It seems we’re in the holding room for hours. I feel like a prisoner of war.
Or maybe that’s just what spending two minutes with Shecky from Schenectady feels like. An eternity.
Then we’re told that the start of the show is being delayed because the club needs to bring in more chairs for the overflow audience. Apparently, somebody’s third cousins twice removed just arrived.
If this keeps up, our standing-room-only crowd is going to have to stand on top of each other.
“I’ll bet they’re waiting for Joe Amodio to show up,” says Judy, the girl from Manhattan who might become a TV star on the Disney Channel.
“Who’s Joe Amodio?” I ask.
“Executive producer of the Planet’s Funniest Kid Comic Contest,” she explains. “Whoever wins here goes on to the regionals up in Boston. If you win there, you move on to the semifinals in Vegas. You make it to the top four in Vegas, you’re going to Hollywood.”
“Hollywood?”
“The finals. Which, of course, will be televised. Live.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. Nerve-racking, huh?”
“A little.”
Actually, my sweat glands are kind of turning into lawn sprinklers again.
Shecky from Schenectady strolls over to butt in to our conversation.
“You guys talking about Hollywood?”
Before we even answer, he launches into another corny joke.
“Hey—what do you get when you cross a dog with a movie studio?”
Judy groans. “Collie-wood?”
“That’s right, babe. And that’s the kind of killer material I’ll be slaying the crowd with. Big-time. So maybe you two losers should just call it quits and head for home.”
I grin. “What? And miss your act?”
Judy laughs. “Good one, Jamie.”
I like Judy. If I don’t win, I hope she does. And I hope she gets her Disney show, too.
“You know, Judy,” says Shecky, puffing up his chest, “you’re not a has-been. You’re a never-was. I’ve seen your act, sister.”
“Yeah, I know,” says Judy. “And you stole half of it.”
“I did not. Because your act is so lame, it makes this weenie in the wheelchair look like an Olympic sprinter. You started at the bottom, Judy, and it’s been downhill ever since. Ba-boom! Nailed it.”
The funny girl just shakes her head and waltzes away.
“You know,” says Shecky, “that Judy is so dumb, she thinks a quarterback is a refund. She’s so ugly…”
I don’t stick around to hear the rest of his recycled yo momma jokes, because I see Aunt Smiley standing at the door.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hi. I brought you a cold drink,” she says, handing me an icy glass of water.
“Thanks.” I gulp it down.
“It’s crowded out there. Are you nervous?”
She’s super worried. How can I tell? She’s frowning even more than usual.
I nod. “Yeah. A little.”
“Me too. And I’m not even the one going up onstage. Are you absolutely sure you want to go through with this, Jamie?”
I look over at Shecky from Schenectady.
“Yeah,” I say. “More than ever.”
“Okay,” she says. “Just remember—the important thing is that you tried.”
“Um, I haven’t even lost yet.”
“I know that. I’m talking about after.”