Day 16 - Only Laugh - Chapter 16 (2236 words)

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ONLY LAUGH WHEN IT HURTS

By Wayne Webb

CHAPTER 16

No one was laughing, but that's because he was not even trying to be funny.

He was trying to outstay his welcome and was doing a great job. He had taken the stage at he only club he had ever felt at home being. He had come to the green room, unannounced and unexpected. The comics were a little stagestruck at seeing him there, on the amateur night that only a few months ago he was a relative unknown at. People he had fretted with backstage were now treating him like a stranger, unsure of him and what he was like now that he was rich and famous.

He had waited until the mid point of the evening and then apologised to the comics waiting to go on after the break. They were flummoxed and amused in various measures as no one really knew what he meant by that until he left via the stairs and took to the stage.

It was empty and the lights were up in the room, the mic was off and half the audience, which was still a decent size considering that it was an unadvertised, no name week night which used to be the domain of sad and drunk Monday nighters. They still had the leftover effect of being the home of the comedy discovery of the decade. People associated the place with success and entertainment. They still came much larger numbers than ever before, waiting for lightning to strike again.

“Do you know what the secret to great comedy is?”

Tony caught the attention of the man on the lights at the back, he flicked on the microphone and left the lights the way they were.

“Sorry, that’s better, testing? Testing? 1, 2, 7?”

He tapped the microphone and cleared his throat loudly. A few people in the audience, sitting the tables back in their place on quieter nights they don't fill the room on, clapped and whooped. IT sounded tinny and pathetic in quiet lit room. Some of the people out in the foyer stuck their heads back in and saw he had taken the stage.

Word passed quickly and people filtered back in as Tony began his speech.

He didn't have an act or a routine, he had a plan.

“Anyway, where was I? Oh yes what is the secret of great comedy?” He paced the stage floor and continued on.

“No one wants to hear jokes any more, not really. A great comedian will tell jokes and make you laugh even when you don't want to. More will tell stories, looking for pay-off in the sting at the end. Or maybe just celebrating the ludicrous in nature on the way, taking you with them. If you think someone is funny, you'll probably find them funny.”

He didn't explain, just paused while one person snorted laughter in their drink and then continued on.

“Context has a lot to do with it too, I mean I can't do rape jokes, but she can.” He indicated a young Indian girl who had earlier made a hilarious rape joke, it worked because she was a she. “She has context.”

“An incredibly boring person is funny because they are so boring. Misogyny is funny when it's way over the top and offends people. Racism is funny, when it's performed by people who are usually the target of racism yourself. But me? I'm white and am forbidden from saying the word … “nigger.” because I don't have context.” Tony looked at the audience, they were almost all back now and he could see the club Manager talking into his mobile phone excitedly. Not paying attention to the stage at all.”

“Nigger!” The room is deathly silent. “See? That’s not funny. And it shouldn't be.”

There's a bit of a rumble in the crowd, there's no joke coming, or not an obvious one.

“Violence, totally not funny. Unless in context it is.”

“You have to allow it to be funny and the worse it is the more you have to allow it. The inverse is that the less funnier it is, the more funny it becomes once you allow it. Racial slurs in the hands of victims, rape jokes in the hands of women – the more vulnerable the better, violence too in my hands is funny.”

He stands there and says nothing for a long time.

The audience starts to chatter and one or two people boo.

Tony started into life at the sound of the first boo.

“Silence, not funny. Not funny at all. Unless you're a mime, but then again plenty of people would argue that point, Mimes are not funny.” Finally an observation that is slightly humorous. Like pin in a balloon the audience titters and cackles.

“Who wants a laugh?”

There's no response, because it's not a line it's a question.

In the back of the room one person has had enough. “You do mate!” The man is holding a beer and has an English accent. People swerve in their seats to see him and Tony smiles coldly. He takes the microphone off the wire and puts it down on the stage.

Slowly, almost painfully, still feeling the effects of weeks of beatings and self destruction in search of a good laugh, Tony picks his way through the tables to the very back of the room and stands before the lone heckler, his friends have faded away and left him on his own.

“Come on then. Make us laugh.” He spreads his arms wide in a grandiose gesture and then points at his chin, inviting a punch. The man misreads the situation though and looks around at the crowd, they have started leaving their tables and stand in a semi circle about the two men waiting for the punchline.

“Nah mate, it's you who're the comedian...” He leaves a beat, “... Or used to be.” He smirked at his slur on the comic, the self satisfied leer of a man who snipes to get his audience.

“No, I don't mean for you to tell a joke, I mean for you to help me make them laugh.” Tony again pointed at his chin. “Hit me.”

The man looked surprised and delighted and balled a fist. He didn't throw it, he just cocked it back over dramatically and rose up as if he was going to punch then froze.

Tony just stood there, unflinching and waiting patiently. The man still in the same pose looked to his right and left and then at the Club Manager, who stood with the door man a few feet away. He was awaiting validation, put on the spot and asked to assault someone without the heat and passion of the moment felt really wrong. The manager looked at the door man, and they looked at Tony who had a huge grin on his face, patient and saintly looking, waiting for the fist to fly.

“Come on now, it's not that hard and no one is going to arrest you for assault you know. No one has up till now you know that right?”

Still he had the fist cocked in the now ridiculous looking pose, his face was reddening and his knuckles were white while he though over the choice he had before him.

“What about you guys? Do you want a laugh? Come on, give the lad some encouragement!” Tony stomped the floor rhythmically and the people joined in, “Hit me! Hit me! Hit me!” The crowd took up the chant, some saying “me” some chanting “him” to use the proper identifier.

The chanting got louder and the effect on the heckler was to enrage him, he felt impotent and frozen unable to hit was embarrassing. That was not going to be the case for much longer, the ire in him rose like a tide and overwhelmed him. Then he surged forward and lurched a very uncomfortable fist in a dirty and ungraceful arc, slower than it should have been and wobbling in the air.

“No, no wait!” The man stumbled over the pulled punch as Tony side stepped and thoughtfully scratched his head.

“What's wrong with this? You know what it is?”

The crowd was laughing now at the heckler who had fallen over, balance all out of kilter as he had been interrupted in a motion he was coerced into and was unnatural therefore too forced. Now blushing and mocked by the way things were unfolding he tried to slink away as the crowd focussed on Tony again who was posing in that thoughtful stage comedy way while he pretended to think about that was obviously going to be the joke. He clapped the man on the shoulder and forcibly lifted him up to face him, staring down the man's desire to leave and get out of the spotlight in front of all these people.

“I know what the problem is, this is old hat, man! This has been done before, so many times, I wind some one up and put the in the driver's seat and BAM!” Tony slammed his own fist into his palm and made a violent smack resonate in the back of the room.

His now unwilling volunteer was scared and out of options. What the fuck was going on?

No one knew, even Tony was making it up as he went along. He had a vague idea but no guess on how or why he was about to do what he thought up in the last few seconds. He wanted to really push people hard, put them in an uncomfortable place and then pop the tension around them harshly. He intended to kill the laughter, whether it survived this process or not was unclear, but it felt like the natural progression of his act.

“We need to change it up, do things differently. Who wants to see Tony get beat up any more? Anyone?” A few people cheered but more didn't wondering what else was coming, what was the new thing. “Come on then!”

As he left the main room and headed into the Foyer there were people coming into the club, he recognised his own crew, obviously clued in by the club manager and they looked half apprehensive and half anticipating whatever was going on. Cameras were already out and being aimed at him, people in the audience were filming and his team were already reaching for contracts and copies of the paperwork to take as much advantage as they could.

“Follow me!” He swept through his team, eyeing his agent with a look a few inches from his nose as he pushed rapidly forward that told him to get out of the way and stay away.

The crowd propelled forward by Tony's personal momentum, surged behind him and they spilled out on the street outside. Tony strode to the spot where months ago he had been stabbed.

“Same old, same old! Surely we can do better yes?” He was yelling this and the mob of followers cheered him on loudly.

He stood on the edge of the pavement, teetering on the brink of the gutter and looked over his shoulders. There was a bus stop a few feet down the street from where he stood. He looked back at his followers and they clicked almost all as one and one brave soul started forwards to try and stop Tony as he stepped backwards into the path of the rapidly decelerating bus.

As he took the step he turned arms spread and welcome the juggernaut of glass and steel into his outstretched embrace.

There were screams and shouting and out of the corner of his eye, which he could actually feel bleeding now he saw bodies rushing towards him. He had been knocked about 5 feet down the pavement and had his head raised even as it hit the solid ground. As people came towards him he had a rush of adrenalin as he raised an arm, pain jolting down it as he waved people away and gurgled loud and as clear as possible “Stay back!”

No one approached.

There was now a new semi-circle, this one silent and waiting for something, anything to happen next.

“What the fuck! Are you Fucking insane?” The driver of the bus was out and starting forward but is silenced by the eerie feel of the crowd, all soundless swaying, mesmerised and waiting.

Painfully, in actual pain, Tony propped his arm under him, the searing feeling of the bone grating shot the white light of reality through him He had thought that maybe in this situation shock would separate him from the pain, but that was not happening. This hurt worse than when Roy had knifed him and then twisted the blade up and out.

He ignored it all and seconds passed as he levered himself up unaided and stood in front of the crowd.

He held up one hand asking for patience non verbally while he spat out blood and mucous before very clearly enunciating.

“The secret is timing.” Then he took a long bow and as he came back up from it he saw the applause start and the roaring in his ears was now drowned out by a raucous and cacophony of appreciation.