Brenda Monk Is Funny (16 page)

‘No, oh no thanks. I think… I think, Rossly, that I would just like to be… friends with you. I mean, I think somehow I need us to just be friends.’

‘Easy, girl. I was just suggesting we fuck tonight. I wasn’t asking you to start a relationship with me.’

‘I know, I know you weren’t. But I need help with comedy. if I’m going to do this properly and I think if we had sex I wouldn’t get that help.’

Rossly grinned. And then grinned some more. He whistled and put his hand on her shoulder.

‘Oh Brenda Monk, Brenda Monk, Brenda Monk,’ he crooned softly, much as Brenda imagined he would if he were moving inside her, ready to come, ‘you’ll be a true stand-up yet.’

When Brenda wanted sex she went to Pete, and he was happy to oblige. This was a great arrangement until one day, she realised that when she wanted a bit of company, she also went to Pete. And when she wanted comfort she went to Pete, and soon it would be Christmas and there might have to be some sort of discussion about the exact nature of their arrangement so as to properly define how they would spend the festive season. Pete had made it clear that he wanted Brenda to be his girlfriend. Brenda had said it was still too complicated with Jonathan and until she had the chance to break it off with him officially she couldn’t really start a new relationship as that was immoral. Pete said that was bullshit, and he was right.

In truth, Brenda hadn’t heard from Jonathan for three weeks. The drunken ‘I love you’ chat was never referenced again and Jonathan clearly had no idea he’d said it. Their last conversation had been snatched, with a promise to catch up properly later which never happened. Brenda knew it was effectively over but neither could really muster the energy to kill it properly. Brenda had no doubt that Jonathan had slept with other women in New York or that he had continued to do so now he had arrived in LA. And as for her… Well, she could hardly claim to have been faithful to whatever it was they had sort of had when he left.

But she knew she was being unfair to Pete. If she could get a gig, she was there and Pete was hassling her to come along and watch. She had no idea how he would feel about her talking about him on stage, however oblique the references may be, and she hadn’t confronted it even to herself. Easier just to avoid the issue by making sure he was never there to see it in the first place. And she could justify it to herself on a number of grounds, including the needs of ‘art’ and the sense that she was perfectly entitled to use her own life in her jokes as long as she never mentioned anybody by name. It seemed the best policy for now. Or at least, the easiest.

Brenda was preparing to leave for a gig in High Barnet, when her mobile went – Pete.

Calling to wish her good luck perhaps? Or suggesting he come along to watch? Brenda’s instinctive response was to ignore it. She was in pre-gig mode now and not looking to chat. But some other kinder impulse took over and she pressed ‘Accept’, planning to say she couldn’t talk now, but would call later. She didn’t even get a chance to say hello.

‘So, I hear you’re talking about me in your act,’ Pete said, his voice devoid of its usual warmth.

‘Ummm… well, I… where did you hear that?’

‘A friend of mine happened to be at your gig last Tuesday and she recognised your name from when I told her about you.’

A long pause.

‘I don’t know what you want me to say.’

‘Well, you seem to know exactly what to say on stage. Why don’t you start with that? Come on, I’d love to hear it.’

‘You don’t sound like you’d love to hear it. You sound like you’ve already decided you hate it.’

‘Don’t be a bitch.’

Brenda’s stomach lurched. He’d never used language like that to her before.

‘I’m just trying to find my voice.’

‘Your voice? What’s that?’

‘My style, my comedic style. The thing that makes me “me” as a comedian. I’m just… exploring.’

‘Well, that’s nice for you but do I get any say in this?’

Brenda hesitated. Pete filled the gap.

‘You know you’re doing to me exactly what Jonathan used to do to you, don’t you? You do realise that?’

Brenda did realise that but she didn’t want to admit it. If she did, she’d have to stop doing the jokes she had written about them and frankly, they were working better than a lot of her other stuff.

‘So, what, are you asking me to stop? Because… because I don’t know if I can.’

‘Of course you can. You can stop anytime you like.’

‘But it’s good material. It’s working.’

‘So, write some other stuff that works instead.’

‘It’s not as simple as that. I want to talk about what’s important to me. And my relationship is important to me, so I have to talk about that.’

Pete was quiet. And then he spoke steadily, and with control.

‘So, are you saying we are in a relationship?’

Brenda felt cornered. She couldn’t deny it now. She’d pretty well said as much.

‘I… think so, yes, I think so… I mean, are we? What do you think? What do you want?’

‘You know what I want, Brenda. I mean, you know what I wanted. But I’m having second thoughts now. I don’t know if I want every conversation we have served up to Friday night drunks in some grotty old stand-up club.’

‘Well, technically I’m not actually good enough to gig on a Friday night yet, so…’

‘YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.’

‘Yes, sorry, yes. I know.’

‘Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. Why do I always do this? Why do I always fall for the nutters? With the damaged ones who can’t just settle down and have a nice, loving, straightforward relationship, I mean, WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME? WHY DO I ALWAYS FUCKING DO THIS?’

Brenda reeled. She’d never heard Pete like this before. This was pure animal anguish pouring down the phone and it sliced through her like the sound of a dog in pain. She left a gap to see if there was any more and then softened her voice.

‘Are you OK?’

‘Yeah,’ Pete said as if all the life force had left his body. ‘Brenda, I think I’m going to just have a bit of time to myself, if that’s OK. Say what you like on stage. I don’t want to limit you. Say what you like. I just don’t want to give you anything… new.’

He hung up. Brenda felt desolate. But she had a gig to go to and if she didn’t leave now, she would be late. She walked around her flat gathering up her things as if she was made of lead. At least the relationship status issue had been resolved, she thought drily, in the sense they were now definitely not in one. She thought she might suddenly cry but then gulped it down and fought it back. She needed to be harder than this. Tonight would be the biggest challenge she had ever faced – she would perform her set feeling like she’d had her heart kicked out of her body and though the full impact had yet to hit her, she could already glimpse the loneliness to come. She knew a normal person would cancel the gig, but she couldn’t conceive of doing that. She needed to be there, and if nothing else the distraction would be welcome.

She arrived at the club with five minutes to go. No time for nerves. No time for anything. Her name was called. She walked out onto the stage and scanned the audience. She felt untethered from something, and mildly crazy. She knew her set inside out by now and the words came out naturally. But this time something was different. She was reckless and honest – painfully so. The material she had done before was given a new flavour by the earlier phone call with Pete, and then without warning new words were tumbling out of her mouth.

‘He said I was a nutter for talking about us on stage, and he didn’t want to give me anything new, which is fair enough. It’s just I’m pretty sure I can get a fair few jokes out of that…’

She felt slightly hot and sick in the moment, but the laugh came and soothed her like a cooling balm.

Brenda walked off stage, went straight to the bar and ordered a large glass of wine. She downed it and ordered another. She no longer felt heartbroken or lonely. She felt vindicated. When she had admitted on stage that the relationship had ended that day, she had actually got a cheer. She was funny. Her failed relationship was funny. The laughter of the crowd had suggested that it didn’t really matter what had happened with Pete, with anyone – that in the end, it was all just material.

The club promoter found her after the show and offered a paid ten the following week.

‘My woman comic just dropped out and you have to have one these days otherwise people give you shit.’

Brenda didn’t even bother arguing with the sentiment; she just accepted the work. She would get £80. Her first paid gig. She was now technically a professional stand-up. She wanted to call Pete, but of course she couldn’t. She didn’t want to call Jonathan. She stood in the street outside the club and called Fenella.

‘So, I got my first paid gig.’

‘Fucking yes. That’s my girl. When?’

‘Next Thursday. Someone dropped out and I did OK, and I think he just thought it was the easy option. Eighty quid.’

‘Eighty quid’s a fucking fortune for someone just starting. This is superb news. Does Jonathan know?’

‘No. I’ve barely spoken to him. It’s basically over, we’re just torturing the puppy now. Someone’s got to end it but neither of us can be bothered.’

‘Ha. Amazing. So look, now you’re a real stand-up come to one of our women in comedy drinks nights. Monday, The Blue Pillars, you know it?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You’ll come?’

‘Yeah.’

‘We’re gonna take good care of you, Brenda. We need another soldier on the ground.’

‘Cannon fodder?’

‘Fresh legs.’

‘OK.’

‘You don’t sound very happy about it all. I’d have thought you’d be more up.’

‘Things are a bit fucked… personally.’

‘I thought Jonathan was old news.’

‘No, someone else.’

‘Well, get over it or use it. Don’t let it slow you down. Men come and go, but comedy’s forever.’

The tone was mocking, and Brenda smiled and felt momentarily lifted.

‘Nobody keeps a relationship going at the start of a comedy career, Brenda, seriously, plenty of time for all that later. If he loves you, he’ll come back. I’ll see you Monday.’

If he loves you, he’ll come back. If he loves you. Brenda had never considered the possibility that Pete might love her. It seemed far-fetched, and yet now she remembered his exact words.

‘Why do I always fall for the nutters?’

Fall for. As in, fall in love.

‘For the nutters…’

Nutters. That was her. She was the nutter. Or the latest in a line of nutters, in this scenario. She remembered Laura and Susie’s description of his ex.

‘Awful,’ they’d said. ‘Damaged.’

Was that her, too? Was she awful and/or damaged?

Brenda suddenly recalled reading a press release she had been sent at work about all comedians having some form of psychosis. She had laughingly passed it round, before saying that it was too loaded for her to cover. Its glibly compiled checklist had described Jonathan to a tee. But now it chilled her to the bone. Did it also describe this new Brenda? She felt for the first time how cold it was outside.

The door to the club opened and a couple tumbled out, laughing. They stopped dead in their tracks when they saw Brenda.

‘Hey, it’s you. You were on tonight,’ the man said, smiling into Brenda’s face.

‘Yeah.’

‘You were fucking great! And I don’t normally like female comedians, do I babe?’

‘No he doesn’t. He normally hates them, but he really liked you. Didn’t stop laughing.’

‘I didn’t. I literally didn’t stop laughing. Brilliant.’

‘Thanks,’ said Brenda, not feeling entirely complimented but pleased to take it nonetheless.

‘I liked it too,’ said the woman, pulling her white puffa jacket around her and zipping it up, ‘but I’m not as in to comedy as he is. He loves it, don’t you?’

‘Yeah, I love it. I love
Mock the Week
. Have you ever been on that?’

‘Uh no, not yet.’

‘You should. You’d be good and I wouldn’t normally say that about a woman comedian, or comedienne, should I say?’

‘No.’

He nodded without listening. Brenda felt she would never have anything to say to this man.

‘You should do
Mock the Week
, though.’

‘OK, well, I’ll call the BBC in the morning.’

Brenda felt ashamed of her sarcasm, but couldn’t help it.

‘Yeah, well, we’ll come and see you again, won’t we babe?’

‘Yeah, and your ex sounds lovely. Sorry he dumped you.’

‘Yeah, me too,’ Brenda said, unsure as to which one of the three of them she hated the most at this precise moment. The couple tipped off towards the Tube station, laughing together, happy. Brenda hailed a cab and went home to her empty flat.

That night she couldn’t sleep, a problem she was finding increasingly tiresome. After gigs she was too pumped to relax for hours, no matter how much she drank or how much weed she smoked. At least when she had been with Pete she could release some of the pent up energy through sex and he was usually willing to stay up and chat for a short while, but when she was still awake at 3, 4 even 5am he would be fast asleep and she would lie next to him, staring at the ceiling, going over every part of the that night’s gig. But now she didn’t even have him to help her out. Brenda put the TV on and found a late night American sit-com that used to be good on an obscure channel and sat in front of it. Tonight she was confused – it had been a great experience, going out there and just winging parts of it and yet now she felt thwarted somehow, unfinished in some way. She wondered if she could masturbate her way out of it but didn’t feel the urge, ‘I’m telling myself I’ve got a headache,’ she thought wryly, and then reached for her notebook to write it down. She tried to think back to the gig. If the promoter was willing to pay her on the basis of it, then surely she should try to distill what was good about it and recreate it. Logically it seemed like a winning formula, although Jonathan had told her time and again that a good comedian makes each gig unique – once you are working to a formula, you will officially become a ‘hack’ and that is the beginning of the end of any legitimate artistic endeavour.

Brenda knew she ought to examine what had gone well, though. She closed her eyes and put herself back on stage: the full length curtain with a bare brick printed design, the high stool she hadn’t used, the round spotlight illuminating her top half and allowing a little room to move. It had felt like proper stand-up, that was the thing. She had controlled the room, even though she had been a bit out of control herself. The usual material had gone well but she had surprised herself with the ad-libs. ‘I said it was OK to dump me as long as I could still have sex with him after gigs, you know, to blow off steam, or blow off something. You know, all this talking, it’s actually quite relaxing for a female comedian to do something else with her mouth after a show.’