揗eyer. Should I just go out there? This place is about to blow.?
揘o, Tweed is supposed to go out first and warm up the crowd. You shouldn抰 have to. It抯 not your set.?No, shit. But Tweed is nowhere to be found and is thirty minutes behind schedule. This is a paid gig, in Vegas, of all places梞y first out-of-state event. These people paid for a group of comedians tonight, not just for me.
Just then, the MC of the night comes barreling around the corner backstage, his face pinching when his eyes find us. 揥e抳e got a slight problem, guys.?He says.
揘o shit, Ralph, where is this kid??Meyer barks. I struggle not to roll my eyes at him calling the guy a kid, even though Tweed抯 a couple years older than I am. He抯 good, too. Always dresses like a hipster Sherlock Holmes, covered from the neck down in tattoos. His material is mainly just making a parody of himself and the questions and comments he gets over his look, but it抯 the perfect opening act. Attention-grabbing and easy.
揌e抯 not going to make it. He抯 nervous.?Ralph replies, and I flinch because I just know that My抯 about to shred him.
揌e抯 nervous??
揧es, nervous.?
揇id you just say?he抯 fucking nervous??
揗eyer, yes, I know, okay. He抯 been great before, though. Totally calm on the surface. The stuff I sent to you was him at smaller venues, I guess, but he seemed ready.?
揌e can抰 get through the nerves??
揘o, when he got here there was vomit on his sweater already.?
揙oh, I know this one!?I chime in gleefully. 揗om抯 spaghetti?!?
Meyer closes his eyes next to me and breaths out through his nose; a three-count that he follows with an inhale of the same. 揗y, maybe you could go out first??I say, and his eyes blast open and laser down at me.
I抳e honestly always thought that making out with super tall men is annoying. I can抰 seem to get out of my head enough to not be hyper aware of how uncomfortable the sensation is on both of our necks the whole time, and find myself rushing to get to the next step. But when Meyer抯 imposing six-foot-two frame withers before my eyes, I抦 tempted to reach up and kiss his chin, bolster him back up. His belligerent frown tilts at the edges, looking more afraid than angry.
揙r, not. I抦 sorry. Just let me go out there. It抣l be fine,?I say.
揥hat, are you nervous or something??Ralph asks him slimily.
Another tussle breaks out by the bar, but is just as quickly squashed.
I don抰 see it when he makes the decision or when his expression changes, but Meyer glares at Ralph, then at me before he shoulders past us, without uttering another word.
The moment he steps under the spotlights, the comments begin to trickle through the crowd.
揑s that??
揥ait, I know him.?
揥asn抰 he on that improv show??
揑sn抰 he on that Netflix special??
揧eah, I think he actually writes for that show now梩he one about the Dads that gigolo, I think厰
揙h my god, someone get this on video!!!?
The hush sweeps over like a wave, followed by ear-splitting cheers and applause.
And Meyer looks like he wants to drop dead.
The color drains from his lips even as he smiles out at the crowd over the mic.
"H-hey how you all doing tonight?" he greets them, but it judders out of him; slurred, trembling.
Holy. Shit.
He has stage fright.
He shoves his hands into his back pockets to hide their shaking, looks down at the microphone and swallows, not just audibly?amplified.
What have I done? I need to go to him and get him out of there.
Am I the only one who sees this? My heart gives a sick, hiccuping thud in my chest.
"There's been a little mix up tonight, so, the guys back there asked if I might come out and hang out with you for a few before the next act, but I gotta be real, I haven't done this shit in years."
Okay, he's sounding more like himself again at least. Though he's still just looking down.
"It's weird when your life fundamentally changes, isn't it? I used to come up on these stages and your laughter and your reactions are what made me, me. They were everything. All I had. Then I had a kid and it was just her and I… and I only had myself and whatever was in me to wake up with every day.
揂ny parent can tell you that your kids sure as hell won't give you any kind of validation. They constantly humble you. You have these brief, fleeting moments of feeling like you抳e figured something out only to realize how fucking clueless you are shortly after.?He's met with some nervous laughter…
"Now, instead of coming up here and making fun of my friends or myself or the futility of life, I get to go to therapy." Oh thank God, they all smile and let out small trills of laughter.
"No, really," he looks up, a little more confident. "I think that we all need to go to, and talk about therapy more. Going to therapy should be like getting coffee. It makes us feel good even though it also makes you feel a little jittery and bad, it helps you get your shit out, and it makes us better to people around us." Warm, easy laughter reverberates through the room.
He blows out a breath into the mic. "With that being said, I'd like you to give a warm welcome to your therapist for this particular evening, Farley Jones."
He turns and claps, smiling stiffly at me as I make my way on stage. He flees as soon as I抦 within range.
I exit the stage and let my smile slingshot off of my face, even as the applause continues. Ralph notices it. 揥hat? That was great! You did great!?he says.
揥here抯 Meyer??I demand before he can comment.
揢h, I think he left??
Shit. I start marching towards the exit as I pick up my phone, ignoring the remarks and congratulations trailing me.
He picks up right away. 揌ey. I抦桰抦 headed back. I抦 sorry I left.?
揘o,?I say. 揘o, don抰 come back. I抦 headed to you. Are you back at the hotel??
揧eah,?he sighs, sounding relieved.
揗eyer, I抦 sorry.?
揓ones. Don抰，？he groans. His voice still sounds shaken, and my stomach manages to sink further. I抦 disgusted with myself, a relatively foreign feeling that I can usually suffocate, but fail to in this moment.
揗eet me at the hotel bar??I ask.
揧eah, sure. I抣l head down.?
He抯 already standing at the bar when I get back, tapping the side of a fist rhythmically against the counter, next to an empty glass.
He doesn抰 look up until I抦 in front of him, his eyes the only things that move my way. Bloodshot, with dark circles underneath.
揗eyer. I am桰 am so sorry I threw you into that. I should never have put that on you.?My big mouth and rashness have gotten me into trouble before, but never with a friend, not with Meyer.
He sighs and reaches around me to pull out my stool. When I sit, he follows.
揓ones, I should be the one apologizing. I抦 sure I brought down the entire vibe of the room and made it harder for you to bring everyone back up. I should抳e been able to at least pull off a few minutes, and I couldn抰 even do that. God, I told the equivalent of a Dad joke and then bailed,?he groans. The bartender slides another drink in front of him and he takes a sip before nodding my way. 揜alph texted, though. Said you did great. You want one of those lemon drink things you always get??he blinks lazily, his eyelids slightly out of sync with each other梙e must be buzzed.
I look over the cocktail list and choose one at random, waiting until the bartender walks away again to ask, 揇o you want to talk about?what happened? When did that all start??