Chapter Six
SIX
HAILEY’S DAILY RULE FOR SUCCESS:
Treat your competition with the respect they deserve. They are challenging you to be the best version of yourself.
Big congrats on the Laywood deal! Keep hustling—you’ll get there!
I type the comment on Spencer Stanley’s social media page under his post announcing the partnership. Waiting a week ensures he doesn’t think I’m stalking his page and paying attention to his every move but shows industry respect with just the slightest hint of condescension—to let him know I’m not threatened.
I hit Post then turn my attention to life coaching conference prep. I may not be threatened by Spencer Stanley yet, but I have to be a bigger presence at this conference. Heading online to the conference’s networking platform, I immediately search for attendees I want to connect with and send “meeting invite” requests. Confirmations pop up almost immediately from local business owners and any nervousness I may have felt about my competition evaporates. I’m Hailey fucking Harris—of course people want to meet with me.
I wonder if success ever dilutes imposter syndrome?
Time passes as I work on my presentation notes and two hours later a nervous-looking Sonia sits across from me in my office. She’s dressed in a black business suit and white blouse, her hair coifed in a tight bun—professional. I too dressed for the part today in my favorite charcoal suit, electric-blue blouse and matching sky-high power heels, which my feet are regretting, but they’ve already done their job. Sonia’s been eyeing them as she’s been waiting for me to shut down my conference prep—shoes are like a secret language between women. Not just an accessory, but a way to connect through fashion.
Similar taste in shoes indicates compatibility like no extensively researched test can measure.
“How can I help?” I ask.
“This feels silly to say out loud,” she says, playing with a tennis bracelet on her wrist. I recognize the power move and applaud the effort—toying with the expensive accessory indicates she’s humble enough to seek my advice, but a quiet reminder that she probably doesn’t truly need it.
Say the wrong thing and my value will quickly be diminished in her eyes.
“The first step in manifesting is putting the desire out into the universe.” I wave the words out of her as though I don’t have time for lack of confidence.
She sits straighter, chin raised, and announces, “I want to be an actress.”
Definitely not what I was expecting. Not that she’s not stunning and enigmatic enough to be a star, she just seems a little...naive, which is odd for a woman surrounded by mega successful professionals her entire life. Hollywood would eat her alive with her current sweet, genuine nature.
“An actress...okay,” I say slowly.
Sonia lets out an incredulous laugh as though vocalizing it has highlighted the inherent flaws in this plan. “I know—it’s cliché. Who in this city doesn’t want to be an actor? Right? It’s a bad idea, right?”
She wants me to talk her out of it, but I refuse to let my clients put that burden on me. I can shed reality on the dream and if they waver then it wasn’t that strong of a desire to begin with, which would jeopardize their chances of success.
“Do you have any acting experience?” I ask.
“A few plays in New York after graduating from a theatre program. Off Broadway, obviously. It was more of a hobby...or at least that’s what I told everyone.”
Hold up. “No one else knows about this goal?”
“No.”
“Not even Liam?” Seems like a third date discussion to me. Not that I’m an expert on dating, but after six months together, wouldn’t the hopes and dreams conversation have happened by now? Definitely an important one to get to know someone on a deeper level and ensure life goals align.
“I don’t want to tell anyone in case I fail,” she says.
I hear that a lot and I can totally appreciate and even encourage chasing your goals in silence (when it makes sense and the person’s goals won’t impact others). Plans spoken out loud can often diminish motivation and people have a way of dashing dreams they can’t understand.
But with all they’ve accomplished, her family seem like big dreamers. “I’m sure everyone would be supportive.”
“I’d just like to keep it to myself,” she says quickly and I detect that there’s more to this secrecy.
“It’s the reason you wanted to move back here, isn’t it?” This wasn’t just about being involved in expanding her family’s resort chain. Sonia had another motive for being back here in California.
“Yes,” she says, then quickly, “And of course the amazing opportunity for Liam’s career with the resort build.”
“Of course,” I say with a smile and a pause. First things first. Let’s see if a career in the spotlight is in Sonia’s future. “One thing I like to do with new clients is some breathing exercises to manifest a mutual connection. It helps me help you better.” I’ve yet to discover a less new agey way to pitch this. Luckily most clients open to working with a life coach are open to the idea of divine intervention, manifestation, fate, and other intangible paths to success.
I stand, move around the desk, and motion for Sonia to join me.
She looks almost giddy as she does. “You’re so incredibly cool.” Professionalism gone. Fangirling back.
While I appreciate the ego boost, I send her a look. Fangirling won’t help her be taken seriously in the film industry, where she’ll be surrounded by people a lot more impressive and influential than me.
Sonia nods her understanding at my unspoken warning. “Sorry, reining it in.” She raises her hands and presses down her excitement with a deep breath. Then she stands across from me—serious and focused on doing whatever I say.
I extend my hands, palms up and Sonia places hers on mine. Hers tremble slightly and I work to keep mine rock steady. I’m the one who should be nervous about what I’m going to see. I’ve never done this before—view two life paths that are connected in a meaningful way. That’s one reason I refuse referrals. If I’ve helped one person, I need at least six degrees of separation to avoid crossover and possible mayhem. I close my eyes and pretend to breathe in and out deeply as our lifelines connect, the energy flows through us and I see into my ex’s fiancé’s future.
Sonia walks down a sandy shoreline hand in hand with a tall, dark, and handsome man—not Liam. Shoes off, feet in the waves, she looks happy and vibrant. The two pause and the man takes her into his arms. The sunlight reflecting on his face hides his identity, but his affection is obvious as he lowers his head and kisses her.
Clearly Future Sonia is not hurt by the breakup with Liam. Though, I am a little confused about why I’m seeing a relationship update on Sonia instead of the career one we were vibing with. Is she doubting the relationship with Liam? Is it weighing heavy on her heart and subconscious? Or maybe like Amelia, there is no career to see.
Either way, I feel validated in my decision to try to stop the wedding. I release Sonia’s hands abruptly. “I think you should go for it.” Can’t hurt and what else am I supposed to say? This meeting has served my purpose and, with her family’s bajillion-dollar fortune behind her, Sonia will be just fine—succeed or fail in her acting endeavor. I saw the happiness on her face in my glimpse.
Sonia’s eyes open and she frowns. “That’s it?”
Obviously, that won’t fly.
“Of course not,” I say.
She laughs in relief. “Thank goodness.”
Should I remind her she’s not paying for this incredibly valuable session? I’ve offered it as an engagement present. Had to do something to balance out my karma.
I head back to my desk, open the contact list on my computer, and refer to it as I grab my cell phone and type quickly.
Sonia’s phone chimes a second later. She pulls it out of her Gucci bag and sees the new message I’ve sent.
“That’s a list of contacts—agents, managers, and acting coaches. First assignment is to send out your headshot and résumé to these people.” I know she has professional photos of herself from various events and publications she’s been featured in. No sense doling out cash for new images in case this thing is a bust. I always encourage my clients to spend as little as possible in up-front start-up costs.
She scans the names on the list and her eyes widen. “These are major players in the industry. I can’t thank you enough,” Sonia says excitedly but with a hint of nervousness.
“This is what I do.” I’ve set her up with a contact list that would normally take new actors six years living in LA and slugging it out as assistants, waiters, and Uber drivers to build—now it’s up to her. It eases my conscience a little for messing with her other life plans.
She takes a deep breath and leans forward. “I also meant for stepping in to help plan the engagement party. Warren seems like a great guy...”
“‘Delightful’ some might say.”
Sonia laughs. “But I think his idea of a formal event and my family’s are a little different.” Sonia looks around my impressive office. “Your taste is a lot more...on brand.”
“It’s really no problem,” I say and stand again. Especially if it never happens. I check my watch for effect when Sonia remains seated.
“Right. We’re done,” she says, collecting her things and standing again. “I’m sure you have a full schedule.”
Actually, the rest of my day consists of reaching out to every contact I have to try to secure tickets to the World Golf Championships coming up so I can host an athlete VIP event before Spencer Stanley beats me to it, but I nod.
I walk her toward the office door and she turns to face me with a hesitant look. “Oh, and I have one more request.”
Should I remind her I’ve just given her a free consultation and a contact list worth millions? I smile expectantly—ready to grant her one last wish.
“Will you be my maid of honor?”
Fuck no.
I try to stop my eyebrows from rising, but they have a mind of their own. “Oh, um...we don’t really know one another.” She can’t be serious. There are so many reasons why this is a ridiculous request.
Sonia steps forward and reaches for my hands, but I shove them into my pockets. The conversation has now turned to my potential involvement in her future and anytime that’s happened in the past, the glimpse turns out to be a sharp, bright, loud blast of noise and light that messes with my equilibrium for days, as though I just got off an out-of-control teacup ride.
Sonia frowns at my abrupt rudeness but pushes on. “You are important to Liam and you’re the first person I’ve even told about my dreams. That puts you high on the list of prospects to stand next to us on our special day.”
“There has to be a family member who’d be a better choice.” A cherished family pet for that matter.
Sonia shakes her head. “I’m an only child. I have eight female cousins and if I choose one of them, the others will riot. It’s safer to have them all bridesmaids.”
“ Eight bridesmaids? This is going to be a big wedding.” I should have guessed. It’s a Banks wedding. There will likely even be press and they’ll need security to keep paparazzi at bay. If it happens, and I’m even more hell-bent on ensuring it doesn’t now that there could be a hideous maid of honor dress in my future.
“Huge.” She nods. “I’ll get you the invite list for the engagement party—” she waves a hand “—but please say you’ll do it?” Sonia folds her hands pleadingly and gives me a puppy dog look.
I can see why Liam proposed. Here I am determined to stop this wedding and yet I’m envisioning the most epic bachelorette party she more than deserves in addition to the engagement event.
Right now, I feel cornered and there’s no harm in agreeing. “Of course.”
Sonia squeals in delight the same way I’m sure she has since she was two years old, getting her way with her impossible to say no to demeanor. “Thank you!” She steps forward and hugs me tightly. My arms remain limp at my side, squeezed against my body.
Operation Breakup needs to launch as quickly as possible—before I offer to help her make wedding favors.
A B -?
I stare at the grade posted on the sports psychology course site and feel a sense of pride I’ve never gotten from academics. My self-esteem always centered around sports. Classes and studying were just mandatory pain in the ass requirements to play football.
But seeing this grade—one I busted my balls for—fills me with pride.
Instinctively, I reach for my cell phone, then stop.
It’s been two years, when will that urge to text Cliff stop hitting me out of nowhere? For brief instances I forget he’s gone and there’s a new voice at the other end of his old phone number.
I learned that the embarrassing way when I called to listen to his voicemail message six months ago and a woman answered. To say it was a shock to the system would be an understatement.
Grief is weird. It holds so many layers and presents itself in unusual ways.
I stare at the grade and deep remorse replaces the pride. Maybe if I’d been quicker to start a program like this, I’d have been able to see the warning signs of stress and burnout in Cliff. Maybe if I hadn’t been so caught up in my own career and the stardom that came with it, I’d have noticed something was off. If I hadn’t been so caught up in my own life, I would have realized Cliff wanted to end his.
The grief counsellor I saw once after his death said there was absolutely nothing I could have done for him. People at that stage in their decision would find a way. They’ve made peace with the choice and aren’t open to other options anymore.
But it’s hard not to call bullshit on that.
Cliff was stressed and the pressures put on him by his job as a stock broker, the pressure put on him by our father, got to be too much, so he turned to alcohol, drugs, gambling... So many signs that he needed help and I would have spotted them if I’d cared enough to make time to look.
Check in on him more.
Now I’d give anything to check in on him and it’s too late.
But I know he’d be proud of me. He always said I was more than just my play stats. He was the only one who saw me as more than a championship. The only person who was happy to just watch me do what I loved to do.
My cell phone chimes and I pick it up and read a text from Marcus:
Don’t need a ride today .
Maybe his mom’s car is fixed. I hope that’s the case. If one of his friends is giving him a ride, it means they’ll stay to watch the practice and that always throws him off his game. He starts showboating and trying to impress and ends up pissing everyone off.
I close the computer and grab my gear, then head out.
At the football field twenty minutes later, I scan for Marcus but don’t see him warming up with the others. I text him:
Dude, you’re late.
I see the message is read a second later...but no response.
I may not have seen warning signs that Cliff was in trouble, but I damn well won’t be ignoring them in Marcus.
After practice, I drive straight to the Kent home. Maureen’s car is parked in the driveway and I eye it as I climb out and head toward the front door. I wonder if she’d let me take a look at it. I don’t claim to be a great mechanic, but it could be something simple. At this point, I’m willing to try anything to eliminate excuses for Marcus to miss practice. We’re weeks away from scouts coming and he needs all the training he can get.
I ring the bell and hear the sound of footsteps approaching from inside. I tug the sweaty fabric of my shirt away from my body and run a hand quickly through my hair. Probably should have showered first, but she lives with a stinky teenager, so I’m sure she’ll let it slide.
She looks surprised when she opens the door, still dressed in her convenience store smock. “Hey, Coach.”
“Hi, Maureen—good to see you. Can I come in for a minute?”
She hesitates, glancing inside the house. “Wish you’d called first...”
“My house looks like a bomb went off inside, I promise not to judge.”
She still looks uneasy but stands back to let me enter.
The house is spotless so I’m not sure what she was worried about. Not a thing out of place and I know Marcus isn’t exactly tidy.
“Coffee?” she asks.
“That’d be great.”
In the kitchen a moment later, she pours two cups of coffee and sets one in front of me with a yawn before sitting across from me. “Sorry, excuse me,” she says.
“Late shifts this week?”
“Double shifts,” she says with a nod, picking up her coffee cup and taking a sip.
I feel bad for taking up her time, so I get straight to the point. “The reason I stopped by is Marcus wasn’t at practice today. It’s not like him to skip. Especially so close to scouting season.” I pause. “I wanted to make sure he was okay.”
Maureen sips the coffee again and nods. “He had to work.”
I frown. “He’s working now?”
“At a grocery store, stocking shelves.”
News to me. Not that my team are under any obligation to keep me posted about their personal lives, but I thought we were all on the same page regarding Marcus’s focus.
School. Study. Football. Repeat.
“He didn’t tell me.”
“It was news to me too,” Maureen says with a shrug. “But we could definitely use the money, Coach, and you know as well as I do, trying to talk that boy out of anything is useless.”
“How often is he taking shifts?”
“They guaranteed him thirty hours a week,” she says.
“What about school?” I’m definitely overstepping, but I care about this kid’s future. Stocking shelves would be a waste of his talents and not finishing high school will limit his future options. Maureen knows this too and it’s not my place to say anything at all, but I feel like the family has entrusted me with Marcus’s future in football and they technically did sign a commitment to the team.
“He says he can keep the grades up, even if he skips a few classes. I have a meeting with his teachers next week to discuss remote learning for the rest of the year.”
Damn it. Still doesn’t solve the issue of football. I can’t move practice times for one player.
I sigh and clear my throat. “I understand the job is important, but is there some way he could take fewer hours? He has a real talent and he’s so close...”
She straightens slightly. “Look, Coach. I appreciate what you’ve done for him, but bills aren’t paid on dreams.”
I take a breath. She’s right, but... “It’s not just a dream. The kid’s incredible.” If it was any other player on my team, I wouldn’t be sitting here now making this statement, but Marcus is the exception. “He really could make it,” I say and feel it in my gut, otherwise I’d never raise their hopes. I don’t want to argue with her or push, but... “It’s just another month and Marcus could be scouted. A few more weeks...”
She stares into her coffee cup, conflicted and tired.
I’m asking her to help me with something that could change her life too. Alleviate some of the pressures she’s under. “He won’t listen to me. I need your help with this.”
She hesitates, then nods. “I’ll tell him to reduce the hours so he can make it to practice.”
My gut twists, knowing what that will mean for her. “If there’s anything I can do...”
“Keep coaching my baby and make sure this dream of his becomes a reality,” she says pointedly and I hear the note of warning in her voice—she’s trusting me and I better not fuck this up.