Matt Millz Stands Up!

by Harry Hill

  ‘Go and get me a drink!’ said the compere sternly. The late guy hesitated for a moment then turned and headed back to the bar – to a huge round of applause from the crowd. The compere laughed too and shook his head and pressed on with the rest of his act. ‘Hey, I went to a gypsy fortune teller the other day, yes, and the fortune teller said, “Pay me twenty quid and I’ll tell you your future – you can ask three questions.” I said, “About what?” She said, “About anything.” I said, “Isn’t twenty quid a bit steep?” and she said, “That’s two … and what is your last question?” Another big laugh.

  And so it went on. Matt was watching the audience as much as the compere, watching as their faces lit up in laughter, how they exchanged a knowing look when the compere mentioned something that resonated with them. Although Matt was enjoying the compere’s act, it was the ad libs that really made this comic stand out – he had lightning quick reflexes, nothing seemed to floor him, and that in essence was, Matt decided, the thrill of watching a live performance. Anything could happen! On any one night the audience were getting a one-off performance just for them and it was thrilling.

  After a few minutes, just as the compere seemed to be winding up and preparing the crowd for the first act, the guy with the drinks appeared at the side of the stage with a pint for him.

  ‘At last!’ said the compere, then he took the pint, put it to his lips and drained it in one go. He let out a satisfied burp, then handed the empty glass back to the hapless latecomer.

  ‘Nah, mate, that was lager. I fancied a gin and tonic!’

  The room went crazy with laughter. The guy just stood there holding the empty glass, wanting the ground to open up and swallow him, then the compere let him off the hook.

  ‘That’ll teach you to be late to my gig! Now go and sit down before I have another go!’

  A look of relief flooded across the guy and he made his way back to his seat, his friends all slapping him on the back and giving him lip as he went.

  ‘He’ll never hear the last of that,’ thought Matt to himself with a chuckle.

  ‘Right,’ said the compere, signalling a change in pace. ‘Every now and then at The Comedy Store we get some very special people dropping by to try out a few gags and we’re very lucky to have such a special guest tonight …’

  A murmur of excitement went through the crowd as they speculated as to who the ‘special guest’ might be.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, you are very lucky indeed. It is my great honour to introduce the star of Stand-up at the Apollo – the one and only Eddie Odillo!’

  With that the door at the back of the stage burst open and there was Matt’s all-time comedy hero. The audience went wild as Eddie shook the compere’s hand and took the mic. Then he stood centre stage and peered at the audience with a very serious look on his face, staring at them until the applause finally died down. There was an awkward silence as the audience wondered what on earth was wrong with him. Was he ill? Was he drunk? Was he ‘on’ something?

  Just as that confusion was about to turn to concern he pulled an incredibly funny face. ‘Hey heeeeeey!’ he boomed into the mic. The tension he’d created in those few short moments was suddenly released in the form of a massive laugh. Matt laughed too and shook his head in wonder. How did he do that? How had he known exactly how long to wait before pulling that face? How did he know that that particular face was going to be so funny? Had he tried various faces before settling on that one? This guy was a master of the craft!

  Matt looked at the crowd again. They’d been laughing hard at the compere’s antics but the reaction Eddie was getting was on a completely different scale. People were literally doubled up, the veins in their necks bulged, their faces were red and swollen, their eyes wet with tears – if a stranger walked in now and didn’t know it was a comedy gig they might think they were looking at a room full of asthmatics.

  ‘However funny I am,’ thought Matt, ‘I’ll never be as funny as this …’ He felt a sudden deep ache in the pit of his stomach as he remembered that tomorrow he’d be facing an audience of his own.

  ‘He’s going to be a tough act to follow,’ whispered a voice from behind him. Matt looked round to see a small dapper man of about seventy in clothes he’d seen advertised in the Sunday supplements as Country Casuals. He had grey hair and deep laughter lines around his gently smiling eyes.

  ‘Ron Wardle,’ he said shaking Matt’s hand. ‘I run the store. You’re Matt aren’t you?’

  ‘Wow! You’re a legend!’ said Matt, shaking the little man’s hand a little too enthusiastically. Ron winced. ‘Aargh! Mind my arthritis!’

  ‘Oops, sorry!’ said Matt, releasing his grip.

  ‘I caught your spot on The T Factor on YouTube the other day, Matt – some of the acts were looking at it in the dressing room. You show promise. Think you’re ready to play The Store yet?’

  ‘I’d love to at some point,’ said Matt, mindful of biting off more than he could chew again.

  ‘What have you been doing between then and now?’ said Ron.

  ‘Sadly not a lot. There’s not much of a comedy scene in Kent, where I live.’

  ‘Kent! Lovely part of the world! My mum’s got a place down in Folkestone. You need to get plenty of gigs under your belt – stage-time, that’s the key. I’ve seen ’em all come through here of course. Young Eddie up there – he wasn’t at all funny when he started. I remember the first time he came to us, he was just a bit older than you – just a spotty kid, with buck teeth and big ears. The audience hated him! He died on his proverbial! Ha! But I could see he had something. I told him to go away and come back in a year. He came back twelve months later and stormed it. The thing to remember, Matt, is it’s a marathon not a sprint …’

  There was that phrase again, thought Matt, the one Kitty and Bobby had used. A marathon, not a sprint.

  ‘Take your time, work hard, you’ll get there. Ah! Talk of the devil!’ said Ron looking over Matt’s shoulder. Matt turned to see Eddie Odillo making his way towards them.

  ‘Mr Millz! We meet again!’ said Eddie clapping his arms around Matt and greeting him like a long-lost friend. ‘You on next?’

  ‘We can’t afford him!’ joked Ron.

  ‘Hi, Eddie,’ said Matt blushing and suddenly becoming extremely self-conscious. ‘No, no, I was in the area and I’ve always wanted to see this place so … you were great up there! Are you working up new stuff for a tour or …?’

  ‘A bit of that, but mainly just brushing up my stuff for tomorrow night’s Apollo show.’

  ‘I’ll see you there then,’ said Matt sheepishly.

  ‘You’re doing the Apollo and you haven’t even played here yet?’ said Ron incredulously, exchanging a knowing look with Eddie.

  ‘Bad idea right?’ said Matt.

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said Eddie, trying to stay upbeat. ‘But it’s a big show. I mean … yeah … well, you’ve already played the Apollo so that’s an advantage.’

  ‘My agent booked it …’

  ‘That girl, right? Katy … er …’

  ‘Kitty? No, she doesn’t look after me any more,’ said Matt staring forlornly at his shoes.

  ‘Wow, that was a quick turnaround …’ said Eddie, raising his eyebrows.

  ‘No, I’m with Excalibur,’ said Matt.

  ‘NOOOOOOOO!’ said Eddie holding up his two index fingers in a cross and sinking to his knees like in a horror film. ‘Not Excalibur!’

  For some reason Ron found this incredibly funny.

  ‘Ha! That explains everything!’ he said. ‘I wish you’d come to me first, Matt. That Dickie Hart is trouble. He’s hobbled more careers than he’s made.’

  ‘Hey, they’re not all bad, Ron. He’s doing well for Russel. How many nights did he do at the O2? Something like two weeks wasn’t it?’ said Eddie.

  ‘I heard he papered it and Russ lost money, a small fortune in fact.’ said Ron.

  ‘Papered? What’s that?’ said Matt.

  ‘It’s when
they can’t sell enough tickets so they give them away free. Sometimes they dress it up as prizes for competitions, other times they just stand outside and hand ’em out,’ said Ron.

  ‘Doesn’t make for a good show,’ said Eddie. ‘If you haven’t paid for your ticket you’re probably not a fan.’

  ‘That explains a lot,’ said Matt. ‘I went to that show …’

  ‘Of course! Did you pay?’

  ‘Ha! No!’

  ‘Neither did I!’ laughed Eddie

  ‘You’re right,’ said Matt, nodding. ‘It wasn’t great either, and Russel seemed really pee-d off after it.’

  ‘Ha! He probably just got the bill!’

  ‘The bill? I don’t understand. Why would Russ lose money? Surely filling the venue is the promoter’s job?’

  ‘It certainly should be,’ said Ron. ‘But that’s not how Excalibur work. They make the acts take the financial risk. It’s outrageous!’

  ‘Ah well, it works out great if you’re a sell-out – but if you’re not, you can lose your shirt. The O2 is a big old place to fill,’ added Eddie.

  ‘You didn’t seem to have any problem,’ gushed Matt.

  ‘You’re too kind, good sir!’ said Eddie bowing low, like he was an actor in a French farce.

  ‘Eddie!’ came a girl’s voice from behind him. ‘Can I get a selfie?’ The early show at The Comedy Store had finished without Matt even realising it, so engrossed was he in his chat with these two comedy giants. The girl and her friend were level with Eddie and had a hand on each of his shoulders and were trying to kiss him.

  ‘Easy, girls! Steady on now!’ said Eddie rolling his eyes at Matt. The girls were clearly the worse for wear. ‘Don’t crumple the suit please!’

  The girls were holding their smartphones up but in their inebriated state were having difficulty getting them to work. As Eddie waited patiently he turned to Matt.

  ‘Anyway, Matt, don’t worry about tomorrow. Just be as funny as you were on The T Factor and you’ll be fine. Now if you’ll excuse me I must attend to my adoring public.’ He then took the smartphone from one of the girls’ hand, pulled a face at the camera and took the selfie she was after. By the time he’d done that, a small queue had formed behind them.

  ‘Nice man …’ muttered Ron. ‘You’re welcome to stay for the late show, Matt.’

  ‘Late show? It’s half past eleven, that’s late enough for me,’ said Matt. ‘Really good to meet you, Mr Wardle, but I’d better get back. Bit of a day of it tomorrow!’

  ‘Indeed. Any time, Matt. Oh and let me know if I can help,’ said Ron giving Matt one of his business cards.

  *

  The next morning Matt wished he’d stayed for the late show. There had certainly been no point in going to bed – he hadn’t slept a wink all night.

  22

  Return to the Scene of the Crime

  ‘I can’t do it, Mr Hart, I can’t go on! I’ll die! I’ve got no new jokes! I just haven’t had time – what with all these meetings and press and stuff. They’ll have heard them all!’

  It was ten past three in the afternoon and the car had arrived at Matt’s hotel to take him and his manager to the Apollo for the evening’s recording.

  ‘It’ll be fine!’ said Dickie through gritted teeth. ‘They can dub the laughs on later!’

  ‘No! It won’t be fine, I’ll tank on national TV and that’ll be it! It’ll be over! I can’t! Look at me, I’m a bag of nerves!’

  ‘Then borrow some,’ said Dickie Hart with a growl.

  ‘Eh? What’s that? Borrow what?’ said Matt, hardly believing his ears.

  ‘Nick some gags off someone else!’ barked Dickie Hart, grabbing Matt roughly by the lapels of his jacket and pinning him up against the wall of the hotel room. ‘Look, I don’t really care how you get them … just get them, and get on that stage and be funny!’

  ‘Well I couldn’t do that,’ said Matt, suddenly calm again. In an instant all his misgivings about Dickie and his agency had been confirmed. Stealing jokes? That was against everything Matt and Eddie and anyone who earned a living out of comedy stood for.

  ‘Can’t or won’t?’ sneered Dickie, leaning his face in so close to Matt’s that any closer and technically they’d be married!

  ‘OK I won’t!’ said Matt. ‘I won’t steal another comic’s material, OK? It’s against my …’ but his voice tailed off.

  ‘Against your what?’ snapped Dickie. Matt could smell the nauseating pine aftershave that seemed to exude from every pore of the agent’s body.

  ‘… principles.’ said Matt, his voice sounding thin and weak, like the whine of a puppy. The lack of sleep and his emotions suddenly drained all the energy out of his body.

  ‘Principles? Pah!’ said Dickie with utter disdain. ‘You can’t afford to have principles, sonny Jim!’

  He then released his grip and Matt slumped slowly down the wall until he was sitting on the floor with his legs stretched out in front of him.

  ‘It’s against my principles, Mr Hart,’ said Dickie mimicking Matt and waving his hands around like a toddler having a tantrum. ‘Let’s get one thing straight, here and now! You are doing that show! You’ve got no choice! You owe me, big time! Now pull yourself together and get in that car!’

  Matt quietly stood up and as if in a trance picked up his suit bag and walked out of the hotel room, followed by Dickie. They took the lift to the ground floor, crossed the foyer and went through the revolving doors to Alf and the waiting limousine.

  He didn’t exchange a single word with Dickie for the entire thirty-minute journey to Hammersmith.

  23

  That Pie’s for You

  Matt shuddered as the limo pulled up outside the Apollo. When once he’d been excited to see the huge hoarding advertising the Stand-up at the Apollo show, now it just made him feel sick to his stomach. He and Dickie were ushered through the stage door by a girl with a clipboard and shown to a dressing room. He hung his suit bag on the back of the door, still in a sort of haze, like he was sleepwalking – as if the grim inevitability of his imminent failure was almost too much for his waking self to bear.

  ‘Right then, Matt!’ said the girl with the clipboard breezily, having gone through various timings and rules about the use of mobile phones. ‘If you need anything just let me know!’

  Matt nodded, not having taken in a single word, and sat down at the dressing table.

  ‘Good lad …’ said Dickie, trying his best to sound sympathetic. It clearly wasn’t an emotion that came easily to him. ‘Russel P’s on the show too, and he wants to have a word with me … I’ll leave you to it. The car’s booked and will take you back to the ’otel afterwards. I’ll give you a ring later, yeah?’

  Matt didn’t answer, just sat there staring into space.

  ‘Right well …’ said Dickie, backing towards the dressing-room door, not really knowing how to react. ‘… Knock ’em dead!’

  The door clicked shut behind him and Matt was all alone. Again.

  He turned and looked at his reflection in the dressing-room mirror. He looked haunted. He had dark rings around his eyes from lack of sleep, his hair was lank and greasy and he had what looked like the beginnings of a cold sore on his top lip. He sighed, then retrieved his set list from his sports bag, unfolded it and flattened it out on the table in front of him. As he looked down it the weird detached feeling gave way to despair. Here were jokes that a few weeks ago he couldn’t wait to share with an audience but which now just seemed old and out of date.

  Kitty’s words came back to him like a bolt out of the blue: ‘Confidence is one of the comic’s most powerful tools!’

  His confidence was rock bottom. What on earth was he going to do?

  Just then there was a knock at the door. Matt rose to his feet reluctantly and answered it to reveal what looked like a big bunch of flowers on legs.

  ‘Mr Millz?’ came a voice from behind the flowers that Matt vaguely recognised.

  ‘Yes?’ said Matt more than a
little confused.

  ‘Flowers for you!’ Then a face appeared through the flowers, a face that Matt was more than relieved to see. It belonged to Bobby Bath.

  ‘Bobby!’ exclaimed Matt, forgetting his troubles for a moment and giving the old comic and the flowers a big hug.

  ‘Matt, I hope you don’t mind but I happened to be passing and I know Wilf on front of house from the old days, so he let me pop back here to wish you luck! How’s it going? You got all your gags ready?’

  ‘Oh, Bobby, am I glad to see you!’ said Matt, pulling Bobby into the dressing room and shutting the door behind him. ‘No, no I haven’t got all my gags sorted – well, I have but they’re the same ones as I did last time I was here. They’ll have heard every single one before! I’ve not had a chance to test-drive any new stuff! They’re gonna rip me to shreds!’

  ‘Hang on, hang on …’ said Bobby, putting the flowers in the sink and sitting down in a threadbare red-velvet armchair, the one other chair in the tiny room. ‘Now just take a minute. I’m sure things aren’t as bad as you think – although I must say I was surprised when Rob told me you were doing the Apollo show. I mean that’s really hanging out with the big boys. Eddie wossername hosts it doesn’t he?’

  ‘Eddie Odillo, yes. I bumped into him last night and he couldn’t believe it either! Dickie booked me on to it – it was all his idea!’

  ‘Eddie Odillo, that’s right – funny man, even to an old fogey like me. I’m sure if your new agent booked you on to the show then he must feel you’re ready for it. Why else would he do it?’

  ‘Money!’ said Matt. ‘It’s all he seems to be interested in!’

  ‘Is that right?’ said Bobby crossly. It was the first time Matt had seen Bobby looking anything other than cheerful.