NOTE: Yes. Kit’s girlfriend starts out as Lacey and then her name changes to Lindsey. This is all something I wrote in one night and is grossly unedited…much more so than usual lol.
Between the hot lights and the tuxedo he was stuffed in, Kit was burning up. He reached for his water bottle and began to chug, only to stop when a delicate hand cut him off.
“Not too much,” Lacey said. “The last thing you want is to get out there and feel like you need to pee your brains out.”
“Right,” Kit replied.
Out on stage, the house band was rocking out while a golden throated announcer read the opening credits.
“From historic studio 109 in sunny Los Angeles, it’s Friday Follies! Tonight’s featured players include Molly Shiner…Ken Dobson…Josh Wiley…”
Kit coughed into his fist.
“You ok?” Lacey asked.
Our performer took a peak through the curtain. It was a full house in the studio. Standing room only and a crowd filled with beaming faces. People excited to see him. What a concept.
“Babe?” Lacey asked as she waved her hand up and down in front of Kit’s blank face.
“Huh?” Kit asked. “Oh yeah. I’m fine.”
A strong hand whacked Kit on the back. He turned to his right to find a tall bald man, decked out in a finely tailored three-piece suit.
“You got this shit, playa,” the man said.
“Thanks Luther,” Kit replied.
The announcer carried on.
“Diana Diaz…Al McKenna…Big Jimbo Stretch and the Studio 109 Band!”
Luther stood in front of Kit and rested his hands on Kit’s shoulders.
“Forget the audience,” Luther said. “Hell, forget about the millions of people watching at home. Tune everyone out and it will just be you…”
The well dressed Tinseltown power broker looked at Kit’s left hand, which was being used to hold a goofy looking, wild eyed ventriloquist dummy.
“…and your little friend here.”
“Hey!” the dummy whispered in a squeaky, cartoonish voice. “Who you callin’ little ya’ fat sack of crap?”
Luther grinned and slapped his client on the back again.
“You got this baby. Who’s my star playa’?”
“I am,” Kit muttered, though he was clearly not feeling it.
“Who?” Luther asked.
“Let me hear you say it, baby,” Luther said. “Who’s my A-number one star ass player?”
“I’m your star player,” Kit said.
Luther wagged a finger in front of Kit’s face.
“And don’t you forget it baby.”
“What am I, chopped liver?” the dummy asked.
“OK,” Luther said. “Don’t strain your pipes, star playa’.”
Lacey licked the palm of her hand and straightened an out of place blonde curl on top of Kit’s head.
“Sorry,” Lacey said. “There. Now you’re perfect.”
Lacey pressed her full red lips up against Kit’s. Beyond the curtain, saxophones were wailing, guitars were being strummed, drums beaten but all Kit could hear were those three special words coming from Lacey’s sweet voice.
“I love you.”
It was the first time she’d ever uttered that special phrase and it certainly was interesting timing that she decided to wait right before the biggest performance of Kit’s life to say them, but what the hell. When something’s right, it’s right.
Kit looked at his girlfriend, stared at her big blue eyes, and did not hesitate one iota.
“I love you too.”
Big Jimbo Stretch’s sax solo reached a crescendo. A steady drumroll followed.
“And now, making their debut on the Studio 109 stage, your hosts for this evening, KIT N’ KABOODLE!”
Applause. Hoots. Hollers. Whistles.
Kit made a beeline for the curtain but was stopped by Luther’s hand, which was once again on Kit’s shoulder.
“Bring down the house tonight and you’ll be set for life, playa,” Luther said. “If you do, I guarantee you there will not be a stick big enough to beat everyone in Hollywood off your ass.”
“I’ve got this.”
The performer composed himself, removing the terrified expression from his face and replacing it with one of calm, cool confidence. He made a seat with his left hand, parked his dummy in it with his right, flashed a smile full of pearly whites and walked out onto the stage like he owned it.