CHAPTER NINE

A DATE WITH DISASTER

Arthur inhaled, then exhaled deeply. Closing his eyes, he desperately tried blocking out his surroundings, shoving all his focus onto not letting tonight blow up like an erupting volcano. He tightened his grip on his notebook; he was doing a lousy job of keeping his hands from shaking. But considering tonight was one of the most important nights of his life, quelling his nerves wasn't exactly easy.

"You've got this," he whispered, smoothing the back of his hair for what felt like the hundredth time. After running through his act all morning and afternoon, it was time for the show to begin. The curtains were about to go up, yet he couldn't have felt any less ready. Despite having practiced for hours, he felt like a student walking into a test having not studied at all.

Not a good feeling.

Part of him wanted to scream. Another wanted to cry. But deep down, past the many layers of ballooning doubt, he wanted to puke. He wasn't even on the stage yet and already he felt like he was falling apart, piece by piece, like a tower of blocks.

But he couldn't scream. Or cry. And definitely not puke. Not tonight. Not when he was about to introduce himself to the world of comedy for the first time. First impressions were everything. The last thing he wanted was having people think he was incompetent, less-than-amateur, and – worst of all – not funny.

Tonight had to be nothing less than perfection.

Perfection in all its shiny glory.

For that to happen, he had to be perfect.

Arthur swallowed. Again his mother's not-so-kind words rushed through his head.

Don't you have to be funny to be a comedian?

It was no secret his mother wasn't confident in her son's likelihood of achieving his dream of becoming a comedian. But standing there, minutes away from performing, more than ever he wondered: is she right?

Somewhere inside him a small voice whispered: won't know unless you try.

From where he stood at the bottom of the stairs, he could hear the comedian on stage wrapping up his performance. The beating of Arthur's heart couldn't block out the waves of laughter rolling through the club. Louder and louder it grew, until the sound of it was practically ringing in his ears. He flipped nervously through his notebook, crossing his fingers that even a few people would find him funny. How awkward and utterly devastating would it be to deliver a joke, only to be met with crushing silence? He doubted he'd send everyone into fits of laughter; he wasn't lucky enough for that to happen.

But making even one person laugh would be plenty enough.

He smiled, knowing at least one person tonight find him funny.

Terrified though he was, there was no washing away the relief he felt knowing Aubrey was waiting for him. Seeing her in the front row, staring up at him with her encouraging smile, his smile broadened. If she could vanquish his nerves, perhaps he could make it through this night. Not make a total fool of himself. Prove to the people of Gotham that he – Arthur Fleck – had what it took to rise and make it as a comedian.

Arthur took a shaky breath hearing the comedian announce, "All right, that's my time. Thank you very much, guys." In the short time he had, Arthur let his gaze wander one last time to the framed pictures hung high on either side of him. All were of comedians who'd performed at Pogo's. Staring at each face in turn, he spotted the same thing plastered onto each one's face.

Confidence.

More confidence than he'd know what to do with.

When, he wondered for what felt like the umpteenth time, would he find his confidence? Wherever it was, he hoped it would come out of hiding tonight. He needed it to. How else would he earn a career in comedy if he let his nerves consistently get in the way? To flail around like a fish out of water tonight would mean the end of ever turning his dream into reality.

Arthur willed his feet to get moving. Now wasn't the time to let fears and doubts wrap him in a blanket and suffocate him. It was time to shove fear and doubt onto a ship and send them sailing far away, across some never-ending sea that would take them to he didn't care where. He'd practiced too long and too hard to have tonight go flushing down the drain.

The lights above him shone down dimly, one flickering faintly. More than ever the red color seeping out from them looked harsh, intimidating for first-timers like Arthur. Pogo's wasn't the coziest comedy club around, the lights not warm and inviting, but the place wasn't exactly new either. It was one of Gotham's oldest clubs, and sorely in need of renovations.

Arthur kept his eyes down, staring dazedly at the tattered rug beneath him. Now that the waiting was over, he wasn't sure what to think. Perhaps, he thought, this was what it was like to feel numb. Still he kept walking, forcing his feet forward, clutching onto his notebook, as if afraid it would sprout legs and run away. Without realizing it, he picked up the pace. The walls on either side of him felt like they were closing in on him, threatening to show him the meaning of claustrophobia.

Up the stairs he went, his feet feeling heavy as bricks. Finally, he stopped, staring silently out at the crowd. The room was dark, lit only by the red lamps dotted throughout the room. It was a full house tonight, not an empty seat to be seen. At first, Arthur was excited; more people meant more people to make laugh. But almost instantly this excitement evaporated. More people meant more people to disappoint and bore to tears.

Stop, he told himself, turning his attention to the man on stage. Stop thinking so negatively. You got this. You...got...this.

"Alright," the man said, consulting a small slip of paper. "Now this next comic describes himself as a lifelong Gotham resident, who, from a young age, was always told that his purpose in life was to bring laughter and joy into this cold, dark world." He paused, and went on slowly, "Um, okay..."

That was when he spotted her. Exactly where she said she'd be. In the front row, her attention fixed on Arthur and Arthur alone. He smiled, fighting the urge to run over and hug her. If not for her being here, he was certain he'd chicken out and skedaddle home. But Aubrey was here, and so long as she was here, everything would be okay.

Sending him a little wink, she mouthed the words you got this.

Man, I hope you're right, he thought, forcing another lump down his throat.

The man continued, "Please help me welcome, Arthur Fleck, ya'll." He started clapping as the audience followed suit. "Arthur Fleck!"

Arthur walked up to the microphone, his eyes darting about like an out-of-control ping- pong ball. He and the man shook hands briefly. Offering a small smile of encouragement, the man departed the stage.

The stage was now Arthur's.

Arthur smiled, taking a closer look at the audience before him. How many people were there? Twenty? Fifty? The longer he looked, the more he swore it was a hundred. Faces swam in every direction, blurring together in a confusing sea. All were staring up at him, waiting to see what waves of hilarity this newcomer would send splashing upon them.

"H-hello," Arthur began quietly. Louder! he screamed to himself. Or no one'll hear you!

It started as a small tremble. He blinked, vainly trying to keep his worst fears from breaking free of their cages.

But it was no use.

Bursting clean from its cage, the laughter he knew would ruin everything came roaring out, making itself the star of the show. Arthur was no different than a poor dog on a leash that keeps digging in, pulling tighter and tighter, showing no mercy.

Humiliating as this was, he had to keep trying.

If he couldn't derail this train of disaster, it would be game over.

"H-hello, it's good to be here..."

No go.

His uncontrollable laughing was wide awake. Plunging into embarrassment, Arthur turned and bent over, covering his mouth in a desperate attempt to smother his laughter. Alas, nothing he did could ever put a lid on his frustrating condition. From behind him, a few awkward laughs rippled through the crowd. Hearing them, Arthur's first instinct was to dive into panic mode. He was making a total fool of himself...and the show had just started!

Three words rolled painfully through his head.

I'm an idiot...I'm an idiot...I'm an idiot.

"I hated..." Hardly had he gotten the words out when the laughter returned. Arthur's hand went straight to his throat. How he wished the floor beneath him would swallow him up and pull him out of this nightmare-come-to-life. Wherever he looked, confused faces stared back at him. Some spoke among themselves, wondering what this man's deal was. It didn't matter where Arthur's gaze fell; the embarrassment coursing through him was almost too much to bear.

"I hated..." He swallowed, forcing himself to fight through his laughter. "I hated school as a kid."

Like clockwork, the laughter was back, striking louder and harder than ever. Arthur buried his face into the crook of his arm, overcome with shame and fear. He struggled for a breath, hand once more at his throat. An agonizingly long moment later, the laughter died down enough for him to catch his breath. He inhaled deeply, shoving the laughter as far back into his throat as he could.

Despite being dressed only in a cardigan and long-sleeved shirt, Arthur felt uncomfortably warm. Already he could feel beads of sweat forming on his forehead. But no matter how embarrassed or terrified he felt, he had to keep going.

"I hated school as a kid," he said, unable to hold back a small, but irritating laugh. "My mother would say"—he put on what he hoped was a decent impersonation of his mother—"you should enjoy it: one day you'll have to work for a living." Turning to the right, he stood up a little straighter, praying his laughter didn't get hold of him again. "No I won't, Ma"—he raised his arms in a dramatic fashion and finished with, "I'm gonna be a comedian!"

He chuckled at the joke. The room was silent mostly, the audience apparently not overly amused with this newcomer. Still Arthur kept laughing, turning his gaze onto the one person – the only person – he wanted there tonight.

He wasn't surprised to see Aubrey smiling. Hand resting beneath her chin, she offered him a much appreciated smile. In a sea of strangers, so grateful he was to have her familiar face staring back at him. Grinning from ear to ear, he shot her a wave of acknowledge before moving on to the next joke.

"Done," he uttered quietly. Flipping through a few pages, he stopped when he found a joke he'd come up with that morning. "Here's one." He paused, waiting for another bout of laughter to ruin the night. But he felt nothing. Feeling hopeful, he kept going. "You know, I was just thinking the other day. Why are the rich people"—he placed his finger and thumb at his chin, remembering the importance of gestures—"so confused?"

He waited. Timing was everything when delivering the punchline.

Unfortunately, it didn't matter how perfectly timed his punchlines were.

Because nobody - aside from Aubrey - was laughing.

Correction, a few were laughing. But not because they thought Arthur was pro at dishing up plates of hilarity.

Arthur knew he wasn't a genius. But he was smart enough to realize the difference between laughs. The laughs spilling out from the audience weren't at all a reassuring sound. For shy, insecure Arthur, it was like nails on a chalkboard. Unable to focus on anything else, he almost forgot Aubrey was even watching. All he could obsess over was the fact that these people didn't find him funny.

"I...uh..." he stammered, swallowing hard. He dropped his gaze, his panic rising by the second. He couldn't just stand there like a fool who's tongue was in knots, no matter how badly he wanted to run off that stage.

"What did the crazy man," Arthur said, his voice barely reaching the first row.

"Speak up!" a man in the back hollered.

Arthur flinched, nodding violently.

"What did the crazy man," Arthur said more loudly, "say to the straight jacket?"

He grew silent, praying someone besides Aubrey broke out laughing.

Luck, however, just wasn't in Arthur's favor tonight.

"Loosen up a little!"

What he next heard was worse than a room full of silence.

"When are ya gonna start being funny?"

"You call that funny?"

"This ain't entertainment!"

Arthur froze. Things couldn't be going worse. Ka-boom, ka-boom, ka-boom went his heart, pounding wildly in his chest. He couldn't look at them; seeing the disappointed, sneering, bored faces was too much. But averting his gaze did nothing, not when the cruel remarks kept pounding away, each one hitting their mark.

Arthur Fleck was officially on a date with disaster.

He flipped frantically through his notebook, searching for a joke that might keep this night from plunging further into failure.

"W-why did the crazy m-m-man like having insomnia?"

Most of the audience looked up with uninterested expressions. A few snickered quietly while sipping their wine greedily.

Arthur took a shaky breath before continuing.

"B-because he didn't have to sleep with his wife."

From the back, a man yelled out, "Get off the stage!"

Arthur tightened his hold on his notebook. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he fought to keep them from sliding down his face. He absolutely could not let himself cry. A grown man crying on stage would only give them all the more reason to slam him with more hurtful remarks. No matter what they said, he mustn't let them get to him.

"Hey, buddy!" the same man shouted. Arthur flinched when he heard an insistent bang, bang, bang. The man was pounding his fist against the table. "Not gonna say it again. Get off the stage!"

Arthur opened his mouth, but no words trickled out. In but a few seconds, his mouth had gone bone dry.

Staring down at his joke diary, his eyes landed on the bottom. There, written in thick, messy black lettering, was a joke he'd written weeks ago. Of all the jokes he'd come up with, this was his favorite.

"The worst part about having a mental illness," Arthur said, his tone a mixture of fear and bitterness, "is that people expect you to behave as if you don't."

For a moment, silence. Arthur kept staring at his feet, refusing to look at anything else. Even Aubrey, thrilled as he'd been knowing she'd be here tonight, was fading swiftly from his thoughts. Standing there with his hands at his side, his head tilted downward, eyes partially closed, he could think of nothing except that he was failing miserably.

Sadly, the silence was merely prelude.

Rolling in like a vicious tidal wave, Arthur was swept up in a storm.

Its only goal?

To drown poor Arthur.

"BOOOOOOO!"

The chorus of booing swelled, filling every inch of that dingy club. Arthur wanted to plug his fingers in his ears, but knew that would only make things worse. Shouts of "get off the stage" came from all directions, yet Arthur was glued in place. Standing still as a statue, he stared tearfully down at his journal. So long and hard he'd worked to get to this point. Now here he was, having it shatter into a thousand pieces, each one digging into his heart.

The nasty remarks rolled in, but Arthur barely heard them. He was too busy being carried away in a sea of numbness.

"What comedian brings their material on stage with them?" someone called out, laughing meanly. "Talk about amateur."

"You're not funny, dude!"

"Just pack it in already."

"Go home and write some real jokes."

Finally, Arthur couldn't take it anymore.

He exploded, letting his laughter out in full force. His face reddened as the unpleasant sensation took over his throat, building and swelling by the minute. No sooner had he burst out laughing than the crowd did too. Fingers pointed at the failing comedian onstage, faces plastered in broadening sneers.

The one person not laughing, of course, was Aubrey. Staring round at the tormentors, she arranged her face in a portrait of perfect frustration. Quickly it shifted to disbelief, then confusion, then outright disgust.

"STOP!" she yelled, gritting her teeth.

Those round her paid as much attention to her as one does to crumbs on a plate.

"That's it, freak!" one guy hollered, leaning back in his chair. "Just keep laughing!"

"Hey, loony!" another yelled. "Have a drink!"

SMASH!

Up came a glass of wine, smashing loudly at Arthur's feet. Arthur cried out in surprise, stumbling onto the floor like a clumsy child. More laughter rose. Then, like the punchline to their own cruel joke, the audience chanted in unison, "OFF THE STAGE...OFF THE STAGE...OFF THE STAGE!"

Too numb to say or do anything, Arthur simply sat there, wishing this nightmare would end already.

"Arthur!"

Arthur turned to see Aubrey rushing up onto the stage. She knelt down next to him, looking him right in the eye. "Don't listen to them," she whispered, holding his gaze. Like Arthur, her eyes were also filling with tears. "Don't listen to a word they say."

"OFF THE STAGE...OFF THE STAGE!"

Arthur stared deep into her eyes, wanting so badly to block out this unkindly audience. But they were like maggots burrowing into his flesh; there was no ignoring them.

After a moment of unbroken silence, Arthur smiled. But this wasn't a joyful, amused, or relaxed smile. This was a small, sad smile that shouted from the rooftops: I'm a fuck up.

Mom was right, he thought wretchedly. I'm not funny...

Arthur rose unsteadily to his feet. The room was closing in on him, threatening to suffocate him from the inside out.

Giving one last pained look to the crowd, he surrendered himself to his tears. Crying out in anger and misery, he threw his notebook aside, and rushed off the stage without another word, never wanting to step foot in Pogo's again.