Chapter 3
Chapter Three
WEE-ERR-WEE-ERR-WEE-ERR!
I bolted awake to a sharp-pitched, earsplitting sound, my phone flashing like it was in a mosh-pit at a rave. At first, I wasn’t sure if I was still in bed or trapped in a deep-water submarine dodging torpedoes.
It was a text notification from my phone. “Goddamn it.”
My hand fumbled around my nightstand like a drunk octopus, eyes still glued shut.
THUD
Something hit the floor.
THUMP
Probably the jade facial roller one of my sponsors gifted me.
CRASH
Definitely my lucky bergamot orange scent diffuser, which, as it turns out, wasn’t so lucky after all.
My fingers finally found my phone, poking and pressing to make the siren noise stop. When the screen lit up, I saw the time.
4:30 am.
“Holy hell.” As normal brain functioning oozed back into my cranium, I remembered what the super loud, super annoying red alert sound effect meant. It was a special alert I had set for any text messages from Marcus at LuxeLife.
Realization dawning (unlike the actual dawn, which was still hours away), I went from a state of sleep-deprived-pissed-off to a state of wide-awake-terror in the span of 1.
2 seconds. As I scrambled to open my messaging app, second guesses and self-doubts poured through my inner monologue like a horde of teen girls at a Taylor Swift concert.
LuxeLife changed its mind …
Victoria realized I was a total fraud …
Golf Voice and Slick Hair staged a corporate coup and made it their life mission to destroy me …
The text message from Marcus wasn’t any of those things.
It was worse.
My phone made more noise. This time, a buzzing sound, an incoming call from Parker.
“Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god. Did you see the email? Did you see the text?” Parker’s voice was annoyingly alert for pre-sunlight.
“No. I was sleeping. Like a normal person.” My voice came out as a croak.
“Well, you better stop sleeping and start moving because you leave for Aster Park Regional Airport in two hours.”
4:32am.
I briefly considered the possibility I was still dreaming, or more accurately, nightmaring, but then I rammed my big toe into the crate of arctic glacier detox masks at the foot of my bed and the sharp stab of pain confirmed that I was, indeed, awake.
“Sam, did you hear what I said? You leave in TWO HOURS.” There was a brief pause, then Parker added, “Actually, make that one hour and fifty-seven minutes.”
I’d transitioned from sleep-deprived-pissed-off to wide-awake-terror, which now gave way to five-alarm-panic. My torso shot straight up in bed, knocking a jar of sponsor-supplied truffle-infused night cream halfway across the room.
Over the past few years, my downtown pseudo-affordable apartment had transformed into a mixed-use space.
Forty-nine percent video studio, forty-nine percent warehouse, and two percent living quarters.
With all the free product people sent me for reviews and reveals, I could have opened my own beauty supply store.
“Now one hour and fifty-six minutes,” said Parker’s voice, now emanating from the nightstand where I’d switched him to speakerphone.
“Call them back!” I ordered. “Tell them to book me on a later flight.” When Marcus said his assistant would work out the travel arrangements after our LuxeLife meeting, I had thought it would take a few days to pull everything together, not a few hours.
I’d also assumed there would be a step where they checked in with me first before booking me on a flight halfway across the country.
“I already tried,” said Parker. “The six thirty was the only flight to Aster Park that still had a seat open in first class.” He paused dramatically. “Unless you’d prefer to fly coach.”
“I’d rather start flapping my arms and fly there myself.”
My phone rang yet again. According to the display, this time, my parents. Somehow, my LA apartment had transformed into Grand Central Station overnight. “What do they want?” I mumbled to myself. “I don’t have time for this.” I sent their call straight to voicemail.
4:35am.
My mental state shifted back to wide-awake-terror, which was followed quickly by overwhelming paralysis. The million different things I would have to do to get ready for the trip were engulfed in a battle-royale for my sleep-hampered attention span.
I needed to pee. And eat. And shower, I confirmed after a quick sniff.
Or should I shower, then eat, then pee? And then pack and get dressed. Or get dressed and then pack. Or pack and then eat? But did I even have time to shower? Did I even have time to pee?
Some people are good with surprises. Emergency room surgeons. Navy Seals. Kindergarten teachers.
I was not.
One time, when I was seven, my parents threw me a surprise birthday party with all my friends, and when Dad opened the door and everyone yelled “surprise,” I grabbed the pinata bat and hit a home run in his crotch.
4:36am.
I ripped off the Britney Spears concert t-shirt I used for a sleep shirt like it was on fire and jumped out of bed. To be fair, the word “jump” in this case was more of a trip, a flop and a stumble.
As soon as my feet hit the floor, I banged my knee on a box of sea kelp-based facial creams that a new cosmetic brand had sent me for an upcoming giveaway.
I decided packing was at the top of the priority list (peeing came in a close second). I foraged through my closet for appropriate travel clothes, still mired in a sleep-deprived fog. “What do people wear in Colorado?” I asked Parker, who was still on speaker mode.
“Mountain leisure,” said Parker’s voice from across the room. I was pretty sure that was NOT a thing. “You should definitely bring comfortable hiking shoes.”
“Why would I bring hiking shoes?”
“For hiking?”
“I will not be doing any hiking,” I shouted from inside my closet.
“Bring a waterproof bag too.”
“Why would I need a waterproof bag?”
“For the fishing and the camping.”
“I won’t be doing any fishing or camping either, so I think I’m good.”
“What if you fall out of a canoe?”
“I won’t be falling out of a canoe because I won’t be getting inside a canoe, I can promise you that.”
“Weren’t you the one pitching authenticity?” asked Parker.
“Technically, that was Victoria. I just took her idea and ran with it.”
I grabbed a few pairs of cotton leggings and some flow blouses, then glanced at my closet full of designer heels. None of them were comfortable enough to walk any distance in, and I highly doubted any of them were waterproof.
“You know my grandpa used to take me fishing,” said Parker over the speakerphone. “It was fun.”
I made a face, even though Parker couldn’t see me. “Well, the closest I’ll ever get to fishing is choosing a can of tuna from the market.”
With an armful of random articles of clothing, I realized I needed something to put them in.
I pulled my Louis Vuitton suitcase off the top shelf of my closet and laid it open on the bed.
To be clear, it was a piece of luggage I could never have afforded on my own.
A travel agent gave it to me in exchange for a series of Instagram posts.
4:56am
After hanging up with Parker, I took care of the pee and shower items on my to-do list. I’d have been dressed too, but all my underwear (the ones without holes in them) was still in the washer, a soggy mass of delicate fabrics that smelled faintly of mildew.
Laundry management was not at the top of my skills list.
I had just tossed them in the dryer when my phone rang. AGAIN. It was my parents. AGAIN.
Parker must have tipped them off about the LuxeLife trip, because that is exactly what he would do if he thought I was stressing out about it, which, of course I was, and now Mom was calling to lecture me on travel safety procedures.
The last thing I needed was lessons about preventative bed bug techniques, or the dangers of hitchhiking with strangers.
Which I literally did every day. We just didn’t call it hitchhiking any more. We called it Uber.
5:12am
My eyes darted to the pile of unopened PR packages in the corner of my bedroom.
One of the boxes was stamped with the logo for ‘Brief Encounters’, a new online intimate-wear company that had been hounding me for a campaign for months.
I maneuvered through the stack of boxes like I was playing Jenga, pulling the Brief Encounters box out of the stack.
Miraculously, the whole thing didn’t topple over and smother me.
Dropping my towel on the floor, I tore open the box. As soon as I got back from Colorado, I’d shoot an official unboxing reveal and post it on my streams, but at that moment, it was more important to cover my naked butt.
Which … the thing I held in my hand was definitely NOT going to do. It looked like a piece of cherry-red dental floss.
Holding the thin strip of silk up to the light, I tried to figure out which side was the front and which side was the back.
Both sides promised extreme discomfort no matter which part of my body they wedged into.
At least the matching push-up bra looked straightforward.
Surely the rhinestones went on the outside of the nipples.
I threaded one leg through what I thought was an opening in the red silk, then pulled them up over my hips. That’s when I realized the panties weren’t just wafer-thin and translucent; they were also crotchless.
5:18am
My phone rang again.
Parents.
Decline.
Then came the doorbell. Once. Twice. The third time nearly made my head explode. LuxeLife must have sent a driver to take me to the airport, and they were early.
Walking bowlegged and cursing, I ambled into the living room where a mountain of colorful boxes were strewn about like the aftermath of a tornado. The latest Korean sheet masks spilled from a holographic box onto my kitchen table. A rainbow of nail polishes lined the countertop.
Dodging packages like they were landmines, I got close enough for the driver to hear me through the door. “I’m not ready yet! I just woke up!”
Ding Dong