Salacious Stand Up: A Funny Lesbian Romance by Nicolette Dane (2016-06-22)

by Nicolette Dane

  “You get paid, we all get paid,” he said. “That’s why we work hard for you. We’ll help you get these comedy gigs and we’ll put you in front of casting directors to see how we can fit you into the industry,” said Oppenheimer. Motioning over toward Meghan with his hand, he continued. “Meghan here is an assistant of mine and she’ll be your primary contact with the agency as long as you’re in Chicago. You have questions, you call Meghan. Got it?”

  “Got it,” I said.

  “I have contracts for you to sign as well,” said Meghan. “If you’re ready after this meeting.”

  “If you happen to blow up,” said Oppenheimer. “Then I’ll be your guy. But I really only deal with the big shots, you understand. Once you become a big shot, then you’ll be in touch with me.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Makes sense.”

  “Feinstein also told me that you wanted to meet Amy Schneider,” said Oppenheimer. “I’ll have you know that Amy is one of ours and I can make that happen.”

  “Oh my God,” I said. “For real?”

  “For real,” he repeated. “I know she’s gonna be in the city in the coming weeks for some show, so I’ll coordinate something with her for you.”

  “Maybe we could get Macy on the bill with Amy,” interjected Meghan.

  “You mean open for Amy Schneider?” I said.

  “Don’t hold your breath,” said Oppenheimer. “I’m not promising that. I can facilitate an introduction. That’s the end of my promise.”

  “That’s fine,” I said. “I would love to meet her.”

  “I’ll get in touch with her and let you know,” said Meghan.

  “Do you have any questions for us?” asked Oppenheimer. “Anything we haven’t made clear?”

  “I’m still trying to absorb it all,” I said. “It’s really a lot for me to process.”

  “Fine,” said Oppenheimer. “Do your processing, sign our contract, and let’s get this show on the road. It was lovely meeting you, Macy Maxwell,” he said, standing up and thrusting his hand out. I followed his lead, stood, and shook his hand.

  “Thank you for this opportunity,” I said. “I’m not gonna let you down.”

  “I don’t expect you will,” he said. “Meghan, can you take it from here?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Meghan, also standing, lightly putting her hand to my back and beginning to walk me toward the door.

  “One more thing,” said Oppenheimer. “Be careful with this new world you’re coming into,” he said. “Just from the mere fact that your star is on the rise, a lot of people you used to be able to trust are gonna get a little goofy. Some are gonna hate you, some are gonna want a piece of you. Put your guard up.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, nodding back at him. And with that, Meghan ushered me out of Oppenheimer’s office and down the hall toward her own.

  Heeding Oppenheimer’s advice about putting my guard up, I decided to keep my successes quiet around the gang at the Affiliate. I mean, I wanted to think they’d be happy for me but I could see them getting a little jealous. Not Howie of course, he would be proud, and probably not Petra, but most of the other comedians who were still working their way up would probably get a bit snarky with me about landing an agent like Oppenheimer, a pending introduction to Amy Schneider, and getting the promise of a slot at Loonies, one of Chicago’s best comedy rooms. It’s like the perfect room. Low ceiling, deep enough to fit a lot of people in there, kind of shitty but revered as an institution. A lot of famous people go through Loonies and doing a set there could really help my career. I resolved to keep my cool, not change anything just yet, and continue on as if everything was normal.

  But I certainly didn’t feel normal inside.

  I knew I could talk to George about it, though. It’s all something she had probably gone through before. She had a literary agent, she had a book deal. It was a similar thing. Despite the fact that she was a bit strange, sometimes cold, not always interested in staying the night with me after we had sex or hanging around for breakfast the next morning, I felt like we were sort of well-suited for each other. Maybe it was just the honeymoon phase infatuation talking. But she was really hot, good in bed, and I just couldn’t get over the whole writer thing. I know it’s such a silly way to look at a relationship. I’m attracted to artistic chicks! I mean, writers create entire worlds from their imagination. They put forth imagery that brings you deep into the story, they create characters that you fall in love with and seem just so real, and make you think of things that you might not have thought of before. It’s really fucking cool and, I admit it, I was smitten by this writer.

  George sat cross-legged on my couch with a paperback open in her lap, sipping on a cup of tea as I scurried around the living room straightening the place up. Her face was buried deep in her book, eyes down, her light hair greasy and messy, wearing black jeans and a tattered black t-shirt. It was nice having her around and I enjoyed simply being in her company.

  “Hey Georgie,” I said, folding up a throw blanket and then holding it against my side.

  “Hey,” she said, without looking up from her book.

  “Hey Georgie,” I repeated. It took her a moment more of reading, probably finishing the paragraph she was on, before she looked up at me from her book and offered a wry smile.

  “Hi,” she said finally.

  “I’ve got some really exciting news,” I said.

  “Let’s hear it.” She folded over the corner of the page in the book and closed it.

  “I signed a contract with an agent yesterday,” I said. “Like, a real agent. Not one of those agents whose office is in the back of a smoke shop or something.”

  “That’s cool,” she said. “So now you have someone to skim a nice percentage right off the top.”

  “Well yeah,” I said. “But they’re gonna start getting me real work.”

  “I guess I’m just jaded from my agent’s cut of my book deal,” said George.

  “Okay, whatever,” I said. “I’m happy and this is really exciting for me.”

  “That’s excellent,” said George, slinking up from the couch and meandering over toward me. Threading her arms around my sides, she pulled in close for a hug and then lowered her face in and pressed her lips against mine. We stood there together for a moment, kissing ardently, as George sunk her fingers down the back of my jeans and fooled around with the elastic band of my panties.

  “Mmm,” I sighed happily as our kiss ended.

  “So you’re moving on to bigger and better things?” asked George, kissing me on the forehead. “Nicer clubs and shit?”

  “Yeah,” I said with a hint of sadness. “I mean, I’m not giving up performing at the Affiliate yet.”

  “That place is kind of a dump,” she said.

  “I know,” I said. “But it’s my dump. That’s where I got started with all this.”

  “A lot of those people are going to be there for a long time,” said George, rolling her eyes slightly and looking away.

  “Hey!” I protested, smacking her on the shoulder. “There’s some really funny people who perform there.”

  “I guess,” she said, prompting me to smack her again. “Cut it out!” she called, grabbing at my wrist to prevent me from hitting her. “You bring out the guns too easily, girl.”

  “You’re talking shit about my people,” I said. “I’m allowed to get defensive.”

  “Offensive,” she said. “When you hit, you’re on the offense.”

  “Whatever,” I said, pouting, trying to pull away from her. She kept me close, however, and after I struggled for a moment I eased back into her arms.

  “C’mon,” she cooed against the side of my head. I could feel her warm breath as she placed a soft kiss on my ear. “Tell me more about your agent.”

  “Okay,” I said, giving in to her advances. “Well, he’s an old eccentric guy who was watching porno when I came into his office.”

  “Tell me again how this wasn’t in the back of a smoke shop,” sa
id George, lifting her brow.

  “No, he’s legit,” I said. “Marshall Oppenheimer. Oppenheimer Talent Associates.”

  “Oh yeah,” said George. “Shit, I’ve heard of them.”

  “See!” I said. “I’m not crazy.” I could feel George’s hands sneaking back into my jeans and fondling my panties once again.

  “So what kind of promises did they make?” she asked as she continued to touch me.

  “Well, they’re going to get me acting auditions,” I said, squirming my butt slightly as George moved her hands over it. “They’re going to introduce me to the comedian Amy Schneider, and they said they could get me a middle spot at Loonies.”

  “Loonies,” said George. “That’s cool. Also a bit of a dump, but you know, a popular dump.”

  “You better watch yourself,” I said, placing my hands on her chest and snuggling up against her. “I’m going to skip town, move to LA, and be in movies before you know it. I’ll dump your ass so fast once I start screwing Seth Rogan… or Joe Rogan… like a good closeted lesbian comedian.”

  “Or some old dude who uses Rogaine,” said George. “Maybe your agent!”

  “Not funny,” I said. “You think I’d really bang a dude?”

  “Nah,” she said with a smile. “I’m happy for you. It’s cool, Macy. It’s really happening for you.”

  “Dude! Right?” I beamed. “I’m so psyched.”

  “You feeling amped up?” asked George with raspy seduction in her voice. Her palms gripped onto my ass cheeks under my jeans, pulling me tightly against her. “Maybe you want to go for a roll?”

  “Mm hmm,” I agreed, craning my neck upwards to kiss her. We wetly locked lips as George held onto my ass, her hands pushed against my backside from the tightness of my jeans, massaging me with her palms, pressing her face firmly down against mine. I eagerly moved my hands to the button on her jeans and unfastened it, swiftly dripping my fingers into her open pants and stroking her through the fabric of her underwear.

  “Let’s go,” she whispered, easing her hands out of my jeans and pulling back from our kiss. George began to walk toward my bedroom and I impatiently walked behind her, undoing the button of my pants and beginning to push them down my thighs, exposing my pale pink panties, my socked feet slipping along the floor. Macy was ready for some flicking!

  George and I laid naked against each other, our sweaty bodies sticking together, chests heaving, as we began to relax into the post-coital afterglow. She held her arm around me, pulling me close, while my hand hid under the sheet and between her legs, tenderly stroking her warmth, sticky and humid and lightly furry. I sighed happily as I cuddled against her lean and lightly muscled frame, feeling a subtle trickle slowly ooze out of me down below.

  I hummed a soft moan contently as we snuggled, George obviously drifting into a bit of a slumber even as I lackadaisically stroked her. My mind began to think about my friends at the Stand Up Affiliate, my comedy compadres, and how they might react when I told them my news. There’s a lot of competition among comics, even if they’re friendly with one another, and while many would show happiness with another’s good fortune, you could always tell that deep down they harbored a bit of jealousy. I mean, how could you not? Success is what we’re all after. Comics wants people to listen to them, to laugh at them, and to get up in front of the largest audience possible and peddle their craft. I had to prepare for a bit of a fallout once word broke that Macy Maxwell’s gears were oiled and turning. I didn’t want to lose friends over this.

  But maybe it would be me who pushed them away. I had to consider that possibility too. Maybe success would go to my head, I’d start fraternizing with famous people, making some money for my efforts, and edging toward the big time. It stands to reason that some people would get left behind. Not all friends are forever. Sometimes people close to you get sacrificed at the alter of your dreams. Some relationships aren’t compatible with certain goals, that’s just how it is. I don’t know. It’s hard to think about. I shouldn’t get too ahead of myself, obviously, but things were just working out so well that it was becoming difficult to ignore.

  And Petra. How would I work things out with Petra? If you recall, that sweetie told me she loved me. As soon as she said it, I immediately had to shut it out of my mind and try to forget it. In the moment it slightly confused me. I mean, when someone so close to you says something like that in earnest, it’s hard not to get all mixed up in your feelings. I loved Petra, too, but did I love her in a more romantic way? The way she was indicating? I just don’t know. Things were just beginning to get comfortable with George and Petra throws that screwball at me. It’s just not the kind of thing that I need to get mixed up in when everything else in my life is headed on a trajectory of success. Too much to think about.

  As I heard George begin to lightly snore, I looked over at my alarm clock and noticed the time. It was creeping into mid-afternoon.

  “Shit!” I exclaimed, quickly tossing the blanket off of me and jumping out of bed. I searched around on the floor for my panties, pulled them up my legs once I found them, and then began swiftly dressing myself as George gradually opened her eyes to watch me.

  “What’s going on?” she said groggily.

  “I’m supposed to meet my Dad at the park in, like, ten minutes,” I said, yanking my jeans up and fastening them.

  “Oh,” she said, lying her head back against the pillow and closing her eyes once more.

  “God,” I said, looking down at my crotch and rubbing my palm against myself through my jeans. “All matted and sticky.”

  “Sorry,” mused George in a lazy timbre.

  “You can let yourself out, right?” I said, picking up my t-shirt from the floor and pulling it over my head.

  “Mm hmm,” said George.

  “Good,” I said. “I’ll see you later!”

  I raced out of my bedroom, first toward the bathroom to, um, freshen up a little, and then after slipping into my flats and grabbing my purse, I left my apartment in a hurry, almost tripping on the stairs as I stomped down them.

  “Dad!” I called out, catching my Dad standing near the entrance of Humboldt Park, and rushing up to him. My Dad was a short man, not as short as me and my Mom, with a bit of an old man gut. He was spry, though, I’ll give him that much. With a trimmed white crew cut and a manicured goatee, he was a well-groomed guy and could be a bit of a lady killer. While it had been about 11 years since my Mom died, my Dad hadn’t had any relationship last longer than a year. I don’t think he ever really got over my Mom. I didn’t blame him. She was awesome.

  “Macy,” he said in a demure joyousness, embracing me as we closed in on one another. “It’s good to see you.” His voice was a bit raspy and his face was lightly reddened.

  “I’m not late, am I?” I said as we broke from our hug. “I lost track of time but I got here as quickly as I could.”

  “No, it’s fine,” he said. “I’m glad we got to meet up.”

  “Thanks for driving in from the ‘burbs,” I said. “Want to get moving?”

  “Sure,” he said, popping his elbow out. I put my arm through his and started our walk through the park.

  It was a beautiful late spring day, though I guess you could even call it early summer. I hadn’t really worn a coat in a couple weeks and everything was green and flowering. The park was looking quite lush, serene really, apart from the blasting of Puerto Rican dance music near the park entrance and around a food truck. Off to one side were a group of men with fancy, shiny bicycles, bikes that looked straight out of the 50s or the Pee-wee Herman movie, while to the other side of the walkway there was a small open-air tent with a couple people grilling sausages inside of it. The park was a diverse and lively place, and definitely one of my favorite parts of my neighborhood.

  “Dad, I got an agent,” I said as we strolled.

  “Wow!” he said. “Congratulations Macy. I’m proud of you.”

  “Thanks!” I beamed, hugging my arm tightly against him
for a moment.

  “Your Mother would really like your act,” he said. “She was a bit of a dirty bird herself.”

  “Oh, I know,” I said. “I definitely got it from her.”

  “Sure,” he said.

  “I worry, though,” I said. “As things happen for me… I worry that I’m not being true to myself.”

  “I understand,” he said. “I’ve always supported you in whatever you want to do, but I do think you might be selling yourself a little short.”

  “I just don’t know if the stand up world is ready to accept a comic like me into the mainstream,” I mourned. “I just might be too niche.”

  “You’re not giving the world as much credit as it deserves,” he said.

  “I think things are about to really change for me, Dad,” I said, slightly altering the subject. “I’m going to be heading to Boston soon to do a TV thing.”

  “Really?” he asked, looking at me with surprise in his face. “That’s great. I can’t wait to watch it.”

  “I really don’t know if I’m ready,” I said. “It’s a bit confusing.”

  “You just have to take life as it comes,” he said. “Your mother’s accident really taught me that.”

  “Yeah,” I mused longingly.

  “No, really,” he said. “A runaway car could come speeding through the park and take us both out,” said my Dad. “It probably won’t, but it could. You have to live your life with a sense of… pleasant surprise,” he said with a smile. “Because you don’t really get to control much of it.”

  “So I just gotta go for it, huh?” I said.

  “Right,” he said. “You never know how it’s going to turn out. Yours is a fickle business.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I mean, what’s hot in comedy one minute could be seen as totally boring the next.”

  “And the faces keep changing,” he said. “You’ve got your stars, of course, and some of them are big forever. But the periphery people, which you’ve got to be ready and accepting to be if that’s your fate, they come and go.”

  “So, stay humble?” I asked.

  “Stay humble,” he said. “And don’t buy a fancy car with your first paycheck.” I laughed.