Toby continued. There was no audience in the room, just people, talking to one another, discussing their problems and their lives. For all they cared, Toby Temple could have been a million miles away. Or dead. His throat was dry now with fear, and it was becoming hard to get the words out. From the corner of his eye, Toby saw the manager start toward the bandstand. He was going to begin the music, pull the plug on him. It was all over. Toby’s palms were wet and his bowels had turned to water. He could feel hot urine trickle down his leg. He was so nervous that he was beginning to mix up his words. He did not dare look at Clifton Lawrence or the writers. He was too filled with shame. The manager was at the bandstand, talking to the musicians. They glanced over at Toby and nodded. Toby went on, talking desperately, wanting it to be over, wanting to run away somewhere and hide.
A middle-aged woman seated at a table directly in front of Toby giggled at one of his jokes. Her companions stopped to listen. Toby kept talking, in a frenzy. The others at the table were listening now, laughing. And then the next table.
And the next. And, slowly, the talking began to die down. They were listening to him. The laughs were starting to come, long and regular, and they were getting bigger, and building. And building. The people in the room had become an audience. And he had them. He fucking had them! It no longer mattered that he was in a cheap saloon filled with beer-drinking slobs. What mattered was their laughter, and their love. It came out at Toby in waves. First he had them laughing, then he had them screaming. They had never heard anything like him, not in this crummy place, not anywhere. They applauded and they cheered and before they were through, they damned near tore the place apart. They were witnessing the birth of a phenomenon. Of course, they could not know that. But Clifton Lawrence and O’Hanlon and Rainger knew it. And Toby Temple knew it.
God had finally come through.
Reverend Damian shoved the blazing torch into Josephine’s face and screamed, “O God Almighty, burn away the evil in this sinful child,” and the congregation roared “Amen!” And Josephine could feel the flame licking at her face and the Reverend Damian yelled out, “Help this sinner exorcise the Devil, O God. We will pray him out, we will burn him out, we will drown him out,” and hands grabbed Josephine, and her face was suddenly plunged into a wooden tub of cold water, and she was held under while voices chanted into the night air, beseeching the Almighty One for His help, and Josephine struggled to get loose, fighting for breath, and when they finally pulled her out, half-conscious, the Reverend Damian declared. “We thank you, sweet Jesus, for your mercy. She is saved! She is saved!” And there was great rejoicing, and everyone was raised in spirit. Except Josephine, whose headaches became worse.
10
“I’ve gotten you a booking in Las Vegas,” Clifton Lawrence told Toby. “I’ve arranged for Dick Landry to work on your act. He’s the best nightclub director in the business.”
“Fantastic! Which hotel? The Flamingo? The Thunderbird?”
“The Oasis.”
“The Oasis?” Toby looked at Cliff to see if he was joking. “I never—”
“I know.” Cliff smiled. “You never heard of it. Fair enough. They never heard of you. They’re really not booking you—they’re booking me. They’re taking my word that you’re good.”
“Don’t worry,” Toby promised. “I will be.”
Toby broke the news to Alice Tanner about his Las Vegas booking just before he was to leave. “I know you’re going to be a big star,” she said. “It’s your time. They’ll adore you, darling.” She hugged him and said, “When do we leave, and what do I wear to the opening night of a young comic genius?”
Toby shook his head ruefully. “I wish I could take you, Alice. The trouble is I’ll be working night and day thinking up a lot of new material.”