ClownFellas

by Carlton Mellick III

  He called up Winky Gagliano.

  “I got another job for you to do,” Buggy said, before Winky even had a chance to say hello.

  “What’s that?”

  “We need stuff to sell at the event. Posters. Coffee mugs. T-shirts. All with Bobby Goldstein’s face on them. Maybe also get some bootleg DVDs of his old act. We’ll charge out the ass for them and make a bundle. You think you can handle getting that stuff made?”

  “Yeah, I know some guys,” Winky said. “How many shirts do you want?”

  “Fifty in each size.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Hey, did you find a doctor yet?”

  “Yeah, I sent Slicey over there.”

  “Slicey? What happened to Earl Berryman?”

  “The vet was busy so I had to improvise.”

  “But isn’t Slicey the clown who runs the local organ black market?”

  “Yeah, that’s the guy. He’s not a licensed surgeon, but he gives organ transplants all the time so he’s got to know what he’s doing. Plus, he said he’d do it for free. All he asked for was one of the comedian’s kidneys.”

  “What!” Buggy strangled his phone, pretending it was Winky’s neck. “Tell me you didn’t just say that.”

  “It’s only a kidney,” Winky said. “He doesn’t need both of them to do the show.”

  “What the hell’s wrong with you? Get your ass over there and stop the operation or I’ll cut your gumballs off.”

  “But Slicey wants a kidney. What am I supposed to say to him?”

  “Give him one of your own kidneys, you prick. This is all your fault, anyway.”

  “I’m not giving him any kidneys…”

  “Then we’ll find another doctor. Just get over there and stop him.”

  “Fine. Whatever.”

  After Winky hung up, Buggy looked at Mittens and said, “I’m surrounded by morons.”

  The bulldog looked up at him, his head resting inside the half-chewed bowl of roast beef, and said, “Erfff…”

  Chapter 91

  When Buggy went to see Bobby Goldstein the next day, he brought him a sub sandwich and a six-pack of beer. The comedian cringed in pain as he opened one of the bottles. Then he took a long guzzle.

  “I’m really sorry about that,” Buggy said, pointing at the bandage on his back. “I’m going to see what I can do to get your kidney back or at least make sure you’re properly compensated.”

  Winky hadn’t gotten back to the club in time before Slicey removed the comedian’s kidney. Once it was out, Winky decided to just let the black-market doctor go ahead and keep the organ, even though he should have had him put it right back. And worst of all, Slicey didn’t even do that good of a job patching up the comedian. He still needed a cast for his leg.

  The comedian didn’t speak for a while. He just ate his sandwich as best he could within his restraints.

  Buggy finally broke the silence. “I know you’re probably not feeling up for it right now, but I’d like to hear your comedy routine. You still remember most of it, right?”

  “No,” Goldstein said, speaking with his mouth full. “That was thirty years ago. How am I supposed to remember any of those dumb jokes now?”

  “We bootlegged some of your old DVDs,” Buggy said. “I can get you a copy of one. Memorize it.”

  “Don’t bother,” Goldstein said. “I can’t tell any of my old jokes. Why do you think I refused to do this gig?”

  “You said you didn’t want to do it because you didn’t want to end up in jail.”

  “Yeah, but you nearly persuaded me with your little speech. The only reason I had left to refuse was because my jokes are all dated. They wouldn’t fly with audiences these days.”

  “Don’t worry about the jokes being dated. Good humor doesn’t go out of style.”

  “No, you don’t understand. Most of my routine was political. I can’t tell jokes about politics from thirty years ago. Nobody would care. Outside of old guys like us, they probably wouldn’t even know what the heck I was talking about.”

  Buggy thought about it for a minute. The comedian was right. Those kinds of jokes would bomb and bomb hard.

  “Can you make up some new jokes?”

  “I can try, but how much time do I have?”

  “The show is on Friday. You’d have at least a few days to write it and a few more to rehearse.”

  Bobby Goldstein just shook his head. “I don’t know if it’s possible. Even if I weren’t so rusty, I still wouldn’t be able to come up with a new routine by then.”

  “Just do your best,” Buggy said. “We don’t have a choice now.”

  Goldstein just laughed. His situation was so ridiculous, he didn’t know what else to do.

  “Besides,” Buggy said. “All we need to do is sell tickets, and your name will sell tickets. If the show sucks that’s too bad for them. There’s no refunds.”

  “Whatever you say,” Goldstein said.

  But there wasn’t a lot of hope in his eyes.

  Chapter 92

  Snuffy called up Buggy Buttons with exciting news. After all the setbacks, Buggy was definitely in need of some good news.

  “I did it,” Snuffy said, practically giggling with exhilaration.

  “Did what?” Buggy was in his pajamas, running around the kitchen cooking chicken noodle soup and boiling honey lemon tea.

  “I can’t believe I did it, but I did it.”

  “Spit it out already. I’m busy over here. Mittens has a cold.”

  Mittens looked up at the clown from his doggy bed, a thermometer sticking out of his jowls and a hot-water bottle resting on his head.

  “Erfff…,” the bulldog said.

  “We’re sold out,” Snuffy said. “Can you believe it?”

  “You sold all the tickets?”

  “Yeah. Every single one. We’re going to have a full house.”

  “And you sold them for a thousand dollars each, right? Every single one?”

  “Yeah, every one.”

  “What about those tickets you sold for cheap? Did you get those back?”

  “Not all of them,” Snuffy said. “But it’s okay. I printed up new tickets. Anyone who shows up with the old ones can be turned away.”

  Buggy took the thermometer out of Mittens’s jowls and frowned at the results. “Not bad, Snuffy. I have to say I’m a little surprised you pulled it off. How on earth did you do it?”

  “Well, it wasn’t easy at first,” Snuffy said. “I originally couldn’t sell any tickets at the thousand-dollar price. Nobody was biting. I tried promoting the heck out of the show. I got all my guys spreading word of mouth on the street. But still no sales. Everyone said they’d love to see Bobby Goldstein live, but they all thought it was too expensive.”

  “So how’d you work it out?”

  “I offered everyone a money-back guarantee. I told them it would be the best show they’ve ever seen or they’d get their money back. Once I promised that, nobody hesitated. I went through all the tickets in forty-eight hours.”

  Buggy dropped the thermometer on the floor. “Tell me you didn’t really promise them that.”

  “Yeah,” Snuffy said, not picking up on the angry tone in Buggy’s voice. “I told them they’d agree that it was completely worth the thousand-dollar ticket price or they’d get a full refund. It was enough to sell even the most jaded comedy fan.”

  “You idiot…” Buggy said. “We never give refunds. What do you think this is, a Walmart? The only reason anybody bought tickets from you is because they plan to get their money back after the show, whether they liked it or not. Basically, you just gave away all the tickets for free.”

  “Not if it’s a good show,” Snuffy said. “They can’t get their money back if they like the show.”

  “And how are we going to prove whether they liked the show or not?”

  “If they laugh,” Snuffy said. “They can’t complain if they laugh through the show. And this is Bobby Goldstein. There’s no way
they’re not going to laugh at Bobby Goldstein.”

  “You don’t get it, Snuff. Bobby Goldstein’s not that funny. He never was. People only want to see him because he’s a legend. Our goal was to sell tickets, not guarantee a good show.”

  “Well, you never told me that.”

  “It should’ve been obvious. How long have you been working in this business, anyway? The goal is always to sell tickets first and put on a good show second.”

  “Well, I think everyone’s going to love Bobby Goldstein. I doubt anyone’s going to ask for a refund at all.”

  “Yeah, you would…”

  Buggy hung up the phone and filled Mittens’s bowl with hot chicken soup. He didn’t know what he was going to do. Before he didn’t care if Bobby Goldstein bombed, but now the comedian had to blow everyone away. If Bobby wasn’t the funniest comic ever to perform in Little Bigtop, it was going to be Buggy’s head.

  Chapter 93

  “So let’s hear this routine,” Buggy said.

  Bobby Goldstein did not appear very optimistic about the routine he’d come up with. There wasn’t much he could do in only three days. Unfortunately, Buggy needed it to be golden.

  “Can you at least untie me first? I’d be able to do my routine better if I were standing.”

  Buggy shook his head. “You should stay off your leg as much as possible until the show. Just tell the jokes.”

  Bobby Goldstein cleared his throat and got into character. He did his best to add a cheerful, charismatic tone to his voice as he spoke, but his physical and emotional conditions were just too pitiful to be masked.

  “Have you ever noticed…,” Bobby began.

  Buggy waved his hands to stop him. “Hold up, wait just a minute.”

  “What?”

  “You’re not seriously going to tell a have-you-ever-noticed joke, are you?”

  “Yeah, what’s wrong with that?”

  “Those jokes are cliché and terrible. Anytime a comedian auditioning for me starts a joke with that I kick him right out of my office before he even finishes his sentence. You might as well start a joke with knock knock.”

  “But all I’ve got are have-you-ever-noticed jokes,” Bobby said. “That was my thing back in the day. Everyone used to love them.”

  Buggy groaned and put his face into his oversized hand. “So you have no other material?”

  “Not that I have prepared.”

  Buggy groaned again. Then let out a deep breath and said, “Fine. Just tell me what you’ve got.”

  “Okay,” Bobby said. Then he cleared his throat again and started over. “Have you ever noticed how it’s impossible to respect a guy who carries a dog with him everywhere he goes?”

  Buggy stopped him again. “Wait, hold it right there.”

  “What?”

  “Are you talking about me?” Buggy asked.

  Goldstein noticed Buggy was holding his bulldog in his hands.

  “I always carry Mittens around with me everywhere I go. Are you trying to say that people don’t respect me?”

  “No!” Bobby waved his hands in a panic. “I’m not talking about you at all. It’s just a joke. I was talking about other guys.”

  Buggy stood up and pointed at Goldstein’s face with one hand while cradling his dog in the other.

  “I have to carry my dog. Mittens can hardly walk on his own these days. What do you expect me to do? He’s terminally ill, you heartless prick.”

  “I’m sorry,” Goldstein cried. “I didn’t know. As I said, the joke isn’t about you. I was talking about guys who carry terriers and poodles. Not…” The comedian looked down at Mittens. “Not bulldogs.”

  “Erfff…,” Mittens said.

  “Don’t tell that joke. It’s offensive and I don’t like it.”

  “Sure, fine. I don’t have to tell it.”

  Buggy went back to his chair and sat down. “I’m serious.”

  Goldstein was clearly shaken up by the confrontation, but he moved on to the next joke with only a hint of a stutter.

  “Have you ever noticed that at the end of every party there’s always a fat girl crying?”

  “Hey!” Buggy said, interrupting him again. “My sister had a weight problem, you insensitive son of a bitch!” Buggy curled his fingers into a fist. “She was so depressed about it that it eventually drove her to suicide. Do you think that’s funny?”

  “No,” Goldstein said. “No, that’s terrible. I’m sorry.”

  “She tried losing weight, but it was really hard for her. You don’t know what it’s like. People were really cruel. She just couldn’t take it anymore.”

  Goldstein tried to calm the clown. “Honestly, I had no idea. It’s tragic. I can’t even imagine what it would be like to lose a sister like that. I won’t tell that joke, either, if you don’t want me to.”

  Buggy tried to calm himself down, but he was still visibly angry and annoyed by the comedian’s routine. “Just tell the next joke.”

  The comedian tried to tell one of his jokes that wouldn’t offend the mobster, but he had no idea what was going to set him off. Goldstein just had to throw one out there and hope it was okay.

  He took a deep breath and said, “Have you ever noticed how whenever you have sex in a public bathroom you feel all sexy and cool, but whenever you masturbate in a public bathroom you feel kind of perverted and creepy?”

  “Whoa…Hold on…” Buggy’s face cringed with disgust. “You actually masturbate in public bathrooms?”

  “No, it’s just a joke.”

  Buggy pointed at the bathroom door. “You didn’t jerk off in there, did you? I just used that toilet not twenty minutes ago.”

  “I didn’t, I swear. It’s just a joke. Don’t take it seriously.” Goldstein was getting frustrated with the clown’s defensiveness. “Can I please just tell the jokes without constant interruptions?”

  Buggy didn’t believe him. He kept staring at the bathroom door, imagining what the old comedian was doing in there every time they untied him to use the toilet.

  “Fine, I’ll shut up and let you tell your damn jokes,” Buggy said.

  For the next hour, Buggy listened to joke after joke. All of them were terrible. Buggy waited for just one of the jokes to be funny. He was dying to hear a good joke. But as with all the bad comedians he interviewed, all the jokes were bad. It had been years since a comedian had actually made Buggy laugh. He wondered if it was even possible for him to laugh anymore.

  Chapter 94

  When the routine was finished, Buggy knew he was in big trouble. The act wasn’t going to fly with the audience. He had to figure something out.

  On the way out of the club, he ran into Snuffy and said, “I want you to bring your canisters of laughy-gas to the show on Friday.”

  “Why do we need that, skipper?”

  “Because I want you to gas the crowd, just like you do at your own shows. We need them to laugh and since Goldstein’s performance ain’t gonna do the trick, we need to use some chemical enticement.”

  “But the venue’s too big,” Snuffy said. “We’d have to use all three canisters.”

  “Then we’ll use all three.”

  “But I invested a ton of money into that stuff. Are you going to pay me back?”

  “No, I’m not. Because it’s your fault we need to use the gas in the first place. If you didn’t offer a money-back guarantee we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  “Are you serious?” Snuffy whined. “That’s bullshit and you know it, Buggy.”

  “Who do you think you’re talking to? Just bring the canisters to the show or you’re done.”

  “Fine…” Snuffy kicked a chair like a disappointed kindergartner.

  But the laughy-gas still wasn’t going to be enough. Buggy needed to do one more thing to make sure the show went over successfully. In his current condition, Goldstein wasn’t going to be able to perform in a way that would capture his audience. Eighty percent of comedy was in the presentation, so Buggy had to do someth
ing drastic to make sure Goldstein performed with energy and charm.

  “On more thing…,” Buggy said.

  Snuffy turned back. “Yeah?”

  “Pick me up some Happy Juice.”

  “Happy Juice? What for? Do you know some vanilla schmuck who wants to be turned into a clown?”

  “Yeah, Goldstein,” Buggy said.

  “Goldstein wants to become a clown?”

  “No, he’s not going to know about it. I want to inject him with a time-released dose just before the show.”

  “But how will anyone recognize him if he’s a clown?”

  “That’s why it will be time-released. He’ll transform on stage. I’m sure it will be a big hit with the crowd. Not only that, but he’ll have the energy and charisma of a clown. Who knows, he might even do a good job up there.”

  Chapter 95

  The night of the big show, Buggy was a nervous wreck. His palms were sweating inside his gloves and his bow tie was spinning in circles. He showed up at the Rainbow Gardens two hours early, but there was already a line around the block. At first, he assumed people were just dying to see Bobby Goldstein, but that wasn’t it. The majority of the crowd were parishioners from Reverend Jellybottom’s church.

  “What are all these people doing here?” Buggy asked when he tracked down Jellybottom having cocktails in the bar of the brothel.

  “Ah, Brother Buttons!” the reverend cried, already a bit tipsy from a few too many fuzzy navels. “How are the preparations for the show coming?”

  “They’re coming fine,” Buggy said. “But what I want to know is why you’ve got so many of your churchgoers crowding the sidewalk?”

  “I told you Friday Night Mass is popular.” The reverend slapped Buggy on the back and took another drink.

  “You didn’t tell me it was going to be this popular.”

  “Yeah, normally the turnout isn’t this good, but once I told everyone that Bobby Goldstein will be here they all wanted to come.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Buggy said, pulling the reverend’s drink away from his mouth. “They can’t stay for Goldstein’s performance. They have to leave after your sermon unless they pay a thousand bucks a ticket like everyone else.”