Comedy Club

You took an Uber through the city to the comedy club and texted Mosche and he said he would meet you out front.

To be honest, getting dropped off right at the front door with its shitty little red carpet and gold-white lights lining the awning over it, you sort of felt like a celebrity. Not because of the setting or scenery, but because of Gemma.

“Have I mentioned you’re looking radiant?” you asked her as you helped her out of the back seat.

“You did, actually,” she smirked.

“Well, you are also ravishing,” you smiled.

“Oh yeah?” she asked, leaning close and dropping her voice. “So later on, am I doing the ravishing or you?”

“We can ravish each other,” you said and kissed her.

You took Gemma’s hand in yours and turned, looking for Mosche and not finding him. There was only a short line waiting to get into the club, which was minutes from opening, so you shrugged and walked with Gemma to the line. You chatted, held hands, and stole quick kisses.

When the door opened a big burly guy with a beard halfway down his gut came out and started carding people on their way in. He let the both of you in without any issues, and after paying a cover fee of fifteen dollars each, you immediately went to the bar. The comedy club wasn’t the nicest one in town, but Mosche said it was the best because of its history. He could rattle off dozens of names, only some of which you could recognize, of comedians that had performed or cut their teeth there.

“Two Brambles, please,” you said to the bartender.

“You remembered my drink,” Gemma grinned.

“Of course I did,” you said, kind of making a curious face. “You showed it to me four days ago, and it’s also delicious. How could I forget?”

Gemma glanced away and you realized you were turning a happy moment into a melancholic one for her due to memories.

“Hey, come back to me,” you said, squeezing her hand. “You’re here with me, in this club.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Nothing to be sorry for, love,” you said. “We can talk when you’re ready, but I figure maybe this isn’t the right place?”

She looked around and grinned. “Yeah, definitely not the right place.”

“Twenty bucks,” the bartender said, presenting our drinks.

Fuck me sideways, you thought.

You put a twenty and a five on the bartop, and he didn’t even say thank you as he walked away to other customers.

“Hey you guys,” Mosche said, appearing from somewhere around the back of the bar, his lanky gait making him stand out.

“Dude, I thought you were meeting us out front?” you asked.

“Oh, man, I totally forgot. I was talking with that girl I told you about, she’s here for Open Mic night, too.”

“Alright, well, Mosche, this is Gemma. Gemma, this is my roommate for the summer, Mosche,” you said.

“Hey there,” Gemma said.

“Whoa,” Mosche said. “You sound just like the Virgin Mobile answering machine lady.”

And thus began the most awkward conversation you thought you had ever seen Gemma be a part of, and that included the idiocy of Andy at work. She kept a smile on her face, but clearly she had been through all of the questions Mosche had dozens of times. He asked about dangerous animals. He asked about toilets flushing in the opposite direction. He cracked a joke about hanging off the bottom of the world. He even did a Crocodile Hunter impression. That was when you finally had to stop him because Gemma squeezed your hand.

“Alright, Mosche, alright,” you said. “I think that’s a little much.”

“Oh, is it too soon?” Mosche asked, honestly curious. “Everyone keeps telling me comedy is tragedy plus time.”

“No, I’ve just heard it before,” Gemma said.

“Oh, yeah I guess that isn’t very original material,” Mosche pondered. Then his face lit up and he waved someone over to us. The bar had been filling up, and people were already grabbing seats at the tables in the theatre area of the club. “Hey, this is the girl I was talking about. Tasha, hey, this is my roommate John, and this is Gemma. She’s Australian.”

You suppressed the eye roll you wanted to give him, and turned to the woman. She was slender, with a wavy blonde bob to her jawline and a very bohemian hipster look. She had a septum ring in her nose, and a chest tattoo of an octopus of all things. “Hey,” she said with a sultry grin.

You and Gemma both said hi, and then the conversation stalled for one painful moment as Mosche failed to bring her into the actual conversation. He just looked at her with a silly little grin on his face. “So I hear you’re going up tonight?” you asked Tasha. “Open Micing like Mosche?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said. “I’ve been doing my research for a while, putting together my tight ten. This is the third time I’m going up.”

“Nice,” Gemma said. “That’s exciting. Break a leg!”

“Thanks,” she said and practically eyefucked Gemma.

“Right, well, looks like we should probably try to grab a table,” you said. “Tasha, nice to meet you. Mosche, remember you promised not to practice your crowd work on us, yeah?”

“Fine, fine,” Mosche said.

“Oh my God,” Gemma murmured to you as you walked hand in hand into the tabled area. “Thank you for ending that.”

“I was just waiting for your signal,” you chuckled as you looked for a table. The place had filled up quickly and you were trying your damnedest not to need to head for the open table just to the right of the front of the stage.

“I gave you a signal?” Gemma asked.

“You squeezed my hand,” you said. “That wasn’t a signal?”

“I-” she blinked, as if surprised. “I guess it was.” Gemma started heading for that front-row table. “Come on, this is the only empty one.”

“I don’t know if we want it,” you said.

“What? Why? it’s a great view,” Gemma said.

She settled into a chair, and you sat down next to her. “Because,” you said. “This is the hot seat.”

She smirked. “Oh, it can’t be that bad.”

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