What Would Beyoncé Do?! Read online

  Eventually I found my finale and it’s brilliant – but I don’t wanna ruin the surprise for you.

  As I got more confident with the show and booked in more previews, I asked Juice if he wanted to come along and be my support act. Basically someone to go on first and do ten minutes of material just to warm them up a little bit. I would go on first, say hello and then introduce my support act as my guest. I liked doing it like that, because my audiences had come to see my show but by me introducing Juice, it showed that he was my guest and I wanted my audience to love him. Sounds like a long way round to do it, but it works.

  Now normally when I do new material I say something along the lines of ‘Guys, this is going to be new material. Now you know when you get a newborn baby and it tries to walk, just a little baby, trying to walk, and sometimes it might fall over and hurt itself. When that happens you don’t go “Ahh you’re a shit baby, I’m gonna throw you into the river” . . . no, you go “Ahh don’t worry baby, just try again, keep going, keep going!!!” I just want you to think of that analogy when I do my jokes!’

  The audience like it and it settles me into their expectations. I opened with that joke, then introduced Juice to do a short set before I tried the new show. He did his set, my audience loved him, and that’s hard because they don’t love everyone. Afterwards he said, ‘Now, don’t listen to Luisa and her “just a little baby” crap, she’s phenomenal and I know she is going to kill it.’ The whole room went awwwww and looked over at me. I mimed a humping-the-air action.

  I did my preview and got a standing ovation. After that I booked Juice for most of my previews. I felt more confident that I had something to talk about beyond Beyoncé. Not all of the previews went well, but that’s part of the process.

  I remember doing one particular preview in Brighton. A woman came up and said, ‘I saw Beyoncé and have brought six of my friends! We are so excited to see you!’ They left the room at the end of the preview and avoided all eye contact. It felt like shit, that feeling. I had to work harder.

  Valentine’s came round again and I booked in another party show. I’d had my confidence knocked a bit because of the ‘Am I Right Ladies?!’ previews, so I booked in to do Beyoncé again. I love doing Beyoncé; nothing gives me greater joy. I wanted ‘Am I Right’ to feel like that. I booked out Concrete again and we just had a ball, I loved my Valentine’s parties.

  In the day, no TV stuff was happening and if I wasn’t doing shows or previews I didn’t have much else going on so, Juice encouraged me to go to the gym. He said I could watch him work out. Joy.

  We’re in the gym, riding next to each other on the bikes:

  Juice: You see, I know what my drawbacks are, and that’s empowering, always know your own weaknesses.

  Luisa: (trying not to sound out of breath): Yeah, weaknesses.

  Juice: So like my only faults are a) I still live with my mum and b) I haven’t got a job, but apart from that, I am a catch.

  Luisa: (laughs really hard, too hard): Well what do you think my flaws are?

  Juice: Well first off, I think you’re too fussy.

  Luisa: I’m not fussy. I love having sex with guys who are unemployed or still live at their mum’s house. *Winks*

  Juice: And secondly, I think you might be too clingy to guys when they first meet you.

  Luisa: (goes quiet): Really.

  Juice: Yeah, like last week, every day texting ‘Juice can we go to the gym, Juice can we go to the gym.’

  Luisa: (welling up, embarrassed and avoiding eye contact): Yeah, but that’s because I really wanted to train.

  Juice: Yeah, but you don’t ring at like one in the morning.

  Luisa: But that’s because I had just done a gig. *Starts crying*

  Juice: Oh my days, what are you crying for?

  Luisa: (clearly crying): I’m not crying, I’m just sweating really hard.

  Juice: Come here. *Gives her a one-armed cuddle*

  Luisa: It’s just I haven’t really got anyone to hang out with at the moment and you kinda became the highlight of my week.

  Juice: OK, see this bottle of water? I’m gonna pour it over your head.

  Luisa: OK.

  (Juice slowly pours bottle of water over Luisa’s crying sweaty head. She just lets him, and then smiles feebly.)

  Luisa: I knew you liked me.

  Juice threatening to pour water over my head became a thing.

  In the time I was previewing ‘Am I Right Ladies?!’ I got invited out to Montreal to the Just for Laughs festival, one of the most prestigious comedy festivals in the entire world. When I got the news, my friends were elated and other comics were jealous. Just for Laughs is where people get discovered; you get famous if you get invited on Just for Laughs.

  I thought it was best to move out of my London pad as I couldn’t afford the rent for the time I would be away, plus the lease was nearly up. So Juice helped me pack, loaded it all into the car for me and moved it to a storage unit. That was the kinda stuff we did, hung out, went to the gym, packed my things, he drove me places. Maybe I did want a boyfriend; I don’t know what is so wrong with saying that. It felt nice to have a guy around, but not Juice? No, he was an idiot, he had two girlfriends. He kept suggesting I do online dating, that I needed to put myself out there but the thought of Tinder or Guardian Soulmates filled me with dread. Plus the last guy I had sex with had a husband. It would probably be best if I avoided love altogether. Why couldn’t dating be easier, like old-school, wear a miniskirt, drink a few Smirnoff Ices and pull someone on the dance floor? Where was this penis-offering dance floor?

  I don’t know, even once you catch a dick, there’s more issues to contend with. Here’s something that annoys me about the whole sex thing.

  You know when you meet a guy and you bring him back to your place and you’re about to make love for the first time and you’re a little bit nervous, you’re a bit like ‘Ooh, I hope it fits!’ It does, it’s fine, I am actually surprisingly accommodating, apart from with Egor, that took ages . . . I digress. You have a mad night of passionate, headboard-banging, back-arching, body-wriggling sex. And to be honest, you don’t even know his name, so you are just calling him ‘hun’ but he keeps calling you ‘babe’, so fuck it, you’re playing the same console.

  The sex is amazing and he leaves first thing in the morning; well someone’s got to drive the bus, oi oi! You run downstairs to your flatmates or your mum, whoever you live with. ‘Oh my God!! I had the most amazing time!’ And after a night of intimacy with someone, especially if it was good, if you are anything like me you are going to want to feel close to that person, maybe to see them again, so you say to your flatmate ‘I think I’m gonna text him.’

  Cue tumbleweed.

  Flatmate: Text him? You can’t text him.

  Me: Course I can, I’m just gonna text him and say hi.

  Flatmate: Are you fucking mental, that is way too keen and desperate, he will think you are a psycho.

  Me: If I text him, he’ll think I’m a psycho?

  Flatmate: Yes, he’s a dude remember, let him chase you, you got to let him feel like the alpha male.

  Me: Alpha male? Why does he get to be the alpha? What does that make me? Omega 3? I am not a fish!

  Flatmate: Look, if you text him now, it will just come across as too forward and you’ll make it really awkward. Don’t be such a whore, just let him chase you.

  Too awkward? The guy fucked me so hard my vagina farted, yet sending him a text message is where it gets awkward? I have never understood this rationale. In bed I am encouraged to be sexual and in control (or submissive depending on the role play), yet when it comes to the next morning, it’s like we’re back to 1812.

  How come in every other aspect of my life I am encouraged to get everything I want – strive for my education, strive for my career, buy my own car, buy my own house, it’s the year of Beyoncé, bitches, go get it – but when it comes to the morning after sex, oh hell no, bitch, sit down and know your place, You’
ll scare the man.

  I have never nailed this sex game. I am rubbish at games, I don’t like lies and I like being frank and upfront. Some people think it’s mental, I just think it’s honest. Hey, like showing up outside your house with your favourite Five Guys and leaving it on the doorstep when you’re not in. I like coming round whilst you are at work and cleaning your flat and rearranging your room for you. I like sucking your dick dry and being really enthusiastic when you are fucking me. These are the things I like to do with someone I like. Why does that make me mental? Deal with it, dickhead!

  I hate these bullshit games. I have had sex with you but now I can’t text you? I have to wait for you to text me? Just wait, sit on your hands, I don’t care how long it takes, don’t give in to temptation to say ‘Hi, How r u?!’ No, no, fight it Luisa, fight it, let the man be the alpha, let the man be the alpha!!! Be the strong independent woman you are and just sit wide awake until your eyes start bleeding. Never text the man, let the man text you.

  Jog on dickhead, if we are close enough for you to rim me, we are close enough for me to text you first.

  Anyway I digress . . . So I am avoiding love and continue making love to my career. I arrive in Montreal. It’s the Just For Laughs comedy festival, and I had been booked not for a showcase but for a ten-night run of my whole solo show. This was huge. It’s an invitation-only festival; people’s careers have been made in Montreal. Well at least in the ’80s they had. Oh my goodness, this is it. If I can nail these shows maybe they would invite me to America, maybe I could get on The View! My dream of meeting Whoopi would be realised!

  I was on so early, 6.30 p.m., but I was going to give it my all. On opening night I played to 12 people. I did my usual spiel of ‘I need a warm-up act . . .’ and a young woman jumped on stage and said ‘I’m a comic, it’s OK’ and pushed me to the side. Oh God, it’s like LA all over again. Why, America, why?! Shit, I am in Canada, OK this isn’t helping me. I watched in shock as she started doing jokes, then said ‘Oh here is something about Beyoncé’ and gestured at me.

  The most awkward start to a show ever. I continued and had just got to the sad part of the show, where I talk about my brother and Christmas. I did the punchline and they didn’t laugh. They did not like my depression section at all, this was not funny. They didn’t get the irony, at which point the warm-up woman jumped up on stage, wrapped her arms around me whilst simultaneously taking off my head mic, then whispering in to it . . . ‘Your sense of humour is awful but it’s all going to be OK.’

  Looks like The View will have to wait. I did find a relationship in Montreal though, just not a sexy one, well I mean, it’s kinda sexy. Tatiana was out there, remember Tat? The manager from LA? She came to see me perform to 12 people; it was the night after I played to a school of 29 French kids. She still wanted to sign me. I was like, shit, well if you can handle me in my room of 12 people eating a Subway, then I want you on board for when I have my sold-out stadium.

  I rocked up to her room one afternoon and asked her to call my phone, which was on her bed; her number came up as ‘Tatiana My Manager’ and that is the most romantic commitment I had ever made.

  That night I had a late-night spot to practise a five-minute set for a gala I was doing. I went on stage and didn’t do great, then came back to the green room and sat feeling awkward whilst all the big comics were coming in and high-fiving each other and I just felt like a twat who had bombed trying to do cow impressions. What idiot does cow impressions?! I felt such a fraud being in that room. These guys were all pros, ahead of their game, the best of the best and I can’t even moo properly. SMH. My eyes were starting to well up when Adam Hills came over and introduced himself. I knew who he was; I told him there was no point in him knowing my name as I was awful and had just died. He patted me on the arm and said not to worry about dying and it happens to all of us. He said he would love to chat longer but he had to go and do his spot.

  I watched him walk on stage and he bombed. And oh it made me so happy. He came running up to me and gave me the biggest hug and said, ‘I can’t believe I just gave you advice about dying and then just died so hard, God that’s painful!’ We both laughed and in that moment we became great friends. I love him. That’s the thing about stand-up, no matter how big or great you get, every now and then comedy can always remind you who is in charge.

  Thankfully my bad luck didn’t continue. The following night I performed at the gala and got to do a late-night set for a night hosted by the girls from Broad City. I was so nervous. I was wearing a pink dress which I didn’t realise was see-through from the back so you could see my black thong and my cellulite. I went out and did my five minutes and the crowd were whooping and cheering. I was so relieved. I looked up and guess who was stood in the balcony. I recognised him in the shadows and almost did a double take. It was Klaus, he was leaning against the pillar and smiling down at me. I hadn’t realised he had also been invited out to the festival. Ha, how things had come full circle, here he was watching me kill it and he was smiling and I, well I didn’t care. I didn’t care one single bit. I didn’t have time to. I didn’t look at him or acknowledge him, this was no time to concentrate on boys, I had to concentrate on the audience in front of me and I did and I killed it. So once again, hello comedy, reminding me how beautiful and magical you truly are.

  24.

  BAT-SHIT CRAY (CRAY)

  Back in London and sleeping on my friend’s couch, the universe was looking out for me, and my gorgeous friend who has a place in north London, a room with an ensuite, is like ‘Luisa, it’s yours, move in and have it for cheap.’

  I move in with two hoots, Kat and Sophie, and we have so much fun dancing around in our pants. I have finally found somewhere that feels like a real home in central London and it makes all the difference. I have girls to hang out with!

  Only thing is, the flat is amazing, but my room is at the back and on a corner, so I have all outside walls, and three massive windows, all single-glazed. The room soaks up heat in the summer but I feel absolutely freezing in the winter. The flat is perfect in every other way, I’m not moving out and try to find a solution. I got a standalone heater but in one month it cost me an extra £260 in electricity. Oh FFS.

  I read up online and buy shitloads of cling film and cover my windows with it. Yes I have sell-out shows, yes I have performed in New York, Montreal, LA, but I am still just a normal girl with £800 in her bank account and doing a budget double-glazing job with cling film on the windows.

  Who needs a guy around when I have cling film? I just wanted to keep focusing on being on my own for a bit. OK, so I hadn’t had sex more than once in two years, but my career was taking off: in the last year I had travelled to LA, New York, Singapore, Montreal, Thailand. It was incredible. I read in a book once about how if you want to succeed, you have to put all your energy into something, and that includes your sexual energy. You know like how footballers can’t have sex the night before a game to improve their performance? Well it’s kinda the same for me, but instead of me kicking a ball, my audience were having a ball, and instead of not having sex the day before a show, I hadn’t seen a dick in months. But I was fucking my audiences’ brains out. That’s where my sexual energy was going.

  It’s my biggest fear or regret, not having more sex. It feels like everyone I know goes home to someone, gets it regularly and has that partner to lean on. I can go for years without. When I have it, I love it, like I love to taste it, smell it, enjoy every second of it. I love teabagging; teabagging is one of my favourite things. Can. Not. Get. Enough. So can you imagine my pain when I haven’t had any balls in my mouth for over two years? Two years! ‘But Luisa, that just shows what great self-discipline you have.’ Babe, none of this is by choice, I have no self-discipline. I tried low carb once; three days later I was eating ice cream with a fork.

  I miss sex. I love sex. But every time I had sex, it always seemed to go wrong and I would go mental. Let’s set the scene. You meet a guy, you go out fo
r some drinks, you have a great evening, he is being charming and calling you beautiful, you are being charming and laughing at all his jokes. Even though you write better ones, hello cows?! Don’t turn your nose up at cows; cow jokes bought my mum a Smeg fridge, remember?

  One cosmo leads to another and you end up fucking him. Or not; maybe you just get fingered, it’s your prerogative babe, whatever you wanna do. He leaves first thing and you go about your day with a spring in your step. You didn’t even get his number, doesn’t matter if you don’t see him again, the sex was amazing. Like it felt good to remember what your cunt feels like from the inside. And to have naked skin on naked skin, and to be kissed, touched and held. It was just nice. But you don’t need to see him again.

  You are walking round feeling confident, attractive, oozing an air of positivity and glow. It’s nice to be fucked sometimes, it’s healing.

  You go to meet your friends in a bar to tell them all the details about how you didn’t even cry. Before or after. You are a legend. Oh yes, they are going to high-five the shit out of you, but then you remember they have proper jobs so you have to wait a couple of hours. So you prop up the bar and order a cosmo. ‘What do you mean you don’t do cocktails? What kind of establishment is this?! Fine, I’ll have a Smirnoff Ice, with a straw, yes I am 33, and make it a pink one.’

  Then who do you see at the side of the bar? ONLY THE GUY YOU FUCKED THIS MORNING! And this is where it starts. The conversation. Not with someone else. The one in your brain. The internal monologue that you should never ever say out loud: the one where on the inside you are on fire but on the outside you try to make sure the straw from the Smirnoff Ice goes in your mouth and not in your eye.

  Fuck fuck fuck, act natural.

  Fuck, thank God I have my face on, just play it cool.

  Pretend you have not seen him.

  Don’t be ridiculous, why would you do that?

  Why don’t you just say hi?