“I tell you what,” he said. “Tonight you don’t work. Tonight you party with Goush, okay?”
“I don’t know,” I said reflexively. I couldn’t cite it from memory, but I was pretty sure there was a page somewhere in the conduct section of my firm’s employee handbook that listed “Getting fucked up with the client” in the Don’t column.
Then, out of my peripheral vision, I spotted Goush’s assistant, Serena, walking out of the main house with three other unbelievably hot girls, all dressed like her, which is to say…barely. I pride myself on being professional, on staying mission-focused and on getting the job done, but there are times when certain circumstances come together in your life that you just have to say “Send it.” Besides, technically, I didn’t have the job yet, so Goush wasn’t a client and I wasn’t on the clock.
“Yeah, I think I’ll stay and hang out for a bit.”
“I fucking knew it, hero! You want any coke?”
“No thanks, I don’t touch the stuff.”
“I like it! Got to stay sharp mentally. If you need any, well, it’s fucking everywhere. Just ask somebody.” And with that, Goush started to walk back toward the main house. I stopped him before he got swallowed up by the techno.
“Hey, can I ask what you do for a living?”
“Little bit of jewelry, little bit of gold, little bit of oil.” Who is this guy, the fourth wise man? “Family businesses. My fucking family is crazy!” He laughed as he passed the four girls on his way into the house and smacked one of them on the ass. She giggled and wagged her head, like sexual harassment was totally part of the employment contract.
“I fucking love America!” Goush screamed.
At least we have that in common, I thought.
Within minutes, the four scantily clad chicks grabbed me and pulled me into the pool house where the DJ was playing.
And for the next hour, I sat on a couch, drank top-shelf whiskey and watched the girls dance with each other in a twisting blizzard of sheer lingerie that made me feel like I was sitting inside a mosquito net hung from the ceiling by eight large fake tits. One by one they would each disappear into the bathroom and crush rails, just like their boss. As the night progressed, more and more people started to file in, each girl hotter than the last. As a young, virile twenty-four-year-old, I thought this whole scene was pretty awesome, but the part of me that was used to being responsible for the lives of young people wanted to sit down with every one of them and ask, “So, tell me about your relationship with your father. Do you think this is going to end well for you?”
Around 3 A.M., things started getting really hazy. I was eight or ten glasses deep into a bottle of Macallan 25 Year (still one of my personal faves) and the four humpsketeers were really flying. Two of them started making out. Serena watched me staring at them.
“You like that?”
“I mean, I definitely don’t dislike it.”
“I’ve never fucked a guy in the military before…and neither have they,” she said as she pointed to the girls making out.
“Well,” I said, “when it comes to protecting my country, I am obligated to go above and beyond the call of duty.” Also on top, underneath, and behind it. Having been recently cheated on, my moral compass was pointing due south, straight into my pants.
“You guys want to have sex with a real Texas Ranger?” she shouted to her friends.
“That’s not what I—” But before I could finish my sentence, they grabbed my arms, pulled me off the couch, and led me to a guest room in the pool house.
I could hear the DJ’s music pounding through the adjacent wall. For the next I don’t know how many hours, through the night and into the morning, I was in and out of consciousness as often as I was in and out of these girls. It never ended, because I had the meanest case of whiskey dick of all time. I was like a half-inflated hot air balloon: I had enough in me to stay aloft, but not so much that you could fire the burner and bring the whole thing in for a safe landing. We were all going to crash and burn eventually, it was just a matter of when.
As the sun started to peek through the windows the next morning, I heard voices screaming outside. I looked at the wall and noticed a flamingo clock—nice touch, Goush—that read 7:00 A.M. Holy shit! Then I heard a loud smack followed by an even louder scream. I got up out of bed, threw on my silkies, and went out to see what was going on.
Walking through the pool house, I found the DJ sleeping on the floor underneath his turntables while the music kept pumping from his MacBook. This dude was literally a slave to the beat. I rubbed my eyes and walked toward the door. Another vicious slap echoed off the hillside.
“Fuck you, Jeremy!”
I picked up the pace and ran outside. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was two gay guys fighting! They saw me see them, then started screaming and slapping the shit out of each other full bore. I ran over to break it up, pushing them away from each other like a middle school vice principal, and just like a couple of middle school jackasses, one of them thought it would be wise to disobey me. The guy I assumed was Jeremy tried to charge right through me. No sir. That is not going to happen. I don’t care how great your pecs are. I grabbed him and put him in a rear naked choke.
If you’ve never seen someone get choked out at a party, it can be kind of a boner killer. Unless, of course, it’s your party.
“I fucking knew you were the guy!” a voice screamed down from the main house. “Fuck yes, hero! You’re hired!”
I looked up to find Goush hanging halfway out his bedroom window, completely naked. I released Jeremy from the chokehold and slowly lowered his limp body to the pool deck. The guy he was fighting ran over hysterically crying as Jeremy came to. He held Jeremy’s head in his lap, and then they kissed and embraced, like nothing had happened. Wait, these guys are together? That was a coked-out lover’s quarrel? Over what?
What the fuck is happening with my life?
I walked back into the pool house and grabbed my clothes.
“Hey, why are you leaving?” Serena said in a groggy voice. “You should stay. I have some Xanax, we could sleep in.” How’s that for pillow talk?
“I can’t, but thanks. I’ve got to get back to Texas with the rest of my Rangers. You understand.”
“Oh, totally. You were amazing, my Texas Ranger.”
I did a fake tip of my invisible cowboy hat and got dressed. On the way down the driveway, the same valet was leaning next to his stand, smiling at me. He handed me my keys and laughed.
“See you tomorrow,” he said.
“I don’t think so.”