“Well, eat your burrito and let’s get moving,” said Petra. “We’ll give it a go and try not to bomb!”
“The late night crowd,” I said, speaking into an unfamiliar microphone. The stage at the Improv Assembly was a bit longer than I was used to, the room itself was fatter and more narrow than at the Stand Up Affiliate. But I was happy for a change of scenery and certainly needed the practice in front of a different crowd. The audience was pretty much made up of other performers and their drunk friends, everybody waiting their turn to get the mic. Some did comedy like me, some music, and some people even did musical comedy. It was a friendly audience overall, though not everybody was intent to pay attention to the performer. Petra sat at a table up front cradling a beer in her hands as I continued on.
“Don’t you hate underwear?” I said, persuading the mostly male contingent to open their ears and pay me some attention. “Ugh, it’s the worst. I know some girls are worried about various things crawling up inside them, or whatever, if they don’t wear underwear. But not me,” I said, stepping around the microphone stand and flipping out the mic cable. “I welcome the intrusion.” A few titters but not much of a response.
“No, but it’s so restrictive,” I continued on. “I like the wind in my hair and a breeze up my skirt. And once you stop wearing panties, you’ll almost forget laundry day was ever a thing. It’s more like, ‘Oh! Laundry month is coming up… in November.’” I coaxed a few more laughs out of the crowd.
“I see a lot of guys out there in audience,” I said. “So you probably don’t know the clothing woes that most women go through. Except… you, sir,” I said, pointing out someone in the audience who was not paying me much attention. “You seem like the kind of guy who knows a lot about women’s clothing.” This one got more of the crowd involved, laughing at the guy’s expense. I didn’t normally like to insult a random audience member, but the margarita from the Mexican restaurant was making me feel a little saucy.
“Women aren’t funny!” the guy yelled out.
“Well, then it’s a good thing I have a dick,” I responded. “A big, meaty cock is the only way to get a smile out of you, isn’t it?”
“I’ve got a cock for you!” he called back.
“How many times have you written that on the Internet?” I asked. “And does your mother know how many tissues you’ve gone through in her basement?” The crowd laughed and one of the guy’s friends raucously, drunkenly, patted him on the shoulder to get him to back down. “I’m just funning, buddy,” I said. “Not about the dick thing, though. My dick is so big, I can bend it around and stick it in my own pussy. The only problem is that when it gets hard, it pops right out,” I said amid laughter and some light applause. “So, it’s like, I’ve gotta choose between no dick inside of me or a flaccid one. Typical night out at the bar, I suppose.”
“You know, I’ve always secretly dreamt of being a porn star,” I said, lowering my voice as though I were telling a secret. “Don’t let that admission get you too hard out there, gentlemen.” Some quick, nervous laughter ensued. “You ever see those scenes were some big, hulky, muscular dude picks up a tiny girl like me and she does the SuperGirl?” I said, nodding, trying to gauge whether or not the audience was following. “You know, he holds her against his dick, hands on her hips, and she’s stretched long and sticking her arm out like she’s flying? I mean, that looks like fun, right?” I said, smiling. “I bet the coke helps.”
“But seriously, it’s a noble profession,” I continued on. “I don’t think I could actually do it. It’s sort of like being an EMT. I just don’t think I could spend my days covered in someone else’s bodily fluids getting paid minimum wage. But again, I mean, that coke is a really persuasive benefit… for both professions.” I grinned and nodded my head at the applause.
“The last thing I’ll say about porn actresses, though, is that a lot of them are really pretty,” I said. “Can you believe it? Some of these chicks are really hot. There’s a whole kink that some guys get off on called ‘too pretty for porn,’ like, they love that these girls just seem like they’re far too pretty to subject themselves to some roided-out guy’s monstrosity of a cock.” I shrugged and widened my eyes. “Well, uh, I can believe it. If you got touched by your cheerleading coach in the back of the bus on the way home from state finals, you’d have some questions that maybe an old guy with a fist full of hundreds and a video camera could answer.” The applause to the joke was a bit weak, but I quickly appended my tag. “Ah, I always forget that didn’t happen to everybody,” I said, smacking my forehead which inspired some greater laughter.
“Thanks guys, I’m Macy Maxwell!” I smiled and waved to the audience as the host of the open mic night walked up to me, applauding, and took the microphone from me.
“Give it up for Macy Maxwell,” he said. I waved once more and made my way carefully down the steps, maneuvering around a waitress bringing drinks, and sat down at the table next to Petra.
“How’d I do?” I asked Petra, leaning my shoulder up against her. “I got some laughs, right?”
“A little clunky in places,” she said. “But funny. This is a tough room. A lot of people are only here to do their thing, they don’t really care about your thing.”
“Right,” I said. “What time did you get?” Petra looked down to a slip of paper resting on the table next to her beer bottle.
“I got 2:10,” she said. “I think I’ll be sleeping by that time.”
“We don’t have to hang around if that’s too late for you,” I said. “We could do something else. Get a drink at a bar or something.”
“Yeah, that might be better,” said Petra. “I don’t know if I have it in me to wait around that long just to get 5 minutes.”
“We could just stay here for a few and watch a couple more acts,” I said. “We might see someone funny.”
“All right,” agreed Petra, hoisting her bottle from the table and taking a pull.
Just then a guy approached our table looking a bit like he’d had too much liquid courage. His jeans had rips at the knees and his t-shirt was a little loose around the collar. His dark hair fell to either side of his head in larger ringlets and although he was only a couple days away from his last shave, his mustache was beginning to grow in thicker than the rest of his facial hair.
“Hey,” said the guy. “I’m Jack.” He smiled at me a bit nervously, his fingers threaded into his pockets. The guy didn’t even look in Petra’s direction.
“Hi,” I said. “Macy.”
“You were funny up there,” said Jack. “I’m a comedian too.”
“Got a joke for me?” I asked devilishly.
“Sure,” said Jack. I looked over to Petra who rolled her eyes. I could tell she was a little perturbed that I was playing along with this guy. “What’s the worst thing about sleeping with a woman comic?” asked Jack.
“Oh boy,” I said, grinning over what I’d gotten myself into. “What’s that, Jack?”
“You never know if she’s laughing at your jokes or your dick,” he said.
“Almost there,” I said, holding up my fingers and indicating a pinch. “I mean, so close.”
“Can I buy you a drink?” said Jack. “Want to come up to the bar with me?”
“Jack, can’t you see that I’m here with my girlfriend?” I said, deftly picking up Petra’s arm and wrapping it around my shoulders. “How would you like it if some funny guy came up to you and tried to steal your girl away?”
“Oh shit,” he said, seeing Petra glare at him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were gay. I mean, your act up on stage…”
“You don’t want her,” said Petra. “She’s a handful. And a joke stealer, anyway.”
“What joke did I steal?” I protested.
“The one about having a dick,” said Petra. “I’m the one that has a dick. That’s my joke.” She paused and then looked to Jack. “In my act I have a dick, in my act.”
“Parallel thinking,” I said. “
That’s all.”
“Look, I’m sorry,” said Jack. “I thought you were funny, Macy. That’s all.”
“I appreciate it,” I said. “You’re very sweet.”
Jack smiled defeatedly, bowed his head slightly and walked away from our table.
“Not a very good joke,” said Petra.
“Nope,” I said. “The premise didn’t even make sense.”
“That’s why you’re about to be on TV and he’s still hanging around open mic nights,” she said.
“Stop,” I said, smacking Petra on the leg. Though my would-be suitor had taken his leave, Petra’s arm still hung over my shoulder, our little relationship fakery persisting even in Jack’s absence. I smiled happily.
“The only reason I get to hang out with you is inertia,” quipped Petra. “Had I not sat down next to you at the club bar two years back, I’d be just another mediocre comic trying to get a sniff of you.”
“You don’t wear the self-deprecating thing well,” I said. “Why don’t you try a little more confidence in your set?”
“Okay,” said Petra. “How about this?” Taking her arm off my shoulders, Petra turned to me and looked me straight in the eyes, a seriousness washing over her face. “Let me write for you.”
“What?” I said. “I write all my own stuff.”
“You know I’m kinda floundering as a performer,” said Petra. “But my jokes are funny and original.”
“Petra, c’mon,” I said, turning away from her slightly. “What do you know about all the shit I talk about?”
“You mean the straight shit?” she said accusingly. “Let me write for you, Macy,” she said again. “Give me a shot. I can help vary up your material so it’s not all about pussy discharge and jizz stains. When was the last time you even saw jizz? You’re a fucking lesbian.”
“I do have a lot of jokes about bodily fluids,” I said. Although I felt hesitant to bring on Petra to write for me, something in the back of my mind told me it could be a good idea. A lot of comedians have writing partners. And if stuff really started to roll for me, I would need to produce a breadth of material that I wasn’t capable of doing so quickly on my own. “Let me think about it,” I said finally, smiling at Petra, meeting her eyes with mine. She was such a sweet girl. She got me.
“I’ll take it,” she said. “I’ve already got some jokes that I know will be perfect for you.”
“What about your career?” I asked. “Don’t you want to be a stand up too?”
“Well, yeah,” she said. “But if I can’t make it as a performer, I would be happy being a joke writer. As long as I get to be funny, I’m happy.”
“Okay,” I said, nodding at her, beginning to understand. “Yeah, okay, we’ll give this a shot and see where it goes.”
“You’re gonna love it,” she said. I was easing into the idea. And something above whispered that maybe this could be the answer to the phoniness I was feeling with my act, feeling stuck with material that wasn’t really true to myself.
“You’re not just trying to piggyback off my success, are you?” I said, eying Petra suspiciously.
“Of course I am!” she said. “I’ve got bills to pay!”
“Well, flag down that waitress,” I said. “Your first job as my employee is to get me another drink!”
Petra and I stumbled out of the Improv Assembly front door and into the cool night air. She had her arm around my waist, holding onto my hand to steady me, helping me walk to the curb where an Uber car waited. I just tried not to twist my ankle as I gingerly stepped.
“There’s my car,” I said, pointing to the SUV waiting on the street with its emergency flashers on.
“You sure you don’t want to keep hanging out?” said Petra. “We can head up to Edgewater. There’s a homey little bar a couple blocks away from my place.”
“I don’t know why you live way up there,” I said. “It’s so far from everything.”
“Hey, I’ve got a good deal on rent and I can’t leave it,” said Petra.
“You’re just trying to get me wasted,” I said. “So you can take advantage of me.”
“Shh,” said Petra, hushing me. “Don’t let Macy know.”
“I won’t tell,” I said.
As we approached the car, I snaked around Petra and flung both arms around her, pulling in close for a tight hug. Petra, too, put her arms around me and gently pushed her cheek to mine. We stood there together in silence for a moment as we embraced.
Then, as Petra lifted her face up, I craned my head upward to look at her. We held a stare together for a minute before Petra lowered down and eased her lips against mine. For a split second I was taken aback, confused, clouded, but that all quickly melted away and I eagerly returned her kiss. Petra held me tight against her body and we collided tenderly into one another. As we kissed I felt suffused with passion, a warmth brimming inside of me, a hungry tingle coursing through my small frame. Maybe it was the booze working its magic, I don’t know, but I do know that I enjoyed the moment, the love, the closeness. I whimpered softly into Petra’s mouth.
Just as quickly as the moment had presented itself, it then waned. The two of us separated our lips, heads easing apart, eyes opening. I had never really noticed the intense blue in Petra’s eyes before. I mean, I knew she had blue eyes but in that somewhat inebriated moment I really saw how clear they were. They were comforting, true, familiar.
“I should go,” I said, breaking the silence.
“Okay,” said Petra. I could tell she was disappointed that we were parting ways. My heart was racing with aroused anxiety. I felt disoriented.
“Let’s talk about the writing thing,” I said, trying to make the moment feel less heavy. “You can show me some of the jokes you have for me.”
“Okay,” she said.
“Goodnight Petra,” I said, breaking off from her with a slightly embarrassed smile. I opened the backdoor of the SUV, gave Petra a final glance and a little wave.
“Bye Macy,” she said with a tired, uncertain smile. Once I was fully inside the car, I slammed the door behind me.
“Ukrainian Village. Chicago and Western,” I said to the driver. “Once we get closer, I’ll direct you on the streets. A lotta one ways,” I said.
“Yep,” said the driver.
The car began to drive and all I could think about was Petra standing there at the curb alone. My heart felt little achy pangs and I actually felt as though I might start tearing up. In that moment I wished I had stayed with Petra but the wheels were already rolling.
Reaching into my purse, I pulled out my phone and unlocked it. There was a new message from George. I opened it up and read.
“What’s up tonight?” said George’s message, sent just a few minutes prior.
I stared at the phone for a minute or two before I pushed the lock button and slid it back into my purse.
Three
The next morning, dressed in a pair of black yoga pants and a tank, I groggily slid in my flip-flops into the coffee shop desperately in need of a caffeinated burst. As I walked through the door, however, I saw George sitting at a table, her beaten up laptop flipped open, tapping furiously on the keyboard. I smiled with a hint of uncertainty and slithered up to her, trying to get my head on straight.
“Yo,” I said to George as I approached.
“Hey Macy,” she said with a smile, looking up at me from her computer. “What’s up?”
“Sorry I missed your text last night,” I said. “I was out late doing stand up and the night got away from me.”
“It’s cool,” she said, nodding unflappably. “I copped a drink at the Clipper and met up with some people.”
“Cool,” I said. “I’m not really staying here,” I continued on. “Just gotta get a cup of coffee and wake up.”
“Yeah,” said George. “I’m still waking up. But I do my best work hungover. Kinda kills the inner critic, you know?”
“Or the inner critic just has too much of a headache to come out an
d bitch,” I said.
“Right,” she said.
“All right, I’m gonna get my coffee,” I said. “I’ll see you around?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Maybe we could get together late night?”
“I dunno,” I said. “Text me later.”
“Will do,” she said. After a strange moment of silence together, I gave George a toothy smile, turned from her, and walked up to the counter to get my coffee.
Back outside, sipping from the plastic lid of my cup, I began the return walk to my apartment. All I could think about was the previous night’s kiss with Petra. I didn’t mean to get myself into such a pickle and it really made me feel like I was going crazy. I mean, just the other day I was totally smitten with George despite the fact that sometimes she operated as though I was just a moist hole to push her fingers into, and now today I’m barely speaking to her at the coffee shop. Maybe that’s all unfair to George. Maybe I should give her the benefit of the doubt. It was true that she was a weirdo, just like me. We both had our quirks and I should accept that. Just because she acts a certain way that doesn’t mean she can’t feel a different way. We were kinda dating, I guess. Macy, you need to figure this shit out.
Waiting for the light to change so I could cross the street, I heard my phone begin to ring in my purse. I unzipped it and yanked my phone out, checking the caller ID. It was the talent agency. My eyes lit up.
“Hello?” I eagerly spoke into the phone after answering, beginning my walk across the street.
“Hey Macy,” said the voice on the other end. “It’s Meghan.”
“Hi Meghan,” I said. “What’s shakin’?”
“I just wanted to let you know some good news,” she said. “Mr. Oppenheimer had a conversation with Amy Schneider yesterday and mentioned you.”
“Oh my God!” I exclaimed. “Really?”
“Yes indeed,” said Meghan. “Amy plans to be in Chicago this coming week and would be happy to meet up with you for a chat. She wants to ‘welcome you to the club,’” she said.
Salacious Stand Up: A Funny Lesbian Romance by Nicolette Dane (2016-06-22) Page 12
