What Would Beyoncé Do?! Page 22
Don’t be ridiculous, why would you say hi?
Because it’s normal to say hi?
That such a stupid idea.
It’s not that stupid, I mean you said hello to the postman this morning and well, you didn’t suck him off, so maybe it wouldn’t be so weird??
OK, good point!
Just say hi.
But be breezy, breezy and casual.
Wait. Practise it first. Is ‘hi’ good? Come on, you are creative. You can do way better than hi.
Think!
Hi.
Hey.
Hello.
Hey you!
Top of the morning to ya.
Hey guv’nor (the comedians from Chicago would love that).
Areet (he’s not a Geordie, but I’m good with accents, right?).
Moo? The audiences love moo. Smegs love moo.
Fine. Just say hi, Luisa.
So you sidle up next to him at the bar and tap him on the shoulder and go for it.
‘Hi.’
He looks at you, nearly spits his drink out and says ‘All right?’ before walking off, away from you, in the opposite direction to where you are sat, he could not get away quicker. Literally pounced, a bit like Simba did in The Lion King when he was practising with his dad. Only this pounce is in the opposite direction to wherever you are. No thanks mate, I had zebra last night. Well, you didn’t, technically you had vagina, am I right ladies?! I’m digressing, abort the situation, the man has walked away.
You feel like your stomach has just sunk. All that confidence from this morning is slowly draining from your body, leaving you with flushed cheeks, but this time for all the wrong reasons.
And it’s fine, obviously it’s fine, because you were an idiot for saying hi. Should have gone with the guv’nor line! Shut up brain. It’s your fault. I don’t know why you thought it would even be OK to say anything, that was a really dumb move, you should have just played it cool, but that is your problem, you are never cool. Why couldn’t you be like last night when you were reverse cowgirl and totally in control? But no, instead here you are holding a Smirnoff Ice with a pink straw and your eyes feel like they are welling up. Fuck this shit, if you are going to cry, go to the toilets, Luisa, go to the fucking toilets. Oh, remember when you were on antidepressants and you couldn’t cry, ha, what you would give to be on then now, eh? Shut up, brain.
So you swig your Smirnoff and make your way to the ladies’ and lock yourself in a cubicle and could kick yourself that your eyes nearly watered, though you did not let a teardrop fall. Hell no, you don’t know this man, you don’t owe him anything, he certainly doesn’t get to make you cry, so you wipe that nearly smudged mascara and you think fuck this, go back out there, prop up that bar and fuck him (not in the literal sense again), show him and all the world that you don’t need his validation and he will not ruin your night now or spoil what was your conscious choice of a great night of sex.
So you come out of the toilet and bam, you walk straight into him and you think this is ridiculous, I am 33 years old, I am just going to say hi.
Luisa: Hey, how’s it going? I didn’t expect to see you so soon after this morning. *Shy laugh*
Man child: Er yeah, all right. *Walks off into the gents*
Say what? What just happened there? Did I just see him and immediately forget my plan of screw him and instead some mature adult 33-year-old normal person butted in with ‘Hey, how’s it going? I didn’t expect to see you so soon after this morning’?
How weird.
On some subconscious level, part of me assumed that because I had his balls in my mouth the night before we are no longer strangers and I should treat him as such. It was instinctive, I didn’t even plan it, it just blurted out.
And yet now here we are dealing with his subconscious. A 12-year-old man child.
Now your instinct, every fibre of your being is telling you to run after the little prick, head into the gents’ toilets, bang on the cubicle door and shout, ‘Come out here and face me, fucktard, come out here and face me. Say hello to my face, just come out and say hello to my fucking face. Cat got your tongue? That’s funny, because last night you were cupping my face and calling me beautiful, you were calling me beautiful all night long, you couldn’t stop waxing lyrical, I was getting a running commentary, and now you can’t even manage a hello? What’s changed, dickwad? Oh, the sex! Because you fucked me so you win, so you don’t need to make an effort with me any more. I get it, it’s a status thing. You fucked me, so I am dismissed; there is no reason for you to be nice to be now. Let’s talk about status, shall we fucktard, let’s talk about fucking status when it comes to sex. Technically, technically, my body let you in, I decided to open myself to you, I had the power. Technically my body ate you, fucktard, my body ate you! In the animal-kingdom scheme of things, I win, you lose! Jesus, why are you so emotionally stunted? I don’t wanna marry you, fucktard, I don’t wanna have your babies. I just want you to show me a little bit of R.E.S.P.E.C.T. and say hello to me properly when it’s been less than eight hours since I sucked your dick dry.’ *Hair flick* *Walks off*
But alas, sigh, no. You can’t do that. You can’t run after him, you can’t say any of that because if you do, well that would make you a CRAZY BITCH.
So instead when he says ‘Er yeah, all right’ you smile politely and let him go. You don’t want to kick up a fuss, no, shhh Luisa you gotta play nice, you gotta tiptoe around the alpha. Because hey ladies, maybe if you play your cards right and don’t kick up a fuss now, then he will text you on some random Tuesday in two and a half weeks’ time at 1 a.m. asking to come over for a blow job, or whatever he feels like he needs. And well, you would sure hate to miss out on that opportunity, all because you went crazy bitch on him now, so no, say nothing, just smile politely and say thank you. ‘Thank you for the opportunity.’
As if you should be fucking grateful.
Sex is fun, sex is good, it takes two to tango and the guilt felt by women is depressing. I don’t want to teach my daughter that. For too long I have felt shit about relationships and shit about the sex I have been having. It’s best if I just avoid it all for now, I would rather have nothing than be tired of feeling grateful for breadcrumbs.
25.
HOT SAUCE IN MY BAG . . . SWAG (I JUST WANT SOME)
You have to smile politely and say thank you a lot in life, not just in love. Especially if you work in entertainment. You have to play the game. Most of the people who run production companies and work as writers on TV shows are male. As I’ve said before, for every five men I met, I would meet one woman.
All the TV people I was meeting were excited about me, but it wasn’t translating into cold, hard offers. They all kept asking, ‘Great, what else have you got?!’ And I would feel bewildered; you think a show like that just gets spat out? My show was what I had. I want adverts on the underground already! Come on, spend £10k on the advertising and I promise a West End musical of ‘What Would Beyoncé Do?!’ It’s what the Spice Girls musical should have been, I’m telling you; well, me and ArtsEd Review Online, December 2012: ‘It’s what the Spice Girls musical should have been.’ I was frustrated. I can see my shows work. Audiences were losing their shit and were excited about what I had to say, and yet the only room there was for me in television was ‘Can you write topical jokes about the Daily Mail for a really exciting new panel show that’s an exact replica of every other panel show?’ It was really depressing.
ITV2 asked for a pilot version of my stage show. So Debi set me up with a production company. We started coming up with TV formats that would fit my show. It would be my own show and I could have a live audience and it was finding a way to make it feel like I wasn’t presenting. I didn’t want my debut to be TV presenting. I want to be a comedian and capture what I do in my live shows on TV. One day I came in for a meeting with my producer who had two guys with him.
‘Now Luisa, don’t panic, these are going to be your co-presenters.’
&nbs
p; What? But I’m not a presenter.
‘Yes, but look, women don’t like women, they will feel better if you have two guys. And you are not a presenter, just the three of you are “presenting” a show together, but you are still the star.’
But I don’t want to do a show with two dudes.
‘Listen Luisa, you’re not famous enough for that right now, just do what you’re told and when you are bigger you can start behaving like a little diva. For now, let’s just make this work for the pilot.’
We shot the pilot, I hated it. It was me sitting on a couch and saying, ‘Join us after the break when we will be speaking to Mary who wants to try anal sex for the first time, oooh cheeky! See you in three.’ But Debi and the producers all said it would be good practice.
We did a live show version of the pilot, which was filmed but not to go out on telly. ITV2 loved it and wanted to commission a transmittable version. I said no. They called me in for a meeting and literally were like ‘Who do you think you are? Do you have any idea how many people would bite our hand off to have this opportunity?’ And they weren’t wrong, but I didn’t want to attach my name to something I didn’t believe in. They didn’t know my audiences; my audiences would hate this.
So I just focused on what my audiences would like. I had previewed my new show ‘Am I Right Ladies?!’ about 34 times and now it was ready for Edinburgh. Simultaneously doing Beyoncé made it very difficult as I kept on comparing the two; one had been well oiled and performed for three years, the other was seven months old.
For Edinburgh this year, I was still looking after my own live work, so I went back and did ‘Am I Right Ladies?!’ on the Laughing Horse Free Festival. I could have easily done a paid venue, they would all accept my show, but I felt like I would enjoy it more if I could oversee everything. So once again I hired my own team, auditioned flyerers, got a PA on board and asked a friend to come and help me with the tech.
The room held 120 people and I was turning away the same number. It was amazing seeing the queue form around the block. I was so excited and pleased to see how far I had come from playing a 60-seater at the Meadow Bar.
I was getting four- and five-star reviews across the board, and then the big one: I got a five-star review from Steve Bennett at Chortle. They tweeted me, ‘Sound the klaxon, it’s another rare five-star review.’ I was one of three people at that point who had got five stars, fantastic! I was delighted. I’d see other comics and they would be like ‘Heard about your review, he’s not seen my show yet.’ They wouldn’t say, ‘Hey, huge congrats on the review, he hasn’t come to mine yet.’
And this is what I mean about the pressure during Edinburgh. The industry makes comedy feel like there is only room for ‘one chosen person’ at a time. It’s so difficult not to constantly compare what everyone else is doing to what you’re doing and get lost in your own head. It makes it difficult to enjoy other people’s successes because in this kind of environment, someone else’s success can feel like your failure. I know I’ve been like that myself. Anyone who has done Edinburgh has been like that.
I would then make a point of asking comics about themselves and about their shows. All comics will tell you not to buy into the awards and review nonsense, but we all do. It surrounds you. Sometimes I feel like the industry acts like a bunch of sheep. I saw it with my own Beyoncé show, as soon as one industry person came, they all started coming. Which is lovely but sometimes it’s as if a lot of the individuals involved are too scared to make their own decision about what is good. So they wait and see who is getting a buzz or some heat and then everyone jumps on the hot one. This hesitance to take a leap of faith on a variety of talent breeds an environment of jealousy and unhealthy competition.
I wish my industry took more risks and showed more faith in talent. That’s why I love my audiences so much, they have found me through good old-fashioned word of mouth, their friends told them about me. Social media has been amazing in helping me build a following. My new show was getting just as much love as my last one.
I was feeling proud and really chuffed that once again I had proved myself. Maybe this would make the difference and help me finally secure some TV. I had a follow-up show that was as solid as my first. I felt so excited!
I spent most of my evenings with either Katerina or Juice. If I didn’t see Juice out, he would drop in for a cup of tea on his way home. One week one of his girlfriends came up and he didn’t speak to me for four days, and as soon as she got on the train he called me. I was annoyed with him for going AWOL. ‘If we are just friends you would have introduced me to your girlfriend!’ He said he was sorry and that he didn’t know how to act; he’d never had a best friend that was a girl before and he’d panicked. But he would make it up to me by coming to my show that night.
I caught him as he walked in and I performed so hard. I had a killer show and afterwards he was waiting outside with Katerina and another girl. Katerina whispered to me, ‘Er I think that is Juice’s other girlfriend.’ What the actual fuck? SMH.
‘Are you fucking joking? You brought your other girlfriend? You haven’t spoken to me for a week and you knew I was upset and now you brought your other girlfriend?’
‘Yeah, I know, because you said I acted weird and I should have treated you as a friend and then she arrived just as the other one left and I didn’t want to let you down so I thought I would bring her with me.’
What the fuck am I doing? Why am I shouting at Juice for bringing his other girlfriend to my show? He kinda clicked that something had changed in me; I don’t think either of us expected me to be as upset as I was. Fuck. I got my stuff and went home.
I didn’t speak to him for a few days and just got on with doing my show. I was embarrassed as I knew now that I liked him and what’s more, now I knew that he knew that I liked him, and that was mortifying. He was meant to be my friend. He had two girlfriends; why, when I was nailing my career, did I feel like I was back at square one with Mr Unavailable? I deleted his number. I needed to leave him alone.
The nominations came out and once again I wasn’t nominated. I didn’t get it. I kept feeling like the comedy elite did not want to let me in. I don’t know why I cared or wanted their approval.
My work is accessible, it’s pop culture, it’s mainstream but it also goes deep. Sure, some press would comment on what I wear, on my accent or what my audiences are drinking. But that’s all superficial, I talk about powerful things; I talk about body image, antidepressants, sex, mental health, relationships, a woman’s sense of self. And yet all they care to mention is ‘Scantily clad female comedian performs in a bra for Bacardi Breezer hen parties.’ I feel like sometimes there is a class issue at play. It’s frustrating.
In many ways I am part of a really exciting movement in comedy. Free festival fringe acts are breaking through, so many agents are now booking their acts to do the free shows because they get it! Social media is giving artists direct contact with fans like never before, yet here I am looking for validation from the old-school system. Fuck ’em, fuck all of them. I worked harder at every show after that.
I was upset and called my mum; I couldn’t really speak to other comedians about it. Everyone who wasn’t nominated would be upset that they weren’t nominated. I really felt like I deserved it though, that I had proved that I belonged at the festival and that my shows had an impact on audiences there. My phone rang from a number I didn’t recognise and I answered.
‘What a bunch of motherfuckers, what a bunch of cock-sucking, classist, sexist, up-their-own-arse twat scum, they should be sucking your dick. I cannot believe, let me say this again, I was in shock, utter shock that you haven’t been nominated, it’s a travesty. This just proves Edinburgh is a sham. The awards are a sham. I used to think that maybe after Beyoncé they kicked themselves and they would repay you this year, but what a bunch of cock-sucking twats. A fucking insult to you and an insult to comedy. I have no time for them. Edinburgh is a sham and the awards are rigged, they will fucking r
ue the day, you watch, you watch your career, one day you will make them all look like fucking idiots.’
‘Hi Juice.’
Roll on September and Soho had booked me for a two-week run in the main house, which sold out! It got to Christmas time and I was on my second two-week sold-out run. The theatre then asked if I would like to come back and do another week in January. London audiences were coming in their hundreds and I loved them!
Debi got me a job doing TV warm-up for Mel and Sue. They had a lunchtime show and it would be my job to come and speak to the audience beforehand. I got to meet lots of exciting guests like Alan Davies and Dermot O’Leary, who were both lovely, and of course Mel and Sue were hilarious. I loved being part of the show, but I was feeling anxious in general with the direction of my career. I still didn’t have much money and because there is no set wage or salary, it can feel stressful. I wasn’t seeing financial clarity or consistency and yet I was working all the time.
I started distancing myself from Juice. He sensed it and so started contacting me more (I swear boys have like a siren for this shit . . . Quick, she’s moving on, call her!) He asked me to come and meet him at a gig one night but I politely declined. It was good; I was starting to take care of myself and do the right thing by me. So I washed all my make-up off and went to bed. Forty-five minutes later, I was fully dressed, fully made up and on my way to go find Juice. Fuck it, YOLO.
I walked into the bar he was in and all the comics were sat around a table. I saw him and asked if we could have a chat in private, and he went all Danny Zuko on me.
‘We can talk here in front of my friends.’
I started crying.
‘Why have you come here to cry?’
‘I’m not crying, I just wanted to talk to you.’
’Luisa, I’m not your boyfriend, you can’t just come here and cry on me.’
‘I’m not crying!’
‘See this pint of water, I am gonna pour it over your head in three . . . two . . . one . . .’