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His excitement was slightly foreboding, because I had hiked with Roe so many times now, and he wasn’t the most careful fella. He’d fallen into a stream in Colorado, a creek in Texas, he’d twisted his ankle in Washington, and he’d almost torn down a hornet’s nest in Oregon.
“You up-to-date on your tetanus shot?” I asked. “Because I see you falling through a roof or cutting up your leg on a rusty car.”
He shook his head and addressed the camera. “He has so much faith in me.”
*
The end of October and beginning of November was a stressful period that resulted in way too little sleep. We wrapped up our production and edited our entire second season in two weeks, Colin turned one, Roe and I started Two Condor Chicks Production, he launched us on social media—with a helpful promo push from the network—we were guests on a morning radio talk show to promote our show, and every available night was spent bartending in West Hollywood.
To say I was dead on my feet was the understatement of the year.
“I want you to memorize these numbers, Jake,” Roe told me as we entered the nightclub. “Two thousand followers on Instagram, three thousand followers on Twitter, twelve thousand likes on our Facebook page—and tomorrow, we start our podcast. This is it, man. Shit’s gonna explode from here on out.”
Shit had exploded this morning when I’d changed Colin’s diaper too.
Maybe Variety could write about that.
Or that, from now on, we had no bedroom. Because Roe had turned it into a podcast studio. The living room looked like a squatter’s nest. We’d stopped turning the pullout back to a couch in the morning; we didn’t fucking have time. And now the bed stood there too. It was a good thing Colin loved to bounce around on the mattress since we’d lost most of our floor space.
“You sure you want me to handle the Instagram account?” I asked. It looked like that social media platform was gonna explode, again, much like Colin’s diaper. They’d gained five million users just in the last few months.
“You’re the photographer. One post every day.” He clapped me on the shoulder and ducked into the changing room. “When Haley gets here, we’ll talk strategy. She sounds like a super genius on the phone. Unlike her big brother.”
“Don’t worry, she’ll learn to dumb herself down for your sake one day, too, just like I did.” I grinned to myself and opened my locker, where another too-small black T-shirt was waiting for me.
“Hilarious,” Roe drawled.
I thought so.
It was gonna be nice to see my baby sister again. She’d almost burned herself out in college, pulling off one major, one minor, and two part-time jobs. We didn’t quite know how we’d all fit in our apartment, but she was coming to stay for a few months, and she’d promised to help us with our social media presence. She’d studied marketing, so she should be good at it.
I removed my ball cap and hauled my Henley over my head.
Roe sucked his teeth and eyed me. “Remind me to start lifting weights. And cover the fuck up.”
I laughed.
Juan entered a moment later, and someone had apparently pissed in his cereal.
“What’s up, sunshine?” I asked.
“Ricky quit,” he snapped. “Fucker met some rich guy and moved to New York.”
Oh…kay, then. Good to know.
“I can tell you’re very happy for him,” Roe offered.
I killed my laughter and squirmed into my work tee.
An hour later, the DJ gave a shout-out to Roe and played a heavy-beat remix of Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance,” much to my buddy’s excitement. His grins were hella infectious, and it was impossible not to get caught up in his energy bubble. We worked like a well-oiled machine, manning our own bar these days, while Juan and Oliver were on the other side of the club.
I bobbed my head to the music and took a quick swig of water in between drink orders, then got cracking on mixing two whiskey sours. A regular signaled that he wanted another gin and tonic, and I nodded to him. The bar was crowded as fuck, and each shift was a workout. But that kinda worked in our favor. Roe and I had picked up on the behaviors that gave us more tips.
For instance, lifting my tee to wipe sweat off my forehead?
Killer.
Just removing my cap to run a hand through my hair did the trick sometimes.
Roe came over to me and held a shot of something to my lips, and I opened my mouth as he threw back his own shot too. Fuck, that was Jägermeister. Not my favorite. I chased it down with beer, then handed over the two whiskey sours to the guy with blue hair.
He was a flirt.
When he leaned across the bar, I did the same and tilted my head to hear what he wanted to say.
