“Uh…okay?”
I hang up, certain my plan will work.
It’s foolproof.
I’m a fool.
As usual, the audience is slow to take their seats. Front of house is swamped. The servers are racing to fill drink and food orders before the main acts take the stage. I’d be pinching myself over being one of those main acts if I weren’t punching myself for being reckless.
Weed Bro from before, who ventured outside to smoke when one of the Phone Girls complained, bolts back into the room, out of breath. “Shit. You’re not going to believe this. Two guys booked the same table. Some mix-up with the box office. One of the dudes was already drunk and he threw a punch. A fight broke out.”
Phone Girls, having exhibited no signs of life other than apparent disgust for reality, perk up, demanding more details. When Weed Bro’s info is not enough, they race out to see the commotion for themselves.
Instead of staying behind, I make my way in the direction of thestage, stomach sinking lower with each damn step. I need to find Clive. Maybe he’ll understand or offer advice. Something tells me I can trust him.
I find him backstage, eyes closed, AirPods in. He’s doing some kind of tai chi, shifting his weight while his arms flow freely. I hate to break his preshow calm, but I’m in a crisis. “Clive, do you think we’re going to start soon?”
He pops out one pod. “Not sure. Security is escorting the men out of the club now. It wouldn’t be a comedy show without seventy delays. Have you got somewhere to be?”
“Yeah, sorta.” I hook my hands behind my neck, suit jacket riding up constrictively. “You see…” And then it all comes pouring out. The wedding. The stress. The five-year plan. The ten-year plan. How I just quit my job for a corporate position at Doop, thinking my comedy career was over before this miracle occurred.
I’m glad Clive was already in a zen place when I found him. Otherwise I’d probably stress him out by sheer proximity, burying him under my rapid-fire words.
Blinking back at me, he takes it all in, then looks me dead in the eyes. “I can’t tell you what to do, Nolan, but can I offer you some advice?” I’ve never nodded faster in my life. “Doors in this business slam shut more often than they open. If you leave now,Iwon’t hold it against you, but the booker, the owner? Can’t say anything for certain, but they don’t take kindly to no-shows.”
My hooked hands find their way into my hair, raking with such furious concern I could pull each strand out by its root. Make a sculpture of my stupidity with them. “So, in other words, I’m in deep shit either way?”
“I might’ve used different words, but yeah, sort of.” His calmness falters. “If you’re as hungry for this as I think you are—I mean, hell, you left your own sister’s wedding, which,daaaaaaamn—then itseems like an easy choice to me. This career comes with big sacrifices. Are you willing to make them?”
My mind’s eye flickers to CeeCee, Mom and Dad, Drew, James and his many Connecticut-bred brothers. The other guests, the officiant, a nearly drenched Great-Aunt Judy and the plate of organic lavender-honey-basted chicken they probably had to throw out because I was nowhere to be found.
How happy they all were that I was finally “settling down” into the life they wanted for me.
I have to hope that on the other side of this, they’ll understand that giving up on my dream for Doop would’ve never fulfilled me. I might’ve found contentment, but not true happiness. Don’t they want me to be truly happy?
When they ask why I did it, I’ll say: Opportunity knocked, and I had no choice but to answer. They may not like it, but they’ll have to respect it.
Life is a series of in-the-moment choices, snowballing into an always uncertain future. Other people can weigh in on my choices all they want, undermine the career I’ve been striving for, but at the end of the day, I’m the only one who has to live with those choices.
I choose my dream.
And I absolutely, positivelycrush it.
Chapter Eleven
Cloud Nine carries me all the way back to Brooklyn. I keep pinching myself, tiny reminders thatI fucking did that. I brought the house down at the Broadway Laugh Box.
There wasn’t a dry eye in the audience from everybody laughing so hard.
When I reenter the wedding venue, they’re getting ready for the bouquet toss, which stops me in my tracks.
Wait. That can’t be right. My phone died before my set and nobody had a charger handy, but I couldn’t be that late, could I?
CeeCee, looking radiant with a dancing-induced, newly married glow about her, is sauntering to the center of the floor wearing a full smile.
I find myself smack in the middle of a group of onlookers who are shuffling forward with anticipation.
My heart glitches as I realize just how poor my calculations had been.
