Then Caroline enters. She’s wearing a ski parka; the weather is freakishly cold and unusually humid. Her hair doesn’t look right. One side is awkwardly awry. She mentions this to the audience. “There will never, ever be a shampoo called Sarasota,” she tells them.

Her second show is much like the first. Most of the stories are repeated but not all. The Crown Princess does not make an appearance, but Caroline does include her signature routine, “What is it you can’t face?” This is based on a line from the movie version of The Sound of Music. The Mother Superior is talking to Julie Andrews, and she ever so slightly mispronounces the word “can’t” in such a way that we couldn’t possibly publish it in a family magazine.

Off-color material is the lifeblood of standup. “People expect it,” Les tells me. There isn’t anything said at McCurdy’s that wouldn’t be said in a group of close friends, but the fact it’s said out loud in public seems to liberate the audience. It isn’t so much the shock value, although that’s certainly part of the equation. It’s more about allowing the comic to connect with the innermost, uncensored brain of the audience. The truth is often vulgar, sexual, scatological or politically incorrect, and standup is one the few art forms where this fact is crucial and often made part of the aesthetic. (But Les realizes it’s not for everyone. He regularly presents “family shows,” where no alcohol is served, kids are welcome, and the jokes “are so squeaky clean you can bring a five-year-old.”)

Les watches Caroline while standing up in back. It’s his habit to watch the audience more than the performer, checking the room, making sure that things are running smoothly. But the comedian in him gets caught up in Caroline’s act. He has never booked her before; indeed, he has never seen her perform. He was a little apprehensive, as he is with every new act, but he catches Pam’s eye and they both grin. Caroline Rhea is a hit. The McCurdys will have her back as often as they can.

Caroline is still onstage when Les leaves. Costaki, standing on the sidelines, begins to give her their little signals that it’s time to wrap things up. She notices them but forges ahead. She’s high on performing. “Sometimes the problem is getting her to stop,” Costaki whispers. He’s ready to head back to their suite at The Colony. Maybe he can beat her at tennis in the morning. “She’s old and she don’t move so good,” he jokes.

Les takes one more look around and then slips out the door. Everything is going great and they don’t need him anymore. It may be the Friday night late show, but at the laughter place, things are every bit as funny as they should be.