It Ain't Funny

From the darkest corner of the lounge, Sid raised the glass of house bourbon to trembling lips, took a swig and watched his best friend die. Again.

On the small stage, Wacky Jacky Golden, once known as the Golden Boy of Comedy, stumbled over his words, mangling a joke which never failed to kill back in the fifties and sixties.

“I visited the Big Apple last week. Any New Yorkers out there?” Dead silence. “Anyhoo, I was hungrier than a fashion model the day before an audition and decided to treat myself to one of those famous New York City dogs. You know. The ones sold on every street corner? The vendor was a jolly sort and business was slow so we started up a conversation. I asked him how he made his hot dog stand and he told me he takes away its chair.”

Sid winced at the few polite chuckles from a crowd of less than a dozen geezers bused in from an assisted living facility. Cheap rooms. Cheap booze. Free entertainment. Anything to lure more money to Vegas these days. Not that the elderly women seated near the stage had any money. Nickel slot blue hairs. Jacky’s generation. They showed up at Binion’s to remember Jacky in his heyday. A side trip down Memory Lane on their way to the bone yard. Sid took a long pull on his drink as Jacky continued with material about the Cloud.

“Usually it’s so hot in Las Vegas there’s a tribe of cannibal chickens frying eggs on the sidewalk, but now we got plenty of shade. We can thank the Cloud for that. And we can thank it for saving the taxpayers a lot of money. Right before it showed up, the City Council decided to purchase the world’s largest beach umbrella. From China.”

More silence.

Please stop. It ain’t funny anymore. You ain’t funny anymore.

Sid’s silent plea went unanswered as Jacky limped through the only new jokes he’d written in the last ten years. Jokes about that damn Cloud. Jacky, a firm believer in if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, had never thrown out a joke in his entire 62 years as a standup comic. He refused to understand his career had been broken since 1972, when George Carlin unleashed his famous Seven Dirty Words on the American public. Carlin made saying “fuck” almost mandatory. A flood of new comics took over. Their acts consisted of either self-deprecating dick jokes or self-congratulatory dick jokes. Jacky felt the place for dicks was between the thighs of showgirls and his stubborn refusal to change led to the downward spiral of his career. Sid raised his glass in a private toast to Carlin. Sid liked dick jokes.

On stage, Jacky wrapped up.

“Thanks, ladies and gentleman! Enjoy your visit to Vegas and don’t forget to tip your waitress.”

The lone waitress, a scrawny redhead in a skimpy black dress which revealed tits far below Vegas standards, leaned against the bar and shook her head in disgust. She knew her customers. Meds, alcohol and adult diapers don’t mix. In Vegas, if you aren’t drunk, tip money can be better spent at the slot machines.

Jacky disappeared through a door in the wall at the back of the stage. The bartender flipped a switch. Elevator music began to play and the audience gathered up oversized purses and walkers. As they shuffled by Sid’s table, he heard one of them say, “It’s sad is what it is. I used to split a gut laughing at that man.” Her voice trailed off as she reached the exit door leading into the casino. “We should have gone to see…”

You and me both, sister. Sid drained the last of his glass, rose from his seat and fished his wallet out of a back pocket. He retrieved a crumpled ten-dollar bill and pinned it to the table with his glass. The waitress gave him a sad smile and he gave her the same wink which captured the heart of another redheaded waitress back when Vegas was Vegas.

As Sid walked through the lobby to the elevator he noticed a new stain on the shabby carpeting. No doubt deposited by some drunk after a night of losing. The cutbacks at Binion’s probably included cancellation of carpet cleaning services. Another casualty of the Cloud. So many people out of work. So many people leaving Sin City.

Sid stood before the elevator and thought about the past few years. Binion’s closed in December 2009. The lengthy recession, combined with poor management, seemed to doom the historic gambling hall. Jacky had lived on the 17th floor for years and with a limited income, had nowhere to go. Sid took him in for over three years until new owners opened with big promises of renovations and a return to glory. Jacky moved back in the same week the Cloud appeared over Vegas.

Sid felt enormous relief when Jacky resumed staying at the famous hotel. Sid had a secret. A secret which would have been increasingly difficult to keep from his friend while they shared the same residence.

Sid had been Jacky’s manager through the good times and the bad. Over 60 years. A lifetime. He made certain the comic didn’t blow all his money; stashing enough of it away to guarantee Jacky would never starve. The bulk of it disappeared into the bank accounts of Jacky’s wives’ divorce attorneys. Alimony times six. That kind of dough took a huge chunk out of his enormous fortune. That and gambling. Jacky liked his poker more than he liked any of his wives or living in the mansion he used to own.

They’d both been friends of Benny Binion and while his family owned the gambling hall and hotel, Jacky always had a room free of charge. Even after Benny’s sons sold it to a corporation, he’d been able to afford living in the hotel because of its low weekly rates. Most of Jacky’s neighbors were one step above transients.

Sid had hoped things would work out for Jacky. The new manager of Binion’s hired him for a pittance to do standup in the small lounge. Sid guessed the man hoped featuring a former headliner would draw in crowds. But after six months the dark Cloud over Vegas continued to wreak havoc on both businesses and citizens. Jacky’s audience usually consisted of former employees of Binion’s who had been laid off. The bartenders would let them warm barstools and eat beer nuts for hours. Sheer proximity would eventually force each of them to spin the barstool around to listen to Jacky's routine; their dull bloodshot eyes focused on some grim personal future rather than on the wrinkled beanpole on stage.

The elevator opened before him and as Sid stepped in and pressed the smudged button labeled 17, he muttered a routine prayer. “Please don’t let the cable on this piece of shit snap.” The elevator rattled its way to the 17th floor and jolted to a stop. Sid quickly stepped out and let out the breath he’d been holding. He turned to look at the closed doors and said, “Last time, you bastard. I’d have a heart attack shlepping up the stairs, but I can still sure as hell walk down ‘em.”

Sid turned and made his way down the hall. A flickering incandescent bulb tossed skittish shadows across the handwritten OUT OF ORDER sign taped to the ice machine. A cigarette butt ground into the threadbare carpeting complimented the peeling paint on the walls. He slowed his steps; anything to delay the upcoming encounter with his old friend. He reached room 1724 and knocked on the door. Jacky must have expected him because it opened almost immediately. He'd already changed from his trademark navy-blue suit into a pair of chinos and a gaudy Hawaiian-print shirt which hung awkwardly on his narrow stooped shoulders.

“Sid! You look as used up as a thrifty whore’s rubber. What happened to that beer gut of yours? Did ya finally go on the Showgirl Diet? You’ll show a girl your shmeckle when you can lose enough weight to find it yourself? Come on in. It’s about time you paid me a visit. What’s it been? Two months? Take a load off and have a drink.”

Sid frowned as he watched Jacky limp across the room. A few years back, hip replacement surgery had restored the comic's gait to the near-lope of his youth, but since the appearance of the Cloud, chronic pain hobbled his progress to the mini-fridge by the window.

Sid eased into one of the chairs pulled up to a battered round table. Idly tracing a finger over the numerous scars marring its surface, he watched Jacky prepare two Old-Fashioneds, complete with orange slices and maraschino cherries. Maybe he should have been a bartender instead of a comic. That would make this easier.

Finished with his task, Jacky placed the bourbon-filled glasses on the table and sat down. “I saw you sitting in the back. Whatcha think about the new act?”

“Um…the audience seemed to enjoy it.”

“Feh!” Jacky snorted. “That shambling cemetery wasn’t an audience. Buncha old farts. I could hear one of ‘em snoring from the stage. That shmendrik Bert couldn’t manage his way through a half-empty buffet line. I got some great ideas on how to bring in business. He keeps avoiding my calls, but as soon as I get hold of the chickenshit, he’ll be thanking me.”

Stop this. Stop it now. Or you’re the chickenshit.

“Ideas?”

“Yeah. A hot air balloon, an Elvis impersonator and Wacky Jacky Golden. An event. Just like the good old days. Remember?”

“I remember,” said Sid.

Jacky looked around the dingy hotel room. “Man, this place is still a dump. Bert blames the Cloud. He’s always whining about the renovations being put on hold because of that damn thing. Horseshit! No gumption. That’s what I say. Remember hanging out with Benny Benion?”

Sid smiled and nodded.

“That crazy Texan. Good food. Good whiskey. Good gamble. That’s what Benny always said. The man knew how to run a joint. Nothing better than when he opened The Horsehoe Club. High stakes poker, booze and warm women draped over our shoulders.” Jacky grinned, showing off his well-maintained teeth.

“Benny and his poker face. Man, we swapped some lies. Remember that night I tried to get him fahrshnoshked enough to talk about Herb Noble’s plan to fly over and bomb Benny’s house? How old Herb thought Benny blew up Herb’s wife in that car bombing? Remember how I bet you and I could get him to confess?”

“Yeah, I remember. I remember being scared shitless he would confess and we’d end up in a hole in the desert, you demented asshole.”

Jacky laughed. “You worry too much. Even sloshed Benny gave me that cowboy smile of his and then had the nerve to lay down four deuces to beat my full house. Lucky bastard.”

“Benny wasn’t always lucky,” Sid said. “He did go to Leavenworth for tax evasion.”

“Yeah, but they never got him for anything else. Considering he was the Texas version of Al Capone, I call that damn lucky. Did you notice the million dollar plastic horseshoe isn’t on display anymore? I bet those corporate assholes deposited all those ten-thousand dollar bills. Gave themselves some unearned bonuses.” Jacky snorted in disgust.

“I wouldn’t be surprised, Jacky. Nothing surprises me anymore.”

“Everyone blames that damn Cloud. Bullshit! Town’s full of bean counters these days. What’s the Cloud have to do with anything? The military and scientists can’t figure it out? Any dummkopf should know it’s one of those goddamn computer slackers. Some bored pimply-faced kid diddling with weather patterns while flying high on reefer. That’s my theory.”

“It’s as good as any.”

“Everyone ought to be grateful for the shade. Buncha sheep. I had to push my way through some Jews for Jesus today. Idiots blocking the sidewalk and wailing about end times. Know what I call Jews for Jesus?”

After over half a century as a sounding board, Sid did know. But he asked anyway, “What?”

“Christians!” Jacky cackled.

For the last time, Sid played his part. He laughed, but Jacky recognized the half-hearted chuckle for what it was.

“Why’d you come here tonight, Sid? I can tell you got something on your mind.”

Sid worked up the nerve to look his friend in the eye. “It’s bad, Jacky. Really bad.”

“Spit it out. We’ve gone through bad together. Lots of times. Made all those good times sweeter, didn’t it?”

“Not this time, Jacky. I got cancer. Colon.”

Jacky betrayed no emotion as he said, “Then you’ll beat it. I’ll help you beat it. Hell, I’ll bet you a fin we’ll be playing Texas Hold ‘Em together ten years from now. In the meantime, I hear they sell designer colostomy bags over at Caesars.”

Sid held up a hand. “No more gambling, Jacky. And no more jokes. I’m done. Four months tops. I’m moving to Corpus Christi to live with Jeni. When Molly died, I didn’t think I could go on. But I did. You helped me get through that and I love you for it.

“I’m quitting this life, not by my choice. But I’m going out with some dignity and this meshugeneh Cloud might be what I needed to get me off my ass. I want to sit on Jeni's veranda and watch the sailboats skimming the waves on Corpus Christi Bay. The Cloud might disappear tomorrow, but there's no guarantees; as a gambler you know that. I need to see the sun again.

"You never quit on anything in your life, Jacky. But I think you should quit now. You’re 85, for Christ’s sake. Take it easy. You have enough money to stay in Vegas. Get in a poker game once a week with the rest of your cronies. Flirt with showgirls. But it’s not for me anymore. I want to make sure my grandkids will remember me. I don’t want to be forgotten.”

“Forgotten? Don’t you get it, you pain in the ass? You can’t leave and I can’t quit. You know me! I’ve always been bigger than life. The center of attention. I need your sorry ass here with me. Fuck the Cloud. Fuck being forgotten! I won’t stand for it. I can’t stand for it!”

“I’m leaving, Jacky. In the morning.”

“Then go on and go, why don’t you?”

Sid took two hesitant steps towards the person he’d been closest to his entire life.

Jacky Golden turned away.