Page 76 of It's a Date (Again)

“She is too. Mostly, except for the amnesia.” She pauses and paces the stage. “Yep. That’s right. She doesn’t remember anything. Not even me, which I find hard to believe given how famous and successful I am.” Maya grins. “I can’t even go to my own dentist without being recognized, and my landlord, don’t get me started on him. He’s been harassing me for months for an autograph. I keep signing stuff for him, but he says it needs to be at the bottom of a check. Fans are so particular these days.” People laugh and clap. “So, anyway ... it’s been a tough time for me. I know she has amnesia or whatever, but we’ve been friends for over ten years, and she just forgot about me. How rude.”

Maya stops pacing and stares at the audience. “And I don’t care what the doctors say, I will not accept brain trauma as an excuse. Our friendship bracelets from college sayFRIENDS FOREVER, notFRIENDS UNTIL WE GET INTO A CAR ACCIDENT AND FORGET THE OTHER PERSON EXISTS.”

The crowd roars. Maya winks at me, and I laugh even louder.

“You all ever seen the movieOverboard, where the woman gets amnesia and the contractor that she was mean to uses it as a way to get revenge by making her become a maid and a babysitter?”

Many people in the crowd yell out “Yes.”

“It’s quite the opposite experience for my friend. Instead of all that, three of her Tinder dates showed up at the hospital declaring their love for her. What kind of Disney shit is that?”

Maya turns on her heel and walks across the stage. “So, now she gets the joy of first dates with each of them again, being wooed and swooned, them listening intently, hanging on to her every word, holding doors open, and sending her gifts, all in an attempt to win her over.” Several of the women in the crowd make anawwsound. “I know, ladies. It’s so sweet. Doesn’t it make you just wanna jump for joy ... right in front of a moving vehicle?” The crowd explodes with laughter.

Maya walks to the mic stand and peers out at the audience. “And they say fairy tales don’t exist.” She shrugs. “The dented hood of a 2010 Chrysler Sebring begs to differ.”

Her set continues for another fifteen minutes. She’s cool and confident, commanding the stage for every second of it. There’s never a lull, as every joke she tells lands with the audience. My cheeks hurt, and the muscles in my stomach are sore from laughing. It feels like I’ve done a hundred sit-ups. I smile up at her, completely in awe.

“That’s my time. Thank you, everyone. I’m Maya James.” She waves at the audience. People clap and whistle as she hands the mic to the announcer and leaves the stage.

“She was amazing,” I say, turning to Robbie.

“She was.” He adds a generous tip and signs the receipt, closing up the book.

“What do I owe you?”

Robbie waves a hand at me. “Nothing. My treat.”

“Thanks.”

He slips his coat on and helps me into mine. “Want to go meet Maya and Anthony for a bit?” he asks as he adjusts the collar on my jacket.

“I’d love that.” I nod.

“Follow me,” he says, leading the way. I walk behind him, staying close in the crowded club. He sticks his hand out, and I grab it. Robbie smiles over his shoulder for a brief moment before returning his focus to navigating us through the crowd and toward the exit.

We grab seats at a bar two blocks from the comedy club. It has all the features of a typical dive bar—neon signs, a jukebox, pool tables and dartboards, cheap drinks, and furniture that hasn’t been maintained. Robbie pulls two more stools over to the high-top table and places his jacket on one of them. I put mine on the other, saving them for Anthony and Maya.

“Want something to drink?” Robbie asks.

“Just a club soda with a slice of lemon.”

“You got it.”

He walks to the bar and finds a space to wedge himself in. The place is packed with people cutting loose on a Friday night. It’s loud with chatter, and a classic rock song plays on the jukebox.

“Looks like you need some company,” a man with thin lips and buzzed blond hair says. Without an invitation, he takes a seat on the stool next to me, Robbie’s seat. He reeks of too much cologne mixed with rum, and he gives me a crooked smile as he props his elbows on the table.

“That seat’s taken,” I say, leaning away from him.

“Well, it isn’t right now.”

I roll my eyes and don’t respond, but he doesn’t take the hint and just keeps talking. “So, you got a man?”

I glance over at the bar. Robbie’s back is to me, and he’s busy ordering drinks from the bartender.

“Yeah, three of them,” I say.

He waggles his eyebrows. “Three? Sounds like you need a man that can keep up with you.”

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