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“It means, you need a facelift.”
“Gee, thanks.” I mumble, hands flying to my cheeks. “I know I haven’t been moisturizing so much, but—”
Jennifer snorts with laughter.“Notyourface,” she clarifies. “You’re adorable. I mean, your online presence.Thisdoes not scream ‘expert marketer’.”
She waves vaguely at my printed CV, and basic website. I wince. “I know. I’m good at that stuff for clients,” I say. “Honest I am. But when it comes to myself…”
“You need a kick up the hiney,” she finishes. “Well, consider me alive and kicking. Juice me,”
I dutifully refill, glad of this whirlwind of distraction. Yes, it’s still kind of weird being friends with the woman whose life I’ve been peeping for years, but Jennifer is so brash and fun, it’s hard to resist her charms.
And I definitely need brash and fun right now.
“Now, where do you want to go from here?” she muses, “Let’s talk ‘shoot for the moon’ job goals and then we can walk it back, get some early steps in place.”
Where do I want to go? Back to the Vital office, where I was really good at doing a job I cared about. Back to Mavericks, to hang out with Austin and his friends.
Back to Austin’s bed.
I refill my glass—no juice this time. This is drink four, but who’s counting? “I don’t know. I’ll take anything at this point.”
“Now, what kind of attitude is that?” she scolds. “I said shoot for the moon!”
“I can’t!” I say, despairing. “I have zero references. It’s not like Austin is going to recommend me to someone. I wouldn’t even ask.”
Jennifer taps her ombre-painted nails on the coffee table. “Okay. Worst case scenario, you freelance. You start with a lowball fee, work with some smaller brands and start-ups who don’t have the big bucks, and from there, build a portfolio.”
How does this woman make everything seem so simple?
“You’ve really got it figured out,” I tell her admiringly. “Even what you had that breakup with the photographer, you just hopped on a plane and were easy and breezy in Bali.”
“Ah, Bali,” Jennifer laughs. “I went there alone, you know.”
“I remember. You posted pictures. And they sent me your room service invoice,” I add. It had been cold and wet that month, but for Other Jennifer, the water was crystalline, and her bathing suit showed half her perfectly toned ass. “Who took the photo?”
“Self-timer on a lounge chair, end of the week.” She grins. “And let me tell you, there was nothing easy or breezy about that trip. I ate some bad airport sushi on my layover, and by the time I landed, I had full-on food poisoning. I spent the week stuck at the hotel, vomiting, alone, and miserable.”
“Oh no!”
“Oh yes.” She laughs. “You learn to roll with the punches, that’s all. Think on your feet.”
“Working for Vital made me feel like I was great on my feet,” I say wistfully. “Spontaneous. Capable. Ready for anything. But maybe this is who I’m meant to be: Consistent Jenn, fine for the boring basics.”
Doomed to wet, windy winters.
“You’re not boring,” Jennifer insists, but she doesn’t know me.
“How do you do it?” I ask. “The travel, the job, the love life… You do all these amazing adventurous things and you’re not scared of just making the leap.”
Jennifer snorts. “You havegotto stop believing everything you see on social media,” she scolds me playfully. “Of course I’m still a mess. I get terrified and insecure, and question all my life choices. But at the end of the day… I just decided: Fuck it.”
“Fuck it?” I echo.
“Fuck. It.” she repeats. “Fuck feeling like I’m not good enough or wondering what if. Fuck letting other people make the choices that affect my life. I’m the one who has to live with them, you know?”
“Yeah,” I nod. Her enthusiasm is infectious.
“Life is short!” she continues, raising her glass of Pomosa. “Joy is fleeting! Go do the thing! What’s the worst that can happen?”
