The Entertainer

A high-school talent show and a case of nerves. What more need be said?

Senior Year Talent Show. The best part of senior year, as far as Bill was concerned. He'd been waiting all year for this. His moment to shine. To knock the socks off the competition. To show everyone what a versatile talent he was. To impress Jenifer Robins, who'd been in his eye since Sophomore year.

He'd open with a banjo solo, and follow that with a couple of jokes. Then he'd blow them away with his silky baritone voice, singing one of the more popular songs of that year. But first he had to wait backstage for seven other acts. Damned luck of the draw, anyway. He was nervous, and wanted to get out there as soon as possible.

First up was Marty Dickson, reciting a few poems he'd written, while circling the stage on roller skates. Then came Julie Carver doing modern dance. For a while after that Bill had no idea who was on stage, because he was pacing about in the hall, practicing his delivery.

"You're up next, Bill," came a voice behind him. His head jerked about, and he tried to answer, but all that came out was a raspy squeak.

On stage, he avoided eye contact with the audience, fighting to calm his nerves. He started his banjo solo, but stopped after several seconds because he'd forgotten to tune the instrument. "What do you call a barber who has no hair?" He decided he'd better jump right into the next segment.

"Bald," one rude boy called from the third row. A girl next to him laughed, while three or four others said "sshhhh!"

Bill froze for a moment, his momentum broken. But an idea hit him - incorporate the remark into his joke. That would provide a segue. Staring at the rude boy, he said, "Other than the obvious, you'd call him de...deg...uh....." He'd lost it. "Uhhh..." And suddenly an out-of-tune banjo solo became the denouement to Bill's career as an entertainer.