Out of Whack (19 page)

       “Shoot.”

       I pointed my finger at her like a gun. “Bang.”

       No, I didn’t really do that. I was just testing how much of a geek you’d believe I could be.

       Rewinding...

* * *

       “I have a question,” I said.

       “Shoot.”

       “The first two times we met, did you really hate me?”

       Laura thought about it for a long moment. “Yes,” she said, finally. “Yes I did.”

       “So where are you now? On a scale from hatred to passionate love?”

       “I’d say somewhere around mild dislike.”

       Only mild dislike! Yes! Let the fireworks begin!

       “No, really, I don’t have any special opinion of you,” she said. “I’m enough of an optimist to hope that our previous two meetings were exceptions. I did like you bringing me roses, candy, and Tide. I think that there’s a smidgen of a chance that we could become friends. How about that?”

       “Sounds good to me,” I replied, reaching over and squeezing her breast.

       No, I didn’t really do that, either.

       Rewinding...

* * *

       Oh, what the heck? Let’s see that again.

       “Sounds good to me,” I replied, reaching over and squeezing her breast.

       Rewinding...

* * *

       “Sounds good to me,” I replied, keeping my hands to myself.

      
Okay,
my inner voice said,
you’re really nervous but you’re doing fine so far. For round two, you need to maintain the appearance of an interesting person. Prove that you can keep a fascinating conversation flowing.

      
“What’s your major?” I asked.

      
God, what a loser,
my inner voice muttered, throwing up its hands in resignation. It vanished, and I’ve never heard from it to this day.

       “Theatre,” she replied. “I want to be an actress.”

       “Really? Movies? TV? Politics?”

       “The stage. Live audiences.”

       “You
want
the live audiences?” I asked with disbelief. “If I’d been performing to a crowd of mannequins I might not have messed up so bad at the comedy contest last night.”

       “That was you?”

       “That was me,” I admitted. “You heard about it, huh?”

       “Oh, sure, everyone was talking about it after the show. I came back after I got cleaned up but they were already on the last act.”

       “What’d they say?”

       “They said that...you didn’t remember your lines as well as you could have, but that your friend did a decent job of covering for you.”

       “And they expressed it that kindly, huh?”

       “Oh, of course,” said Laura. “I certainly wouldn’t try and spare your feelings. Did you really look like you were about to give birth?”

       “I hope not, but probably.” I sighed wistfully, which I thought made the whole conversation all the more romantic. “I really don’t know what happened. I mean, my brain just shut down. It was like I was back in algebra class.”

       “Well, you deserve points for walking out on stage, at least. Some people wouldn’t have even been able to do that. Who wrote the act, you or your friend?”

       “We collaborated. I’ve written a few comedy skits on my own, actually. I even had a humorous piece accepted for this magazine called
Gleefully Disturbed.”

       See how I effortlessly worked those credits into the conversation? Pretty swift, huh?

      
“Gleefully Disturbed?”
Laura asked, excitedly. “You sold something to
Gleefully Disturbed?”

       “Yep. Have you read the magazine?”

       “No, but I think maybe I’ve heard of it somewhere.” We stopped at a red light behind a Volkswagen. “I can’t remember where, and I’m probably confusing it with something else, and, yeah, now that I think of it I’m sure it’s a different magazine I’m thinking of...
Twisted
or something, but that’s really neat. When does it come out?”

       I paused. “Eventually. Maybe.”

       “Well, I’d like to read it when it does.”

       “I’ll forward a copy to your retirement community.”

       The light had been green for about two seconds, so Laura honked at the Volkswagen and leaned out the window. “Are you waiting for an earthquake to propel you forward? Go!”

       “Why doesn’t it surprise me that you’re an aggressive driver?” I asked, smiling.

       She took a sharp left turn across traffic that I thought was worth at least three flippings of the traditional bird from other drivers, and we pulled into the hamburger joint. A neon pink sign flashed its name: The Burger Bordello. With a tender comment about the quality of parking performed by a sports car in the handicapped spot, Laura selected a space and shut off the engine.

       I glanced over at the restaurant. “The Burger Bordello?”

       “It just opened last semester. They’re trying to appeal to a younger, hipper crowd. The food’s lousy but it’s got a nice atmosphere.”

       We walked across the parking lot, wove through the Christian picketers, and entered the lobby. A studly man and voluptuous woman stood at the door, their combined uniforms containing approximately as much material as a shoelace.

       “Hi there,” said the man in a studly voice that seemed to say “I’m the hottest, firmest, most incredible lover you could ever imagine. You’ll need a wheelchair for two weeks after a night with me.”

       “Welcome to The Burger Bordello,” said the woman in a sensuous voice that seemed to say “It’s too early for this shit.”

       “Would you like to sit in the Cigarette Afterward section, or the No Cigarette Afterward section?” asked the man.

       “No Cigarette Afterward,” Laura told him.

       “Okay, follow me.” Our host led us into the main part of the restaurant, where the walls were covered with pictures of half-naked people holding hamburgers and French fries in an unwholesome manner. We passed one of the waiters, who was carrying a high chair to a nearby family of six, then were seated at our booth. The tablecloth looked like a blanket, and there was a pair of pillows at the end.

       “Your Madame of Beef will be with you in a moment,” said our host, handing us our menus. “We hope you...savor your experience.” He walked away, his muscular buttocks glistening in the red lights.

       “Come here often?” I asked Laura.

       “Every once in a while. It’s nice for a change of pace. The restrooms are especially interesting.”

       I touched the tablecloth. “I wonder if they wash these things each time.”

       “You look a little uptight,” said Laura. “It’s just an adult-themed hamburger joint. Lighten up a bit.”

       “I’m lightened. Really.”

       “You look nervous. I bet you’re the kind of person who would go to an orgy and make everyone wear name tags so you knew who you were screwing.”

       I was thankful I didn’t have a drink to choke on.

       “I’m not nervous,” I insisted.

       “Yes you are.”

       Yes, I was. But it was the company, not the environment.

       “Welcome to The Burger Bordello,” said our waitress as she approached the table. She was a woman in her mid-forties, wearing a slinky pair of red pajamas adorned with feathers. “My name’s Maude, and today I’ll be fulfilling your wildest burger fantasies.” She pulled a notepad out of her garter belt. “Would you care to order a foreplay, or are you ready for the main penetration?”

       “What are your specials today?” Laura asked.

       “Oh, I’m sorry, I should have mentioned those before I tried to take your order. Sometimes I just get enthusiastic and go off too soon. Let’s see, we’ve got the Doggy-Style Deluxe, which is a lean, hot patty of beef mounted by grilled onions, a
ménage a trois
of bacon, and a generous orgasm of mayonnaise. And there’s also the Steak & Mushroom Burger, S&M for short, which comes tied up and includes onion ring handcuffs. Both come with sixty-nine fries, and if you’re feeling pure, you can get a cherry tomato on the side. Oh, and make sure to leave room for our Rear-Entry Hot Fudge Sundae.”

       I looked over the menu for a moment. “I’ll just have the regular old Missionary Burger.”

       “And what protection would you like to use?”

       “Excuse me?”

       “Condom-ents. I recommend the pickle.”

       “Everything but mustard, please.”

       “Okay, one Missionary Burger, hold the lubrication.” She turned to Laura. “And for you?”

       “I’ll have the Dominatrix Deluxe, with a side order of Fetish Fries.”

       “And what would you two like to spit or swallow?”

       “I’ll just have ice water,” said Laura.

       “Me too,” I said, frightened to hear their drink selections.

       Maude tucked her notepad into her garter belt. “Your order will be ready to stimulate you shortly. If there’s anything I can do to you, don’t hesitate to whisper suggestively into my ear.” She left.

       “So, you write comedy, huh?” asked Laura. “I think that’s really cool. I used to date a guy who thought he could write humor, but his stuff was really childish—it just went overboard on sex, vomit, and bathroom jokes.”

       “What a loser,” I said.

       “I have no writing ability whatsoever, but I like performing comedy quite a bit. I was in plays all through high school and my two years here, and I think I have good comic timing. I was okay in the dramatic roles, too, but making people laugh was a lot more fun.”

       “This is really weird,” I told her. “Well, actually, nothing seems weird when you’re in a place called The Burger Bordello, but my friend Travis and I were planning to form a comedy group called Out of Whack. That’s the name we used at the competition. After last night I think the whole idea was pretty well established as a ‘No way in hell are we ever doing this again’ one, but maybe if I stuck to the writing and you and he stuck to the performing it could work.”

       Quite frankly, it was not my place to invite Laura to become a member of Out of Whack, considering that, a) I had no idea if she had any talent, b) I hadn’t consulted with Travis first, and c) I was only doing it to make her like me. Plus, where would we perform?

       “There’s a club called Laugh Attack in town,” said Laura. “They have amateur night on Tuesdays. Why don’t you write up something, and if it’s any good maybe we can perform it there.”

       At this point, I really needed the little voice in my head to return to say “Whoa! Hold it! Slow down!” But instead, the big voice in my mouth said “It’s a deal!”

       “Shouldn’t you ask your friend first?”

       “Nah, he’ll love that idea.”

       Most likely, Travis was going to freak. But details like that were unimportant. Laura and I were hitting it off beautifully, and Out of Whack was reborn!

       (
Narrator’s note:
We really went to McDonalds. Sorry for the deception.)

“The Chapter That Starts With Travis Freaking”

       “Absolutely not!”

       “Oh, come on, Travis. I had no idea you’d act this way.”

       I’d just returned from lunch. Laura and I had enjoyed a nice conversation about comedy, school, and, briefly, freshness dating on soft drinks.

       Travis took an angry bite of his chocolate bar and sat on his desk. “Maybe it’s just me, but I have this really vivid memory of having been completely humiliated last night! And now you want to do it again?”

       “It’ll be different. You trust me, right?”

       “Is the Pope a Hare Krishna?”

       “Listen,” I said, “the reason things went so badly before is that I froze on-stage. But this time I’m not going to be anywhere near the stage! I’m going to write the skit, and you and Laura are going to perform it.”

       “I don’t even know Laura.”

       “Well, neither do I, really, but this will give me a chance to get to know her.”

       “That’s really pathetic,” said Travis. “You’re like one of those sleazy, greasy Hollywood producers who accost innocent girls right off the bus from Iowa and promise them a starring role in their next film...if they pass the ‘audition.’”

       I shook my head. “It’s not like that. I’d been wanting to do something big, something important, and it turns out that last night wasn’t it. But this could be! What if it works out? What if we’re a hit? The new, improved Out of Whack could be the biggest thing in the history of comedy!”