揝he was.?
He reaches between us with his free hand, stalling midway before he tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
揧ou know,?I start, letting it barrel out of me in a moment of bravery, 搒he and I watched a few of your sets together. Not in person since I was too young, obviously. But she loved your stuff. She used to call it 慶austic??
His eyes widen and his face falls. He visibly struggles with a reply before he comes up with, 揟hat makes me really happy, Fee. Thank you for telling me.?
Click
I blink, then look to my right and see a man with a camera.
So, I smile and wave.
10
32 MONTHS AGO
揗y psychiatrist told me I was crazy and I said I want a second opinion. He said okay, you抮e ugly too.?- Rodney Dangerfield
FARLEY
My steps hit the ground hard enough to reverberate up my shins as I get to the parking lot. I swipe angrily at my phone, which naturally results in it not registering anything, until I slide into my car and slam the door. After a soothing breath, I manage to scroll to Meyer抯 name and hit call.
揌ey.?
揝he doesn抰 fucking like me, Meyer.?
揟oday was therapy??
揝ee!!! You know what I抦 talking about before I even have to explain!!!?
揑 know because it抯 on the calendar and because I know you,?he replies, offensively calm.
揂nd you know how inherently unlikeable I am? Respectfully, Meyer, what the fuck??
He sighs wearily and says something to someone away from the phone.
揙h, I桰 didn抰 know you were busy. Why would you answer if you抮e busy with someone??
揥hat makes you think she doesn抰 like you, Jones??he breezes past my question.
揝he didn抰 laugh or even smile at any of my charming quips. Not one, Meyer.?
揊arley. She is your therapist. You are not there to entertain her.?
揙h, bullshit. Why would anyone be a therapist if they didn抰 want to be entertained by other people抯 issues??
揂lso, this just confirms why therapy is important for you. For me. For all of us, but especially people in this field. Your likability is not directly correlated to how much you make someone laugh.?
揊irst of all, how dare you. Second of all, she wouldn抰 even meet me halfway, Meyer. She straight up ignored my self-deprecating comments. I even told her that story about how you made fun of my run, and how I didn抰 think I actually cared, but then I had that dream棓
揊ucking hell, Jones, you performed a bit for her?!?
揑 didn抰 perform it. I asked her to translate the Freudian meaning behind the dream. I told her how I was being chased by killers and how they stopped and started laughing at my run. So, I asked, does this just mean that I need to take running lessons, or does it mean that I am so deeply self-conscious that I worry that even a killer would find me lacking-slash-unworthy??
揗eet me for lunch somewhere. I need to see your face to gauge how serious you are with this shit.?
揊ine!?
揟he Kabob place down the street from Lance抯 in thirty??
揊ine.?
My steps stutter as I take Meyer in at a table on the patio. He抯 already got an empty platter of hummus in front of him, with my favorite marinated chicken pita half-eaten on another.
揥hat the hell? You ordered without me??
He slides his palms down his parted, jean-clad thighs, and something hitches in my lower gut. It抯 a constant with him lately, yet I抦 caught off guard every time. I wish I could at least predict which things would make my stomach dip so I抎 know what to avoid. But it抯 always some tiny mannerism, some passing comment, or even some sound.
Last week, he pumped my gas for me and wiped off my windshield, his shirt riding up to expose a strip of toned torso, a dusting of hair trailing down from his bellybutton?I broke out in a cold sweat.
揑 did. I didn抰 know if this was a professional lunch or not, after all.?
揥hat does that mean??
揑t means that I don抰 know if I抦 still going to be your manager.?
揗eyer棓 I whine.
揓ones. Listen to me. Therapy is a condition of me working with you. I抳e got no interest in working with you closely and watching you fade. And you fucking will if you don抰 learn how to balance your shit out. You can still use your humor, wield that like a whip, but keep your mental health a priority. Which means learning tools from an expert. I feel secure in saying this to you, and not at all lame, and I抦 not even tempted to make a self-deprecating joke about it because梱ou guessed it桰 go to therapy.?he folds his arms onto the table and cocks his head, looking me directly in the eyes.
揥ell, you抮e kind of unfunny for a comedian,?I retort primly.
His palms go to his heart in mock horror. 揓ust wait until I tell you about your meeting with a financial advisor and how I plan to make you set up a 401k.?
揕ovely. Do you jerk off to Dave Ramsey, too??
揘o, but I did find a podcast of women who talk about NFT抯 and sometimes I抣l have a go at myself to that.?
I know he抯 kidding (I mean, he has to be, right?) but the mental image of Meyer gripping himself in the shower sweeps over me and pulls me under. I can抰 swallow air back fast enough, my stomach left somewhere above my skull in the atmosphere. Nononono?
揓ones? Come on. Jesus, I was kidding. You can抰 dish it and expect me to not ever give it back.?
I grab his beer and take a gulp. 揢ghh,?I shudder. 揊ine. But can I please have a different therapist? I felt stupid today.?
揘ope. She came highly recommended by mine.?
I do an undignified stomp, letting my head fall back on a groan.
揊ine,?and I take the rest of his pita.
I call out to Marissa as soon as I get into the house.
She levers up from her horizontal position on the couch and I squeak. 揓esus, I didn抰 see you there.?
揥hat抯 up??
揥e have a problem, Miss.?
揙ooh. Go on,?she grabs the bag of Doritos from the floor by her side.
揘o, for real. This isn抰 a Dorito抯 thing.?
揇ay wine??
揧es, day wine.?
Moments later, day wine in hand, we sit side by side on the couch staring at the blank TV.
揑 officially have a crush on Meyer,?I admit.
揕ike, a harmless, 慼a-ha?silly little flirtatious crush, like you抳e always had??she shrugs.
I turn to her. 揕ike a heated, vividly-pictured-him-naked, sharp longing from my vaginal soul, crush. Throat thickening desire and pining. Distracting, life-altering. I抳e kept it under control, but then he sends me to one therapy session and I抦 suddenly a little too in touch with my feelings if you know what I mean.?
She crunches a stack of Doritos while she searches my eyes.
揙kay厰 she swallows. 揥ell?I want you to know that this isn抰 coming from a selfish place?though obviously, it would probably be uncomfortable and shitty for me if you started banging the man who is about to be my boss, who is giving me my dream job... But, I also genuinely think that this is not a good idea for you.?
揗arissa, I know this.?
揥ell, I just mean that, working with Meyer is a great opportunity for your career. If you guys start hooking up, unfortunately, it could lead to you not being taken as seriously. Then there抯 Hazel and how any potential fallout would affect her棓
揗iss, I know. And Meyer is good for me. He抯 a good friend and I already know he抣l be a good manager. I don抰 want to ruin that. I just need to figure out how to handle it.?
She reaches a finger into her mouth to pick the Dorito gunk from her teeth as she considers.
揥anna go out??
I sigh. 揑 think it抯 the only thing we can do,?I say.
A couple Fridays a month, Lance抯 club has a DJ instead of any comedians or open mic nights. It抯 still rarely crowded, and it certainly doesn抰 turn into a young, hip, dance club of any sorts, but that抯 precisely why we love it.
The crowd is a blend of all ages, and the music is the same. DJ Jerald takes any and all requests, treating us all to a journey through time and sound every time that he works.
We strut through the doors to Don抰 Stop Believing, and shimmy directly over to the bar. I抳e proudly managed to wrap myself in a shirt that looked like a scarf when I began the application process, and start perusing for a man that looks both worthy and capable of taking it off later. Prospects appear to be low, so far, but it抯 early yet.
Marissa presses a tequila drink into my hand because she knows what tonight is about, and because she is a good and supportive wingwoman.
She is a wingwoman who is being diverted over to a man at the end of the bar smiling her way.
She is a wingwoman who appears to be ditching me?
Marissa is a shit wingwoman, apparently.
I fold myself onto the stool and blow out a breath, wondering if I should just say fuck it already and unbutton these jeans. They look damn good but are the kind that require a back and forth process of jumping and using gravity and momentum to get them up in the first place, and then laying down and attempting to flatten myself to Gumby proportions in order to get them buttoned.