Jo-Jo there, instinct kept me mum about Triton. “Nothing critical. I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
Maggie nodded and went into the house. I plopped into the love seat with Saber and eyed Jo-Jo.
“Maggie’s right, you know. You don’t want to copy another comic, especially someone famous. You need to be yourself. Have your own style.”
“But myself isn’t funny anymore,” he grumped, slumping in his chair, “and my style was built on my vaudeville act.”
“Can you adapt that act to stand-up?”
“The bits won’t work without Jemina or another partner,” he said, a sudden gleam in his eyes. I held up a hand. “No. I’ll do what I can to help you find an angle for your comedy act, but I’m not performing with you.”
“Then I’m doomed,” he intoned.
“You will be if you don’t stop moping. Being negative won’t get you anywhere, so let’s look at what’s possible. What kind of
comedy do you want to do?”
“The kind I’ll get paid for.”
I grinned. “Good start. We know you can juggle. You could use that in your act.”
“But not with knives,” Saber warned.
Jo-Jo winced. “Agreed, but is juggling hip enough for a twenty-first century crowd?”
“You won’t know until you try.” I tapped my chin. “You need to relate to both humans and vampires.”
Jo-Jo gave me a double take. “You think vampires would come to see my act?”
“I don’t see why not, but your audiences need to see themselves and their lives in your jokes. In normal stuff like working, family issues, paying taxes, aging.”
“Vampires don’t have old age issues, honey,” Saber said.
“What if we did? What if we had to have—” I thought of the Jag Queens and grinned. “—false teeth. What would we do?”
Jo-Jo looked blank, but Saber grinned.
“Vampire denture cream,” he drawled. “Available in mint, cinnamon, and O positive.”
“Perfect,” I said, squeezing his hand.
“Can I use that?” Jo-Jo asked eagerly.
Saber shrugged. “Sure.”
“Okay, let me try one.” Jo-Jo frowned in concentration. “Taxes. Vampires live long enough to pay more taxes than a small country, but it’s not enough to clear the national debt.”
“Rough, but you’re getting the idea.”
Jo-Jo looked cautiously hopeful. “Do you think this will give me enough material for a whole act?”
“I’m no expert,” Saber warned, “but you could throw in one more thing.”
“What?” Jo-Jo and I asked in unison.
“Poke fun at vampire lore.”
I grinned at my honey. “You mean myths like being repelled by garlic and not having reflections in mirrors?”
“People will think that’s funny?”
“Depending on how you tell it, sure,” I said. “Plus you could defuse some of the fear people have about us by letting them laugh with you.”
“If Vlad hears I’m making fun of vampires, he’ll kill me.”
“Not while Saber and I stand behind you. Besides, I thought you wanted to take charge of your afterlife.”
Jo-Jo straightened. “I do.”
“Then stop worrying about Vlad,” I said.
“Yeah,” Saber drawled, “and start worrying about how you’re going to teach Cesca to fly.”
FIVE
006
I stiffened. “Saber, Jo-Jo does not need to worry about teaching me to fly.”
“I don’t know. From what Maggie said, Abe’s Traffic School worried about teaching you to drive.”
Jo-Jo looked appalled. “Don’t tell me Her Highness is a bad driver.”
“I’m a great driver,” I snapped. “I don’t tailgate or lane weave or cut people off.”
“But you do have a lead foot, and you can’t parallel park to save your life.”
“Afterlife,” I snipped, “and parallel parking is overrated.”
“All I know is that the driving test examiner was afraid you’d bite him if he didn’t pass you.”
“I would never!” I sputtered, hoping I didn’t blush. I hadn’t exactly soothed that nervous examiner’s fears. Darn it all, I’d hoped Saber would forget about the flying lessons. He’d
Maggie nodded and went into the house. I plopped into the love seat with Saber and eyed Jo-Jo.
“Maggie’s right, you know. You don’t want to copy another comic, especially someone famous. You need to be yourself. Have your own style.”
“But myself isn’t funny anymore,” he grumped, slumping in his chair, “and my style was built on my vaudeville act.”
“Can you adapt that act to stand-up?”
“The bits won’t work without Jemina or another partner,” he said, a sudden gleam in his eyes. I held up a hand. “No. I’ll do what I can to help you find an angle for your comedy act, but I’m not performing with you.”
“Then I’m doomed,” he intoned.
“You will be if you don’t stop moping. Being negative won’t get you anywhere, so let’s look at what’s possible. What kind of
comedy do you want to do?”
“The kind I’ll get paid for.”
I grinned. “Good start. We know you can juggle. You could use that in your act.”
“But not with knives,” Saber warned.
Jo-Jo winced. “Agreed, but is juggling hip enough for a twenty-first century crowd?”
“You won’t know until you try.” I tapped my chin. “You need to relate to both humans and vampires.”
Jo-Jo gave me a double take. “You think vampires would come to see my act?”
“I don’t see why not, but your audiences need to see themselves and their lives in your jokes. In normal stuff like working, family issues, paying taxes, aging.”
“Vampires don’t have old age issues, honey,” Saber said.
“What if we did? What if we had to have—” I thought of the Jag Queens and grinned. “—false teeth. What would we do?”
Jo-Jo looked blank, but Saber grinned.
“Vampire denture cream,” he drawled. “Available in mint, cinnamon, and O positive.”
“Perfect,” I said, squeezing his hand.
“Can I use that?” Jo-Jo asked eagerly.
Saber shrugged. “Sure.”
“Okay, let me try one.” Jo-Jo frowned in concentration. “Taxes. Vampires live long enough to pay more taxes than a small country, but it’s not enough to clear the national debt.”
“Rough, but you’re getting the idea.”
Jo-Jo looked cautiously hopeful. “Do you think this will give me enough material for a whole act?”
“I’m no expert,” Saber warned, “but you could throw in one more thing.”
“What?” Jo-Jo and I asked in unison.
“Poke fun at vampire lore.”
I grinned at my honey. “You mean myths like being repelled by garlic and not having reflections in mirrors?”
“People will think that’s funny?”
“Depending on how you tell it, sure,” I said. “Plus you could defuse some of the fear people have about us by letting them laugh with you.”
“If Vlad hears I’m making fun of vampires, he’ll kill me.”
“Not while Saber and I stand behind you. Besides, I thought you wanted to take charge of your afterlife.”
Jo-Jo straightened. “I do.”
“Then stop worrying about Vlad,” I said.
“Yeah,” Saber drawled, “and start worrying about how you’re going to teach Cesca to fly.”
FIVE
006
I stiffened. “Saber, Jo-Jo does not need to worry about teaching me to fly.”
“I don’t know. From what Maggie said, Abe’s Traffic School worried about teaching you to drive.”
Jo-Jo looked appalled. “Don’t tell me Her Highness is a bad driver.”
“I’m a great driver,” I snapped. “I don’t tailgate or lane weave or cut people off.”
“But you do have a lead foot, and you can’t parallel park to save your life.”
“Afterlife,” I snipped, “and parallel parking is overrated.”
“All I know is that the driving test examiner was afraid you’d bite him if he didn’t pass you.”
“I would never!” I sputtered, hoping I didn’t blush. I hadn’t exactly soothed that nervous examiner’s fears. Darn it all, I’d hoped Saber would forget about the flying lessons. He’d
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