Brenda Monk Is Funny (20 page)

The first surprise was that she did not want to have sex with Jonathan. That was a relief. The second surprise was how pleased she was to see him, and when he looked up and saw her his face split into a wide grin and he stood up immediately.

‘Here she is!’

He opened his arms wide and embraced her fully, kissing her neck behind her right ear.

‘My Brenda.’

Confusing – his Brenda? No, not his Brenda. She pulled back.

‘How are you, Jonathan?’

‘I’m so fucking well you wouldn’t believe. Joan has been getting me so many meetings and auditions and shit. I’ve done a bit on
Comedy Central
over there and got great buzz. I’ve got a call back for a part in this shit hot new sit-com written by a couple of ex-
Simpsons
writers next week. Apparently they told Joan the audition was just a formality, they know they want me.’

‘Amazing. It all sounds amazing.’

‘Yeah. It is.’

‘And you look really well.’

‘Thanks. So do you.’

And that was it and in an instant the pleasure Brenda had initially, instinctively felt evaporated. What the hell had they ever talked about? It appeared that, as far as Brenda was concerned, without the sexual attraction there was very little conversation to be had. She stood awkwardly in front of him for a moment. Then she suddenly remembered Josephine and the abortion, and had to steady herself. It was so unrelated in her mind to the man that stood before her, she could hardly comprehend they were the same person. She had an urge to bring it up, just to see what he would do. But then Jonathan spoke.

‘So, you’re really doing stand-up, then?’

‘Yeah, it’s what I do now.’

‘You still doing material about us?’

‘A bit, sort of. I’m doing stuff that’s more what’s on my mind at the moment though.’

‘Oh. Right.’ Jonathan looked a bit hurt and Brenda realised she had been insensitive, though she hadn’t meant to be. The sudden frosty atmosphere was broken by Rossly calling out from across the room as he loped through the door way.

‘Ah, Jonathan Cape, the prodigal returns.’

‘Rossly Barns, the convict never leaves.’

‘Cheap, Jonathan, cheap.’

‘Cheap is OK by me if it works.’

Brenda was instantly bored. She hadn’t come here to stand around and listen to comedians willy-waving. That was her old life.

‘OK, guys, I’ll see you later.’

‘Hang on, I haven’t finished with you yet,’ Jonathan said with unexpected authority.

‘Oh, sorry,’ Brenda replied, feeling anxious where she once would have been thrilled by his insistent attention.

‘So, look, I’ve had this idea, Brenda. I think it would really work.’

‘What’s that?’

‘We do a double gig.’

‘What?’

‘What the fuck is a double gig?’ Rossly said, not liking being excluded.

‘Yeah, what are you talking about?’ said Brenda, eager to maintain some kind of control of the conversation.

‘We have half a show each to talk about our relationship. We do our material about the same topics, but from our own perspectives.’

That shut them up.

‘Are we…in a relationship?’ Brenda asked.

Jonathan shrugged.

‘In as much as anyone is…’ he replied, which was no kind of answer.

Brenda’s mind raced. She could see the potential benefits to her: a highly publicised gig with Jonathan, slightly taboo subject matter, fascination for punters to see a couple effectively having a highly deconstructed row live on stage. It would definitely get reviewed and it might be the punch through into a wider consciousness that she needed to get more paid work. And it was interesting comedically. No-one had ever done it before, in her experience. Yes, she could see all that. What she couldn’t see was the benefit to Jonathan. There must be one. He never did anything without some direct benefit to himself, but it was not immediately apparent in this case, and that made her nervous. She didn’t want to show her neck though and she certainly wasn’t going to ask with Rossly standing right there, so she tipped her head to the side in what she hoped was a blasé fashion and considered the suggestion.

‘Sounds interesting,’ she said with great nonchalance, her mind already skipping over all the material she could use and work on.

‘Yeah, it does,’ said Rossly, grudgingly. ‘Never seen that before.’ ‘I know, right? It’s sort of ground-breaking,’ Jonathan said with the beginnings of an unbearable trans-Atlantic twang.

‘Who wants some MDMA?’

And that was the end of that for the time being.

Brenda was sitting with Rossly, Fenella and Jim John, who had turned up sometime around 1am with his guitar, having driven all the way from Nottingham after his gig in order to be at the party. Fenella had rolled a very nice joint and they were all pleasantly high. The MDMA felt kinder this time but Brenda suspected it was just because she was more relaxed generally than when she had last had some in Edinburgh. Everything was soft round the edges and welcoming and harmonious. And so when Brenda spotted John Nunn sitting in one corner, talking earnestly to another comedian, she felt that it would be the most natural thing in the world to approach him. Rossly, Fenella and Jim sat back to enjoy the show.

A year ago John Nunn had been a high end circuit comedian earning a decent living with the odd TV appearance to his name. He was now a millionaire with an arena tour booked for the year ahead which would make him millions more. His rise had been meteoric, and yet he had also been around forever. He must have been forty-two, but the money had lifted some of the ageing worry off his shoulders and he’d clearly been on holiday somewhere hot. He looked more expensive than anyone around him – success dripped off him. It was strange to see him here, but in fact twelve months earlier he had been at this very party with £60,000 worth of debt, one pair of shoes and, according to gossip, an application for bankruptcy on his coffee table at home. Then he had changed agents.

His new representation had the biggest and best client list in comedy. They controlled everything. They represented comics and also created, produced and owned the primetime TV shows these comics performed in. They had a DVD distribution business and a live tour promotion team. They created and sold merchandise and dealt with international licensing agreements. It was what was known in the music business as a 360 deal, but these guys were the pioneers in terms of comedy. The earnings of their top seven comedians in any given year dwarfed the combined income of every other gigging comic in the UK. You gave them your life; they gave you your money. It was as simple as that.

Brenda recalled how Jonathan had followed John Nunn’s career with a mixture of contempt and envy. She knew every last detail of his meteoric rise. He had signed up with his new agents in January. They had immediately paid off all his debts and booked him onto their flagship live stand-up show on BBC1, where the viewing nation would see him perform his best seven minutes of material. He was ready. He’d been ready for years.

Next they booked him as a guest onto the primetime chat show they also produced, which was fronted by a comedian turned presenter they also represented who referred to him as ‘one of Britain’s best loved comedians’ and set him up for all his best jokes, as planned beforehand with the producer. They then booked him on a mid-range tour of a hundred dates across the country. The TV appearances meant that he sold out all but seven of these dates and they had a DVD ready to come out off the back of it in time for the Christmas market. A couple of appearances on the main panel shows, one of which was also produced by his agency, meant that he was now cemented in the public’s mind as someone who was a rock solid ticket to laughter. His DVD had gone to number one in the comedy charts and stayed there for two weeks before slipping down to number four. It was still at number seven and didn’t look like moving out of the top ten for some time. He was now making his agency a lot of money with his highly sellable family-friendly, light observational comedy. The £60k debt had been repaid several times over. Brenda felt warmed through with a chemical love for humanity and was suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to congratulate him on his success. His £2.4 million success, if the rumours were to believed.

Brenda walked over to him and stuck out her hand.

‘Hi, you’re John Nunn.’

He completely ignored her. She tried again.

‘Hi, you’re John Nunn.’

He stopped and looked up and his pale blue eyes told her he was stone cold sober.

‘Do you know it’s rude to interrupt people when they’re talking?’

Brenda absorbed this and pressed on.

‘Yeah, I do, but it’s that kind of party, isn’t it?’

‘It certainly seems to be for you.’

‘Yeah.’

He turned back and carried on talking to his friend, who seemed embarrassed and unsure as to what to do next. Brenda didn’t move. John stopped talking and turned to her.

‘Can I help you with something?’

Brenda was feeling bold and facetious – a terrible combination.

‘You could give me twenty grand.’

‘Would that make you go away?’

‘For a bit.’

‘I’ll call my manager…’

‘OK, cool. Hey John Nunn, why come to a party if you don’t want to meet new friends?’

‘Because I barely see the old ones as it is. I don’t have time for new people.’

‘That’s sad, that’s very, very sad.’

‘Yes, it is. What’s your name?’

‘Brenda. Brenda Monk.’

‘Well, Brenda Monk, it’s been wonderful meeting you. Seriously, life-changing in many respects.’

Brenda beamed at this.

‘But I’d really like you to go away now so I can carry on talking to my friend here, OK? I can’t stay here long, I’m on a flight at 7am so I have to leave here in about ten minutes and I don’t want to waste any more time talking to you.’

Brenda nodded and felt overwhelmed with the desire to hug him. Which she did. He froze in her arms and when she had finished, he looked her straight in the eye and spoke with deadly but contained fury.

‘Seriously, fuck off, OK?’

Brenda walked back over to where Rossly, Fenella and Jim were eating their fists.

‘That was diabolical to watch,’ said Fenella. ‘I literally cannot believe what I have just witnessed.’

‘He seemed so sad and angry and stressed, I thought he needed a hug,’ Brenda said dreamily.

‘No more drugs for you, babe,’ Rossly said. ‘He’s an uptight prick anyway. Always has been, even before the money and whatever.’

‘Must be weird for him though, suddenly getting famous and rich.’

‘Yeah boo-hoo, my heart bleeds.’

Brenda left around 3 o’clock the following afternoon having talked constantly for hours. No comedic stone was unturned and though she had felt Rossly’s eyes on her almost all the time, she had made sure to spread herself around the room. She felt part of it all now. This was family time for many of the comedians there, especially the handful of old-timers in their fifties and sixties with estranged wives (several in some cases) and children, who had spent Christmas alone and looked forward to this night as the most festive they were likely to get. There was talking shop, one-up-manship, laughter, drug taking, enlightening conversation, advice, comfort, the odd small half-hearted fight and a little sleep. Brenda had napped around 10am for a couple of hours, lying half under a bed, and woke to find that someone had put a blanket over her. She would never find out who. Wandering down the road in a daze, blinking in the light like a recently born creature, Brenda faced the New Year with excitement. She couldn’t stop thinking about Jonathan’s offer. Though they had barely spoken for the rest of the party (she was fairly certain he had left with someone else around dawn) he had made sure to take her to one side in the early hours and told her he may be high, but he was serious. He said Lloyd would be in touch with her to arrange the details. Brenda got the feeling he knew far more about her recent comedic activities than he was letting on, but she wasn’t particularly inclined to make any inquiries. Whatever he was hearing must be broadly positive, otherwise he wouldn’t want to share a stage with her. He obviously expected to be the better comedian on the night but he wouldn’t want to devalue his currency by appearing with someone in a dedicated show if that person was out and out crap. His motivation for wanting to do the show in the first place was still a complete mystery but she was so excited by what she could get out of it she decided to ignore any niggling little doubts she may have. This was an extraordinary opportunity and they didn’t come along very often. When met with an extraordinary opportunity, there is only one answer: yes. You figure out all the other stuff later. The nature of Brenda and Jonathan’s relationship couldn’t be fudged forever but for once, in the face of a truly amazing professional offer, Brenda could use his vagueness to her advantage.

‘BRENDA!’

She turned to see who was shouting and saw Rossly striding up the street. She waited for him to catch her up.

‘Why are you leaving so early?’

‘Early? It’s the next afternoon.’

‘Yeah but still… Why are you going? You haven’t got anywhere to be.’

‘I just felt like going home.’

Rossly took this in.

‘Shall I come with you?’

‘No thanks.’

‘Are you OK? You’re not feeling weird? You were pretty mashed in there for a while.’

‘Honestly, Rossly, I’m fine.’

‘OK, give me your number then so I can check on you later.’

She gave him the number and kissed him on the cheek. He looked vulnerable for a brief second and then he was striding back to the house.

Brenda felt liberated and strong. She arrived back at her flat, had a bath and then went to bed. She slept long and soundly, barely stirring until she woke disoriented and incredibly hungry at 11pm. She got up and made herself a plate of scrambled eggs and toast and sat eating in her dark kitchen, contemplating the future.

Jonathan had indicated that he would be back in the UK in February and would like to do the show then. They had both agreed that performing it for one night only on Valentine’s Day would be a stroke of genius. That gave her six weeks to prepare. Heat One of the competition was in two weeks and she had to make sure she did well. The rest of the time she had other gigs booked. All of which were unpaid apart from one, where she was offered a percentage of the box office, though what percentage had yet to be determined and Brenda was fairly sure she wouldn’t be buying her first Rolex with it.