Post by fattyox on May 10, 2015 7:40:13 GMT -6
The Jesters Court
Des Moines, Iowa
Saturday May 9, 2015
9:57 PM
Ron stood up at his vanity and adjusted his tan colored blazer, preparing for the stage. He ran his fingers through his hair; not to tidy it, but to mess it up a little bit. Part if his shtick was to look a little “off”…that was part of his charm. Finally, he unfastened the top button of his button-down shirt to show just enough chest…not too proper, but not to leisurely. He took a deep breath, and stared at himself. His reflection that he saw in the mirror spoke of utmost confidence, professionalism at its peak. He was about to go out there, and he was about to KILL IT.
The audience clapped and cheered, indicating that the preceding performer had wrapped his set up. The countdown began for Ron. He got up from the backstage vanity and took his place on deck, just inside the curtain. Jeremy, the previous performer, passed Ron on his way offstage. They locked eyes.
Jeremy laughed. “Christ, Ron. How in the hell are you going to follow that?” He gestured back to the stage, towards the active crowd who was still cheering. An encore chant was beginning, being cut into by a man on the mic trying to settle the crowd down. “You’re going to need Danica Patricks race car if you’re even going to come close!” He laughed at his crude joke, and continued on his way.
The stage manager finally got the crowd to calm down. “Well, there you have it. Jeremy Reynolds everybody!” The crowd applauded and cheered again, but only for about 5 seconds. “Now, normally, we break now for about an hour before the late-night gigs begin…but I have one more performer here who is just itching to get on stage. He practically paid me for this open mic…in fact, it cost him about fifty bucks!” The crowd didn’t react as warmly to this. A voice from somewhere out there rang out, “It’s not that Oddman again, is it?”
The stage manager’s silence was all the crowd needed. “Well…without further adu, Ladies and Gentlemen, Ron Oddmin!”
That was Ron’s cue. He crossed the threshold from backstage into the hot spotlight. He waved his hand and waved, smiling out to the crowd. Nobody really gave him any kind of ovation. Some people clapped slowly, but the atmosphere consisted more of heckling.
“You suck Oddman!”
“BOOOOO!”
“Why can’t this guy just die?”
Ron scanned the club. As many standard comedy clubs, the floor right in front of the stage was set with many round tables, each with patrons drinking beers, or sipping cocktails and margaritas. It seemed like there were more empty seats than there should have been…and the bar at the back of the club seemed MUCH busier than it normally was for other performers.
Ron began his act. “Hey, how is everybody doing tonight?”
His question was met with silence, until a familiar hecklers voice rang out, “I’m trying to figure out which is the quickest way to kill myself!” Some of the remaining crowd laughed at that.
Ron smiled, and addressed the heckler. “Trust me when I say, I’ve tried many ways, and am still here, so I don’t know!” He presented that joke, but no one laughed. The heckler answerd right away…”well we can help you if you need it!” The crowd laughed again. So far, that heckler was getting more laughs than Ron.
Ron decided to start his set. “You know…I’ve been married once (“No way!”, cried the heckler), and I can honestly say that it’s not for everyone…Nope. It’s only for two people!” His joke fell flat. There was no reaction, other than that heckler laughing at what he was about to say next. “Well, did she wind up leaving you for a midget with down syndrome?? Because I’m sure she felt like she was better off in that scenario!”
People laughed at what he said, almost in pure spite of themselves, but more out of spite for Ron. The heckler was beginning to get on Ron’s nerves now, because he had actually been married before, and she did wind up leaving him for someone else. Not for a midget with down syndrome, but for a bisexual snake breeder (of all people).
“Well, people always say that six is afraid of seven, because seven ate nine, but I think that’s baloney, because six is just jealous that seven is getting to eat nine. After all, its six’s job to be with nine…to signify…eating…”, he stumbled with the joke, only to be interrupted by that heckler again. “Oh…now he’s talking about number porn! Someone call Chris Hansen!”
Laughs ensued, but were cut short by Ron. “Hey, pal. You know, if you think you’re better at this than I am, why don’t you come up here and show me what I’m doing wrong?” He made the challenge, thinking it would just shut the guy up once and for all…but the guy wound up getting out of his seat. He appeared to be a college guy, about 6 feet tall, worked out, with a buzz cut. He had a bottle of beer in his hand as he laughed with his buddies at their table. Then he advanced for the stage. People clapped for his entrance, and Ron noticed that their interactions had caught the attention of a lot of those people who had migrated to the bar earlier. The tables in front of him were almost filled out.
The heckler joined Ron on stage. He wound up being a little shorter than Ron, but he seemed to be built more like a tank. He wrenched the mic out of Ron’s hand and addressed the crowd. “Wooooo! I took down the Oddman!” He toasted the crowd with his beer, and the crowd laughed and clapped.
He continued, “You know, I’m really beginning to see what this Oddman and stiffs at the morgue have in common…they stink, and nobody really wants to be around them!” The joke was kind of shallow, but the crowd was wholeheartedly on his side, so they laughed anyway.
“Mother’s Day was last weekend. I hope he got his mom a bottle of Jack, because he IS the reason she turned to drinking!” He was laughing at his own joke, along with the crowd. Ron was beginning to turn red with anger. He was being upstaged and insulted, basically roasted, but that wasn’t what he signed up for.
The heckler turned and faced Ron, and with a more serious demeanor, “Hey, man. No hard feelings. It’s nothing personal. I mean, this is supposed to be a business where you make people laugh, right?” Ron nodded in agreement; feeling a little more relaxed now. The college boy continued, “Well, in that case, why are you here?? HAHAHAHHAAA!”
That was it. Ron paid a good fifty bucks to get open-mic time here, he wasn’t about to let somebody make a fool out of him. While the guy was still laughing at his own humor, Ron surprised him by snatching his bottle of beer from his hand, and smashing it over his head. He dropped the mic in surprise, while the leftover beer ran down his face. The crowd erupted in anger, and the heckler’s table of buddies jumped up and made their way to the stage to support their friend.
Meanwhile, Ron got a few punches on the guy, blinded by beer in his eyes. He staggered, and wound up backing into Ron. In his steaming anger, Ron pushed him back away, and the heckler wound up falling off the stage. He landed right on the edge of a round table, breaking it right off the legs. People were screaming more now, and were leaving the area.
The frat buddies jumped on stage, and were getting ready to gang up on Ron, before security intervened. They separated the two parties (while the frat guys tried to force their way past them), while the stage manager wrenched Ron off stage. Ron was upset, but that was nothing compared to the deep plum color the manager’s face was.
“What the FUCK are you doing?? What kind of guy are you, coming into MY club and harassing MY patrons, and starting FIGHTS on MY stage?? Do you have any FUCKING idea what kind of trouble this is going to cause me?”
Ron yelled back. “What kind of club do you run anyway?? I’m trying to start a career here, and even went as far to pay for FREE STAGE TIME here!”
The managers eyes bugged out, and he reached into his pocket to retrieve his money clip. He muttered things to himself in anger (“pay for time…club that I run…its my club…)while he went through it, finally pulling out a fifty dollar bill. “Here, take your stupid money back! Its no good here!” The manager flicked the bill in Ron’s face. He just barely had time to catch it before the owner collared him and began pushing him along.
“You can take your goddamned money, and you can hit the goddamned road! I never want to see your face AGAIN! And I’ll make damn sure well that you never work in this city AGAIN!” Ron felt himself get pushed backwards into a wall…no…a door. With a good, final heave, the manager shoved him hard through the door, sending Ron stumbling down to the ground in the alley behind the club. “And if I ever DO see you again, I will personally remove your BALLS and hang them from the top of my STAGE! And that’s where theyre going to STAY, because I know for a fact that they’ll NEVER DROP!!” With that, he slammed the door shut, leaving Ron there on the ground. Angered and confused, he stayed there, reflecting on what had all just happened.
What was happening with him and his career? Should he just call it quits, or was this all the type of stuff that was standard for up-and-coming comedians? Had he really done something wrong in there, or was he just standing up for himself?
The few minutes felt like hours that he stayed there, before a slight breeze caused the fifty dollar bill to graze his hand. This brought him back to earth, and he got himself up. He staggered down the alley towards the road. He didn’t bother dusting the dirt and debris from his clothes. It felt pointless anyway. At least he felt like he had been in a fight, even though clearly, his ass was handed to him.
He stepped out onto the sidewalk to see the commotion he caused. An ambulance was backed up to the entrance of the club in downtown Des Moines, and the pair of paramedics were currently preparing the stretcher with the heckler to be loaded into the back. Ron saw his buddies on the other side of the scene, and instinctively backed around the corner to remain hidden. He didn’t want to be outnumbered…not now.
“Hey, kid…” a raspy voice caused Ron to jump a mile. He spun around to face his addressor, ready to fight should he have to. Instead, he found a shorter, stockier man, probably well into his 40s or 50s. He was dressed in a fairly nice dark suit, and had a fat cigar hanging out of his mouth.
“Who are you?” Ron took a defensive stance, only to have the shorter man raise his hands as a peace offering. “Calm down, Kid. I don’t want to fight you. Not after what happened in there (he gestured in the direction of the club). But I saw you in there, and I got to say, I liked what I saw.”
Ron narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but relaxed himself and felt more at ease. The man continued, holding his cigar between two fingers. “My name is Gary, and I work for a professional…talent agency. If you can do what I saw you do on stage for who I work for…I can put you in front of THOUSANDS…not just a hundred.” He returned the cigar for a few puffs.
Ron just stood there, letting Gary’s words echo in his mind. Liked what I saw…talent agency…Thousands…*cigar puff*…thousands…THOUSANDS… OPPORTUNITY…The word opportunity rang out above all else. This could be the very break he was waiting for! A smile crept across Ron’s face, and Gary took that as a good sign. His body bounced up and down as he chuckled. He reached into his suit, and pulled out a business card.
“Here, take this card, and call the number on it tomorrow. In the meantime…plan on getting yourself to New York. That’s where we will begin. Okay, pal?” Gary handed the card to Ron and patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, I can see big things happening with you with our company. You’ll go far.” With that, he made his way past Ron and walked off.
Meanwhile, Ron turned over the business card to read the face of it. All it said was ‘make the VOW’, and included a phone number, along with Gary’s name. No last name. Just GARY. It all seemed so mysterious, and Ron began to wonder if it was some kind of set up/cult gathering. But this was the first time in his life that he had ever been noticed. And, after tonight, a cult gathering sounded rather interesting anyhow.