AllFreeNovel
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I peel my back off the hood of the Jeep and rub my eyes beneath my lenses. Did I really just have some kind of weird panic attack and run offstage? That’s never happened before. Why is it happening now? The only difference is I’m away from New York. That, and stand-up’s all I have at the moment. Why isn’t this working? Why is it... why is it such a disaster?
I dig inside my pocket for my phone and dial Imani. It rings. And rings. And rings until it reaches her voicemail—Hello, you’ve reached Imani Turner. I’m unavailable to take your call at the moment. Please leave a detailed message or text message, and I’ll respond as soon as I am able. The one time this tour I actually need her and she’s not there.
Part of me wants to cry and the other part wants to scream in light of the possible truth. Was Imani right? Was my dad right? But I’m not leaving that on her voicemail. So I lean against the windshield, pull my knees close, and fake a smile.
“Hey, Imani. Just calling to see how you are...” I want to tell her that I miss her and I could really use an evening of fuzzy socks and white wine with her. But I’m afraid if I say it, I’ll lose it. So I end with: “Hope your week’s good. Call me later.”
Sitting in silence for the next hour, I try to decide if I can somehow redeem myself on this comedy road tour. Or will staying only make it worse? Guess what the evidence suggests?
“There you are.” Nick appears from behind the Jeep. “I was worried about you. What happened?”
“I don’t know. I was telling jokes one minute, then the next I felt like I couldn’t breathe.”
“Are you okay? Do you need to see a doctor?” he asks.
“No, but...” I start.
“But what?”
I slide a hand down my face, wishing I didn’t have to say this out loud. “Ugh. I think maybe it’s time to admit that this isn’t working.”
“What’s not working?”
“Me on this tour. I think I should go back to New York, where everything makes sense. I can just fly in for my audition and pray I don’t bomb there too.”
“What? No, Olivia. I’m not letting you leave.”
“Why? Because I make you look so good after I die onstage?”
He folds his arms in a firm stance. “No, because I thought you were a winner, Olivia Vincent. Weren’t you the one who said you were going to kick this tour’s ass?” Nick asks, and I shoot him a look. “I know what you’re thinking—the road sucks. And you’re right. But it’s also where you’ll learn to be great. I don’t care if you bomb every night the rest of this tour, I’m not letting you give up, capeesh?”
I look into his eyes, biding my time as I search my soul for a valid rebuttal. But I can’t find one. “Yeah, capeesh,” I say.
“No, Olivia, say it like you mean it. Say it like you’re headed to perform at a sold-out stadium show like the big dogs.”
“Capeesh!”
“That’s the spirit.”
Nick is the last person in my life I’d expect to support the Olivia Vincent Plan. “You’re like my guardian angel, you know that?”
His mouth twists. “I’ve been called a lot of things but an angel isn’t one of them.”
I chuckle as I slide off the edge of the Jeep and my feet hit the ground. I guess I’m here to stay.
“Hey, Nick Leto, wait up!” some guy with a Mississippi drawl calls behind us. It’s a man in a white T-shirt, snug around his midsection—kinda like a young Louis C.K. type but without the receding red hair. A petite blond woman follows close behind him.
“What’s up?” Nick says, pulling a cigarette from his pocket.
“Hey, I’m Jordan and this is my wife, Kelly.” He extends a hand to Nick.
“Nice to meet you guys. What can I do for you?”
“My brother... Jeremiah was supposed to be here at the show tonight. Actually, he’s the one who requested that you come. You see, you’re his favorite comedian.” Jordan rocks on his heels with his hands in his pockets, and his wife stares at Nick all wide-eyed like he’s a movie star. “He even traveled to Tallahassee to see you once.”
“You played Tallahassee?” I ask out of the side of my mouth, and he nudges my side, silencing me.
“Well, please tell your brother I really appreciate his support.” Nick swings his keys in his hands, just as ready to go as I am.
