Page 13 of No Funny Business

“Oh,” I say. “Not exactly a cab ride away, is it?” Using my next check toward airfare and a hotel isn’t written into the new Olivia Vincent Plan. I hope I can afford the revision. Then again, I could make a case that I can’t afford not to make it happen.

“Don’t sweat it, kid. I know just how to get you there.”

“How?” Please don’t say Hitch a ride on a cargo train then tuck and roll at the first sight of the Hollywood sign.

“You’ve been offered a feature spot on a nationwide road tour by one of my comedians. Nine cities. Two weeks. Leaving the day after tomorrow.” She hands me a printout with the dates and tour stops. “The last stop’s L.A. Same day of the audition. You can fly home from there.”

“Another one of your comedians offered me a spot?” Feature on a road tour? Auditioning for The Late Night Show? All after getting fired from a job I hate. This is better than best-case scenario. “How is this even possible?”

“You must have a guardian angel or somethin’.” Despite being from a very Jesus-loving town, I’m not very religious. With my past bad luck in life, it’s difficult to imagine anyone watching over me. And I don’t know any dead people that would take time away from eternal peace and happiness in order to orchestrate a way for me to succeed as a stand-up.

“Or maybe I’m just that good,” I offer.

“I’ll say. The original feature just booked a movie role and canceled a couple days ago. You were the obvious choice but I never thought you’d actually do it considering I’ve been trying to get you on the road for the past year.”

It’s true. Bernie makes money only if I make money, and one of the only real ways to make money in this business is to tour. That’s never been much of an option for me when I’ve got only two weeks’ paid vacation and it’s basically frowned upon to take it. So I’ve been able to do only occasional regional events on weekends.

I glance over the itinerary—D.C., Atlanta, Nashville, Gulfport, New Orleans, Dallas, and El Paso, which means we’ll be driving straight through my hometown. The place I ran from two years ago and haven’t been back to since. “No way,” I say.

“What’s that?” she says.

“Nothing. I’ll just be passing my hometown in Texas.” The thought of going back there isn’t helping my burger sit very well in my stomach.

“Dallas, right?”

“Midland.”

“Is that near Dallas?”

Instead of giving a geography lesson, I settle for, “Yeah.”

“So what d’you say? You ready to hit the road?” she asks.

Hit the road? Yes. Face my past? I don’t think so. But I need the money, the experience, and Bernie’s support, so what else can I say?

“Yes, I’m ready.” There. I did it. And the rest, I’ll figure out. “Thank you, Bernie. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“No sweat, kid.” Bernie reaches inside the bag and pulls out a well-deserved bagel.

“Oh, wait,” I say. “Who’s the headlining comedian?”

With bread stuffed in her cheek like a chipmunk and cream cheese stuck to her lip, she manages to say, “Nick Leto. From last night.”

“Wait a second. Nick Leto offered this?” This is way better than asking for my number. Me on the road with Nick for two weeks? Now there’s a plot twist.

“Yeah.” She stares at me a moment longer. “What’s that look on your face?”

I drop the soft grin, dreamy-eyed gaze, and flushed cheeks immediately. “There’s no look. This is just my face.”

“Mm-hmm, I know that look.” Bernie sets the bagel aside, swipes the cheese off her mouth, and points at me like she means business. “Now listen. This is a legit opportunity. I know Nick’s a handsome, charming, funny guy with dimples you just wanna lick.”

“You said it, not me.”

“I’m serious. You don’t want to go down that road. Keep it professional.”

“Okay,” I relent. She’s right. I don’t want to complicate things too much at the outset of the Olivia Vincent Plan. Even if his smile makes my knees weak.

“I mean it. No funny business.”