The Giggle Hut

To explain to you why at this very moment I am crawling the stairs of a tall building, clutching a half sunk bottle of whisky and with the 47th cigarette of the day hanging from my lip, I guess I would have to start with who I am and what I do.

I am Nancy, I am an entertainer. It greives me to admit that I make people laugh, at the expence of my pride, self esteem and self love; for a living. Some would say this could be the best career, making jokes, talking and voicing your opinion as a means of income. However I beg to differ. Every joke I make, cuts another layer of me away. At first this job was a way of getting by. People thought I had a talent, a way of telling a story which culminated in the uproar of laughter. I enjoyed it at the beginning, the gigs, the free drinks, the free drugs and not to mention the women. I guess you could say I was rather popular at one point. I had my own regular spot at the Giggle Hut. That’s when I first met her. She blew me away.

The first time I saw that face, those eyes, I was on stage, in the middle of my set. She walked in, I was stunned. She sat at the table in the corner and gazed up at me with those big blue eyes. By candle light her face shone brighter than anyone elses. All I could see was her. Everyone else surrounding her, the men at the bar sipping on ale, the couple; in a tongue fight in front of me, the waitresses flouncing around in their black shirts, even the rowdy girls in the middle of the room, where just faceless smudges to me.

From that night on, the nameless beauty continued to come back, she ordered the same drink, sat in the same corner and looked at me with that same gaze. She came back week after week, and every night after my set, I would sit in the dressing room, vodka or whisky in hand (depending on my mood, or alcoholic need), and wait for her. Wait for her to burst through that door, lust in her eyes, with hands urging for contact. But every night disappointment seared through me like a hit of heroin. One night, after a particulary rough set I was back in the little closet, masquerading as a dressing room, with my chosen weapon being a bottle of whisky. As tears streaked my face with black lines, I sat there, staring at the person in the mirror. . I didn’t recognise her.  I had lost myself in who people wanted me to be. I necked another whisky and coke, to swallow the heckles, and sparked up another cigarette. Just as I was about to pour myself another shot of whisky, there was a knock at the door. This knock would change my life, and it would be a knock I would become so very familiar with.

I urged the unknown knock to come in. I promptly wiped my face with an already used face wipe and straightened up my hair. I heard a creek of the doors hinges, and the footsteps of a person walk into the room. I looked up and there she was. Standing there, with her hair falling effortlessly around her shoulders and her eyes fixed on me and me only. She was perfect. She was already mine. She closed the door behind her. She told me how she loved my set, and how she has been every week for at least 4 weeks. I did not let on that I was fully aware of her presense over the past weeks. I needed to act cool. I needed to let her know that I did not think about her as much as I actually do.
‘Your quite talented, Mrs Todd.’ She whispered.
‘Oh cheers, its Miss, by the way, I haven’t quite walked along that tightrope yet! But call me Nancy. What shall I call you?’ I replied.

‘Call me Sophia. So, no better half?’ she asked, whilst walking closer to me, and sliding her scarf off of her neck, revealing her delicate collarbone.
‘No’ I said, feeling awkward, I felt the need to do something with my hands, so I poured another beverage. ‘Drink?’ she said she would love one.

After we had seen off three quarters of a bottle of whisky, I started to feel a lot less nervous. We talked for hours, we talked about me, we talked about her and we talked about music, about comedy, about art. And after a series a unsubtle touches and arm strokes, I knew that she must feel something for me. At about 11.45 we fell silent, I was leaning on the table and had stubbed my cigarette out, she looked at me from sitting next to the mirror. She didn’t have to say anything. She saw me, for once someone actually saw me. She didn’t see the jokes or the front, she saw me. The next thing I knew she had practically stormed up to me, pushed me up against the wall and kissed me. Our hands entwined, skin on skin, tongue on skin, and tongue on tongue. Her body pushed hard against mine, passion and lust engrossed us.