The Amazing Randy Judges a Slut-Off

The Amazing Randy Judges A "Slut-Off"

Randy Baumgardner pulled his rental car into the parking lot of The Twirling Bull and turned off the ignition. He opened the trunk and withdrew a medium suitcase, a hatbox, and a small make-up case before locking the car and making for the entrance to the club. After setting down the suitcase, Randy fumbled with the door as he balanced his remaining load in a single hand. A young man dressed in black with a white apron across his waist held the door open and Randy pulled in his things. "I'm here to see Stan," announced the fortyish brown-haired performer. "He's expecting me." The young waiter left to fetch his boss and Randy took the opportunity to give the place the once over.

The Bull, as the locals called it, was a typical supper club. The kitchens and bar were in the back of the building, as far away from the stage as possible. There was a small sign that said "Office" on a wooden door to the immediate right of the bar just as you walked in.

Fifty or so tables spread out along two tiers inside the central dining space. The stage was unremarkable, larger than some, but not expansive, more or less typical for a supper club venue. Randy had been in scores of clubs just like it.

"Stan" was Stanley McFadden, the owner of The Twirling Bull. Randy had never actually met Stan, but he'd agreed to fill a small opening in his annual national tour by headlining at Stan's club for four nights as a favor to Pepe Martinez, owner of Pepe's Punchline, in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Randy had known Pepe professionally for over a decade and the two had developed a genuine friendship over that time.

Randy Baumgardner, professionally known as "The Amazing Randy, The World's Greatest Stage Hypnotist," was a staple on the small-to-middle sized club circuit, the equivalent of baseball's minor leagues, or Formula Two racing, and was one level below the more famous national venues in Las Vegas, New York and Los Angeles. Actually, San Antonio was a bit bigger city than Randy was used to playing.

The Amazing Randy's act was a deftly woven combination of comedy and hypnotism, similar to other stage hypnotism shows, but with one major caveat. Other stage hypnotists relied on deception and misdirection to keep the audience from seeing that the performer had no real hypnotic abilities. Randy used deception and misdirection as well, but in the case of The Amazing Randy's performances, the sleight of hand was designed to keep the audience from seeing that Randy's "hypnotic powers" were real. For well over a decade, Randy Baumgardner had been able to access anyone's innermost thoughts by simply making skin-to-skin contact. Additionally, his power extended to behavioral control via hypnotic suggestion, except in Randy's case his "suggestions" were literally commands, commands with no expiration date, if he chose to give them that way. Show business was the perfect place to both use his abilities and to hide them in plain sight.

Randy's shows sold out wherever he played. Stan knew this and was genuinely happy to be on Randy's tour, if only as a fill-in. Randy had never been to The Twirling Bull, which had been a mainstay in San Antonio's nightlife scene for years, but it seemed like a natural place to fill-in a few nights as Randy worked his way south and east from Albuquerque. He was happy to do Pepe a "solid." Pepe knew Stan well, so when Stan had called Pepe to ask if he could help him fill a vacancy in the schedule, Pepe had asked Randy if he had any openings as he headed east.

As it turned out, he did.

Sometimes Randy's tour lasted as many as ten months and during that time, the comedian averaged only a few days off each month. Randy served as his own agent and tour manager, using the off season to conduct the business side of show-business. He drove rental cars from one gig to the next, not because he couldn't afford to fly or was afraid of flying, but because he enjoyed seeing the country and meeting people as he traversed it.

Each year he would schedule one or two new venues just to inject some novelty into the well-established tour routine. In addition, he scheduled as many as three or sometimes four short breaks over the tour's duration and he was butting up against a short three-day break which he had intended to take visiting Texas' hill country. Now, that would have to wait at least until next year. For this unforeseen insertion of extra dates, Randy had elected to leave the rental car in San Antonio and then fly on to Little Rock after the four night stand. He'd driven across Texas before. It was a long two-day drive. Skipping it was an easy call.

When the owner emerged from behind the office door, he extended his hand and the hypnotist took it. "Nice to finally meet you Randy," said the club owner.

"Likewise," said the performer.

"Your things have been taken to the dressing room which is right behind this door and down a short hallway on the left. Another series of halls will take you backstage from there. You know the drill. How about a small drink and then I'll give you the cook's tour? The sound man and light man are due in later this afternoon. They're good and will do what you'd like when you'd like it. It shouldn't take more than half an hour to prep for the show. The curtain rises at eight. In the meantime how about I get you that drink?"

"I'd love a scotch and soda with lots of ice, thank you."

Reach For the Sky!

The two men were sitting at the bar sharing their drink, when the door to The Bull swung wide open and a man, roughly dressed and wearing a ski mask rushed in brandishing a pistol. Before he could say "hands up", or "nobody move" Randy was off the bar stool speaking calmly to the obviously nervous intruder.

"Hey," he said, "no need for guns."

"Open the register!"

Stan rose to go behind the bar to obey the robber's command. "I'm telling you right now that the register's empty. The cash drawers are all gone. We just had our bank pick-up. There is no money."

"Open the fucking register."

Randy took a baby step closer to the criminal. Instantly the robber turned his head and his attention away from the club owner and focused on the slowly advancing stage performer. "Take another step and you're dead."

Randy raised his hands over his shoulders saying "No problem. You're in charge."

Stan turned to reach under the counter, but before he could fetch a concealed weapon, the nervous bandit twirled and fired. Down went the club owner behind the bar. "Fuck! You shot me, you asshole!" cursed the voice behind the bar. Instantly, Randy grabbed the bare arm of the intruder and simply said "Stop." The robber froze and Randy seized the weapon and threw it across the floor. Just then, Stan came up from behind the bar. He was bleeding from his left shoulder, but he held a snub nosed.38 revolver in his right hand.

"You Mother Fucker! Get your ass face-down on the ground spread eagle or I'll drop you where you stand." As the owner came around from behind the bar, Randy touched his arm and asked, "Stan, are you OK?"

"Yeah, but I'm bleeding a little."

Randy commanded Stan to pay attention. "Stan, the police are going to show up here any minute. The media will be here very soon after that, including local TV and radio. I'm going back to put on my stage make-up before they get here. It's a very important part of my act that people do not get to see the real me. You will say that I was here, but that I had my make-up on for a rehearsal with the sound and light techs."

Turning to the robber, he said. "You have never seen me without make-up. When I return, you will recognize me as the man who disarmed you. Say you understand."

"Yes, I get it."

It had been less than a minute since the gunshot, when Randy entered the hall and found the dressing room containing his things. In five more, he opened the door to the scene and rejoined Stan, who sat on a barstool while a bartender bandaged his arm. The wound was bloody, but not serious. The robber was crouched on the floor curled up in the fetal position. Stan said "I told him not to move."

"What did you do?"

"He kicked me in the nuts!" moaned the cringing criminal.

"I told him not to move."

"Just then, two policemen came to the door. After surveying the scene and learning that the encounter had been between Stan, Randy, and the man on the floor, the police cordoned off the area with crime scene tape and Stan was treated by an EMT, but refused to be transported to the hospital. Reporters gathered outside the building as Randy and the owner stepped outside. There were half a dozen microphones and as many mini cassette recorders at the ready.

"Mr. McFadden," said a tall black-haired TV news reporter, "can you tell us what happened?"

"Yes, but before I do, may I first apologize to my patrons who were expecting to attend tonight's show? Obviously, the show cannot go on. Anyone who would like a refund can call the box office tomorrow and we will get your money back to you." Stan related the events while Randy, now in his stage wig and moustache, stood next to him surveying the crowd. All four TV stations were represented by on-screen talent. It had been a "slow news day" so the attempted robbery was moved to the lead story slot on the nightly news.

Stan had bled and that meant that his story led.

Stan had described the incident and how he and Randy, who he described as "The Amazing Randy" had turned the tables on the nervous criminal, conveniently leaving out the kick in the cajons. The microphones swiveled to Randy. "Excuse me, Randy," asked one of the print journalists, "can you spell your last name for us?"

"I should think so. I've been doing it for years," deadpanned the comedian. A couple of the cameramen stifled a laugh.

"I am 'The Amazing Randy, the World's Greatest Stage Hypnotist.' You may call me Randy."

Another female TV reporter, a short attractive blonde advanced her microphone as she asked Randy for his side of the story, which he related calmly. "Yes," he said, "after Stan was shot, I saw an opportunity and knocked the gun out of the shooter's hand. It was a reflex reaction. Luckily Stan's injury wasn't life-threatening, and when he came up from behind the bar with the.38, the matter was decided: Good Guys: 1, Bad Guy: 0."

"You seem awfully calm for a man who just dodged a bullet. Has anything like this happened to you before?"

"No, but then again, when you do live entertainment on stage like I do, strange things can happen suddenly. I've been heckled many, many times, but nobody has actually opened fire. You sort of get used to being fast on your feet. I didn't pause to think. I just saw an opening and took it. Luckily, it all turned out for the good."

"This is my first trip to San Antonio. It seems like a friendly enough place, if you're willing to ignore the occasional gun-toting whack job, that is," he said smiling.

"May I say something? I just met Stan not two hours ago, so I'm not sure if this is OK with him, but if Stan is willing, I would be happy to tack an extra show on Saturday night. I promised four nights to him and I deliver on my promises. That OK with you, Stan?"

Stan said, "That's great, Randy, thanks."

Turning back to Randy, the blonde asked him to describe his act.

"What act?" He asked smiling. "It's more like a public demonstration of my hypnotic abilities, which are substantial, by the way."

"Uh huh," said the pert blonde, barely hiding her skepticism behind a manufactured on-air smile.

"I get a lot of that, Miss," said the comedian/hypnotist.

"Care to give us a little demonstration for the TV audience?"

"Miss," said Randy, I am a "professional" hypnotist. If you doubt my abilities, may I suggest that you come to one of my demonstrations here at The Twirling Bull if you're interested? We just added a Saturday night show. Please come, but I'm sorry to tell you that all recordings of any kind, including photographs, are prohibited at my demonstrations."

The media finished up recording and the camera crews began packing up for the afternoon. Stan and Randy hung around talking to some of the print journalists. Randy felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. When he turned around it was the black-haired TV newswoman who had asked Stan the first question. She was attractive in a TV personality kind of way, except he was in Texas and in Texas, everything is bigger and better. Ask any Texan.

"May I help you?" asked the hypnotist.

"Actually, I was hoping that I might be able to help you."

"How so?"

"Well," she said, "you say that you're new in town and now that you have an unexpected opening in your schedule, I thought you might like to go out for a drink this evening. I hope I'm not being too forward, but I find your story interesting and I suspect that the man behind the make-up is too. What do you say?"

"Sounds good to me. Why don't we start with our names? You already know mine," he said. "I'm sure that your viewers all know your name, but I'm not from around these parts."

She extended her hand which Randy shook. "I'm Stella, Stella Jackson, TV-4 News."

Randy released her hand and said, "Not tonight, I hope."

"Sorry about the 'TV News' part," she said, "force of habit. I promise to leave the microphone at home."

A handshake takes at most, what, five seconds? That was more than enough for Randy to conduct a thorough search of the lanky reporter's mind. She was genuinely interested in the performer, intrigued by his insistence that he was the real deal. She couldn't imagine how that could be true, but she was willing to take an evening to see if she could ferret-out the answers to her questions.

Randy didn't give two hoots about whether or not Stella Jackson ever got the answers to her questions. He was searching for the answers to his questions. Was she single? Yes. Was sexuality a significant part of her life? It was. Did she have a husband or a "significant other?" No, she did not. Had she ever picked up anyone for a one-night stand? Yes, she had, on more than one occasion. In many ways, her sex life was similar to his own. Despite being highly sexual, Stella was a public figure who had to guard her privacy closely, lest the reporter become the news herself.

"Randy, do you like Mexican food?"

"I do."

"In that case, would you like to swap 'drinks' for 'dinner'? San Antonio has the finest Mexican food in the Southwest. It's three o'clock now. I'll be done wrapping this segment up by five. It will lead the broadcast at six and eleven, unless something happens before then. Here," she said as she wrote on the back of her business card, "this is the address of La Casa d'Espana. It's a second-floor walk-up, mom and pop restaurant. I know the chef there. Their evening cuisine is actually Spanish food, but they do Mexican for the lunch menu. I grew up in town and Casa d'Espana is the best in San Antonio. If I ask, he'll make us a platter. His chile rellenos are to die for."

"I'm in," said the hypnotist, smiling. "Thanks. This day is getting better already. How about seven o'clock?"

"Fine," said the reporter extending her hand a second time, and matching his smile, "seven it is. I'll see you there at seven."

Without releasing her hand, The Amazing Randy leaned in and whispered in her ear. "Stella," he said, "until I speak the words 'I release you' you will obey me completely. Smile and nod if you understand." She did.

"Tonight, when you get ready to go out, you will dress provocatively both on the outside and under your clothes. You will prepare your place as if you expect to return with a lover. You will tell nobody about the nature of these instructions or the fact that I have given them to you. Finally, you will always answer all of my questions truthfully."

He released her and smiled. "Stella, I am looking forward to our evening together."

"Me too," said Stella as she returned to the "NewsCenter 4" mobile van. Randy watched her ass move side to side as her high heels clicked on the parking lot pavement. Stella was a very well-proportioned woman. He smiled as he visualized the long-legged reporter naked. Tonight was going to be fun.

Eventually, all of the witness statements had been taken, the would-be robber cuffed and stuffed into the back seat of a cruiser, and the mess, which was confined to the area behind the bar, cleaned. Randy and Stan sat at one of the tables nursing a well-deserved drink.

Stan looked across the table at his headliner. "So, Randy, how do you like San Antonio so far?" They both broke into a smile. "Jesus, Randy, I'm sorry you had to be here for that."

"Stan," he said, "I've never been in a gunfight before but I guess if you're gonna be in a gunfight, San Antonio is about the best place to do it. I'm already mulling over ways to work it into the act. Comedy never sleeps." He began singing the Marty Robbins classic... "Down in the west Texas town of... he hesitated... San Antonio, I fell in love with a Mexican girl..." Again, they both laughed. The song was about El Paso, not San Antonio.

"Randy," said the club owner, "two things. First, thanks for adding the extra night. Pepe told me that you had altered your whole itinerary to come down here. I hope that you're not regretting it. By the way, where are you staying while you're here?"

"I'm checking into the Hilton as soon as I leave. They already have my reservation."

"I insist that you allow me to pick up the tab for your stay."

"Stan, you don't have to do that..."

"Yes, I do. What's more, I want to pay for a room upgrade... and your flight out on Sunday is on The Bull. Please accept this gift, Randy. We both know that if you weren't here, I might be dead."

"Sure, Stan. Thank you."

"You know that this guarantees a sell-out, right? The place is going to be packed all four nights," said the wounded club owner.

"They always are, Stan."

"Provocative" Defined

Randy checked-in at the Hilton, where, true to Stan's word, he'd been upgraded to a suite by the club owner. As soon as he closed the door he flopped down on the king-sized bed and took a deep breath. He re-played the events of the afternoon in his mind.

Randy had a healthy respect for guns. During his time working for Hudson Amusements, there had been three- or four-gun incidents at the carnival. Although none of them had involved him personally, he'd witnessed the results and the bloody wounds, wounds like the one that the club owner had sustained.

All in all, he'd done OK in the face of real, proximate danger, he thought to himself.

Then, there was the issue of the TV reporter. She was thirty-five years old and "TV attractive" which meant that he had seen her only in full make-up in front of the lights. He wondered what she would look like more casually dressed for a "date." The hypnotist smiled as he imagined how she would interpret his command to dress "provocatively." In terms of her figure, her business suit, while tailored well, really hid more than it revealed. "Good," he thought. Randy liked surprises.

Stella finished up at work and made it back to her place shortly after five, enough time to shower and prepare for her dinner date. She put her work clothes back into the closet, removed her make-up, and hopped into the shower. The warm water mixed with suds from her shampoo and luffa sponge helped to wash away the day to make room for the night. As she rinsed, she laughed out loud. "I wonder," she said to herself, "what he looks like under that toupee and fake moustache." What she had seen so far, she liked. He was about her age, clearly brave and cool under pressure, in good enough shape, and, in a word, "charming."