The reason that there are so few women comics is that so few women can bear being laughed at.
—Anna Russell
Why does laughter empower the male but threaten the female? Is it something to do with not laughing at the penis or the erection will crumble? What is it with women and humor anyway? Why do they find it so appealing? Why don’t men ever boast, “I got this dame with a great sense of humor?” Not my questions by the way. These are things Carlton was asking himself as he observed Katy Wallace leaving the coffee shop. He’d been listening in, of course. Can’t blame him—that’s his job and he took some great shots of her, which I have just finished downloading. I must say she is one hell of a great-looking lady. I can see why Alex was smitten. Much better than my Molly. But then I’m not a famous comedian, am I? Don’t get me wrong, Molly’s not bad-looking. I suppose you could call her a bit trampy. There is something a little obvious about her, some hint of the trailer park, but then, that’s where she’s from. I suppose you’d say she was a dirty blonde, that kind of streaky look. I saw her first in an oyster bar. It was lust at first sight. I thought, Ooh, hello, who’s that then? She was laughing at the bar, in a push-up bra, her blouse too open and her skirt no bigger than a large belt. Wearing fuck-me boots. All shiny and plastic in black. That clinched it for me. Good legs, and she gave you a pretty decent look at them up at the receiving end where they just dipped under the red vinyl. A lot of makeup, I grant you, especially round the eyes. I used to think she looked like a ring-tailed lemur. But I liked the challenging way she looked at you through those bruised eyes with the deep dark circles that suggested lack of sleep and hinted of depravity. You’d have to be deaf and blind not to notice her that night.
I found her irresistible.
I had twelve oysters last night and only four worked. That was our joke the next day when I woke up with her. Gotta tell you, no boasting, those sheets were pretty darn crumpled. I’d had a couple of cocktails and was feeling pretty horny, and now I come to think about it she picked me up and took me back for a workout. She liked sex, and that’s always very pleasant in a woman. Matter of fact, I soon found she liked it a little bit too much. I’d find her stretched out on the floor with the vibrator when I got home. “Honey, I started without you,” she’d say in that husky voice of hers. “Come here and finish the job.” The job. That’s sometimes what it felt like as I obediently labored away on top of her.
So she’s a game girl, Molly, but a long way off that Katy Wallace. Now she is one hell of a classy lady.
When Alex and Lewis returned to the office an hour later, Boo was just emerging. He seemed tremendously pleased with himself.
“You got the gig?” asked Alex.
“No, man, I got flung out. They hated me.”
“Imagine,” said Lewis.
“Why’d you get flung out?” asked Alex.
“No idea,” said Boo.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t have set fire to her desk,” said Charlie. “I believe that was extending the boundaries of comedy a little too far.”
“She said, ‘Surprise me.’ At least I didn’t take my dick out. Maybe I shoulda. Doesn’t look like she gets to see a lot.”
“Wouldn’t see a lot with you anyway,” said Lewis.
“Ta-da,” said Boo, flicking ash off an imaginary cigar.
“If you gentlemen will excuse me,” said Charles Jay Brown, firmly placing a large fedora on his head, “I have a date with some ponies.”
“He’s not a gambler,” said Boo. “He just likes to fuck animals.”
Nobody laughed. It seemed to reassure Boo.
Charles Brown tipped his fedora at the door. “My heartiest congratulations to you gentlemen on your forthcoming employment. My client and I join you in our sincerest wishes for your continued success.”
“Say what?” said Alex.
“Didn’t you know? You guys got lucky,” said Boo. “You’re on the list. Congratulations.” He didn’t look that happy.
“We got the gig?” asked Lewis in disbelief.
“Sure did.”
“Oh yay!” said Alex, breaking into a rumba. He danced round the room, wiggling his butt and waggling his body, waving imaginary maracas in the air. Even Lewis smiled.
“So who was the dame?” said Boo when Alex finally calmed down.
“What dame?”
“The one with the legs. Katy something?”
“She was here?” said Alex, his face lighting up. “Don’t give me that shit,” said Boo. “I heard her put you on the list. They tried to argue; she said, ‘Just do it.’ Old Frozen Face practically had a fit. What did you do to her?”
“Just gave her sugar.”
“Well, she must be diabetic, ’cause she sure went to bat for you.”
“How about that,” said Alex. “It must be my animal magnetism.”
“Perhaps I oughta slip her some candy,” said Boo reflexively. “Maybe I’d get me a job.”
Lewis was reading the posted list. “Brenda Woolley. Act One,” he said. “Muscroft and Ashby, Comedy with a Difference, seven minutes.”
“Too bad you got the death slot in the first act,” said Boo. “I guess she didn’t love you that much.”
“As long as we got an audience,” said Alex. “Audiences,” sniffed Boo contemptuously, “that’s what spoils comedy.”