Dave Pringle was building to his climax now. The spotlight shone in his face, obscuring all but the first few rows of Chuckles Comedy Club in Cambridge. He could see the dark shapes of the other hundred or so audience members but none of their distinguishing features.
He continued, linking to the last joke of his set.
“People’s parents are funny though, aren’t they?” He paused for effect, nodding to the crowd. “Particularly the dads. They can say some strange things.” Dave looked around at the audience again, giving them a wide-eyed look of innocence, even though he was in his mid-twenties. “I got married recently, and at the wedding, my wife’s dad actually said the following to me, he said. “If you ever hurt my daughter, my little girl, that angel in white, I’ll rip you to shreds, you ugly, pathetic, little prick.” There was a laugh, and Dave paused again, feeling the anticipation and tension building in the room. One more beat, he thought to himself before the reveal. “Worst father of the bride speech EVER.”
Laughter filled the room. That one always gets them, he thought to himself.
“I’ve been Dave Pringle, goodnight.” He gave a thumbs-up to the audience and quickly exited to the side of the small wooden stage while the laughter and cheers continued. The compere, Tina, passed him, taking the microphone from him and shaking his hand as she passed.
“Give it up for Dave Pringle...” Dave heard Tina call out. The cheers and clapping rose again, but Dave was focused on returning to the dingy dressing room he shared with the other two acts on the bill that night.
The dressing room was small, with dark green painted walls. Framed posters of previous acts who had performed on the night and went on to become famous comedians hung over the peeling, dark green paint on the walls.
Three wooden chairs had been pulled down from a stack in the corner and set out for the three acts.
“You did well, lad.” Jack Baloney, the oldest of the three and headline act, greeted Dave as he walked through the dressing room door. “Good crowd?”
“Not bad. It’s a packed venue for once.” Dave nodded towards Tommy Hills, sitting in the far corner, quietly reading his set list of jokes. Dave could see the same tension in Tommy that he felt every time he was about to step onstage. “Does it ever get easier, Jack? I still feel terrified when I first stand on the stage. Does that ever pass?”
“Eventually, it does. I still get the blankness and the fear for the first joke, but once that’s out, I’m generally fine, and I’ve been doing this for twenty-five years now.”
Tommy looked over at them both, hidden concentration broken. “What were you saying? Was that about me?” Tommy seemed agitated, but Dave thought it was probably just pre-gig nerves.
“Yes. Well, no, not really. I just asked Jack if this ever gets easier. The nerves, I mean.”
“If you get to be in our league, maybe it will. Isn’t that right, Jack?” There was an arrogance to his answer that wasn’t all stage persona. It took Dave by surprise.
Tommy left the dressing room. Next, they all listened to Tina speaking to a hen party on stage, mocking them mercilessly for crowd approval and building the audience up for Tommy’s arrival. The red light flashed by the door, meaning it was time for his fifteen-minute set to begin.
Jack was the first to speak once Tommy had left the room.
“Don’t mind him, Dave. He’s in his first flush of success. No matter how grounded you are, it goes to your head. I was like that when I was first on the comedy panel shows, too.”
“I wouldn’t mind, but we’ve done many of the same gigs over the years. He won a big competition, and suddenly, he changed. He used to have time for me, and we used to go for drinks. Now, suddenly, he’s the next big thing, and it’s like he’s forgotten where he came from. Who he was. We were at the same level a short while ago.”
“And you could be again. My offer is still there to help you with your act again. It’s what I did for Tommy, and look at him now.”
“I appreciate that, and thank you for also looking over the new jokes I wrote; I haven’t added them into my act yet, but I still might.”
“I didn’t think you were going to use them.”
“I’m still undecided, but I might. They are ready if I want to use them. It’s not like anyone else can use them after all, as I’ve written them.”
Dave knew Tommy was getting to the end of his slot, so he let Jack have a quiet moment to settle himself before he was called to the stage, too. He left the dressing room and stood backstage, listening to Tommy on the other side of the thick velvet stage curtain.
Then Dave heard Tommy tell a joke, which he recognised.
“Of course, my girlfriend always hates it when I wee in the shower.” Then, a pause for effect: “When I’m not actually in the shower.” Another pause while the audience laughed: “But she is...” The audience laughed at the punchline, but Dave was not laughing.
“That’s my joke,” Dave said to himself in exasperation. “I wrote that; it’s my joke.”
Dave was stunned. He knew it was among the jokes he had given Jack to review. It was an unwritten rule of comedy that you wrote your own jokes and did not steal someone else’s. But Tommy told his joke word for word as Dave had written it.
Dave pushed back into the dressing room, taking the chair in the corner. Jack was coming out, getting ready for his time onstage to begin. He had a sheepish look, Tommy’s words still filling the dressing room from the tiny wall-mounted speaker.
“Wish me luck?” He told Dave as they passed, but Dave was still dazed.
“Yeah, sure.” Was all Dave could muster.
Dave sat in stunned silence until Tommy came back to the dressing room; Tommy had not even sat down when Dave questioned him.
“That joke, the weeing in the shower joke, where did you get that?” Dave tried to hold back his anger.
“What do you mean? It’s my joke, I wrote it.” Tommy shot Dave a look of contempt.
“No, I wrote that joke; it’s one I showed to Jack a few weeks back. Did you know Jack was giving you other comedians jokes to add to your act?”
“What does it matter?” Tommy sneered. “All of Jack’s acts use lesser comedian’s material. Who would believe it was your joke anyway? As soon as it’s on social media, as far as the public is concerned, it’s my joke.”
“No one would believe it,” Dave said, primarily to himself. He sank down into the hard wooden chair, all illusions of comradery shattered.
He sat silently, facing the wall, and listened as Jack performed his act on stage. His one-time hero received rapturous applause from the audience as he finished his twenty-minute headliner spot.
Tommy left shortly after Jack returned to the dressing room. He passed Jack. Motioning to Dave, he said, “That one needs setting straight, Jack. He needs to know his place in this business.” Tommy slammed the door behind him.
Dave wanted to remain calm and rationally ask if Jack had given Tommy his jokes, but he was upset. His hero had let him down.
“Why did you give him my joke?” Dave blurted out.
“Ah, you heard that?”
“Of course, but why?”
“It’s nothing personal. I like to help my acts, and if I hear something I think will fit in their act, I’ll give it to them to add. I could do the same for you. “
“But I don’t want that. I like that most people write their own stuff; I like instant feedback from a crowd that tells you if something you’ve written is good or bad and if it’s funny. That’s what I like about performing comedy—not the chance of fame for the sake of fame.”
“Sorry, kid. At the top end of the business, sometimes that’s how it goes.” Jack looked stern; the happy-chappy facade he presented to the world was gone.
“But the jokes are the only currency we have. It doesn’t come easy to me. It takes time to find jokes I’m happy with. And for someone, for you to take them away from me and give them to someone else is really hard to take.” Dave realised he was talking to himself, and that Jack was not really listening. “I’ve watched you my whole life. It’s watching you that made me want to be a comedian. But seeing you for who you really are, is devastating.”
Dave opened the dressing room door; he needed to get some air and get away from the room for a while.
“Don’t run off now; it’s the opening act’s job to drive the headliner home. Remember, it’s the rules of the business.”
“I just need some air.”
Outside of the dressing room was a fire door. Dave pushed it open and stepped into the midnight air. In this distance, he could see the audience dispersing. He took a lighter from his jacket pocket and lit a cigarette.
The compere, Tina, saw him standing with his foot in the fire door.
“Are you ok?” You did really well for your first time here, Dave.
“Thanks, so did I. I’m just feeling disillusioned and let down. I gave Jack some of my jokes to look at...”
“And he stole them and gave them to someone else.”
“How did you know?”
“Unfortunately, he’s famous for that in the business. That’s tough, kid; luckily, there are not many left like him these days.”
“It is so disappointing, but I know if I go against him, I’ll find it hard to book more gigs.”
“Whatever happens, I’ll book you again. You don’t have to be around people like that.”
Dave stood outside the dressing room. He would have to spend two more hours driving Jack home, listening to his sanctimonious chatter and his self-mythologising tales.
But what if I didn’t? He wondered. Wouldn’t that be better? The more he thought about it, the more the thought of leaving him stranded there in Cambridge appealed to him. Yes, Jack held sway in the business, but what does that matter?
As Dave closed the car door, he knew he might’ve made a mistake career-wise, but his self-respect was more important.
Dave turned the key and started the engine. He was going home.
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