17.“I wish everyone would just shut the fuck up.
When did everyone decide to start acting like their mommies just stopped breastfeeding them? News flash: you’re an adult and the first thing you learn about being an adult is that life is hard for everybody. And yes, it’s hard even if you’re white. Even if you’re straight. Even if you were born a man and stay a man. Even if you’re rich! Life is hard. So do me a favor, all you supposed ‘victims,’ stop flooding my eyes and ears with your whiny crybaby bullshit. Suck it up. We’re all gonna die someday.”
These were the words. These were the words that had been playing, on repeat, in Jackie’s mind for days. These were the words that he had used publicly to a paparazzo as he was coming out of the Chateau Marmont, when he was asked how he, as a comedian and actor, feels about “cancel culture.”
Jackie was already agitated. A model he’d been hitting on all night, and who was very much reciprocating his flirtations, had failed to mention she had a serious boyfriend who also happened to be a seriously famous basketball player, who, of course, also happened to be seriously tall. Upon walking in on Jackie flirting with his girlfriend, the basketball player promptly threatened Jackie that if he didn’t stop such flirtation, good and fast, he’d promptly find himself watching his own head be dunked in his very own ass.
Jackie did not bother to question the physics of this. Besides being scared and offended, he was pretty unimpressed. Unimpressed that a basketball player would make a basketball analogy to threaten him. Pretty lazy, if he said so himself. Which of course he did not say so out loud, because he did very much believe his own head being dunked in his own ass, despite his critique of the comment, was a distinct possibility.
So Jackie left. And Jackie was furious. And Jackie was embarrassed. And when the paparazzo asked Jackie that annoying question, he channeled that fury and that embarrassment toward the unoriginal basketball player and his Venus flytrap model girlfriend into his answer to that very cliché and all-too-often-asked question, which, after it was seen on millions of different websites and posts and memes, achieved doing to Jackie, metaphorically, what the basketball player did not have the chance to do. Jackie had, essentially, dunked his own head in his own ass.
Funny—at the time when he said it, it all seemed to make perfect sense. Now? Well, now was a different story. As Jackie ran the words through his head, they certainly no longer made perfect sense. At best, they made a solid half sense. And these words were running their loop. And now, at this moment, this loop was at its loudest. Screaming in his head as he waited behind the curtain. The curtain that was the only thing standing between him and redemption.
On the other side of the curtain Jackie could hear the voice of his old friend Dianne Blum. Host of The Daily Dianne, the most popular daytime talk show on the air. Jackie and Dianne had come up in the clubs together, and it comforted Jackie to see that loyalty was not completely dead in this day and age. Anyway, she owed him. He was right by her side when her husband, Raymond Blum, had taken his own life, and had sent a very damning suicide note to the press that stated it was all because of Dianne, and her tireless dishing out of mental and emotional abuse. Shortly after the suicide, several of her employees also stepped forward, issuing reports of Dianne demanding an “I Say Whatever I Want Day” every Thursday. Which would encompass her walking up and down the office screaming at everyone from her writers to the janitors, attacking everything about them that was not like her.
Luckily for Dianne, she was America’s morning deity. America’s trust of her ran deeper than her hatred of them. America believed her when she blamed the whole thing on a complete mental breakdown. America bought it, because they had to buy it. There was no one to replace her yet.
But Jackie was replaceable. He was all too replaceable. And as much as he repeated to himself throughout the day that he wasn’t, down deep he knew that at any moment he could be erased and forgotten. He’d be one of those disgraced people who someone, doing much much better than him, would invite to a birthday party. The birthday person would post a picture of him. And even though he had caused so many problems, when the general public looked at this birthday-party picture, there would be no anger. Only sadness. Sadness for the people who knew who he was. But most of them probably wouldn’t know. And, what’s more, they probably wouldn’t try to find out. He’d just be old, and fat, and dying.
But it would soon all be all right. As soon as he got out there, Dianne would handsomely repay him in star-studded support. She’d give him the lift he needed. He’d take the ball and run it all the way to the goal line. Was it a goal line? Jackie couldn’t remember. He wasn’t the biggest sports fan. Something he wore as a badge of honor these days to prove he wasn’t the toxic male all these social media kvetches claimed he was. As he waited for his name to be called he could feel the legs of his pants brushing his leg hair ever so slightly against the grain. This gave him goose bumps along his back. And the goose bumps made his scalp start to sweat. And as his scalp oiled, Dianne started the ball rolling.
“Ladies and gentlemen. I have a friend waiting to come out here. A very old friend. A friend who, like all of us, has made some mistakes in his life. Remember that word? ‘Mistake’? It’s that thing we used to do that we apologized for and when we made one it didn’t always mean that our lives and careers were completely over. It’s that thing that’s expected of us, because, why? Because we are human beings. And last time I checked, most human beings are not saints. Hey, even most of the saints made their fair share of mistakes, am I right? Even though it’s not the latest fashion, because I care about this man, because he is my friend, I am going to bring him out here because ultimately, I know he is a good person. I am going to bring him out to apologize. People, let’s welcome my great friend: Jackie Cohen.”
The curtain separated. The lights blinded him. It was like he had forgotten how bright the lights would be. Like all of this was new to him. The lights were shining on him in a way they never had before. They were exposing him. He momentarily wondered if anyone watching could see through his clothes to his body. Through his skin to his bones. He felt a small nervous fart sneak out. Luckily he was far away from Dianne. The last thing Jackie needed was to be smelling like shit as he hugged his savior on national television.
As they hugged she whispered in his ear, “Make them remember how much they love you.” This sent shivers through Jackie’s body. Both making him a little more nervous than he already was and also, ever so slightly, turned on. They sat down.
“Jackie! My old dear friend. How are you?”
Jackie didn’t waste any time. “How am I, Dianne? Well, looks like I’m pretty stupid.”
The crowd laughed. Things were off to a great start. It’d all be gravy from here on out. Jackie had them, and once he had them he knew how to not let them go. The tension in his chest lightened as he casually crossed his legs.
Dianne echoed the crowd’s laughter, then looked at the camera. “Well, I know how that feels.”
The crowd erupted into even more laughter and some applause. Jackie was overjoyed. Only thirty seconds in and it seemed like he had already been vindicated. All thanks to Dianne. It felt like they were back at the Comedy Hut bar after the show. One-upping each other into the wee hours of the morning. This was no longer a plea for innocence. This would be a routine. A moment of comedy that would be remembered for the ages. Jackie could now safely sharpen his knives and cut into the jokes. He raised his Daily Dianne mug.
“Well, in your defense, Dianne, you weren’t stupid, you were crazy.”
The room stopped. The audience’s energy stuttered. Dianne paused. Jackie started to sweat. Why did he say that? Why did he think that would be a thing to say to the woman who was currently saving his life? He thought it would be funny. That he could speak freely like he always had. That he could throw a jab at her and they could joyfully relate to each other’s imperfections. It clearly wasn’t funny, though. No. But Dianne took mercy on him. As she came out of the momentary deep pondering of what actually had just been said to her on her very own show. She decided to just shake it off. “I mean . . . you’re not wrong, Jackie. Is he, folks?”
Jackie didn’t know how to proceed. It was not in his nature to retreat from discomfort. If he backed down now, it’d surely look weak. The only way out would be to actually, just for now, lean into it.
“I mean, you had a nervous breakdown.”
At this the audience went even more silent than before. Dianne’s eyes squinted. “Yes, that’s true, Jackie.” Okay, so leaning into it obviously didn’t work. He should have gone the other way, and that’s what he would do now. Hopefully it wasn’t too late.
“But who wouldn’t.” Jackie gave a wide, nervous smile.
Dianne cocked her head. She looked into his soul as if she was asking it why it had been born in the first place. Jackie kept retreating.
“Well, now I’m feeling even stupider.”
At this the audience gave a light chuckle. Dianne’s face loosened. She then playfully slapped his knee. “Well, who wouldn’t.” The audience roared. Jackie started breathing again. The queen had shown him mercy.
“It’s true, Dianne. You know, like any of us, I’m not always the best at thinking before I speak.”
“Especially in front of the camera,” said Dianne. The audience laughed even harder.
Well, now that was a bit uncalled-for? Jackie thought. I’m supposed to be the one taking the piss out of me, not her. I get her doing it before ’cause I went too far, but hey, I backtracked and made myself look like the putz, and that should have been it. It’s clearly time to start building me up again, and instead she gives me another knock? I’m not perfect, but I’m also not a schmuck, either. And I’m definitely not anyone else’s schmuck. Jackie reminded his friend just who she was talking to.
“Well, I did pretty good when I spoke out on your behalf, didn’t I?”
Dianne’s smile vanished. Her eyes squinted almost to a close. Jackie knew he had started something. But he didn’t care. She had made her bed and she had to lie in it. Mad at him or not, he was her guest, and it was time to treat him like that. Dianne started to laugh. It was not a laugh Jackie had seen her laugh before. In fact, to call it a laugh wasn’t quite accurate. It looked like a laugh. It sounded like a laugh. But it wasn’t a laugh. Whatever it was, it overcame her, and took her off her chair and onto the studio’s cherrywood floor.
She kneeled mockingly to him. “And I’m so grateful to you for that, Jackie. As I’m sure America is so grateful that you’ve decided to take the time out from golfing to come here and beg for their forgiveness.”
In the meantime, Irving Liebling, The Daily Dianne’s producer, was panicking behind the camera. He knew his star all too well. He had seen this many times before in the hallways, and offices, and bathroom. But never in front of the camera. It had been a while, ever since Dianne had agreed to be on her “best behavior.” But no one had challenged her up to this point. No one had tried to make her look bad. No one had brought up what almost destroyed her on the actual show. And Irving knew his star. He knew his star well enough to see that she was about to have a full-on break.
Dianne extended her hand toward the audience. “Start the begging, Jackie. That’s what you’re here for.”
Begging? Who the fuck did she think she was? And what did she think she was doing? She had just as much to lose acting this way as he did. Maybe she needed further memory jogging. With this he stood up and took a couple steps toward the audience. “Hey, all I meant was that people gotta stop whining all the time. I’m sure you can relate to that frustration, Dianne. All those pesky workers of yours, not to mention your kvetch of a late husband. After all, there’s nothing more ‘complainy’ than a suicide note.”
This was it. Dianne joined her moronic guest in the standing position. This moment was in fact a gift to Dianne. She had been gifted with freedom. The freedom of not giving one single fuck of what anyone thought about who she really was and what she was about to do.
As loud as the audience’s cacophony of boos exploded, they still couldn’t drown out Dianne Blum’s ferocious roar as she picked up her water-filled coffee cup and smashed it over Jackie’s head. Jackie fell flat as two stagehands rushed onto set to hold Dianne back, failing to grab her before she managed to sink her Chanel flat into Jackie’s stomach. Jackie rolled on the floor, gasping for breath as Dianne kicked and screamed violently into the air.
Irving Liebling ordered the cameras to stop taping and the lights to go dark on set. He had the idea that darkness would maybe help the situation. It most certainly did not. Dianne had incredible night vision. Her days of doing theatre paid off, when a director had told her a trick for entering and exiting a pitch-black stage was to close your eyes for a moment to quicken their adjustment to the dark. She broke away from the stagehands, who had not, as of yet, received any such tip. Jackie was still gasping for breath as her legs pinned his arms to the floor and she beat on his face, her wedding ring from her late husband lodging itself in Jackie’s forehead and cheeks.
She would have killed him had one of her fans, on their sprint to try and help her, managed to avoid tripping over a cable and flying headfirst into Dianne’s left temple, thus knocking both women out.
Jackie caught what little he could of his breath and used every last bit of it to run! Run! Run! As he ran, tears mixed with the blood on his face as he wondered how this could have gotten to where it had so fast. There really were no friends in this business. One could only pretend to be friends. And that would only be if their damage matched yours. In this case, though, Dianne and Jackie’s damage was perhaps much too much the same.
As Jackie ran he felt a real sense of loss. Not only from what was absolutely going to be his last time on television, at least for a while. But the loss of Dianne. She was gone. She would never speak to him or, most likely, America ever again. And he had done that. He had made that happen.
As his body smashed into the exit door, audience members were waiting for him. Those who had at first fled from the madness, but then decided to wait for the man who had sinned against their god.
Jackie stopped in his tracks, and through many heaves and gasps muttered the words he wished would have been the only two words he said mere minutes ago.
“I’m sorry.”