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Ten
Brooklyn, where I’m meeting Nick, is two subway trains away. But, you know, I have to get some coffee for the road. I swing by my favorite local café, Roast ’N Grind. And by swing I mean make an enemy of the door after it crushes my suitcase and knocks my garbage bag to the ground. How the hell am I gonna get all this underground then back up again? Eh, I’ll figure it out over a fresh brew.
“What’s with all the commotion, Olivia?” Brenda, one of the baristas, asks, looking over the counter from behind her black frames. I’m pretty sure they’re not prescription.
“I’m going on a cross-country tour and I need to fuel up. Can I have my regular over ice?”
“What? You’re headlining now?” she asks, filling a cup with crushed cubes.
“I wish but this is one step closer.”
“That’s exciting! I’m surprised your boss let you off.” I may gripe to Brenda about Whitley on occasion. Don’t we all?
“He didn’t. I left my job.”
She makes one of those yikes faces and my chest tenses for a moment. “You got guts. I’ll give you that.” With the chilled coffee in my hands, my anticipation cools slightly.
“I’m auditioning for The Late Night Show too,” I add, swiping my credit card.
“Well, good luck. Send Anderson Vanderson a wink for me.”
“I will.” I wave goodbye and head out, itching to get off the island where my usual allies are now looking at me like I’m off to join a nudist compound in the Everglades.
Of course there are no elevators at the nearest subway station. And since I have zero time to work out, I don’t have the upper-body strength to carry the damn suitcase down the steep steps. So I drag it behind me and hope for the best. It smacks on each step. Clunk-clunk-clunk. A man shoots me a look so I smile and say, “I’m going on tour.” He rolls his eyes and hurries ahead. Ta-ta, chivalry!
It’s a good hour before I make it to my final stop. And despite my hundred-pound baggage, I’m feeling light and free. Goose bumps prickle my skin, though I’m not sure if it’s from the cool morning breeze or the anticipation of this adventure. Finally, the headliner comes into view as I approach his building.
There he is. My road buddy.
Justa road buddy. Which is too bad because even from this distance, he looks good in the daylight. The bright morning sun reflects off his dark Wayfarer sunglasses. He stands coolly on the sidewalk, dressed in the same black leather jacket and jeans, sipping from a blue bodega coffee cup. His nearly black hair is tucked behind his ears. My stomach somersaults and I want to scream out with excitement—This is really happening!
I push my frames up with my index finger and squint in the light. “So we meet again.”
Nick holds his stance for a moment, seeming to do a once-over behind his shades. Then, his mouth curls up in a cordial smile. “Well, if it isn’t the winning comedienne.” Just so you know, the term comedienne is antiquated. I’m sure he’s saying it now only to break the ice. (Us comedians love to razz each other.)He shakes my hand with a palm that feels slightly worn—the way his tires will be when this is all over.
“So it’s just you and me for two weeks, huh? I had a feeling you’d want to see me again.” Oh, no. I’m flirting. Breaking the rules and we haven’t even buckled up yet. I take a sip of what’s left of my iced coffee, pretending it’s a cold shower.
“That and I owed you one.” I may have done him a solid the other night filling in at Funnies but I seriously doubt he’d let me join his tour if he didn’t think I could actually work a crowd. “C’mon, let’s hit the road.” He waves me over toward the line of tightly packed cars parked along the curb.
I smile, my lip quivering slightly. Exactly like that moment right before I go onstage when all of my nerves dance around my body until they finally settle when I take the mic.
“There’s not a ton of room but your suitcase should fit.”
That’s a relief.
Nick steps behind a black... Jeep Wrangler?
“This is our mode of transportation?” I ask.
“Oh, don’t tell me you don’t like Jeeps, Olivia?” he says like it’s a deal breaker.
“Not at all. I grew up with a Jeep.” Now this feels a little spooky. My dad drove his beloved 1981 Jeep Laredo until the very last moment of his life. Okay, drive is a little strong. Half the time, the thing would break down and he’d have to push it up the road wedged inside the door so he could steer it along the way. “Why don’t you get a new Jeep, Dad?” I’d ask as a kid, embarrassed about being stuck on the side of a dusty road. Again. “It’s my baby, Livy,” he’d say. “Like you. Should I get a new daughter just because you whine sometimes?”
My dad was much more whine-averse than he was engine failure–averse. There were many moments over the years I’m sure we would have preferred to trade each other in for someone better. But he never gave up on that old Jeep. It was his most prized possession, aside from his vinyls, of course. Maybe it’s a coincidence that I’ll be riding in Nick’s black Jeep on this comedy tour. A funny one (not the ha-ha kind).
“Good,” he says. “I just got it. Bought it from a guy named Chris Rock.”
My jaw drops. “Are you serious? You mean, Chris Rock, Chris Rock?”
