Dean and Me_ A Love Story - Jerry Lewis [88]
We pick up the wives and kids and check into the Ritz-Carlton for the night, in the biggest suite they have. We order up room service in spite of the fact that they all just ate. We order brandy, champagne, Cokes, chocolate milk.... What a night! The eight of us are out of our minds with joy, though Gary is already asleep, and Craig and Claudia and Gail are well on the way.
And in the morning we head straight over to see Mike Schwartz, the crazy car dealer, who would make anyone any deal on the face of the earth. Dean and I have decided we are now going to be partners in travel. So we buy ourselves a brand-new 1946 Chrysler Town and Country sedan, with wood doors and roof rails, and a spiffier vehicle you have never seen! That night we park it in front of the 500 Club for all the world to see—but we’re not telling Atlantic City anything it doesn’t already know. In that town, at that time, word of mouth wasn’t just about your nightclub performances. It spread even faster when you beat the Turf Club for over twenty G’s!
A couple of nights later (the families have gone back home) it’s showtime, and as Dean and I do our thing, we notice a few familiar faces at ringside. They just happen to belong to some of those pit bosses from the Turf Club. Just looking at the silly bastards that made them look like silly bastards. They don’t want anything from us, just to get even. After our show, they invite us to sit down and have a drink. We oblige, happily, and laugh and drink till our midnight show. They stay for that one, too. We start changing the material so they don’t get bored.
Before the night is over—having seen all three shows—they invite us for breakfast at the Turf Club. We understand it’s in our best interests to accept. We go. We eat. It’s 4:15 A.M. when Dean sits down at the blackjack table—and proceeds to beat them again ... for another $8,000. We tell the pit bosses we’re tired and have to get to bed. They say they understand and invite us to come back—anytime!
At the hotel, we jump up and down on the beds, throwing hundred-dollar bills in the air, until the security man bangs on our door, shouting, “Roseland Dance Hall is down the block, knock it off!” We hush, but can’t stop laughing till we drop off to sleep.
Dawn comes at a terrible time in the night. Just when you’re getting your best sleep, the sun shines on your face—meaning, time to get up! No, there were no blinds at the Princess: Sunup meant get up.
We’ve tried eyeshades. They don’t work, only because when we see each other in them, we start calling each other “Zorro.” Every once in a while, Dean drops his sophisticated pose and—just for a few moments— is downright silly. Clowning with those masks was one of those times.
Anyway, we now have a bank account that requires both our signatures! We’ve got about twenty-six grand left after paying five thousand for the Chrysler. Ten days pass, and Dean and I are discussing what to do with the money we have in the bank, when the answer comes to him like a shot.
“Why don’t we do what the big guys do?” he says.
“Yeah, like what the big guys do, and what are we really talking about?” I say.
Dean explains to me that the only reason these guys at the Turf Club have so much money is that they had so much to gamble in the first place. And now that we have so much money, why shouldn’t we do the same?
I’m nervous that this won’t fly, but I figure Dean’s nine years older, he’s been around the block a few times. He must be right. Right?
So we decide to go to the bank the next morning and draw out our money. (Bad idea? You bet, but who knew?) We get to the bank, close out the account, and ask for hundred-dollar bills! They give us 260 hundreds, and we race to the Turf Club—even though it’s only 11:30 in the morning....
Up we drive in our Chrysler, ready to take on the world. Since it’s before noon, none of the “big boys” are around. We walk up to the blackjack table. We can’t have been there more than fifteen minutes when all of a sudden the boys appear ... wearing open shirts, sweaters; all caught off guard, apparently.