Page 93 of No Funny Business

Thirty-Nine

In the morning, Nick and I meet at one of the restaurants in the hotel for breakfast. The button on my jeans is starting to feel like it’s gripping the denim for dear life and screaming—Suck it in, honey!—so I opt for an egg white omelet to offset all those burger calories.

“Tonight’s your last show before your audition,” Nick says, then snaps off a bite of his sausage link.

“I know.” I sip from my second cup of coffee. I could hardly sleep last night thinking about it. Telling Imani the whole story didn’t change her mind. And she was sure to remind me of the promise I made her before I left—if I don’t land the audition, I’ll call the headhunter as soon as I get home. Not that I could forget it. With her now leaving New York there’s a chance I’ll have to do that anyway. But as we say in the country—Don’t count your chickens before they hatch.

Come to think of it, that saying supports Imani’s stance more than mine.

Never mind. The point is I don’t want to assume I need to make any big decisions at least until after the audition.

“We’ve got a big Vegas crowd later,” Nick continues.

“I know. I’m ready,” I say as if I’ve been training for this day my whole life.

“I think you can be readier. More ready. Which is it?” Nick and I must be losing mental steam. But we can’t rest on our laurels now.

“Readier. You got more sage wisdom for me?”

“Yes, and this is it. No more lessons from me. The rest you’ll have to figure out because I’ve got nothing left to share.”

“Okay, hit me.” I slap my hand on the table, practicing my gambling moves for later.

“Two things. First, you have a lot of funny material but it’s not really about you. Infuse your story into your act. Think of that Charlie Chaplin quote. Trust me, you’ve got a lot to work with.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment?” I ask, unsure.

“Sure. Why not.”

I’ve been avoiding it for a long time but I think he’s right. I need to try telling parts of my story. My real story—not just all the modern dating stories I steal from Imani’s adventures on Tinder. “Okay, I’ll do my best.”

“Now, there’s one last piece of advice I have for you. But it might be the most important.”

“Okay, what’s that?”

“Trust your comedy.”

I guess that’s good advice, however— “Thanks, but I do trust my comedy.”

“I say this as a friend, but half this tour you didn’t and it showed. I know you have all this apparent confidence but I could hear the doubt in your voice in D.C., Mississippi, and Atlanta. You can’t doubt because when you do, you bomb. Not just you, all of us. Every. Single. Time. So”—Nick stands up and tosses some cash on the table—“I’m gonna leave you to prepare.”

“The whole day?” I ask.

“Yeah. Use it wisely. I’ll see you at the show.”

Then, it’s just me, my coffee, my legal pad, and my stories. Here we go.

—

When it’s nearly showtime, Nick’s nowhere to be seen so I hang out in the wings as the opening acts warm up the crowd with the help of the drinks being served.

“Hey.” Nick taps my shoulder and I whip around.

“Where’ve you been? The poker tables?” I ask.

“Maybe. So how’s it looking tonight?”

I flash him a folded legal sheet, the one I’ve been scribbling on all day. “Good. I thought a lot about what you said and worked out some new material I’m going to try tonight.”