Page 27 of No Funny Business

Is he serious? I look to Nick for affirmation and he gives me a subtle headshake as if to stop me from going any further. I wait a beat, realizing they’re both completely serious, then button my mouth. “Never mind. Who are you exactly?”

He sets his hand gently on my shoulder and looks into my eyes. “The question isn’t who am I. The question is why am I?”

“That is a question.” Now the better question is why am I here in this comedy condo? I wonder if I can squeeze a hotel stay out of my budget.

Nick clears his throat. “How long you been at it today, Herb?”

“No idea, bro,” he says.

“Herb’s a comedian. He’s opening for us tonight.”

“Is that a good idea?” I mutter to Nick out the side of my mouth.

“It’s fine.”

Herb smacks his head with his palm. “I’m sorry, guys. Did you want a hit? It’s Friiiiday.” He offers the bong. It’s actually Saturday but maybe to Herb Friiiiday is more of a state of mind than a day of the week.

“Nah, I’m good, man,” Nick says as I shake my head, leaning back. Call me a snob, but I prefer to keep my lungs as clear as possible.

“Cool.”

Nick signals for me to follow him down the hall and I do so gingerly, dragging my heavy-ass suitcase behind me. He pushes each door open with the tips of his fingers. Who knows what other surprises there are—seen and unseen.

“Here,” he says, standing in one of the doorways. “You can take this room.”

I peek my head in, bracing myself for the worst. A futon bed, draped in slept-in linens (if you can call them that) and a double-drawer nightstand that I’m pretty sure my grandmother had in her bedroom. The window above is covered with partially torn mini-blinds and the carpet below is stained with spots of fruit-punch red and shit brown.

I slowly turn to face Nick. “Toto, I don’t think we’re on the Upper East Side anymore.”

“Told you it wouldn’t be the Four Seasons.”

“I get that but what’s with these sheets? They’ve clearly been slept in and who knows what else. It’s unsanitary.”

Nick rubs the back of his neck. “I recommend ripping them off and sleeping in your clothes. That’s what I usually do. But if it really bothers you, I think this place has a washer and dryer.”

“That’s something, I guess.” There’s a tipped-over tissue box on the nightstand. I pull out the first sheet with my fingertips and chuck it to the ground before snagging the next “fresher” one. Using the coarse tissue paper to protect my fingers, I peel back the sheets from the so-called mattress. Fortunately, there’s one of those vinyl covers. I inspect the surrounding area for anything creepy and crawly and breathe a sigh of relief.

“I need to catch some z’s before the show. You might want to do the same.” Nick pushes his way through the door next to mine and I feel myself panic a little. He’s my comedy condo sherpa. I’m not sure if I’ll be safe without him. “Oh, and Olivia.” He looks back. “Welcome to the road.”