by Jeff Strand
We didn’t select ugly dresses for her bridesmaids and we didn’t name our future children, but things were as serious as they could be without Laura actually speaking the words “I love you.” I hadn’t said “I love you” again since the night of our first kiss. I don’t know why. I guess I was just waiting for her to say them for the first time before I said them for the second time so we could say them time and time again.
Christmas vacation was absolutely miserable. Three weeks without Laura! I was in hell! I hate to admit this, but not having her around really turned me into a grouch. My parents were getting sick of me after the second day. One night, as I lay in bed thinking of Laura, I even yelled at some carolers who were outside singing “Silent Night, Holy Night.”
“Will you shut up?” I shouted as I threw open my window. “I’m trying to sleep in heavenly peace too!”
“Okay, boys, we’ve got a Scrooge!” announced one of the carolers. “Let’s egg him!”
I barely got my window closed before the hailstorm of rotten eggs pelted against it. That never would have happened if Laura had been around.
Travis and I returned to school, noting that Tanglewood Hall seemed to have sunk a bit into the ground. When I finally saw Laura again, our lips might as well have been superglued together. I take that back—superglued together implies a lack of motion that certainly didn’t exist.
About a month into the new semester, we were doing a show at a club known as Har-Har’s Joke Palace, a place that was just as lame as its name implied. The M.C. wore a clown nose and Bozo wig, and honked this stupid squeaky horn about eighty times during his introductions. The headliner was some guy who’d appeared on a bunch of talk shows I’d never heard of and appeared to be in serious gastrointestinal distress during his entire routine. Both of our Friday night shows had gone over well, and our first Saturday night show was also moving along smoothly.
As I sat in the back, I noticed a man seated right up front at a table by himself, sipping a soft drink as he watched the show. He was a small guy, probably in his late forties, mostly bald, with a tiny black mustache. He watched intently, concentrating on every word. Every once in a while when the audience would laugh he’d glance around the room, as if unsure of the source of their merriment. He did this through our entire show, not once so much as cracking a smile.
After we were finished and the M.C. began to honk his way through introducing the headliner, the man stood up and walked back over to us. “May I join you?” he inquired, adjusting his wire-framed glasses.
We all nodded, and the man pulled out a chair and sat down. “Hello,” he said. “My name is Martin Madden. You did well tonight—the audience seemed to enjoy it very much.”
“Thanks,” said Laura. “What did you think?”
Martin bit his lower lip. “I enjoyed the audience’s laughter. But that’s not important. What is important is that you appear to be three very talented individuals who should be playing in much more desirable venues.”
“What could be more desirable than Har-Har’s Joke Palace?” asked Travis.
Martin frowned. “I would think a large number of places would be more desirable. For example, I can think of several clubs in the Ohio area alone that hold higher standards of—”
“I was kidding,” said Travis.
“Oh,” said Martin. “That’s good. Audiences enjoy it when a comedian kids around with them. Anyway, am I correct in assuming that you three are not currently under agency representation?”
“That’s right.” (This is such a minor bit of dialogue that it really doesn’t matter who said it.)
“Perhaps you would consider allowing me to represent you.” He took out three business cards and handed them to each of us. They were certainly nicely produced little cards, and I noticed that he had a Los Angeles address.
“I have a question,” I said. “Why us? I’m just wondering because I watched you watch our show, and it didn’t look like you found anything even the least bit funny.”
“I have to admit, my humorous tastes lean more toward traditional joke telling.” His mouth turned upward into something that six out of any given twelve jurors might consider a smile. “My brother-in-law shared one with me just last month...how many feminists does it take to change a light bulb?”
“How many?” Laura asked.
“Six.” Now we were even closer to a legally binding smile.
There was a long pause.
“And...?” Travis asked.
“And?”
“And why does it take six?”
“Oh, I think my brother-in-law said something about that, but I don’t recall his explanation. But you have to admit, the very concept of it requiring six feminists to change one light bulb is certainly amusing.”
There was another long pause.
“We’ve got nineteen or twenty possible agents lined up,” said Travis, “but we’ll definitely keep you in mind.”
“No, wait,” said Martin. “I realize that I’m not the funniest person in the world, or even in the top ten. I’ll be completely honest...comedy baffles me. I don’t get it. I’ve read books and scholarly articles and even conducted interviews, but humor still eludes me. However, I can see its effect on others, and Out of Whack produces that effect to a significant degree. And I’d like to be part of it. I want to represent you. I want to make Out of Whack as big as it possibly can be.”
Travis, Laura and I all exchanged an uncomfortable glance. “I don’t think so,” said Laura, finally. “You seem nice, but not what we’re looking for.”
“Oh, but I’m not nice!” Martin insisted. “I mean, I’d be nice to you, of course, but when I’m trying to promote a client I can be a real...” he trailed off, searching for the right word, “...bastard. I’d work hard for you.”
“Who else do you represent?” Laura asked.
“I represent three Los Angeles comedians. They’re all at an early stage in their careers, just like you, but I’ve gotten them work.”
“What kind of work?” Travis asked. “But before you answer, I need to warn you that I’m about to make a kidding statement, so brace yourself. Was it work washing dishes?”
Martin shook his head vigorously. “No, no, it was actual work. Several stand-up engagements, and one of them even got a bit role in the situation comedy Otto’s World. He played a surly waiter. I understand that people considered his performance very funny.” He took a deep breath. “I realize those aren’t especially impressive credits, but these things happen slowly. You wouldn’t have to worry about being trapped with me, since our initial contract will allow you to break off the relationship any time you want. You have nothing to lose.”
“We’ll have to discuss this,” said Laura. “But we’ll give you a call as soon as possible.”
Martin took out a pen and picked up the business card Travis had set on the table. “Here, let me write down the number where I’m staying. I’m just here for a friend’s wedding, but I’ll be returning to California the day after tomorrow. I would like to stick around and videotape your next performance, if that’s acceptable with you.”
“Doesn’t bother me,” said one of us (once again, it doesn’t matter whom), and the other two nodded our agreement. Martin gave the card back to Travis, then returned to his seat at the front of the room, eliciting a very rude joke from the headliner that Martin didn’t comprehend.
“What do you think?” asked Laura, after he’d left.
“I think an agent is a great idea,” said Travis. “But not him.”
“There wouldn’t be any risk, though,” I said. “Remember, we can get out of the contract any time we want.”
“Regardless, I think we’ll just be wasting our time with him. It’s great that we have an offer to sign with an agent, but we don’t want to rush into anything.”
“I think Travis is right,” said Laura. “He just didn’t seem like what we need.”
“Okay,” I said. “But I think that we should start seriously looking for somebo
dy to represent us. We can only go so far calling up comedy clubs ourselves begging for time on stage.”
“Absolutely,” said Laura.
We did a nice job on our second show, and Martin stood in the back, videotaping everything. I was going to tell him good-bye after we were done, but he was already gone.
* * *
Three days later, while I sat alone in my dorm room one evening not studying for classes, I noticed Martin’s card resting on one of the few non-sticky parts of my desk. I felt bad that I’d forgotten to call him back, so I picked up the phone and dialed.
“Martin Madden,” he said.
“Martin? Hi, this is Seth Trexler, from Out of Whack. We talked to you on Saturday.”
“Right. I’ve been hoping you’d call. How are you?”
“Pretty good. Look, I just wanted to let you know that we considered your offer, and have to decline. But we do appreciate your interest.”
“That’s very disappointing,” said Martin after a short pause. “I’m going to have to reject the offer here, then.”
“What offer?”
“I’ve been sending the tape around, and the manager of The Comedy Convention absolutely loved it. He found so much humor in it that he would be interested in having you three do a stint performing your skits in between each of the stand-up acts.”
“How long of a stint?” I asked.
“That would depend on how well his audience responded to you. I could get a three-week contract, which would then be extended accordingly. Plus the Bob Staples TV show offered to do a preliminary interview to see if they wanted you as a guest. It’s a local station, but the ratings are good.”
“We changed our minds,” I told him.
“Is that so?”
“Yes. Travis and Laura aren’t here, but they’ve changed their minds, too. Where do we sign?”
Chapter Thirty-Three
“Worshipping the Cud-Chewing Cow of Destiny”
(I asked Travis what he thought I should call this one)
“AAAAAHHHHH!” said Travis.
“That’s right,” I said, with a huge smile. “We’d be staying in a pretty pathetic hotel for the first three weeks, but if this became a long-term job, who knows?”
“AAAAAHHHHH!” Travis repeated. “I can’t believe the guy came through! This is great!”
Laura, who was seated in the corner of our dorm room on a beanbag we’d swiped from the lounge, did not look nearly as excited. “What about school?” she asked.
“Well...we’d leave,” I admitted. My parents weren’t exactly going to approve, considering that they were still recovering from their near dual-coronaries upon receiving my report card. My grades last semester hadn’t exactly set the world on fire—it’s more accurate to say that they extinguished it.
“Seth, you know how much Out of Whack means to me, but I can’t just drop out of school and fly down to California. Can’t we at least reschedule this for summer break?”
“I don’t...I mean, maybe, but...I don’t know.” I rattled my head to clear my thoughts. “No, we can’t. That’s four months away, and the job probably won’t still be there.”
“You’re on academic probation as it is. If you take off like this they won’t let you back in. Suppose this job only lasts the three weeks? What then?”
“Then we’d come back. All we’d have to do is make arrangements with our professors before we left.”
“What, make arrangements for a three-week absence? That’s a fifth of the semester! Even if I was able to make up the work, most of my classes have attendance requirements, pop quizzes, lectures that cover material not in the book. I can’t miss them.”
“What do you mean you can’t miss them? We have work in L.A.! We probably get to be on television! You’re going to pass this up for some stupid classes?”
Travis cracked his knuckles uncomfortably. “This is a professional spat and not a lover’s spat, so I can’t just excuse myself, can I?”
I turned to him. “Travis, do you think we should go?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Two to one, Laura’s outvoted.”
“This isn’t a voting situation,” said Laura. “Neither of you seem to think that college is a big deal, but it is to me. I worked hard to get here. I have two and a half years invested in this place. And I have scholarships that I have to pay back if I get incompletes in my classes, which would also screw up my chances of getting money for future semesters!”
I walked over and plopped down on my bed. “Laura, this could be our big chance.”
“Could be. Those are the operative words. You’re basically asking me to throw away my college degree for this, and ‘this’ amounts to a short-term contract at a mid-level comedy club and maybe getting on a small morning talk show. It’s not anywhere near enough.”
I resisted the urge to rip my pillow to shreds and devour them in frustration. “You know, it would have been nice to tell us a few months ago that you weren’t in this for the long haul.”
“Oh, I’m not in it for the long haul just because I won’t drop everything, trash my education, and take off to California? What happens if we fly down there, only get three weeks of work out of it, and then nothing else comes up? I get myself some job packing groceries?”
“What makes you think nothing will happen? We’re good. All we need is some decent exposure!”
Laura got up, walked over, and sat down on the bed next to me. She placed her hand on my leg. “Seth, sweetheart, lots of people are good. There are people out there who have just as much talent, who work harder, and have been trying for years to make it big without success. If you think we’re going to do a couple of shows and suddenly become huge stars, you’re being incredibly naive.”
“I don’t think we’re going to suddenly become huge stars,” I said. “But it’s definitely a step up from what we’re doing now, and we have to keep taking those steps. We’ll never make it hanging around Ohio playing the kinds of clubs we have been. We need to take this opportunity and turn it into something much bigger. It’s a risk, yeah, but it’s a risk we need to take.”
“I can’t.”
“Then we’re screwed,” I said. “We may as well have never started this whole thing to begin with, if we’re not going to take it any further than what we already have.”
“I completely agree that we should take it further. Seth, I want Out of Whack to be a huge success. I just don’t think that what Los Angeles has to offer us right now is worth what we’d be giving up. We certainly won’t be able to support ourselves on what The Comedy Convention is willing to pay, so we’d be stuck working crappy day jobs while we waited for our big break.”
“So we work crappy day jobs. What’s wrong with that?”
“We may never get that big break!”
I took a deep breath. “You’re the one who got Out of Whack jump-started again. If you had no intention of following through, you should have left it alone.”
“If I had no intention of following through, I wouldn’t have put so much work into the troupe! I wouldn’t have given up almost all of my spare time, busted my ass for it! This wasn’t some diversion for me, this was something important! But I’m not going to risk wasting everything else I’ve worked for just to take it one step further. Not yet.”
Travis cleared his throat. “I’m sensing some negative energy here. We don’t have to give an answer right away, so why doesn’t everyone just sleep on it and we’ll discuss it in the morning. Okay?”
“I have classes all morning,” said Laura.
“Then we’ll discuss it at lunch,” I said. “Your professors do allow you an opportunity for lunch, right?”
“Don’t be sarcastic.”
“Okay, seriously, we need to call a time out,” Travis said. “I’ll walk Laura back to her dorm and we can all meet tomorrow when we’ve had time to find our happy places.”
“I can walk her back,” I said.
“I’m sure you can, Seth, bu
t you’re not going to. I already annoy her as much as any human being possibly can, so we don’t have to worry about damaging our relationship any further.”
While they were gone I alternated between dark, unhealthy thoughts and fantasies about winning the very first Academy Award given to somebody whose performance in a comedy skit was so good that the fact that they’d never actually been in a movie was deemed irrelevant. I turned on my computer and tried to write, but the words refused to come.
Twenty minutes later, Travis returned to the room. I continued staring at my computer screen.
“What’re you writing?” he asked.
“A skit.”
“Oh.”
I continued to not type.
“Is it a good one?”
“Not yet.”
“Oh.”
I finally managed to press a few keys.
“What’d you type?”
“The word ‘there.’”
“Is it funny in context?”
“Not really.”
“Oh.”
I shut off the monitor. “So what did you two talk about?”
“Nothing. She didn’t say a word the whole way there. She’s definitely upset.”
“Yeah, well, I’m upset, too.”
“I can definitely see her point,” said Travis. “It’s a huge step. You and me, we’re slackers, we’ve had it pretty easy. Our parents will scream at us for dropping out of college, yeah, but we won’t be stuck in the same financial situation that Laura will. She has more to lose.”
“No, we all have the same amount to lose,” I said. “We’d all be taking the same risk.”
Travis shook his head. “That’s not true, and you’d realize it immediately if you were in a better frame of mind. We’re here in college because it’s something to do. You graduate high school, you go to college, you get a job. But Laura—”
“I know, I know,” I said. “She’s here because it’s important to her. It always has been. Really, I understand everything she said. It’s just so frustrating. This could be our big chance!”
“Yeah.”
“I guess I just always assumed that if something like this happened, we’d all leap at the opportunity. If I’d put any serious thought into it, I’d have realized that I was wrong.”