“They’re hanging all over the place.”
The audience stares.
A couple of people grunt, “Huh?” and “What?”
Can’t really blame ’em. What I just said makes absolutely no sense.
Now I hear people clearing their throats. Others are squirming in their seats. I’m squirming in mine, too. This goes on for, like, sixty seconds—the longest minute in the history of the universe. It’s not exactly what you would call Must-See TV.
“Cut,” shouts Brad Grody. “Stop the feed. Hollywood says pull the plug.”
I hear a click in the ceiling. “Let’s give Jamie another chance,” pleads Mr. Wetmore.
“No can do. Mr. Amodio is a busy man,” says Grody.
The house lights come up. I see the disappointment in the faces of all those wheelchair kids down front, the ones who were going to laugh the loudest.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble as they all silently head toward the exits.
That’s when Donna Dinkle decides to come on set and give me her opinion, too.
“I thought you were supposed to be funny.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I thought so, too.”
PART TWO
All That Glitters
Chapter 37
THE SECOND-WORST DAY OF MY LIFE
I sit silently in the fake comedy club as the audience streams out.
This is starting to feel like the second-worst day of my life. (It would be the absolute worst day of my life, but that already took place when I lost my family. It will never be topped, no matter how long I live.)
I just shake my head when Uncle Frankie and my friends ask if I’m okay. They know me pretty well, so they nod and leave me alone.
When it’s just me and my wheelchair sitting in the semidarkness, Mr. Wetmore comes strolling onto the set.
“How you doing, Jamie?” he asks.
“I’ve had better days,” I say. “In fact, only one has ever been worse.”
“Hey, this sort of thing happens. That’s why I made a few phone calls.”
“To who? Professional carpet cleaners to come remove the sweat stains from my costume?”
Mr. Wetmore smiles. “No. My pals over at Saturday Night Live. I used to work at 30 Rock in the control booth. That’s why Joe Amodio wanted me in the booth for your show. I’m familiar with handling live broadcasts and all their unexpected surprises.”
“Like the main character forgetting his lines?”
He nods. “One time, I remember Jacky Hart was doing this bit…”
“You know Jacky Hart? She’s, like, the funniest person on SNL.”
“Well, we gave her the wrong cue cards. She was costumed for the cat sketch, but we had the cards up for the roller-derby number.”
“What did she do?”
“Winged it. Created one of the most hilarious SNL bits ever—”
“The roller-skating cats. I loved that! The way they argued about which cat would make the best YouTube video…”
“Well, Jacky loves you, too, Jamie. Wants you to be a special surprise guest star on the show tomorrow. They’re messengering over a script.”
“What? Me? On SNL?”
“It’s a live show, Jamie. Just like the one we’re gonna do. I figured it might be a good way for you to work through your nerves.”
“B-b-but…”
“Don’t worry. Jacky Ha-Ha will be out there with you.”
“Who’s Jacky Ha-Ha?”
“That’s what everybody at SNL calls Jacky Hart. Long story. Maybe she’ll tell it to you sometime. Anyway, Jacky is a real pro. Her motto is ‘Every mistake is just a chance to do something even funnier.’ If you freeze, she’ll thaw you out.”
“But today’s Friday. I won’t have time to memorize my lines by tomorrow.”
“You don’t really have to. They’ll all be written out for you on cue cards. Whaddaya say? Jacky really wants you on the show.”
I think about it for a second.
Mr. Wetmore is right. Doing a live show with the pros might help me get rid of some of my jitters about doing a live show of my own. And with the way my acting career is starting off, this chance might never come around again.
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s do it.”
“That’s the spirit. I’ll let Jacky know.”
I nod.
And hope my cue cards don’t get mixed up with the ones from Jacky Ha-Ha’s old cat sketch.
Chapter 38
FRIDAY NIGHT DEAD
Jacky Hart and the people at Saturday Night Live send me a script for a hilarious sketch. I read it on the ride home to Smileyville.
It’s fantastic. A five-minute bit about alien comedians coming to Earth to challenge me to a joke duel because they’ve heard that I’m the funniest kid comic on the planet. Jacky Hart plays the host for the interplanetary joke-off, but she does it as her most famous character, Priscilla the Prude, and that makes the whole scene even funnier.
Feeling better than I have all week, I roll up the ramp into Casa Smiley. I want to grab a quick snack in the kitchen and then head to the garage to run my lines for the SNL bit.
Maybe today’s disaster on set was just a one-time fluke, especially after listening to Donna Dinkle’s anti–pep talk. After all, when I was in the Planet’s Funniest Kid Comic Contest, I performed in front of a huge auditorium of people—and I won!
All of a sudden, I’m totally pumped about doing a live show. I’ve always done my best work in front of an audience. I feed off their energy. When it sounds like the whole world is laughing with me, it makes me feel, I don’t know, funnier. Laughter puts me in the zone.
I just wish someone would put Stevie Kosgrov in a zone, too.
A tow-away zone.
Because when I get home, I hear Stevie in his room. He’s snorting and laughing and having a great time. I figure he’s in there slaying some more helpless zombies on his Xbox.
But then I hear another voice.
A voice with a thick Midwestern accent, don’tcha know.
It’s Lars Johannsen.
Oh, no. My two worst nightmares have become one!
“Dumping the crip into a trash barrel is a two-person job,” Stevie tells Lars. “I couldn’t pull it off by myself.”
Lars smiles. Even his teeth are huge. “That’s why I’m here, Stevie! Come on. We need to practice our moves.…”
I can’t believe this.
Bullies rehearse, too? Amazing.
But I’ve got to be honest: The thought of Stevie Kosgrov and Lars Johannsen joining forces and ganging up on me is pretty terrifying. It’s like the Joker teaming up with Lex Luthor. Doctor Doom with Mister Sinister. These two are definitely the Injustice League.
I roll down the hall and take the ramp to the garage. You can bet I’m locking the dead bolt and using the door chain tonight.
As for tomorrow night… maybe Mr. Amodio will let me bring home one of those bodyguards.
Chapter 39
SAYING HI-HI TO HA-HA
This is amazing,” says Uncle Frankie as the limo drops us off outside 30 Rockefeller Center, the home of Saturday Night Live and The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon.
Not too long ago, Uncle Frankie treated us all to Saturday Night Live tickets and a gourmet hot-dog dinner on the street. I can’t believe we’re back in Manhattan because I’m going to be a special guest star. On SNL, not at the wiener cart.
It’s about four in the afternoon. Jacky Hart wants to go over the script with me a few times before the eight PM dress rehearsal (in front of a live studio audience) and then the eleven thirty PM live broadcast (in front of bajillions of people). We’re going to meet her up on the seventeenth floor, where SNL has its offices.
We roll into the lobby.
“Hey, Jamie!”
OMG. It’s Jimmy Fallon. I was a guest on his Tonight Show before the finals of the Planet’s Funniest Kid Comic Contest. I can’t believe he actually recognizes me.
“Heard you were doing SN
L tonight,” he says to me. “Have fun!”
He says good-bye, and some security guards show us which elevator to take up to the seventeenth floor.
The place is humming like a beehive. About fifty people are bustling around. Some trying on costumes. Some nibbling sandwiches. Others waving script pages and toting props.
“Jamie?”
It’s Jacky Hart. She has two girls with her, both about my age.
“These are my daughters, Tina and Grace. They’re huge fans.”
“So am I,” I say, trying not to stammer.
“No,” says Jacky, “they’re your fans, Jamie. Not mine. I’m their mother. Moms don’t have many fans in their own family.”
The two girls roll their eyes. The way daughters everywhere do when their moms embarrass them in public.
“You know,” Jacky says to me, “when I was your age, I was climbing Ferris wheels down on the Jersey shore.”
I do a comic arch of an eyebrow. “Hmmm,” I say nonchalantly. “Don’t think I’ll be doing that anytime soon.”
And instead of getting all gushy and apologizing for being politically incorrect, Jacky Hart just laughs. “Good one!”
I like this lady. I like her a lot.
Chapter 40
LIVE FROM NEW YORK, IT’S ME!
We rehearse in the big conference room.
We rehearse on the stage.
We dress-rehearse in front of a live audience.
It’s fun. The alien-comic bit is a hit.
Jacky Hart gives me a few pointers, tells me I’m doing great, and then, at eleven thirty on the dot, Saturday Night Live is on the air. And we’re the first act, the cold opening.
My costume is simple. I look like me. My chair looks like my chair.
Jacky Hart, however, has transformed into Priscilla the Prude. Tina Fey, the guest host for the night, is playing one of the alien comics. She has deely-bopper antennae bouncing around over her head and is pretending to be Princess Galactica from the planet Poingo Boingo.
A funny guy from the SNL cast named Charlie Garner is playing Chameleon the Comedian from a planet called Kaizuka. He’s wearing a lizard costume and a sparkly silver tuxedo space suit.
The three of us sit behind game-show contestant desks. Jacky Hart stands behind a podium.
Jacky Hart is hilarious. Her character, Priscilla the Prude, over e-nun-ci-ates every word she says. She also looks down her nose a lot.
“Welcome to the Funniest Kid Comic in the Universe Contest. Let’s meet our contestants. Jamie Grimm, who, theoretically, is the funniest kid comic on the planet Earth.”
“I have the trophy to prove it,” I say, nailing my first line.
“Did you bring it with you, young man?”
“No. Sorry. Couldn’t carry it and work my wheels at the same time.”
The crowd laughs. Jacky, in full prude mode, scowls at them, too.
“We also have Princess Galactica, the funniest child comedian on the planet Poingo Boingo.”
Tina Fey does a Spock salute. “Live long and prosper. Until I destroy you.”
“And our final contestant, from the planet Kaizuka, Chameleon the Comedian.”
Charlie Garner, underneath his giant lizard costume, launches into a cheesy Vegas routine.
“Hey, great to be here. I just flew five thousand light-years, and boy, is my tail tired.”
“Um, you mean your arms,” I say, trying to help him out.
“Negative. On my planet, we flap our tails.”
The audience laughs.
“Thank you,” the lizard says to the audience. “I love you, too. I mean that. I do. From the bottom of my lizard gizzard.”
“His joke is complete,” says Tina Fey in a robotic alien voice. “It is my turn.”
“Very well,” says Jacky. “Proceed, please.” She pronounces both p’s so properly, she sort of sprays them.
“Whoa,” says the lizard. “And I thought I was a flying-spit machine.”
Tina Fey grabs a microphone off the desk and works it like a stand-up comedian. “A Zizznat, a Flaggle, and a Hadorphian Mulchmumpher walk into a bar—”
“I’m sorry,” says Jacky. “No one on Earth knows what those things are.”
Tina Fey raises a funny-looking Super Soaker. It blinks and warbles. “Allow me to complete my amusing recitation.”
“Fine,” Jacky says to Tina, acting scared. “Give us your punch line.”
“Very well. They walk into a bar. It hurts. For the bar is made of Tilarium steel. It is quite comical.”
“I see…” says Jacky.
“You are not laughing.”
“Probably because it wasn’t funny.”
Tina raises her warbling Super Soaker again.
Jacky pretends to panic. “It wasn’t funny, it was hysterical. Moving on. Jamie?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Your joke, if you please?”
I straighten up in my chair. “A bear walks into a restaurant and tells the waitress, ‘I’ll have a hamburger and… ’”
I wait about three seconds, just like Jacky coached me.
“‘… French fries.’ The waitress says, ‘Why the big pause?’ The bear looks at his hands. ‘I don’t know. I’ve just always had them.’”
The crowd cracks up. Jacky Hart shoots me a wink. I turn to the camera.
“And then the bear says, ‘Live from New York, it’s Saturday night!’”
The band starts wailing.
The audience starts applauding.
And I start feeling funny again.
Chapter 41
DOING A DOUBLE TAKE
You want to know how good a friend Gilda Gold is?
On Monday morning, she’s willing to skip school so she can come with me to Silvercup Studios and another day of rehearsal for Jamie Funnie, which, I have to say, I’m feeling much better about doing live now that I have the SNL sketch under my belt.
Luckily, Gilda’s a pretty good actress and can fake a stomachache better than anyone. She’s also terrific at “urping.” After her third fake-heave, the school nurse sends her home for the day.
My limo picks her up at her house. Ms. Warkentien shows us both how to make clouds in a measuring cup with ice cubes and hot water (apparently, we might have a two-minute science fair on the ride to work tomorrow), and then Gilda hangs with me in my dressing room while we wait for rehearsal to start. We spend the time brainstorming bits for her short film. After we have everything more or less blocked out, she picks up the script for Jamie Funnie.
“You want to run your lines?” she asks.
“I guess we’d better…”
And that’s when Donna Dinkle, in full Jillda costume and makeup, swoops into the room. She has some sort of newspaper hidden behind her back.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything important,” she says, fluttering her eyelashes.
Talk about weird. It’s like I’m seeing double. Gilda and Jillda.
“Jamie,” says Donna, very dramatically, “I want to apologize for making that nasty remark after you choked and froze and totally looked like a stuffed deer with marble eyeballs.”
I sort of nod. “Thanks. I think.”
“The next time he freezes,” cracks Gilda, “he knows how to turn it into a cloud.”
Donna ignores her. “I only said those nasty words, Jamie, because I care. Maybe I care too much.”
Gilda starts making urp noises again. “Sorry. Think I might barf.”
Donna keeps going. “Jamie, I forgot that you were, you know, otherwise abled. Maybe choking like that is the best you can do, given your special needs.”
Okay. She’s really starting to work my last nerve. “What do you mean?”
“You know. You’re crippled. Handicapped. Physically challenged.”
“Stick a sock in it, sister,” snaps Gilda.
“Why? Who are you?”
“Jamie’s real friend.”
Donna props her hand on her hip and glares at
Gilda. “Well, when your ‘friend’ freezes, he isn’t very funny.”
“Did you catch him on Saturday Night Live?” says Gilda. “When he’s working with the right people, he’s hysterical.”
Donna quivers her lip like she’s about to burst into tears. “The right people? Was that a cut? Why do you have to be such a mean girl?”
“Why do you have to wear that Pirates hat?”
Donna gasps and covers her mouth with a trembling hand. Tears streak down her cheeks. I have a feeling she brought her onion chunks to work today.
“Look, Donna,” I say, “I accept your apology. And I’m sorry if Gilda upset you.”
“You should be,” she says. “Because you need me, Jamie Grimm.”
“Really?” Gilda laughs. “Why?”
“Because I know people who know people who know these people.”
She slams her tabloid newspaper down on my makeup counter. It’s open to Page Six.
The gossip column.
Or maybe we should call it my obituary.
Chapter 42
GOING VIRAL CAN MAKE YOU SICK
It’s sort of gone viral,” says Donna. “Who knew my one itsy-bitsy little tweet about how unfunny you are would get retweeted, like, a bazillion times?”
“By the way,” Donna continues, “Biff Bilgewater from Hollywood Tonight is running a piece tonight about how sad it is that no one will ever see my magnificent performance in this show. Biff’s a CPF.”
“An accountant?” says Gilda.
“No, Miss Clueless. A close personal friend. Ciao for now. Great meeting you, Hilda.”
Donna sashays out of the dressing room.
Gilda and I both check our phones.
Donna wasn’t lying. The rumors are flying. It’s everywhere. Facebook. TMZ. People.com. Washed-up-people.com. There are even video clips of me staring blankly at the camera from last Friday.
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