Table of Contents
Road-Tripped—Ad Agency Book 1
Head-Tripped, Ad Agency Book 2
Guilt-Tripped—Ad Agency Book 4
Field-Tripped Soundtrack
Eli Is A Chill Motherfucker
Charlie Is Dog Tired
Eli Goes Home
Charlie Meets A Boy
Charlie Goes Bald
Eli Meets A Little Brat
Charlie Knows Sex
Charlie Just Can’t
Eli is Once Bitten, Twice Shy
Charlie Goes To The Prom
Charlie Plays Party Games
Eli Saves Dead People
Eli Soars
Eli Hits The Slopes
Charlie Loses Her Cherry
Charlie Fakes A Smile
Charlie Cheers for a Loser
Charlie Makes a Hard Dick
Eli Kicks A Dog
Eli Gets A Tattoo
Charlie Is Tired of Waiting
Charlie Has A Fit
Eli Ties
Eli Plays Two Minutes In The Closet
Charlie Makes Love
Charlie Gets Zapped
Eli Rides A Chicken
Eli Loses A Mom
Eli Goes Hunting
Charlie Doesn’t Celebrate
Charlie’s Got Talent
Eli Checks the Time
Eli Falls Hard
Charlie Lets Go
Eli Dies
Eli Kills
Charlie Dates An Amputee
Charlie Clings
Eli Saves A Dog
Eli Is A Loser
Charlie Sleeps With A Boy
Charlie Beats A Stoner
Eli Soaks It In
Eli Visits The Swingers
Charlie Finds A Treasure
Charlotte Makes Love
Eli Has A Merry Christmas
Eli Gets Knocked Down
Charlie Loves Eli
FIELD-TRIPPED
Ad Agency Series, Book Three
NICOLE ARCHER
Twist Idea Lab
Field-Tripped Copyright ©2017 by Nicole Archer
ISBN: 9781549976728
First Edition
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher:
Twist Idea Lab, LLC
707 Parkview Circle
Richardson, TX 75080
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Contents
Field-Tripped Soundtrack
1. Eli Is A Chill Motherfucker
2. Charlie Is Dog Tired
3. Eli Goes Home
4. Charlie Meets A Boy
5. Charlie Goes Bald
6. Eli Meets A Little Brat
7. Charlie Knows Sex
8. Charlie Just Can’t
9. Eli is Once Bitten, Twice Shy
10. Charlie Goes To The Prom
11. Charlie Plays Party Games
12. Eli Saves Dead People
13. Eli Soars
14. Eli Hits The Slopes
15. Charlie Loses Her Cherry
16. Charlie Fakes A Smile
17. Charlie Cheers for a Loser
18. Charlie Makes a Hard Dick
19. Eli Kicks A Dog
20. Eli Gets A Tattoo
21. Charlie Is Tired of Waiting
22. Charlie Has A Fit
23. Eli Ties
24. Eli Plays Two Minutes In The Closet
25. Charlie Makes Love
26. Charlie Gets Zapped
27. Eli Rides A Chicken
28. Eli Loses A Mom
29. Eli Goes Hunting
30. Charlie Doesn’t Celebrate
31. Charlie’s Got Talent
32. Eli Checks the Time
33. Eli Falls Hard
34. Charlie Lets Go
35. Eli Dies
36. Eli Kills
37. Charlie Dates An Amputee
38. Charlie Clings
39. Eli Saves A Dog
40. Eli Is A Loser
41. Charlie Sleeps With A Boy
42. Charlie Beats A Stoner
43. Eli Soaks It In
44. Eli Visits The Swingers
45. Charlie Finds A Treasure
46. Charlotte Makes Love
47. Eli Has A Merry Christmas
48. Eli Gets Knocked Down
49. Charlie Loves Eli
50. Charlie Survives A Disaster
51. Eli Gets His Head Out Of His Ass
52. Charlie Takes A Bath
53. Eli Reaches The Sun
54. Charlie Wears Something Ugly
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Review Me
Road-Tripped—Ad Agency Book 1
Head-Tripped, Ad Agency Book 2
Guilt-Tripped—Ad Agency Book 4
Field-Tripped Soundtrack
This book comes with its own soundtrack. If you’re reading on a device with Internet access, simply click the link at the beginning of each scene. If you don’t already have a Spotify account, you’ll need to sign up for the free streaming service. You can play it online or from your mobile device.
If you’re reading a print version or have a device without Internet access, you can find the Field-Tripped soundtrack on my website, nicolearcher.com, as well as on Spotify.com under user name: nicolearcherauthor.
“Be free of attachment to the good experiences, and free of aversion to the negative ones.”
― Sogyal Rinpoche, The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying
ONE
Eli Is A Chill Motherfucker
“No matter how fast you flee, there are times when pain catches up with you. And in between those times, life is so boring you could scream.” ― Henepola Gunaratana, Mindfulness in Plain English
Eli’s Mixtape: Gorillaz, “Clint Eastwood”
MANHATTAN, NEW YORK
MY NEW GOAL is to be as unsuccessful as possible. So far, I’m crushing it.
Women, furniture, music, stuff, and stress—I’ve given it all up for good. I’ve even started meditating. I’m doing it right now.
Do nothing, Eli. Be nothing. Remove all distractions. Clear your mind. Think peaceful thoughts. Omm.
This is way better than seeing a shrink. What’s the point of rehashing memories for two hundred bucks an hour? If I felt like talking about my past, I would have done it a long time ago.
Meditation is the way to go.
Before simplifying my life, I spent forty hours a week slumped over a computer at Shimura Advertising, where I’m a graphic designer. On the weekends, I DJ’ed at clubs until the wee hours of the morning. The rest of the time I produced music for the DJ community.
I don’t even want to get into how many hours I wasted sleeping with women who wanted too much.
At some point, I was bound to crack. And nothing says it’s time to take a mental health break like freaking out in the middle of a set, packing up your turntables, and leaving hundreds of sweaty club-goers in stunned silence on the dance floor.
I thought I saw my ex that night.
There was also that time I lost my mind on a coffee barista.
Every night, I’d fall asleep, wo
ndering what happened to my life. I used to be an athlete. I was a snowboard racer and almost went to the Olympics. But that’s another story. You can watch old ESPN footage of Eli St. James’s Fall From Grace on YouTube.
The point is—success doesn’t matter. It’s just a word. Life can change in a heartbeat. Everything can be taken away. But if you don’t have anything, there’s nothing to take. No attachments, no problem.
Simplicity is the key to happiness. So is meditation.
This cushion is like sitting on a rock. I would give my left nut for a leather sofa and a big-screen TV right now. What was I thinking, getting rid of my stuff?
See? That’s attachment talking. Buddha said attachment leads to suffering.
I got that from my $5.99 Buddhist quote-of-the-day app. I’m very attached to that app.
Anyway, Buddhism is the way to go. I’m simplifying my life. I’m done with difficult. I’m no longer a slave to being busy.
Now I’m Henry David Thoreau on Walden Pond.
Except in reality, I’m Eli St. James, who lives in a shithole Manhattan studio with no earthly possessions.
But I have more time to exercise and sleep, and I’m a lot less stressed. I still work at the agency, because it’s easy and creative, and then I leave and do a whole lot of nothing.
So what if I’m mind-numbingly bored? It’s good for me.
Isn’t it?
I open one eye and see a cockroach scurrying across the floor. It’s the most exciting thing I’ve seen all week. I jump up and stomp on it.
After that, I walk to my job at Shimura Advertising. Slowly. Because I’m a chill motherfucker who meditates.
SHIMURA ADVERTISING AGENCY, NEW YORK
If I had anything on my desk right now, I’d sweep it off. “No, never. No fucking way am I going to Colorado!”
I’m in the middle of a staredown with my boss, Skip. He took over Shimura Advertising after his dad died. He’s kind of a joke of a boss. Most of us don’t take him seriously. But I’m taking him seriously right now.
“You are aware that I’m the one paying your salary?” His unblinking black eyes are just barely visible under his squint.
I lift my chin. “Sorry, can’t help you out on this pitch.”
“You’re fired.”
I snort. “What?”
“You heard me. Pack up your shit.” Skip covers his mouth. “Oh, oops, you don’t have any shit. You gave it all away. Well, that should make it easier.” He spins on his leather boots and stomps away, head held high.
I’ll wait for five minutes. He’ll be back, begging me not to quit.
Ten minutes pass.
I turn on my computer and check my email. Nothing from Skip. But he’ll be back.
Four more minutes pass.
I check my savings account. I could get by for six months. A year, maybe. And do what? This requires serious planning. I have heart palpitations. And is that sweat on my upper lip? Jesus.
I’m relapsing.
I may be chill, but not when it comes to Colorado. When I left home, it was for good. I cannot go there. She’s there. Everyone died there. I died there.
Just before I’m ready to drop to the floor and meditate, Skip zips down the office slide and lands two feet away from my cubicle. “Ready to pack up your toothbrush and go boardin’?”
“No.” I spell it out in case he didn’t hear it the first time. “N. O.”
He sighs and sits in my office chair. “All right, what’s it going to take, St. James? I thought you’d be leaping in the air, Cirque-de-Soleil style. This is such a cool opportunity. Proton Sports. Adult winter camp. So much fun.” Skip’s tone is anything but fun. “I thought you grew up there. What’s the problemo? I was serious, by the way. If you can’t go, I’m going to have to can you.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose to stave off impending hyperventilation. “Where is this camp?”
“Breckenridge. You’re not filling me with false hope by asking, are you?”
There’s no way in hell I’d run into her in Breckenridge. I could just fly in, fly out, and get it done with.
What am I thinking? I can’t go back!
I’m thinking I need a job.
Skip hangs his head. “Look, I’m going to be frank with you. You’re not the only one I’ll have to lay off if we don’t get this business. I’m sure you’ve noticed the lack of billable hours around here. Think about our dear copywriter, poor single mom Avery. Think about all the families that Santa Claus will skip, if they don’t have a job. You really want me to be that kind of Grinch?”
“Is this a guilt trip?”
“Is it working? I thought you were a compassionate Buddhist now?”
This compassionate Buddhist is seriously thinking about kicking his boss’s ass. “How long?”
“Two weeks total. You’ll be in and out before the holidays. Lickety-split.” He dices his hand through the air.
“Who else is going?”
“You—I hope—me, Avery, Sabrina—”
“Sabrina! Hell, no.” I “dated” Sabrina a while ago. She’s an account manager here at the agency. She’s also a stage-nineteen clinger. Case in point: she’s been hanging onto our non-relationship for a year past the sell date. Her Sports-Illustrated-swimsuit-model attractiveness morphed into Britney-Spears-shaved-head ugliness a few too many times.
She was a master at the mind fuck. And I hate games. Plus, she’s high maintenance, and I’m as low-maintenance as you can get without being dead.
Except right now. Right now I am not low maintenance. I am high maintenance. Very high.
Adding her to the mix makes this situation even worse.
“I need the whole team,” he says. “That’s the only way we’re allowed on this pitch.”
“Who else is going?”
“The intern. Because she’s free. Fischer, the new developer. And”—he sticks his tongue out and rolls his eyes—“Jerry.”
“I thought you hated that guy?”
“I do. But he played hockey in college, and I need all the wintery skills I can get. Including yours.” He clasps his hands in prayer. “Pretty please, St. James, with a bonus-if-we-win-this-account sprinkled on top? I need you. Don’t make me beg.”
“Isn’t that what you’re doing right now?”
“Yeah, but I’ll get down on my knees, which is huge, because I’m wearing nine-hundred-dollar jeans.”
I can’t believe I’m about to say this next sentence. Maybe I should see a shrink after all. “Okay, but you owe me.”
“No, I don’t. What about all that time off I gave you when you were moonlighting at your second job?”
“I didn’t take time off to DJ.”
“Okay, what about turning a blind eye when you were screwing Sabrina?”
“Is that against the law?”
His left eye twitches. “Just get your ass in the conference room, St. James.”
IT’S an inferno inside the conference room. The coworkers accompanying me on this horrible journey are already seated at the table.
Sabrina’s gaze follows me like one of those creepy paintings in a haunted house. “Are you going?”
“Looks like it,” I grumble.
Preeti, our Indian intern, hooks up her laptop, and a chart pops up on the overhead screen.
Skip pulls out a laser pen and shines a red dot at the chart. “Okay, team, let’s discuss our upcoming team-bonding trip.”
Team bonding trip, my ass. This is extortion.
Our copywriter, Avery Adams, is firing ocular missiles at our boss. Normally, she’s sweet and silly and reminds me of a voluptuous version of Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. But right now, she’s glaring at Skip like he’s Sigourney Weaver and she’s the alien.
“How many times do I have to tell you? I can’t go! Who will take care of Austin?” Austin is her little boy. She had him by herself with a sperm donor.
Skip shines a red dot on her forehead. “Proton has a guy at the resort w
ho will watch your kid when you’re busy.”
She swats the dot away. “You expect me to leave my kid with a strange man? Are you insane?”
“What’s there to do? Feed him. Play with him. What could go wrong?”
“Isn’t Breckenridge where that cannibal guy lived?” asks Sam, the developer.
“Shht!” Skip zips his lips. “Nobody asked you, Fischer.”
Avery dials up an expression similar to a serial killer. “I will kill you in your sleep if something happens to Austin.”
Skip sits on the corner of the table and folds his arms across his chest like he’s the most important person in the room.
Newsflash: he’s not.
“Listen up, team. In case I wasn’t clear: you don’t do this pitch, you’re out of here. I’ve been beyond chill with all your little personal problems.” He flutters his hands like birds in flight. “Your kid problems. Your relationship problems. Your second careers…” He directs the last two items at me. “Now you need to do me a solid and do your jobs. Or I’ll find someone who can. Besides, it’ll be fun. Two weeks in colorful Colorado. What’s not to love? Fresh air. Parties. We’ll do a little schussing down the slopes.” He swooshes his arms like he’s cruising down the mountain. “Then we’ll win the business and come home. Consider it a paid vacation.”
“I’m down,” Sam says.
“I am not down,” Preeti says. “I have a restaurant job.”
“I’ll pay you out of my clothing allowance,” Skip says.
“How much?”
“More than you get paid at your waitressing gig. Are we done, yet? Can I get back to my employees now? Thanks. As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted… The intern—”
“Preeti,” says the intern.
“The intern placed your wintery skills next to your name.”
“Was that what that survey was about?” That question came from Jerry Reno.
“Shut it, Jerry,” Skip barks.
Jerry, who is two hundred and twenty-five pounds of steroid-plumped muscle, shrinks back in his seat. He’s our finance guy and also a dead-ringer for a Jersey Shore cast member.
Field-Tripped Page 1