Laughing in Hell, page 9
“That’s the plan.”
It was the first time I felt good since arriving in L.A. Stan, on the other hand, was experiencing an internal combustion. I understood what he was feeling. Stan lived vicariously through me, and I was his only shot at experiencing success as a comedian. Without me, he was another unknown, waiting for his lottery number to come up. I opened my dressing room door and motioned for Stan to leave.
“Take care, Stan.”
Stan stood motionless. He stared at the floor, his fists clenched.
“Stan?”
He let out a guttural scream and tackled me, sending us tumbling over a chair. He mounted me and pummeled my face.
“You’re selfish! It’s always about you!” Stan wailed.
I bucked Stan off of me. I started to crawl away, but Stan pounced on my back.
He wrapped both hands around my neck like a vice and slammed my head into the floor.
“IT’S MY TURN!”
I tried to pry his hands off, but he had a death grip. His eyes were cold and expressionless, consumed with absolute hatred. The fluorescent ceiling lights started to fade as my brain blacked out.
“Please…”
Stan’s body went limp. His unconscious body fell to my side. I coughed as the air rushed back into my lungs, and the room slowly refocused. A relieved Seema stood over us, still clutching the remains of a broken lamp that she had shattered over Stan’s head.
CHAPTER 17: REBIRTH
I got my job back at Masala TV the following week. Rashmi complied as I was a reasonably good employee for the two weeks I had worked there.
Security arrived at my dressing room shortly after Stan’s meltdown, and he was charged with assault, but I decided not to press charges. Last I heard, he moved back to New York’s frozen hell and filled the last spot on Uncle Freddie’s comedy roster.
“The Late Show with Lenny Gimbal” producers rescheduled my interview but cancelled it all together after Casey Cook got caught with a male hooker in the backseat of his Bentley parked on Mulholland Drive. The story was trending on every news channel, and the network cancelled our show. In an instant, Tiger Rai’s career faded to black, and Seema and I deleted our YouTube channel. We burned Tiger’s yoga shirt in a back-alley garbage can and gleefully watched the flames incinerate it.
Adrian got booked at a mess of colleges and said I could open for him, but I preferred to stay in town and save money. My new dream was to rent my own place and move from sleeping on a futon to a real bed.
I was happy to be Jay Starr again. I was once again a normal guy who worked in a boring office and comfortably wore my old hoodie and jeans. Asif sat behind me and painfully watched me erratically drag my computer mouse pad as I tried to edit together Bollywood clips.
“We’re going to be here all year. Take off. I’ll finish up.”
“Thanks man!”
I picked up my bag and ran out the door. I jumped into my car and hightailed it to Burbank. My phone buzzed.
“Seema! You still on set?”
Seema was shooting her first small part in a Hollywood movie in L.A., which was great because I could see her more.
“Yes. I loooove my character. I have so much to tell you tonight over dinner. I miss you!”
It was going to take a lot of work on my part, but it gave me hope that she hadn’t given up on me.
I pulled into a sparse parking lot outside a decrepit building. A faded “Allway Insurance” logo was painted on the storefront window, signaling a past life. I entered a small, dark room. A few comedians sat on metal chairs and faced a small, rickety wooden stage. A comedian sifted through a notebook while holding a microphone that was plugged into a guitar amp. The open mic host tapped me on the shoulder.
“Jay, I’ll slot you next.”
The comedian finished to a smattering of applause and wandered back to his seat. The host ambled on stage.
“Hey, we have a really funny comedian who just popped in to try out some stuff. You may recognize him from…”
I cringed.
“… the New York club scene. He moved here a few months ago. Please give it up for Jay Starr.”
I exhaled a moment of relief and grabbed the mic. I looked at the half-empty chairs and bored faces looking back at me. It felt good to be a comedian.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I’d like to thank my family for their support, and my friends Adam and Mike who were there in the very cold beginning. Thank you for reading this book.
Tarun Shetty, Laughing in Hell
