“Yes, great deduction skills, Sherlock,” Jessalynn says. “Madison Square Garden was too big. Joe’s Pub was too small. Let’s hope, foryour sake, Goldilocks, that this venue isjust right. We’re running out of time.”
I roll my eyes at their mixed metaphor before an idea amuses me. “Detective Goldie Sher-locks, a reformed trespasser investigating the crimes of burglars, bandits, and other atrocities against bears.”
“Cute,” Jessalynn says, pushing us through the entryway and into a lobby that has an industrial art-gallery feel to it. “Write it down. Save it for when a publisher asks if you want a book deal. We all know it’s coming sooner or later. You’re nobody in comedy until you’ve written a memoir, a humorous collection of essays, or an adults-only picture book.”
Before they can make another pointed yet accurate observation, a short Asian woman with medium-length dark hair wearing a white button-down shirt appears with a portfolio under her arm and two flutes of champagne in her hands. “Nolan Baker, how kind of you to join us today. I’m Cassandra Yuen. It’s a pleasure.”
“Sorry we’re late,” Jessalynn concedes while taking the drinks, their tone laced with subtext:Divas, am I right?Their knowing looks confirm that I’m the diva in question, and they’ve both been around the block with more than a few. Never in my life have I had the opportunity to play the diva.
Maybe leaving CeeCee’s wedding was a major diva move, but who knows what time warp or wormhole I slipped through to end up here? If I’m lucky, in this reality that never happened.
“No need to be sorry.” Cassandra’s smile sparkles with politeness. “We’re thrilled you’re considering our lovely space for your special taping. I’ll show you around.”
The tour takes us through the front-of-house area and the control booth. Cassandra weaves an oral history of the space, and I barely touch my bubbly, enraptured by every word she’s saying. Our three sets of shoes click down storied hallways, while I consider thatnobody has ever tried to woo me to do comedy somewhere before. I’ve always been the wooer.
It’s a swap of fates.
When we enter the theater proper, air saws out of my lungs in amazement. It’s stunning. Weathered, antique pillars. A gilded, rounded proscenium is adorned with a painted image of a warrior riding a four-legged creature, arrow drawn back in battle. The space is awash in mossy green, muted peach, and gold. So, so much gold.
It’s worn, like all the clubs I’ve performed in, but alive with so much elegance. I would pay good money for the privilege of standing on that stage. Turns out, in this life, people are going to paymeto perform on it.
“Do you like it?” Cassandra asks after pointing out a few of the finer points: the sound system, the seating capacity, the sight lines, and the plentiful space for the Netflix film crew to come in and do their thing.
Jessalynn jumps in. “Nolan likes many of the venues we’ve scouted, so we’ll save any deliberations for once we’ve made our final decision.”
I don’t pout or say anything to the contrary. Instead, I let Cassandra lead the way backstage; rows and rows of flipped-up seats flit by in my periphery. I imagine them filled with eager audience members, ready to laugh and love me.
Goose bumps appear on my arms when I step on the stage for the first time. Cassandra is too busy regaling Jessalynn with information about the lighting rig, so I take the opportunity to stop and inhale this moment. Even amidst the chaos, a stage is still where I feel most at home. No matter the year or my age.
Facing out on the auditorium, I stare up into the balcony, overwhelmed by this sudden change in the trajectory of my life. None of this can be real.
Cassandra’s voice breaks my reverie. “Can we hear a joke?”
“What?”
She motions for me to step forward a foot or two. “Pretend your microphone stand is there. Tread the boards a bit. Try out some material. I think you’ll find our theater is quite responsive. Many performers say it has a palpable energy.”
Jessalynn shrugs, checking their phone. “Go on. Do something. It’s a good idea.”
I get excited all over again. That surging adrenaline that always comes before I launch into a joke. “I was broken up with recently. Dumped right on the sidewalk like the crust on a dollar slice of pizza after a drunken night out.” I take a studied beat. “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 hoping someone finds you delicious, and waiting on a rebound rat to come make a meal out of ya.”
Cassandra’s laugh is exaggerated yet truthful, and it prompts me to turn back. Jessalynn’s harsh stare roils through me. “That was excellent,” Cassandra says. “Let’s continue.”
As Cassandra starts ahead, Jessalynn asks in a whisper, “What was that?”
“What was what?”
“That old, crusty-ass material. You’re not reviving those jokes for your set, right? You understand this is your first special. If you blow this one, there might not be another.”
“Really packing on the pressure, huh?” I don’t have any new material. Seven years have flown by. What kind of jokes could I come up with while missing key memories?
Switching to false friendship mode, they link an arm in mine. “No, not at all. You’re a fucking star, and I’m just making sure you shine the brightest you possibly can. Okay?”
Our little aside is interrupted by Cassandra unlocking thedressing room. It’s spacious, clean, fancy—meant for a world-class headliner to luxuriate in.
“Take a look around.” Cassandra doesn’t need to tell me twice. I inspect my new self in the mirror, go for a spin in the chair, and soak in the general ambiance. “Of course, we have full staff to decorate the space and provide refreshments to your liking. Anything you’ll need will be accounted for. Jessalynn did us the courtesy of sending over your rider early.”
“Rider?” I ask.
