Elaine walked briskly until she neared Times Square. She should just go home, but she really didn't feel like dealing with questions from her roommate tonight. She needed to be alone.
Her watch told her that it was only 9:30; early by New York City standards. What kind of pathetic loser would she be to just go home and sulk on a Saturday night?
She didn't need Paul. She should have seen this coming a long time ago. A terrible thought occurred to her just then...
What would she say to Brenda? Her co-worker was convinced that Paul would break her heart, but Elaine didn't want to give Brenda the satisfaction of being right.
When she approached the heart of Times Square, she noticed an unfamiliar building. It was an unusual establishment, adorned in vibrant neon purple and green lights.
How in the world could she have missed this place?
Then she remembered...
Paul.
Paul wouldn't have been caught dead in Times Square, no matter how many times Elaine begged him to go. Sure, Elaine loved going to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to admire the many exhibits, as well as the ballet performances and the cozy coffee houses they visited.
But she wanted something more...
She wanted to have fun.
She glanced at the building again, noting that even the name was unusual...
Laughter
A comedy club! After the horrible evening she'd had, this was just what she needed.
She walked inside the tiny club, amazed to find it almost deserted. There were maybe twenty people, including the staff, but she didn't mind. She definitely wasn't in the mood to be with a big crowd right now.
Not wanting to be conspicuous, she found a secluded table in the back and sat down. She hung her coat over a chair and began to browse the menu. She was absolutely starving and right now anything sounded good.
A waiter appeared with a glass of ice water.
"Thanks." Elaine said, drinking the water in one gulp. "I was dying of thirst."
"I can see that." The waiter said, clearly amused. "Can I get you another?"
Elaine started to order a strawberry daiquiri, but decided against it. The effects of the drinks she'd had at the Plaza were creeping up on her.
"Yes please." She answered the waiter. "And some chips and salsa."
"Right away, ma'am." The waiter said. "And please forgive my boldness, but your dress is lovely."
Elaine felt the heat rise in her cheeks. "Oh. Thank you. Just a little something I picked out for..."
Her voice trailed off, remembering.
The waiter sensed her uneasiness and dropped the subject. "I'll be right back." He said.
Later as she sipped her water and ate her meal, she watched the comedian who was performing on stage. The small crowd roared at his ridiculous one-liners. Lines she had heard at least ten times, if not more.
She rolled her eyes. How can these people possibly think this guy is funny? The only thing funny about him was his goofy appearance.
But then again, sitting here watching him was far better than sulking in her apartment.
When the comedian finished, applause filled the room. The emcee stepped onto the stage.
"Thank you, Folks! Our next young comic is a New Yorker in every sense of the word. Making his debut here at Laughter, please welcome...
Jerry Seinfeld!"
The sparse applause he received couldn't hold a candle to the last guy. Elaine almost felt sorry for him.
"Hey! What a great-looking crowd we have here! Jerry said to the now-less than twenty people in the audience.
When he began his routine, Elaine couldn't help but laugh at his amusing observations of everyday life; parents, New York and air-travel.
She realized that she was only half-listening when something caught her attention...
"... These intellectual types, they're something, aren't they? Sitting in the park or coffee shop reading. All the time with the glasses and trying to look sophisticated. But we all know that deep down they'd rather be reading a Superman comic book."
Elaine doubled over with laughter, amazed to find that hardly anyone else was joining in.
This guy was hilarious!
"... And speaking of books, these intellectuals always seem to be reading books by authors that we pretend to know, but haven't a clue who they are. Isn't this true? Take Robert Dawson for instance."
Elaine froze.
Robert Dawson? The only time she'd ever heard that name was when she met Paul in Central Park.
How was that possible?
Was this a sign?
She stared at this Jerry Seinfeld person. Unlike the last loser on stage, Jerry was impeccably dressed; a maroon sport coat, blue jeans, dark print shirt and a blue tie.
And tennis shoes.
The fact that he wore tennis shoes with a sport coat made her grin.
Then she looked at his face. He was very handsome; tall and thin with dark wavy hair that completed his polished look.
The exact opposite of Paul Anderson.
"... This guy Dawson is a piece of work, literally." Jerry was saying. "And does anyone really know who he is? And even if we say that we do, our knowledge of his writing probably doesn't go any further than the book jacket."
By this time, Elaine was having so much fun; she'd forgotten all about Paul what's-his-name.