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Their motel was a pleasant little roadside inn on the outskirts of Chicago. But not even the cheery rooms and 140 cable channels could brighten the deep, dark depression that had settled over Max Carmody.
One at a time, his traveling companions tried to lighten his mood.
"I'll watch you do your act any time you want," Olivia offered generously. "You can even make fun of Barney."
"Forget it, kid," her brother muttered. "After today, I'm through with the comedy business. I'm
never going to tell another joke as long as I live."
Mrs. Plunkett was next. "Well, the cherries are safe and the truck is fixed," she reported. "Mario just called in from Montague, Iowa. Did you know that's the home of the world's largest fire hydrant?"
"Uh-huh."
His mother regarded him expectantly. "Don't you have anything to add to that, Maxie?"
"If I still made jokes, which I don't," Max replied, "then I might say that I hope the dogs in that town are all ten feet tall. But that would be funny, and there's nothing funny about my life right now."
Last came Maude. She waited until Mrs. Plunkett and Olivia had retired to the girls' room next door. "You think this is bad?" she challenged. "This is nothing. Try walking a mile in my shoes, and I don't mean just because of the orthotic insoles for flat feet. I'm the world's largest fire hydrant, pal. And there are a lot of dogs out there—of all sizes."
Max looked daggers at her. "It's reassuring to know that, after everything that happened today, this is really all about you." He pointed to the door. "Get out of here. I want to be alone."
"What about TV?" Maude switched on the set and deposited herself on one of the beds. "Your
mom would never let me watch Chicago news in front of Olivia. The big-city crime is way better than the wimpy stuff that happens at home. In Bartonville, breaking news is Katie Kates sobbing because somebody backed over a caterpillar."
As Maude drank in stories of fires, armed robberies, and high-speed police chases, Max barely heard a word. For two whole months, every fiber of his being had been focused on this contest. Now it was over, and without his firing off so much as a single punch line. It was like losing a war before you could pick up a peashooter in your own defense. And on top of it all. Max now had a date with Mario to see Caveman Ogrodnick and his merry Neanderthals. It was the end. It was more than he could bear.
"Hey, look." Maude pointed at the screen. "They're talking about your contest."
Max picked up the remote and hit mute. "I'm not listening."
"There's the guy who won," she went on. "Hey, that's a nice trophy." She reached for the clicker. "Come on, let's listen to the acceptance speech."
"No."
Max tried to yank the remote away, but Maude
grabbed on. There was a brief tug-of-war, and then the sound returned—the winner's standing ovation. For Max it was a hammer blow to the heart.
The applause died away and the anchor returned. "There was one additional award, although for some reason, this young comic never got to perform. The chief judge explains. . . ."
Onscreen, the contest official was being interviewed backstage. "We didn't plan on this, but we got a video that you just can't ignore. The whole committee made copies because it's something you want to keep forever. It's the funniest bit I've ever seen. If you're out there, Maxx Comedy, you've got a great future."
Max froze as his audition video began to play right there on the Chicago news.
There was Max, larger than life, on the stage of the Bartonville Middle School gym, as Big Byrd had filmed him a month earlier. "In our school cafeteria," he began his routine, "the black-bean burrito has been designated a weapon of mass destruction."
Holding his breath, Max waited for his laugh track to kick in. And, yes, there was a huge reaction. But it was not the howls of mirth he had taped at
the Locke party. The sound that swelled through the TV's small speaker was horrible, violent, animal. . . .
Maude's jaw fell open. "What's that ?"
How would you describe it? A frantic, agonized combination of moaning, howling, and shrieking. Almost—
"Mooing?" Max exclaimed in disbelief.
"Yeah!" Maude snapped her fingers in sudden recognition. "I haven't heard anything like that since your dad gave birth to that cow!"
Strictly speaking, Dad had delivered the calf. He was the vet, not the mother. But Max never said this out loud. Because at that instant, everything became crystal clear to him in a flash of sudden, amazing, and terrible understanding.
"It is that cow!" Max rasped, awestruck. "Somehow, in the Plandome barn that crazy night, I must have turned on my tape machine by mistake and recorded Madonna giving birth over my laugh track!"
Maude was bewildered. "But why didn't you listen to it before dubbing it onto the audition tape?"
"I couldn't!" Max lamented. "My dad lost the tape machine before I woke up the next morning. And by the time I got it back, Mario was leaving, and
the computer's speakers were broken, and—I can't believe it!"
They watched as Max went through his entire act, with each joke being greeted by wild mooing. He had timed it perfectly on the computer. Every blast of bovine labor came exactly where the audience response should have been. Given a real laugh track, and not a recording of a livestock blessed event, he would have succeeded one hundred percent.
He cradled his head in trembling hands. "This is bad. This is worse than bad. I'd need a million- percent improvement to get this up to bad!"
"What are you talking about?" asked Maude, listening intently. "You're a smash!"
As the audition tape played, the news anchor, sports reporter, weatherman, and the entire studio crew could be heard howling in the background.
"I'm a joke," Max amended miserably. "The audience is supposed to laugh with you, not at you."
When it was finally over, the anchor was wiping tears from her eyes as she struggled to regain her composure for the rest of the broadcast. "Maxx Comedy, ladies and gentlemen," she managed. "Remember that name. Coming soon to a barnyard near you."
"See?" moaned Max. 'Tm a laughingstock."
"At least it's just in Chicago," Maude offered in consolation. "Nobody knows you around here, anyway."
The phone rang.
Max answered it. "Oh, hi, Dad," he said listlessly. "How's the car?"
Dr. Carmody was in a state of excitement. "I got home an hour ago. But never mind that. Listen, Max, what went on at the contest? I just took a call from a guy named Frank Lugnitz who saw you on TV!"
"Really?" Max was confused. "How does Mr. Lugnitz get Chicago TV all the way in Bartonville?"
"He says he saw you on CNN! According to him, your tape is on all the comedy channels too! What happened? Did you win that contest?"
"Not exactly," Max said shakily. "But I guess people kind of like my audition video."
"Like it?" Max's father was almost shouting now. "The man wouldn't shut up about how great you are! He owns the Giggle Factory, and he wants to hire you to perform! He says you're the funniest kid in America!"