AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Twenty-Two
One of the things I love about the stage is having the mic. It’s like being the most powerful person in the room. All eyes on me and all ears open for my next joke. Ask any comedian. Every time they have to hand the mic over, they’re whining like a third grader on the inside—One more joke, please! Just one more!
Tonight, however, is not at all like that. In fact, the emcee is welcome to come out anytime and rescue me from my atomic bombing. Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a little but it’s not good. The spots I typically get in the city are half or less of the time I have up here now. Beads of sweat drip from my hairline into my eyes. The combo of heat and moisture is fogging my glasses. I actually stretch the collar on my shirt and say, “Is it hot in here?” like I’m a female Dangerfield. Totally effing regrettable. My tongue keeps sticking to the roof of my mouth and my lips to my gums because it’s drier than a Christian wedding on a Sunday. Oh, Lord, take me now!
How can this happen to me again? I blame listening to my set from D.C. Hearing the whole mic fiasco again might’ve wigged me out a little. Still, it’s like I don’t know how to do stand-up outside of New York. God, I hope that’s not the case, or this tour really will be a disaster.
No, it can’t be that. I made plenty of people laugh in Texas. So what’s different? If anything, I should be better since I’m finally free to just be a stand-up comedian for once. This is my dream. So why is it beginning to feel like my worst nightmare?
When it’s over, I gladly give the mic back and drag my feet offstage. I can’t look at Nick as I pass him. This time, I have no excuse. No electrical failure to blame.
“Olivia,” Nick calls after me like he’s about to ground me and take away what I hold most dear. The mic.
I slowly turn toward him, using the time to force my lips into an innocent smile. “Yes, Nick?”
His expression is even sterner than I imagined, and the doe-eyed stare I’m darting his way does nothing to soften it. “We need to talk after the show.”
Uh-oh. Does that mean? Of course it does. He’s taken a chance on me and somehow I’ve managed to blow it. One week since I left law and now I might seriously have to go back. Imani’s words resound in my head over and over like a skipping vinyl. Disaster, disaster, disaster ...
I grit my grin and swallow hard. If I pretend there’s nothing to fear then maybe he’ll reconsider. “Sure!” The emcee calls him to the stage but he keeps his stare on me. “You better go. Wish you laughs!” I wave my hand as if urging him to head up and simultaneously flinging fairy dust his way. If I had magical powers right now, I’d make him see that even though I’ve had a couple bad nights, I’m not a bad stand-up. I’m good. And if I can keep this going then maybe one day I’ll be great.
Nick turns without a word and I let out a contentious breath. I’m safe for now but I think I need something to take the edge off.
Cedric, the club’s owner and Fredrick’s (motel manager) brother, hangs out behind the bar. He gives me a disappointed-yet-pitying look. “What’s your poison?” he asks, sliding over a bowl of tortilla chips with spinach dip.
“Got anything that’ll take me back to thirty minutes ago?”
“No, but I can get you something that’ll make you forget it ever happened.”
“Close enough.” A moment later, there’s a tall tumbler of what looks like iced tea in front of me. “What’s this?” I ask, then promptly take a sip.
“A bourbon sweet tea.”
I make a face. It tastes like equal parts bourbon and sugar. I’m definitely in the South now. Cedric leans on the bar, staring at me like he wants to ask me why the hell I came to his club to bomb. So I steer the conversation away. “I hear it’s your birthday.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I haven’t been called ma’am this much since I left Midland. Southern gentlemen, God love ’em.
“Well, happy birthday!” I raise my glass and he toasts me with his lowball. “So where are we celebrating tonight?” I ask, thinking back to the deal we made with Fredrick for the free stay.
“There’s a place a few blocks from here called Wild Peacock.”
I take another sip of my bourbon sweet tea. The alcohol burns my chest, numbing my insides. I better pace myself. “Wild Peacock? Is that where Channing Tatum strips?”
He shakes his head. “No, it’s not some Magic Mike shit. But I’m sure you can find some dude to grind up on you if that’s what you’re into.”
My mind drifts to an image of Nick and me dancing to some ’90s R and B song, his arm around my waist and my waist against his... Even under the circumstances, I don’t hate the idea. Then again, if we get that close, we’ll have to talk.
That’s it!
I need to make it impossible for us to talk. And I know exactly how to do it. I slide my drink aside. If I want to survive the night, I’ll need to keep my wits about me.
Nick takes the mic and opens strong. The birthday bartender watches him, eyes lit up, laughing at every punchline. “That dude’s funny.”
Yeah, yeah. What else is new?
By the end of the show, I’m hiding from Nick at the bar while he’s busy posing for photos with his adoring fans, handing over those Buh-Bye shirts left and right. Sneaking glances at his sexy smile from across the room makes the thought of leaving this tour even more unbearable.
After the fan mob dies down, he comes my way. Ooh, there goes those stomach knots. Relax, Olivia. Just act like you’re having a great time. Like you’ve met your two-drink minimum.
