349 notes · View notes

marnigifshistory · 1 year

Text

#fc: rachel brosnahan #ch: midge maisel #source: the marvelous mrs. maisel #era: 1950s #mine: gifset #period fc #perioddramagif #perioddramaedit #tmmmedit

38 notes · View notes

alixinwwonderland · 11 months

Note

Am I wrong in thinking that the Chinese Food Date scene basically confirms Midge had a words of affirmation/praise kink?

Oh yeah, words are definitely Midge's love language (and other things lol). She fell for Joel back in the day because he had smooth lines. She liked Benjamin for quipping back at her. And she and Lenny pretty much fell for each other because they both looked at each other and went, oh, you're even funnier than me, I think I might love you a little. Let's be honest, the woman cannot shut up, and she definitely likes a man who's the same way.

I mean. Lenny couldn't stop joking when he was literally in the middle of sex. And she liked it.

But she also clearly loves the praise, and her relationship with Lenny definitely shows that. All of their most romantic moments tie back to him outright praising her, not dancing around it ("I thought it was sensational" "You are more important than God" and the entire fortune cookie scene).

So, yeah. She definitely took him up on his offer to, uh, "take shelter" until the snow let up, lol.

#midge maisel #lenny bruce #midgelenny #tv: the marvelous mrs maisel #ship: you're still staring #ch: midge maisel #ch: lenny bruce #thank you anon for this vital discussion

35 notes · View notes

marnigifshistory · 11 months

Text

Rachel Brosnahan as Midge Maisel in The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel

#fc: rachel brosnahan #ch: midge maisel #source: the marvelous mrs. maisel #era: 1950s #mine: gifset #perioddramagif #perioddramaedit #period fc #tmmmedit

30 notes · View notes

alixinwwonderland · 1 year

Text

i never heard them ringing

a 501 fix-it. thanks @wonderlandleighleigh for the idea!

He knows he should call.

Lenny Bruce is under no illusions about himself. He is not what most people (any people, really) would call a gentleman. He’s not a cad, exactly, partially out of respect and partially out of a sheer lack of energy for caddish shenanigans. He’s not a selfish lover, never has been. But a gentleman who calls and sends flowers? Not him.

But there’s always an exception, and for him, it comes in the form of one wildly funny, incomprehensibly perky, maddeningly single-minded comedienne whose quips are as sharp as her high heels. Somehow, from the time she asked, “Do you love it?” — and asked twice, cutting right through his veneer of bullshit after having spent all of ten mostly silent minutes in his company prior — she’s been the exception. He admits to her when he’s tired. He lets her fix his tie. He sends flowers. He gives her his jacket. He can’t fucking stop thinking about her.

(read more below or on ao3)

It’s a moment of weakness, he knows. He should let her go and forget about him, forget about the years of flirting, forget about what happened in that very blue room. As long as she doesn’t forget what he told her on that big, famous stage, that can be enough.

But he is tired. So, so tired, and when he’s tired, he makes decisions he usually wouldn’t. And instead of making the bad decision he usually does in those circumstances, he picks up the phone and dials a different number instead.

When the phone answers, though, it’s not Midge who answers, nor is it her family’s deeply terrifying maid. It’s Abe. The professor. Miss December. Midge’s father.

“Hello?” Abe repeats a third time. “You know, if this is a prank call, it’s not a very good one. You should really work on coming up with something better than-”

“Hello, uh, Mr. Weissman. It’s, ah. This is Lenny. Midge’s … Midge’s friend.”

“I see,” Abe says. “And are you fully in your right mind, this time?”

“Well, I certainly think so, but there’s a whole host of politicians, lawyers, and color commentators who seem to think otherwise, so if you’re looking for a consensus—,” he begins to quip on instinct before realizing this probably isn’t the right time. Lenny groans and runs a hand over his face, noting as he does that he really should probably shave at some point.

“You were much funnier the first time we met,” Abe comments, but it sounds more like an observation than an insult.

“Is Midge there?” Lenny asks. “I was hoping to talk to her, I wanted to see if—”

“She’s not feeling well,” Abe replies, and Lenny feels a pit drop in his stomach at the worry in the other man’s tone. “She came home the other night soaked and freezing, that night she went to see your show. Frostbite and hypothermia and—”

“Is she okay?” Lenny demands, hearing a bit of Abe’s franticness in his own voice now.

“Susie’s with her now.”

Lenny isn’t sure what compels him to say the next thing that comes out of his mouth. Guilt, maybe, or a sense of obligation? Those are the safe ones to think about, because if those aren’t the emotions driving him right now, he’s in much bigger trouble.

“Can I come by?”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, as if Abe is really pondering the answer.

“You know,” he finally says, “I think that might do her some good.”

So that’s how Lenny finds himself standing in the foyer of a vaguely familiar, extremely stylish Upper West Side apartment, coat awkwardly draped over his arm until Abe insists on taking it and hanging it up.

Rose walks down the hall and, though she looks less than thrilled to see Lenny, she’s also not outright hostile, and that is win enough for him at the moment.

“Susie’s with her still, but if you’d like to go in… I should warn you, though,” Rose adds, “She hasn’t been making much sense, so I’m not sure how much good it will do.”

Lenny nods, trying to hide the worry rising up in his throat, and follows Rose’s directions down the hall. The overwhelming feelings of being in her bedroom are quickly replaced by the absolute shock of seeing her bundled up, makeup-free and head wrapped, and muttering incoherently to a very surprised-looking Susie.

“The hell are you doing here?”

“Yes, hello to you too, Susie,” he responds. “Is she—” he gestures at Midge.

“She’s gonna be fine. Frostbite and, apparently, a little accompanying delirium. She’ll be fine in a couple of days,” Susie says. “She’s been saying some weird shit though. Weirder than normal, I mean. Did you know she slept with Tony fucking Bennett?”

“I’m sorry, she what now?”

Susie shrugs.

“I dunno. She keeps muttering something about sleeping with some guy … maybe she didn’t say Tony Bennett? Complete sentences seem to be beyond her at the moment.”

Lenny chokes at that, then tries—mostly unsuccessfully—to cover it with a cough.

“I am positive she did not sleep with Tony Bennett. Or even speak to the man, for that matter,” he can’t help adding, and from the look that briefly passes over Susie’s face just then, he knows the two of them share an opinion for once.

“Thanks for trying that, by the way. She said it was you who put her up for it, and even if she was too fucking up her own ass to take it… well. Thanks,” Susie says. “But then, I don’t get it. She kept repeating, ‘I slept with him, I slept with him,’ and something about Tony Bennett. So if it wasn’t him then who did she sleep—”

Susie stops short. Lenny’s poker face is good, but it’s not so good as to keep a completely straight, un-flushed face while standing in Midge’s bedroom and talking about who she’s slept with recently.

“Oh no. Do not tell me—”

“Miss Susie!” Zelda bustles into the room. “Miss Dinah is on the phone for you, she says it’s urgent.”

Susie keeps her narrowed eyes on Lenny even as she moves to follow Zelda out the door.

“You and me, pal, we’re going to have a very interesting conversation that I do not want to have when I get back,” she warns.

“Waiting on pins and needles,” he says dryly as he takes Susie’s seat next to Midge’s bed.

-----

It takes him a few minutes to psyche himself up enough to reach out and take her hand. When he does, he almost drops it again, the reminder of her thumb tracing circles in a mutually drowsy, mutually satisfied haze almost too much for his fragile nerves and one-week-without-drugs mind to bear. For a moment, he wishes more than anything that he’d taken something to calm himself before coming here, but then he remembers that look on her face in his bathroom, and he tries to convince himself that if he can do this without the assistance of a little vial, maybe he can manage the other hard things, too.

Then he hears a thin but clear voice emerge from the covers, turned away from him.

“Susie, it was so cold,” Midge complains. “Snow gets everywhere. And now… frost crotch,” she says, more clearly. “I’ve got frost crotch.”

Lenny can’t help it. He begins to laugh, muffled at first, shoulders shaking, then a full-throated “ha!”

Midge’s eyes fly wide open and she rolls over, mouth dropping as she takes in the sight.

“You’re not Susie,” is the only thing she can think to say.

“Now, why does that sound familiar?” he quips. She touches the wrap on her head self-consciously, then her sweater, and then her gaze falls to where their hands are currently joined.

“Mrs. Maisel,” Lenny says softly, but with a smirk on his lips, “you are a mess right now. And I say this as something of an expert on being a mess,” he adds.

Midge struggles to push herself into a sitting position, so Lenny stands and gently helps her get propped up before settling back at her side.

“So,” he says.

“So,” she echoes. “What are you doing here, anyway? Did Susie call you?”

“No, actually, uh—” He breaks off, with a nervous chuckle. “I… called you. Or, tried to.”

“Why? I mean—”

Lenny goes through some complicated emotions at that. A little rejected, perhaps, or just disappointed? Or relieved? Or … what, exactly? So, he settles on honesty.

“Because I was thinking about you,” he says simply.

When Midge looks at him in surprise, breathing out an, “oh,” his heart breaks a little bit—not for himself, this time, but for her. He wonders, briefly, how often anyone calls Midge just because they’re thinking of her, not because they need or want something from her.

There’s silence in the room for a minute, the only noises the faint sounds of her family and Susie’s conversations down the hall.

“Lenny?” she whispers.

“Hm?”

“I’m not gonna blow it,” Midge says. Her voice is still thin and tired, but there’s a familiar determination there that reassures him.

“I know,” he says.

“I’m sorry,” she adds. “You did so much for me, you always do so much for me, even when I don’t deserve it, and I just… threw it away. Why do I always do that?”

“If I had a fucking answer to that, we’d both be a lot better off,” Lenny says, earning a small smile out of her. “But you always come back around. You always pick up the pieces.”

“Susie does,” Midge says, tearing up. “I gotta apologize to her. I have to apologize so much.”

“You will. And she’ll forgive you. And you’ll get more chances,” he assures her.

“But what if I don’t?” she asks. “What if I finally just run out of chances? Then what?”

Lenny shrugs.

“If someone like me is still getting chances, I think you’ll be just fine,” he says. He aims for lightness, but a crack in his voice betrays him.

“Speaking of which… I should probably tell you that I am headed out of town for a little while. I got some gigs in California. Even rented a house. My … my kid’s gonna stay with me,” he says, and he hates the way her face falls, and yet he loves that he’s one of the people allowed to see her unfiltered reactions without pretense.

“Your kid, huh?” she says, smiling a little despite herself, and he can’t help grinning too. “Lucky girl.”

And there it is again, Midge just casually uncovering his rawest nerves. No one has ever said that Kitty is “lucky” to have him — just the opposite, in fact. So all he can choke out in the moment is a cracked, “Yes.”

“And now look at you. A man with a lease,” Midge says, summoning a sunny smile.

Lenny shrugs.

“Happens to the best of us.”

There’s a pause before Midge speaks again.

“It’s not… it’s not because you’re still mad at me?”

“What? Why would you think—”

“Because that’s what people do. They get mad, and then they go away,” she says, and Lenny feels that familiar ache again.

He doesn’t realize that he’s been silent until Midge speaks again.

“This is usually the part where the other person says something comforting, you know,” she teases.

He barks out a laugh and rubs his eyes.

“I, uh,” he flounders, before deciding, fuck it, he’s been going with honesty so far, why not the whole enchilada. “I’m just trying to decide if I try to kiss you, if you’ll recoil in horror or not,” he half-jokes.

“Me recoil? What about you? All this,” she says, gesturing at the head wrap, hot water bottle, and the distinct lack of makeup on her face, “Doesn’t exactly say sexy.”

“I would beg to disagree,” Lenny says, scooting a little closer with a smile playing on his lips. Midge mimics the movement, closing more inches between them until their gazes are locked and their lips are nearly touching, but not quite.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a very strange man?” Midge whispers, so close he can feel the exhale of her breath.

“I’ve been called so much worse.” Then Lenny closes what’s left of the gap and kisses her. It’s not burning and fierce, how it was in his bed in that blue room. It’s tender, maybe a little tentative, maybe a little reassuring, like it was that very first time he set his lips to hers. A promise that, no, that’s not a mistake. Yes, that’s what we’ve been waiting for.

“Do they have that in California?” she teases as she pulls back. Lenny smirks.

“I’m sure they have something of the sort,” he jokes. Then he lets his smile soften as he touches her cheek. “But nothing quite like that.”

“You sure?” she asks, and Lenny can hear the real question beneath the levity.

“There’s no one like you. I’m sure of that,” he says. “Anyway, I should be asking you if you’re sure.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Midge asks, genuinely confused.

“I’m not exactly… Upper West Side material, here,” he says. He gets up and paces, wishing for a cigarette to keep his hands occupied. “The arrests keep coming. The legal bills… well, use your imagination. I’m barely making ends meet, the list of cities I can’t set foot in is growing, and they’re gonna find a way to make an example of me sooner or later. And then there’s the—”

He stops.

“The what? The… bag?” Midge nudges. He shrugs. Midge’s face creases. “You weren’t… when we… were you?”

“No!” he hastens to assure her. “No. I swear. I wanted to be clear-headed for Carnegie Hall, so I didn’t… for a few days before. I just had… just in case…”

The warmth of a few moments before is vanishing, replaced by something close to shame.

“Come here,” Midge commands. He looks at her from across the room, where his pacing has taken him.

“Why?”

“Just do it. I’m the invalid, you have to do what I say,” she says matter-of-factly. He draws closer to her again, perching on the edge of the bed. He’s surprised when her cool, smooth hand runs along his stubbled cheek.

“And what did you do with… just in case?” she asks softly. She’s taking a risk, she knows, asking a question she’s not sure she wants the answer to. But Lenny leans his cheek into her hand and whispers, “Threw it away. After I got back from Wo Hop.”

“Okay then,” she says.

“No, not okay,” Lenny argues, not able to pull away but not able to let her think it’s that easy. “You don’t get it, Midge. It was fine then. I’m good now. But in a few days? Or weeks? It’s not a light switch you can just turn on and off!” He hates telling her about this, hates making her know these things about him, but he needs her to understand.

“But you want to?” In some ways, it’s such a simple question. But it’s not one he’s thought of in such stark terms before. He wants to not be in pain. He wants to be able to work without fear. He wants to face his daughter without shame. He wants to be … maybe not the kind of man who wears sweaters and smokes pipes and accompanies a wife and kids to temple on the regular, but at least the kind of man who doesn’t elicit murmurs of what does she see in him?

And, yes. He’d like to do all of that without the aid of needles and vials. It drains his money when he can’t afford to lose a cent. It feels good, until it doesn’t, but he always forgets that part until the next time. And it really, really hurts because, ironically, he’s terribly clumsy at the physical parts of his addiction. So…

“Yeah,” he whispers hoarsely. “When you put it like that… yeah. Besides,” he adds, trying to lighten the mood, “my lawyers will be thrilled. One less thing I can get hooked for.”

“They sound like some pretty good lawyers,” Midge quips back. He shrugs, again.

“They’re all right. Wish I had better, but they try to keep me out of prison, so I suppose that’s all I can ask for. But if things keep up this way I may just start trying to do it myself, I dunno.”

Midge perks up in that way she does when she’s figured out how to fix something.

“Oh! You should talk to Michael Kessler!”

Lenny’s heard the name, vaguely. He thinks he might have met the man somewhere along the line — all the lawyers start to blend together at some point.

“And you know this because?”

“Because,” Midge says, “one day, oh, about two years ago, I found myself entangled in the legal system for the first time, and someone told me I should get a lawyer, so I did.”

“Oh, and you always do what someone tells you?” he drawls.

“Certain someones,” Midge fires back, and somehow it’s a flirtation and a confession all at once. “Anyway. Get Kessler. He’s good. Loves free speech arguments. Loves arguments, period, you’ll get along great.” She casts her gaze around her room before giving up. “His card is here… somewhere. Just ask my father before you leave.”

Lenny’s hand falls across his face, covering his mouth as he stares at her.

“Your… father. Knows… You know, I’m starting to think your family is much more interesting than one might think from the outside.”

“One of our best qualities,” Midge says. Her gaze slides behind Lenny, and he turns to see Susie standing there, glowering but also clearly relieved to see Midge upright.

“I think that’s my cue,” Lenny states, sliding off the bed.

“When do you leave?” Midge asks. He grimaces.

“A few more days. I’ll come by before then, I promise,” he adds. He hesitates, then quickly leans down to brush a quick peck on her lips. “See ya, Midge. Hope the frostbite works itself out soon!” He smirks as he pulls back. “Would you be angry if that went in my act?”

“Yes. Because it’s going in mine,” Midge deadpans back. He raises a playful eyebrow.

“May the best joke win?”

“You’re on, mister.” She gives his hand one more squeeze, then lets go. Lenny sidles past Susie with a tight, almost smile, which she almost returns.

Lenny hears their voices floating down the hall as he makes his way back to the foyer. When he sees Abe meandering around, he decides, what the hell, add one more layer of strange to this whole day.

“Mr. Weissman?”

Abe stops pacing and looks at him.

“Abe is fine. I think after being arrested together, we can use first names, don’t you think?”

“Sure. Uh. Abe. Midge mentioned you might have a way to get in touch with someone she thinks I should talk to. A Michael Kessler?”

Abe’s eyes brighten, and what is it with Weissmans getting so excited about problem solving?

"You should meet my son. He's a data analyst. And a spook," Abe says casually as he scribbles on a notepad, and Lenny flushes a little at the realization he spoke aloud. His brain only rewinds to the second half of that statement just in time for Abe to hand him the tidily folded piece of paper.

“I’m sorry, did you say…”

“Michael is wonderful. Always raring for a good fight. I think he’ll be good for you.” Abe pats him collegially on the shoulder as he strides away. Lenny watches him go, then huffs a laugh as he shrugs on his coat, only to turn around and see the maid, Zelda, watching him.

“Oh, hey, thanks, by the way. For pressing my jacket, that one time,” he offers. She stares at him a moment longer, giving nothing away on her expression. “Right. Okay then.”

“Miss Dinah did not call.”

He turns back around.

“I’m sorry… what?”

“Miss Dinah. She did not call for Miss Susie. I lied.”

Lenny takes a step closer to this strange, pink-clad woman.

“And… you did that because?”

“Because Miss Miriam likes you. She brought you home. She put you in her child’s bed. She was very sad when you left with your pants so very, very wrinkled. She said your name in her sleep, when I went to bring her another blanket. I thought you should talk. Without Miss Susie,” she adds, and Lenny grins.

“Well, uh. Thanks, Zelda. For everything.”

-----

Lenny does meet Michael Kessler, and likes the man enormously right off the bat. There’s no bullshit, but plenty of bullish stubbornness and willingness to fight (and willingness to say that Lenny’s previous lawyers are not nearly experienced enough in First Amendment stuff nor nearly as ideologically invested to do the kind of work he needs).

Lenny does find himself feeling very unwell, as his body clamors for the substances it’s grown accustomed to. He thanks whatever or whoever is looking out for him that it only hits after his return from the Upper West Side. He also knows these couple of especially miserable days won’t be the last time his body and brain turn on him, and that, much like his court dates, is something he is not looking forward to.

Lenny does jet off to California, too, with the promise to call often — and he does, in fact, keep his word.

He also keeps his word about putting Midge’s little problem into his act, or, at least, a variation on the idea. A bit about the progression from having sex to having frozen genitals plays great for the California crowds who have never seen temperatures dip below the 30s. He can’t help grinning a little wider at the reaction to the phrase frost crotch, watching as the most West Coast couple he’s ever seen practically double over laughing at the table nearest the stage.

He can’t wait to tell Midge.

-----

“So a couple of weeks ago, I experienced something brand-new. Something new is fun, right? Like, a birthday present, or a new dress, or finishing first in bed,” Midge jokes, earning hoots and hollers from the crowd at the Wolford. “But I now know firsthand that something new isn’t always fun. Because, ladies and gentlemen, that something new was a delightful little experience I have dubbed frost crotch.”

There’s another round of shocked gasps and giggles as she describes the situation. Then, for the finishing touch, her parting shot:

“And you know, I just might be the first woman in history to have unplanned sex and wake up with my nether regions frozen instead of on fire!”

She grins out at the audience, full of laughs and whistles. Off to one side, there’s a young couple, dressed a little impractically, who look a little stunned. The woman whispers something to her companion, and they both stare at Midge like they’ve just cracked a code.

-----

When Midge stops by the Button Club to drop off a jacket Ethan left behind, she’s startled when Archie tries to shoo her out quickly.

“Trust me, Midge, you don’t wanna—”

“Midge? Midge is here?” Joel calls, and Archie shuts his eyes like a headache has just begun (or returned).

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he mutters to Midge’s back as she heads deeper into the club.

“Joel? Something wrong?” she asks, drawing up short when she sees the petulant scowl on his face. It’s an expression she knows intimately, and not one that ever bodes well for her mood the rest of the day.

“Anything you wanna tell me, Midge?” he demands. Midge looks at him, baffled.

“I’m assuming that’s rhetorical, so I’m gonna need you to be a little more specific if you want to fight,” she says. Joel chuckles.

“Yeah, really funny. Funny, funny lady. On all those stages. I wonder what they’d say if they knew what you did to get there, though?”

Now Midge is both confused and insulted.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Joel? If you have something to say, spit it out, otherwise I have to get to work.”

Joel stares at her for a long moment, then smiles without any humor in it.

“Funny thing, this club of mine. I hear people talk about all sorts of things. Where they’ve been, where they’re headed afterwards. What acts they like, what they’ve seen before.”

There was a time when Midge might have humored Joel through his lengthy setup. But she’s got a job to get to, a mercurial boss to please, and some hard-to-impress coworkers to charm, and her patience for Joel’s self-absorption has worn thin.

“Look, I really do have to get to work, so can we speed this up a little?” It earns her a glare, but Joel does jump to the point.

“So last night, I hear this couple talking about how they saw your act. How you made some joke about…” And here, Joel looks a little uncomfortable. “About… frostbite, and….”

“So, what, you’re mad that I talked about my crotch on stage? You’ve seen my act, you can’t possibly be embarrassed about that anymore.”

“No, that’s not…” Joel shakes his head with another tight grin. “It’s… They were also talking about how they’re in from out of town. California, in fact. And how they saw another comic out there, just a couple of days ago, doing a bit about frost crotch. And they were trying to figure out how likely it is that two people on opposite coasts could make jokes about the same, extremely specific thing, just days apart, in venues where there’s no way they could have heard and copied each other. And you know what conclusion they came to?”

“What?”

“That these two comics… both talking about having sex and getting hypothermia… must be talking about the exact same fucking night.”

Midge is, for once, speechless, which only seems to infuriate Joel more.

“So it’s true, then? No witty comeback? No jokey denial?” he demands. “You slept with Lenny fucking Bruce?”

Midge shrugs.

“Yeah,” she says simply. Joel scowls even further, pacing the floor.

“I cannot fucking believe this. My wi— my ex-wife, the mother of my children, off having one-night stands with…”

“Well—” Midge stops herself.

“Well, what?” Joel snaps. “What was that sentence going to be?” Midge hesitates.

“I just… I’m not sure if it will make things better or worse… to tell you that it’s not a one-night stand.”

Joel’s mouth drops.

“It… what?”

“It’s not a one-night stand. We’re… something. I don’t know. But… it’s not a one-night stand. I don’t think it ever could have been. So. Now you know. And now I have to go.”

“Was it to get back at me?”

Joel’s question stops Midge in her tracks. She turns back around to look at him, but she doesn’t walk any closer. The urge to pat his shoulder, or squeeze his hand to soften the blow, vanished somewhere between blaming her for Mei’s choices and calling her a whore by implication just now.

“No, Joel,” she says simply. “I think… it was a long time coming, if you must know.”

“Really? It wasn’t because you knew how much I admired him? Not even a little bit of revenge?” he presses. And that smug certainty that everything in her life still revolves around him finally pushes Midge over the edge.

“No, I guarantee you, Joel. There is absolutely no part of me that was thinking about you, or anyone or anything else, even a tiny bit, while I was in Lenny’s bed.”

Midge turns on her heel, leaving Joel to gawp after her.

“Uh, Midge?” Archie says tentatively as she sweeps by him in the doorway.

“Yeah, Archie?”

“Uh, Joel probably didn’t say, because he’s… anyway. Uh, I think the woman, the one from California? I think I heard her say something about writing a gossip column, so you might want to…”

Midge grimaces, then pats Archie on the shoulder.

“Thanks, Archie. I appreciate it. Tell Imogene I’ll call her tomorrow!”

Midge hustles out onto the street. She’s got to get through this work day, and then a decision to make: call Susie first, or Lenny. It’s about to get very, very interesting.

#midge maisel #lenny bruce #midgelenny #the marvelous mrs. maisel #tmmm #tmmmfic #midgelenny fic #tv: the marvelous mrs maisel #ship: you're still staring #ch: midge maisel #ch: lenny bruce #ch: joel maisel #ch: susie myerson #ch: abe weissman #mine

45 notes · View notes