realized that Ben's outburst had cleared the kid's head of any nervousness that had been building up till then. “All right already, you're not a magician. No need to lose your cool. You artists are all a bunch of weirdoes. Go figure…” He limped off, grumbling all the way.
The last hard jazz notes of the piano played away, mixing with the stale air in the club. The ventilator was probably broken again, but that didn't seem to bother anyone. The feeble applause coming from who knows where, accompanied the indignant musician off the stage with him not even bothering to look at the public.
From the dusty red slit in the curtain that had swallowed up the exiting musician, the smiling head of Karl Grimm appeared, followed by the rest of him, decked out like a circus ringleader.
He took off his flashy and inappropriate top hat and took a deep bow to the audience. “Ladies and gentlemen, a big round of applause to our great Albert Alba for his amazing piano exhibition.”
The only response was a loud thud from a drunkard who had fallen unconscious off his chair. His white t-shirt slipped up, leaving his huge belly exposed as it swayed back and forth like a mass of jelly, none of which appeared to disturb anyone in the club.
“I know you've all been waiting impatiently for our great Jeff McPride to amaze you with his magic, just like every Wednesday. Unfortunately, something a little unexpected came up, so this evening he won't be able…”
Karl was suddenly called backstage. He peeked through the curtains to speak with his assistant and then stepped back to his place on the stage wearing a concerned expression on his face. “Ah! I see… ladies and gentlemen, I've just been informed that the little 'something unexpected' has transformed into fulminating cirrhosis of the liver. God rest his soul. Now I would like all of you to join me in memory of this great artist, who gave us his last magic trick, disappearing from this world only to reappear on the other side. I would ask for five minutes of silence to commemorate him, but I know time is precious, so we'll just do five seconds. I know he would have done the same for all of you…” During the five seconds, a few knocked on wood, but most chose to avoid any bad luck by touching something else a little more explicit.
“All right. For one great man who has left this stage, let's make room for another artist, of whom I'm sure you will all grow very fond of. It is my honor to present Ben Santini!”
Ben made a shy appearance, encouraged by Karl's energetic applause that filled the embarrassingly lifeless silence of the club.
“One last thing before I leave him to it.” Karl leaned toward the audience and held his hand next to his mouth, and whispered loudly, “He's a good kid, but whatever you do, don't call him a magician! He's a tiny bit sensitive.”
Resigned to his fate, Ben tried to display his best smile. “Hey everyone! My name's Ben, Ben Santini. And as Karl, our Master of Ceremonies mentioned, I'm here tonight to give you a couple of laughs, even if Jeff McPride's unexpected passing has certainly upset you, as I can see. All right! Enough sadness now. If you're here tonight, then you're here to party, enjoy some good company, have a drink… even if Jeff had done his share of that, just like that guy over there laying on the floor. I guess he's gotten plastered one too many times. Either that or he's feelin' really down in the dumps. But don't worry about it, 'cause I'm pretty sure that tonight, he won't be driving. It's a blessing in disguise when they tow your car away the same day you decide to get smashed.”
The spotlight suddenly moved to his right, leaving him in the dark. Ben looked up and tried to get the technician's attention to no avail, so he stepped over back under the light.
“No worries, here I am. That was the electric company getting revenge cause I was late paying the bill. And don't tell me you've never been late paying a bill… like you! Ben pointed to a guy wearing a muscle shirt with a bushy beard and tattooed forearms.
“Who, me?” he asked in a gruff voice.
“Ya, you. Have you ever forgotten something important?”
“Well, once I served three years cause I forgot to cover myself.”
“You served three years in prison because you went out naked?” asked Ben.
“What, are you crazy? When I got into Sing Sing, I had my clothes on. It was those damned Japanese digital cameras that busted me cause I had a gun in my hand and no balaclava.”
Ben thought it better to change the subject, so he cut him off gently. “I know what you mean. Damned hi-tech, state-of-the-art, pain-in-the-ass Asian technology. And you?”
He pointed to a shriveled up woman in her forties, dressed like a sixteen-year-old with stiff, blond ringlets. The “young lady” took the gum out of her mouth and knocked back the last sip of her whiskey.
“Well, let's see… off the top of my head, the only thing that I can think of is the time I wanted a little outfit that cost a hundred bucks over on Seventh Avenue, but I forgot my ex-husband's credit card at home. So that pig of a sales guy wanted a little under-the-table job in exchange for the dress, like I was the last bimbo on the street.
Ben butt in, in an attempt to blurt out a moral to the story for those who heard an “under-the-table job”.
“So Miss, you forgot your credit card and had to pass up the dress…”
But the woman wanted to clarify for the record, “Like hell I did! I gave him a professional job. Too bad the owner walked in and caught us. The bastard fired the salesman's ass right there on the spot and kicked me out of the store without the dress, hollering and threatening to call the guards.”
Some laughter broke out from the back of the room accompanied by a few obscene offers.
“Hey, if you like my wife's coat, we can make a deal!”
Ever the lady, she responded with her middle finger. “Make a deal with this, asshole!”
While disgusted by all the vulgarity, Ben tried to get a hold of the situation. “What I meant was, we are all subject to ill fate, but more often than not, it depends on our reactions. For example, when I was sixteen, I fell madly in love with gorgeous woman. She was a lingerie model for a well-known magazine. I thought about her all day long in my room, and not only…”
Ben suddenly stopped talking when he saw his manager frantically pointing to the cocktail waitress dressed up like a bunny, serving the tables. Then he remembered Bill's warning and figured he'd better find a way to use her in the show.
“…Hey! My model looked just like that waitress there holding the tray. Could you step up here on the stage for a minute, just to help me make my story a little more convincing?”
The girl smiled. It was obvious that she was embarrassed but flattered to be compared to a model. “Who, me? You want me to get on the stage?”
“Sure! I don't see any other beautiful waitresses in the room.”
She blushed at the compliment. As she made her way to the stage, someone from the audience yelled, “Yeah! It's about time we get to see a little T & A!”
Ben did his best to calm the girl, who was a more than a little worried about those stoked and impatient men.
“No, our young lady won't be showing you her tits. I invited her up here with me only to help me out.”
“What about her ass, then?” asked someone, adding insult to injury.
“Nope. Sorry, not even her ass,” said Ben.
“Jeez, you could've told us it was gonna be a show for boy scouts!”
The menacing glare from the owner was a little more than frightening.
“All right, you beautiful creature, can you tell us your name?” asked Ben, doing his best to be as polite as possible.
“Oh… thank you… my name is Susan…”
After looking hesitatingly around, she wisely decided not to disclose any more personal information.
“Just Susan!” she said through clenched teeth, as if she were telling a joke.
“Ok,