“It’s heartbreaking, I know,” I say, lowering my head. “But we can do something about it, ladies. So please, let’s stop faking it. Let’s face it. Tell him the truth—he’s not as good at sex as he thinks he is. Let him feel what you feel. Total and utter disappointment.” Laughter swells from the audience and crashes onstage, washing over me.

  And they’re not faking it.

  “That’s my time, everyone. I’m Olivia Vincent. You’ve been great!”

  Forty-Six

  Nick waits for me off the side of the stage, grinning with his arms open. “That was awesome! You should be proud.”

  I crash into him, inhaling his familiar Irish-Spring-and-leathery-cologne scent. “Thank you,” I say, my body still surging with energy. Things may not have worked out as planned but this isn’t half-bad. The emcee calls Nick out to the stage and I realize that this is the last time I’ll ever see him live.

  “Wish me laughs,” he says, and I nod, smiling as he heads up for the mic. The crowd grows louder, wilder. More than laughs, I wish he wouldn’t give this up. Not yet.

  “Hey, Liv,” someone calls behind me. I know that voice. It’s one of my favorite sounds in the world. But it can’t be. Can it?

  I turn around, finding Imani with a toothy grin, her arms stretched out, inviting me to her. It is her. Without a word, we crash into each other, embracing each other in a much-needed reunion hug. Tears prickle at my eyes, and if I weren’t still riding the wave of my show’s success, I’d weep on her shoulder like a baby. It’s good to see her. Really good.

  “Damn, I missed you,” I say, pulling away to make sure this is all real.

  “I missed you too. Are you crying?”

  “Yeah, apparently I do that now.” I fling a tear off my cheek like it’s a mosquito. “What are you doing here?”

  “I couldn’t miss my girl’s last tour stop. Plus, I’m leaving for Europe tomorrow and I didn’t want to wait another three weeks to see you.”

  “You know Germany is in the other direction, right?”

  “So I see you’ve become a geography major since driving across the continental U.S.”

  I laugh, still in disbelief over it all. “I can’t believe you came all the way out here for me.”

  She looks into my eyes, almost like she can’t believe this moment is real either. “I thought about our conversation the other night, and I wanted you to know that I’m not just the reality police. I believe in you, Olivia. I want you to know that I have your back. You’re my penguin.”

  Resting my hand over my heart, I feel her sincerity. “Thank you.” Okay, now I’m really blubbering. “You’re my penguin too.”

  Imani pulls me in for another hug. “All right, you crybaby.” I laugh, wiping my tears away. The one thing I didn’t pack (besides floss) is tissues. “So that’s the famous Nick Leto, huh?”

  I look back at the stage behind me. “Yeah, he’s my Jerry.”

  “Your what?”

  “Never mind.” Because soon it’s gonna be buh-bye.

  “Well, whatever he is, he’s kind of a fox. Any sparks fly between the two of you?” she asks, and I avert my eyes, blushing. “Girl, you been holdin’ out on me?”

  “It doesn’t matter anyway. He’s not going back to New York.”

  “That’s a damn shame.”

  Imani and I watch the rest of Nick’s set from the back of the room. It’s the most vibrant I’ve ever seen him. Maybe even more than his comedy special. Why would he want to give this up? He’s practically raising the roof with trunkloads of laughs—enough to last a lifetime. Imani bursts into a big belly one, slapping her thigh at his punchline.

  See!

  I think of my dad giving up comedy to take care of his family. I don’t know what Nick’s hoping to gain by giving this up. Whatever it is, I hope it’s worthwhile and full of love.

  * * *

  —

  After the show, the three of us head back to the greenroom to celebrate our last night on our cross-country comedy road tour. Nick cracks open a mini bottle of champagne and pours it into a few lowball glasses on the table. I peer through the glass, looking for spots and dirt. So far it’s cleaner than a comedy condo.

  “To us and our last night on the tour. And to Olivia, the last comic standing,” he says with his bubbly raised.

  “Hear! Hear!” I say, toasting with my friends. As we sip our celebratory drinks, the door creaks open and chatter from the club spills in, along with someone else. I gasp, practically dropping my drink when I see him.

  Oh my Lord.

  It’s Anderson Vanderson, the host of The Late Night Show. He towers over us like a Conan O’Brien but with the boyish face of a John Mulaney.

  “Hey, guys, hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he says with a smile that’s much too shy for his superstar status.

  “No, not at all. Come on in,” Nick says.

  “How y’all doing? I’m Anderson Vanderson.” The TV host offers his hand to each of us. Holy crap. Am I even breathing right now?

  “Hi, Anderson Vanderson,” I say, starstruck.

  “Hi.” He grins at me like I’m funny. Funny-looking, that is. “I caught your show out there, it was very entertaining.” He was in the audience? Oh, thank God I didn’t know he was there, I probably would’ve choked on my nerves. He’s a comedy genius.

  “Thank you, Anderson Vanderson,” I say, grinning.

  “Call me Anderson.”

  “Okay.” I haven’t blinked since I touched his hand. Amy and my Aunt Carla are going to flip when I tell them about this.

  “Any chance I could interest you two in coming on The Late Night Show?”

  Nick’s brows shoot up. “You mean a stand-up spot?”

  Meanwhile, I’m totally speechless, so much so that Imani has to nudge me in the ribs. “On The Late Night Show?” I spit out.

  “Yes, that’s what I’m proposing.” He must think we’re a little high the way we’re responding all slow and Herb-like.

  “Just like that?” Nick asks. “No audition?”

  “No audition. I’ve seen what I need to. The crowd loves you two. And I think America will too.”

  “I, um, I don’t know what to say,” I stutter.

  “How ’bout yes.” Anderson claps his hands once but it’s not enough to break the spell.

  “Yes!” I shout, flashing him the happiest smile of my life. “We’d love to come on your show. Right, Nick?”

  “Absolutely,” Nick says, and shakes the man’s hand.

  “Fantastic. Here’s my card. Call my office tomorrow and they’ll get you in touch with the booker to get you scheduled, all right? I’m headed out now but I’ll see you on the show soon.”

  “Okay. Thanks! Bye!” We send him off, waving like we’re characters in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. This is definitely something to be thankful for.

  The moment the door closes, the three of us look to one another and cheer like crazy. “Aaahhhhh!” Hands waving in the air. Champagne spilling out of glasses. Jumping and dancing around like we just won all the laughs in the world.

  “I just got a spot on The Late Night Show!” I say.

  “I know. I just got a spot on The Late Night Show too!”

  “Holy shit, Anderson Vanderson just saw your show and loved it!” Imani chimes in, and grabs me by the shoulders, bringing me in for another squeeze. When she lets me go, Nick and I go for each other.

  “See, Olivia Vincent. I knew you were a winner,” he says.

  Without a word, and without regard for Imani standing right next to us, Nick lays a victorious kiss on me and I let him.

  We may not have New York but at least we’ll have The Late Night Show.

  Forty-Seven

  It doesn’t take much for Imani to convince me to stay with her in her very chic hotel as opposed to another night in a skanky comedy condo. (Sorry, Nick, you’re on your own now, buddy.) Plus the hotel is within walking distance of the comedy club. I forgot how great it is to let my feet take me somewhere new. Us ladies can’t help but stay up the rest of the night, talking with the lights off just like our slumber parties in high school. I can’t imagine spending Imani’s last night here any other way.

  In the gray morning light, I walk Imani out to the cab waiting to take her to LAX, where she’ll fly across the Atlantic to Germany. Not only is my first and only comedy road tour with Nick over, but this chapter with Imani in New York is coming to a close too. I’m nervous, understandably, but at the same time excited for this next season in my life to unfold in unexpected ways. Be prepared for anything, right?

  My friend opens the door to her cab, passport in hand, ready for her next adventure. “So this is where I leave you.”

  “Hey, I took off for my dream first, so it’s only fair you do the same,” I say, and she chuckles. “It means a lot that you came out here to see me.”

  She fixes her hands into a heart shape over the left side of her chest. “Like I said, you’re my penguin.”

  “Penguins for life.” Tugging her arm, I pull her close for one last goodbye hug. “Thank you for everything. I don’t know if I could’ve gotten this far without you.”

  “You could’ve. You would’ve figured it out. Take care of yourself, Liv.”

  “I will. You too,” I say as she climbs in the cab and closes the door. The taxi window eases down, her face coming clearly into view.

  “Auf Wiedersehen,” she says.

  “Auf Wiedersehen.” I wave farewell, watching the taxi drive off along Sunset Boulevard. Now it’s just me, and I’m okay with that. I have to be. This is the new Olivia Vincent Plan.

  I’ve got Imani’s room all to myself until eleven. I should use this time to go back inside, pack my things (and nothing more), and get ready to head to the airport in a few hours myself. But I can’t bring myself to do it. I can’t get on a plane without seeing Nick one more time.

  Another taxi pulls up in front of the hotel entrance and I snag it. Who cares if I’m in leggings and Nick’s Buh-Bye shirt. The comedy condo is only about a mile from here. As we head up the hill, we pass The Comedy Shoppe and I imagine coming back to perform again after the Late Night Show taping. It’ll be nice to have a reason to visit Nick again.

  The driver drops me off in front of the apartment building, my stomach in tight knots. I’ve seen Nick every day for the last two weeks, nearly every moment. Why am I nervous? I rush up to the second floor and bang my fist on the door. No idea if anyone else is staying here. After a minute, I knock again. No one answers.

  Oh, no, I hope I’m not too late. Where would he even go? Probably his new place—sounds like he made arrangements for everything. I pull out my phone to call him and—

  “Olivia?” The sound of Nick’s voice calling my name is something I will miss. I turn around and find him standing there with his coffee and a cigarette.

  “So I guess this means you’re smoking again?” I ask, walking down the steps with my arms folded. I wish he’d say buh-bye to that nasty habit.

  He pulls the stick out of his mouth and flicks it with his thumb. “No, this is one of those fake cigarettes that help you quit smoking.”

  “You mean you’re faking it?” I joke.

  “I’m pretty good at it, right?” Nick’s brows wiggle and he stuffs the faux smoke in his pocket. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have a flight to catch?” he asks.

  “I do, but I wanted to come see you and thank you.”

  “Thank me for what?”

  I shrug, thinking the list is too long to say. So I sum it up. “For bringing me on this mind-opening, life-changing, classic rock–filled comedy road tour.”

  “You forgot orgasmic.”

  My cheeks warm at the memory. “That too. I can’t imagine having done this with anyone else but you.”

  “Olivia—”

  “Wait, let me finish.” I step closer. “You and I aren’t that different. Except you’re much, much older than me,” I tease, and he rolls his eyes. “I get why you want to start over after what happened, but you can start fresh in New York too. And if you really want to stay here, in a climate that’s much more conducive to a soft-top Jeep, then at least don’t stop doing stand-up. The world needs your help seeing the humor in life. To make us laugh because you’re so incredibly amazing at it. Please, don’t give that up.”

  He drops his head in a chuckle. “It’s hard to take you so seriously when you’re wearing a shirt with my face on it.”

  I glance down at my tee. “Oh, hahaha!”

  “Is that all?” he asks.

  No, but I think I’ll stop here. For now. Maybe I’ll have the courage to say the rest when I come back for The Late Night Show. “Yeah, that’s all.”

  “I’m not quitting comedy.” By the look on his face, he’s not joking.

  “You’re—you’re not?”

  “No. I just got a nationally televised spot. I can’t quit now.”

  “Oh, thank God.” I drop my shoulders in relief, thanking the heavens. “So what are you gonna do about L.A.?”

  Nick closes the space between us like he wants to tell me a secret, or maybe something better. He places his hands on my shoulders and says softly, “I’m gonna say buh-bye.”

  I smile so wide that my eyes squint in the early sunlight. “Wait, does that mean . . .?”

  “Yeah, I’m going home to New York, where I can be near you.” Nick tilts his chin, lowering his eyes to my parted lips, and kisses me like it’s the first time. Like it’s forever.

  “Life’s funny, isn’t it?” I ask.

  “It really is.” He holds my gaze for another moment and I let myself imagine what’s next. Imagine what we can be. What I can be. “You know, I have a pretty long commute back to the city, and I could use some company.”

  “Are you asking me to ditch my flight to JFK?”

  “Yeah, I mean I am ditching Hollywood.”

  I tap my chin. “Well, when you put it that way, okay. I’ll ride back with you.”

  “Then hop in the Jeep. We’ll grab some coffee and pick up your hella heavy luggage.”

  I climb into my designated seat and Nick fires up the engine and selects a song for the road—“Home Sweet Home.” We buckle in, and this time he takes my hand.

  “I gave up my apartment in Brooklyn and I don’t have a place to live anymore,” he tells me, pulling out of the apartment complex. “You know anyone looking for a roommate?”

  I smirk. “Yeah, I think I know someone.”

  “Think she’ll waive the deposit for me?”

  “That depends. Will you let me drive the Jeep on the way home?” I ask, hopeful.

  The car slows to a stop. “Sure, why not?”

  I look around, waiting for the Jeep to move but Nick puts it in park and unbuckles. “Wait, right now?”

  “Yeah, you can drive. But I get to pick the music, capeesh?”

  “Capeesh.”

  Epilogue

  How do I look?” I ask Nick, standing in front of him dressed in a pair of real leather pants and full face makeup.

  “You look hot, babe,” he says.

  Don’t hate me for this but if Nick Leto says I’m hot one more time . . . I adjust my glasses and rephrase the question. “Thanks, but how do I look for TV?”

  “Olivia, you look great. Seriously.”

  “I’m so nervous,” I say, waving around my sweaty hands. “Eleven million people are going to be watching me tonight.”

  His smile fades. “Shit, now you’re making me nervous.”

  * * *

  —

  Nick and I managed to get our Late Night Show slots booked back to back. Or rather, Bernie arranged it. Somehow, I got the first spot. Ladies first, I guess. So, tomorrow we’ll be back at NBS Studios, only Nick will be in full face makeup.

  He wasn’t kidding about being roommates when we left Los Angeles. He moved in just last week right after Imani officially moved out. And like the way things were on our tour, Nick and I are slowly becoming more than just apartment buddies, more than a Jerry and Elaine. Maybe it’s fast, but right now, it’s working for us. We spend our evenings bouncing around at our respective gigs and our days fighting over the stereo and watching our favorite comedies.

  I’ve picked up a lot more work since we got back, and Nick’s been instrumental in helping me be seen more throughout the city and beyond. We’re talking about going on the road again soon. There’s still a real possibility I’ll have to supplement my comedy income until things really pick up, but I’m not at all discouraged. After everything, I feel confident in pursuing comedy wherever it leads—not just realizing my dream but my dad’s too—however long- or short-lived it was. I know wherever he is now, he’s lounging with a bowl of popcorn on his lap, the remote control on his chest, and he’ll be watching me live.

  * * *

  —

  “Hey! Did you forget about me?” Imani yells from my pocket.

  “Oops!” I retrieve my phone and hold the screen to my face. Imani, Uncle Artie, and Carla are streaming on a video call. “Sorry, guys!”

  “Let me see the set,” Artie asks, moving closer to the screen as if that will change the direction of the camera.

  “I can’t take you on set but I can show you the greenroom,” I say, and flip the view around, giving them a little tour of the backstage lounge. Definitely an upgrade from some of the greenrooms on the road.

  “Why do they call it a greenroom when it’s not green?” he asks.