Jake was sprawled across his twin bed in their Westwood apartment, laptop propped on his knees, when the listing caught his eye. He blinked once, then laughed under his breath.
“Skip! Bro, check this out,” he called across the room.
Skip, his roommate and since freshman year, rolled over from his desk chair, half-buried in class notes. “What now?”
Jake read it aloud with dramatic flair: “‘Poolside anniversary bash in Palm Springs… looking for fit, outgoing guys… think classic pool boy vibes… compensation generous.’” He smirked. “Basically, a paid weekend in the desert. A gig just like those Hollywood promo parties—except with a lot less fabric.”
Skip’s grin spread slow and wide. “Sounds like a win to me. Pool, sun, money, and probably some decent champagne.”
“Exactly,” Jake said, already picturing himself by the pool with a tray in hand, sun bouncing off the water. “It’s practically tailor-made for us.”
Skip swiveled back to his desk and started clicking through folders on his desktop. “You know what pic we send, right? That one from last summer. West Hollywood rooftop pool, the neon flamingo float, us in matching speedos…”
Jake snapped his fingers. “Yes. Legendary. No one else will top that.”
Skip dragged the file onto his screen, and they both leaned in, admiring their tanned, grinning reflections frozen in summer light.
“Alright,” Skip said, cracking his knuckles. “We fire this off tonight, and then we wait. By next month, we could be the best-dressed—well, least-dressed—bartenders in Palm Springs.”
Jake grinned, already imagining the desert sun, the retro-modern house, the music floating across a shimmering pool. “Bro, this is gonna be one for the books.”
A few evenings later, Martin and Daniel sat side by side at the dining table, laptops open, wine glasses within reach. The applications had been rolling in all week—more than they’d expected, actually.
“Palm Springs does not disappoint,” Daniel murmured, scrolling through a series of headshots. “Actors, fitness trainers, even a lifeguard from Cathedral City. Apparently, we’ve tapped into a whole… genre of employment.”
Martin smirked, leaning closer. “Look at this one—‘Tyler, 24, mixology student.’ That’s just a fancy way of saying bartender, but he’s got the arms for it.”
They clicked through a few more before Martin’s screen froze on an image. He whistled softly. “Now these two know what they’re doing.”
Daniel leaned over to look. On the screen were Jake and Skip, tanned and grinning against a West Hollywood skyline, arms draped over each other, both in brightly colored speedos. The neon pink flamingo float behind them added a perfect splash of kitsch.
“Well,” Daniel said, his eyes dancing, “someone got the memo.”
Martin chuckled. “They’re young, they’re confident, and judging by those smiles, they’ll keep the energy lighthearted. Plus, they actually look like they’d be fun to have around.”
Daniel jotted their names onto the “shortlist” column. The list was beginning to take shape: a mix of local talent and city boys willing to trek to the desert for a glamorous weekend.
“Alright,” Martin said, sipping his wine. “So far we’ve got two solid bartenders, three servers, and two pool boy hosts. But Jake and Skip…” He tapped the screen. “They’ve got versatility. They could handle bartending or pool duty, easy.”
Daniel leaned back, satisfied. “Exactly the kind of spirit we want. Not just hired help, but part of the atmosphere. The party isn’t just about us, after all—it’s about giving our friends a night they’ll never forget.”
Martin closed his laptop with a decisive click. “And with boys like this on staff, trust me—they won’t.”
Martin drafts a response to Jake & Skip.
Response:
Hi Jake & Skip,
Thank you for reaching out—and for sharing that great rooftop photo. We’re pleased to confirm that we’d love to have you both join our anniversary celebration team. If you’re still available, consider yourselves booked.
We’ll need you on site Friday afternoon through Sunday morning. Since you’ll be driving in from Los Angeles, we’ll include gas in your compensation. You’re also welcome to stay with us at the house for the weekend if you’d like—we’ve set aside a guest room for you.
Looking forward to working with you both. We think you’ll enjoy the atmosphere—it promises to be a memorable weekend.
Best,
Martin & Daniel
[Attached: a photo of Martin and Daniel by their pool—both in crisp linen shirts and sunglasses, tan, relaxed, with the mid-century house glowing behind them.]
The following afternoon, Jake refreshed his email between classes. His eyes widened.
“Skip! Dude! They wrote back!”
Skip was sprawled on the couch, half-asleep. “Yeah? What’s the verdict?”
Jake grinned. “We’re in. Gas included, full weekend gig, and…” He paused for dramatic effect. “…they said we can stay at the house.”
Skip sat up, wide awake. “No way. That’s perfect. Free place to crash in Palm Springs? That’s basically a paid weekend vacation.”
Jake held up his phone, showing the photo of Martin and Daniel—sun-kissed, sharp, and every bit the stylish Palm Springs couple they’d imagined. “And check them out. These guys know how to throw a party.”
Skip slapped Jake’s hand in a triumphant high-five. “Bro, this is gonna be epic. Pool, desert, speedos… all we have to do is pour drinks and look good. Easiest money we’ve ever made.”
Jake laughed, already picturing the weekend. “Palm Springs, here we come.”
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