Stragglers

$350 is a good start on the remainder of Martin's debt, no question. He's feeling pretty good about the money he's already made off his show. There's still a balance owed, though, and Michelle is seemingly getting curious. The night of Martin's visit to Landon's apartment, he receives a call from his sister asking him to come out to breakfast again, this time at one of her shitty organic spots. This is, of course, a waking nightmare to him, but he acquiesces just because she's his sister.

She asks him to show up at 8:30, and this time Martin is capable of managing that kind of early rise. After all, he knows that this time people aside from his sister are relying on his punctuality. So when Martin shows up to one of his least favorite breakfast spots, Tommy is waiting for him, as well as his sister and the Countess at a distance.

Martin greets Tommy first, then introduces him to Michelle with judicious brevity. As they sit down, Martin realizes he can't order real bacon, and the anger begins to rise.

"You realize it's possible to make organic bacon. You just can't make vegan bacon or vegetarian bacon. Organic is totally possible. It's all in the treatment of those delicious, delicious piggies."

Michelle sneers at Martin, and Tommy seems to also lament the lack of cured pork bellies on the menu, but Martin has no idea if this is part of his act as apprentice or if Tommy really appreciates the salty, savory flavor of good bacon.

"I do realize that, but it's not a matter of taste, Martin. I agree that bacon is delicious, but it's not especially healthy," Michelle replies.

"Not especially healthy for a super strict diet, but it's a certifiably scientific hangover cure. That much is true. As an alcoholic, I should know these things."

Michelle sighs. Tommy smiles.

"So who is this guy, then? Tommy? Is that his name?"

"Yes," Martin replies. Michelle's feigned forgetfulness is more insulting to Tommy than Martin. He can't avoid the possibility that his sister is a bitch. "He's my...student. As much as I find that weird, and I'm sure you find it weird, he is my student. He wants to be a comedian, and I'll do what I can to make it happen."

"I really can't picture you being this accommodating for someone." See! Bitch.

"Oh fuck you, Michelle. I had the exact same thought, and yet I'm going to help him out. And I'm helping the chick who's with us at the same time. Birds and stones."

There's a distinct break in the conversation, then Michelle responds to Martin's claim. "Are you talking about me?" Martin laughs in her face.

"Nope." He turns around and points to Tess, who is sitting a few tables away from them near the door. Tess waves awkwardly at Martin, then takes notes about his behavior. "She's with us too, but she's not allowed to get close. She's paying fifty dollars every day just to not bother me." Martin laughs again, but he's worried that this much revelry will cause the good things in his life to collapse into ruin.

"So you'll help some poor sap tell jokes, but you're making...whoever that is pay you just to watch your behavior? I guess I should expect this kind of chauvinistic behavior from you."

"I'm right here, you know," Tommy points out. Martin can see this little interjection as Tommy's attempt to assert his position as a human being, but he can't just let his sister get away with calling him a chauvinist.

"Sure, you should expect this behavior from me, but that's because I don't see you as a woman. I don’t see any reason to show you my good side.”

“So Tess will say that you’ve been nothing but a gentleman to her?” Michelle waves to Tess. Martin turns around to see a very confused artist, so he swats at Michelle’s hand until she puts it down.

“Why did you want to see me, again?” Better to get back to the matter at hand, Martin figures.

“Have you figured out how you’re going to cover the rest of my bill?” She looks at Martin with low expectations. Tommy follows her look across the table with a similar curiosity about Martin’s finances.

“Is it really that urgent? I gave you everything I made at Herb’s place, and I plan on giving you Tess’s money too. My other means of making money are somewhat secret at the moment.”

“Secret?” Michelle seems skeptical. “Or...”

“Or what?” Martin has no idea what she wants him to admit.

“Or you don’t actually have any plans.”

Martin just shakes his head. “Have faith, sister. The money will flow.”

“Oh, so you can cover breakfast?” She’s trying to call his bluff, but Martin isn’t bluffing at all.

“Hell no. I’m broke right now.”

With that last victory, Michelle leaves Martin alone regarding his financial difficulties, at least until breakfast has ended and they’ve gone their separate ways. Tess shuffles out of the restaurant as Michelle is leaving, making sure to give Martin a decent berth.

As Martin and Tommy get to his car, Tommy hesitates before climbing in. “Do you really have a plan?”

Martin’s eyes are dead as he looks at Tommy. “From now on, can you please just take every question you have and make it into a statement? Then you’ll just seem like a liar instead of a dumbass.”

“What?”

“Of course I don’t have a solid plan yet. Just say ‘You don’t have a plan.’ or ‘You have a plan.’ and wait for me to correct you.” Martin gets into the car and slams the door. Tommy gets in, but his face is screwed up in thought.

“What?” Martin asks.

“You are mean all the time.”

Grr. Tommy follows orders strictly just so he can point out what a dick Martin is. It makes him feel worse than he’d like to admit.

Countess, Part 2: Blank Wombs and the Second Apprentice

Landon Freeman lives in the home of an artist. The space is vast, comfortable, and littered with the debris of a struggling creative soul. Blank canvases sit on easels surrounded by palettes with many different mixtures of paints, inks, and tools Martin can’t identify off the top of his head. He looks around for any indication that a brawny, capable man like Landon lives here. Maybe one corner of the studio seems to contain a jumble of his belongings. It hurts Martin just to think about it.

“What’s with all the blank canvases?” asks Tommy.

The Countess heaves a tormented sigh. “Would you like the short version or the long version.”

“The short version,” Martin blurts.

She smiles at his tenacity. It occurs to Martin that she might think he’s joking, but before he can cut her off she begins reciting the long version of her story.

“You are a comedian, Tom?” she asks.

“Sort of. I am as of today, just not a very good one.”

“Well then, you understand the need of an artist to feel inspired.”

Tom shifts his weight from one foot to another. “How can you really be an artist before you’re inspired? When everyone starts out, we’re all just plain creatures with no title. Then inspiration hits, and we become artists.”

“Certainly that’s one way of looking at it,” she concedes, “but I dare say that someone without an artistic soul wouldn’t know what to do with the most divine of inspiration even if it were shining golden in front of them with a note from God tacked on. These canvases here are for both inspiration and receptacles. If, one day, I feel the need to fill their voids, I can simply grab a brush or whatever implement most pleases me and go about my business. On the other hand, if some other seed inspires me, they can be my womb.”

Tom nods. Martin scowls. “That’s disgusting. You could have gone this whole visit without mentioning reproductive organs,” he says.

She has the gall to laugh at him, which only serves to further unsettle him. “Have I offended you? Have I made you uncomfortable? I figured no topics were taboo for someone like you.”

“Oh, I have no problem discussing dicks and vaginas all day if that’s what people ask of me, just not...”

“Me?” Martin has the sudden urge to run out of the apartment and leave Tommy behind. He’s already said too much, though. It’s time to face the consequences.

“Yeah. We really don’t know each other well enough to talk about things like that.” He has no idea if that’s a good excuse.

“Hmm. I suppose you’re allowed to be different from your stage persona.” She looks at the floor, then turns and beckons for Martin and Tommy to follow her to a sitting area with a couch and chairs.

Tommy leans over a little to whisper. “You’re being kind of an asshole, dude.” Martin waves him away like he’s swatting at a swarm of insects. Tommy pulls back. “Just saying, man.”

The two men take up a good portion of the couch across from where Tess is sitting, looking awfully pleased with herself. She crosses her legs, intertwines her fingers, and leans in toward her visitors. “So, onward to the matter at hand, yes?” She looks to Tommy. “Your question about the canvases cut quickly to a point I was hoping to make later: I am stuck. As an artist, I am stuck. There’s something I thought I had in me that isn’t flowing, and yet the desire to turn these canvases into something beautiful is there.”

Martin stares blankly at her. He can think of a handful of crazy reasons why this might involve him, but he’d rather ignore them than vocalize them. He has no desire to give her ideas.

“And as you know, Martin, Landon and I are fans of your shows. One thing that really blows my mind is that you have all new material every time. Do you have other comedians you work with?”

“No.”

“Then I am duly impressed,” she admits.

“I don’t really do shows very often,” Martin points out.

“Wait,” says Tommy, “you don’t repeat any jokes?”

Martin shrugs. “Maybe I have. I don’t actually keep track of it. But yeah, to the best of my knowledge, I don’t repeat jokes.”

“Jeez. That sounds rough. I think I’d rather work with a stable of solid jokes and just mix in the new stuff.”

“Yeah, well I’ll tell you why I hate that later.” Tommy lets his curiosity subside.

“I don’t mean to seem so obsequious, but you’ve left me quite interested, Martin.” Martin can picture it now, running some kind of artist day school for wandering souls and writers with blocks.

“Look, I already have one unexpected follower, Tess. I’m not looking to share my methods with anyone else right now.” The thought of having to put up with her ceaseless musings on art and inspiration makes him a tad suicidal.

“And I understand that. No offense, of course, but Tom’s unexpected to me as well. I had really figured things wouldn’t have changed much for you in the last week or so.” Martin is flipping her off in his head with such intensity that her torso combusts in alignment with his will, charring her face and causing her eyeballs to bubble and drip out of their sockets. When reality reasserts itself, he’s crushed to find out that it was all a fiction. “But I think it can still work. All that I ask is the opportunity to observe you from a distance. I won’t interfere with your life in the least bit, but I want to understand you. I want to understand what it is that lets you create like you do.”

“It’s weirdos like you and Herb Rollins and Gay Martin and Tammy the Genius.” The Countess seems puzzled. “Well, at this point you’ll probably meet them. Don’t worry about it.”

“I look forward to it.”

“Am I going to get any compensation for this invasion of privacy?”

“What would you like?” she asks. Martin has to wonder if financial compensation would come from her bank account or Landon’s.

“I guess it depends on how long you plan on doing this.”

“Until I understand you, Martin.”

“Don’t you have any other people you could monitor? You could follow Tommy around all the time and still get to observe me every once in a while.”

“Hey now, don’t I get a say in this?” The sound of Tommy speaking startles Martin. He had forgotten he was there.

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“Why don’t you just let Tess hang around you for a week or so for a trial period.”

“That sounds marvelous!” The Countess is thrilled by compromise, apparently.

“And I’ll want fifty dollars per day,” Martin adds. Tommy laughs.

“Done.” She stands up and presents her hand to Martin. Pleased by the prospect of a few hundred dollars, Martin springs to his feet and shakes her hand.

“But you won’t interfere with my life?”

“Not unless you want me to.” Martin snorts derisively, feels bad about it, then finds himself utterly confused by the sensation of guilt.

“Alright, Tom, let’s get out of here.” He starts to walk toward the door, and Tom follows like a trained hound.

“Wait, how will I know where to find you?” Tess calls after them.

Martin laughs maniacally. “That’s part of your job, lady. My job’s just to keep on movin’.”

In the elevator, Tom can’t help himself. “Did you seriously just ask for money so she could hang out with you?”

“Did she seriously just say yes? Good lord. Everyone is a fucking idiot." This new promise of cash makes Martin feel better for the moment. "Sorry you didn’t get to meet Landon, by the way.”

“That’s okay.”

The door opens on the first floor to Landon Freeman and Herb Rollins chatting in the lobby. Martin’s blood begins to boil. “You son of a bitch!”

“Martin Avery!” cheers Herb. Landon looks upset by the implication of Martin’s anger. Tommy is horrified.

“Whoa, Martin. What’s the problem?” Landon, in his glorious glory, seems genuinely concerned by Martin’s anger. It’s soothing, and Martin finds this frustrating.

“I thought you invited me over to just chill out and talk to, you know, you. And not her,” he says, pointing toward the ceiling.

“Ah, it would seem Martin has a problem with your Countess, Earl Freeman.” Herb has a jolly laugh at his own commentary. At this point, Martin’s mind jumps to the hypothetical scenario in which the two pairs of men get into a fight. Tommy would clearly have to tackle Landon. Martin is just too scrawny to take him on. On the other hand, Herb is, as he describes it himself, “delicate”. Maybe Martin and Tommy could even win.

“Martin, I just figured that you could maybe let her get some ideas to get her started with her painting and your ego would be satisfied at the same time.” Landon is handsome. He’s tall and strong, and the finer details of his look have been determined by the conditions of his travels around the world. He is, in a word, rugged. Beyond this, he is also a beloved public speaker. It annoys Martin to no end that despite all this he remains a really likable person.

“Not to mention he gets a decent payday,” Tommy inserts. Martin shrinks back.

“What?” Landon asks. This mention of money exchanging hands has taken this conversation in the wrong direction. Landon’s surprise makes Martin feel guilty again. This is too much for him to handle in one day.

“Well, we’re gonna head out now. Nice seeing you guys.” Martin pushes past Tommy and walks briskly for the door, heading out into the parking lot before anyone can get a chance to stop him.

He waits in the car while Tommy says his pleasantries to Landon and Herb. Martin doesn't know if he's funny yet, but Tommy is at the very least polite.

Tommy slips into the passenger seat. “What the hell was that about?”

“I’m just having an off day. I feel weird right now, and I don’t really want the Countess hanging around me all day. She creeps me out.”

“And I still don’t get that. She was nothing but nice to you.” Martin recalls flames, eyeballs.

“For the most part. I think she was just being reserved with you around, or maybe she was sober. Last time I had to chat with her, she was saying the most boring shit about aesthetics you can possibly imagine, then she started describing her sex life with Landon in horrible, horrible detail. I know things about that man that I didn’t even realize I could know.” Tommy has to ponder this for a moment.

“That sounds kind of awkward.”

“Yeah? Sounds like the next week of our lives, dipshit.” Martin starts the car as grumpily as he can manage.

Countess, Part 1: Grasshopper

Money is bullshit, at least that’s what Martin thinks. Every man should be entitled to a wealth equal to the work he does for society. Being steeped in debt isn’t helping him appreciate the capitalist pigs around him either. Despite making money at Herb’s club, Martin still owes thousands of dollars to his sister, and while he knows that she won’t complain, he prefers to limit the amount of reasons she has to contact him. Keeping debt-free is one way for Martin to remain Michelle-free.

A name pops into his head: Landon Freeman. Herb had introduced him to Landon and his strange counterpart Tess Carter, “The Countess”. Such a stupid nickname, and yet Landon seemed quite fond of her. Landon is also quite fond of adventuring, archaeology, record breaking, and any other number of Hollywood-level masculine feats. Somehow all of this managed to raise him to the level of mid-range celebrity, and with this status came a moderate level of wealth. Martin is hoping to tap some sweet, sweet Landon Freeman ass.

Not literally, of course, though the rumor is that the smooth talker Herb Rollins has done just that. Herb is suspected of having seduced many straight male celebrities, though to what extent no one can be sure. None of the proposed celebs ever go on to lead anything but a fabulously straight life, and so the rumors remain rumors.

Martin is ready to dig in and see what he can find out, about the wealth, the rumors, and this weird woman Landon insists on retaining at his side. When Martin calls to make good on Landon’s invitation to his studio apartment, Landon is unusually pleased. Martin keeps this noted as he gets ready

Knock knock. Martin leans his head out of his bedroom door and listens. Knock knock. He steps cautiously toward the front door, wondering who might be on the other side.

“Are you gonna get that?” Ray yells. Damn you, Ray.

“I can hear you in there, Martin,” a voice calls out from outside. It’s a male voice, and vaguely familiar.

Martin opens the door. “Hi, Martin. I don’t know if you remember me, but-“

“Tommy?”

“Yeah, ha.” Tommy the repo man is standing outside Martin's door for who knows what reason. He looks a little younger than Martin, but he is taller, wider, and his hair is thinner.

"Why are you here?"

"Well, uh, Rico told me about your show the other night..."

Martin had forgotten that he even mentioned the show to the repo crowd. "Wait, so you went? And you didn't even say 'hi' to me after the show?"

"Yeah! And no." Tommy seems nervous about something, yet still pleased to see Martin. "At first I thought Rico was joking, but I checked it out anyway. It wasn't bad at all. The opener was kind of weak, but I liked some of your jokes."

"Not all of them?"

Tommy seems to purr with hedging noises, so Martin relieves him of his faux pas.

"I'm just joking, man. You're not the first person to tell me I need to work on my jokes." The big guy seems more relaxed now, but Martin has somewhere to be. Martin begins to walk toward his car. "Look, I kind of need to be somewhere. Why did you come to see me?"

"I sort of wanted to ask you about something."

"Shoot."

"It may require some discussion."

"Well, do you want to come with me to see Landon Freeman?" Martin asks, trying to hide how much fun it is drop a name like that.

"The Landon Freeman? World record guy?"

"The one and only."

"Damn, sure."

Martin nods toward the car. "Hop in."

As soon as they head out, Tommy opens up about why he's suddenly back in Martin's life. "I've always had an appreciation of comedy, you know. It's not easy to be consistently funny."

"I think it's genetic or something."

"Really?" Tommy asks. "Were your parents funny, then?"

"Oh god, no. My dad had no sense of humor and my mom wasn't as funny as she thought she was. I'm just assuming that it's recessive."

"Well I like to think I have a good sense of humor, but I've never really had the balls to do stand-up. Scares the shit out of me to just think about it." Martin is suddenly realizing that Tommy had prefaced this trip with the promise of a question, not a discussion of the finer points of comedy.

"So...what did you want to ask me exactly?"

"Right. You're welcome to say no, but I was thinking maybe you could be my mentor."

Before Martin has a chance to stop himself, he's laughing hysterically. He considers being responsible and pulling over until the fit passes, but he doesn't want to be late. When he finally calms down a bit, he realizes he has a legitimate proposition to mull over. "And what about the wonderful world of moving furniture, eh?"

"Kiefo fired me."

"What? Why?"

"I was too drunk to work one morning."

Sigh. "Look, Tommy, there are enough alcoholic comedians. I think we can make do with the thousands we have already without you throwing in your two cents. Just go beg Kiefo for your job or something."

"How did you get your start? Everyone just recognized how naturally funny you are and started paying you?" Screw you, Tommy, but I guess you have a point.

"What the hell would I even have to do as your mentor?"

"I don't know. Show me the ropes? Show me how to write jokes? Let me open a show sometime if I get good?"

"Jesus, Tom. Look, you're not going to make money doing this. I can't support you, and you're going to be doing open mic nights until I actually think you're funny on your own." Martin is surprised to realize how quickly he's accepting this idea, but he doesn't have anything else to do.

"That's okay. If I don't go after this now, I'll just regret it later." Ew.

"Okay, you know what? First big change as my pupil: you need to get it into your head that sometimes it's okay to say 'fuck it'. I mean, you couldn't work because you got hammered. Don't you regret that?"

"Fuck you. That was a rough time for me." Martin doesn't really care what "that" is, so they pass the rest of the trip in unpleasant silence.

When they arrive at Landon's address, the two men are in the middle of one of the city's trendy warehouse districts. Martin knows that this must be at the urging of Landon's Countess, but he can't avoid thinking about Tammy and her idiotic warehouse purchases.

"Damn," says Tommy, "this place is nice." Martin can't imagine what kind of shitty domicile Tommy uses for shelter.

"That's the way people trick you around here. Everything's nice on the outside, but once you dig a little you realize it's full of shit."

"Should I be taking down quotes for your memoir?"

"Shut the hell up, Tom." When Martin reaches the door into the building, he presses the buzzer for Landon’s apartment.

“Hello?” asks the Countess from the other end. Martin wrinkles his nose at her voice.

“Hello.”

“Who is this?” Blech.

“It’s Martin Avery. I’m here to see Landon.”

“Oh! Come right up.” As the buzzer sounds, Tommy grabs the door handle and holds it open for Martin. Landon lives on the top floor of the building, no doubt paying top dollar for a magnificent view and an airy, open apartment.

Tommy and Martin exit the elevator into a strange hallway. The floor is apparently split into two open studio spaces, and they are separated by a thin hallway that spans the width of the building, probably as a fireproofing or acoustic dampening measure. There’s little more space than is required for the doors to open to each apartment.

Martin knocks apprehensively on Landon’s door, then stands back. Tommy gives him a weird look. “You don’t understand, Tom. Lesson two: weird shit happens to me.”

“Okay.”

The door glides inward, and therein stands the Countess, stick thin and wearing a wisp of a shirt, mostly sheer fabric and hanging loosely. She’s also wearing a long, straight skirt slashed up to her hip. Everything about her dress makes Martin uncomfortable. Tommy just smiles and waits like a dumbass.

“Martin! My darling, so good to see you.” She stretches her arms out in front of her, slightly spread in anticipation of a hug. Nothing in her relationship with Martin prior to this would indicate this level of intimacy, but here she is, expecting an embrace.

“Hey, Tess. So uh, where’s Landon? Is he around?” The Countess is unfazed. Her arms remain elevated.

“No, not at the moment. But it’s alright. I told him I could handle you on my own." She leans back and laughs. "You’re here to see me anyhow.”

“Am I?” Uh oh.

“Yes, of course.” Sensing the stand-off between hug and unnatural hatred, Tommy springs forth to save the day. He grabs the Countess around the waist and lifts her up above his head. As he sets her down, she begins to laugh. “Well, who is this animal?”

“I’m Tommy. I’m Martin’s apprentice.” Shh! Damn it. Martin had forgotten that acting as a teacher for this big dope would do little for his prickly reputation.

“No! No, he’s my lover.”

Tess smirks at Martin. “Whoever he is, he certainly knows how to greet someone. Come on in.” The Countess turns and walks out toward the center of the apartment.

Martin raises his fists to the sky and grunts like he’s having an especially difficult bowel movement. His moment of venting passed, Tommy looks to Martin with yet another weird look.

“I fucking told you, man,” says Martin. “Strange, awful shit happens to me.”

“She seems nice, though. She’s been nothing but pleasant.”

“Lesson three: I hate you.”