When I finish the portion of the set focused on sex stuff and the things that really blow my dress up these days, I find her again, only to see her scowl clenching harder. It drives me crazy, because all I抳e done here is joke about a mean-spirited little girl and myself. And yet, her nasty looks are all I can focus on. Her eye rolls. Every other face in here is having a beautiful night and all I see is this one.
So I decide to do something I抳e never once done in my stand-up career. I call her out.
揑 have got to tell everyone. There抯 a woman right over there who just is getting more and more visibly angry with each word that comes out of my mouth. And I have to tell you ma抋m棓 I locate her eyes. 摋the more angry you get, the funnier I find it.?I smile cruelly.
The place roars as she kicks up out of her chair and storms out.
It抯 victorious.
I might feel a twinge of guilt, later, but for now on this stage there is something violent within me, clawing through a layer with everything I say. I抦 swinging from my own wrecking ball and screaming weeeeeeeeee, practically gleeful with it.
The audience in this overheated, dingy club gives me a standing ovation when I finish, and I tear up like it抯 The Greek on a Summer night. Like it抯 a packed stadium under a sky full of stars.
And yes, it抯 not as if I don抰 easily cry as it is. But I think I抳e often felt like my success is held up by Meyer. That he somehow justifies it, I suppose. So I抦 proud that I didn抰 actually need my steady, respectable man as my foundation to feel confident or worthy, tonight.
Still, my walk to the side stage feels a little more unsteady, my legs wobbling down the stairs to go meet Kara and Shauna. I feel a bit out of control, trying to remind myself that even though that was a little outside my brand, I抳e seen and heard so much worse. It is桰抦 okay. The joke was not bad. Singling out that woman was not something I抎 ever thought of myself doing, but?it抯 not as if she was having a good time anyway?
I don抰 fully register the movement in my peripheral before hot, liquid pain cascades down the side of my face, sears against my collarbone, my hand, another splash against my shoulder on the same side.
A guttural screech wrenches its way through me before I gasp, trying to paw it it off my face.
揊arley?!?揝ecurity!?I think Kara and Shauna yell.
The seconds come into focus along with the face in front of me. The woman I dismissed, and what appears to be an empty coffee cup in her hand. Red, bloodshot eyes and a constellation of popped blood vessels on each of her cheeks. The same putrid scowl. She jabs a trembling finger at me.
揑抣l tell you one thing you have right. The idea of you ever becoming someone抯 mother is terrifying. I pray it never happens.?
A security guard smacks the cup out of her hand and a high laugh whistles out of me. Too late, I抳e been burned, I think, idly. The other guard wraps her up and hauls her out of view as Kara and Shauna swoop my way.
Did I walk down these steps ten seconds ago or ten hours ago? The moments balloon together.
揂re you okay??
揑抣l get a cool towel.?
Shauna is helping wipe and cool down my arm and my face, while Kara presumably talks to security elsewhere. The skin is hot and bruised, bright pink, like when Hazel and I tried to dye Easter eggs red last year but could only ever get them to turn pinker. It抯 nothing I need to have seen at a hospital, though. Still, I can抰 stop staring at it.
No one says anything for a long while. I was asked if I wish to press charges, and I don抰。 Then, they argue with me. I don抰 care.
I meet Shauna抯 sympathetic gaze. 揧ou can抰 tell Meyer,?I say.
揅an抰 tell me what??
Shauna whips around and Meyer抯 there, looking harried and exhausted and confused. Perfect.
My chin begins to tremble and I clench my jaw as firmly as I can to halt it.
His gaze roams over me as he steps closer, before the hint of his grin flattens and his eyes harden.
I have the odd memory of being taught in school that it takes more muscles to frown than to smile. It makes me marvel at the strength of his.
But then, there. A small flare of his nose, eyebrows twitching up and in to one another. I think again, if this expression was art: Helpless Anger.
揥ho??he grits out, helplessness fading.
I make the mistake of stopping my eyes from dancing along the other parts of his face and meet his own, and the trembling starts anew.
揌ow? How did you get here??I ask.
揑 rented a car in Phoenix. Now you answer mine.?
I shake my head, and it jostles a tear loose. I do not want to lose it, not here.
揌otel??Meyer asks Shauna.
She passes him my backpack. 揂lready checked in earlier.?
He scoops me up and tucks me against him as we walk toward the exit, him practically carrying me. When we emerge into the parking lot I notice a 7-Eleven across the street and recall that the woman抯 coffee was from there梡er the paper cup, at least. Piping hot and fresh. I wonder if she had it before the show or if she got it when she left and came back. It must抳e been the latter.
Meyer slides me into my seat and shuts me into the safety of the car, chin bouncing erratically as fat tears begin to roll down my cheeks. He slips into his seat and immediately starts the engine when I reach for the sports drink in his cupholder, trying to occupy my hands.
揘o. Not厰 he gentles his voice. 揟hat抯 a pee bottle, Fee, not a gatorade.?
揃ut?you抮e a guy. You can just pee anywhere on the side of the road.?Two more tears splatter on the center console between us. So at odds with the stupid sentence I just uttered.
揇idn抰 want to stop at all,?he says, pulling away from the curb. He grabs my hand and lets me hold it in my lap. I clutch it in both of my palms. I laugh a little hysterically when I picture Meyer trying to drive and trying to pee into a gatorade bottle simultaneously.
揓ones. Fee. I抦 sorry I didn抰 make it in time. I really wanted to.?His voice catches on really and the lump in my throat seems to calcify.
I nod, but I want to tell him that he didn抰 need to, that I don抰 even know if I抦 crying over the happiness at seeing him, the success of the show, or the confusion over what took pace after. Did I take something too far? I bullied a paying patron, in a way. Even if she wasn抰 justified in attacking me back, I struck first. I know I did.
And for the first time, in as long as I remember, I question whether I want to go forward with this. I think I might not be getting it right. My why, or my how.
揑抎 like you to tell me everything, Fee. I need you to, please. Let抯 get up to your room and get you cleaned up and then I need you to talk to me. Okay??Meyer says, snatching me from the flushing whirlpool of my thoughts. It抯 now that I notice we抳e stopped in front of the hotel, the tight lines of his expression, and the white knuckles on both of our hands. 揙kay,?I croak.
He loads himself down with his luggage before retrieving my hand again and leading me straight through the lobby and to the elevators. Another hysterical laugh flaps out of me when I think about the stark contrast between this hotel visit together versus our previous one. He, again, doesn抰 question it, just asks for my room number.
And then I continue to crack. The fluttering wings in my chest materialize in the form of laughter. Frothing, bubbling, uncontainable kind. Meyer speed walks us down the hallway when we make it to my floor. He shoves through the door as soon as it unlocks, me in front of him, and in one swift motion tosses his bags into the closet before he strides determinedly toward me and crushes me to him. My arms crash around his middle, gripping each other.