“Ew, Nolan, I don’t need to know about Harry’s hard place…” They swat me with a nearby rag and, okay fine, I crack a laugh. Because laughing feels better than stewing. “I’m sure Harry will understand if you’re a little late.”
I pause over this, considering how punctual Harry is for everything and how he appeared majorly peeved when I arrived late toour first date. Which didn’t even seem to matter once we ordered because he spent the whole meal monologuing about being a director. I barely got a word in edgewise. Regardless, he’s used to timetables and planning and making sure people are where they’re supposed to be when they’re supposed to be there, which gives him major wedding date points. “I’m not so sure about that.”
“Okay, well,” they huff, visibly growing frustrated, “what is for sure is that I know you, and if you pass up this opportunity, you’re going to be kicking yourself forever. Just like how you passed up that opportunity to tell Drew about your feelings after Near Year’s Eve two years ago until it was too late!”
After Drew and I kissed for the second time, drunk and casually pairing off when the clock struck midnight at a party in Alphabet City, I debated coming clean to him about my sudden, swoopy feelings. But I waited, playing it all off as justone of those thingsuntil he eventually started seeing someone from one of his lectures, and I realized it was better this way.
That’s when I resigned myself to:from afar, I can’t fuck it up.
“Again, with the loud projection of my love!” I push the memory of the kiss and my unsaid words aside.
“You want loud? I CAN GET LOUDER!” Jessie’s challenge is backed by many years of yelling orders through the window to our cooks. “Who’s the funniest guy I know?”
“I am!” I shout back, feeling the adrenaline begin to surge, needing to channel this whole conundrum into something actionable.
“Who’s going to be a famous stand-up some day?”
“I am!”
“Who’s going to go up to Wanda anddemanda spot in tonight’s open mic?”
“I AM!” I stop jumping when that registers. “Wait, I’m going to what?”
“Yeah, you’re going towhat?” Wanda asks, appearing again out of thin air.
Wanda’s got many talents, but chief among them is sneaking up on people. The famous golden clipboard has replaced the tray in her hands from earlier. My heart hitches with unbridled anticipation at what that clipboard symbolizes.
Quickly, I finish shoving the plates into the industrial-grade washer. With caution to the wind and Jessie’s encouraging eyes on me, I say, “Throw me a bone and sneak me into the lineup tonight.”
She hits me with a withering look. “Let’s see…” She runs the eraser end of her No. 2 pencil down her list. “We’re full up. You lose. Good day, sir.”
My shoulders slump. “There’s nothing at all?”
“There’s maybe some wiggle room at the very end of the night if you want it,” she says, knowing full well I don’t.
“Nothing earlier?” I regret the question as soon as it slips out of my mouth, but Clive might leave by then if his cousin has already performed.
“Why? Is that past your bedtime?” she asks, goading me as she always does for being the baby on staff. “Thought you’d be all rested up after that catnap I caught you taking.”
My cheeks grow hot. “Ha, good one. Sorry about that. Everything is haywire with my sister’s wedding coming up. It’s just, well, I was hoping to work out some material in front of a really good audience.” I hope she gets my message. Spelling it out will only make my plight more desperate.
“Are you suggesting some of the crowds my club attracts aren’treallygood?” Wanda squints in challenge, staring down at me from atop her three-inch heels. Being a comedian means serving yourself up for scrutiny night after night, which largely lets you check intimidation at the door with your coat. Hecklers don’t usually make meflinch, but Wanda still intimidates the shit out of me, even after three whole years working under her.
“No, not at all! They’re all really good. They’re just not all…loose?” I’m grasping at straws here.
“If you’re looking for loose, you’ve come to the wrong club,” she huffs. “Try Candiez up near Times Square.” She’s on the move again, zipping out of the kitchen and back out onto the bustling floor.
“Really crushing it tonight with these zingers, Wanda,” I say to her still-beelining backside. “Maybe you should do a set. Dust off the old joke book.”
“Now I know you’re not trying to butter me up for a slot tonight.” She stops near the bar, where Jessie takes up their mantle once more.
“You call it buttering up. I call it paying compliments where compliments are due.” I’m batting my eyelashes, but she can’t see given how dim it is in here. She turns and mutters something sardonic to Jessie, who hits me with pity eyes. I hate pity eyes more than I hate drunk patrons who don’t tip.
“Give Nolan a break,” Jessie says, oozing their usual charisma. “He upsells more drinks in a night than some of these newbies do in a week.” Jessie punches me encouragingly on the shoulder before scooting past to take an order.
After a lengthy groan, Wanda relents to the simple facts. Those drink sales and door fees are how she’s stayed successful all this time. “Give it to me straight first. Why tonight? What’s so special about tonight?”
It’s clear she doesn’t know who’s here. I jut my chin in the direction of a tall dude with tied-back hair, one leg crossed over the other, a notebook open on his table beside a pint glass and a pitcher. “You know I’ve been working on getting an audition with the Broadway Laugh Box. I have the tape. I only need one more late-night reference. He could be that one.”
