Brenda Monk Is Funny (13 page)

Nina paused and nodded, then seemed to realise that Brenda had finished speaking.

‘Yeah, OK. Well, well done anyway.’

‘Thanks.’

Something about this woman made Brenda feel like a teenager. She was elegant, dressed like a grown up, Middleton glossy hair tousled down her back and she wore no make-up. Rossly’s over-attentiveness suggested that this was a relatively new relationship, and that furthermore, despite his over-confidence, Nina was way out of what he considered to be his league. Nina stood, unspeaking, a far-away look in her eyes and a small Mona Lisa smile on her shell-like lips. Rossly was already gathering up his stuff, anxious not to keep this extraordinary woman of his waiting.

‘Hey, good luck, Brenda Monk. You’re initiated now. Just got to keep working. You’re not bad, you know? Not bad. Do as many gigs as you can.’

Brenda nodded dumbly and tried not to look disappointed and deflated. All the energy had now gone from her body and she wanted nothing more than to eat a trashy Chinese takeaway and go to sleep for a very long time. Rossly left, guiding Nina through the door, whispering in her ear so she giggled attractively.

‘So, do you want this ten or not?’ Marvin asked gruffly.

‘Uh, yes. Yes please,’ Brenda replied before she could change her mind.

Brenda awoke in Pete’s bed to the sound of her phone ringing. Blearily, she reached to pick it up and Pete stirred beside her, then rolled over. Jonathan. Sliding quietly from the bed, Brenda took the call as she descended the stairs after closing the door carefully behind her.

‘Hi, it’s… It’s early.’

‘So, Brenda, have you got summin’ you like to tell me?’

He sounded drunk. Despite the fact that they had barely communicated in almost a month, she still went cold. Her brain worked as fast as it could given that it was only a little past 6am, and she had been awake until 4.30.

‘Ummm… look, I don’t know who told you, but…’

‘Good ole Mike Smith tole me. Good ole Mike Smith. My buddy Mike Smith, Mike Smith, my only frien’.’

How the hell did Mike Smith know she had got drunk at the gig after Rossly left, then thumbed through her Facebook messages and essentially booty-called Pete, who had been a little bewildered by her appearance at his door twenty minutes later but had stepped up to the occasion admirably, delivering over three hours of solid gold shagging until they had both fallen asleep in his clean, white bed. For a start, Mike had left the venue before she had. Had he followed her? Brenda held the phone away from her ear and stuck her head under the kitchen tap, lapping the cold water like a cat and hoping it might miraculously cure her hangover and get her out of whatever trouble she was clearly in. She turned the tap off and gave Jonathan her attention.

‘Mike Smith doesn’t know anything.’

‘About comedy, no, but he seems to know an awful lot ’bout you, lil Brenda.’

‘Like what?’

‘Oh no, I wanna hear it from you.’

Brenda took a deep breath and decided to be honest. Jonathan was always talking about the value of honesty, so she bit the coin to see what it was really made of.

‘Well, I’ve been lonely and…’

Jonathan didn’t even let her finish.

‘Lonely? So you decided to steal all my jokes and go out and try being a comedian, did you?’

Ah, so that was it. Relief flowed over Brenda.

‘Brenda? Did you? Thought you’d get out there and try an’ be funny while my back’s turned?’

‘I was interested… to see… how it might turn out.’

‘Who got you the gig?’

‘No-one. I got it myself.’

‘No you fuckin’ didn’t. Someone got you the gig. No-one gets to play Snort on the third time out. Not even for an unpaid ten.’

Wow, Mike had lost no time in giving Jonathan the details. Brenda felt a plume of irritation rise inside her.

‘Fenella Lawrence got me the gig. She’s been helping me with my material.’

Silence. Ominous. Brenda took the opportunity to drink again.

‘Fenella fuckin’ Lawrence. Your material. It’s my fuckin’ material.’

‘No it isn’t. I wrote it, it’s mine.’

‘But it’s about us, isn’t it? And I do jokes about us.’

‘Yeah, well, last time I looked, I was an equal participant in us, so I don’t see why I shouldn’t do jokes about it too.’

‘BUT YOU’RE NOT A FUCKIN’ STAND-UP COMEDIAN ARE YOU?’

‘Says who?’

‘Says me. Says everyone. You’re not.’

‘Well, maybe I am now.’

‘Are you funny?’

This was put with such childlike simplicity that Brenda actually laughed out loud.

‘I think I might be, Jonathan – I think it’s possible that I am.’

‘Was it a good gig, then?’

Brenda knew he was asking this in spite of himself. He couldn’t help it. He was an obsessive and when it came down to it, nothing else mattered.

‘It was OK. I mean, plenty of room for improvement but I think I might have something… I think I might have something to say.’

Silence again.

And then, so quietly she could barely hear it, ‘I love you, Brenda.’

This was so unexpected that Brenda thought she must have misheard. She held her breath.

‘Did you hear me?’

‘I think so.’

‘I said I love you.’

‘Yes, that’s what I thought.’

‘Well, aren’t you going to say it back?’

Brenda was floundering now. She had never heard him so pathetic, and yet a month ago this would have been all her fantasies. She closed her eyes and rested her throbbing head on the cool door of the fridge.

‘Bren?’

It sounded like he was crying a little bit. She answered softly.

‘I do love you, yes, in a way. OK? Have you been drinking, Jonathan?’

‘I don’know. A bit.’

‘Is it going well over there?’

‘I don’know. It’s different. They like different things. But I’m getting used to it.’

‘OK, well that’s good. You, er, you must be tired. Why don’t you lie down?’

‘OK, I’ll lie down.’

Brenda heard him collapse onto what she assumed must be his bed.

‘Can you come and see me, Bren? I want to see your face.’

Brenda made some fast calculations – how much paid holiday did she have left?

She also had a flashback to Pete’s hands gripping her buttocks as she climbed on top of him.

‘I’ll ask at work and see what I can do.’

‘Are you going to do another gig?’

Brenda weighed up her response, but she didn’t flinch now.

‘I think so. Yes, Marvin said I could have another unpaid ten next month, and I might look for some more open spots. You know, any advice would be really… helpful… Hello? Jonathan?’

A snore told her he was asleep. She pressed the red button on her phone and saw three missed calls from Fenella from last night. She’d deal with that later.

She crept back up the stairs to Pete. He was awake, and smiling.

‘Everything OK?’

‘Yup.’

‘Are you getting back in here?’

Brenda got back under the covers and Pete ran a flat palm down the length of her body.

‘I’m concerned I’m being used for sex.’

‘No you’re not,’ Brenda replied.

‘Being used for sex?’

‘No, concerned about it.’

Another session marked by surprising tenderness, although it was over quickly. It felt for all the world like the kind of sex Brenda imagined married people must have. It was uncomplicated and quick, but not meaningless. Pete was the kind of man who was used to being in a relationship and so even when he was ostensibly engaged in something approaching ‘fuck-buddy’ sex, he couldn’t help but fall into patterns that men used to commitment and longevity practice. There was no overwhelming sense that she should leave, for example. And so, like a trained pigeon recently set free, she implemented that for herself, rolling out of the bed after a polite gap and starting to get dressed. Pete watched her.

‘Why are you leaving?’

‘Well, you’ve got things to be getting on with, I’m sure.’

‘Not really.’

‘Don’t you have a job?’

‘Yes, I’m self-employed. I can award myself the morning off.’

‘Ah, well, I’m not. And the news won’t wait for me. Imagine if I didn’t go in today, no-one would know what was going on.’

‘Why did you come over last night?’

‘To see you.’

‘Did someone else turn you down?’

Brenda was startled by this. He had nailed it.

‘Yes, I thought so,’ Pete said but he didn’t seemed bothered.

‘Do you mind?’

‘Not really. I can live with second choice if you’re going to be that crazy in bed.’

Brenda couldn’t remember much about it, so this was a pleasant surprise.

‘So, can we meet up away from the bed?’

Brenda hesitated. She was technically still in a relationship, although the current set-up hardly merited the description. She thought about Jonathan and how he made her feel that she was begging for his time, how complex everything felt, and wondered whether she put up with it because she was simply bored and it gave her something to think about. She wondered why she felt less keen on dealing with it now and suspected it had something to do with this new flirtation with stand-up she seemed to be embarking on. A good person would officially break it off with Jonathan before going on an official date with a new man. But again those words, ‘where the fuck is he, then? Not here, that’s where…’ echoed in her mind. She suddenly felt that this moral code she was so keen to stick to was ridiculous and irrelevant and so restrictive that she was missing out on her own life while others lived theirs however they chose. It was also silly to imagine herself to be some kind of right and moral woman, given the fact that she had now had sex with this man several times. She would have him inside her and yet refuse him a drink? The mark of a true Brit, she thought wryly.

‘OK.’

‘That took a while – I’ve never known anyone think so long about meeting for a glass of wine.’

‘Well, I’m very intellectual. You’ll learn that about me.’

Brenda kissed him and left, feeling good despite the fact of her apparent badness.

She returned Fenella’s calls from her desk.

‘I heard already – Rossly texted me. He thinks you’re my little protégé.’

Brenda blushed at the remembrance of Rossly and her foolish assumption about his desire for her.

‘What did he say?’

‘That you did OK for a beginner. That Ludo was being a cunt but you took it in your stride. And that Marvin offered you another ten.’

‘He did.’

‘Did you accept?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good girl.’

‘I don’t know what I’m doing with all this. I spoke to Jonathan. He took it… oddly.’

‘Well of course he’s not going to like it.’

‘I wouldn’t say he didn’t like it exactly, but it freaked him out.’

‘Jonathan likes his women to be characters in his story rather than playing the lead in their own lives.’

‘Hmm. He wants me to go and see him in New York.’

‘Well, don’t. You’ve got work to do here and you can’t waste time flying over there just to listen him whinge about the faster pace in American comedy clubs or whatever his problem is.’

‘That’s a little harsh.’

‘Unless you’re going there to gig yourself you need to stay here and get on with getting better.’

‘Look, I’ve never said I’m going to be a stand-up comedian, you know, as a life choice. I said I’d try it out a few times and see how I felt.’

‘Yeah, but you feel great, don’t you?’

Fenella was creepy, with this ability to read people so accurately and with such confidence. Brenda was impressed, but cautious too. As a weapons grade comedian, Fenella necessarily shared some personal attributes with Jonathan, though she’d rather stick a knife in her spleen than admit it. Some voice inside Brenda warned against jumping from one overpowering personality to another. She could not congratulate herself on extracting herself from Jonathan if she was simply going to allow Fenella to assume the role of chief Brenda controller, even if her motives were undoubtedly better than Jonathan’s.

‘I do feel better, yes. I feel excited.’

‘Good, then get online and find an open spot for this week.’

‘Yeah. I will.’

‘I’ll text you later to check you did.’

Brenda submitted, both grateful and grumpy for the push. Googling the various websites that held comedy listings for London, she found the small club nights in pubs that advertised open spots, picked up the phone and called the first five on the list. Within fifteen minutes, she had three gigs booked for the next fortnight: a five-minute spot, a ten-minute, and a gong show. This had now taken on a life of its own. She was doing stand-up, she was doing it, or perhaps it was doing her, but either way, they were in it together. Checking nobody was watching she then clicked through to the most high profile of the comedy websites, Gag.com, noted the closing date for the most prestigious of all the new act competitions, and clicked through to the online application form.

She stared intensely at the screen for a moment, half hoping words would simply appear in the gaps, absolving her of the responsibility of filling it in herself. She shut her eyes and heard a female voice screaming within. She minimised the screen and opened another: an American online gossip site that prided itself on its more sophisticated tone, and hoped it would distract her. It didn’t. She was reading the same sentence about a young reality star who had been arrested on a DUI charge over and over again. She checked her phone: nothing. She looked round again. All about her faces glowed in the light of monitors delivering twenty-four-hour news coverage.

She brought the application form up again and just let her fingers type out her entry while she sat and watched the words jump onto the screen. She clicked ‘Submit’ before she could even check the information she had given was all correctly spelled. A confirmation message flashed up, informing Brenda that she would hear about regional heats in due course.

She sat back hard in her chair and let queasiness take hold. She was out there – she had plugged herself in, flicked the switch and brought her own monster to life.