Chapter Three #3
a comfortable area by ourselves, with several trays of artistic-looking appetizers waiting for us as we settled in. The fact
that I barely ever drank, or did drugs, combined with my last meal being a movie-set “salad” around 3 p.m., meant even a glass
of wine hit me hard. I felt light. I wanted to dance. I drank a second and found myself wanting to hug everyone. The sun had
gone down and the air smelled like summer camp. I stood up to join the little makeshift dance floor when the music cut and
an MC emerged onto a little makeshift stage. “Welcome, everyone! It’s ‘Comedy Night in the County’!”
Comedy night? No. My biggest fear, other than alligators and intimacy, is being in the front row of a comedy show where the
comic talks to you as part of their act. I sunk down into my chair and tried to play statue. But Marlon, many wines in, had
another tactic.
“Oh, Jesus,” Marlon said loudly. “It can’t truly be talent show night, is it?”
The MC took this as a challenge. “What do we have here, a bridal shower? Truly an original gathering!”
“Calm down, it’s a dyke wedding,” Marlon shot back. Kris, Kate, Val, and Yasmine swizzled their fight faces toward the MC
in a group challenge. He withered.
“I have no joke for that,” the MC admitted.
“Coward!” Marlon laughed.
“Don’t worry, we won’t be assholes,” Kate said.
The first comic had a table of supporters beside us, clapping and hollering.
“As long as there’s no fuckin’ magicians,” Val slurred. Katie took this as her cue to go drunkenly phone Sarah.
That’s when I hear, “Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for our hometown comedy legend Ben Sinclair! A new face
at Just for Laughs, and actor . . .” The MC kept going, and I couldn’t believe the Ben from my Christmas movie was also a
stand-up comic. I knew he grew up in PEC, but who goes home to their hometown for gigs? And how did he get here so fast when
shooting was supposed to go late?
Katie settled in next to me. “OK, stand-up. This will be fun!” Katie has always been flexible. If it were my wedding party,
I’d have staged a revolt at this point. Lila came over to our table and leaned close to whisper, “Sorry guys, I had no idea
it was comedy night!”
As Ben pulled the mic off the stand and settled in, he also caught my eye and looked surprised.
“It is wedding season around here, but the local single guys like to call it the bridesmaid buffet—” Groans, then Hazel threw
a napkin at the stage. “I know, I know, pretty sexist. But it’s a cliché for a reason!”
“So is a comic who can’t read the room!” Marlon hollered.
“Katie’s getting married!” Yasmine yelled, near incoherently.
I shhed her.
“Congratulations, Katie,” Ben said, clearly thrown off his rhythm.
“Sorry, we’ll be good,” I said.
“There’s always one person in the wedding party that is like, the camp counsellor. That appears to be you tonight, kind stranger.
We thank you for your service.”
I gave him a cheers with my glass.
“I always had a crush on the camp counsellor who was really mean, like yes, tell me to swim faster!” He gave me a look that
made me melt into my chair.
“She’s single! And the straight one!” Katie yelled.
When the next comic came on, I excused myself to pace around behind the venue, leaving my agent a very boozy voicemail. Any
message to a professional connection that starts with “Look, Jeff, here’s the deal” is not something you’ll be happy about
in the morning. When I hung up I immediately knew I’d made a terrible error.
“Fired, eh? That’s such bullshit.” I turned to see Ben.
“Thanks. Sorry my party is full of hecklers, I had no idea.”
“That’s alright. It comes with the territory. Better than no one listening.”
“How did you get to PEC so fast? I assumed the day would go way late.”
“The magic of the 407!”
“So you’re a local, huh?”
“I grew up around here. I work jobs here in the summers, lots of tourist money to make and it keeps me going between gigs.
I do stand-up for fun, but I’m trying to pivot to only acting at this point.”
“What keeps you from trying LA?”
“That old tricky visa problem. But I’m working on it. I’m actually planning to go this September for at least a few months.
How about you?”
“It’s going to sound corny, but I like working here. It’s a small showbiz world and I think I’m suited to it. But I do daydream sometimes about going to LA for a few months, trying to make connections in person. After all the pitch meetings switched to Zoom, it seems harder to do.”
“I get that. My dream is to make it big enough in America that they ask me to host the Junos.”
Katie and Val walked by and narrowed their eyes a little. I felt self-conscious, like I was caught doing something, even though
I was just standing there having a conversation like most people at the venue. My cheeks felt warm. I realized I felt this
way because I was flirting. I can’t remember the last time I was flirting with someone besides some random crew guy looking
for a quick grope. I took a deep breath and looked out onto the back field, trying to draw Ben’s eyes away from my blushing
face, and behind the winery I see three or four horses trot by.
“Just a casual horse encounter? This place is pretty magical.”
“It definitely is. I couldn’t have planned that moment better, really. The horses belong to the county chamber of tourism.
They wander by at key moments so city people feel romantic.”
“Romantic, eh?”
“Yeah, about the landscape, I mean.” He cleared his throat and took a swig of his drink. Now he’s blushing?
“What’s it like to grow up here? Is it like The Waltons? A little Incredible Journey?”
“Oh, retro references. I dig it. We just got electricity, so it’s been pretty excellent this summer.”
“Ooh, next you’ll get copper wiring.”
“I’m really excited about these new white boxes that keep meat cold.”
A harried woman in an apron and visor popped her head out the back door of the venue.
“Ben, we need you on the bar.”
“Ten-four, Louisa.”
“How many jobs do you have?”
“Uh, three if you count stand-up. But maybe it’s not a job if it pays in beer tickets. I guess I won’t see you at work Monday,
though?”
“It’s not looking likely,” I admitted, “but I hope the producers will pull rank.”
“Well, I hope to see you again, Elise. You look nice without a headset and Crocs.”
“Those were my professional lady Crocs, I’ll have you know.”
“Well, if you’ll allow, I’d love to give you my number. Maybe when you come back to the county again, I’ll take you for a
butter churning lesson or something?”
“Hmm,” I said, trying to look relaxed. Full panic. I offered up the easiest thing that came to mind. “I don’t really date
actors. As a rule. It gets complicated.” And most are fifty percent out-of-control ego and fifty percent the neediest men
I’d ever met. But I didn’t say that out loud. There’s also always the concern that they’re dating you hoping you’ll write
a part for them. Which I imagine would be difficult not to do.
“OK, too bad, I try to only date writers, myself. I have a thing for being ignored in bookstores and girls who wear sloppy
T-shirts.”
He was holding his phone out still, and my heart was pounding. I wanted to see him again, but I knew this was probably just
the wine, the wedding. No actors! Number one rule. But surely he could also feel this chemistry between us? Ben finally accepted
defeat and pocketed his phone, winked at me, and disappeared into the venue. He could take a no with grace and still be flirty.
Perhaps if I saw him again, I’d reconsider.
When I got back to the table, Hazel was asleep, my sister and Yasmine were having some sort of argument about whether or not Reese Witherspoon would be nice in real life, both slurring, Marlon and Kris were on the dance floor.
I thought Val was nowhere to be found, but somehow she’d convinced the butchy-looking woman in charge of fire maintenance to dance with her to “Call Your Girlfriend.”
I took another few sips of wine and fell into that space known as wine sad. I felt it lurking in my periphery, like a coming
aria was about to sweep me up into its emotional chorus. Being mindful of Hazel’s taunts about drama, I decided to walk out
behind the venue and try to befriend the horses. I have no job. I have no partner. No one wants to produce my movie. I’m going to turn thirty-one this fall. These were my thoughts as I climbed a rough wooden fence into a pasture, lit only by a very full moon and my phone’s dying
flashlight, toward three horses who had been quietly eating grasses and neighing like illustrated children’s book characters.
But the closer I got to them, the more they appeared to grow larger, standing stalk-still, staring back at me.
“Hi, pretties, hi, babies,” I cooed at them, walking right toward their majestic beauty. I would be their friend. We are alike,
after all?
The biggest one stomped its foot and flared its nostrils.
Oh no. I hadn’t even brought carrots to offer in a flattened palm like I’d done as a child, the last time I’d encountered
a horse. Has a giant quadruped ever sobered you up under the light of a full moon?
I started walking backwards while staring at them, the way they tell you do with bears. This was also wrong. The beats at
the winery pulsed behind me, I could hear both a chorus of coyotes bouncing off the surrounding hills and a group singing
the refrain to “Love Shack.” The biggest one walked toward me. The other two squared up behind it. All staring at me. They
were like beautiful creatures who were also somehow middle school girls.
“Girl, what are you doing,” I heard, as someone scrambled over the fence.
It was Ben. “These horses are very particular about humans.” He did not appear to be flirty or joking, as he rushed out in front of me toward the horses, who knew him.
He petted the biggest one, who didn’t appear to challenge his authority, as I scrambled back over the fence.