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.”