YOLO, Bitches

 

“No way, Aubrey,” my bubbly little sister squeals in my ear.

Even with all the noise at O’Hare at eight thirty in the morning on a bustling Tuesday, I hear only her. Really quite a feat when you think about it.

“You’re leaving Chicago in what? Like an hour?”

“Yep,” I confirm. “I’m scheduled on the nine-thirty flight to Minneapolis. And then I’ll be on my way up to see you, little sis.”

I decided late last night that detouring up to Minnesota before I head out to Nevada for an upcoming work assignment—a job which I know very little about, except that it’ll likely consume the next two to four months of my life—would be a nice surprise for both me and my only sibling.

Lainey recently returned to Minneapolis after spending the summer at our parents’ house in Butler, Pennsylvania. I didn’t have a chance to visit her, or my folks, even after I promised I would.

This is me correcting at least one of those wrongs.

Lainey is about to start her senior year at the University of Minnesota. She’s majoring in marketing, and soon she’ll be busy with her business classes. Same as I’ll be busy readying for my new work assignment by this time tomorrow.

My little sister starts gushing, going on and on about all the fun things we can do in Minneapolis, most of which involve bars and parties.

I gently remind her, “I’m only staying for one night, Lain. Plus, I have an early morning flight to catch tomorrow.”

It’s not that early—the plane I’m booked on to Vegas doesn’t leave till eleven—but it’s safer to let on like the flight is at the ass crack of dawn. I’m hoping to deter party girl from keeping me out half the night.

“Okay, okay,” she concedes. “It doesn’t matter when you leave. We’re still finding ourselves some kind of trouble to get into tonight. And I mean trouble with a capital T, chica.”

She’s referring to drinking, which I don’t do much of these days.

But tonight I’ll make an exception.

“All right,” I say, a smile playing at my lips. “Maybe it’s time I show you I really can party with the best of them.”

“You’re on,” Lainey replies.

Gulp. I hope I can hang. The last time I had anything more than a glass of wine with dinner was on a date I went on last year. Yes, you read that right. A whole twelve months have passed since my most recent even remotely romantic encounter with a man. But even that was a bust. My date and I had absolutely nothing in common. He spent dinner texting on his cell phone, probably with another girl, and I drowned my sorrows with copious amounts of margaritas. It was all I could do to soothe my bruised ego.

While I lament the sad state of my dating life, Lainey continues to jabber on excitedly about this evening and what we can do while I’m there. Between my “yeah” and “uh-huh” responses, I have to chuckle. My sister turned twenty-one last month and everything to her is still so über-exciting.

I’m the calm one in comparison. I guess that’s because I’m three years older. But it’s not only that. We’re just different. Really, the only thing we have in common is the way we look. Both of us have raven-black hair that we wear long, and we share the same turquoise-blue eye color.

Apart from that, we’re like night and day.

Lainey is the party girl.

I’m the serious, career-oriented one.

She’s the boy-crazy chick with guys lining up to ask her out.

I, as established, rarely date.

Hmm, I really need to change that, though. I’ve been feeling extra-lonely lately.

“Wow,” Lainey says, sounding suddenly shocked, and thus distracting me from my reverie.

“What’s wow?” I ask.

“I still can’t believe you worked things out so you can come up and visit me. And all while getting ready to go on a business trip. I have to say, Aubs, this is very unlike you.”

“Maybe I’m turning over a new leaf,” I reply with a firm nod she unfortunately can’t see.

You need to mix it up if you ever expect this boring life of yours to change, a little voice inside my head has been reminding me, thus prompting this decision.

“I hope so.” Lainey sounds cautiously optimistic. “You need more fun in your life. I love seeing you take a chance here and there. It’s like I always say—you never know what might happen if you throw caution to the wind once in a while.”

I’ve shared with Lainey lately how I’m tiring of the dull and routine-driven life I lead, this existence filled with work, work, and more work. I’m married to my job, but damn it, I need a mistress. Or would that be a master?

Oh my! My long-neglected lady bits like that idea.

“Aubrey, did you hear me?”

“Yes, yes.” I clear my throat. “You’re absolutely right. I’ve been thinking about what we talked about a while ago and I’m trying to go with the flow a little more. That’s why I booked the flight, totally impulsively, to come see you. Who knows, Lainey? Maybe tonight I’ll really cut loose. We all know I’m due.”

That’s right. I may as well jump aboard the YOLO train and ride it to the land of wild abandon. Maybe if I do, I’ll even meet someone tonight. Someone I’ll never see again, of course, but that’s good. I need a practice-man I can sharpen my flirt moves on. They’re rusty as hell and could use some fine-tuning, especially if I ever plan to use them to land a guy some day. Hopefully that “landing” will occur within the next decade, seeing as the last real boyfriend I had was way back in college.

Damn, that puts things in perspective. And it reminds me of my sex life.

Pfft, what sex life?

“Right,” I whisper. “More like lack thereof.”

Beneath my jeans, I imagine my lady bits making a little sign of the cross, praying to reverse the curse of the dreaded dick-drought. Realistically though, despite all my bluster, I don’t see that happening anytime soon. Not with another work assignment starting up in Las Vegas.

“So, Aubrey, this more impulsive you,” my sister begins. “Does this mean we’ll be seeing more of her? Like, on a consistent basis?”

“Don’t expect me to be wild all the time,” I hedge. When I hear her groan, I hasten to add, “Don’t worry, though. Compared to how I’ve been lately, there’s a lot more crazy-Aubrey days brewing up ahead.”

She laughs, but then warns, “Be careful. You’ve gone so long without taking chances that you’re at risk of getting hooked on the adrenaline rush you’re bound to feel when you finally let go.”

Jeez, am I really that bad? Probably, seeing as I don’t do anything impulsive, like ever. My job pretty much precludes me from that kind of recklessness.

“I hope you’re right,” I murmur. “I need a jolt of…something.”

“Hey, I’m just happy I get to spend some time with you, even if it is just for one night.” Softly, she adds, “I really missed not seeing you at Mom and Dad’s this summer.”

“Oh, Lainey, I know.”

Regret gnaws at my gut. See, this is why I need a change. My lonely existence not only lacks a man, but my relationship with my family has been suffering, as well.

“I wanted to visit,” I continue. “Really, I did. But I got so damn tied up with my last client that the next thing I knew summer was over. And then there you were, back at school.”

“Yeah, here I am,” she murmurs. “And you’re about to start a new assignment.”

“Yep,” I reply.

“The busy and exciting life of a life coach continues,” she says with a smile in her tone.

“Hardly,” I scoff. “It’s busy, yes. But I don’t know about the exciting part.”

“Hey, I know you claim it can be grueling sometimes—and you miss out on things, true—but really, Aubrey, what a gig.”

“It’s not all sunshine and roses,” I assure her.

Undeterred, she goes on. “So this latest client, the one you just finished with, was he another rich dude who turned out to be a handful?”

“Aren’t they all?” I say on a sigh.

I like my job, but truthfully it wears on me. Being a “life coach” to troubled celebrities requires a ton of commitment. Not to mention you have to jump at a moment’s notice. And that’s exactly what I’ve been doing for the past twelve hours, scrambling like a chicken with its head cut off.

After I received a call from my boss, Mr. Delahunty, late last night, the scrambling began. I have a new client. A client I have no real info on that I need to meet with tomorrow afternoon. It’s usually like this with my kind of work. I go in blind to assure the client’s anonymity until all the contracts are signed.

Lainey sighs longingly into the phone. Even after assuring her that it’s not all fun and games, she insists on clinging to the false illusion that my job is great.

Dreamily, she murmurs, “Difficult clients or not, you still have the coolest job on the planet.”

“I guess,” I grudgingly reply.

My job is pretty cool, when viewed as an outsider. I mean, come on, working with celebrities, most of who end up being hot male clients. That can’t be all that bad, right?

Wrong.

It’s a huge time and energy commitment. And though it pays well, I sacrifice a lot. I guess I should throw in here that I’m employed by a very discreet firm, one that specializes in helping not only troubled celebrities, but also messed-up musicians and professional athletes with issues. My job is to help the client get their life straightened out, so they can shine like the star they are.

Sometimes booze is the problem, and other times it’s drugs. One time we had a client who was addicted to hookers. I got that one, lucky me. But no matter what the issue is, I’m there, playing counselor, psychologist, and friend.

Our firm is based in Chicago, so that’s where I live at the moment. I could live anywhere really, seeing as I’m always traveling and spending months at a time in various locations around the country. I go where I’m needed…and stay as long as required.

“Where are you crashing tonight?” Lainey asks out of the blue. Before I can answer, she adds, “You can stay with me if you want. I’m sure my roomies wouldn’t mind.”

What? No.

Lainey lives in a house with three other girls, all of whom are in school. Their place is located only two blocks from campus, making it party central most nights. I might never make it to Vegas if I crash there.

“No, that’s okay,” I reply. “I already have a room booked at a hotel out by the airport.”

“Oh, okay.”

I remind my disappointed-sounding sister, “This is still part of a business trip, Lainey.”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” I imagine her rolling her eyes at her not-quite-wild-yet big sister. “But we’re still having fun tonight, no matter what. I’m making sure of it.”

The sensible side of me takes over for a minute and I remind her, “A good time is fine, but I need to be back at the hotel at a sensible hour. I can’t miss my flight. I need to be sharp and clear-headed when I get to Vegas tomorrow. The client will be at the meeting, and I’d like to make a good impression.”

“The new client is out west, that’s cool.” Lainey says.

“Yeah, I suppose so.”

“So who is it this time around?”

“I don’t know,” I honestly reply, not that I could tell her even if I did. Confidentiality is paramount in my line of work. Still, it’s safe to say, “My boss didn’t inform me of much. Only thing I know for certain is I’m attending a meeting with the client and their management team in the afternoon. Everything about the client—what he does for a living, what his name is—will remain a secret till then.”

“Sounds intriguing,” Lainey muses. “It must be someone good.”

“Hmm, maybe,” I reply, wondering myself who I’ll be matched up with.

“It’s a guy, for sure, that you’re helping?”

“Yeah. From what my boss indicated it’s definitely a male client.”

“Ooh, maybe this one will be über hot and you’ll fall for him.”

Hot or not, that would be a big NO! Fraternizing with the client is strictly forbidden, which is fine with me. Lainey has no idea how messed up these guys actually are. And yes, I use the term “guys” because our firm works with far more male clients than female ones.

“It doesn’t matter if he’s hot,” I say to Lainey. “We’re not permitted to date our clients.”

“That’s a shame.”

“No, not really,” I reply. “These guys are usually complete nightmares.”

It’s true. I’ve worked with two male clients so far this year alone, and both were so screwed up that each required a multi-month commitment. Dating either of them would never have crossed my mind.

“But you help them become all sweet and kind,” Lainey says.

Oh, the delusions of youth.

Chuckling, I reply, “I wish I had that kind of influence, Lain. But the truth is I only help my clients straighten out enough so they become successful again. They tend to remain epic jerks.”

Case in point, my most recent client, an aging quarterback, turned out to be more than a handful. He was a fallen hero with a massive pill-popping problem, and my job was to fix him before the fans figured out what was really going on. His team was close to canning him, but I finally talked him into giving rehab one final try. It worked too. But I had to hang around to counsel him and make sure it stuck. The quarterback—and I wish like hell I could share his name with you—is right now in training camp. I’m proud to report he’s clean and sober, and throwing bombs like he did ten years ago.

But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t a terror to work with. He was. He blatantly hit on me every freaking day, begging me to go out with him, forbidden or not. The grossest part was he was freaking married!

Ugh, I need hazard pay.

And I totally do.

Before the philandering footballer, I was assigned to work with an alcoholic actor. Back in the day, this guy was every teen’s dream. But now thirty, he was struggling to land roles. Even though he was half in the bag and ready to give up, I took him on. I got him sober and back to feeling good about himself. I heard just the other day that he landed a role on a hot new TV show.

Good for him, even though he was an ass. Too bad my non-disclosure agreement precludes me from sharing with Lainey how he used to find it infinitely amusing to flash his dick, like every single day I worked with him. She’d freak if she knew that. But she’d really freak if she knew just how tiny his lusted-after prick is.

I chuckle, thinking of how that itty-bitty thing was so not worth showing off. Even my hungry-for-dick lady bits were bored.

“What’s so funny?” Lainey wants to know when I start giggling.

“Oh, nothing,” I reply, pulling myself together.

“Is it something about a client?”

“Lainey,” I warn.

“Damn it, Aubrey,” she huffs. “You never tell me anything good.”

“I can’t,” I remind her. “Believe me, I wish I could. But you know how it is. I sign strict confidentiality agreements with each and every client. If I told you anything specific I’d get fired from the firm.”

“Someday, I swear,” Lainey says, sounding mischievous, “I’m going to get a name out of you. And I bet when it happens it’ll be because you fall for one of these guys.”

“Never going to happen,” I maintain. “You may as well give up on that crazy fantasy.”

My sister groans. “Boo, you’re no fun. But you bet your ass I’m holding you to the having fun-rule tonight. I know just where we’re going too.”

“Oh no, what am I about to get myself into here?”

“A text popped up while you were talking. Apparently there’s a party tonight at some sweet lake house just outside the city. I’ve heard of the place. I think it belongs to some rich baseball player.”

“Sports, huh?” I start chewing on my nails. “I don’t know about this, Lainey.”

“Oh, come on,” she pleads. “This isn’t one of your clients. You told me yourself you’ve never worked with any fucked-up baseball players.”

“That’s true,” I murmur, considering.

The only problem is that Lainey doesn’t know a baseball from a football. I guess I’ll have to trust her on this one. I can’t back out now, not after all my “new me” talk. Nonetheless, I picture all the files I’ve recently seen at the office, ones for everyone in our firm. When I’m satisfied there’s never been any baseball clients in Minneapolis, I say, “Okay. I’ll go.”

“Cool. Promise me you won’t change your mind at the last minute and back out.”

“No, I’m all in,” I assure her.

“Thank God.”

“After all,” I continue, trying to convince myself more than her. “What possible harm can come from attending one little party?”

“That’s the spirit,” Lainey says.

Yep, this is the new me, throwing caution to the wind.

“You’re about to see a whole new side of me tonight,” I tell my sister. “Someone wild and fun and free.”

Crap, I hope I don’t end up regretting this tomorrow.