Bad Company handed him a cigarette. Xolack gave him a light. The waitress refilled coffee. “Can I get some eggs?” asked Preston. “Not too runny.”
“Maybe if you worked on your script,” said Spider. “The way you weave the hypnotic trigger words into the conversation — seems a little forced.”
“The script’s fine,” said Preston. “The script’s perfect.”
“It’s a perpetual non sequitur,” said Spider. “You’re talking about wanting a bowl of noodles, then you have to borrow a paperclip and answer the phone. If I’m in the audience, I have to ask myself, where the hell is all this going?”
“There’s nothing wrong with my script!” said Preston.
“It doesn’t make any fuckin’ sense!”
“Oh, pardon me, Mr. Entertainment, Mr. ‘I can juggle with one hand. Everybody, look at me!’”
“I’ll kick your ass with this one hand!” said Spider. “Let’s go!”
Spider jumped out of the booth and stood next to Preston. “I know what you’re thinking. ‘He’s just got one arm — I can take him!’” Spider began bouncing on the balls of his feet, throwing quick left jabs in the air. “You want a piece of me? I’ll fuck you up!”
“Sit down, Spider,” said Preston. “I respect you as a performer and a man.”
“All right, then.” Spider tugged his left lapel defiantly and sat back down.
“I think he’s right about the script,” said Frankie. “What you need is a good story line.”
“No!” said Preston. “No story! It’s just a goddamn hypnosis show!”
Frankie turned to his left. “What do you think, Xolack?”
Xolack shrugged and went back to bending spoons with his hands against the edge of the table.
Sparse applause filtered down the hall. Spider nodded at Bruno. “You’re up.”
Bruno Litsky, America’s Favorite Jay Leno Impersonator, stood and straightened his suit. “How do I look?”
“Not remotely like Jay Leno. Break a leg.”
Andy Francesco, the Pickpocket Comedian, came back to the table.
“How was it out there?”
“Fuckin’ oil painting. Give me a cigarette.”
Frankie passed him a Winston. They heard a punch line down the hall:
The waitress arrived with Preston’s eggs and another pot of coffee.
“Did anyone read where Steppenwolf’s coming to town?” asked Frankie. “Man, I love Steppenwolf.”
“So what? It’s not really Steppenwolf,” said Spider.
“What do you mean?”
“Ask Bad Company over there.”
“What are you getting at?” Jeff said defensively.
“Nothing that everybody here doesn’t know already.” Spider lit a cigarette and threw the Zippo on the table.
Preston stabbed his egg yolks with a corner of toast. He picked up his fork, stopped and looked at it, then checked the rest of the utensils around the table. “They’re all bent…Fuckin’ Xolack!”
“Are you vaguely implying we’re not Bad Company?” asked Jeff.
“No, I’m saying it directly,” said Spider. “Watch my lips. You’re not fucking Bad Company.”
“We played session on one of the albums,” said David.
“In the
“That counts.”
“Sure it does. In your little make-believe rock ’n’ roll castle.”
“You son of a bitch!” David jumped up to slug Spider, but the other half of Bad Company grabbed him. “Are you nuts? You can’t hit a guy with one arm!”
“Is that so?” said Spider. He sprang out of his seat and began bouncing around next to the table again. “Let’s go! You and me — right now!”
“Knock it off!” yelled Preston.
“Make him take it back,” said Jeff.
“No,
“Everyone’s going to apologize,” said Preston. “Then we sit down and act like fuckin’ grown-ups…. You first, Spider.”
“All right,” Spider said reluctantly. “I’m sorry I even brought it up. If it’s that important to you, you’re really Bad Company.”
“Damn straight we’re Bad Company!” said Jeff, nodding and leaning back in his tuxedo.
“Your turn,” Preston told Jeff.
“Sorry,” said Jeff. “I’m sure you have a helluva left hook…”
“That’s better,” said Spider, sitting back down.
“…But your right’s a little weak.”
“That’s it!” Spider dove across the table at Bad Company, knocking over ice-water glasses and ketchup bottles before the others pulled him back down.
“Look at this mess,” said Frankie. “Waitress!”
“My wallet! My wallet’s gone!” Preston patted his jacket and pants pockets, then stopped and stared across the table. “Give it!”
The Pickpocket Comedian grinned and handed Preston his wallet.
Preston snatched it out of Andy’s hand and stuffed it inside his jacket. “Very fucking funny!”
“What?”
“That’s got a good story. You could use new hypnotic code words like
Preston lost his appetite. He threw a bent fork down in his plate and pushed it away.
“Frankie, try to stay up with the class,” said Spider. “That was six fuckin’ subjects ago.”
“I didn’t know it was closed.”
“Just work with us, okay?” said Spider.
