When Frankie broke Zack’s nose, Honey thought the worst of it was over.  Turns out it was just beginning. 

Honey is hungry.  First generation Irish from the Longwood section of The Bronx– she’s a survivor, but barely.  1935 in New York meant the end of prohibition, which turned all the speakeasies into legitimate businesses, if you want to call The Aardvark Club legitimate. Honey has worn nearly every hat you can wear; slinging drinks, cooking the books, but mostly, she’s a stripper.  It’s a job, actually several jobs - and it keeps her and her young son fed - even if that means dealing with Frankie, the owner of The Aardvark and a mid-level Mafioso with the social skills of a rusty straight razor. 

Most of the people who work The Aardvark come and go like ghosts, but it’s hard to miss Zack, an aspiring comic who also performs at the club.  Zack’s not very funny, not yet – but he has some talent.  He might even amount to something.  So why did he have to tell that joke? One fucking joke. About the boss’s girl, no less. And Frankie is not known for his sense of humor.

Now, Frankie’s given Honey yet another job to juggle.  She’s got to help Zack build a whole new act for an audience of one.  Frankie’s got a special event planned and Zack better be funny.  And you know that one, unforgiving rule of comedy; “You either kill onstage, or you just die up there.”