Justin watched Virgil killing it from off-stage. The mulatto midget had the house howling with his amoral-mouth comedy routine. His voice was deep and rich and rumbled through the auditorium speakers like 'fuck' filled thunder. Justin risked a glance around the back side of the curtain and saw the front few rows were breathless from laughing; wiping tears from their eyes.
Follow that?, Justin thought. Then smiled. Yeah. I can follow that.
Virgil finished his act with a final, booming "Fuck all y'all!" and waddled over to where Justin was standing. As soon as he was hidden behind the curtain, Virgil blew wind and wiped his massive forehead. "Jesus," he said, tapping Justin's hand. "Hot fucking crowd!"
The applause would not stop. The men looked across to stage left where the MC was frantically waving. He pointed at Virgil (finger down low) and motioned for him to go out and take another bow.
Virgil squared his shoulders, Justin gave him a shove, and the midget returned to the stage where the sound wave from the applause damned near bowled the little man over.
The MC joined Virgil on stage, raised his hand like a winning prizefighter, and that kept the crowed going.
Justin's smile widened. He found himself applauding too.
The MC ushered Virgil off the stage and calmed the audience with some mildly amusing banter, setting up Justin.
Justin ruffled Virgil's hair as he passed. Virgil punched him in the butt.
"And now, give it up for the world's oldest juvenile delinquent, JD!"
Justin bowed his head, quickly used two fingers to cross himself, and then took the boards.
***
"You asshole," Virgil said, tossing a damp hand towel at Justin as he entered the dressing room. Justin had to reach down to catch it before it hit the floor, and then spun around fast, slinging the towel right back. It sailed over Virgil's head, hit the mirror, and plopped on the counter. "And they're still fucking clapping! I thought I wore those fuckers out!"
Virgil was referring to the applause still audible even though Justin had returned to the stage twice to take bows before calling it quits. The MC was out there now, hands raised, telling everyone they didn't have to go home but....
"You couldn't wear out a fistful of tissue," Justin said, sitting on the chair next to Virgil. He took the filthy towel and wiped his face.
"Fuck you."
Virgil sat and watched while Justin cleaned up; using cold cream to remove the stage makeup. With his lips stretched down to rub under his nose, Justin rolled his eyes over to Virgil and asked, "What are you waiting for? Permission to go sniff those panties the ladies threw on the stage for me? Knock yourself out, buddy."
"Bullshit. They threw panties? Bullshit. They haven't done that since the '80s."
"Class never goes out of style," Justin replied.
Virgil hopped off his chair and left the dressing room. Justin unbuttoned, un-tucked his shirt and slid it on a hanger. He drank a bottle of water in one go; guzzling with Adam's apple bobbing. Then he took a clean t-shirt from his duffel bag and pulled it on.
Virgil returned. "Panties my ass." He threw an article of clothing at Justin who swatted it from the air. It was a pair of boxers; large. "That's what was on the stage - shitty men's undies. You old homo. I knew something was wrong with the crowd tonight. A bunch of your Gay A. R. P. fans. No wonder you got the most applause. Incontinent perverts think it's okay to shit themselves if they can blame it on the laughter. 'Oh, I couldn't help myself, when Mr. Yummy started joking about airline food, my bowels just BBRRPTHTH!'"
Justin laughed, and picked up the underwear with two cautious fingers. They were indeed filthy - stained brown and yellow - but the smell coming off the fabric was more chocolate than shit.
"Seriously, Virgil. Did you just wreck a pair of your drawers for this gag? Good lord are you going commando right now?"
"Gay A. R. P...." Virgil walked over to the counter. "That's pretty good. Has that been done?"
"Everything under the sun has been done." Justin swung a hand back, open palm. "It's all in the delivery!" He brought the hand around in massive stage slap, smacking it harmlessly against Virgil's cheek. Virgil played off the violence, whipping his head around, face contorted in pain, curly black hair flying.
The midget recovered and viciously brought a foot up between Justin's legs. He didn't even come close, but Justin crossed his knees, crossed his eyes, and collapsed onto the chair cupping his junk in both hands.
The two men sat down, grinning like fools.
"Anyway," Justin continued. "You can't do gay jokes. Not unless you yourself are gay. Otherwise it's a hate crime."
Virgil shrugged. "If the joke's good enough, I'll suck a dick before telling it."
"Still a hate crime."
"Fuck you." Virgil took a business card from his shirt pocket and thumped it on the counter in front of Justin.
"What's this?" The card was embossed gold on black with an official looking star at the right and lettering on the left.
"Fucking forgot you can't read. That's the business card of Mr. Shane Muncie of T.X.S.A.S.."
Justin slid the card away. "Keeping Texas sassy?"
"Keeping you from starving. They're offering money to travel and tell jokes."
"Let me guess - a month working the Louisiana casinos and come home with maybe twenty dollars in my pocket? No thanks."
"Call him." Virgil jumped down and walked away, pointing a middle finger in the air. "And sit and spin on this, too."
Justin picked up the card between finger and thumb. With his other hand, he flicked the card's edge making it spin.
***
It wasn't the first time Justin had lived out of his car. Spending the hot Houston days in a mall or a library; taking in a movie or visiting friends during the evenings. Then finding a security-camera free parking lot in some industrial park on the north side to crank back the seat and catch some Z's with the windows down and the cab reeking of Deep Woods Off. Morning comes, grab a cup and wash 'em up in the Men's of a McD's, and then do it all again until the cheap-ass booking agent comes across with your checks.
Actors, musicians, porn-stars, poets and stand-up comedians know the routine.
But today Justin had his appointment with Mr. Muncie of T.X.S.A.S. and it was at the swanky Westin Oaks Hotel inside the Galleria. Not the place one likes to enter stinking of bug-spray and B.O..
So on his way to the meeting, Justin stopped at Target and splurged on a pack of T's and a bottle of Febreez. He changed shirts and showered in the spritz of the atomizer and figured - good enough.
Ten minutes later he was greeted in the lobby by a sharply dressed, immaculately groomed young man with intense eyes, a toothy smile, and a bone-crushing handshake. They exchanged pleasantries then Mr. Muncie brought Justin up to their rooms for the pitch.
***
When they entered the suite, five men in khaki shorts and polo shirts stretched taught over muscled chests and arms stopped what they were doing and shot eye-daggers towards the door.
"Relax, guys," Shane Muncie said. "He's a comedian."
That did nothing to alleviate the tension. Indeed, Justin felt the glares grow more hostile. The men had been leaning over maps and stacks of paper spread out on a series of folding tables, but now all stood tall and silent, massive arms crossed, frowning. And then Justin's own special coping mechanism kicked in:
"Yeah, don't worry fellas; I'm not here for the circle jerk. You'd be in trouble, though, if I was. Y'all got the size, but I've got speed, and that's what counts. Jesus. I saw some phone-books in the lobby, if you really want to tear something in half. Hey, you know what's fun? They're feeding the gorillas down at the zoo, you want to go watch? Or y'all could just order room service. Look at you. Can you even reach down far enough with those arms to wipe your own ass? Never mind. Your shit probably comes out clean and hot like a cannonball. So, lover, how weight can you bench with your tongue? What the fuck, guys, if the goal was to get my balls to go into hiding behind my prostate - mission accomplished."
Shane interrupted with a fake, short laugh and took Justin's arm. "Sorry, Mr. Danny," he said, leading him out of the main suite into a side room. "What they're doing is.... sensitive."
"Well maybe we should go somewhere else? Jesus." Justin wiped sweat from his forehead.
The off-room was small - a bed, desk and one chair. Shane motioned for Justin to sit on the bed.
"We don't like to conduct business in public," he explained, taking the chair from the desk and turning it towards Justin. "If you decide to work with us, after you sign the papers, you and I can go for lunch or coffee. If you'd like."
"Yeah, well. What if I don't sign the paper? Am I leaving through the door or window?"
This time Shane's laugh was slightly more genuine. "Nothing like that, Mr. Danny-"
"-JD-"
"-JD." Shane tugged on his pant leg. Ran two fingers down the crease. "The work we do is... sensitive, but totally legit. We are, in fact...," Shane paused to find the right words. "Well, let me just say that, although we aren't officially sanctioned or recognized by the United States government, we often find ourselves acting in her best interests. Do you follow?"
"Not a single word," Justin complained, standing. "Look - I think this is a big mistake. I'd like to leave, but I don't want to get eye-fucked by the Incredible Hulk brothers out there. Can you...."
Shane brought out his billfold, opened it, and handed Justin two hundred dollar bills. "Yes, of course JD. I'll walk you out. Thank you for coming."
"What's this?" Justin pointed at the money.
"Yours," Shane said. "For your time."
"I was, like, three minutes here...." The money stayed out in the open, waiting. Justin did not take it. Time stretched.
"Maybe you would like to hear what the job is?" Shane asked, eventually.
"Okay....,"
"Please, take it." Shane put the money in Justin's hand. "It is yours either way."
"Okay...," Justin pocketed the bills and sat on the bed.
"As I said," Shane continued, "we are not affiliated with the United States government, nor it's military, but we do function very much like an army. And, as such, we find it beneficial to provide our soldiers - our employees - who work in very stressful environments - with entertainment. When it is practical and safe, of course."
Justin nodded.
"Kind of like a U.S.O. show. But, since we are a for-profit organization, we do pay our talent. Does this sound like something you would be interested in?"
"Yeah. A greedy Bob Hope. That's me."
Shane smiled. "Yes, well. As I said, this isn't a charity. We pay handsomely, but our confidentiality and non-disclosure requirements are very strict. And, I want you to understand this up front, there is some danger involved. If you do sign up, you'll be required to qualify with a handgun and assault rifle before joining the tour."
"You're kidding?"
"No. Obviously we pay for the training and certification, but it is required." Shane shrugged. "It only takes a day and most people enjoy it. It's informative and fun for those who have never fired a gun before."
"Sure."
"The tour will last two months and during that time you'll be asked to perform twice a week at different locations. I can't tell you exactly where or when, but it will be overseas. You'll need to take a medical exam and have shots administered before joining the tour."
"Well, once you train me how to use a gun, I can just shoot myself."
"The pay is $50,000"
"Yeah, right. Make it $100,000"
"I'm authorized to go $75,000."
"I was joking."
"I'm not. Also, there are bonuses depending upon the success of the deployment. Most often these bonuses are substantial."
Justin tapped the tips of his fingers together. "Every angle I come at this lands me in a pile of bullshit. I'm trying to see the gag, but Alan Funt's been dead a long time now and the scam is too soft for a Youtube stunt - unless when I walk out that door those guys have dropped trou and are waiting to piss on my face. Still, the setup doesn't scan."
"It's not a gag and it's not a scam. It's a job. You're free to take it or leave it and, I assure you, nobody in that room is waiting for you dick-out."
"Okay." Justin grinned. "Sure. So how does Virgil fit into all this? I can't see him playing the shill unless there's a gag."
"Mr. Templeton? He's signed on. If you so choose, you'll be with him on the tour. I understand the two of you work well together."
Justin studied the ceiling and walls, looking for a camera.
Shane leaned forward and said, "I understand this is an unusual situation. The money seems excessive for two month's work, but it is only a fraction of what our soldiers - employees - earn for a deployment. Do you get the picture? We're elite. We don't have to pander to the lowest common denominator. Our employees are unique and that is reflected in their tastes. We could easily hire Jay Leno," Shane shook his head, "but our employees don't want to see Jay Leno. They like different. They like you."
"Bullshit. I'm no different from a hundred other burnt out, washed up would-a-beens slowly dying on the circuit. A thousand."
"You sell yourself short, JD." Shane beamed. "I've seen your act. It is absolutely hilarious! That bit about the alcoholic and his dog with the compulsive eating disorder?"
"Barfo and Scarfo? Oh yeah. That's elite material right there."
"It's funny as hell. But I'll be honest with you, there are other criteria we look for when planning these tours, and you match them."
"Such as?"
"You're not a drug user or a drinker. You don't have any outstanding debts or legal entanglements. From all accounts you work well with others and have no problems with authority."
"Jesus. You got all this from my Facebook page did you?"
"And you don't have a family."
Justin sat back and gripped the edge of the bed.
"So," Shane continued, "we feel you would be a perfect fit with our organization. And, although I can't make any promises, if you do sign up for this tour, there may be more opportunities in the future. Generally speaking, it would never be more than once a year, and we would expect new material, but we're getting ahead of-"
"-I'll do it," Justin interrupted.
"Oh? Good." Shane took some papers from a portfolio on the desk. "The way the contract is structured, we'll give you ten percent now - cash, if you'd like - then the remainder upon completion of the tour. If you're unable to complete the tour due to personal reasons, we'll prorate the payment based on-"
"-Just give me the pen."
"Okay. I do advise you to read this first...."
But Justin had already made his mark, a swirling "JD" across the bottom of the last page of contract.
***
Ciella heard Pinky, their terrier dog, bark and whine with excitement from the back yard; and then a rare knocking at the kitchen door. She pulled back the curtain and smiled.
"Justin," she said, letting him in. He was carrying a box, but he set it on the breakfast nook table to give her a hug and a peck on the cheek. "What are you doing here?"
"Unannounced, I know, I hope you don't mind."
"Of course not, sit down. Can I get you something to eat? Drink? Have you lost weight?" Ciella had food on the stoves and she went to turn down the heat and stir something in a saucepan. "You missed the kids - they're at the pool. Will you stay for dinner?"
"No no no and no. Ciella. Thank you. I really just came by to drop something off."
With the food settled, Ciella wiped her hands on her jeans and turned to Justin.
"You look terrible," she said, concern creasing her pretty, dainty Filipino face. "Skinny and tired and.... terrible."
Justin laughed. "Good to see you, too, Sis!"
Ciella sat next to him, put her small hand over his. It barely spanned the knuckles. "You'll stay for dinner."
"I can't."
"The kids will love to see you."
"Ciella....," Justin pulled his hand away and reached for the box. "Look, I just need you to hold on to some things for me for a while. A few months. I'll put it in the attic so Paul won't even know I was here."
"Oh, fuck Paul."
"Ciella! Such language!"
"Justin! Fuck you!"
They laughed. Then Ciella said, "Paul runs his mouth sometimes but he likes you, Justin. Don't ever be afraid to visit because of him."
"Yeah, he likes me about as much as snot and that's not a lot."
"Ha! Maybe. But I can promise he'll be civil with you. That I can promise." She cracked her knuckles menacingly. "You're family."
Justin nodded. "Thanks."
Uninvited, Ciella took the lid off the box and rifled through the contents. Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled over. She wiped them away with the back of her hand.
"Ciella, I....," Justin found no words.
She shook her head and took out a framed picture - Justin on his wedding day. In a tux standing next to beautiful Filipino girl in a white gown. Ciella was there too; standing by the bride, her sister.
"It's been so long, Justin. So long."
Justin looked at his hands and said nothing.
"She would hate to see you like this. You know she would."
"Yeah. I know," he said, gently taking the picture away from Ciella and smiling over it.
"Life goes on, time heals all wounds, God works in mysterious ways," Ciella sighed. "All those fucking platitudes. Justin. They're true in the end. We have to keep living."
"Hey," Justin put the picture back in the box. "I am living. Living out of my car. Which is why I need you to hold on to this stuff for a few months while I'm away."
"Oh bullshit! You're sleeping in your car? Come on, JD, you are staying here, with us, no questions asked."
"Ciella, I'm joking, of course. Well. Kind of. Anyway, it's complicated, but no, tonight I am sleeping in a fine bed in a fine hotel with lots of whores and whiskey bottles and Jack Russell terriers and...."
Ciella had her fists on her hips and an expression on her face that was frighteningly severe. Worse, for Justin, was how much of his long-dead wife he saw in those stern features. How that look used to scare him proper when she was alive and how he would do anything - anything - to make her happy again.
And he knew he had to leave his sister-in-law's house. ASAP.
"I've got to go." Justin stood to leave. "It's actually a real good job, Sis. Could really be a turning point for me. Can I put this box in the attic?"
Ciella shook her head. "Leave it. I'll take care of it."
"Thank you," Justin said, opening the kitchen door.
"She would hate to see you like this," Ciella repeated.
Justin paused. "Oh, I know she would," he turned to Ciella. "But you know what I think about sometimes? So say I'd stayed in law school and met someone else and got married and had kids and wound up...." he motioned around, taking in the house, yard, dog, toys, everything. "....here? Say all that. Then how would I feel looking at her picture today? Would I enjoy seeing her? Or would I hate it? Or would it mean.... nothing to me?"
He closed the door behind him as he left.
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