Out of Whack (36 page)

       “We might.”

       “No, we will. Definitely.”

       “Okay, definitely,” said Laura without conviction. “Seth, I just want you to know that I lov...that I want you to be happy.” She leaned over the table and gave me a gentle kiss on the lips. “Do you need me to drive you to the airport?”

       “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

       “Let me know when your plane is leaving and all that.” She closed the lid to the pizza box and brushed off her shirt. “I need to get going.”

       “Where do you have to go? I thought we could spend the afternoon together.”

       “I would, but I have to do stuff. I need to go. Call me, okay?”

       “Okay.”

       She got up, put on her jacket, and started to say something. Then she changed her mind and walked away, shoulders quivering as she cried.

* * *

       My parents were not especially supportive, in that they threatened to disown me and all. Travis and I put our plane tickets on credit cards we’d obtained at the beginning of the year, with Dumb College Student interest rates that made you want to cringe. We rented a storage unit and put most of our stuff there, noting that the unit looked cozier than our actual dorm room. We made arrangements to take incompletes in all of our classes, which was better than dropping out altogether in case we had to return in disgrace.

       And then, Saturday evening, Laura drove us to the airport. I’d seen her quite a bit during the week, but our conversations were always strained and repetitive; me insisting that everything would be fine, and her halfheartedly agreeing.

       We mostly sat in silence, waiting for our flight to be called. After the announcement was made, Laura and Travis exchanged hugs. Then she put her arms around me, and with a sniffle said “I love you.”

       My throat felt like it was closing off, and I couldn’t find my voice to reply. I gave her a kiss, then another, then forced myself to pull away from her.

       “Call me when you get there,” she said.

       I nodded. And then Travis and I walked through the gate and toward our new life.

* * *

       “This is your captain speaking. I just wanted to let you know that WE’RE ALL OUT OF FUEL! WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE! No, just kidding. Now, if you look to your left you can see that ONE OF THE ENGINES EXPLODED! No, just pulling your leg. Actually, today we’ll be cruising at an altitude of OH MY GOD THE BOTTOM JUST DROPPED OUT OF THE COCKPIT! Ha-ha, no, just adding a bit of merriment to your lives. Enjoy the flight.”

       I finished scribbling my ideas for the “Sadistic Airline Pilot” skit in my notebook (I was going to work grocery bag-sized barf bags into it somehow) and closed the cover. Travis was asleep, which I’ve never been able to do on planes because of this odd inability to doze in a vertical position.

       I wondered if I’d made the right decision.

       I’d find out soon enough.

* * *

       I’d never been to California before, and if I hadn’t been in such a gloomy mood I would have at least been dancing around with joy at the lack of snow. Travis sat in the passenger seat of Martin’s car, while I sat squished in the back with all of our luggage. It was nearly ten o’clock.

       “So, you were never able to talk Laura into coming with you, huh?” he asked. “That’s a pity, but we should be able to work around it. I’ll take you two to your hotel, and tomorrow afternoon we’ll head over to The Comedy Convention.”

       “What are some good clubs near our hotel?” asked Travis.

       “Hmmmm...you can’t get into most of them because you’re not twenty-one, but since you’re at least eighteen you can try out Satan Nick’s. There’s also the Roach Lounge, Scrape, and Big Purple Men From Venus, though you may want to skip that one if you don’t have proper headgear...”

       “Satan Nick’s sounds okay,” I said. Actually I was tired and just wanted to go to bed, but I also didn’t want to poop any parties this soon into my L.A. experience.

       We dumped our bags off at the hotel, said goodnight to Martin, and walked the four blocks to Satan Nick’s. Inside, the place was decorated with a charming Christmas in Hell motif. The centerpiece was a plastic Santa and his sleigh, with Rudolph in the lead, his eyes glowing the same demonic red as his nose. A large Christmas tree was decorated with pitchforks, miniature goats, and an inverted crucifix or two. A chorus of mechanical children sang Christmas carols in reverse. Against the far wall some stockings were hung by the chimney with care, though if you looked closely there were some holograms of souls in torment burning in the fireplace.

       I sat down at the table next to Travis, who was giving me an annoyed look as he sipped his iced tea. You weren’t supposed to demonstrate your tourist status by walking around gawking at everything, but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to drink in every detail of Christmas in Hell. It was my nature.

       The waitress, who was dressed as an elf with horns, walked over to the table. I ordered a Dr. Pepper, light ice, with two straws in case the first one clogged.

       “Some girls have been staring at us,” Travis remarked a few minutes later, after the waitress brought me my drink.

       “Where?” I asked, turning around to look in the same direction he’d been staring.

       “Not there. I was looking in that direction because I knew you’d be enough of a loser to turn around and stare when I said that some girls were looking at us. They’re two tables away, to my left. Don’t look.”

       I made a point of not looking.

       “Would it bother you if I invited them over?” he asked.

       “No, go ahead.”

       Travis turned to his left, smiled, and waved at the girls, one of whom was wearing a dress that looked like it had gone through a garbage disposal, and the other who wore her bra on the outside. They smiled and waved back, though they were using exactly one of their carefully selected fingers to do so. Travis got the point and looked back at me. “I wish they all could be California girls, my ass,” he said.

       The waitress brought a drink to the man at the table next to ours. It was a scary-looking fluorescent red that appeared ready to dissolve through the glass, the table, the floor, and a few dozen miles of earth beneath.

       “What is that?” Travis asked the waitress.

       “Satan’s Gasoline.”

       “Has it been tested for...you know...not killing people who drink it?”

       “Oh, absolutely. But it will take you to levels of unconsciousness you never knew existed. If you have a fake ID handy I’ll be happy to bring you one.”

       “No, I quit drinking after I passed out on stage at a comedy club, forcing my friend here to overcome his intense stage-fright and at the same time get in some vicious insults directed toward the bully we each beat up in high school. But thanks.”

       “What about you?” the waitress asked me.

       I shook my head. “When I get sloshed I start discussing my personal hygiene limitations and hallucinating mutant killer watermelon-flavored licorice. It can be pretty ugly.”

       “I can imagine,” said the waitress, leaving quickly to take somebody else’s order.

       “So how does it feel to be here in the big city?” Travis asked. “Is this great or what?”

       “It’s great, yeah.”

       “Maybe when we tell Laura what she’s missing she’ll change her mind.”

       “Maybe.”

       At that moment, a girl with short brown hair and what appeared to be one earring for each star in our galaxy made a beeline toward our table and sat down. “I know you,” she said, pointing to Travis, and then to me.

       “We just arrived in town,” Travis said.

       “No. I know you. I know both of you.”

       “Okay, you know us. Pleased to meet you.”

       “You do sketch comedy. Your name is... Off the Whack... Whacking Off... something like that.”

       “Out of Whack,” I corrected. “You’ve seen our tape?”

       “I’ve seen your tape. I work at Whiley’s, and I watched your tape last week. You guys suck.”

       She got up and made a beeline toward another table.

       “Well, I’m kind of sleepy,” said Travis, stretching out his arms and yawning. “Wanna head back to the hotel and call it a night?”

       “You bet,” I said.

“A Couple Of Steps Back”

       After a night of fitful sleep and dreams involving my evil algebra teacher, Mrs. Danken, I spent most of the next morning just puttering around the hotel room. It was small and the beds were uncomfortable, but, hey, we considered it a five-star suite.

       I was homesick beyond belief, and I missed Laura so much I wanted to sit in a corner and bawl, but I’d probably get over it. Once we got on stage and started performing, I’d know I made the right decision.

       Martin picked us up a little after noon and drove us over to The Comedy Convention. I immediately liked it from the outside. None of the neon lights that spelled the name were broken in half, and the wall was refreshingly free of hardened chewing gum and tobacco stains.

       Martin led us through the main entrance, nodding at the tall, thin guy who sat behind the unoccupied bar, reading a magazine. As we walked into the main performance area, a man in his late thirties wearing a flowered shirt that had never been cool in any time period or even an alternate dimension stood up from where he was seated on the stage.

       “Marty! How are ya?”

       “I’m doing well.”

       The man walked over to us and shook Martin’s hand. “I’ve got one for ya. Down’s Syndrome Barbie. I can get two, three minutes of material out of that easy. What do ya think?”

       “I believe there may be humor there,” said Martin.

       “Cool.” The man extended his hand toward me. “I’m Fab. You must be Seth.”

       I shook his hand. “Seth Trexler.”

       “More information than I wanted, kid.” He shook Travis’ hand as well. “Travis, right?”

       “That’s right. Pleased to meet you.”

       “Once again, more information than I wanted. And where’s that gorgeous babe I’ve been waiting so long to meet?”

       “Oh, I meant to tell you about that,” said Martin. “She decided that she wouldn’t be joining them.”

       “You mean, joining them for this meeting, right?”

       “No, I mean she’s staying in Ohio.”

       Fab frowned. “Y’know, that’s a pretty big piece of information to keep from me, Marty. She’s the funny one. She’s the one who’ll get people to come back every week. Not that there’s anything wrong with these two guys—they’ve got talent, no doubt about it—but I expected the whole package. You can pick up a couple of funny geeks anywhere. A woman who’s sexy and can make you laugh isn’t as easy to find.”

       Martin attempted to loosen a non-existent tie. “I’m sure if you give these two a chance, they’ll do perfectly fine for you.”

       Fab shook his head. “Not what I asked for, Marty. We’ve been friends for...how long?”

       “Two weeks.”

       “Two weeks, right. So there’s gotta be an element of trust here. I trust that when you show me a tape of three people and I then offer to pay them to play at my club, I’ll actually get all three people and not the two people I didn’t want all that much in the first place. Sorry, no deal.”

       “No deal at all?” asked Martin.

       “No deal at all. I must say, though, I did like that one joke about elves stealing the slug bug. Anyway, I’ve got stuff to do, so you can let yourself out.”

       “Okay,” said Martin. “I’ll do that.”

       We walked out of The Comedy Convention and onto the sidewalk. Martin removed his glasses and wiped them off on his shirt. “I suppose that’s not quite the reaction you were hoping for.”

       “No,” said Travis, “it wasn’t.”

       “Yes, well, these deals do fall through on occasion.”

       “We told you before we even bought plane tickets that Laura wasn’t coming, and you assured me it wouldn’t be a problem!” I said.

       “How was I supposed to know he was only interested in her? He didn’t tell me that! He said, yes, he wanted Out of Whack, and I delivered Out of Whack! Fuck!” Martin looked shocked. “Did I just say fuck? That was surprisingly liberating.”

       “So what are we supposed to do?” demanded Travis. “We came all the way down here under the impression that we’d have a job! Money! The ability to live!”

       “Fuck!” said Martin.

       “Don’t say that. You’re not allowed to say that. Seth and I are the only ones here in a position bad enough to say that.”