“Church, don’t blame me for your overactive glands,” Jasper teased as he tossed his backpack on top of a keg in the corner and set down the bag with the camera equipment. The stitch in his side throbbed, and he pressed his hand over it, trying to catch his breath. “A cool breeze makes you sweat.”
“Don’t be jealous of my shiny glow,” Church said with a smirk, looping the cloth around his neck and eyeing Jasper. “Speaking of sweating. You okay, man? You look whiter than normal. And that’s saying something.”
“Yeah,” Barry said, looking up from scrolling through his phone. “You look like shit.”
Jasper wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, finding his skin clammy. “I’m fine. Three cups of coffee followed by a six-block jog probably wasn’t the best idea.”
Jasper shut the door behind him, trapping the group in the sour-smelling storeroom. Everyone was wearing their standard “college frat party” clothes tonight. Jeans with T-shirts or untucked button-downs. They tried to vary their outfits across performances but match each other in tone. Tonight was casual night. Other times, they’d dress up in black suits Blues Brothers (and sisters) style. Other times they did boring office wear, khakis and polos. He’d found that changing the outfits could influence what scenes they ended up doing.
“And sorry I’m late.” Jasper unbuttoned his dress shirt. “I stopped on the way to buy a video camera. I thought we should start recording some of our performances.”
“Recording?” Antonio asked as he applied another layer of deodorant beneath his shirt, the snake tattoo along his side dancing with the effort. “Why?”
“Yeah,” Monique said, pulling out her signature red lipstick, which had given her the nickname Monique the Mouth. “What about the ephemeral nature of improv? Only those who are here get to see it and that show never exists again?”
She’d spoken it in a spooky tone that made Jasper snort. He tugged off his shirt. “I know I’ve said that in the past, but I thought it could be a good way to build some buzz, get more people into shows. We aren’t leveraging social media. More exposure could give us a shot to level up and out of here.”
“The Shifty Lizard not fancy enough for ya, Hollywood?” Danica asked, tone wry.
Jasper pulled a fresh T-shirt from his bag and yanked it over his head. Ahh, something that didn’t smell like coffee. “Well, I know changing clothes next to a case of Jägermeister is pretty damn glamorous but maybe something a little bigger.”
When his head popped out from the T-shirt, six pairs of eyes were staring at him.
He looked down, making sure he hadn’t put on a T-shirt with a big ketchup stain or something. “What?”
Church narrowed his eyes. “What are you up to? You trying to woo an agent or something?”
Jasper frowned. “This isn’t about me. It’s to promote all of us. The show.”
“Uh-huh,” Leah said, her flat tone saying everything.
He sighed. It stung that they still suspected he was moments from bailing on them again, but he’d earned that skepticism. “Can I film or not?”
Monique raised a dark brow and put a hand on her hip, striking an I’m-ready-for-my-close-up pose. “Fine by me. I look amazing on camera.”
Jasper put his arm out, accidentally bumping a box of margarita mix. The sharp pain in his side throbbed. “And everyone else?”
Barry stood, looking stiff and formal, which had garnered him the nickname Barry from HR, and lifted his hand. “All in favor, raise your hand.”
After a few murmured comments, everyone’s hands went up.
“Thank you,” Jasper said finally. “Let me hand the camera over to Billy to set up. I’ll be right back.”
When he returned, a few in the group gave him a look that said the conversation definitely wasn’t over, but there was no arguing with curtain time. They all gathered in the hallway and formed a circle. He could hear the clink of glasses and the murmur of conversation in the bar. The electricity in his veins started to hum, chasing away the cloud hanging over their conversation and the whole afternoon. This was the part he lived for. He put his hand inside the circle and they laid their hands on top of one another.
No matter what issues they had with each other on any given night, he knew they’d be all in once they got onstage. They didn’t bring personal crap into the performance. Improv relied on the team dynamic being one hundred percent supportive. Group mind. They wouldn’t let each other down.
Leah took over the prayer for the night. “Let the beer be cold, our scenes be funny, and our deodorant powerful.”
“Hail Yes!” they all chorused and lifted their hands.
They gathered by the door that led to the stage. The bar turned down the lights, except for the ones aimed at the stage. Jasper peeked out, happy to see an almost full house tonight. Fridays were usually chock-full of college students from UNO and Tulane. Gemma, the lead bartender, went to the mic with her deadpan voice and read off the index card she’d never bothered to memorize. “This is improv. Nothing you see here tonight was planned ahead of time. All scenes are acted on the fly. Flash photography and recording are prohibited. Don’t make me kick your ass out. Thank you.”
The last part was Gemma’s special addition. Oh, how Jasper missed their old theater.
Someone whooped from the audience, catcalling Gemma.
“Now please welcome Hail Yes,” Gemma said without enthusiasm.
Jasper shook his head and then jogged out onto the stage, clapping along with the rest of group and the audience. The lights were too bright to see most of the faces, but he could feel the energy of the room and absorbed it like a drug. He got the audience clapping in a rhythm as the rest of the group set up the row of chairs behind him to form the back line. When everything was set, he lifted his palms and the crowd quieted.
Monique stepped up to the front of the stage with her beaming smile. “Welcome, everyone, to the Hail Yes improv show!”
The audience cheered.
“Can I get a Hail Yes?” she asked, her booming voice carrying through the bar.
The audience shouted back a cacophonous chorus of Hail Yes. Bottles and glasses clinked.
“One more time!” she called out with a pumped fist, and Jasper wondered how she’d never been a cheerleader.
The audience parroted back the words, a little louder this time.
“All right, that’s an acceptable amount of drunken shouting,” she affirmed. “For those of you new to our show, we do what’s called an Armando. You don’t need to remember the name. Or your date’s name. Or your own name. All you need to know is that Jasper here is going to be our monologist for the night. You’ll give him a word, he’ll tell us a true story inspired by that suggestion, and then we’ll use his monologue as inspiration for tonight’s improv.” She cocked a thumb toward him. “So all he needs from you is a word or phrase to get him started. Go!”