“When you think about it, being broken up with is a lot like being pizza crust. You’re half of what you once were, still hopingsomeone finds you delicious, and waiting on a rebound rat to come make a meal out of ya.” There comes the first proper laugh from the audience, including Clive, who I see out of the corner of my eye lift his glass in commiseration and write something down in his notebook. “If there are any hungry subway vermin out in the crowd tonight, meet me out back by the dumpsters after my set. I’m back on the market and happy to give you a taste.”
Losing Harry doesn’t seem like so much of a loss anymore because by the end of the set, I’ve won over the crowd, including Clive. And that? That’s the only true thing that matters.
Chapter Five
TWO WEEKS LATER
Thirty minutes before my big audition, Jessie and I stand holding hands outside the Broadway Laugh Box, a white brick building squished up against a faded orange town house. The club itself is a narrow building, barely a sliver, and if it weren’t for its bright-blue script sign overhead, you might walk right by without noticing it.
New York is like that. Even the extraordinary places blend in because everything holds something extraordinary to someone here.
Two weeks ago, I impressed Clive with my set, got the reference I needed, wooed the booker with my tape, and now I’m here.Myextraordinary place is welcoming me through its doors for the first time. It’s both a breath of relief and a bullet train of anxiety through my gut.
A text pings in from Drew. When I open my messages app, I swipe over the stagnated thread with Harry. A few times over the last two weeks, I considered sending him a text, leaving him a voicemail, trying to explain the situation to him better than I had outside the club.
But what’s the use? Even if he forgives me, there’s no way he’ll still be my wedding date, and frankly, after his parting words, I’m not sure I’d want him to be. If he doesn’t believe in me, he sure ashell doesn’t deserve an open bar, a pricey entrée, and my best dance moves.
Besides, maybe him breaking it off with me at that exact moment was the best thing that ever happened. The jokes it prompted got me here, didn’t they?
Forgetting about Harry, I tap Drew’s contact photo—a cute picture of him at the Whitney Museum looking up at a beautiful piece of art. His message:We still on for lunch today?
Quickly, I type back:Shit. Sorry. I forgot. Big audition today. Big. HUGE!
I know he’ll soften at the quasi–Pretty Womanreference. I’ve been so focused on preparing for this audition that I’ve let all my other obligations slip. Even my social ones.
Drew’s typing bubbles appear and disappear a few times. Nervous already, I’m expecting a thought-out diatribe about updating our Google calendar. Instead, I get:Break all the legs, Nolan. xo
My heart does a one-eighty, pitter-pattering for Drew and his understanding sweetness. I tap out a thank-you and a smiley face before Jessie demands my attention with a squeeze of the hand.
“In the name of the setup, the punch line, and the holy booker, we pray,” Jessie says, bowing their head, so I do the same. “Oh, divine comedienne in the sky, please bless Nolan Baker with the clarity to remember his set, the bravery to deliver it with gusto, and the confidence to leave them in stitches. Amen.” They glance at me expectantly. “Now you say it.”
“Ahh-men,” I say like I’m thanking the universe for their beautiful creation.
“Bastard,” Jessie mutters with an eye roll before tugging me in to face them. “You. Got. This.” They punctuate each word with a sharp poke in the center of my chest. “Walk in there like you deserve to be there because you do. Say it back to me.”
I take a deep breath, looking Jessie right in the jade-green eyes that are even starker thanks to their fresh buzz. “I belong in there.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m fucking funny!”
“Yeah, funny-looking,” says a short, scraggly white-bearded man rolling a shopping cart full of empty soda cans past us. As soon as he rounds the corner, cackling all the while, we burst out laughing too.
“New York,” I say. “Always keeping me humble.”
Two-and-a-half weeks later, I’m sitting in Wanda’s office before a shift, stuffing my face with another slice of humble pie.
“‘I’ll call you.’ That’s what he said, I’ll call you,” I say to Wanda while clutching my phone, staring at its black screen. I can hear the booker’s southern drawl that would’ve been more at home in the Wild West than on the West Side. “It’s been so long since the audition, and nothing. Radio silence. Don’t tell someone you’ll call and then don’t call!”
Truthfully, the audition didn’t feel great. Maybe it was the material. Maybe it was me.
The prayer Jessie and I sent out into the universe went half-answered. The booker chuckled a few times. Nodded a few times. But for the most part, he seemed in a better mood when I arrived than he did when I left. A definite bad sign.
Jessie was more optimistic about the whole situation. “He was probably just deliberating. Seeing where you’d fit best in the lineup they have. Don’t stress so much about it. Did you do your best?”
I lied and said, “Yeah.”
“Well, then you did what you could and your best deserves a doughnut.”
