AllFreeNovel
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Two
Outside, droves of people pass by as sweat beads on the bridge of my nose, causing my glasses to slide down a bit. If I’d known summer could be hotter in the city than the country, I might’ve considered Los Angeles. Now I have to contend with the heat and make that crucial decision all Manhattanites are faced with in a hurry—taxi or subway.
That’s one thing I miss about Texas, my own transportation. Blasting Britney Spears while I cruise 158 with the windows down, dust blowing in the wind, is a far cry from stop-and-go cab rides or squeezing into a packed subway car and praying no one accidentally grazes my tits or ass.
According to my maps app, either option will get me there, but barely on time. Given the current circumstances, staying aboveground feels safer. So cab it is. I wag my arm, mustering my inner New Yorker. I’ve been here two years and I still ask myself, Am I doing this right?
A lit yellow Toyota pulls in front of me and I slide in. Guess that answers that. “Damn, it’s hotter than Satan’s asshole out there.” I lean forward, letting the air conditioner blow some frosty air on my face.
“Where to?” the driver asks.
“Funnies on Eleventh and Third, please. I’m performing soon.”
“Got it,” he says. “What kinda accent is that?”
I like to pretend that I escaped West Texas with nothing but an optional twang (you know, for party tricks and such) but a real New Yorker can always spot a transplant.
Damn Yankees.
“Midland, Texas,” I say.
“Never heard of it. Is that near Dallas?”
“Nope.”
Out of the entire Lone Star State, I’ve found that most non-Texans are only familiar with the two major cities—Dallas and Houston, which apparently is pronounced how-stun in the city.
“Near Houston?”
See?
“It’s about five hours from Dallas and eight hours from Houston. So no.”
The only reason I know this is because growing up road trips were the only way we “vacationed.” We also never left the state. How could we? You can drive ten hours and never cross a border. Good Lord, I hated how my dad had total control over the radio. A constant repeat of Boston, the Eagles, and the Steve Miller Band. All I wanted was a little “MMMbop.”
My Texas trivia seems to shut the driver up and I pull my stage clothes from my bag. I manage to trade my button-down for a loose white V-neck without flashing a boob, and slide my pleather pants up beneath my pencil skirt. Yes, y’all, pleather! Maybe when I go pro, I’ll graduate to real leather.
“Hey, Dallas, why don’t you tell me a joke?” the driver asks. This is probably the most pervasive question any comedian is asked. Most of the time I make a sarcastic crack about coming to see my show, but today I’ve got one for him.
“Okay,” I say, “I went to a taxi driver convention... Everyone showed up twenty minutes late.”
“Ha. Ha.” He offers a stilted laugh, clearly not my desired audience. “We’re almost there. Don’t get your Wranglers in a twist.”
Did he just say Wranglers?
I double-knot my sneakers then read over my set, rehearsing it in my head as if I haven’t been preparing these last two years for this moment. The clock strikes six forty-five and we’re still four blocks away. “Would you mind speeding or running over a cyclist? I’m late.”
“Speeding costs double. Murder is triple.”
“You drive a hard bargain,” I say, inwardly counting the seconds and street signs.
“Might I suggest leaving early next time?”
I roll my eyes. “Can you pull up here?” I ask when he approaches the corner, and toss an appropriate amount of bills his way. Clutching my bag, I dash toward the club, hell-bent for leather, muttering “Shit, shit, shit” every sharp exhale. Panting, I push my way into the front door at Funnies. “I’m here! I’m here!”
Ralph, the booker for the club, raises his brows. “Hey, slow down, Supergirl. Why are you so sweaty?”
“It’s a million degrees out,” I say, bent over, gripping my knees and gasping for breath. I take in Ralph’s Gallagher mustache, ’80s Larry David do, and plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He’s been at this club almost as long as I’ve been alive. “Quick question. Who’s headlining tonight?”
