The Comic

Chapter 1

Parker Nevens sipped from his water glass and set it on the stool next to the microphone. He was hot, uncomfortable and annoyed that he could only see the first three tables in front of the stage because of the wretched house lighting and they did not hold a very encouraging audience. He cleared his throat and began his banter again with an imagined full house. Somewhere in the shadows, someone was making their way back from the washrooms and there was a scraping of chairs and some loud chatter.

Parker cleared his throat. "Excuse me, could you hear us all right from back there, because we could hear you just fine."

"Ha, ha, asshole."

"Charming. Great to see the bar for acumen has been raised." A low grumble greeted his comment. "Okay, let's see. Did you folks hear about the new corduroy pillows? They're making headlines everywhere." The groan was louder than the few desultory claps and he felt the sweat building under his arms. "I know you're out there people, I can hear the yawns."

"Any wonder." Some wag yelled from the shadows.

Parker thanked the heckler for paying attention and announced that the risk to members of the audience of injury from laughing so loud prevented him from continuing, and over the exuberant applause, he left with a parting wave, tossing off one final joke.

"Anyone out there know the difference between ignorance and apathy?"

Silence.

"You don't know? And you don't care... thought so."

He paused backstage and blew out a long, loud breath. One of the girl dancers getting a drink from the machine offered a sympathetic compliment, and the gopher kid with hair like tumbleweed, handing him the plastic container of complimentary food, advised him that the comic at the Grotto used the same joke in his routine.

Parker offered a heavily layered, caustic gratitude for the bulletin and plodded down the few steps to the change room corridor. He stopped and leaned on the wall staring at the worn carpeting, the dull, marred paint, and the ceiling fixture so dusty he swore the bulb was screaming to be unscrewed.

Was this his life? Stand-up comedy in watering holes catering to semi drivers and their roadhouse women, living off minimum wage and a free house special after each performance?   He opened the container and stared. a banquet of greasy fried hamburger and flaccid, reheated fries stared back. The lettuce garnish was so limp is looked like a decal on the plate. He scowled in disgust and clamped his teeth together.

"Enough of this crap." He announced to the empty hallway.

Two doors back was the office of Earl Barkluster, owner of Gut Busters, the fabulous emporium he was, in no uncertain terms, about to quit. He marched back to the door and almost knocked first before growling, "To hell with it!" and barging inside, jerked to a startled halt, as the man leaning over Earl's desk, released his tie and turned his face away from Parker.

"Jesus Christ, Parker. Don't you knock? What the hell do you want?" Earl massaged his neck and tossed a nervous glance at the man who, a moment ago, was throttling it with Earl's own tie.

"I uh- I- I'll come back later when you're free." The last word came out like a question and the man turned giving Parker a molten glare.

"Get the hell out!" Earl wet his lips and flicked a hand at Parker. "Later. Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow won't work, I need -"

"OUT, Nevens! NOW!"

Parker bounced back out the door, pulling it hard after him. The look still melting away his entire resolve. What the hell did I walk into? He stood staring at the door then with more gall than smarts, he leaned an ear against the door, straining to hear something.

"Watcha doin', Nevens?" The voice startled him so much he banged his head painfully on the door and swore aloud. Inside he could hear an angry voice, he turned in a panic, looking at the kid who spoke, and then spinning back, he dashed down the hall.

"Hey! What's the matter, Nevens?"

Parker darted into the first door he came to and found he had bungled into the women's change room; another awkward situation, only this time it was considerably less stressful, or might have been under different circumstances.

"You plan on joining the group, Parker?" The closest girl swivelled on her chair and raked him with impudent eyes. The other two barely gave him the time of day.

"Sorry. I had to lose somebody... fast." He shrugged and figured honesty was best.

"Your jokes spawning a pitchfork and torches mob?"

"Des, I don't need ridicule at the moment okay? I need to just hang out here for a few minutes until−" He made a helpless gesture.

The rap on the door made him jump, and he stepped back into a rack of clothing, his finger over his lips and his head wagging.

"What." Des called. The door opened and the man that was with Earl stuck his head in and looked around. Des stood up to her full five-nine height and folded her arms in a posture of defiance. "This is not a peep show. Buster. Pull back or plan for some eye surgery."

Glaring, the man tried to look some more but as the other women stood he stepped back and slammed the door behind him.

"Oh shit, thanks, Des." Parker massaged his face and puffed out several breaths.

"What the hell was that? Who's he?"

Parker told them about walking in on Earl and that the guy was hauling Earl out of his chair by his tie.

"It looked like he was going to hang him right there!"

"You walked in on Earl without knocking?" The shortest of the three asked.

"I was going to tell him I quit and I didn't want to wait for an invite." Parker hung his head. "This gig is not me. I can't entertain these beer swilling roadrunners with the type of jokes I want to tell, and I don't really want to."

"Parker, you tell groaners. I mean they really make people almost gag. You think maybe the MGM Grand or Caesar's Palace in Vegas is looking for your astonishing talent?" Des put a hand on his shoulder and looked down from her high-heeled height. He was only five-ten

"Thanks, Des, that's the kind of support I need for making life decisions. I did say, the jokes I want to tell."

"We have to get going, Des." The others said. "It's nearly ten."

Her face suddenly changed and he saw a softening of her eyes as the hand squeezed his shoulder slightly before withdrawing.

"Stick around a while, Parker and we can go for a coffee and talk."

"Really? He brightened. "Coffee with the lead pole dancing phenom at the world-famous Gut Busters Emporium?"

"You don't want any help or sympathy, fine." She grabbed her soon-to-be shed top and started out the door.

"I blew it, didn't I?" He followed, whining.

She stopped and looked at him. "I don't have as thin a skin as you. Parker. You want to talk I'll be through in forty minutes."

He nodded and watched the three women stride down the corridor and up to the stage. It suddenly occurred to him that he was wide open to another encounter from Earl's antagonist and he hurried back inside the change room to hide and wait.