Festival: Chapter 3
There are few problems a plate of chocolate chip cookies won't solve
Riff Randell
“Hey Hannah, what are the idiots doing out front?” Porter asked, as she and her girlfriend Cole came through the front door of Riff Randell, Eriksville, and the surrounding area’s one and only comedy club.
Hannah rolled her eyes as she answered, “You know when I got back from the hospital I let Jacob know he couldn’t live here at the club anymore? Well, he decided we owed him half the business. So he and his little friends are protesting my unfair treatment of him.” Mars looked up, tired, and then looked back down at the paperwork he was struggling to finish before the start of the volunteer meeting.
“Unfair treatment? What the fuck? He had a free place to live for three months and did massive…” before Porter could say ‘amounts of cocaine.’ she noticed the intense stare and slow head shake from Mars. “… and did massive damage to the reputation of this place.”
Hannah flashed Mars a smirk.
“What are you gonna do?” Cole asked.
“Oh, I’m baking ‘em cookies.” Hannah answered matter of factly as she lifted the plate she’d just finished stacking with chocolate chip cookies and headed out to the little circle of protestors in cargo shorts and Wu-Tang t-shirts. They were half heartedly chanting “Riff Randell Unfair” and kicked it up a notch when they saw her coming out.
“We’re not going anywhere!” Jacob barked.
“That’s fine. It’s a free country.” Hannah answered. “You guys want some cookies?”
“No, we don’t want your fuckin’ cookies!” Jacob laughed. His four friends gathered around Hannah, grabbing cookies.
At six feet tall she was able to maintain eye contact with him as his friends’ loyalty was easily bought. She had on a Grateful Dead Lithuanian basketball jersey, her hair pulled into a long braid that hung down her back, and was managing to come across both laid back and completely in control at the same time.
“You guys stay as long as you want. And if any of you want to come in and chat you’re welcome, or just come in and see some comedy. As far as I’m concerned, we’re all friends here, even if we’re friends having a disagreement.” she said as the last cookie was taken. “Enjoy your protest.”
“Hey, I didn’t even get a cookie.” Jacob said, his friends now eating cookies and looking at the posters for that weekend’s shows. It being the week of their annual Riff Randell Comedy Festival, they had some great talents rolling in. “Fuck.”
Watching Jacob wander off down Erikville’s main street alone, the old gold rush era buildings gave Hannah a smile at the thought that he looked like a vanquished foe in a spaghetti western. This scenario made her the faster gunslinger who drew first and shot his pistol right out of his hand. She walked back into the club as Mars was hanging his clipboard on its designated nail behind the bar having finished mapping out the volunteer schedule for the weekend. With dozens of comics coming in to perform at eight different venues it was a lot to organize. “You’re little cocaine buddy is gone for now.” she said sharply, causing him to wince. “Let’s get the bar ready.”
“It’s ready” he answered, quickly adding “but by all means, give it a once over.”
She knew Mars was in repentance mode, trying to hang onto his marriage, and to his club. She was still pissed about the situation she’d come home to. Things had spiraled quickly out of control, he’d explained to her. He had been worried sick about her when she was in the hospital. While trying to manage the panic of his wife, the mother of his children, being dangerously sick, he was also trying to run the club and take care of the house, their teenage son, three dogs, two cats, and one bearded dragon, on his own for the first time. That’s the moment when Jacob showed up with a willingness to help, and a source of extra energy. It was more than he could resist. Before he knew it they were both living at the club, and doing an untenable amount of cocaine. She saw that he was embarrassed and frustrated with himself that he’d failed so monumentally at managing his life on his own and was now determined to “Yes, and” his way back into the life they’d shared six very long months earlier, the life that suddenly crashed around him when his wife was diagnosed with a bum kidney. She wasn’t ready to jump back in time as if he hadn’t monumentally let her down.
But for now she would focus on the festival. They desperately needed it to make enough money to get them out of the hole they were in, which meant it had to earn at least fifteen percent more than the year before, according to Hannah’s math.
During all of this drama Porter and Cole were a godsend to both of them and to the club. Cole was built strong with broad shoulders, short blonde hair, and a loud, generous laugh. She’d finally gotten up the nerve to start performing at the open mics last year. She was already well known in the comedy scene having been a reliable and enthusiastic fan and an avid volunteer at the club for the 4 years they’d been in business. She still considered herself more fan than comic.
Cole met Porter at the first Riff Randell fest and they started dating. They were similar in build and height, about five foot, eight, but Porter had brown, shoulder length hair, and wore more collared shirts and less tie-dyed band tees. Hannah liked to say that Porter was the yin to Cole’s yang. Maybe it was the magical coincidence of their combined first names forming the name of a beloved American songwriter and queer icon that spurred them to throw caution to the wind; one month and six dates after they first met they realized they’d fallen deeply and irrevocably in love and they moved in together. When Hannah went into the hospital, and Mars began his spiral, they both stepped up becoming almost full time volunteers to help keep the club afloat.
Hannah was working on giving Cole some paid hours. Porter pulled back a bit to concentrate on finishing up her journalism degree, but this weekend neither of them planned on sleeping much. Comedy Fest weekend was a highlight of their year. They’d be seeing many of their favorite comedians, and had even agreed to having one sleeping in their spare bedroom. Hanna pulled out another plate of cookies and put it on the volunteer table for them. She hoped they knew how much she appreciated them. It was less than two hours until the first show, and anxious excitement was in the air as the four of them worked speedily and cheerfully to an old school hip hop playlist preparing the empty club for the crowd that would soon start lining up outside. This camaraderie in the calm before the storm was Hannah’s favorite part of owning a comedy club.
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