The Dream Merchant (15 page)

When Mara came on the line, Jim became playful and energized. One afternoon she was impatient to leave with the kids for a street fair where there was a large trampoline at the end of the block. They'd have pizza and the kids would jump. By then I had grown immune to Jim and Mara's moments of tenderness and I wanted to tell him that Jim would never settle for crumbs. Jim, the one that I was writing about, would have been appalled by such a wasted day. But the surfeit of her youth washed all over my friend and made him high. They'd go to the fair and do all of the mundane things a young girl wanted. They'd burn the hours, why not? It was still early and she was already inciting him with little jokes about tonight, dares and touching. He couldn't focus on finding work and he cared about money only to please her. Jim's days were pacing toward their cluttered bedroom. Nothing else mattered really, except to pull down her white tennis shorts and begin kissing her neck and under her lovely arms until she was giggling and he wouldn't stop. He turned her back to him and felt her wetness with his stiff fingers, while she made the word
yes,
silently like a bubble, and he explored more deeply. Jim glanced to the narrow mirror and watched his penis rise and thicken, begin to quiver. Her flooding smells and her strange unquenchable ardor intoxicated him. Their sex was an enduring feast, a miracle. He would do anything to keep her.

*   *   *

After months of cajoling and begging, Phyllis agreed to sign the divorce papers. It was the one thing she had left to give to him and he was so excited. She nodded and made her broad daffy smile. They drove to the courthouse together and signing the papers felt like a little celebration, as if they were getting married. He kissed her sweetly, and they went back to her apartment and shared a glass of wine and reminisced. She felt good about doing it. She would do anything for Jim. Before he left to go home he told her that he loved her and promised to take care of her.

That night, Jim didn't tell Mara the great news. It didn't feel clean, not then. He would wait a little longer.

*   *   *

I think Phyllis believed some angel would pluck her up and save her. She often lapsed into the positive-thinking palaver she and Jim had used during the last sinking years of their marriage; I'm terrific or I couldn't be any better if I was twins, she'd say on the phone to one of his old rep buddies, or to me.

Once a week she spent a reckless amount to lunch with four or five of her old girlfriends, all of them divorced from wealthy husbands during the past dozen years. Dressing up for these rich meals always brought a surge of well-being. The girls usually chose an upscale restaurant by the water. They wore wide-brimmed hats and watched the cruisers pass along the Intracoastal Waterway. They spoke about lavish dinner parties and animal rights, none of them with more ardor than Phyllis. Old habits don't die easily. Over the years she had raised thousands for wayward animals. The girls knew that Jim had left her for a young woman—they'd all been through it, although when Phyllis wasn't around they gossiped about the fifty-year age difference between Jim and Mara as though it set Phyllis's shame apart from their own.

She couldn't tell her friends that she was broke, fearing she would be left out of the club, or that she still adored Jim—even now she wanted to please him. The girls wouldn't be kind about this.

She shopped for the perfect little presents for Mara's kids and pictured Jim's delight when she next had the chance to pass them on to him. She greatly looked forward to the trip she and Jim planned to take to California to tell his daughter about their separation. Phyllis would help him through this awkward meeting, whenever he could somehow scrape together the airfare. They would be together again for a few days and she would savor their little jokes and old habits. She would treasure their time and help him in little ways that only a wife could know about.

 

PART III

 

15.

On the big stage Ava was sexy and whimsical and she was available, or so it seemed. At the end of Marvin's Saturday events men usually came on to her. For hours she had been onstage with all these products until she also became a product, the best of them. In the winding down of a night of coarse desires, men felt like they had the right to say hello to Ava, to nudge her or touch her shoulder or hip, some little intimacy. There had been a physical bond created; it had been purchased in fifty-dollar increments. She accepted this as a facet of her work or perhaps even an expression of her essence. Some nights it amused her a little or saddened her, but mainly she took it for granted, like the heavy night air.

Lenny Bruce couldn't take his eyes off her. One night he tried to speak to Ava. She brushed past him, trailing after Jim, but Lenny had had a whiff and he couldn't get her out of his mind. He went back to California and thought about her innocent teacher's voice and sumptuous body. Lenny slept with a lot of women and had a worn attitude, but she'd struck a chord. Two weeks later he returned to Montreal after working a one-week gig at the Elmwood Casino in Windsor, Ontario. At the end of the lengthy session, Ava was standing at the foot of the stage, talking to a few men. She didn't mind if they brushed against her or touched her arm. She was exquisite and tarnished.

My name is Lenny Bruce, he introduced himself with a trace of a chuckle. You've heard of me, maybe, the comedian. She shook her head no, never had. Ava was looking past this edgy guy, wondering about hamburgers after work with Jim. She was sweating from her long night on the stage, and Lenny suddenly felt unsteady. She had the same large breasts that sagged a little, same height and dark auburn hair. Even the clean smell like watermelon. He closed his eyes. She was the essence of his ex-wife and he'd never gotten over her. Now and again Honey would still call him from a street corner somewhere in California, his milky-voiced lost beauty stoned on heroin always promising she'd get straight and come home. He was needy and a little out of control. He was leaning toward Ava, pathetic really. He wanted to touch her, just touch her arm, and she wouldn't have cared, which was maddening. He wanted to be charming and worldly, but he stared at her with dark hollow eyes from years of shooting up and great expanses of sadness.

It must be hard to make money telling jokes, she said, filling a space. Ava had mastered the art of making awkward men feel on top, at least for a few moments. He smiled at her. She had no idea whom she was talking to, figured he was a small-time party comedian.

No, no, I do pretty well. I make money in nightclubs, all the best spots. Las Vegas, you name it. No response. Sure you never heard of Lenny Bruce? She shook her head and he could feel the breeze from her hair. They were standing in front of the stage as it was coming apart in planks and swaths of dirty rug. Workers were dismantling the racks and sweeping up torn coupons in the dim light. Ava was greeting a half-dozen guys who'd stayed to say hello.

Listen, you never saw me on
The Tonight Show
? I've been on the front pages of every paper in the country because of these trials. She looked at him quizzically. She didn't know about the trials. He wanted her to understand that he was famous, and she wasn't listening. Ava was doing her work, if you'd call it work, pleasing each of the men with a handshake or a lingering remark.

Lenny was rocking on his heels. Everyone knows about me. Except they keep throwing me into jail because they say my routines are obscene. But they aren't obscene. Do you know Norman Mailer, what he said about me? Saul Bellow? No, she didn't know these men. Lenny wanted to tell her that famous writers had championed his causes, they considered him a genius and a visionary; but it was no use. She didn't know about such people.

He was so touched by her in this darkening theater of dreams where coupons promised a splendid prosperous future. Lenny's own future was gone beyond redemption, except, and it came to him right then waiting his turn on line with a half-dozen losers, maybe she was his chance. What did he have to lose, an old junkie who couldn't get a job and was nearly broke from defending himself in the courts? Ava was craning her neck for Jim, almost ready to drive off to a small forgettable life, cheap frayed curtains, and much remorse that would go unnoticed. Lenny really had no idea how she lived, but he wanted in. Badly. It didn't matter that she was married. He swatted away the idea. He'd leave Los Angeles and move here or he'd bring her with him. Preposterous. He was a big star and she wouldn't understand his world, but that's how he was thinking. He was swept away by this woman. She started to move away and Lenny grabbed her wrist, which surprised her.

He shook his head, don't go, and then he eased his grip, fearing she'd bolt or call out. No words but his crazy energy spewed all over—sent her reckless needs and such a deep tunnel of emptiness until she was staring at his torn-up face. And Lenny felt Ava's urges. He could fit in, fit right in.

I have to see you again.

It's impossible, she said. I'm a married lady.

I don't care. I have to see you. Just for a little while. I love you—ridiculous to say these words standing in line with this beaten-down group of men. Lenny chuckled a little. They were all waiting their turn as if Ava were the prize of the carnival and they'd bought tickets tonight to win a rapturous moment.

She laughed.

Listen, I could help you, he said. I could do everything for you. Just give me a chance. She looked at him quizzically. Just give me a chance, will you? He was so excited and heartbroken.

She was embarrassed by this talk and didn't know how to turn him away. But also, she heard something. Ava scribbled her number on a piece of paper and then turned to three men who had been waiting patiently.

*   *   *

He called her on the phone from California and the talk came out like jazz; now when he had his act together he was getting turned down at the clubs that once loved him, even the dives and strip joints were saying no; Lenny was writing a book about his life in exile, he was going to put Ava into the book. Lenny had written pages about his reckless attraction for Ava in his notebook. She laughed, and he promised she'd go into the book, you'll see; he read sections to her about his ex-wife, who had been a stripper; but Ava was even more beautiful than Honey Harlow; how wonderful and instructive that Jim and Marvin were scamming people with coupons until no one cared anymore about furniture; objects had been replaced by pure greed—capitalism was showing its true face; Lenny wanted to play all this music for her so that she would understand; understand what? Ava had never heard of Charlie Parker, Monk, Coltrane, George Shearing; she'd barely heard of capitalism. What was it? No matter, he would teach her. He would be her teacher and lover. She had to give him a chance. She said, Impossible, but he was insistent and charming. He would bring her records of Billie Holiday and Sarah Vaughan; he'd hold her in his arms until she began to feel it. They'd dance together and she'd soon begin to love him. He would crawl into her heart. Gerry Mulligan and Chet Baker, she must hear them playing “My Funny Valentine”; it was heartbreaking. They'd dance slow to Frank Sinatra. She'd heard of Sinatra. Jim loved Sinatra. That's good; that's good. She laughed at the pure rush of Lenny. When was Jim away traveling? He'd come to the farm and visit when Jim was away. He begged her. He hit every note.

*   *   *

In October of 1964, Lenny started coming to the farm every second or third week. He barely noticed the animals or bucolic view—he might have been visiting Ava in the South Bronx. For long stretches he stared at her, kissed her cheek or held her hand, and imagined her alone in this isolated place that he began to call the Sad Palace. Lenny was at the very end of his rope and he strained to find every dark connection with Ava. Almost from the start, he'd decided she was his last chance. In his Los Angeles house he was shooting up in his bathroom with four locks on the door so he wouldn't feel paranoid about the police bursting in on him. For months he'd been enhancing heroin with methedrine for extra kick. But in Montreal he rarely used anything and it didn't hurt so much when he was with Ava.

They got drunk each night on cheap whiskey or wine and talked and talked. She could say anything to Lenny. But it went beyond that. This strange guy pulled intimacies from her guts. She told him when Jim was away she'd walk into stores and slip things into her pockets. She knew how to do this. She'd walk out feeling as though the luck had turned her way. Some evenings she'd go to bars and drink and flirt with guys she didn't know; these tawdry episodes quieted her demon and she was able to go home and continue life, such as it was. She looked at Lenny's face and he smiled. No rebuke. Ava admitted she didn't know what to do with herself. When she was a little girl she had carefully prepared for the great banquet that was coming. Now most nights she ate by herself in the lonely farmhouse.

They watched
The Tonight Show
together and he told her about Sinatra and Tony Bennett; he knew all the famous ones. He gave her titillating gossip about the stars and when the comics came on he told her which of them was borrowing his material or his timing, which of them had something special and the ones who were just going through the motions. Ava watched the comics carefully to learn what Lenny did. Meanwhile he stared at her serious face until he couldn't stand it any longer and he gave her a hug or kissed her cheek or raised her skirt and fondled her thighs. Lenny, why do you always want that? she'd complain.

Lenny was impatient with the animals and bugs, everything but Ava. He wanted to steal her and make a big life together. He had these big silly notions. Lenny told her she was born to be a showgirl or a singer. It wasn't too late and he would show her how to do it. He'd get her bookings. He'd take her around the world to see things she'd never dreamed of. They'd perform together. Ava let him say whatever he wanted. She was giving him a reason to live. She was filling him like a muse—it made her feel necessary. He was a really famous guy.