The Comic Who Stopped Joking Around by Eric Green

The Comic Who Stopped Joking Around by Eric Green

Patty Logan’s five golden rules of life seemed simple:

1. Expect Nothing. You’ll never be disappointed.
2. Forget what I just said. (Expect something. You might get surprised.)
3. Never complain. Unless it makes you feel good.
4. Refers to Rule #1.
5. Don’t Get Mad, Get Even. Stolen from President John F. Kennedy.

Patty Logan, 32 years old, grew up in Corning, New York thinking she might become a standup comedian.

“I like to make people laugh,” Patty once told her parents when she was 11 and considered preternaturally witty and wise for her age. “It just comes naturally to me. Makes me feel good.”

Yet, by the time she dropped out of New York’s Binghamton University her junior year, she thought she might be a pastor for a church, even if she wasn’t particularly religious and rarely went to Sunday services at the nearby cathedral. Still, she liked the idea of helping people in crisis who needed her help.

“What else gives you meaning in life?” she rhetorically questioned her parents who fretted that their only child had trouble following through on her great expectations. Still, they weren’t helicopter parents. Let her be whatever she was destined to be, even if she didn’t know what her destiny should be. Besides, destiny was overrated.

Her job as a human resources generalist at Corning’s famous Museum of Glass is where she met her husband Nick of five years, who had taken his parents for a tour of the place.

That was before Nick and Patty agreed to an amicable divorce on the grounds of irreconcilable differences. They said precisely that in divorce court only because it was required to state a reason for the split. The truth was, they had a mutual attraction toward each other in that they both had a rich sarcastic nature. They knew how to laugh even at the divorce proceedings where they both promised to remain great friends.

The real reason for divorcing, sarcastically observed Patty, was that too much togetherness made each of them want to be alone. It took a commitment to stay married. Neither of them was especially good at commitments. It felt suffocating. Nick, maybe to show no hard feelings and what a good sport he was, agreed to give her alimony. Even if it didn’t amount to much, every little bit helped her get by. Actually, Nick wasn’t that generous. The judge in their divorce decree ordered him to pay alimony.

Since they had no children, they had no compelling reason to stay in touch with each other unless one of the parties made an effort to do so.

Maybe it was inertia talking. Patty hadn’t been in contact with Nick for months. When she felt lonely, she had considered picking up the phone several times and calling him just to chat. Didn’t bother to, especially after Nick had moved with his new girlfriend Sally to New York City to find a better paying job than his bartender gig over in Binghamton.

Nick considered becoming a policeman

“But I don’t cotton to possibly being shot,” said Nick.

 Nick finally ended up working as an oriental rug salesman in Brooklyn.

“Surprise. I kind of like doing it for now because I get to meet all sorts of new people,” said Nick. “It’s a job, right? Doesn’t pay all that much but it keeps me off the streets.”

Sure, he didn’t see a long-lasting future for himself in selling rugs. He pondered going back to college at New York’s city college, CCNY, and getting a Master’s Degree in communications. Of course, he had to get a bachelor’s degree first, since he had dropped out of college in his sophomore year. That idea of going into communications maybe would evolve later into becoming an anchorman doing the six o’clock news at a television station. He was a good-looking guy with a full head of brown hair and a rich baritone voice. That should fully qualify him, Nick would sardonically contend, as great anchoring material. But how to break into the business and stay at it? Like Patty, he wondered if he might be called a commitment-phobe.

Patty, whose looks resembled that of the comedienne Tina Fey, also decided, like Nick would do much sooner than later, to quit her job and move to New York City. Not because Nick would be there. Rather, she finally made the plunge to try this stand-up gig in the evenings. She was lucky finding day-time work as a barista at a coffee shop with one of the fringe benefits being she was entitled to drink all the café macchiatos for free whenever she felt a craving for one. She figured she’d continue doing that job until something better came along. She’d give it a month or two. Rule #1. Expect Nothing. She wouldn’t be disappointed if it amounted to zilch.

During the day, whenever business slacked at the coffee shop, she’d write down ideas for comedy sketches. The one she liked best involved customers who sit around in the coffee shop all day long staring at their laptop screen while sipping on a café au lait.

“You know what happens to these people?” Patty asked, trying out the new joke on her first night at the “open mic” comedy club in Lower Manhattan. “Not only do they go blind from all that staring at the computer, but also become manic-depressive overdosing from all that coffee they’re drinking.”

That first night when she tried out the joke at the comedy club she was heckled by some jerk in the audience. He yelled that she wasn’t funny. Even worse, she should give it up.

“You suck, lady. You’ll never make it with that crappy material,” the guy shouted. He sounded drunk. He got into it with a guy sitting at the next table who told him “To shut your effing trap already.” It looked like they might come to blows until the club’s bouncer grabbed the loudmouth by the neck and shoved him out the exit. He was warned to never set foot again on these premises.

Patty did more open mics at that same place hoping, dreaming, there’d be a talent agent in the midst who might offer her a contract as the house comedian at an upscale comedy club on Broadway. Rule #2 Expect Something.

That gig would help her pay the rent at her efficiency apartment which she had found after scouring the want ads for temporary places to live in Brooklyn or Queens. Still, her savings were drying up. After her marriage with Nick ended, she went back to living at home with her parents until she was 31. Now, she couldn’t rely on them to pay her way as they were struggling themselves with the high cost of living.

She was temporarily subletting the apartment until the owner returned from an “around the world” cruise on the 7 seas. That could take months. The owner said Patty could sublet the Brooklin flat under one condition: that she never bring any strange men back to the apartment, to keep it from looking like a brothel. A $495 monthly rental fee in this city was a steal even if it was in a more downtrodden part of the borough. “Don’t mess the place up,” the owner warned. Location, location, location. The apartment was conveniently located near a subway stop making it easy for Patty to commute into lower Manhattan.

One night after she did another open mic at the comedy club Nick, of all people, approached her. Blinded by the stage lights, Patty hadn’t spotted him in the audience and that he was sitting at a back table with his new girlfriend.

Nick claimed he enjoyed her act. He insisted he wasn’t just sucking up to her to make sure she didn’t try to scrounge more alimony out of him. No joke. She was really funny, repeated Nick. Even if he had never dreamed in a million years that she was doing her material at a comedy club or that she used him as a foil. As in the style of the great comediennes like the late Joan Rivers who in one joke said she asked her husband for breakfast in bed, and he told her to sleep in the kitchen.

Patty said she was glad Nick liked her act. Even if she had never dreamed in a million years that he’d spend his money on comedy clubs. How was it he happened to come here tonight? Nick said it was just a big coincidence. He had no idea she had taken her act here. Patty wondered about that but didn’t press the issue.

Nick said he had a proposal to make. Why didn’t they team up as a man-woman comedy team? Like Stiller and Meara. Burns and Allen. McGee and Molly. Two is twice as good as one. Nick said he knew some jokes they could use. What did they have to lose?

Patty said she’d think about it. An individualist, Patty didn’t see herself joining forces with anybody to do comedy. Even if it was with her ex. Nick had no idea, probably, that being funny in front of family and friends was one thing. Doing it before a bunch of strangers was totally different. Stage fright affected the uninitiated and sometimes the initiated.

“I know you, Patsy,” he said, using his old nickname for her when they were married. “I know with you what ‘thinking about it’ means. You don’t want to do it. Right?”

Patty smiled. “Did I say that?” she kidded.

Nick offered that sad resigned smile that could get annoying when being around him too much. Even if, generally speaking, Nick was a super nice guy who she thought would make somebody a good husband. Just not Patty, unfortunately for both of them. Still, being a generous guy, in addition to paying her alimony, he offered to loan her $5,000 to help her get back on her feet. Patty had her pride. She accepted the deal as long as there were no strings attached. She would pay him back, ASAP. Maybe with interest. That was her promise.

Nick said don’t worry about it. He invited her to sit at his table. “Let me buy you a drink, hon.”

Patty said she appreciated the invite. But it might be awkward for both of them sitting there with his new girlfriend.

“Nick, she might get the wrong idea. Not to put you on the spot, but you still carry a torch for me. Which you do, right?” She patted him on the back. “Maybe another time, okay? I really need to decompress by myself. The owner wants me to do a second gig in a half hour. This time for money. I’m getting a lousy 25 bucks. Woo wee!” Rule #3 Never Complain. Yes, it made her feel good to complain.

Patty wondered if she was apologizing to him too much. Like feeling guilty in turning down Nick’s invite and his undying affection for her.

“Whatever you say, Patsy,” Nick said with resignation. Maybe it was because Nick and his girlfriend had downed too many drinks and were drunk. But Nick and Sally started loudly arguing about something stupid. Patty figured the argument was about Nick and herself being too chummy. Sally might be jealous of that. The bouncer approached their table and invited Nick to leave and to never show his face again at this club. His lady companion could stay, if she wanted to. Nick was disturbing other customers who had come here tonight to laugh and unwind. Not to hear loud drunken arguments. The two of them took the hint and left.

A half hour later Patty was invited back on stage by the club owner/manager after doing a new round of jokes that involved making fun of her five rules of life starting with Expect Nothing.

“When you expect nothing, you can never be disappointed. Okay?” That drew a titter from the crowd. “Like when you get married, it’s like you’re expecting too much. That was MY first mistake.”

Cool punchline. That drew a hearty laugh.

When she had finished her routine, the club owner, Hal Holcomb looked impressed by the audience reaction. She had killed. And by killed, that wasn’t in the same category as when comedian Harry Einstein, father of the comedian Albert Brooks, died of a heart attack onstage in 1958 after doing his standup comedy routine before a Friars Club dinner honoring Desi Arnaz and Lucille Ball.

Speaking of Albert Brooks, in his 1991 film “Defending Your Life,” he plays a recently deceased comedian watching a bad comedian do his routine. After his show is over, that bad comedian asks Brooks how he died and Brooks replies, “On stage, like you.”

Meanwhile, Hal’s regular comic had quit. The lady had complained that she wasn’t going to be a house slave for the insulting 25 smackers she got for doing her routine. So maybe Patty could come back tomorrow and do her act again, said Hal.

“Sure,” Patty said. “You got the 25 bucks you owe me for my routine?”

“If you insist, doll-face,” he said, sounding nasty. He reached into his hip pocket and pulled out the bills.

“Can I get a raise?” Patty said, her face expressive in that she wasn’t joking about the money.

“I can give you 30 bucks. That’s it. Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it. For now.” Patty said with a dour expression.

Her second act went even smoother. Hal, the club owner, repeated that he needed her to come back tomorrow. He contended that he had in fact fired his previous in-house comic because she had a “big mouth.” The lady claimed to have quit. “She’s a pathological liar too,” added Hal. Maybe Patty could become the house comedian. $35 a night with free drinks included.

“Hal, I’ll need more than $35. I got expenses to pay too.”

Hal thought it over. “How ‘bout this? We’ll start at $40 a night. Things go well, later on we can talk about an increase. Okay? Doll?”

Patty accepted the deal, even if in her words that she said out loud to Hal, “It sucks. And quit calling me doll. It’s offensive.”

Hal offered a hostile laugh. “You’re pretty funny, doll. And I don’t mean that in a good way. We have a deal?

Patty nodded. She’d do it for now until something better came up. Rule #4.

Patty did a week of standup, each gig about a half-hour-or-more-long full of one-liners and dour commentary about politicians and current events. Then it happened. She had noticed the guy, in suit and tie, watching her act from a table in the back of the room. He didn’t dress like a slob or smoke a stinky cigar, especially since smoking here was prohibited. He looked more distinguished, an early 40’s guy maybe here on business. He had come two straight nights and she had to believe he was a talent agent. She figured he was expressly there to see her perform. Why didn’t she end the uncertainty and approach him between breaks? What did she have to lose? See Rule #1. Expect Nothing.

“Evening,” she said, introducing herself. “How’s it going?” Pretty lame stuff. She needed to do better than that. “You an agent or something?”

He smiled. “Or something. You look pretty sure of yourself up there. I like your style.”

Patty could feel the adrenaline left over from her act as she said, “I try. So, what’s the deal, mister? I got two minutes before I have to get back on stage. Maybe we can talk turkey after that. What’s your name? By the way, I’m never this forward and loquacious. Guess I had one too many drinks. But like they say, so much b.s., so little time.”

He laughed out loud. That all sounded like part of her comedy routine. “Jerry Jacks. Here’s my business card.” She inspected the card with its gold lettering of the phone number and website for his talent agency. Impressive. He was the New York representative for a big entertainment company out in Hollywood. Whoa! Could this actually be happening for her? Jacks said he’d be in touch. Remember Rule #2? She was indeed surprised.

She took the initiative in trying to call Jerry Jacks the next day. A recorded female voice answered and said “no one’s available at this time. Please leave a message. Or call back later.”

Patty called back later with the same result. Her message said to call her on this cell phone number. Her phone never rang. She figured he was out of town or whatever. Maybe tomorrow it would happen.

She never made contact with him that week. What was this? He had changed his mind about her? Or he had been hit by a bus and was lying in a coma on a hospital bed? Or worse? It really bothered Patty to think he was stiffing her.

That night at the comedy club her ex, Nick, showed up again, alone this time. No girlfriend with him. There was a different bouncer working so he probably didn’t know Nick wasn’t allowed on the premises. When she finished her gig, Nick approached the stage and said to let him buy her a drink before she started her second act.

“I’d love that, Nick. But I need to unplug. I’m still on an adrenaline rush.”

“What’s five minutes? I need to talk about something. It’s important or I wouldn’t bother you.”

“Just tell me now. What’s so important?”

“It won’t kill anybody to let me buy you a drink.”

They sat in the back. Nick reached in his pants pocket and pulled out his old wedding ring from when they were married.

Patty sipped on her Bloody Mary. She had an unsettling feeling knowing what he was about to say.

“I’ve missed you, Patsy. A lot. Do you miss me?”

Patty finished off her drink. “Nick. I really have to get ready for my next gig.”

“Just give me 30 seconds. “You know what I’m going to ask. Don’t you?”

“We’ll talk about this later, Nick. I’m really in a hurry.”

“I could wait for you when you’re done. Okay?”

Anticipating with dread what Nick had in mind really messed up her timing for her jokes. It didn’t go well. Several people in the audience booed and heckled her. They weren’t getting their money’s worth. When she was done, Hal Holcrom, the club owner, said her jokes stunk. He expected better than this. What was her deal? Something going on with her that he should know about?

Nick was gone by the time Patty finished her nightly act. In one way, she was sorry he had picked up and left. Maybe he was upset with her. She usually enjoyed his company except when he kept insisting that they should get back together as a couple.

After her gig was over, Hal came over to tell her she was fired. It wasn’t just tonight’s lousy performance that had turned him off. He had been thinking it over and had decided that her jokes weren’t clicking. She wasn’t funny enough. Patty said for a measly $40 a night who was he expecting? Joan Rivers? Tina Fey? Wanda Sykes?

Patty got back to her apartment feeling low-down and lost. Now what? Was she destined to be a barista the rest of her life? She called in to work the next morning to tell them she was quitting. She’d had enough of doling out café macchiatos and coffee cake.

Not usually one for self-pity and remorse, that morning and for the rest of that day she stayed in bed and watched TV reruns of murder mysteries such as Columbo, Criminal Minds, and CSI Miami. She considered packing up and moving back home to Corning. To do what? Maybe she wouldn’t do anything for a while.

That following morning still in self-isolation, her cell phone rang with Nick on the line. “What about it, hon?” he began the conversation.

“What about what?

“You know. That maybe we should give it another chance. See what happens.”

“That’s very sweet of you, Nick. But what about your girlfriend?”

“We broke up. Not to make you feel guilty, but it was because of you. She could tell it’s you I’d rather be with. We have lots more in common.”

“Nick. Having lots more in common doesn’t mean we should get back together. It’s better we leave it the way it is.”

“Whatever you say, Patsy. What happened to you at the club? You do something to piss off the owner?”

Patty said she preferred not talking about it. Sorry.

“We’ll see each other later. Maybe,” said Nick, suggestively.

“Yeah. Whatever,” replied Patty, derisively.

Nick’s phone call, if nothing else, seemed to stir her up. She dressed and was about to go out for a late breakfast at McDonald’s when her cell phone rang.

“I tried calling you several times. You got my message?” said Patty.

Jerry Jacks apologized. “I had to go out to the Coast. I just got back. How’s the jokes going at the club?”

Patty considered telling him the truth. “I’m not doing standup there anymore. Call it a difference of opinion. I’m lining up a gig somewhere else.” Sure, it wasn’t the whole truth. But Jerry Jacks didn’t have to know that.

Jacks told her he had an interesting concept to propose for her. Did she care to discuss it somewhere over lunch? Patty thought to herself that this is what’s called “one door closes, another one opens.” But simultaneously, she wondered about this guy. Was he legit? Was he really a talent agent? Or was this some kind of scam and who knows what trouble it could bring? Jerry Jacks probably wasn’t his real name, she complained to herself. At least complaining made her feel a little better. Remember Rule #3?

She met Jacks at the famous Sardi’s restaurant in midtown Manhattan in the heart of the theater district. The lunch was on him, he said. Jacks said he had raved about her comedy routine to several network execs out in Hollywood and that he proposed to them that she star in a comedy pilot called “Patty” modeled on other sitcoms with one name leads such as “Rosanne,” “Seinfeld,” “Whitney,” and “Ellen,” something on that order, said Jacks.

“The show could be about a female comic trying to make it big in show business, while her slovenly unemployed boyfriend worries that if she’s successful she’ll dump him for somebody more exciting,” said Jacks. “Her daytime job is working at a coffee shop, just like what you’re doing now while she writes down comedy bits when business is slow. She tries out the jokes on her fellow employees who say she should do stand-up. Something on that order. Right here in Manhattan could be the setting for the show even if, like in ‘Seinfeld,’ it was actually filmed at a Hollywood studio.”

“Unfortunately, we’re not quite home yet,” Jacks revealed. He sipped on his margarita. “I didn’t get a green light to go ahead with production. You know how it works. First, they want to see clips of your comedy act. I suppose we’ll have to work on that. What do you think, Ms. Logan? Are you game?”

Patty didn’t know what to think. Was this really on the up and up? She still had her suspicions. Maybe she was too much of a cynic/realist about life in that believing that if it sounds too good to be true it probably wasn’t. Like that bit she used in her routine, that the difference between an optimist and a pessimist is that the optimist knows how bad the world is, the pessimist keeps finding out.

“How much money am I getting?” Patty asked. “Or is that getting the cart before the horse?”

Jacks smiled. “I’d say that horse is about to be anesthetized,” he said, trying out his own lame joke. He began relating to Patty some of his own personal history. Maybe she could relate to it.

It turned out in his younger days, Jacks had once tried doing standup as a goof and failed at it miserably. For one thing, he could never get over stage fright. Secondly, his jokes weren’t funny enough. It took a while but after a series of nowhere jobs he discovered that being a talent agent best suited his personality.

Hooking up with a network had been a stroke of luck for Jacks. One day his then-girlfriend was taking him out for his birthday lunch here at this same Sardi’s when he started talking to a guy at the next table. He turned out to be a rep for a big Hollywood production studio. That rep happened to be in New York to catch one of his clients acting in a Broadway show. One thing led to another, and Jerry Jacks, after starting from the bottom at the studio, rose to become a talent agent, with the good part being that he would be headquartered in his beloved New York City where he had met his wife, Jill, an aspiring actress who decided the acting life wasn’t really for her.

Before long, combining his salary with his wife’s salary as an advertising executive, they could afford to rent out a co-op on the Upper West Side near Central Park. Eventually, he figured if he wanted to move up the corporate ladder, he’d have to relocate to his production company’s studios in Burbank, California. He’d worry about that if and when the time came.

“Enough about me, Ms. Logan, I don’t usually talk about myself that much. Maybe it’s my whisky sour talking. But you’re easy to talk to.”

“I try, but it ain’t easy,” Patty said, trying to make a joke out of the compliment.

“We’ll have to get you on tape doing your schtick. You think we can arrange that?”

Sooner or later, Patty would have to tell him the whole truth. That she presently wasn’t doing standup at a club. Or still working at a coffee shop. Maybe better not to say anything. Maybe she’d have to suck it up and ask Hal Holcomb at his club to give her another chance. Other than her pride and self-respect, what did she have to lose?

After lunch, Jacks said he’d be back in touch very soon to set up taping her act. Meanwhile, he would pay for Patty’s cab ride back to her place in Brooklyn since she was now about to be on his company’s payroll. At least a good $25 she would save. Patty started to believe Jacks was on the up-and-up.

Her parents back in Corning were the first ones she called to give them the exciting news. She was going to be on T.V. With her own sitcom. If everything worked out.

Her father was skeptical. Maybe that’s where Patty got her sarcasm. As a businessman in the financial planning world, he had met more than one shyster in his life. Who was this Jerry Jacks she was talking about? The name sounded fake. Was he really in show business?

Her mother had a different agenda. In all of New York, couldn’t she meet somebody and settle down and give her a couple of grandchildren? Here Patty was 32, and single again. Patty figured whoever she met her mother wouldn’t like him. Nobody had been good enough for her Patty. She never liked any of the boyfriends Patty had brought home from high school and college. They were low class and bums. Sure, Nick was a nice guy. Mother had kept her mouth shut when Patty ran off to elope with him. But as Mother secretly told Dad, that marriage was doomed to fail. Now Patty was getting older. She shouldn’t be so picky about men, Mom told Dad. Going on 33, Patty should take what she could get.

Rather than going home to Brooklyn, Patty told the cabbie to drive her to Lower Manhattan. She had never been at the comedy club before dark. The place seemed deserted. Hal Holcomb wasn’t in his office. She ran into a cleaning woman who barely spoke English. From what Patty could understand from her, Mr. Holcomb often didn’t come in until after 4 o’clock. Only another 25 minutes. Patty could wait.

She turned one of the down-turned chairs right side up to sit at a table. She sipped from the water bottle that was in her carry-on bag. She practiced what she’d say to Holcomb when he arrived. She’d tell him she’d been working on her material. It would be funny this time. Give her another chance. If he still didn’t think it worked, she’d accept his verdict. What did he have to lose?

She waited until 5 p.m. when she heard the side entrance door open. It wasn’t Hal Holcomb. Rather, it was Lance Lucas, the young red-headed bartender who had started working here only a week ago after getting his license from bartending school. Lance did a doubletake when he saw Patty sitting at a table. What was this Tina Fey lookalike doing sitting there alone?

Patty asked about Mr. Holcomb. He was supposed to have come in after 4 o’clock. Right?

Lance shrugged. He was an aspiring comic himself who had done several open mics before filling the bartending opening after the previous guy had quit in finding a better paying job uptown.

The door opened again and Penny Parker, the hostess who served customers their drinks, walked in. She too didn’t know what had happened with Mr. Holcomb. Penny offered to get Patty a drink while she waited for him.

“Never mind,” Patty said. She was leaving. Couldn’t wait all day for him.

Back at her Brooklyn flat, Patty figured she’d do an open mic at another club. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be with Hal Holcomb. Who needed to suck up to the schmuck?

The next day, Nick called. He had to confess something to her. Something she’d either like or find objectionable. Could they meet somewhere just to talk?

The deli in lower Manhattan had tables where you could sit around for an extended time and the management wouldn’t hassle you to leave. Nick hit a button on his smartphone and showed the video to her that he had surreptitiously taped at the comedy club. It was Patty performing her routine when she had first started doing her act there.

He had put her routine on Facebook. It showed the audience laughing and applauding her. The video had drawn over 5,000 “likes,” and a few scattered angry emojis signifying “dislike.” More than a couple of viewers had rated her act a 10, going so far to say she should have her own comedy show. Patty first thought she should be mad that Nick had taped her without first getting her permission. But then again, it might be perfect for her professional needs.

“Hope you don’t mind what I did,” Nick said. “I guess I should have told you first. But you deserve to get noticed. You’re really good. Okay?”

“I suppose you’re right. I am great,” Patty said sarcastically. She could use that video to show to Jerry Jacks. Forget about needing to suck up to Hal Halcomb at his stupid comedy club.

Little did Patty know that Jerry Jacks, a social media freak who employed it for scouring comedy acts around the country, had seen the same video and all those “likes.”

It wasn’t long before Jerry called her on his cell phone. He sounded beyond excited. “Ms. Logan. You’re smoking hot stuff on Facebook,” he informed her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Rather than say anything sarcastic as she wanted to, Patty laughed, playing it cool. Before long, Jerry had booked her ticket to Hollywood to meet his studio execs and to discuss with Patty doing a comedy pilot about a comic making a pilot. And if the execs liked it, turning it into a weekly sitcom.

The kicker was that Patty, with Jerry’s consent, had invited Nick to go with her. Maybe to pay him back for lending her $5,000. Even if he had no acting experience, Patty proposed that Nick audition for the role as the needy, goof-off husband on the proposed sitcom. At least with Nick’s good looks it might get him through the front door.

It was all starting to happen for Patty. For the star of the new smash hit, “Patty,” it would be no more just joking around.

Forget all of Patty’s past frustrations, especially with that scumbag Hal Holcomb. Yes, Patty’s Golden Rule #5 was so right: Don’t Get Mad, Get Even. 

* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Eric Green 2026

Image Source: Dey from Fictom.com