Out of Whack (38 page)

       Then Champion jumped into the water, and he swam with all of his might. And he grabbed the back of the little boy’s shirt collar with his teeth, and he pulled the little boy to the edge and to safety.

       Which would have been a happy ending, but Champion couldn’t get out! He couldn’t get out of the water! He got caught in the current and the river carried him away, while the little boy screamed and cried!

       They never found him! They never found Champion! He just wanted to be a good dog, that’s all he wanted, and he died trying to prove it! Champion died! He died! That country-singing bitch killed Champion then she hammered the point home with a final verse about how the little boy was sad for the rest of his life now that he didn’t have his precious doggie!

       It was, without a doubt, the biggest bummer of a song I had ever heard in my entire life.

       “You’re up next!” said the cheerful stage manager, poking her head into the green room.

       They broke for commercial, giving the audience a chance to let Champion’s tragic fate sink in. Travis and I went to our marks on the “Outside of Fancy Store” set, which was just a large piece of painted cardboard and not impressive by television standards but was still the first time we’d performed with an actual set.

       The ice cream cone, a foot-long mother piled high with mostly melted multi-colored goo that oozed over the edge, was given to Travis. He squished a bit of it against his lower jaw as the stagehand counted down that we’d be back from commercial in 10...9...8...7...6...

       Oh, Champion, why? Why?

       ...5...4...3...

       I looked out into the audience, noticing that some of the people were still teary-eyed from Champion’s heroic sacrifice. Even Laura, sitting in the very back, looked like she’d been touched.

       ...2...1...

       What the fu—?

       “Welcome back!” said Bob. “We only have a few more minutes left, and it’s my great pleasure to fill them with some laughter. Making their television debut this morning, please welcome Travis Darrow and Seth Trexler, otherwise known as the sketch comedy group Out of Whack!”

       The lights came on over our area of the set. I stood there in shock as Travis walked up to me, licking his ice cream cone.

       “I’m sorry, sir,” I said, speaking the words but barely hearing them. “You can’t bring that inside the store.”

       Travis launched into his scripted rant, after which I said something spectacularly funny, though at that moment I could not have told you what. What was Laura doing here? Why hadn’t she said anything before the show?

       Travis knew there was something up, but went on with his lines, referring to me as an oppressor of the masses and all kinds of negative stuff. A particularly large glob of ice cream oozed marvelously down the side of the cone, splattering against my shoes as it hit the floor, which would have been a very nice touch if the camera had been pointing at my shoes.

       It was my line. I hesitated.

       “You know, sir,” I said, “if you think you’re going to take that ice cream cone into my store, there’s somebody you’ll have to talk to, first.”

       It was a perfectly logical line, but as it was not the line I was supposed to have spoken, Travis gave me a very confused and slightly panicked look. I turned to the audience and pointed toward Laura. “Ice cream cone security, will you please report to the main entrance? I repeat, ice cream cone security, will you please report to the front entrance?”

       Now Laura’s and Travis’ expressions were tied for confusion and panic. “Immediately!” I said, and Laura got to her feet and hurried down the aisle. Travis’ expression suddenly added a second “very” in front of “confused look” as she hopped up on stage.

       The stage manager was not looking entirely knowledgeable about what the hell was going on, either.

       “Ice cream security here,” said Laura. She was wearing jeans and a casual sweater, which I suspect is not the proper attire for real-life members of the ice cream security team, but that didn’t matter.

       “I need you to remove this man,” I said.

       “Oh, you’re just a...communist...” said Travis.

       “I am not a communist!” I said. “Nor am I an oppressor! And if you don’t remove yourself and that vile semi-liquid calorie-laden goop from my presence, I’ll hit you with my earplugs.”

       Believe it or not, that was the actual line. Travis brightened a bit, and went on with his spiel as written. We performed the rest of the sketch almost as written, with Laura working in an occasional ad-lib and me working in an occasional reference to her presence.

       At the punch line (“Communist!”) the audience applauded, cued by the handy “applause” sign, and the camera switched to Bob, who bid the home viewers a fond farewell and a good morning. I grabbed Laura’s hand and quickly led her into the green room, with Travis following closely behind.

       “Hi,” I said.

       “Hi,” she said.

       “If you guys had this planned, I’m going to kill you both,” said Travis.

       “No, we didn’t have it planned,” Laura said. “I sat way in the back because I didn’t think you’d see me. I didn’t want to be a distraction.”

       “A distraction?” I said, incredulous. “If you were here, why didn’t you say something? We could have done a skit with all three of us!”

       “Traffic was bad. I got here just in time for the song.”

       “That damn song!” said Travis. “It’s no wonder nobody laughed!”

       “Nobody laughed?” I asked. I hadn’t even noticed.

       “Barely anybody did. Maybe they’ll add some canned laughter before this airs. Except, of course, that we were live.”

       “Okay, so we didn’t do so well our first time on TV. This isn’t a very good show anyway.” I was breathing so fast I was about ready to hyperventilate. “Question time. Laura, what are you doing here?”

       “To get any misunderstandings out of the way first, I did not quit school and fly down here to join you. But I missed you, Seth. And I missed you too, Travis, to a much lesser degree. I couldn’t not be here for your show.”

       “It should have been
our
show,” I said.

       “Well, technically it was,” said Travis, “though in sort of a forced, awkward kind of way.”

       “I’m sorry, Seth,” said Laura. “I can’t take back my decision entirely, but God, I hate not having you around, and I hate not being part of the troupe.”

       “What do you mean by ‘entirely’?” I asked.

       “At the end of the semester I could take a year off and move down here with you guys. If that year is worth it, I could take another year off, or transfer to a school down here, or something, anything so that we’re not breaking up. Both you and me, and Out of Whack.”

       I looked at Travis. “I don’t want to stay here. I vote we fly back to Trade Point with Laura, and keep the troupe together no matter what. The paperwork at the university is so slow that we can go back to our classes as if nothing happened. When the semester is over, we’ll decide what we want to do. But only as a team.”

       Travis thought about it for a moment. “Considering how badly we just bombed, I think getting out of the state is a good idea. Group hug!”

       We all hugged.

       The door opened, and Martin peeked inside. “Was it just me, or was there a substantial lack of mirth coming from that audience?”

       “It was just you, Martin,” I said. “They loved it. Listen, we appreciate everything you’ve done for us, but we’re leaving this place. We’ll give you a call next time we’re in town.”

       “Sounds fine,” said Martin. “You know, I owned a dog like Champion once, but he tended to bite me a lot and would have just let me drown.”

       Suddenly the stage manager shoved past him. “What the hell happened out there?” he asked, absolutely furious. “I should kick your asses!”

       “To the airport!” I said, and we fled from the studio as a team.

[
Travis sits on a couch, watching television.
]

NARRATOR: This man is bored.

[
A gunshot rings out. Travis falls off the couch, dead.
]

NARRATOR: This man is no longer bored.

CAPTION: Death. The cure for boredom.

       “Cut!” said the director. “Good fall, Travis. Nice touch with the lolling tongue. Okay, everyone, let’s take five!”

       I set down the megaphone I’d been using to give all of my directorial commands with, much to the annoyance of Travis and Laura. Dylan, a film major who’d agreed to help us videotape
Out of Whack: Sort of The Motion Picture,
lowered his camera and frowned.

       “I think the lighting was bad,” he said. “I’ll have to play it back and see.”

       “Hop to it,” I said, then lifted the megaphone to my mouth again. “Travis, get off the floor, your scene is over.”

       Okay, this wasn’t going to be playing in theatres around the nation, but it was fun. In between statewide comedy club performances and videotaping our “movie,” Out of Whack was taking up most of our non-schoolwork-related time.

       I had achieved one other small measure of personal success. When we returned from Los Angeles, there’d been a large envelope waiting for me. Inside, with a cover depicting a man with a kitten shoved up his nose, was the issue of
Gleefully Disturbed
containing my story. My name was spelled wrong.

       Laura wrapped her arms around me. “Y’think I can become a big star by sleeping with the director?”

       “That’s what I hear,” I replied, giving her a nice, lingering kiss.

      
Most
of our non-schoolwork-related time.

       So, Laura and I were in love. Out of Whack was on the road to...something good, we hoped. Travis was still on the floor being a dweeb.

       Things were working out pretty well.

       And now this book is over.

       You’ve been a great reader, and I thank you for your attention. Now go read
Pride and Prejudice
to make up for this. Quickly.

The End

NOTE: Several animals were harmed during the writing of this book, but none of them were cute.      

Jeff Strand is the best-selling, award-winning, and incredibly demented author of such novels as
Graverobbers Wanted (No Experience Necessary), Single White Psychopath Seeks Same,
and
How to Rescue a Dead Princess. 
He wrote
Out of Whack
as a statement of protest against his tiny bank account. You can visit his Seriously Whacked website at http://www.jeffstrand.com.