Dr. Weiss’ office.
“So, what’s the plan?” he asked.
“Perform like my life depended on it.”
“Do you have enough material to – ”
“I think so. I dunno. Maybe – ”
“Maybe you could tell the guy that for this one last show – ”
“No. I can’t do that. He was very clear.”
“Hmm. Well – y’know what? I think you’re gonna do just fine.”
“Really? You believe that?”
“I do. I believe it. Or – ”
“Or…well…hmm… Honestly? You might be screwed.”
I was third, as usual, and pumped. Jack, of course, wasn’t there. And I tried not to feel guilty about getting the opening spot at his expense. Would Roger really have put me up in another month? Was he just throwing me a bone for all of my begging? It didn’t matter. The fact was if he didn’t think I was ready he wouldn’t have given me the spot.
My ten minutes that night went fine. Three-and-a-half stars, maybe three-and-three-quarters, even. I was excited for Saturday, and playing to Roger as much as anyone else. My bits were tight and I was full of energy. He wanted my A-game, and here was ten pure minutes of it. And, of course, all of the New York bits were in there: CETA, DC-10, Make Me a Sandwich, and Plrknib. Now, I needed to be as tight and strong as possible. Ethical or not, it was no time to back off of bits that worked.