“I’m Sarah Sullivan, thank you so much. Good night!”
Sarah found herself in that special purgatory between ending her set and the emcee coming back to the stage. The spotlight blinds her to all but the front two rows of seats; the smell of stale beer and burnt nachos reminding her of this little hovel called Jerry’s Joke Room in Lower Manhattan. Almost immediately the adrenaline rush begins to fade.
In the few moments before Greg, the emcee, shakes her hand, thoughts flood Sarah’s mind. ‘Was I good enough?’ ‘Did I do all of my material? Why didn’t the “drunken aardvark” land?’ ‘What’s with this couple in front; is she dating her grandfather? Maybe he’s paying for it.’ The thought parade continues as Sarah exits the stage. Only faintly she hears Greg ending the show with his standard give yourselves a big round of applause, get home safely message.
“…and before you go,” Greg says to the crowd, “let’s give one last round of applause for our audition participants…”
A smattering of applause begins to crescendo, but Sarah misses the peak. Instead, she joins her fellow comics as they wait to meet with Jerry. Jerry Crowley, that is. Sarah would much rather be meeting the ‘other’ Jerry, of course. After achieving some notoriety, if not mild fame, as a stand up comedian in the late 90’s, Jerry Crowley thought he’d be better served by opening a chain of comedy clubs. Twenty-plus years later and Jerry’s chain has only this one sad little link. Sure, the comedy club boom had busted, but other clubs have survived, or even thrived in recent years. Nevermind that those clubs actually mopped the floor each night. Or, better yet, were less exploitive of both comics and wait staff alike.
“Hey, good stuff tonight,” Bill said, interrupting Sarah’s thoughts.
“Yea? I feel like I missed something. I thought your new ‘angry’ Bill stuff was on too,” Sarah replied.
“Cool. I think maybe it was that kind of crowd, more than the material. Out for blood, ya know?” Bill’s comment struck a nerve.
“That seems to happen a lot here, even the wait staff are angry. At least they’re getting paid,” Sarah said with more anger than she intended.
If the remark bothered Bill he didn’t show it, only adding “welcome to the comedy business.”
A faceless shout for ‘Sullivan!’ nipped Sarah’s budding pity party in the bud.
“Go get em, Tiger. A few of us are hitting the mic at Clancy’s and grabbing a beer if you want to join us,” Bill offered.
“Thanks, maybe I will. See you,” Sarah replied as she headed for Jerry’s office.
Jerry Crowley’s office was barely large enough for the cheap IKEA desk that was surely recycled from NYU on move-out day. Add in cases of no-name liquor and two mismatched guest chairs, and it was no surprise that the door couldn’t fully open. Sarah squeezed inside and gently sat on the only free guest chair for she knew how unstable it was. It was at her second, no fourth, audition for Jerry’s that she learned that lesson. At least at this, now her sixth try-out, she was actually meeting with Jerry himself after the show. That had only happened once before and his feedback had been the single word ‘practice’.
Sarah quietly took in a deep breath and said “Hi Mr Crowley, thanks again for the opportunity.”
“I’ve seen you before, right?”
‘Oh great, he doesn’t remember me,’ Sarah thought. “Yes, sir. About a year ago one of the New Talent shows that…”
“How many people did you bring tonight?” Jerry asked cutting her off; his tone making the office feel even smaller than it was.
Sarah reminded herself to stay patient. “I had 3 guests tonight,” she replied.
“Next time bring at least 7. You can go.”
Sarah tried to hide her disappointment as she stood to leave. Finding some courage, she blurted out a question, “What about my set, at least?”
Jerry barely missed a beat, “I didn’t watch anyone tonight.”
Utterly deflated, Sarah left the office without another word. Luckily the hall was clear; she didn’t have to face anyone as she rushed for the exit. Out on the street, she walked aimlessly to clear her head. She thought about Jerry, his words and his crappy little comedy room with the crappy drinks and crappy food and crabby waiters. And then she thought about her mediocre performance tonight. “What am I doing,” she actually wondered out loud.
“Standing in my piss,” came a reply from the darkness.
Startled, Sarah picked up her pace and returned to her doubts. A while later she found herself standing outside of Clancy’s. Had she meant to come here or was this just dumb luck, she wondered. She didn’t have the strength to perform at the open mic, but she also didn’t want to be alone. Despair won out, and Sarah walked through the door.
Bill spotted Sarah from a table in the back and waved her over. Shaking the remnants of her thoughts, Sarah crossed the half crowded bar in a mental haze.
“Hey kid, where’ve you been?” Bill asked.
“I just went for a short walk. I think I’ll skip the mic tonight, but I use a drink,” Sarah replied.
“Uh, it’s been over for 45 minutes. You ok?”
Sarah looked and saw that the small corner stage was dark and the mic stand was put away. “Oh, wow, I guess I lost track of time; I had a lot on my mind,” she said.
Bill’s face took on a knowing look. “Let me guess. Jerry didn’t pass you for work at the club, yea?”
“Ha!” Sarah blurted, her anger quickly surfacing. “He didn’t even watch! ‘Bring more people next time,’ he said, the jerk! I’ve been bringing people to that shittly little hole for, like, 2 years now. Fuck him.”
“Hey, Jerry’s a turd, sure. But, he’s helped a lot of comics in this town leave his shitty little hole and go on to better clubs,” Bill paused before adding, “when they were ready.”
“Wow, so I’m not ready, is that it? Whatever.” Sarah abruptly stormed out into the night. As she turned onto Wall Street, headed for the PATH train and the long journey home, Bill caught up with her.
“Hey, hang on a second.”
“What!?” Sarah exhaled.
“What the fuck was that?” Bill’s questions were filled with more than a little concern. “Why did you storm off? What the hell, Sullivan.”
In an instant Sarah’s resolve crumbled. “I’m just tired. Tired of busting my ass to come in here 4, 5 nights a week. Over an hour each way, and I get, what, 5 minutes of stage time. Maybe 7? I’m tired of bringer shows too. I got to hassle like 10 people and hope that 3 show the fuck up? But no, I need to bring at least 7. And, the worst part, not a single word about my set… seriously?”
“ahh…” Bill responded.
“Ahh, what? Don’t I have a right to be mad?”
Bill collected himself before answering. “You have every right. It’s frustrating, I get it. But… and don’t freak out on me here, just listen. But, you have a choice. Either this is for you, or its not. If it is, you’ll keep trekking in here for your 5-7 minutes. And It’ll become 10, 15, and so on. And you’ll put up with Jerry and every other club manager who doesn’t seem to care. Because one day they may just care. Or… you’ll get on that train, head back to Jersey and go on to some receptionist job or other. After a while you’ll stop telling people you’re a comedian. Maybe you’ll do something else creative, like, uh, maybe you’ll paint. Maybe you’ll get married and pop out a few dependents and the only painting you’ll do is in the nursery. Who knows? I don’t know, and I can tell you for sure that Jerry doesn’t know.”
“No shit, he doesn’t,” Sarah interrupted.
“No shit, he doesn’t. Know why? Because you don’t. Until you know, he never will. No one will. But hey, no harm no foul. If you do or you don’t, the mics will still be full of cliché tourist jokes, with the occasional drunken aardvark.”
Sarah sighed. Bill’s words added weight to her already heavy load. They sat and absorbed a rare quiet moment in New York City. Breaking the silence Sarah said, “I need new shoes.”
Bill faced her with a quizzical look. “And therein lies the difference between men and women.”
“Hah, no, I was standing in a bum’s piss earlier,” she explained.
“Sounds like a good premise.”
Sarah only thought for a nanosecond before proudly adding, “Here thought I was having a shitty day, but it was really just a little pissy.”
Bill chuckled, and gave Sarah a hug. “Welcome back.”
Becoming Writer 2016 Anniversary Contest 