I might sound like an idiot, but you would too if you had been staring at the same spot for three hours. I’m laid up on some fancy hotel bed, just staring. My back is starting to hurt something fierce, and I begin to dread being old. All old people do is lay on their back it seems. My mind is wandering to everything in the sun to keep my mind off of what just happened to me.

In my twenty-four years of life I, Madison Marie West, have abstained from practically any sexual contact with another male. It’s taken effort and concentration on my part. Believe me, it wasn’t because nobody wanted to jump my bones. I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t be one of those girls that run around and fuck anything with legs. I have a problem with addiction. Abstaining from sexual contact means I cannot get addicted to it. You can’t get addicted to something you do not do.

I’m not talking waiting for my fairy tale wedding or some mumbo jumbo shit like that. I just know that knowing my luck in life, I would be the one to end up in a hospital bed screaming my lungs out and cussing at a new being that was tearing up my vagina. That’s just the way my cookie always crumbles.

I’ve never been in love. I never want to be in love. I want to remain an unmarried woman with no children in sight. So if you never have children, can you get your tubes tied anyway? Maybe that would solve my nonsexual existence.

Fuck all this sex talk. Lets get back to the ceiling and why the fuck I’ve been staring at it for 185 minutes now. Oh, I think I just saw a fifth smudge. You can see if you squint really hard. I haven’t taken my eyes off of the ceiling except for to look at the clock a total of three times. My eyes are even beginning to drift even though it is now 4:34 in the morning. I can tell already that there will be no sleep for me. This is a first. I usually fall asleep the first chance I get.

Okay, fuck the no thinking about the sex part. I’ve been avoiding the subject for almost three hours and fifteen minutes.

I, Madison Marie West, just had sex for the first time after twenty-four years and 242 days. I, Madison Marie West, just spent her night losing her virginity to a complete stranger. I, Madison Marie West, had a one-night stand. I, Madison Marie West, had her brains fucked out by none other than Justin Timberlake. I, Madison Marie West, am now addicted to everything and anything dealing with sex.

_______________________

I stifle a yawn and hit the phone as it rings. If I don’t pick it up, I know they will just keep calling. The weird thing about this is I ask for a wakeup call, but then I’m always too annoyed to pick it up. All I have to say to them is “I’m up” or some shit to that extent, and I don’t even want to do that. The most annoying thing about the whole phone ringing concept is that it worsens this huge ass hangover headache that I’m currently nursing.

When I finally do pick up the phone, I just give somewhat of a grunt. And even that sounds as if I’ve shouted at the top of my lungs. It is 6:02 in the morning. I feel like shit due to that enormous amount of alcohol I consumed last night. I have a show to do tonight as part of my fantastic little club tour. Who’s ever idea that was should be fired. Only because afterwards I just wind up getting drunk most of the time and passing out.

However last night I fucked the sixth woman since the tour started one month ago. That’s a lot to most people, but like a grain of salt to me. Trace has reminded me thousands of times to stop fucking these random women and get over my ex-girlfriend. He insists the only reason I’m going around fucking and leaving is because I can’t get over Jessica ‘the bitch’ Biel. This is entirely false and made up. The real truth is that I’m sick of relationships. Everyone I have ever had has come back to shoot me in the ass, so I’ve given up on them. Completely. I just want to have sex with no strings attached.

And last night I did. But the only thing I can remember about it was the girl’s voice. It was distinct because it was sexy, driven, and ravenous. I’ve never heard anything like it. I can’t remember what the girl looked like in the slightest. Hell, for all I know she could have had four tits. I wouldn’t have cared. If she had a vagina, that’s enough for me.

“JUSTIN!?” Jesus Christ. Did he have to just scream loud enough to burst my eardrums? It feels like he’s even done more damage than that. Imagine the ladies that would cry if my eardrums were busted. And that pounding? Why does he insist on pounding?

“Dammit Trace you don’t have to scream. I could hear you right now if you just fucking whispered,” I whip open the door as fast as I can and almost slam it in his face. What the hell is he doing in my room this early anyway?

“I brought you some coffee. You have a radio interview in an hour and a half. I’m sure they wouldn’t like it if you were drunk off of your ass. And if you have a girl in there, get her out,” I take my coffee. Trace knows how to do my coffee. That’s why he’s the best damn best friend and personal assistant there ever was. Not that Rachel isn’t fabulous, but she needs work. I’m sure Rachel was the one that scheduled this stupid radio interview. I’m so sick of doing interviews. They have almost put me in the mental ward. I mean how long can you really go on answering the same damn questions before they lock you up and throw away the key?

“Trace, you are a lifesaver.” And that’s how I slam the door in his face. Gotta love Trace, but not in the morning standing in front of me barking out orders when I haven’t even so much as gone to the bathroom.

This is simply a great time in my life. I’m free of girlfriends, I get drunk whenever I want, I have people bring me coffee at the crack of dawn, I get fucked three ways to Sunday whenever I want. How much better can my life get?

         I’m beginning to wander what the hell I am doing. I never dress up for anything. It doesn’t matter what job I have at the time, I will never dress up for it. So I’m standing here, waiting to meet my big boss in jeans and a t-shirt.

“OUCH!” And this is what is wrong with this picture. So I don’t dress up, but I wear heels? I mean what was I smoking this morning? I can barely function in tennis shoes, much less some pretty tall heels that I haven’t bothered to measure.

I’ve gotten absolutely no sleep the past two nights. The first night because I was worried about my prized chastity belt being ripped apart, and the second night because I was too shaken up to move my eyes away from the ceiling.

It’s starting to get cold in the Big Apple. Being the dumbass I am, I’m out here freezing my ass off because I’m wearing short sleeves. I mean who doesn’t look at the weather before deciding what to wear? Me obviously. This is why I should have stayed at home and been one of those people who work out of their own house for a living. Would have been much better at that. I mean even when I get inside it’s fucking freezing and people are staring at me like the idiot I am.

“TRACY!” That’s a happy shout by the way. I haven’t seen my friend in ages. Well if two weeks counts as ages I guess. Which it so does in my nonexistent world. I watch as my friend whips around and stomps over to me. I stifle what could be a very loud giggle. And my giggles do have some obnoxious snorting involved. Suddenly I feel a slap on the side of my head. The look on the person’s face standing in front of me is priceless. Where is a camera when I need one?

“The name is TRACE! With a fucking E on the end…nothing else,” He looks almost adorable standing there in front of me with his arms crossed. He has that anxious pissed look down to a tee.

“Exactly, an E on the end. Making it Trac-E,” I receive another blow to the head. Thank God I’m over my hangover from two nights ago. If I had still had it I would be on the ground begging for mercy or some lame shit like that.

“I’m going to disregard everything you just said. Why the fuck have you not been answering your phone? I’ve been calling it for the past two days. I KNOW that you got into town two days ago,” I almost choke on my spit. How the hell would he know when I got in town? Does he know? Does he know what a magnificent night I had with his friend? Oh God kill me now. I have got to get my mind off anything and everything sex or else I have half a brain to throw Trace down on the ground and fuck him senseless right here in front of everybody.

“It’s been off. How the fuck do you know when I got into town?” My stare can be one of those that can make a rabid dog back down and run away. It’s what I’m known for. Everybody hates me for it. It’s what gave me my priceless title of Queen Bitch. I like it that way too.

“Because I called John, and he told me he personally saw you off himself. I’ve been waiting for you to show up for days. And what the FUCK are you doing wearing heels?” Thank God, just one of my many minions. John told him. Remind me to kick him for telling my business when I get back to that wretched place where I spend most of my time slaving away.

“Oh thank you God. I was trying to let you know I truly cared, but now that I know you don’t,” And I pull out a pair of tennis shoes from my overly sized bag. You know you’ve seen those annoying huge ass bags that most celebrities carry with them on a daily basis. I’m carrying this one right now so that I can stuff all of the clothes I have inside. It also comes in handy for shoes.

“I’m just shocked you even tried,” Oops. There goes my damn shoe. I don’t know how it just flew out of my hand and hit Trace in the chest. Now you may be wandering what in God’s creation I am doing standing here chatting away to Trace Ayala like it’s nobody’s damn business. And in that thought I just took the Lord’s name in vain in a weird ass kind of way. I’ll have to wash my mouth out later.

Anyway, back to the whole Trace situation. Trace is my boss. Yeah, I don’t know many people who talk to their boss this way either. But Trace is a very good guy who happens to have become one of my good friends. And as much as he would like to think he pulls a lot of rank on me, he doesn’t. Certainly, my job lies in his hands but I’m pretty highly ranked on the totem pole. We’ve known each other for a year and then some change. Granted, we didn’t hit it off at first. Actually we bumped heads. We had quite a few screaming matches, or bitch fits as he likes to call them, before we finally threw in the towel and decided to be friends. However, there is the random occasion where I still throw food or any kind of object at his head.

“I swear to God, that better have not been your shoe that you just chunked in my direction,” I roll my eyes briskly, tying my last shoe lace to my brand new tennis shoes that I brought yesterday. I sigh with joy at the feel and throw the other heel in Trace’s direction. I don’t know why I pick on the booger so much.

But all I get is an unfamiliar yelp of pain as a retort. I didn’t even throw it that hard. I look up and see another being crouched down holding his privates like he just has some sort of vasectomy without any pain medication. My face goes beet red, which is a rarity. Trace, who obviously dodged my shoe, is trying so hard not to laugh.

Oh goody. My first trip out here and not only do I manage to sleep with him the first time I meet him. But the second time I meet him I basically castrate him? What the fuck is wrong with me. It’s all Trace’s fucking fault. It always is.

“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!” I would shout some more obscenities, but I’m pretty sure that one did the trick. Besides I’m about in tears. So get the record books because Justin fucking Timberlake is about to cry. This needs to be documented. Who the hell just threw a red spiky heel at me? It’s probably one of those evil bitches looking to incapacitate me so that they can have their way with me. I don’t know because right now I can’t look up. I don’t know why when you get hit in the balls you cannot move your body, but you just can’t. If you were a guy, you would understand.

But, I do have ears. My ears are currently hearing my best friend cackling like this is the funniest damn thing he’s ever seen. If he’s laughing he must be behind this. Wait until I regain composure. He is going down. I have half a mind to pick up the heel and throw it back in his direction, except making sure he can’t make babies in the future. But how the hell did Trace get his hands on a high heel?

All I wanted to do was come out from the meeting I was in and stretch my legs because I’ve been holed up in a room for the past two hours. Much of the discussion has been about nothing I am even halfway interested in. I think Johnny even hit me in the head a few times to tell me I was snoring, but whatever. I don’t even have time to see what is going on before I get nailed in my beef with an unrecognizable object at the time. Now I know it to be a red high heel. And even though Trace does some pretty kinky shit, I’m sure wearing high heels is not one of them.

I can finally lift my head to see what the commotion is all about. Trace is still laughing his head off, and I think I actually do see tears from him. Then I notice a girl sitting on the floor, legs spread out looking beet red, but for some reason I think she wants to laugh too. Well I don’t give a fuck. I was just hit in my junk with what obviously must be her shoe. I still haven’t found my vocal cords, or I would seriously rip her a new one. Does she know that the sperminators are not replaceable? I finally get the nerve to clear my throat a little bit, and then it’s like a fucking tornado.

“I am so sorry. That was not meant for you. It was meant for Trace, so blame him. He obviously dodged it and landed you in the predicament that you are in,” And I’m starting to kind of like this girl. That or she’s pissing me off. I like her because she was really throwing it at Trace, who deserves it far more than I do. And I like her for the fact that she has the balls (something I don’t have much of right now) to blame Trace for the entire thing when it came out of her hand.

“Um…who the hell are you?” And it doesn’t come off as smooth as I meant it to sound. Yes, I meant to sound rude and cocky and whatever the hell else I sounded. I did not mean to sound as shaky as I did, but that can be explained by the recent images of death I have just seen. The girl jumps up and has the audacity to stick out her hand for me to shake. This has Trace laughing even harder. Oh that stupid bitch. So let me get this straight? She wants me to take my hand off of protecting my junk to shake her evil hands? Who the hell is this chick?

“Madison West. Um…head of production for William Rast.” Is this bitch crazy? Who the hell hired her? Oh wait, that was probably me. But you mean to tell me that she is practically running a lot of MY company? This is what I get for Trace Ayala taking over while I’m out playing, getting drunk, and scoring girls? This must be God’s way of getting back at me. I do notice that she has put her hand back by her side. I know I’m being a dick, but she just threw a shoe at my junk.

“Justin, Madison will be in and out during the tour so as to get you involved in the clothing line seeing as you will be busy.” So what this twip (yes, my word for Trace. It’s a cross between twerp and twit) is telling me is I have to put up with shoe thrower all tour? I feel for my little ones already.

“Well she’s quite the antagonist I see.” I manage to get up off of the floor that I fell onto previously. Her face turns more red, and I can’t imagine it could get any redder. She lets out this half sigh half groan, and it makes me pay attention. There is something familiar about it.

“Listen, maybe I should come back later when I’ve had time to secure my heels.” Does this bitch think this is funny? Obviously Trace does because he starts heehawing again. I’m so frustrated with everything that has just happened that I don’t even know how to think. Where do I know this girl from? Maybe I’ve met her before on a trip to one of the offices. I’m in space trying to figure this out. Soon enough Trace is going to start doing alien voices. It’s what he always does when I space.

“Actually, now that you are here, you can show me the statistics for the west coast. I haven’t heard anything recently, and I would like to know what’s going on.” I’m waiting for her to throw up her hands and run out of the room. That was a pretty ballsy request on my part. I just did it as a tease. I’m well aware of the WR west coast sales. To my surprise she starts pulling stuff out of the enormous bag she brought with her. I’ll be damned. She just handed me a paper clipped and sticky noted up folder. Although I’m not focused on the folder, I’m focused on the bracelet she has on that is currently twinkling under the lights. Ah-ha!

“Everything you need to know is highlighted,” She paints this grin on her face like she’s so smug about herself. Conceited whore. I will give her this, I didn’t think she would be so professional and organized after her little stunt. But I’m not thinking about that right now.

“Nice bracelet. I’ve seen one of those before.” Caught red handed. Her eyes falter, and that’s when I know I’m right. She’s not even looking up at me anymore. I’m going to tell Trace as soon as I can that I don’t want her here anymore. I’ve never faced anybody that I’ve just fucked for no reason afterwards. I’m not about to start now.

“Yes. It is. And I’m sure you have Mr. Timberlake. I brought it yesterday at Tiffany’s.” Who does she think she’s fooling? She may have brought it at Tiffany’s, but she didn’t just buy it yesterday. I know this because now I’ve even matched that unmistakable voice. Yeah, she’s going to be on the first plane out of here.

        There goes the light bulb. It’s currently laying on the ground in teeny pieces. Now you might want to know how it got there, and I’m getting to that in just a second.

“I DID NOT FUCKING COME ALL THE WAY OUT HERE TO BE TURNED THE FUCK AROUND!” I’m silently in my head counting to ten to at least try to get this situation under control. It’s too bad it’s not working.

“Why are you yelling at me? I haven’t done a damn thing to you. Don’t make me start to yell back Madi. You know I’ve got vocals.” My intense stare that I mentioned earlier has lost its magic on Trace Ayala. I don’t know when it happened, but it did. Otherwise he would restate what he just came into my hotel room to tell me. This is a different hotel room mind you. I moved over for the night into Justin’s hotel in order for it to be more convenient for him.

I get a knock on my door at 11:00 at night. I’m just coming out of the shower dressed in my cute penguin pajamas. I get dressed in them late usually so that nobody will have the privilege of seeing them on me. Well, it looks like its that bastard Trace’s lucky night. He comes in and stands there all macho looking and quietly and politely informs me that my services are no longer needed on the tour. When I ask why, he just says he thinks his little visits to Justin will have to suffice. Well if your little visits did the trick, why the fuck did I just go out of my way to be here?

“WHY AM I YELLING AT YOU? WHAT KIND OF IDIOT ARE YOU?” I’m trying to count to ten again. So far I’ve gotten to one and sounding out the t of two. I’m not upset. I’m officially pissed the fuck off.

“MADI! I came in here to do this nicely, but if you want to have it your way, FINE!” And here comes the explanation as to why there is a light bulb shattered on the ground. Me throwing it at the wall behind Trace certainly did the trick. I think that was the first object I threw at him that actually ever broke. I’ve never seen his eyes so big. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so mad either.

“Don’t ask me to apologize for that because you FUCKING DESERVED IT!” I wonder what the record is for how many cuss words you can use in a fight because I have a feeling I’m fixing to put it to the test.

“Madi. I’ve booked your flight. You leave tomorrow at 8 in the morning. End of discussion.” End of discussion my ass. Trace should know me better than this. If he thinks I’m going to let him just traipse all over me just because he’s the boss and he owns a big percentage of the company, he can go stick it up his ass.

“Don’t fucking call me Madi! Why the hell are you calling me Madi? My name is MADISON. Would you like me to spell it?” If it’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s being called Madi all the time. Only the ones dearest to my heart are allowed to call me that disastrous nickname and one of those people is not Trace at the moment. I thought when somebody was mad at you they showed it by heavily pronouncing your full name not chopping it to bits and spitting it back out.

“You are crossing the line. I’m not going to stand here and take this. I’m leaving. Just make sure your ass is on that plane tomorrow.” I have to bite my tongue to keep from picking up a book I was reading earlier and chunking it at his head. Maybe it would make him a little dizzy.

“Trace, did Justin tell you to send me home? I know it’s not like you to send anybody packing for no reason at all. Just let me know if Justin did this, and I will calm down and forget you ever said anything to me.” I say this statement in a nice voice to see what exactly he will say next.

“No…I mean yes he did, but,” And that was all he had to say because I’m out of the door in a heartbeat. I’ve got my penguin pajamas on, I’m barefoot, and I’m storming down the hallway faster than anybody can say the stupid ass name Madi.

“You said you would forget I said anything!” Trace is practically running to catch up with me. I’m just walking very fast. What a midget. I knew he would fall for that lame ass trick.

“Yeah, I would forget YOU said anything. You are forgiven,” And by that time I have reached Justin’s door and begin to bang loudly. I could bang all night long with how mad I am right now. So for the people actually sleeping in this hotel, they better hope he answers. And he answers with a beer in his hand. Great. It’s obvious he just got here from his oh so mighty club appearance at the club. His shirt is disheveled and his pants are undone, his belt hanging lopsided. I watch as he looks from my head down to my bare feet. Well manicured feet at that. I push him into his own room and follow after him. Trace tries to come in, but I slam the door on him and lock it so fast it bumps his forehead a little.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” Did I mention I was very blunt and sometimes overly dramatic? I get pissed off quite easily and this is one of those moments. At the exact time he says this, I think I hear a feminine growl like sound. And it did everything but turn me on. I am furious. Whoever his little girl toy for the night is, is in for a rude awakening. I push past Justin and into the bedroom where I see some little downtown whore like I thought. Pretty, but clueless.

“Honey, you can stick around if you want. But I suggest you get dressed because I’m going to be awhile.” I’m polite to her. I can’t believe how nice I am. But after all, the girl did not do anything to me, just her dick for the night did.

“What the FUCK?” I turn around to face an evil Justin who is pulling his cell phone out no doubt to call one of his dumb ass security men into the room to pull me out. I take his phone and turn it off. The girl on the bed is glued to the sheets obviously because she hasn’t moved.

“Mr. Timberlake, I am a woman of pride. I do not take shit off of anybody. If you want me off this tour tell me your damn self. Don’t send Trace to do it for you. Have you got any balls? I am excellent at my job. I flew completely across country for you. It was not just to be sent home. I’ve worked long and hard hours to prepare for this trip, and don’t tell me I did it for nothing. Just because you have a stick up your ass, doesn’t mean you have to take it out on me. Now I’m TELLING you politely that I’m not leaving. I will not bother you unless I need to tell you something. I have no use for you, but I believe you have a use for me. I’m very thankful for everything I have been given, but I will not stand here and take anybody’s shit.” I have balls. Yes I do. Even I didn’t know I had ones that large though. I feel like grabbing my crotch and parading around like pigheaded men do. I mean it’s kind of like I just smoked a big fat juicy joint and having the high of my life. That is until I look at Justin’s face. His eyes are doing that bulge thing that one of those women on Ripley’s Believe It of Not was very good at. Looking at him now, I think he could even give her a run for her money. He’s just standing there quiet. It’s eerie. Kind of like the calm before the storm.

“Get dressed and go.” So, he’s not even talking to me? That’s a good sign I guess. The girl from behind me is gathering her clothes and putting them on as fast as she can. I would too with that look Justin is giving her. But I have this feeling that he’s really meaning that look for me. She scampers out of the room. Dammit! I forgot I locked Trace out. He comes running in like a bat out of hell.

“Listen here. I am the boss of this tour. I run this shit. If I want you out, I want you out. No questions asked.” Is that all he’s going to say to me? Really? After my big performance that’s all he says?

“Give me a reason.” It’s like arguing with a fence post. I always do it to everybody. I have to have the last word. I will have the last word by the end of the night and be on the winning side.

“Because I don’t befriend whores.” My mouth drops completely open. It’s like a broken hinge that won’t shut. Even though it came out of Justin’s mouth, I can tell he is taken aback with himself. Did he just say what I think he said? Is that bastard really that crazy? Does he know who he’s dealing with?

“Justin.” It’s Trace’s voice. It’s oh so much lovelier to hear than Justin’s right now, but I hold my finger up to him to tell him to be quiet. There are a ton of things I would like to say to him right now. But I’m silent, because I’m too upset to even think. I spent two nights without hardly any sleep for this bastard? This egotistical hoe bag just called ME a whore? I wasted my Virgin Mary for this creep?

“Thank you for your time.” And I’m out of there like lightning. I can’t think of anything to say. I’m not the type to get emotional. But when I do get emotional, it is not going to be in front of the somebody who made me that way. I practically run back to my room. I slam the door and lock every lock I can think of. And that’s when the tears flow when I realize that I just wasted all that time, 24 years and 242 days to be exact. I never thought I would get sentimental about sex. Sex is sex. I’ve always thought in my head that it was just because I didn’t want to get addicted to it and become a whore. But this is really hurting right now. I don’t know if it’s the fact that I was just called a whore, or if it’s because I lost my virginity to some fucker who fucks a different girl every night.

The room is so silent that if I even let out a tiny fart, it would seem like an earthquake. My buzz is officially gone, and my fun for the night has left the building. I’m thinking about just throwing this beer in my hand all over the room. Who does she think she is? Maybe she thought she could come in here throw a tantrum and she could win me back. But she is so wrong.

“Justin,” I almost forgot Trace was in the room. Why the hell didn’t he storm after her and start yelling? Why isn’t he helping her pack her bags. After all, he is the one that brought her here, not me, “What is wrong with you?”

“What? Are you crazy? Trace, I want her out of here. I have half a mind to call the cops and have her arrested.” Trace defies my friendship and rolls his eyes at me. I am not in the mood to play those kind of games.

“I think you should apologize.” He’s standing here staring at me with his arms crossed. Oh for heaven’s sake. Is he kidding? Is this a practical joke? If not, I’m about to blow my top.

“For what?” I need to sit down. I feel like any moment all of the food I’ve ever eaten is going to come tumbling out of me. I plop on the bed, still mad as ever.

“Justin, what has gotten into you? She is just a person. She’s not one of your admirers. She works for you. You are treating her like dirt. That comment was totally uncalled for.” Is this the same person I’ve known since I was a baby? Trace always gets a kick out of this stuff. Hell, he’s usually the one that starts it.

“Trace, am I missing something?” My head is starting to pound, and I wish he would just get on with it and get out. I really just need to go to bed and forget tonight happened. And when I wake up tomorrow, Madison free I will smile and go back to my cheery self.

“You’re missing the fact that she is my FRIEND.” I’m looking at him like he’s crazy right now if you are wondering.

“Are you sure you just don’t have a thing for her or something?” I’m yawning hoping he will get the point and get out of my room, but he just stands there rolling his eyes. Is that all he does tonight?

“I do not have a thing.” He turns to go, thank God. Maybe I’ll just give him a piece of my mind before he leaves. Maybe I’ll make him hate her as much as he hates me right now.

“Well just so you know, she’s pretty good in the sack. She does this thing..” And I don’t finish because Trace has slammed the door on me. Typical. I bet he’s going to go check up on his beloved right now. Maybe they will have a knock down drag out. Maybe he will hate her too before tomorrow and that will ensure her being on the first flight out of here.

       “This is not what I had in mind at all.” John turned his nose up, not only at the rain but the impending disaster in front of us. Maybe I could use my umbrella as a weapon. You always see it done in movies, why not in real life? Would I get sued?

       “You are telling me. All I wanted to get was some hot glue.” John laughed his first laugh of the day. Technically we’re still at work, we just took a business trip to Walmart.

        “You are the one that has caused all of this Mrs. Superstar.” I shoot this look at him that tells him to crawl in the corner and die. It’s been exactly a week. It took exactly one week for this shit to go down. I hadn’t expected it at all, not even thought about it. I guess the past week was the calm before the storm because this is definitely the tornado.

       “Is that a death wish?” I could go on, but I’m interrupted by bright lights. Terrible bright lights right in my face. Whoopsie. My umbrella just stabbed somebody right in their gut. One down, four to go. All of these shouts, I can not make anything out. I look over at John, and he is trying so hard not to bust out laughing. However, he holds back no longer when we get in the car.

        “Damn. I didn’t know being Justin’s girlfriend gave you this kind of treatment. Maybe I need to screw him.” I flip him the finger. This is beginning to be utterly ridiculous.

        “For the last time,” I’m interrupted by my screeching cell phone. I look to see who it is before I answer. It could be ANYBODY these days. I smile at the name on the ID, “Hello.”

        “Listen Ms. Popular, I need a favor.” I smile at his voice. He always wants some kind of favor. Ever since I met him, it’s always about favors. This boy better be lucky I’m having a semi good day.

        “Yes Trace. Go ahead,” I’ve always had trouble talking on the phone and driving at the same time. You can tell this now because there are people honking at me. What is up with America and road rage?

        “Justin will need your services this weekend.” I huff at this. Since when does Justin ‘the bastard’ Timberlake need any favors from this bitch. Or this whore, as he would so conveniently call me. I seem to recall me being pushed on a plane by a big burly guy at the request of Mr. Timberlake just a week ago. I just got back into my apartment and settled in again.

       “Are you kidding me? Is this the same Justin that we are both talking about?” Trace snickers on the other end as if he is hiding some sort of devious secret. Well, I’m not about to play around with his secrets.

       “He doesn’t know you are coming. But he does need you. He’s hassling me about the new material, and I need you to fly out some stuff. We’ll be in Miami, so it’s warm!” He says this cheerily at a big roll of my eyes. One day my eyes are going to get stuck there.

       “Trace, I thought you were going to come back with us. So are you just going to be with Justin the whole tour? I mean, isn’t this supposed to be your job?” I’m kind of flustered for many reasons. When I told Trace I would do this “adventure,” as he described it, he said nothing to me about flying out every weekend. Nor did he tell me about his bitchy ass girlfriend by the name of Justin Timberlake. Some things I just can not forgive him for.

        “I’m loving this vacation time. Besides, you need the time off too.” Excuse me?

         “Time off? Dealing with hell on wheels is not time off. It’s like waiting to die and waking up to Satan.” Trace laughs at this too before telling me when my flight leaves. Can somebody explain to me why Trace is always making me flights before he even asks me anything? Anybody?

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           It just dawned on me that I’m in a club watching this little performance, if you could call it that, without so much as an ounce of alcohol in me. Maybe that’s because this is strictly business. I’ve already been accosted by five different people, and I got here five minutes late. Hey, you can be late when you don’t even want to be somewhere. No big deal.

          And apparently Justin’s security has all been warned about me, because nobody would let me backstage. I tried to tell them to get Trace, but they said no way in hell. I don’t know if it’s some sort of joke, but I’m not laughing at all. Because Trace should know how dire my situation is. It’s so dire that I shouldn’t be in the middle of a sea of over sexualized females lusting over some guy they will never have. And for there sake, that’s a good thing.

          This is partially due to the pictures that showed up in this weeks US Weekly magazine. They were pointed out to me by Samantha at work. That depressed me. Apparently little miss slut whore Justin was trying to fuck the night before I left, went and sold some bogus story about how I was his secret girlfriend and caught him cheating on me. Or hell, it could have been Justin just to fuck with me. Either way, my life has been somewhat miserable since then.

          “Shit!” The worst part about these little packed shows is you manage to get every bit of liquor there ever was spilled on you. You smell like shit by the end of the night and if you plan on being “friendly” with anybody, it just went out of the window unless they are drunk and don’t care.

          I’m too busy looking down at my clothes, which are reeking at the moment, to notice that somebody has caught sight of me.

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          I’m singing, not a care in the world, looking at all my lovely admirers when somebody in the crowd peaks my interest. It can’t be. Can it? I’ll be damned. Who is responsible for this? I almost falter, but I don’t. Stupid bitch. Does she know what her being here will do to me?

         When the story about us came out, I realized I fucked up. Not about her yelling at me and all that shit. I hate her with a passion. I shouldn’t have acted like I did in front of anybody. Hell, I shouldn’t be fucking random women. So in actuality she probably saved me, but I’m still seething. This had to be Trace. I’ll kill him later. There is too much riding on my career for her to be around. Next thing you know, the magazines will print that we’ve shacked up together.

         “TRACE! WHAT THE FUCK?” As soon as I dip off stage, I’m heading for him. I startle him as he’s just backstage fucking around with Guitar Hero. Doesn’t he know who the fuck he is messing with?

         “Justin, what the hell is wrong with you?” He turns off Guitar Hero and sees the expression on my face that probably would tell anybody to duck and run, whichever one suits me.

         “Why is Madison or whatever at my show?” Trace’s eyes light up like a kid on Christmas. I knew it was him. He did this. He must be delirious. Did I not get across to him earlier that I hated her? Was it the shouting, or the whore part he didn’t understand?

         “She’s here? Why didn’t she come back?” Okay, he is either dumb or delirious. I had my security block Madison from my guest list the moment she blew up on me and got on that plane. I plan to keep it that way.

         “Because in case you haven’t been paying attention, she’s not on my nice list.” I love Trace, but this is crossing the line. He just stares at me as if I have become the next fucking wonder of the world. What the fuck is up with this chick and why is she all up in Trace’s dick?

         “Justin! Get your shit in line. She works for you. Hell she practically runs most of your company. What the hell is wrong with you?” Oh yeah, I forgot about her and William Rast. My head is starting to pound. Maybe I should be nice and let her back, but as soon as she gets here I’m disappearing. I don’t like her…at all. I tell Lonnie to get her ass back here. He looks as if he’s ready to punch me. I’m sure he would rather be trapped in a room by himself than go out there in the crowd fishing out some girl for me.

          “I still don’t like her Trace. But maybe I can act some sort of civilized. How long is she going to be here?” Trace looks excited when I tell him I’ll give her a chance. It’s as if I’ve just given him permission to take her to the prom or something of that sort.

          “She’ll be here for the weekend. I had her fly out that new jacket we’re working on. Remember the idea we had like a month ago? Well I had her do a demo line. Technically, it’s been ready for awhile, but somebody was too busy bitching at somebody to even ask,” I want to hit him. Can I hit him? I mean I can just imagine his face flattened and him crying out for mercy.

          “Okay, not only have I just learned that about ten girls could see a little bit of Justin’s penis through his pants onstage, but I have had enough liquor spilled on me to last me a whole year. And one giganto bitch flogged me with her shoe because I’m supposedly marrying your ass,” I stare at her as she just plops down on the sofa. She looks dreadful. Her hair is mussed to all hell in back. There isn’t an inch of her little black dress that isn’t wet. And I’m just staring because she acts like nothing has ever happened between us. Does this chick have multiple personalities? “If only she knew I would rather die than even be in the same room as you.”

            I knew there was a catch to that shit. I don’t care, I’m not apologizing. At least this time she didn’t walk in and aim straight for my junk. I’m still recovering from the last time. I’m about to walk out of the room without even saying as much as hey when Trace pops me one in the stomach. Again, what the hell is wrong with this midget?

            “Me and Justin were going to go get something to eat if you want to come.” This is the first time I’ve ever heard anything about me and Trace going out to eat. Since when does he tell me what to do? I am starving though. I probably should eat something. But with the spawn of Satan sitting on the couch across from me?

            “As much as I’d love too,” I almost start praising the words that are coming out of her mouth.

            “Come.” But then that piece of shit comes out of it. What the fuck is wrong with me? Did I invite one of my enemies to eat? Jesus, I’m coming down with the Trace disease.

            “I can’t. I look like a drowned rat, and I absolutely just want to get in the shower, crawl into bed, and go to sleep. But you guys have fun! Now please excuse me.” And she walks out just like that. Let me get this straight, I get a bit of nice bug and she turns me down? What the hell? Nobody really turns me down that often. It’s something I’m not used to. It just makes my hatred for her boil over.

------------------------------------------

          So I really am famished. My stomach has been eating itself for like the past two hours. But not giving that bastard the time of day is worth all of that pain. Taking a shower makes me feel better about the food issue.

          I love showers. They are the best time for reflection. I use it to reflect on most of the good in my life, and cleanse me of the bad. I come out feeling like a new person every time. Except, when I get out this time I still have the stomach ache of the century.

         The best solution to my problem is just to go to sleep and forget all about it. My thoughts are running with me as I try to go to sleep. The room is pitch black, except for a light that is coming from across the street.

         I start asking myself why the hell I am here. I have no clue. For Trace I guess. Actually, more importantly for my job. I do a hell of a lot for Justin Timberlake. He obviously doesn’t realize just how much I do. Without me, there probably would be no William Rast. Okay, that’s an exaggeration. There would be a William Rast, just with somebody else in my position. And I think I’m the best person for the job. He obviously doesn’t realize the all nighters I pull just to make sure everything is going just the way he wants. He doesn’t realize with all the bastards I deal with, besides himself, on a daily basis.

         He’s lucky to have me. I’m very confident of myself…right now that is. It goes up and down most days, but I’m a very strong woman. I think I’ve given that impression to Justin, except for the altercation of sleeping with him. But that was just a one time thing that we can just forget about. Yeah, forget about it. Damn it!

         Who the fuck is that? There is a knock on the door. Don’t they know I’m sleeping? It’s like 2:00 in the morning. Shit. I’m in my secret pajamas. I throw back the covers and use the peep hole. What the hell? I open the door and let the person in. He does what he has to do and then he leaves. I didn’t do this.

          I’ll be damned. Sitting in my room now is room service at two in the morning and the note on top is signed Justin.

         This still doesn’t mean he isn’t a bastard. I think. Damn it!

     Breakfast is essential. I know I ate at a very rough hour last night, but I’m still craving some hotel bacon and eggs. Bacon and eggs will go straight to my ass, but I don’t care. It’s currently 7 am. I think Trace mentioned traveling to Orlando today, but I’m not too sure about that. One thing I know is if I will be riding in some type of fashion, I will need to be well rested and well fed. Okay, that’s just an excuse. I’m just hungry, and I want to eat.

     Elevators are nice when you are stuck on the tenth floor. This is random, I know, but even as I’m riding down I am enjoying this cheesy elevator music. I should have called Trace so I wouldn’t be so lonely. Of course, then that would probably entail some other company. I’m still seething over the whore remark. I know he was drunk, but he had no right. And part of me knows he meant it. Well, I’m over it. From now on I’m going to start over. And here’s my chance.

     Just my luck that those two dummies, plus somebody else who looks mildly familiar, would be eating breakfast at the exact same time I would love to. I thought I had gotten up early enough to beat the crowd, but I guess not. No turning back now. I push up my head, sling my bag higher on my shoulder and waltz over there sort of cocky. I slide in next to Trace, a very comfortable feeling. I realize that everybody is staring at me like some sort of alien, but I don’t care. I sit there and smile.

     “Good morning everybody! Sleep well?” Everybody is still staring, hard at that. Maybe being friendly was a bad idea. Maybe it was good, I don’t know.

     “You must be Madison,” The girl speaks up first. Typical. It’s always the girl that does so. I like her.

     “That’s me. I’m going to guess that you knew that because you had heard such great things about me.” And she’s laughing. Hell, I didn’t know I was that funny. Well I’ll show everybody just how great I am starting right now.

     “Well I wouldn’t say that, but none the less, I’m Rachel. Justin’s cousin and glorified PA.” So she’s related to Justin? Great. Knowing him he blabbed about how much of a bitch I was and now I’m faced with two people who could really care less about me. It’s okay. Calm down Madison. Be happy. Happy thoughts.

     “Very nice to meet you. Trace has said wonderful things about you,” Trace smiles, proud he’s the only civilized person. I have half a mind to just reach over and smack him, but that would certainly ruin my happy attitude.

     “Yeah. Nice try. Trace thinks I’m the biggest bitch ever,” It’s my turn to laugh. Trace just kind of grunts like he has lost his award or something. I’m really starting to like this girl. Oh, lets go play barbies and do each other’s hair. Oh pretty please?

     “Well I’m sure I could compete.” This was followed by a grunt from my absolute favorite person. He’s looking down. It’s that awkward thing where I want to say thank you for last night, but I feel like he’ll jump down my throat or something.

     “Rachel wins by a mile.” I’m kind of shocked he just talked at all, but much less a compliment in some weird ass way. Rachel smacks him on the back of the head and gets a cheerio thrown at her.

     “Well anyway, I have a job to do. So let me know when you guys need me.” I’m getting up. I don’t know why I’m getting up, but I’m getting up. Do I really want to eat breakfast alone, probably in my oh so quaint hotel room? Well no, but it beats the awkwardness that happened at this table when I sat down. I’m almost gone when I remember something. I turn back around. Why am I doing it? I don’t know. “Justin, by the way. Thanks for last night.” And I’m off…quickly because I’m blushing. Embarrassingly.

----------------------------

     “Trace.” He’s hiding under the table almost. It’s a damn shame through because I can still beat the shit out of him. With one hand at that.

     “Yeah. Oh sorry. Just, you know, dropped my spoon.” Nice excuse. He’s still not looking at me. If he wants children in the future, he better look at me. Or maybe I should decide for him not to have children at all either way.

     “What the hell did you do?” He clears his throat in the denial way. I know Trace like the back of my hand. I know when he’s lying and when he’s fixing to pull a big fib. Same way that he knows about me.

     “I may have sort of sentherroomserviceandattachedyournametoitlastnight.” He says this last part strung together and almost in a whisper, but my absolutely amazing ears caught it.

     “What is this? Are you trying to get me to make nice with her?” I’m restrained right now. I could be strangling him instead of asking him any sort of questions. Besides, I would hate to gut him in front of the whole hotel staff and the other nice people eating their breakfast. So for now, questions will have to do.

     “I’m trying to rid the tension. It wasn’t just me, Rachel was in on it too.” I turn towards my cousin and give her the stare down. She currently giving Trace the look of death. Why is that all my friends are ganging up on me?

     “I was not! I don’t even know the girl!” She says this all the while still giving Trace the death glare. I know when she’s fibbing too. What the fuck is this? Why are people trying to live my life for me? And for nothing anyway. For some stupid girl who I might see a couple times a year.

     “Well you guys are going to have to get over it. I don’t like the girl. Period.” It’s early in the morning, I’m still half asleep really, and I’m dealing with this shit? UGH!

     “Well you did call her some bad names. I mean the least you could do was send her room service,” It’s Rachel. Does she realize just how close to me she is right now? Yes, I said some bad things but so did she. And I just said what came to mind. I mean who else sleeps with somebody they barely know? Well me, but that’s besides the point. I can.

     “You guys make me sick. I am not being nice to her. I would rather she not even be here TRACE.” Rachel and Trace are beginning to look very uncomfortable like they aren’t dishing everything, “What?”

     “Well, we sort of kind of put her on your bus.” Everything is silent. I swear to God I will kill every one of these motherfuckers. I do not have time for this shit. Who the hell do they think they are? Just because I love them to death, does not mean I will not murder them in a heartbeat. Well if they wanted one hell of a grumpy Justin, they sure got one.

-------------------

     I’m beginning to feel odd. Very odd. It’s like watching one of those horrible reality shows odd. I’m sitting here on Justin’s bus. Trace is across from me pretending to read some bogus magazine. I know this because he keeps peeking over the pages at me thinking I don’t see him. Indeed I do. Rachel is writing things down in a notepad. I’m not sure if she is pretending or not. She looks pretty serious over there. Justin has locked himself in the back. I know he’s still alive because at random moments he will shout cusswords at what I believe to be his PlayStation3 or whatever the crap game system he has back there.

     I’m beginning to feel that I’ve been set up. Like those get rich quick schemes. I can’t help but think that Trace is behind it. The only nice person to me since I entered this hell bus has been the bus driver. Not to mention that I absolutely started my day off wrong anyway with a camera in my face. So I’m not in the best mood.

     “Trace, stop peeking at me. So, want to tell me what’s going on buddy ole pal?” I can’t believe we went through silence almost this entire bus ride. We’re almost to the damn venue for God sakes. Trace is looking defeated and caught red handed. He tosses the magazine on the floor. Rachel stops doing what she’s doing too to stare at me, trying to look as innocently as possible.

     “Nothing is going on. We’re just driving to Orlando. We’re almost there.” He’s looking away from me. A sure fire sign that this has BIG written all over it. I’m pretty sure I’m being made fun of or something in this scheme. I almost bust him right there, but then grumpy finally decides to make an entrance. I assume his hands are either numb from playing or he’s hungry.

     “So, I’m ready.” Is he speaking a foreign language, because whatever it is I don’t understand it. He’s just staring at me. Am I supposed to do something? Dance? Sing? Do the hustle? I’m confused.

     “For?” Trace is stuffing his face in a pillow. I don’t know if that’s because he wants to scream or because he’s laughing. I see him shaking though so it’s probably laughter. Or he could be crying. Maybe Justin just announced he’s ready to die or something. Hell, I don’t know. He could be a sick fuck.

     “The clothing line.” What a fucking awkward time for this shit. He’s looking at me like I’m dumb like I was supposed to read his mind. I’m not, however, an expert on Timberlake talk. Lucky for me, I have my briefcase with me. I stuffed everything else under the bus.

     “Sure.” I pull out all the samples and paperwork. There was a lot of hard work put in here by me. I’m proud of it. I couldn’t have done a better job. I hand them over to Justin to thumb through. Trace has already seen all of it, so I don’t include him.

     “Not bad. When do these go into production?” Justin points to one of the ones he of course designed. Justin’s a concept guy. All about what it should look like. He does it with describing words. We all know the guy can’t draw for shit. We have this guy who draw the clothes off of his descriptions, and Justin or Trace or whoever makes adjustments. Don’t get me wrong, Justin has tried to draw before. I’ve seen his work. Not a pretty sight. His vague descriptions are ten times better.

     “As soon as you sign the dotted line.” I didn’t mean to sound smart, but obviously I did because everybody is staring at me. Well, serves him right for getting all crazy eyed at me because I didn’t know his language before, “Also, I brought a shirt with me. Me and Trace kind of designed it. He asked me to bring it along.”

     The shirt was fun. Me and Trace had a heyday with it. One day we got bored around the offices and just went crazy with the shit. Normally nothing happens without Justin’s approval, but Trace assured me it was okay. And it turned out fucking terrific if I do say so myself. I was reluctant to bring it because I thought Justin would lash out at me, even though it happened to be all of Trace’s idea.

     “It’s nice. I’m suggesting Trace did this part.” Justin was referring to the nearly naked woman on the back.

     “Actually, Madi did that part. Of course I was all up in that shit, but that’s Madi’s beauty.” Justin looked at me. I can be guy friendly sometimes. It’s a guys shirt. What do guys like? Women. Naked at that.

     “Nice detail. She’s kind of hot.” Great, Justin Timberlake thinks the woman I virtually designed is hot. He probably wants to fuck her too. I’m surprised he signs off on the shirt. He must be feeling nice or some shit like that. Well, all I came out here for was to get those signatures and stuff. So now I can go home right?

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     I’m standing in a corner. It’s loud. It’s late. I’m tired. I don’t see how people do this shit. Don’t they get tired? Sooner or later we have to go to bed, am I right about this? I would go to sleep right here in this cozy little corner if Big Bubba were not right beside me threatening to puke and if it were even the least bit comfortable.

     I’ve currently lost sight of everybody I know. It doesn’t make a difference because I haven’t been with them all night, just watching. People watching is a very nice sport. Quite entertaining. So far I’ve seen Trace fall on his drunken ass, Rachel dancing like crazy with some guy, and Justin practically making out at the bar with some blonde chick. All to be expected.

     I am here currently and soberly people watching. In a stuffy corner. I should be on a plane, but Trace would have nothing of it. He said it was too late for me to be flying out. And besides I just got here. Well if there is anything I want to do right now, it is fly back home. Maybe I could sneak out and go back to the hotel. Nobody would notice I was gone.

     “Where are you going?” I’m halfway out of the door. I mean my hand is literally on the door and my weight is about to push against it. Maybe people would notice if I was gone. Damn, that’s some kind of lucky.

     “I’m going back to the hotel.” I would love to just walk out and leave everybody in the dust, but he’s got a pretty firm grasp on my arm. I think he’s too drunk to realize just how much of a grasp he has.

     “Well, if you are going back to the hotel, gather Justin up. Please don’t let him take that blonde back to the hotel. She’s sleazy, ugly, and whorey. He would hate that I let him go home with that. Besides, Justin needs to sleep. He has to get up early.” What the fuck is this? Now I’m like a goddamn adult babysitter. I’m currenly speechless. Fuck that, I’m angry.

     “What do you mean? Why can’t you do it?” I’m spitting venom. Justin hates me already. He would certainly hate me even more if I did any such thing. And for Trace of all people to be treating me like a slave?

     “Well, I would do it. But you see, I’m drunk. I don’t even know which one Justin is. The only reason I know about how ugly the girl is, is because Rachel told me. She would do it, but she is currently being a little whore herself, and she can’t drag herself away. She pointed me in your direction and so here I am asking you. Pretty please? I’ll buy you something nice.” Hmm…I have been wanting that new Tiffany bracelet. This could be the perfect opportunity for me to get it. I haven’t noticed we’ve been walking, but I have noticed that I’ve been pushed. He has pushed me into some guy at the bar who I guess he thinks is Justin, but definitely not. Much better looking. I’m forced to apologize and walk to Justin, who is disgustingly all over this girl. And yes, she is pretty hideous, but I’m not mean.

     “Justin. It’s time to go.” I’m just standing there. What else can I do? How exactly was I supposed to go about doing this? I hadn’t thought it through before I did it. Justin is just looking at me like I just fucking punched his lights out or something, “I’m serious. Get your stuff, lets go.”

     “Are you kidding?” Did I make a joking sound? I swear to God I thought I gave my best bitch voice a shot.

     “No. You have to get up in the morning. It’s already 2:30. Justin you’re hammered. Come with me.” He just stares, “Blondie, take a hike.” He holds fast to her. I sigh and pull out my camera phone. This is really cruel, but I take a picture of her so that I can show him in the morning that he should really thank me. The girl is basically wearing nothing. Who wants to fuck somebody like that? That just screams STD.

     “What are you? My mother?” Okay I give up. I seriously can’t believe I’m standing here doing this right now. I could be back at the hotel already snoozing.

     “Justin, if you do not come with me my shoe is going so fast up your ass.” He lets go of blondie. I do have high heels on right now. Black ones. And I do mean every threat. I mean I want that bracelet bad.

     “Oh, you’re a kinky one.” Oh God. He’s drunker than I thought. Does he even know who the fuck I am? But he loves me, he really loves me. I roll my eyes. Either way he’s now coming with me, wobbly. The good thing about this whole venture is, is that we took Justin’s car here. This just about assures that I will get to drive it home. Never driven a BMW. Would like to though.

     The bad thing is, is that when I get out of the door with him, I can’t see a damn thing. There are flashes everywhere. You would think a damn alien just landed and started communicating or something with all this shit. I grab Justin’s hand on instinct. Number one because I can’t see, and I don’t want to lose Justin. I probably would pay for that tomorrow if I lost a pop star. Number two, because Justin is so drunk he can’t even walk right. He would look nice with a beat up face from falling on his ass though wouldn’t he?

     It’s the BMW. It’s beautiful. Screw these dumb fucks with cameras. I’m driving a BMW! You know, I bet these people wouldn’t be taking pictures right now if they knew how much I hated Justin. Actually, maybe they would because they would want to capture his murder on camera.

     Speaking of Justin his hand is kind of clammy. He’s got a nice hand hold though. Hell, the boys got nice hands. They are soft, not rough like all other guys. What the hell am I thinking? Obviously I’m not, because I’m fighting me and Justin’s way to the car all so that I can get a bracelet? Is this worth it?

     No time to turn back now. I shove Justin in the passenger seat. He protests immediately.

     “Nobody drives my car. Nobody has ever driven my car. You are not driving.” Oh hell, he’s going to make me do it. I take off my shoe and point it at him, “Okay. Drive the car. But if you put a scratch on it, I will kill you.”

    This feels like heaven. That was not as hard as I thought it would be. Now if he was sober, I most certainly wouldn’t have done any of those things. If I would have even suggested the idea, he would have slaughtered me surely. I’m driving a BMW. You know, it feels very similar to any other car. I’m driving slowly only for Justin’s sake. I really do believe he would have me killed if I scratched his car.

     You know what I just realized. I have no clue how to get back to the hotel. So why the hell am I turning here and there? What the hell am I doing? What’s the voice? HOLY SHIT! The car is talking to me.

     “Justin, there is something wrong with your car. It’s talking. It’s making me do things.” He starts giggling like a school girl. Jesus Christ, I can’t wait for this night to be over with…or early morning…or some shit like that. Who fucking has GPS in their car? Okay everybody but me. So it’s new to me, so that’s all that matters. I hope this is the hotel it’s leading me to.

     Damn, this car is good. Maybe I can trade my bracelet in for one of these. I’ll think of something. Haha suckers! The gate to the hotel closes behind me, leaving the paps in the dust. I’m beginning to feel like James…James Bond. I’ve even got this badass car and everything. I wonder if Justin ever feels like this. Probably not, he would probably be whining he didn’t have the newest model or some shit.

     “Come on.” I pull Justin from the car and walk with him up the steps. He makes it okay by himself. I wonder how Trace and Rachel are going to get home. I figure a cab or something. Probably right? Good thing Justin’s room is right next to mine because if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t know where it was. And that would totally crimp my Bond style. Bond knows all.

     I’m just walking into the elevator with Justin, and I realize for the first time we’re holding hands. Did it feel that normal to be holding his hand? Or did I get caught up with Bond? I don’t know, but I’m feeling awkward now. On the other hand, Justin is looking kind of adorable. His hand is latched in mind and he has his eyes closed leaning back on the elevator wall.

     I never thought in a million years I would be right here with Justin Timberlake of all people. I kind of imagined myself living in small town USA with 3 kids by now and a mediocre job. Damn, my life is pretty good. I’m just realizing this by the way.

     We’re walking again. I really hope Justin has his room key. I forgot to get it down at the desk. Of course, he does. He whips it out and sticks it in, opening the door. Okay, duty accomplished. Now off to bed with me, but I’m being pulled into a hotel room instead. Not mine either. Oh, no. I’ve been down this road before, never want to do it again.

     “Justin, I’m going. You are okay right?” He just looks at me and smiles. It’s probably the smile that made millions of girls swoon for him or some shit like that, but I don’t care. It has a minute effect on me. Okay, a little more than minute.

     “Yeah, thanks. See you tomorrow?” I nod. Tomorrow hopefully I will be on a plane back to normal land where people like and respect me.

     “Um, Justin?”

     “Yeah?”

     “My hand.” I would go, but his hand is still clutching mine.

     “Oh, right. Sorry.” He drops it and my hand immediately feels cold. I wish he would pick it back up again. DAMN! What am I doing? What am I thinking? “Goodnight.”

     “Goodnight!” It’s barely a squeak, and I’m out of the door running to my room for safety. I lock every single lock in a hurry, hoping that will rid me of what just happened. What the fuck is going on in my head?

     “WHAT are you guys doing?!” The three people in front of me lift their heads up with vicious yells in my direction. I love to mess with people with hangovers. It’s a joy. Especially at 7:00 in the morning when they haven’t had much sleep. I, on the other hand, had a great sleep. I woke up all refreshed and shit.

     “Jesus, will you pipe down.” Trace is funny. I’ve only seen him this bad one time before. We went out to this little underground bar and we had a competition to see who could hold their liquor better. I think I won, but I can’t really remember.

     “Certainly. Just came by to tell you guys farewell. I’m on my way back to the land of opportunity.” Some land. I’m actually dreading the long flight back, which has a stop on the way. That sucks for my ass. I’m getting too old for this. Okay, I’m really not, but I need an excuse.

     “You are leaving already?” Rachel whines to me from the table. I’m standing over her, giving her the pity look. We’ve really bonded over the past two days…well I don’t really know about that, but it was nice to say anyway.

     “Yep. I have a flight in two hours. I need to beat the rush. Anyway, Trace call me if you need me?” Trace does this whimper thing that I guess means yes. Out of all the fairytale goodbyes I had imagined in my head, this was definitely a keeper.

     “Was I dreaming last night or did you drive me here…in my car?” Justin lifts his head up from where it was laying pathetically on the cool tabletop. I wonder what will happen to me if I admit this. Will he strangle me? Or do I have time to catch my flight out of here before he can get over his hangover to catch me?

     “I did actually. You were pretty fucked. Trace and Rachel made me do it.” I love blaming other people for things. It’s so much fun. Trace and Rachel groaned as Justin opens his mouth to say something.

     “Since when do I need a babysitter?” There were more groans from Rachel and Trace. Justin seems to have sobered up just by getting irate. I’m glad I won’t be a part of this crew for that much longer.

     “Since this,” I whipped out my phone and flipped to the picture of the slutty girl with the slightly large nose, “I took it in case you wanted to murder me.” He gazes at the picture in disgust before putting his head back on the cold table. But I don’t get a thank you. I never get thank yous. Instead I’m on my way out of the door because my cab is here. I tell them goodbye and they just grunt at me. What a load of great people.

     My mother calls twice on the way to the airport. I have a thing about my mother. I refuse to answer her calls unless I’m in a great mood. She tends to bring my mood down a couple of notches whenever we talk. She’s a great woman, do not get me wrong. I love her with all of my heart, she just tends to criticize everything I do. I think this is half because my dad isn’t giving her any or something along those lines. My dad has been reduced to a couch potato over the years. Hell, they barely even hold a conversation anymore. So she has to bitch to someone or have someone to bitch at because I think my dad stopped listening or caring a long time ago. And if I know my mother, she lives for the fight.

     You know, I think the worst thing in the world just happened to me. Well, maybe not in the world, but close. What is wrong with these people? Am I up for president or something? I have half a mind to just scream at them. I have a feeling I know what my mom was calling about now. Probably something to do with what I’m staring at in the airport right now. And by whom I’m being stared at. I try not to pay attention too much to it so they don’t get the wrong idea. I just take fruitful glances every now and then. It’s a picture of me and Justin holding hands from the night before. The caption on the magazine, a tabloid no doubt, reads “Justin Reveals Secret Girlfriend.” Oh Christ, make me throw up why don’t you.

     I’m halfway looking at this because there are people following me in the airport taking pictures of me. Get lives! Even I can think of better ways to make money. Besides, who gets off on posting a bunch of lies anyway? I mean, sure, it looks as though me and Justin have something going on, but anybody in their right mind would realize Justin is drunk off of his ass and as a friend, I am helping him.

     “Hey mom,” I decide to call my mom before getting on the plane because if I don’t there will be a full missing person’s report filed by the time I land.

     “Madison Marie, what is this I see in the supermarket? You are on a magazine. And to make matters worse, I got some guy following me around asking me questions about some Justin guy. I told him I didn’t know a Justin guy and to leave me alone. What have you gotten mixed up in now? And Mrs. Betty down the street came over not five minutes ago and asked me were you some kind of celebrity and we were hiding it or something.” The thing about small towns was everybody knew everybody. The people were nosey as hell too. This is why I moved away from Alabama. I visit when I can, but I mostly just catch up by phone. I knew the wrath my mother would send out as soon as I dialed. So why did I dial? Oh right, I didn’t want her to worry about me.

     “It’s nothing mom. It’s a complete misunderstanding. Just don’t tell anybody about anything. Anyway, I just called to let you know I’m alright, and I’m about to get on a plane back to Los Angeles.” I heard my mom sigh on the other end.

     “Where are you at? I wasn’t aware you left.” Oh here comes the lecture.

     “Mom, it was work stuff. I was gone for two days. Now I’m going back to LA,” As if I needed to explain everything to my mother. But, I kind of did. My mother was one to be feared. She would come and hunt me down and talk turkey to me and that is not what I wanted at all.

     “So out at a bar or whatever last night was work? Are you involved in illegal activity? Is that what this is about?” Help me. I’m begging for somebody to help me.

     “No mom! I am not involved in anything crazy. I’ll explain it later, but I’ve got to catch a plane now. I’ll call you when I get back in LA if it isn’t too late.” I hang up quickly before she can say anything else. I put my phone on vibrate just in case she tries to call back.

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     “Mother fucking shit,” I slam my hand on the table, making everybody in the room jump. It had been quiet for the last five minutes until I did that. If there is one thing I hate in the world, it’s people with cameras. And I have another bone to pick right now. Why the hell was she holding my hand?

     “Calm down.” It’s Trace. It’s always Trace. He thinks everything is so simple. That’s because he is not me. He is not Justin Timberlake. He doesn’t have everybody breathing down his neck.

     “Hard to do right now. I don’t even like her! Hell, I despise her.” It had been six hours since Johnny had called me up asking me what the hell was going on. And why the hell did I bring some floozy out into the open. It was bad enough that I was a manwhore, he said, but now it’s worse that I have to flaunt it. Hell, I made that mistake once, I wasn’t about to make it again.

     “You did sleep with her,” Rachel pipes up from the corner where she is currently reading said gossip trash magazine. I would really like to strangle her. Trace looks like he’s about to fall over from shock.

     “Once. Before I knew her. Trace you knew that.” He was still just standing there dumbfounded.

     “I thought that was just something you said when you were drunk. I just thought you didn’t like her,” Trace is giving me the eyes. The eyes of death, I like to call it, “YOU SLEPT WITH HER!”

     “Oh thanks Rachel.”

     “No problem. Glad to be of service.” That is the last time I tell Rachel anything. She goes back to nonchalantly reading her magazine.

     “The point is, this is a total disaster. Now the media is going to be around me 24/7 waiting for her to come around.” Trace is still slitting his eyes at me, “Trace would you stop it!”

     “No! You can’t even lay off of one girl Justin. You could have done without fucking Madi.” Oh God, kill me right now. I don’t know what Trace’s issue is, but something’s got him strung. Usually he gives me a high five. Hell, usually I’m giving him one too.

     “Geez, we were drunk. Lay off. It was before I even met her sober. This is not the point, the point is…well I don’t know what the point is.” Rachel rolled her eyes from over the paper.

     “I need to call Madi. She’s probably getting swamped as we speak. I need to make sure she won’t say anything,” Trace gets out his cell phone, but I swipe it away from him, “What they hell are you doing?”

     “I’m calling her. I want to know what the hell she was thinking last night holding my hand.” I browse through the phone book and find Madi. She’s speed dial number 4 on Trace’s phone. It’s ringing before he can protest.

     “Trace, my fucking God. I’ve been waiting for you to call me. Have you seen that piece of trash paper? Hell I don’t even like Justin. He’s a total bastard and not worth all of this shit I’m getting. My mom even called to bitch me out. MY MOM!” She is really firing me up. I mean how can she not like me? What is not to like?

     “Nice to know,” I hear her breath catch in her throat. It’s obvious she is completely thrown for a loop.

     “Justin?” She clears her throat as if she’s completely embarrassed. I don’t give a fuck. I want to know what the hell happened last night.

     “By the way, just curious. What the hell happened last night? I’m vague on the details, mind filling me in?” She sighs and grunts like she’s ready to scream at somebody.

     “Trace said he and Rachel were too drunk to take you home and didn’t want you shacking up with fugly. He asked me if I would do it. Being the nice person I am, I rounded you up and took you back to the hotel.”

     “And the hand holding? Did Trace ask you to do that too?” If this girl was just looking for publicity, I’ll make sure to get her the hell out of dodge.

     “No, that was me. As a favor to you, my dumbass grabbed your hand. You were so drunk you couldn’t even walk. To save you from falling on your ass in front of the whole world, I grabbed your hand and helped you to the car. Let me tell you something, I would gladly take it back in a heartbeat.” She sounds legit. She also sounds like she would love to rip me one. Oh well, good enough for me. I hand the phone to Trace. He snatches it from me and hits me on the back of the head.

     “YOU SLEPT WITH HIM?” I know this can not be going well and Trace puts the phone back in my hand. I flip him one. That bitch is close to being gone.

     “You told Trace we slept together?” I can tell she’s trying to hold her anger in, but it’s’ starting to burst at the seems.

     “No. Rachel told Trace we slept together.” It goes silent on the other end. I’m starting to wonder if she is even still there.

     “You told Rachel? Are you trying to make me look like a slut?” The honest answer to that questions is no. Actually, I told Rachel because I was freaking out at the time.

     “No, I am not trying to make you look like a slut.”

     “Because I am not one of those. And if I could take that incident back I would.” Eh, I don’t believe it. Women are attracted to me. I’m like a magnet. Nobody regrets me.

     “No you would not.” I really must have done something because it’s silent again. I’m waiting for her to say something but I realize that I am pretty much holding my ear to a phone that is not connected to anybody anymore, “Bitch.”

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     I have my head down for a reason. Not that having my head down does anything. Everybody in this building knows who I am. They just kind of know not to ask. I have been stared at all day. By my employees nonetheless. It’s like I’m walking around with 4 eyes and 4 tits or something.

     Ever since I told my mom the real truth, she’s now obsessed with me dating Justin, even though I told her it was quite the opposite. Now she is begging me to bring him home for dinner.

     I haven’t heard from Trace in over a week. I guess he’s still upset about me sleeping with Justin. This is probably because Trace is one of the only ones that knew I was a virgin. He’s probably ill I would waste it on his best friend. And I bet Justin didn’t even tell him the whole story about me being drunk and all.

     Some of the hype about me has died down. I’ve been laying low and staying in my house most of the time. I’ve been avoiding calls from most everyone from my best friend to my sister. It’s better that way. I will fully cope better if nobody knows what is going on with me. The only downside to this is that I’ve been lonely and bored out of my fucking mind. I’ve been trying to watch comedy movies to cheer me up and it hasn’t quite worked like I planned.

     “Ms. West?” I stop and turn around to look at who called me. I’m startled by the interaction being that the last interaction I had was with my mom. This is because everybody is probably afraid I will snap their head off.

     “Yes…Tiffany?” I read her nametag. I’m not familiar with everybody in the office. I should be though. That can be one of my goals. I don’t like to treat people like they are nothing, but usually I just get too busy to do things like learn people’s names.

     “Mr. Ayala called for you earlier this morning. He asked for me to tell you to please call him back. It’s important.” I kind of make this face, but then smiled politely.

     “Thanks.” I turn to go but she stops me again. What now?

     “Also, Mr. Timberlake called. He says it’s an emergency.” This is quite odd. I guess everybody is peeved at me for turning my phone off. It’s the best way for meditation. Why Justin would call me is beyond me, but hell a lot of crazy things have been happening in my life lately.

     “Thank you. Did Mr. Timberlake leave a number where he could be reached?” Tiffany smiled and handed me the note where she wrote everything down. I said thanks and proceeded to my office. It was quaint. It wasn’t humongous, but it wasn’t small either. It was enough for me. I was kind of in love with it. I decided to call Trace first.

     “Madison, where have you been? Why haven’t you had your phone on?” I should have known it would be like this. Maybe I should have called Justin first. Hell, maybe I shouldn’t have called anybody at all.

     “I was meditating. Now what is it that you want?” The sooner I get this conversation over with the sooner I can relax.

     “We’re going to be in LA this next week on account of the VMA‘s. We’re coming in on Wednesday. I just wanted to call and let you know. And also, don‘t forget that we need to get together for the William Rast fashion show that‘s in two weeks.” Great. More work thrown down my neck when I’m already super busy with some huge buy that just came in from Chicago. Trace was really supposed to be helping me with this. It wasn’t only my job, it was Trace’s. Yet he leaves me here to tend to it so he can go live the glamorous life. It was beginning to piss me off.

     “Okay. I penciled it on my calendar.” I said this in a non interesting way.

     “Are you mad at me or something?” Oh here we go. I did not want to get into this today or possibly ever.

     “Why would I be mad? I’ve just been busy and stressed out. It’ll be fine. I’ll call you later.” I hung up without intention of calling him later. I picked the phone back up and dialed the number Tiffany had given me for Justin.

     “Trace just said you hung up on him?” What is this? The gay lovers or something?

     “I hung up because the conversation was over. Now what do you need?” I came out as snappy, which I kind of meant.

     “I see somebody is PMSing today. No worries though, I don’t take offense. Anyway, I want to say that I’m coming in on Wednesday you know, and I was kind of wondering if you could come to a meeting at my house. Apparently, this whole tabloid thing has gotten out of hand, and Johnny has requested a meeting. I’m supposed to get you to come, so are you in?” Just how I want to spend my time. At some meeting discussing me and Justin’s non existent relationship. This should be entertaining.

     “I guess I kind of have no choice.”

     “You’re right. Anyway, see you then my lover,” And he hung up. What a bastard. He loved to taunt and pick fun at people purely for sport and his own laughs. Well, we’ll see who gets the last laugh.