Alice Tanner was thrilled by what was happening to Toby. “I know you’re going to make it, darling. I’m so proud of you.”
Toby smiled at her and said nothing.
Toby and O’Hanlon and Rainger had long discussions about the new character Toby was to be.
“He should think he’s a sophisticated man of the world,” O’Hanlon said. “But every time he comes to bat, he lays an egg.”
“What’s his job?” asked Rainger. “Mixing metaphors?”
“This character should live with his mother. He’s in love with a girl, but he’s afraid to leave home to marry her. He’s been engaged to her for five years.”
“Ten is a funnier number.”
“Right! Make it ten years. His mother shouldn’t happen to a dog. Every time Toby wants to get married, his mother develops a new disease. Time Magazine calls her every week to find out what’s happening in medicine.”
Toby sat there listening, fascinated by the fast flow of dialogue. He had never worked with real professionals before, and he enjoyed it. Particularly since he was the center of attention. It took O’Hanlon and Rainger three weeks to write an act for Toby. When they finally showed it to him, he was thrilled. It was good. He made a few suggestions, they added and threw out some lines, and Toby Temple was ready. Clifton Lawrence sent for him.
“You’re opening Saturday night at the Bowling Ball.”
Toby stared at him. He had had expectations of being booked into Ciro’s or the Trocadero. “What’s—what’s the Bowling Ball?”
“A little club on south Western Avenue.”
Toby’s face fell. “I never heard of it.”
“And they never heard of you. That’s the point, dear boy. If you should bomb there, no one will ever know it.”
Except Clifton Lawrence.
The Bowling Ball was a dump. There was no other word to describe it. It was a duplicate of ten thousand other sleazy little bars scattered throughout the country, a watering hole for losers. Toby had played there a thousand times, in a thousand cities. The patrons were mostly middle-aged males, blue-collar workers idulging in their ritual get-together with their buddies, ogling the tired waitresses in their tight skirts and low-cut blouses, exchanging dirty jokes over a shot of cheap whiskey or a glass of beer. The floor show took place in a small cleared area at the far end of the room, where three bored musicians played. A homosexual singer opened the show, followed by an acrobatic dancer in a leotard, and then a stripper who worked with a somnolent cobra.
Toby sat at a table in the back of the room with Clifton Lawrence and O’Hanlon and Rainger, watching the other acts, listening to the audience, trying to gauge its mood.
“Beer drinkers,” Toby said contemptuously.
Clifton started to retort, then looked at Toby’s face and checked himself. Toby was scared. Clifton knew that Toby had played places like this before, but this time was different. This was the test.
Clifton said gently, “If you can put the beer drinkers in your pocket, the champagne crowd will be a pushover. These people work hard all day, Toby. When they go out at night, they want their nickel’s worth. If you can make them laugh, you can make anyone laugh.”
At that moment, Toby heard the bored MC announce his name.
“Give ’em hell, tiger!” O’Hanlon said.
Toby was on.
He stood on the stage, on guard and tense, appraising the audience like a wary animal sniffing for danger in a forest.
An audience was a beast with a hundred heads, each one different; and he had to make the beast laugh. He took a deep breath. Love me, he prayed.
He went into his act.
And no one was listening to him. No one was laughing. Toby could feel the flop sweat begin to pop out on his forehead. The act was not working. He kept his smile pasted on and went on talking over the loud noise and conversation. He could not get their attention. They wanted the naked broads back. They had been exposed on too many Saturday nights to too many talentless, unfunny comedians. Toby kept talking, in the face of their indifference. He went on because there was nothing else he could do. He looked out and saw Clifton Lawrence and the boys, watching him with worried expressions.