Vaudeville
(Click here for a printer-friendly version)On stage, I was God. Every night, Judy and I got laughs so loud even the pricks at the Venetian could have heard us. Tension dangled in midair between us like a row of icicles, and we were irresistible. If management at the Night Owl had given us the house to ourselves, we could have filled it to the brim. Of course, they never did.
On this particular night, there were quite a few empty chairs. But it was a Thursday, and by the end of the long week, things always started to slow down. Not to mention the fact that the Night Owl had decided several months ago to sign on some wet-behind-the-ears entertainers. They got rid of some good men to make room for them. Like Todd the Great. Every night he'd walk off stage in just a pair of boxers after making his pants disappear. And Knucklehead. That lunatic could balance a clothes dryer on his chin. It wasn't long before I started to miss those guys.
Anyway, it was a Thursday, and as I sat at my mirror studying my face in the bright light, my name posted at the top, �Jacob Manny � Ventriloquist,� I couldn't help but think how miserable my weekend was going to be. After all these years, I still counted out Saturday and Sunday separately from the rest, like they were something special. They weren't. In this city, they were just two more days that extended the work week. Julia hadn't called for almost a month. Our relationship started going stale shortly before that. But it didn't bother me. She was the common blonde-haired type that a guy could expect to find anywhere in this city. No personality, no prospects, just something to take up my time. On top of that, my mother had a stroke about six years back, and I'd been taking care of her ever since. I was stuck with an old woman who had once told
The neon light above the stage door that read �LIVE� went dark. The only other door backstage led outside, and it had a sign that read �EXIT�. I often thought it was interesting that these were our only two options. I chose the former. The stage door swung open, and a smiling Moreus Creed entered. He wore black pants with a grey sequence shirt and had his dark brown hair slicked back over the top of his head. He was carrying a full bottle of water in his left hand and Buddy in his right, gripping him by his neck like a dead chicken. Moreus was the newest addition to our show, and he was the only other ventriloquist. Every time I saw him with Buddy, I couldn't believe just how much alike the two looked, and I told him he needed to find himself a new dummy, but he said he didn't care much. He said a dummy is a dummy. That's what you get these days with guys like him who don't even make their own props.
�Did you hear those laughs?� he asked as he sat down and threw Buddy on to his desk. He wasn't even sweating or breathing hard. �This is nothing like L.A., man. This is big time. This is the top.�
�You've got a long way to go to the top, kid,� I said. I tried to do it without moving my lips.
�I heard the laughs you were getting, Jake. Sex does sell doesn't it.�