I have absolutely no idea what time it is. The captain probably mentioned what the local time was, but I now can’t remember if I changed my watch yet.

Unhelpfully, I can’t remember the time difference either. Europe is ahead of the US, I think, but I wouldn’t swear to it. I stepped out of the plane and it is dark here, very dark and humid, but I can’t remember if that means it’ll be dark back home too. Again, this is where knowing what time my watch is set to would be useful. I don’t want to wake anybody up, but my dumb ass best pal doesn’t always shut off his phone when he should. He’ll leave the damn thing on and then blame you for calling when it’s not convenient. Call me crazy, but the logical thing to do when you don’t want to be disturbed is to turn your damn phone off.

The artificial light in this office is blinding after the dimmed lights of the cabin. Pretty much everyone else on the plane was asleep, but I felt a little too wired. I got a little shut eye in the charter on the way over the Atlantic, but once I made the connection at the other end I was on a commercial flight and no longer had any privacy. That was necessary to make sure that nobody can just call my jet hire and ask where I stopped at, but the downside is that I felt a little exposed. The success of this whole venture was dependent on me making that connection and touching down at the final destination without being recognised, so mixing with too many people who might have a clue who was hiding under the cap was risky. A small plane is no guarantee of anonymity.

It’s just lucky for me that the guy who checked my passport was little and old and probably doesn’t give a crap who ‘Justin Timberlake’ is.

Oh well, I guess staring at my fucking watch isn’t going to help me work out whether it’s telling US or Europe time. In the unlikely event that plan was going to work I’m thinking it would have done so already. I scroll through my numerous contacts until I hit ‘Ayala, Trace’ (I really need to work out how I inadvertently made it list by surname and swap it back) and I push the call button. For once in his life, Trace has actually remembered to turn his cell off and so I get his voicemail.

“Hey, it’s Trace, you know what to do.”

“Hi, it’s Justin,” I say in a tone that’s a little higher pitched than I’d like. Why am I nervous? I’ve only gone on vacation for crying out loud; I’m a grown man, we’re allowed to do that. There’s no need for my palms to be sweaty.

Well, in my defence, it is kind of hot in here.

“Umm… sorry for the lack of notice but I decided to get away for a while so I’ve gone on a little, uhh, trip for some down time, location undisclosed. I’m going to turn my Blackberry off so I’m not going to be taking any calls or e-mails and shit. I left a message for my momma before I went but if anybody calls you asking where I am, just tell them I’m on holiday for a while and I’ll call them when I get back or some shit. Ciao.”

I may have accidentally on purpose signed off in Italian so that if he starts wondering where I am he starts thinking Italy. He’d be right on the Mediterranean part, just entirely off track on the country and language fronts. That’s good. I don’t want anybody tracking me down.

I’m interrupted in my thoughts by the information guy finally re-entering the room and coming up with the goods in broken English. His skin looks like leather; clearly he doesn’t hold much affection for sunscreen. “Here go. Car is waiting on curb to take you to Los Cristianos, Carlotta will meet you outside and show you apartment.”

“Great, thank you. I mean, gracias.”

“De nada,” he says quickly with a wave of his hand. I have no idea what that means, but I smile anyway. I have to do that a lot in my line of work, just smile and nod. “You best go quick, is three o clock.”

Shit, it’s three am? There goes my cunning plan to beat jet lag. On the bright side, I can now see that I did in fact change my watch to local time - that was going to bug me all night.

"Addy!"

"Addy!"

"Addy!"

Sometimes, you just really hope that if you ignore someone long enough they'll go away. He can yell my name at the top of his lungs forever for all I care, I'm not moving.

"Addison!"

Okay, that was a low blow. Involuntarily my torso jerks up off the sand, and I glare my deadliest ice bitch glare at the culprit.

"That's not my name!"

"Well it's on your birth certificate and you answer to it so I guess it is!"

Mike leans over the railings, grinning up at me from the balcony. If he wasn't my brother, I would probably hate him. In somewhat contradictory fashion he often gets hated by me solely because he is my brother. It's a sister's prerogative to be contrary, keeps him on his toes.

"State your business and then bugger off."

"Do you care if I have a party tonight?"

What, he disturbed me for this? I never care! "No."

"Cool. I'll leave you to it." He makes a mock military salute at me and I scowl at his retreating back before flopping back down in the sand. I suppose I at least ought to be grateful that he asks.

You would think that when you live in the quietest corner of a nice and somewhat remote island and there's only one holiday apartment block within twenty miles, you would be able to do some sun worshipping uninterrupted. The whole point of us moving to Adora from the rainy shores of England was to get some peace and quiet and sunshine, so my Dad says (I think it also had something to do with Tony Blair being voted into Government but he refuses to admit that). I have had no such luck today; this must be about the fifth interruption within an hour.

First it was Antonio and Mariella wanting to know if I want to go to dinner tonight. I always want to go to dinner, but more to the point they already asked me last night and I said yes. Then one of my kids came bounding over and asked if I'd set any homework over the summer holidays - the whole point of summer holidays is that I am not a teacher for a few glorious weeks. Besides, school only let out last week; he can't have lost his homework diary already. Then it was a couple of lost tourists from the apartment block who were looking for the local bus stop (don't ask me why they were doing so on the beach) and then it was my dear darling brother. I just want to relax with nothing but the sound of the ocean and get a little tanning done - is it too much to ask?

Ahh, I pretend to complain but actually I love it. We've been here about eleven years now and I never get tired of it. It's beautiful, it's sunny, everybody in this little corner of the island knows everybody and it's a world away from everything I used to know. The buildings are all Spanish style and gleam in the sun. The sand is bleached practically white. Where we are you often find a dirt track in place of a sidewalk or pavement; the town's small enough that you can walk almost everywhere. I think the only thing that distinguishes it from all those perfect desert island Caribbean type places you see in movies is the fact the water isn't turquoise… but then the Mediterranean generally isn't so who cares?

My brother and I came of age and moved out into a gorgeous little beach front villa with very reasonable rent courtesy of my construction company owning Dad, as a teacher I'm basically getting paid for speaking English (which for a British person is like being paid to breathe) and if life is better anywhere in the world then I don't want to know about it because here just rocks.

"Hey Addy."

Well there goes my nice quiet afternoon. Oh well, life with Nina is nothing if not gossip filled so it's a fair trade.

"Hey Nina. What's the what?"

"Oh nothing. Taking lots of phone calls from people who don't understand that the water parks are on the other side of the island and that this is not the place to come to for foam parties, calling fumigators, all fun stuff."

"Nice," I smirk.

On the other side of Adora (the cheesily named Playa del Sol) pretty much every resident you see is some part of the tourist trade, be it a hotelier or a souvenir shop owner, but this side is where the real natives live. Nina works in the one holiday block we have and it's specifically advertised as being the anti-tourist attraction for people who just want quiet. The island's small enough that it's not a world away from that kind of stuff if you want it; it's just a little more peaceful around here. As such, we mostly get retirement couples. They like it because it's quiet and the locals are friendly, so we get a lot of repeat visitors; they especially like bumping into my family because we make great translators.

Everybody speaks pretty good English, but there are some things that just never translate well. My friends talk to me in English much more than you might think they would, because they've got jobs where they can use the practice. I'm fluently bilingual anyway so Spanish isn't a problem, but I helpfully teach them how real English people actually talk rather than the textbook English they were taught in school that makes you sound overly formal and like a pod person. We usually wind up half and half whereas the older folks only tend to use Spanish. Either way, it comes in useful knowing two languages.

"So I hear your brother's throwing a fiesta tonight, is it worth going?" She asks.

"He's only going to play all that tuneless crap he brought back from America, I wouldn't bother."

I lied when I said this place was perfect - pretty much all the popular music around here is from the Latin scene. It isn't just music; the whole entertainment industry as I used to know it back home has pretty much passed this island by thus far. It's creeping in, but it's a slow process. When it's Jennifer Lopez there's a happy compromise, but my brother and I basically only get to pick up any mainstream music when we go back to England to see our grandmother. He went to New York for a vacation with his girlfriend and brought back a lot of rap music that really hurts my ears, I have a horrible suspicion he'll be playing it tonight. Also, on a similar vein, we have to wait forever for all the good British or American TV shows to start airing and internet access is slow to the point of being barely worth it.

Sometimes I do pine for life in a more technologically advanced place, but that would mean giving up my beach (not just any beach, my beach)... so I'm thinking no.

"Oh, okay. What are you doing then?"

"Dinner with Antonio and Mariella, I think Dante's coming too. You up for it?"

"Sign me up."

I taught her that one the other day and already she's using it in conversation, I'm so proud. "So who's dropping into our quiet little town this week?"

"Usual. Mr and Mrs Lowenstein are due to fly in tomorrow, we've got a honeymoon couple at the end of the week…"

"So they'll probably spend their time in their room or at Playa del Sol," I immediately say. She nods and rolls her eyes.

"And some chico arrived last night at about four or some ridiculous time. Carlotta says she thinks he was good looking but she was too sleepy to remember. Young. American. Hasn't come out of his apartment yet."

"Probably another one who didn't realise this is the quiet side," I shrug. We get that a lot, and then the result is that they either complain and demand money back (despite the constant warnings in the brochures that we are fairly isolated) or they just spend a lot of money on cab fare to and from where they erroneously thought they were going to be.

"Si. So Julio was thinking we should surf tomorrow."

"Excellent plan," I agree. I have to take these opportunities to socialise while I can.

Unfortunately none of my friends are teachers so while I have all this free vacation time they don't; I have to amuse myself a lot of the time while they're out earning. My brother is self employed, runs a financial advice company; he's free to make his own schedule all year round but he still can't spend every minute with me because he does occasionally have to do some actual work, so I'm told. Besides, living with him is quite enough without being attached at the hip. He's my brother and I love him, but not that much.

Of course, surfing tomorrow means actually remembering where I threw my board wax last time I used it, which was over a week ago. It's too sunny to have to think of such things, I might just have a nap instead.

**

I really wish they hadn't hung that mirror behind the desk in reception. Every time you walk in there it's like this swell of vanity rises up and you can't help constantly checking yourself out in it and panicking about your outfit. Since I am a girl and am already doomed to have had this panic at least six times in my own mirror at home, it's just not helping.

Eleven years in the sun has turned my naturally pale complexion into a healthy looking year round tan. I'm not quite the same colour as my friends - and can only get that colour if I burn first - but it's pretty much eradicated the need for any make up over than some mascara and gloss. I am paranoid that I'm going to wind up with skin cancer though, so I along with the tourists am the only reason that Señora Gonzales actually even stocks SPF. Between the tan and the dark hair and eyes I can sometimes actually pass for a genuine Adoran, but only to someone who doesn't live here. When you look properly you can still see that my features are of English rose and not exotic Latin origin - my face is a little too round and my cheekbones not as defined. Also, I have my Dad's squat British nose.

Looking at my watch, I sigh in exasperation. Nina should have been done with work an hour ago, why is she not here and ready to go to dinner as promised? We decided to drive out to this great Italian restaurant in one of the island's bigger hotels, but since we have to make a bit of a journey to get there leaving late is not the most helpful thing ever.

I'm interrupted in my tutting and eye rolling by the entry of a guy I can only assume is the Young American who hadn't left his apartment yet. Well, clearly he has now. He's not bad looking, nice face, but I'm guessing he'd probably look better without those big dark circles under his eyes. Still, I guess the jet lag between here and the States can't be much fun. We don't get a lot of Americans precisely because of where we are and how small we are - they tend to stick to mainland Europe or try the Canaries or Greek islands. We get overlooked. I'm trying to guess how old he is; he's clearly not still in college, he's older, but I'm not sure I'd bank on precisely how much older. He could easily be older or younger than he looks, his face doesn't give much away.

"Excuse me, do you speak English?" He asks with a nervous smile.

"Indeed I do," I respond.

"Umm, wow, you're English."

Of course, the accent still gives it away even if I might look like I belong in the Mediterranean. I love the way he just said that the same way you'd say 'you're a Martian.' "Born and raised in the Home Counties. You were expecting a native, I take it?"

"Yeah, you certainly look… I mean, not that I'd assume… sorry."

I'm kind of evil, but I love the way he's blushing. Watching people stick their foot in it when they try to explain their assumption that I'm Adoran is something I've yet to tire of. "It's okay, I get that a lot. Anyway, I assume you wanted to know for a reason?"

"Yeah, umm, sorry, do you work here?" He asks. He seems overly grateful for the way he threw him a get out of jail free card.

"Nope but I spend enough time here that I might as well, what do you need?"

"Food. I landed here at some insane hour of the morning and only woke up about an hour ago. My body has no concept of what time it is."

"In which case there's a tapas bar in town, if you're inclined to use the stove in your apartment and actually cook you can head over to the store and grab some stuff… though I'd suggest you do that anyway at some point for drinks and breakfast stuff. Or you can hop into a cab and go to Playa del Sol where they have about seven zillion restaurants. And McDonalds."

"What's Playa del Sol?" He asks. Oh boy, I'm thinking this guy did not do a lot of research before he came out here.

"It's the other side of the island, about forty minutes away depending on how badly your cab driver breaks the speed limit. It's the tourist spot, you know, all your standard souvenir shops and beach activities and water parks and such. It gets pretty busy there this time of year."

"Oh, okay." He looks oddly uncomfortable with that. "Maybe later in the week or something. I was looking for some quiet."

I try to smile encouragingly at him, but I'm afraid it might come out looking a little odd. No offence to the dude, I'm sure he's a nice guy, but he seems a little odd himself. "You definitely picked the right place. We're within reach of all the tourist stuff and the sight seeing buses but we don't get a lot of folk coming through here, the night life is all on the other side of the island."

Yes, that is definitely relief I see on his face. Maybe he's one of those weird sociopaths who can't be around people or something - if sociopath is the right word for that, which I suspect it isn't.

"Cool. So if all the night life is on the other side then what do y'all do for fun around here?"

He said 'y'all,' so I'm guessing he's from the South somewhere? Eh, I don't really know or care. "We make trips over there a lot, but mostly we just hang out here and spend a lot of time on the beach. The surf's really great out here."

Amazingly, he might have just perked up. "Is there somewhere to rent boards nearby?"

"Not unless you want to go all the way to del Sol, but Carlotta's son Dante has too many boards for one person and if you can convince him you're not a rank amateur he's been known to loan them to guests."

There's a light chuckle and his smile looks a little brighter this time. "I hold my own. So where's this store?"

He listens carefully as I give him the directions - you can't really miss the place, you'd have to be a moron not to make it from here. Still, you should never underestimate how dumb folk can be, especially when they arrive on vacation and switch their brains off.

The smile disappears and he looks utterly frightened when Nina bounds into the room yabbering in Español about the nightmare she just had trying to find a nice enough outfit for the restaurant. Thankfully Nina quickly works out he must be the 'Young American' and switches to English, but the boy does still look kind of scared. To be fair, Nina did just burst into the room talking with incredibly speed and volume; for all his clearly non-Spanish speaking self knew she'd just run in saying the volcano would erupt and we were all going to die. The volcano the island formed around has actually been extinct for years, but he didn't know that. He doesn't seem to know much about the place he's paid all this money to fly to.

"Well, thanks for the info, anyway," he tells me. "I guess I'll see you around."

"No problem. See you," I say to his retreating back.

"Carlotta was right. Good looking," Nina observes.

"Kind of strange, too," I muse out loud. "You ever known a guy his age come out here all alone and with no desire to go anywhere near any tourists?"

Her eyebrow arches up at me and she looks a little suspicious. "Lord, woman, how long were you talking to him?"

"Quality not quantity."

I just shrug it off and march her out of the door before she can delay our dinner any further. I'm now very hungry.

Once again, I slept later than I intended to. My body can't seem to get over the idea that it's five hours later here than it is back home, and I am suffering for it. It's making life awkward because I don't get tired until insane o'clock at night, and then of course when I've been up that late I don't want to be awake that early. Three days have passed me by in a blur of sleep and feeling totally out of it.

It probably doesn't help that I'm used to having a schedule. Even when I'm not out on promotion or tour, I have a precisely plotted out schedule. Even my down time's scheduled. I get up at around eight - or seven if I have a lot to do - and I have breakfast and I work out. Then I'll have business meetings or I'll do some recording, usually some kind of lunch meeting, and then if I don't have more shit to do I might get the afternoon to chill or play some golf or something. I have a diary. Well, I don't have a diary; somebody has a diary on my behalf.

Sometimes I wonder precisely who has control over my schedule - I ought to be the boss of me but I'm not always sure that I am.

It's beautiful out here. I picked Adora randomly from a travel agent's web site because it called it 'an undiscovered paradise.' Obviously the paradise part was good, but mostly it was 'undiscovered' that appealed. I then picked this resort because it was recommended for retirement couples but it still had a beach; Granny and Grandpa don't seem the type to be listening to me sing about whips, shackles and slaves. The sea's not the turquoise it is in Hawaii or my usual haunts, but it's this pleasant deeper shade of blue. I want to say cerulean? The sand is practically white, and it looks like the kind of place where you can sit without being disturbed. I've barely left the apartment to find out - just been observing from the balcony - but I think I could brave it today. The local kids seem to keep to their own patch anyway.

You could ask what the fuck I've been planning to do while playing recluse in this sleepy little town - it's a fair question. It would be great if I had an answer. Reading puts me to sleep; music is going to be kind of a no go for a while, and from what I understand internet access around these parts is slow to the point of extreme irritation. My Blackberry's only got like a single bar of reception, but then from the way it's been beeping and the way my e-mails are stacking up I'm not sure I want to be checking it. The temptation to just switch it off for the duration of my stay gets stronger by the second. Going by the tourist spots is also a huge no go. It's summer vacation time, and I've had considerable success in Europe if I do say so myself. It'll be crawling with the type of folk who'll recognise me and that's not going to be conducive to a peaceful vacation.

Ahh, who the fuck am I kidding? Life re-evaluation is not a peaceful thing wherever the fuck you decide to try it. There's only so long you can spend being a miserable bastard before you figure something has to change, but working out exactly what is really not fucking pretty. You can tell that by the way that even my thoughts on the subject have become littered with profanity - I like to swear and all, but I don't usually sound this bitter. I thought it was my girlfriend, but apparently she wasn't my biggest problem because I got rid of her and I still don't feel a heck of a lot better.

It's just pretty damn terrifying thinking what else it might be, since the rest of my life is made up of my family and my career. If either of those things are the problem… well, that's a whole other problem in itself, seeing as changing them is not an option for me.

Still, this was the point of this trip. The logic is that when you spend time away from your everyday life you can evaluate it a little more objectively. Being a miserable bastard is just not my nature. Call me a cocky son of a bitch, but I'm used to achieving my goals and making a success of my life. I have my trials and tribulations like anybody else, but mostly I manage to turn it to the positive and do that whole 'learn and grow' shit with it. This sounds so hopelessly corny, but I'm a happy guy. I may not be one of those hyper perky people who are always skipping around like the hills are alive with the sound of music but I'm content and it shows.

Being miserable is just so unlike me, and I find it utterly exhausting. It's like my head is filled up with nothing but this maudlin, self pitying crap, and I'm not even sure WHY. Everything just feels like serious effort all the time and it's like none of the things that usually motivate me are working. Severe writer's block has set in, and that never happens to me. There have been dry spells before, but nothing even half this prolonged. Nothing makes me happy. Ostensibly, I can't see anything missing from my life… except the girlfriend I kicked out of it because I thought she might be part of the problem, too high maintenance and draining my energy or something, but that's done nothing to help the overall situation. Still, to be honest I don't miss her as much as I expected to so I'm thinking that still might have been a good call even if my reasoning was screwy.

Of course people notice and they care, they want to help… but it all adds up to more conflicting voices in my head. All their heartfelt advice is useless when the problem remains so elusive. As much as it shames me to say it, after a while the concern just becomes annoying. You get defensive, you get snappy, even the most innocent 'how are you doing' seems loaded with back-handed implications, and generally speaking I have just been a fucking nightmare to deal with. How I've managed to keep that to a minimum in front of paparazzi I have no idea, but there's only so long I can keep doing that before the truth outs.

So I figured what's one more selfish decision? I run away to some quiet corner of the globe, probably giving my mother an aneurysm in the process, and hopefully the peace and quiet gives me enough time and emotional distance to maybe work out what the fuck's wrong with me without need for therapists or pills. I don't trust therapists - HIPAA be damned, I'm sure someone would leak the details. Also, I kind of think they're full of shit.

It's weird. I came for peace and quiet and to be away from all the concerned voices, I came to get away from the well meant but useless advice and I have no desire to pick up my phone and call anyone… but I still kind of wish I had someone to talk to. Going to tourist areas is out and to be honest I always find them tacky anyway. I came here to relax and not do much of anything, yet I want something to do. More than anything, I came here to listen to the voices in my head and all I want to do is shut them out.

Well, nobody ever said my shit had to make sense.

***

Look at me, I ventured outside and everything.

After slathering on about ten tons of factor 60 that's probably not going to stop me burning anyway, I got into my shorts and grabbed a towel and came to sit out on the beach. I brought a token book too, but I doubt it'll get read. Pretty much I'll either fall asleep or maybe have a swim. If only Trace knew, his last and rather bitchy e-mail assumed that I was 'gallivanting' and having the time of my life in some far flung exotic locale. It is far flung and exotic - I'm no gardener but I'm fairly sure I have some pretty impressive orchids in my room - but my activity roster is probably about as exciting as that time Ben broke his leg and was confined to a hospital bed in traction for two weeks.

Take now, for example. I have laid my towel out on the beach. I sat down on it. I managed to get a beer and drink some of it. The sun is shining, it's a beautiful day… and for the last five minutes or so I've been picking up sand and watching it pour through my fingers. Before that I was watching a boat go by against the horizon - somebody needs to stop this crazy party whirlwind or I might get dizzy! The owner's son is apparently away for a couple of days so I can't take that girl's suggestion and ask him if he can loan me a board; shame, the surf looks decent. Also, surfing is a little less pathetic than sitting here pouring sand through your fingers like some easily amused six year old.

Possibly the flaw in coming some place quiet to think is that there's nowhere to get away from your thoughts once you've arrived. Maybe I should have brought Trace or somebody with me, just as a distraction. Maybe this whole thing was a dumb idea. My e-mails all seem to think so.

"Oh bollocks!"

Okay, somebody's got some impressive volume. I look up and I see it's the British girl who directed me to the store (that old lady who owns it loves me - doesn't understand about half of what I say but she understands my money).

It seems kind of mean to laugh, but she's chasing around after a piece of paper and it couldn't be going worse if some Hollywood film maker had scripted it and had a crew member tugging the paper constantly away. Every time she gets close enough to grab the breeze immediately carries it off again, bringing her ever further in my direction. It and she are getting perilously close to the water's edge, and I'm guessing it'll be unreadable if that happens.

"Ahh! Got you, you little bugger!" She yells triumphantly.

Call me stupid (many have), but I still have trouble reconciling that English accent and those very British swear words to her face. She's as tan as anybody else around here, and with her dark colouring she looks like every other resident I've seen around here. Of course this is precisely the second time I've seen her, making a grand total of maybe five minutes if you're generous with the counting, so it's not like I've had much time to reconcile the accent and the appearance.

Apparently I'm laughing louder than I thought; either that or she felt me staring, because she's turned to look at me and has worked out that I think the whole thing's funny. The same female twitch that my cousin makes when she wants to tell me I'm a douche for laughing has appeared on her lips. Guess I hadn't realised precisely how close she was getting to my little spot of beach and that she probably was going to hear me. Hell, she wasn't that far away to begin with, I'm not sure how I missed her; I can see her chair and parasol next to what looks like a big old stack of books - how much reading can one person do in a couple of hours?

"Oh sure. Sit there and laugh at me when you could have helped. I thought you Yanks were supposed to be polite?"

"Oh I'm from Tennessee so I'm a Southerner not a Yankee. Ma'am," I say mockingly.

"Well maybe you should go back there and laugh at other people's poor unsuspecting expense."

The tone is utterly serious, the face is deadpan, but there's a sharp twinkle in her eye that thankfully gives the game away. Clearly this woman missed her calling, because if not for that hint of mischief that would have been a better acting performance than I've seen many a co-star pull off.

"Why'd you think they made me leave?" I riposte.

Now it's her turn to laugh at me. It's a light laugh that seems oddly in fitting with the surroundings - sunny and warm. "I just assumed you were skiving off work."

"Skiving?" I ask quizzically. The tone was clearly joking, but I didn't get the joke.

"You know, pulling a sickie."

"Oh." Well the second one made slightly more sense. My knowledge of British slang is pretty much limited to the following words: bloody, bugger, git, and wanker. That's only because I tend to hear them from the local crews when I tour there. I sincerely hope none of them were directed at me… "Nope, just needed a break. All legitimately taken, promise."

"This is the perk of my job, I get a ton of holidays anyway," she says distractedly as she reads through the paper she picked up with a critical eye.

"Why, what do you do?" It occurs to me as I speak that this is probably the longest conversation I've had with anybody since I left the continental US and it's with a total stranger who's probably just being polite.

"I teach English at the school here," she replies. "Apparently not very well if this piece of paper's anything to go by."

So that would explain the books; she must have brought some grading out with her or something. Maybe she's a good person to ask for what to do around here if she gets so much vacation time. She was definitely helpful before with the store. I've probably done more cooking since I've been here than in the last month back home.

"You set them vacation homework? That's cruel."

"I'm the taskmaster bitch from Hell," she says in a wry tone. "So how about you? And it occurs to me at this point I should have asked for your name before you occupation, but whatever."

It's kind of sad, but the immediate reflex these days when somebody asks me that question is to stare them down and try to work out if the question is sincere. You would not believe how many girls pretend not to know who I am and then, not ten minutes later, they slip up by displaying a massive amount of knowledge that can only have been gleaned from US Weekly or some shit. It's a dead give away that you're lying to me if three minutes after you pretend not to know who I am you're telling me how great you thought FutureSex/LoveSounds was and that you listen to it all the time.

There's nothing in this girl's expression or eyes to tell me that it's a redundant question, so I'll give her the benefit of the doubt. This does seem like a bit of a backwater as far as this island goes, and nobody else has questioned me or so much as taken a second glance at me this far. I'm guessing American music doesn't reach them too quick or something? Either way, I won't look a gift horse in the mouth.

In a split second decision, I take the risk. "Justin Timberlake," I tell her as I hold out a hand.

She shakes it firmly and with a smile. "Addy Elliott."

"Addy… that short for Addison?"

Her face clouds over and her lip twitches. "Not as far as I'm concerned."

"Oh. I never asked."

She tips me a wink. "Smart lad."

Well, it's an inane conversation but it beats sifting sand through your hands. "You lived here long?"

"About eleven years now. You were going to tell me what you do?"

"I'm a banker."

WHOA. Where the fuck did that come from? That cannot have been me who just said that shit.

It sounded like my voice, I mean, after years of singing and giving endless interviews I am naturally pretty familiar with the sound of my own voice, but I cannot have said that. Saying that would make no sense, since I am not a banker. Therefore, I can only conclude that somebody who sounds incredibly like me but who is also invisible must have answered for me. Because why would I say that? It's a dirty lie. The only thing I know about banks is that they bleed me dry on interest for my credit card bills, why the fuck would I say I was a banker? Where would that cracked out decision come from and why would my mouth decide not to inform my brain of it first? See, it can't have been me who said that.

Denial's a fucking river in Egypt.

"Oh. I'd like to pretend that sounds interesting but my mother told me it was wrong to lie. No wonder you needed a vacation."

"Yeah, what can I say?" I squeak uncomfortably. Well, she doesn't seem to suspect that it was a humungous falsehood. Possibly moving the conversation on and never bringing up my occupation ever again is my best course of action here. "Real life is boring. So what do you do for fun around here?"

"We're pretty laid back around here," she shrugs. "We tend to just hang out, sunbathe, swim, surf. If you were a girl I'd say shopping but every guy I know hates shopping, and every now and then we give in to the tourist traps and go to the water parks for the day or something. Though we try to avoid doing that in high season because it's rammed. There's some good hiking around here too."

"Cool. I kind of came here for the peace and quiet and then realised I'd given myself a little too much peace and quiet," I confess. The way she laughs, I suspect I'm not the first person who has done this.

My eyes scoot over her body and take what's probably my first real look at her. Behind the tan, she's got a nice face. Her eyes are a really rich brown, her face is pleasantly rounded and there's a small dimple in her cheek when she smiles. Most of the girls around here seem to live in bikini tops and shorts, and she's not bucking the trend. She's not the tallest person going, if anything she's a little petite, but to my discerning male eye she seems well proportioned. It's really shallow of me to say this, but if she looked like some hose beast I probably wouldn't talk to her. Maybe it's because she's lived here a fair while, but she seems more Adoran than English in personality, too. The locals around here are very friendly and open and she's no exception, but I don't see that so much when I visit England.

Of course in England they know who I am. Why the fuck did I say I was a banker again?

"Well… I don't often say this to the tourists, but you don't seem like a psycho so if you get bored you'd be welcome to come hang out with us," Addy offers with a smile.

"Yeah. I bet you say that to all the guys," I tease.

"If you knew me, you wouldn't say that." If I detected a tone there it can only have been for half a second, because she's already back to light and breezy. "My brother and I live in the villa with the blue shutters about ten minutes' walk down the beach from here," she points out the direction to me, "and we're usually the base of operations so stop by. You'd probably be saving me from some boredom too; it gets annoying being on holiday while everyone else works."

"I'm betting it's more annoying for them working while you chill, so sorry but I got no sympathy."

"And on that note, since you're being mean to me yet again," she pokes her tongue out, "I am going to go get back to the marking that I swore I was going to get done today before the rest of it gets carried off with the wind."

"You know all you had to do was say gone with the wind and I would have had a great Rhett Butler joke opening."

Okay, maybe it's a good thing she's going now because that was a bad, bad joke and she needs to leave before I let out another one. And before I let out more stupid shit along the lines of "I'm not a platinum selling globe trotting musician/actor/entrepreneur, I'm a fucking banker."

I think the only disadvantage of living on the ocean front is that the constant smell of salt makes you crave sugar. It's a good thing there's more fruit than chocolate available around here to satisfy my sweet cravings or I would be fat as hell. That would be awkward, seeing as my life when not at school is lived in bikinis.

That's why I'm chewing on some mango slices as I clean up the living room and kitchen for the little get together we're hosting tonight. Lucky for me, Dad cunningly fixed up the air con to some solar panels on the roof when he built the villa so the more the sun shines, the more juice our air con has to cool us down. Living here for so long, we've been forced to respect the heat; these days when I go back to England I can never understand why people complain about the summer weather being too hot. What English people call 'hot' is absolutely nothing compared to Mediterranean summers. Every year it happens without fail, the hospital on the island gets an influx of people with heat stroke and you see a ton of tourists skulking miserably around in t-shirts with only their bright red necks and arms to testify how badly they managed to burn themselves the day before. The other colour I see is orange - girls who think that piling on the fake tan looks anything like a real tan. No it doesn't, ladies, it just makes you look even worse by comparison when you stand next to a natural one. I'll give them plus points for trying to avoid skin cancer though.

Once again, I am having a very boring day. The fact that I am voluntarily cleaning the communal areas when it's Mike's week to do so demonstrates this perfectly. At first we thought we were too cool and mature for stuff like rotas, but as it turns out when left to our own devices we wind up reverting to the ages of fifteen and thirteen respectively. Those were the days when we were both convinced that the other always ditched their chores and we each had to pick up the slack. The rota saved us from reverting to our fifteen and thirteen year old dispute resolution technique.

When I say 'dispute resolution technique,' I mean wrestling match. Hair pulling was optional.

The inside of our living room is all white. The only colour accents are our sofas and the pictures and ornaments that we have up, the floor is all white tiling (which thankfully resists sangria stains much better than white carpet, but if you drop anything even remotely breakable it's an immediate adios). Again, this is an important feature - my Dad informs me that because white reflects all light and heat it keeps things cooler for us. If you ask me his interior designer was just trying to be trendy, since they sometimes use us as a demonstration home, but since my Daddy very kindly built me a house I keep that little opinion to myself. I try not to be an ungrateful little brat; I'll take what I'm given.

"Knock knock?"

I hear the noise from the balcony doors behind me and give a little jump, nearly screaming. My friends all know better than to sneak up on me from the back door, so it has to be a passer-by. There's a set of stairs from the sand to the balcony and they're so well built you'd have to be wearing stilettos or clogs to make any noise on the damn things.

I turn around, and it's Captain America from the other day. I'd almost forgotten that I told him where I live; I haven't seen him for a few days.

"Jesus, you startled me. Normally our visitors come through the front door."

"Oh, sorry," he blushes awkwardly. His demeanour seems overly nervous, so I'm guessing the fact it's been a few days since that casual invitation was made hasn't escaped him either. You have to have some sympathy; people say a lot of shit during the niceties that they don't really intend to follow through on.

"Nah, it's okay," I say as I try to smile reassuringly at him. "What can I do for you, uhh, Justin?" Thankfully it only took me half a second to recall his name or that might have been awkward.

"I was just walking this way and I saw the house with the blue shutters and remembered you," he responds. He's almost shy about it, his wording seems very tempered and … not quite rehearsed, but like he's being very careful about it. "I thought I'd stop in and say hi, if you were here. Which you obviously are seeing as I scared the shit out of you."

There's something about the way he phrases things that I just like. He's unintentionally funny.

Also, now I take a better look, pretty nice looking. His nose dominates his face, it's a little big, but I'm guessing when he smiles it's a mega watt smile. The eyes are big and blue and the man clearly works out. I've seen a lot of skinny bastards but that kind of abdominal definition takes gym work. I know this because my brother (also a skinny bastard) constantly complains about it; he's not doing so well with building the old six pack. That said, I cannot condone his swim shorts - they're a particularly obnoxious shade of electric blue with lighter blue detailing and I expected better taste from him. His hair looks like it's only just growing out after some head shaving.

"Apart from your method of entry your timing was pretty good actually, I'm so bored I'm cleaning." I roll my eyes and he chuckles at me. "Would you like a drink?"

"Water would be nice, thank you."

I pad over to the fridge and my flip flops make that irritating slap against the tiles. Usually I'm a barefoot gal around the house but when I'm pouring cleaning products on the floor it's best to have something on my feet. Pulling it open I grab a bottle and toss it over to him. Drinking water is always well stocked in our fridge because I live on one of those islands where drinking the tap water is a bad, bad plan. That along with sun stroke is probably the most common affliction amongst tourists admitted to the island hospital.

"So how's your trip so far?" I ask in what I hope is a friendly and conversational manner as I grab a bottle for myself and nab the last of my mango slices.

"Quiet," he responds with a wry smile. "I haven't done much of anything. It's been kind of nice, but I'm starting to get twitchy. I don't think I've done so little in… well, forever."

"How long are you staying?"

He reaches back to scratch his neck, and am I wrong for sneaking a peek at the biceps working when he does it? Summer romances are something I've learned to steer well clear of, particularly when it's tourists (most of them usually have a girlfriend back home and a lot of them have managed to get through a couple of girls on the island before they even get to you, despite their short tenure here), but I can't say that I don't like to look. Cute guys running around without shirts need to be looked at, it's just some harmless girly fun. None of us take it too seriously, if we date it's people who actually live here; my last boyfriend was another ex pat who runs an Irish themed bar with his parents. I still go there a lot actually, it was a pretty amicable break up.

"Initially I said two weeks, but pretty much as long as I feel like it," he shrugs.

That would be a good thing seeing as by my calculations he's already been here over a week and has managed to do pretty much nothing. It seems a waste of a holiday if all you do is stay in your room. I can't help but wonder about that - it's none of my business, but this is not your typical twenty something male on an island vacation. He's been playing hermit for the past week, I know octogenarians who've been out more than he has.

"Wow. That's pretty lenient of your bosses," I comment blithely. Immediately he gets shifty and I know I've struck a nerve.

"Yeah. Well… you know, I had some time accumulated and…"

"It's okay. You only just met me, you don't have to explain."

"Heh. It's a little complicated but I got all the time I want." The nervous smile comes back out and I wonder what the mega watt one looks like. Dear old Justin seems wound pretty tight - maybe I should invite him to our little gathering tonight and get him really drunk. "This is a nice place."

"Thanks."

"I bet it's great having the water right there."

"Oh yeah," I nod. "It's great if you get up early enough and you can go for a sun rise dip when it's all quiet and nobody else is up yet. It's even better if the surf's right."

"Yeah, I took your advice and borrowed Dante's board but the waves weren't really happening when I tried it."

Oh, so he has left his room since we last spoke. "I told you he has way too many for one person, right?"

Justin rolls his eyes, but not in a rude way. "You weren't kidding. He was telling me the stories behind all of them too - did he really ride one all the way down the hotel strip in that Playa del Sol place?"

Ahh, the infamous tall tale has been spun to Justin too. Dante seems to think he managed to ride a wave for two miles without losing it even once. We think he's full of shit. "We saw him leave the first hotel and Mike and Antonio saw him hit the last one. The entire middle length of the strip is unaccounted for and to be honest, I think there's more chance of me agreeing to a strip show in the middle of said strip than him having made it all the way down there."

The smile got bigger and the laugh got louder. Yep, I definitely see wattage potential there. He has very white teeth, too. "That I'd pay to see."

"There are strip joints down there if that's your kind of thing but I'm afraid you won't be seeing me in 'em," I snort derisively. I know that strip joints are never the classiest places but at least some of them look clean - the ones on this island look like you'd catch an STD just walking in there. Call me judgmental, but I see what I see.

"I'll take a pass," he chuckles, though whether it's at me or the prospect of him going down there I'm not sure. That would after all involve him moving more than ten minutes away from the safety of his apartment. "So, umm, if your cleaning isn't too crucial you feel like maybe doing something?"

"My cleaning is entirely non-crucial and I'd love an excuse to get out of here. I could show you the sights, there's some hiking trails," I pause to look out of the sliding glass doors, "or the surf's not bad. You're about Mike's height; his board would probably work for you."

His eyes light up - surfing it is, then.

***

I have decided that meeting Addy was a stroke of luck.

With all the thoughts flying around my head, being somewhere so quiet and peaceful was a miscalculation on my part; it gave them the opportunity to get much louder when I had very little else to distract myself. After a week of soul searching and self pitying, I have to say that I don't have any more answers than I did when I got here - just a little more of a tan. What I think I did get right, however, was that bringing Trace or anyone from back home would have complicated things. They know too much of what's going on with me, are too liable to get offended or hurt if I express any feeling of dissatisfaction with my life, and would probably make me want to talk about it.

Hanging with Addy has been awesome today. I mean, it's not like she's Wonder Woman or anything, she's just a normal, nice kind of girl, but because she doesn't know what's going on with me she doesn't ask a darn thing about it. We were talking about lots of normal, inconsequential crap. I hung out with her and she kept me away from the crappy thoughts without inspiring any more of them, since she's a stranger and doesn't really mean enough to me to piss me off or worry me. That sounds horrible, I know, but it's a good thing. It's been a long time since I've been able to hang out with someone on such a basic, stress-free level. There's no work pressure, no life pressure, no romantic pressure, we've just been surfing and making small talk. I didn't have to think about my life or my problems for those three hours and that fucking ROCKS.

Also, she may be living and looking Adoran but her sense of humour's still British. She's a cool gal. The best part is that since she's a teacher she's going to be on vacation for as long as I'm here, however long I decide that's going to be. So long as I don't manage to put her off me or display myself as some kind of freak, I could conceivably hang out with her a ton. She's an accomplished little surfer, too, managed to give me a few tips. Dare I say it, I actually had fun today.

Which is why I'm now back at her house (at the front door this time), for this get together with her friends that she invited me to. This is a big risk - the more people I meet, the likelier it is that I'll bump into somebody who knows I'm not a banker - but I'm craving a little more distraction. Initially I said 'maybe' to the invitation with no intention of coming here, but then I walked back into my apartment and it was like all my problems hit me again like a ton of bricks. Ten minutes later she had a phone call and an acceptance. I think I wallowed in there too long and I'm going to have to spend a little more time out and about before I get my crap back under control.

It's not Addy who opens the door, but a skinny blonde guy who has her nose. "I don't know you so I'm guessing you're Justin," is his greeting.

"Yeah, hi. You Mike?" I ask as I shake his hand.

"Yeah, good to meet you mate. Come on in, you're our first arrival."

"Really?" I'm surprised as I look at my watch. "I'm late."

"Only by about twenty minutes," he shrugs. "The average around here is thirty to forty; Addy usually tells everybody to arrive half an hour earlier than they really have to, it's the only way we get anything done on time around here. Come on in."

As I walk in Addy is padding barefoot around the coffee table, putting out various bowls of chips, vegetables and dips. I smell something good in the oven. "Hey Justin," she smiles nicely at me. She's not wearing a lot of make up, but the little white sun dress still makes her look all dolled up; it's a big change from the salt water styled hair and the wet suit from earlier.

"Hey." We do the polite kiss on the cheek thing and before I know it Mike's pressed a beer into my hand. Clearly they host a lot of soirees; it was like he was barely even thinking about it. "So how many people are coming?" I ask.

"About ten, including you," Mike answers. "We only have so much room in here so when we have bigger parties we take it out to the sand."

"Sounds awesome," I say. "Me and my buddies did that on Honolulu one time, had a bonfire, it was amazing. We didn't stop until like four in the morning."

Oh, crap. Said buddies were the four other members of my pretty famous former music group and our pretty extensive tour crew. It all happened in the middle of one of our pretty big tours. If I don't want my little secret getting out I'm really going to have to do some more internal censorship before speaking.

"Four?" Addy snorts. "You light weights. We've been known to fall asleep on the sand out there at like six and wake back up at ten or eleven. Which really is a bad plan because it leaves the house wide open and unlocked, so don't tell my Dad that."

"Oh, party animal are you?" I smile wickedly. "And there was me thinking you were an upstanding educator of young minds."

Mike cracks up laughing, and Addy throws a dish towel at my head before the doorbell goes again. Suddenly I'm kind of nervous about this; I don't want to stick out like a sore thumb or have this turn into one of those awkward parties where because you only know one person you can't really get talking with anybody. The major attraction to staying on this island at the moment is that I don't stick out like a sore thumb - for the first time since I landed that Mickey Mouse Club spot, I blend into the background because nobody knows me as anything but what I'm presenting myself as. Nobody here has any pre-formed judgments of me because they have nothing to judge on, unlike most of the population that have a million gossip rags and TV shows to look at. That feeling's nice. My new found anonymity can't last, I will have to go home sometime, but I'm not ready to give it up just yet.

Oh, okay, it's Dante and Nina at the door. I vaguely know them from the apartments; I could probably make small talk with them. See, I won't have to cling to Addy like an annoying clingy thing. I can do this. I can be normal.

I was about to ask Addison if she feels pushed out when everyone around her starts speaking Spanish, but then I remembered that she's fluent. So it'll just be me, then.

It's not that people have been excluding me - everybody's been insanely nice but in a beautifully disinterested way. It might sound weird that I'm enjoying the fact that they're just making polite conversation and aren't especially interested in more than a 'oh, new person' way, but this is fucking awesome. Nobody here is kissing up to me, nobody. This is it; this is what it's like to be a regular person of no special interest. I like it. They all speak pretty good English and I've chatted with everybody over the last three hours, it's just hard to find an opening into a conversation with anybody different than Mike or Addy if they've lapsed into Spanish.

Umm… I hope this isn't me just being an egotistical bastard, but before everybody else arrived I had wondered if maybe… Lord, I'm such a dumb ass. I almost wondered if maybe I would somehow dislike the feeling. From the age of twelve I've had people who don't know me know my name and what I do, I've had the spotlight on me in a pretty intense way. I've spent most of my life being famous and having that adulation from complete strangers; it's been over a decade since I could walk into a room anonymously. I admit it, sometimes I like that - you can't live this long under that kind of attention without your ego growing at least a little. It's flattering in a lot of ways, so I kind of worried that maybe when people didn't pay so much attention to me tonight I might not like it as much as I thought I would. There are definitely aspects of fame I don't like as much as I thought I would, so I figured the same might be true of anonymity.

Thankfully, my fears were unfounded. Tonight has been awesome. There have been a few awkward lapses in conversation but that also happens when people are kissing your ass because you're famous, that I'm used to.

"Hit me," Addy says, interrupting my mental monologue.

"Uhh… you've got twenty," Mike says raising his eyebrow.

"And you're got an Ace there so that works fine. Hit me."

He duly gives her the hit and it's the ten of spades, so not an Ace then - so much for the power of positive thinking. On the bright side, I just won the princely sum of two Euros. She kind of sucks at this, it's like the woman can't count. Or more accurately, she can count but hasn't quite realised that the laws of probability cannot be bent by sheer determination. Oh well, more for me. Heaven knows I haven't got enough millions in the bank, two Euros will be a big help.

"Woman, you need to start quitting while you're ahead."

"Oh shut your gob, arse."

I love it when she gets British. It's funny, it's like her accent becomes just a little bit stronger - I think living so long with Spanish has changed it from the one she was brought up with slightly but when she speaks British she gets real British. People usually look at me funny when I say things like 'talking British,' but it's true. Americans and Brits may all speak English but there are some things only a British person would say and some things only an American would say. So, very logically I feel, I refer to them as British and American respectively. There're also subsets of US states and UK countries and whatever but that gets far too complicated so I stick to the generics.

I assume 'gob' means mouth, right?

"I'm going for some more beer, try not to lose too much money before I get back," he says rolling his eyes at her. "Justin?"

"Oh, no thanks, still working on this one." I pick up my half full bottle and wave it at him in demonstration.

"Addy?"

"You could get me some more of the same, thank you."

She hands a long stemmed wine glass to him and I think it has the dregs of either sangria or straight red wine in it. Either way, I'm impressed by how sober everyone here seems to be. They're all drinking like fish and they barely seem tipsy; does that mean they do this a lot? I've heard Europeans are very relaxed about alcohol but I thought that was just France.

Mike disappears and she picks up the cards, but she makes no move to start dealing any. It's kind of funny how they and I have seemed to drift off from the rest of the crowd. Not intentionally at all, I had a really good conversation with Antonio earlier about guitars and with Dante and his cousin about surfing, but it just seems to have worked out this way. We're on the balcony while everybody else is crawling all over the kitchen and living room. Nobody seems offended by it all, it's almost like they all live here. I now see what Addy meant about this place being the base of operations, nobody needs to ask where anything is and they definitely walk around like they all live here.

"Sooo, Mr Timberlake…" She draws out my name longer than I thought possible. I sense a question coming.

"Yes?" I reply warily.

"Umm… no, it's gone. I had a question and it's just gone."

I give a low chuckle, still giving her a cautious eye. The wine's brought a flush to her cheeks. She was pretty laid back to begin with but now she's even mellower. They all are actually, I can't imagine what any of them would think if they had to live my usual schedule.

"Well if it's that important you'll remember it."

"I could just ask you lots of random other ones," she shrugs.

"So long as I have the right to pass on as many as I want, shoot." It's so sad that even in real life away from the industry I still have to use that caveat. Of course, the big stinking lie about my occupation hasn't helped with that.

Addy drums the cards against the table, pushing a strand of dark hair out of her face. She's got a fringe that's growing out and is that touch too long, it's getting in her eyes. Man, compared to her tan I look like Casper, I need to lay out on the beach for a while tomorrow.

"Alright then, number one, where do you come from?"

"Memphis," I answer easily. That was a nice easy one.

"Brothers and sisters?"

"Two half brothers, parents are divorced." Again, not a very taxing question.

"How'd you get into banking?"

Shit. "My Dad - well, step dad but I call him Dad, he's a banker." Technically, nothing I said there is false. It's just that in the context of the question it infers an agreement that I am in fact a banker - which I'm really not.

"Girlfriend, friends, pets?" She jumbles them all in together. She's got a nice smile on her face, is just being friendly and asking out of interest, but already she's making me uncomfortable. I may have to turn this little conversation around.

"Single, lots of friends, two dogs."

"A man of few words," she smirks. "Okay, umm…"

"What about you?" I'll interrupt and make this all about her. This saves me from any more questions and as a bonus makes me look really attentive and interested in what she has to say. Chicks like that.

"What specifically about me?" She says with a laugh. "Narrow it down a bit."

"Where do you come from?"

"Berkshire, Windsor specifically."

"How'd you get into teaching?"

"Can't stand tourists or what my Dad does, it was my only other option."

It was the face she pulled, it was just funny and I laughed a little harder than I should. It was all crossed eyes and scrunched up nose. "Boyfriend, friends, pets?"

"No boyfriend, you've met most of my friends except the ones who live in England or on Playa del Sol, and no pets."

"Bet you score a lot of tourists, huh?" I waggle my eyebrows at her and get a scowl back that's mostly joking but I suspect has a more serious edge to it. It's the way she set her lip.

"I just told you I hate tourists. Besides, unless you just want a quick fling there's zero point."

"Why?" I ask, settling back into my chair and taking a slug of my beer. She's probably sick of me asking inane questions, I was throwing them at her all this afternoon too, but I like hearing about her life. It's so utterly different from mine.

"Because they leave and forget all about you," she snorts. "We all learned that pretty quickly. Never mind all these Women's Weekly stories about true love surviving the distance, ninety nine times out of a hundred they bugger off home, probably to their girlfriends or boyfriends, and forget all about you. You might get letters of e-mails for all of two weeks and then that's it."

"Doesn't sound too bad," I muse out loud. "If you're aware of that before you start." I've had a few no strings flings in my time, I have to admit. Not on vacation, I can't really do that in my position - really have to be careful who I hook up with - but it's gone okay for me.

"It's never just no strings though," she shakes her head at me. "People come on holiday and the sun and booze goes to their heads and they have these overly histrionic, intense romances that they're convinced are the real thing. That's fine if you're both tourists, you just go back to your real lives and it's easy to remove yourself from it because you were somewhere foreign, but the problem for us is that this is our real life. We don't get to leave our broken hearts on vacation and go back home and forget it, because this is home. Also, some of these tourists just look like they've been through a few folk on the island before they got to you and that's just a health risk."

Ah ha! Inane chatter aside, I think I just caught a full on glimpse of Miss Addy Elliott. She makes a cheap joke at the end to deflect from the fact she just opened up a little - I do that too, especially in interviews - but she's also just let me know that some guy at some point came to this island on vacation and broke her heart. That sucks for her. What she said about not being able to leave it behind kind of struck a chord though; it's not exactly the same, but the media never likes to leave my break ups alone so I can't escape them either. It's weird, but even though that whole situation she just described is totally alien to me I now feel like our lives actually have something in common.

Fuck, I must be drunk. I never get this philosophical when I'm sober.

"So no tourists, gotcha." I nod. "Well, for you anyway, I'm a tourist myself so I can still go home and leave it here."

She rolls her eyes at me with one of those head shakes like she wants to laugh but doesn't think she should encourage me by doing so. "Have at it, mate. Just try not to pick up anything nasty."

"No problem. If I need to I can just ask you what the Spanish is for condom."

"How can you guarantee I won't give you the Spanish for haemorrhoid cream just to get the laugh?"

I clutch my hand to my heart. "You'd do that to me? And here I thought we were getting to be friends."

"Haven't you heard? I'm evil to my friends. It's how I show affection."

"Fuck," I chuckle before slugging yet more beer. "If that's how you show affection remind me not to piss you off."

Is it just me or is Mike taking forever with those drinks? I peer in through the open door, but there's a mass of people blocking my view and I can't see him. Addy doesn't seem too bothered though. By this point she's slung the cards down and has pulled her knees up to her chest, curling up into her chair. She looks very small like that, very doll like.

"So what's Memphis like?" She asks. "I've never been anywhere except Orlando."

"It's… Memphis." That wasn't a helpful answer to the question. "I'm more LA based these days."

"I was actually thinking about applying for an exchange program in LA, go teach Spanish out there," she mentions casually.

"That'd be cool. Be totally different from here though, you'd have to be prepared," I smirk. "Probably like dealing with all those tourists you hate so much."

"Way to recommend the place." Is it me or does she roll her eyes at me a lot? Am I saying that much stupid crap or is this an extension of the 'I'm evil because I like you' thing? I haven't dealt with that since third grade when we hit the girls we like. "So is Memphis just a complete shrine to Elvis or what else is there?"

"Well you got Sun Studios and everything, but it's not just Elvis. The whole town is the birthplace of all this great rhythm and blues, you know?" I pause, licking my lips as I think how to explain it. "Not just Elvis, but Al Green lives near me and you have B.B Kings... I mean, you just think who was on the Sun label and it's people like Johnny Cash, and there's so much history in the town and that blues atmosphere is still live and kicking, you know? There's so many great horn players and guitarists still floating around the joint, the live music scene is awesome. You go there and it's still just this amazing town for blues and soul and…"

I stop when I realise that I'm rambling and she's sitting there with this small little grin on her face, kind of like a wistful sideways smile. It's cute, but I'm now kind of worried about what I said to cause it.

"So I'm guessing you like music, huh?"

Damnation and fuck - I really should not have got onto that subject. She still thinks I'm a finance man. Well, I got one lame comeback and I'm going to have to stick to it.

"I grew up in Memphis. It's required."

"Nah, it's cool." She smiles at me a little wider, just enough for a flash of teeth. "We're so technologically behind on this island that I get pretty much zero new music; I pretty much live off of my Dad's albums and whatever me or Mike can pick up when we go back to England. It gets awkward though because when you have zero connection to the music scene you have no idea who's any good, so my music taste is pretty much stuck where I left it in England with lots of Queen and David Bowie mixed in."

"You could do worse than Mercury and Bowie," I smile. I listened to fuck loads of Bowie before I made my second album… wait, best not think about such things because if I do they're more likely to fall out of my mouth without me thinking. Bankers do not have musical influences for their albums because they don't make albums.

Why the hell did I tell her I was a banker again?

"I have a favourite guitarist and it's Brian May," she shrugs. "So what do you do on your off time?"

"I like surfing, golf, basketball… I like movies," I say neglecting to mention I've been in a few, "obviously I like music… I don't know. Normal stuff. I like travelling."

"I haven't done a lot of travelling," Addy replies. "That's kind of why the exchange program appealed, I'd like to do some more of it… but then I just kind of never want to leave this beach."

"Why would you leave?" I snort. It's so peaceful here. The scenery and weather are beautiful, the people are nice. I've eaten better here than I have in months back home - it's all fresh fruit for breakfast and they do all these great fresh vegetables and they actually catch the fish around here and cook it fresh and practically still swimming. I no longer believe any US food that claims to be organic because I have now tasted the real thing and it's awesome. My mom would love it…

Oh. Yeah, I have that whole other life and career back home. That would be why I'll be leaving. At some point, anyway, there's no rush. With a guilty twang I now realise I haven't answered a single message or e-mail, haven't even checked my Blackberry in a week.

"Eh, I hear there're other good beaches in the world. At some point I should see some of them."

She meets my eye with a wry twinkle in hers and I have to say, this girl is cool. I've thought it before and I'll think it again, it's so tremendously fantastic to hang out with somebody who doesn't have a clue who I am and who isn't interested in my name or bank account. There's no pressure of any kind, no romance, nothing. I'm footloose and fancy free and it's intoxicating to hang out with somebody on that level where who you are doesn't matter and you're just good company for each other.

This vacation may be the best idea I ever had. Now if only I spoke a little Spanish…

You're not supposed to choose between your friends, but I have. Considering how little I see my British friends it's even worse that I picked a favourite among them rather than my Adoran crew, but I have. It's for the shallowest reason ever, too.

To be fair (read: I'm scrambling for a decent excuse), Lily was not always a friend you could be shallow about. She grew up on a housing estate in Slough; we only met because she went to school with me in Windsor. Slough is a nasty pit of a town and you could not pay me to go there unless I absolutely have to on pain of death. It's half an industrial estate and half row after row of nasty looking houses. Anyway, to begin with she was never going to make the annual Who's Who; this all changed when her Dad did something revolutionary with something electrical (don't ask me what, even Lily doesn't quite understand it) and became a squillionaire.

Really, of all places to be vacationing Lily should not be coming to Adora. She's pale, she's a redhead and how she manages to keep from burning I'll never know, but her family have a villa about half way between me and Playa Del Sol so she always comes out for summer and winter holidays - they got it after hearing us all rave about the island. Whenever she comes out it usually meshes pretty perfectly with my time off so I'll go spend a few days there with her and she happily foots the bill for shopping, spa days… you name it. Her Mum's generous as all hell and because she's so big on Lily remembering her roots she's generous as all hell to any friend from BTWR (Before They Were Rich). Everybody else can fuck off and stop gold digging as far as she's concerned but anybody who still liked them when they lived off beans on toast she'll do anything for. Her father's the same… but then it's like my mum says. Even when they didn't have much, they were generous with what they had.

So yes, because she treats me to gorgeous spa days like today Lily is my favourite English friend. I am so pathetically materialistic… In less shallow waters, Lily's also a great therapist. She's one of those people who are infinitely chilled and wise; I've actually seen total strangers start pouring their hearts out to her. It's just this vibe she gives off. She keeps joking that she's going to start charging, but because I'm BTWR I get her services for free.

Today, we are at the most exclusive a.k.a expensive spa in Adora. Amusingly (well, to me anyway), in order to distinguish themselves from the usual all white tiling and villa style décor you find everywhere else they've done it up to look like a British hotel inside, all carpets and pot plants… it cracks me up. Lily and I received our massages earlier - I actually know the girl who did mine. Her father works with my Dad so we chat a lot while we're at it even though we're supposed to be quiet and meditating or something… what can I say, I like to chat. Then we had our full body exfoliating sea salt scrubs and now we are having our all natural mud warming face packs. Apparently they have to 'bake' for fifteen minutes so they've left me and Lily to it. Needless to say, we are chatting.

"So after I blathered on for twenty minutes about my boy issues you're telling me you have none?" Lily pretends to scowl at me as best she can without wrecking the mask. From the way mine's tightening I don't think the same expression will be possible again.

"Sorry, still single," I shrug.

"Addy…" she whines. "I want gossip!"

"Sorry, have none! Mike and Tanya are still in that 'I hate you so I'm going to sleep with you' phase if that's of any interest?" Tanya is another ex pat who works on Adora and is currently Mike's ex. Not that it stops them.

"Ugh," she waves a dismissive hand. "After all this time he's like my brother too, I don't want to know."

I desperately want to scratch my nose, this thing itches. "It's just the same old, you know. The kids were the same as ever and vacation is the same as ever. Swim, surf, tan, hang out when people aren't on shift. Oh, Nina and Mariella say hi by the way."

"Tell them hi too."

Her mother's generosity doesn't quite extend to paying for the whole gang to go on a week long jolly, but Lily always makes a point of coming home with me for dinner one night and seeing everybody. The guys joke that they're just going to woo her for her money, but she fits in well. Like I said, she just has that aura around her that makes everybody immediately warm to her and hand over their darkest secrets. The down side is that I have never been able to keep any information from her; that's fine until said secrets aren't yours to give away. Amongst our gang at school it was basically accepted that telling any one of us anything meant that you were in effect telling Lily as well, the woman has power.

"So are we just doing manicures or was there anything else on the treatment list you fancy?" Lily asks. I could name anything, even the astronomically expensive caviar treatment (I have no idea what they'd even do with the stuff) but I'm aware that the reason Lily is willing to do stuff like this with me is that I'm not going to take advantage.

"I think a manicure works just fine, though…" I hold up my nails in disgust. They're all different lengths, but the common theme is short. "Mine are busted."

She wrinkles her nose and it makes cracks form in the drying mud. "Ugh, why?"

"I've been surfing non-stop for the past week," I explain. "I either break them on the board or the salt water just weakens them and I snag them later."

"Is there any point in me suggesting you get tips?"

"Those will get wrecked just as quick."

"Enough said."

The other thing I love about Lily is that she's my girliest friend. When I'm with her, it's all shopping and beauty and boys. There's so much more to her than that as a person, but it all gets experienced around the shopping. She's even doing some work experience at some fashion houses, she wants to design her own stuff one day; I would be hopeless without her, I have no eye for clothes. If I had my way I'd live in my shorts, bikini and flip flops. "God, do you remember that time you tried to teach me?" Lily bursts out into squeaky laughter. She's not a total princess, she'll try anything once, but surfing she was horrible at. To this day Dante swears he's never seen anyone wipe out so much even for their first lesson.

"I still can't believe that you managed to fall off all those times unscathed and then smack your head on the board AFTER you leave the water. That kind of clumsiness takes talent, you know."

She flutters her eyelashes at me. "I'm a natural!"

"I don't understand it - I have seen you walk on shoes other people can't even stand up in and yet you managed to nearly concuss yourself walking into a board? The things are pretty hard to miss."

"Shoes are easy," she protests. "It's hard to watch where you're walking though when all your male friends have such nicely tanned bodies. It was the first time I met Antonio."

"Ohhh…" That explains it. She had a crush on Antonio for about two years before deciding he looked too much like one of those smarmy Greek waiters you see in movies. The girl has a point - I keep telling him to stop slicking his hair back. "Fair enough. Do remember that time in the playground when you told me Shane Brown fancied me and I walked into the bench?"

"I remember the blood." Her eyes roll at me. "My mum nearly killed me, she'd only just washed my shirt."

"And these days she'd probably just buy you another one. How times do change…"

"Speaking of change…" Her voice takes on a new, hesitant quality and it makes me sit up a little straighter, struggling to frown under the tightening face mask.

"Yeah?"

"Umm… do you promise not to get huffy if I say you look thin?"

Oh is that it? I relax into my chair and wave a dismissive hand. "No. I didn't think I did though."

"You do - your jeans looked loose."

I can't see how they would, those are my tight jeans… then again, they weren't all that tight today. Normally when I wear them they leave a bit of a waistband imprint in my skin but today, not so much. Hmm, maybe she has a point. I look down thoughtfully at my stomach.

"I bet it's all the surfing and swimming. If I'm not doing that I'm hiking, I must have exercised more in the past couple of weeks than I have all year, plus it means I'm not in the house snacking. That's probably it."

"You sure?" Lily looks at me doubtfully, as well she might. People around me tend to disbelieve any ready excuses I have for slimming.

Then again, it is really my own fault. I left them under the impression I had an eating disorder and that's going to make people worry.

A couple of years ago after a fairly disastrous romance with a tourist (yeah, I should have known better), I was really heart broken and under a lot of stress. Depression set in and a little and I was snappy and irritable and sleeping an awful lot and stuff. The main symptom of it for me though was that I basically lost my appetite. Food tasted like cardboard, I stopped ever feeling hungry even though by rights my body should have been giving me 'I'm starving' signals and my stomach started protesting as if it were full after all of three bites. Naturally, my weight plummeted and my refusal to eat made everyone around me think I was anorexic. There was a huge drama over it - my parents called some of my British friends out to try and talk some sense to me, doctors and psychiatrists got involved, it was a big old mess.

The reason I say it's my own fault is because I was too pissy and fucked off with the world to actually explain how I was feeling to them - if I had, they would have realised anorexia wasn't the problem. I didn't hate food, I didn't hate myself, and I wasn't trying to control anything in my life. I wasn't even trying to hide it. I may have been refusing food, but I never had the psych profile of someone with an eating disorder. It wasn't that I was opposed to eating; I had just lost my appetite along with any energy or enthusiasm for life. I think in a weird way because my brain was determined that I was heart broken and shouldn't feel good it thought everything good in my life should be avoided and blocked any signals to my body that might have encouraged me to go after such things - even an ice cream or a nice meal or whatever.

Eventually, one of the psychiatrists I spoke to managed to work this out and helped me get over it, and as I did I got my appetite back. Under confidentiality rules I made her swear not to tell my parents though - she was only allowed to confirm that I wasn't anorexic or bulimic. The problem is though that without getting the actual explanation, people will linger over the one that makes most sense to them even if they hear a denial, so most of my family and friends still believe I had one. They're still on tenterhooks waiting for a relapse to prove them right, and I understand why.

"Honestly, Lil, I'm sure." I try to look her dead in the eyes when I say it, hopefully that'll reassure her. "I've been spending so much time running around with Justin that I'm just exercising more, I doubt any more will come off."

"Justin?" Her eyes light up curiously. "I thought you said there were no men?"

Crap. That comment has successfully got her away from a mistaken belief that I'm starving myself and onto another mistaken belief that hot sex is either happening now or in my future. I wish - not with Justin, but a hot guy would be nice.

"I did and it's true. I'm not seeing anybody and I'm not seeing Justin so there are no men."

"But Justin is a man and he's new!" She counters. "Is he fit?"

"Umm…" Funnily enough, I'd never thought about it. His weird recluse thing was far more the topic of conversation than his body. Trying to be objective, I picture him in my head. "Yeah, I suppose so. His nose is kind of huge but he's got nice abs."

"And you're spending all this time with him?"

I so know where she's going with this and I will be nipping it in the bud. "He came out on his own… I think he's had some big life drama that he came to get away from, though I can't get him to confirm. He's alone and I'm alone, so after I bumped into him it made sense that we hung out and helped each pass the time. We basically just surf and hike a lot."

Boring as I tried to make it sound, she's not giving up and has latched onto her next detail. "Big life drama? Broke up with a girlfriend, maybe? What do we know?"

"Umm…" Again, I'd never really thought about it. He's a nice guy who's very funny, but I haven't really bothered to ask lots of deep and penetrating questions. Our acquaintance is very much based on proximity and convenience. "He's twenty seven, he's a banker from Memphis who owns dogs and now lives in LA. I really haven't asked for his life story."

"Well you bloody well should! How are we supposed to decipher the details and work out if he fancies you without them?"

"Oh for fuck's sake, he does not fancy me and I do not fancy him, we're both just bored and in need of something to do."

"Shagging is something to do."

"Lily!" Honestly, sometimes I do not believe the shit that comes out of her mouth. She's even worse when she's had a few. "I am not shagging the guy because I'm bored!"

"Why not? You guys are the ones always saying that tourists are fine so long as it's no strings."

"Do you shag guys just because you're bored?"

"Well not now, obviously," she says in reference to accountant boyfriend Alex, "but it's happened before. Maybe you should invite this guy up to the house with everyone else so I can meet him."

My first temptation is to refuse in protest, but then I realise that dear old Lily will just take this as confirmation that I have something to hide or that I'm embarrassed. Both those things will reinforce her theory that there's something to this. Far better I just bring him along so she can see for herself.

"Fine, will do."

"Really? Wow, I was expecting that to be harder work."

"It's really not a big deal," I shrug. "He's a guy, we're friendly, I'm not about to jump him."

"You're no fun," she pouts at me as the beauty therapist re-enters the room to check on our progress.

You know, Granny always used to say to me that "one lie begets another," and I had no idea what she meant. How does one lie mean you have to tell another? Do they reproduce themselves by mitosis, do they procreate and give birth to lots of little baby lies, what? Of course they don't, that's just stupid. Besides, I try not to lie anyway since in my line of work it usually comes back to bite me in the ass - no point lying when your lies go into print and on file and can be recalled by a quick Google search even if it's years later. So, with all this I figured it was some stupid old people cliché that was best to be ignored.

Well now I definitely know what the fuck she meant and she was fucking right.

I told one tiny, insignificant lie. If you think about it, it was a pretty superficial and unimportant lie. A person's career doesn't necessarily say all that much about them; there are always lots of stereotypes, but those are always bullshit and you can always find a ton of people who don't fit them. Really, in the big scheme of things, telling her that I was a banker instead of a musician hasn't done all that much to affect the way Addy and I have built up our acquaintance. We rarely talk about that shit anyway, we shoot the breeze and hike and surf. Yesterday we also played ping pong and a girl beat me, which is embarrassing. But you get my point - my career isn't a particularly relevant topic, so one tiny little white lie to bring me some peace of mind really shouldn't have been a big deal. Everything else Addy and her friends have come to learn about me is very much on the level.

The problem is that the one little white lie I'm talking about was not just told to Addy. It has been told to other people. She has told other people, other people have asked and I've been forced to lie again for continuity. When they ask for details, I have to make up further falsehoods to fill in at least a few blanks even if I switch subjects as quickly as possible. With that, I then have to 'readjust' other details of my life to be more in keeping with the idea that I'm a banker, because the job I described does not really match up with my true salary and lifestyle… unless I'm also a drug dealer on the side, anyway.

Now, I'm preparing to tell yet another untruth. It's a bigger one too, since this one requires premeditation. It's a lie that requires some serious preparation and a lot of acting skill. Once again if I had thought for more than two seconds before opening my mouth then I might not have had to do this, but as Granny says one fucking lie begets another shitty fucking lie. Well, Granny says that except she doesn't swear so much. The swearing is all me.

Addy asked me to go to dinner with the gang to meet another friend of hers. I said sure, that sounded great. Since I'm avoiding the tourist spots and there's only one restaurant in this village I've been eating whatever I can cook - that gets boring, so I was looking forward to it. This was all well and great and I was pretty psyched (yeah, me who dines in the most exclusive restaurants all over the world was getting pathetically hyped about going to some total stranger's house where somebody else would cook) until Addy mentioned who the friend was. The information didn't really sink in until I'd already signed off from the conversation and Addy had disappeared, but this friend is from back home and is just visiting.

Yeah. 'Back home' being England where I've had two number one albums, two sell out tours and am fucking famous - not for being a banker. You see my problem here.

Well, it's too late now, and since I was too stupid to dig the details out of her first before agreeing to it (better watch it or next time I'll be headed for the tourists before I even realise it) I am now going to have to perjure myself yet again to get out of it. Did I mention I'm sick of telling tall tales already? The moment of truth has arrived, since Addy has just knocked on my door - or should I say moment of untruth? I take one last glance in the mirror and hope I look crappy enough to pull this off.

"Hey, Justin," she says as I open the door.

"Hey." I smile pitifully at her, giving her my best hang dog expression. I really hope I look wretched enough, but her face scrunches up when she looks at me so here's hoping that's good.

"Christ, you don't look too good mate. Are you okay?"

"Ugh, it's my own stupid fault," I sniffle. Wait, you don't sniffle for stomach complaints do you? "I wasn't thinking about what I was doing and I got myself a nice glass of water from the sink instead of the fridge. I only took a little before I remembered so I figured I'd get away with it, but…"

"Oh yikes." Addy grimaces, knowing full well what the tap water around here will do to someone.

The leaflets in the hotel all warn that you can expect nausea, headache, fever, stomach ache and probably the runs even with a small amount of water from the taps here. It's like Mexico in that sense. I was careful to specify that it was only a little bit otherwise she'd probably have tried to get me medical attention. Thankfully the likely effect on my digestive tract will discourage her from visiting my bathroom, in which she would find not the gross smell of stomach issues but a pile of steam - the one that has given my face its lovely clammy appearance and makes me look like I'm sweating from fever. The bloodshot red eye look was much more painful; I've been rubbing my eyes like crazy for the last five minutes and it is not pleasant. They weren't itching before, but they sure as hell are now. The rest is all in the slump of the shoulders and looking weak.

See? I said this lie was going to require some performance.

"Is there anything I can do?" She asks sympathetically.

I shake my head. "Carlotta said to just drink lots of water - but bottled this time - and try to sleep it off." Yep, it's true; I even made a fake call down to reception for advice. Look everyone how well I cover my tracks…

Addy puts a hand to my forehead. "Ugh. You're warm; looks like you're running a temperature. Do you feel hot?"

"It's more my stomach than anything. I kind of want to rip my bowels out."

"Thank you for that lovely mental image," she says, shuddering. "No problem, you just go back to bed and I'll make your apologies to everyone."

"I'm sorry," I lie, "I was really looking forward to it."

Ugh, I feel like a total asshole looking at her. She's smiling at me and she's just oozing undeserved sympathy and I hate deceiving her like this. I just wish I'd realised who the friend was before I agreed, I'm sure she would have understood if I'd said I'd rather not intrude. Oh well, too late now - once again, I must continue to play out my stinking dirty fib. Fuck, I think this little display of acting is probably better than any of those I've been paid for in the past.

"Don't worry, it happens," she says with a wave of her hand. "Just do as Carlotta said and you should be fine, but I'll come and check in on you tomorrow."

Note to self: tomorrow I need to look a little fragile but still over the worst of it. "Thanks. You look pretty by the way."

She does. Clearly this dinner was a nice thing, she's put on a skirt and jewellery and everything; she lives in shorts and vests and swim suits whenever I see her. I was under the impression it was more casual - good thing I'm not going then, might have looked awkward when I opened the door in a t-shirt and jeans.

"Oh, thanks. Anyway, go get some sleep mate. Night Justin, feel better."

"Night," I call weakly as I shut the door and breathe a heavy sigh of relief.

Fucking hell, I do have a talent for causing myself grief.

***

"So…" I say quietly as Addy and I walk along. "How was last night?"

She came up at around noon to check on me as promised, and I've been doing my best to look a little tired but otherwise okay. I pretended I skipped breakfast and turned down lunch, when actually I gulped down no less than three bowls of cereal this morning (in my defence, their bowls are tiny). I asked if she'd mind walking with me, said I wanted some fresh air but didn't think I should go alone. She acquiesced easily but I'm thinking I need to get off the subject of me being ill before I pile it on too thick.

"It was good. We missed you though, Lily was very disappointed."

"Why?" I ask. "What did you tell her about me?"

"Nothing. All she needed to hear was that you were male and her Cupid face came on."

"Oh," I chuckle quietly. "I have friends like that. Annoying, huh?"

Normally the hiking trail we take goes up one of the hills, you wind up with the most fantastic view of the bay, but since I'm supposed to be delicate we take a slower and less taxing one that just circles the village. It's still cool though, I get to see the school she teaches in (looks just like any American school) and we walk by some of the houses and I get to see a little more of the area. The residents here all let their dogs run loose, so we see a lot of them on our travels too.

"Yes." Addy rolls her big brown eyes at me. "I'm fine being single and I have no problem finding guys if I want them, so I find it insulting when people try and shove them down my throat. Even if it is you," she adds hastily.

"And she saves it in the nick of time," I tease. It's not like she offended me though, that scenario is very familiar. Of course, with me it's the world media who try and play that game as well as my friends. It gets kind of ridiculous when after all these years I still open up magazines to find they're linking me to every woman I'm pictured within ten feet of, even Rachael who is my fucking cousin for crying out loud. They should know that by now.

"Nah, it was all pretty much the same as when you came to that party at my house," she shrugs. "We drink and chat, mostly. You'd think it would get old by now."

"With good friends that never gets old." She looks at me and I smile at her, but she clearly wants to say something. You know that look people get, the one that says they're desperate to say or ask something but aren't too sure if they should? That's the one on her face right now. Her mouth keeps twitching like she wants to open it. I just walk on in silence, staring at my feet. She'll talk when she's ready.

"Speaking of friends…" Addy says casually as she pulls her hair back into a ponytail. It's a very dark colour, her hair, still discernibly brown but nearing black.

"Yeah?" I say as I pick up a large stick and start swiping at the dirt and stones with it while we walk.

"I'd say we're friends now, right? Been hanging out for what, like three weeks?"

"Uhh… if I had to label it I'd say 'friends' works," I reply, a little puzzled by the question.

"You know, we're hanging out pretty much constantly and I feel like I'm getting to know you better…"

"Well… yeah. Me too." Clearly she's doing that thing where she starts out with small agreements and works her way up to bigger ones. That is true, but I'm kind of saying it because I know it's expected and it sounds rude if I don't.

"So I think it's about time you told me the real deal."

If I had been taking a drink just now, I would have just spat it out - or possibly choked on it. I stop dead.

"I'm sorry… what?"

"Look, Justin… this might not be any of my business but I'm not stupid."

Oh shit, oh fuck. How could she have possibly found out? Did my full name come up with this Lily chick or something? Did she tell her? The perspiration that I had to fake last night is now genuine, my palms feel moist. The fact that it's mid afternoon and the sun is beating down with impressive ferocity doesn't help. I thought I'd known heat before, living in Florida and California at various times and coming from the South, but this place rivals even them for the hottest place I've ever been. Sweat is pouring off me, especially with all the walking, and it's not helping my discomfort here.

"What do you mean?" I ask cautiously.

Addy sighs a little, swiping her sneaker clad foot along the ground. Clearly she's a little nervous about this - she's not sure if this was a good time or if she's done this too prematurely.

"You've been here around three weeks. You're showing no signs of leaving and you're not even sure when you will. Nobody gets to just casually take open ended vacations from work, even if they've got some time banked. And you're here by yourself and for a while there you were so… well, reclusive. Practically a bloody hermit, even. It's not hard to figure it out, you know."

"Figure out what?"

"You know as well as I do."

"Humour me. Figure out what?" My mouth is dry, the words a little raspy.

"That something happened and that's why you came out here, to get away from it. Was it the bank, did something happen with your boss?"

The relief is so palpable I could kiss the ground in thanks, I'm so damn glad that's all it was. That dread feeling of being seriously fucking rumbled was upon me. Actually, you have to hand it to the girl, she's astute. She may have believed the banker thing but other than that she's got me pretty much figured out on the 'his whole presence here is weird' score. I'm just really fucking glad my secret's still safe.

That's true actually… she's pretty much hit the nail on the head. Clearly the girl's perceptive; maybe that means she'd be a good person to talk to? I was even thinking earlier that the banker lie was pretty superficial, maybe I could still confide in her about some of the shit that landed me here. I mean, obviously some details may have to be altered slightly to stay in keeping with my little finance yarn there but haven't I been doing that anyway? Wasn't I bitching that I had no one to talk to who was unrelated and unbiased but not a trained psychiatrist? Maybe Addy is the answer to my prayer here. If I word this right, I can confide any problem I feel like to her but just do it euphemistically, without referencing the fame side of things. I think I could manage that.

Lord knows I could do with venting.

"It was… well… nothing I can really put my finger on," I say slowly as I start walking on again. Addy falls into step beside me - I try not to look at her too much, but when I do she seems like she's paying attention.

"How so?"

"I was just unhappy. I was successful, I had great friends, a girlfriend, good family, there was nothing obviously wrong in my life and yet I'm a miserable bastard."

"Really?" She asks. I nod in response. "Wow. You hide it really well. I mean, obviously I worked out that the way you arrived alone was a little weird but just, you know, in yourself, you don't seem obviously unhappy."

My laugh rings sharp and loud. "I'm a good actor. Though since I started hanging with you I have felt better anyway, I haven't been dwelling on shit so much. Not like it goes away, it's still waiting for me to figure it out, but it's like I can at least forget it for a little while and have some actual fun."

Addy nods and it seems like she gets it. Her face is still open and quizzical but not confused. "So you really haven't been able to pin it down to anything? Not even when it started?"

"No." My head shakes vigorously. "If I knew when it started then I might have been able to work out what changed, but it just kind of snuck up on me. It's just… my whole life, you know?" I keep poking the stick into the dirt as we walk along, even making a few shapes when the pace slows sufficiently. "On paper, I should have been feeling like the luckiest bastard alive, but I just gradually started feeling like something was wrong and ever since I haven't been able to shake it. Like, I started arguing with my girlfriend a lot after and I wondered if it was maybe that, but I broke up with her and I still feel shitty. I don't miss her and I don't regret it, so I figure it was probably a good thing anyway, but I'm stuck. I love my friends and my family and my job, so I can't work out what's bugging me and it's driving me insane."

"Is it maybe just, I don't know, you putting pressure on yourself to be happy because on paper you think you should be?"

That actually makes a lot of sense, but it's not that. My lips scrunch together as I think how to explain this to her. "I always was though. Up until this all started, I fucking loved my life. It didn't change though, I did. I feel like some switch inside me flicked and I can't figure out what or why or how to switch it back."

"Huh." Addy pushes a hand through her hair and looks at me thoughtfully.

I'm grateful that her heart's not obviously bleeding for me, when people do that it makes me feel feeble somehow, but she's obviously a sensitive person and I appreciate it right now. Sometimes too much sympathy just feels like pity, and nobody wants to be pitied. Well, at least I don't.

"I wish I knew what to suggest." Her tone is almost apologetic, like it's her responsibility to solve my shit. "I've had a run in with depression myself but it was always obvious what started it."

"Guy broke your heart? Tourist?"

Her bottom lip gapes open slightly. "Well I suppose the anti-tourist rants were probably a huge tip off."

"What happened?" I ask.

"Usual. I got a little too attached, but he kept coming back whenever he could afford it and he made me think he was seriously moving out here. Then one day his fiancée followed him; between visits he'd met someone new and the arrangement had changed and it was her he was planning a new life with instead of me. Except he forgot to mention that we were over to me first - thank fuck he changed his mind about moving."

"Asshole," I reply consolingly. "Unrelated to my most recent break up, but somebody cheated on me with one of my best friends once."

"It bites, huh?"

"Hell yes."

All this time we've been gently strolling along, but now we're coming back towards the sand and soon we'll have completed our loop of the village. Addy sticks her hands deep into her pockets, looking down at the ground as she strides along.

"So, never mind what might have happened to cause it… what changed? What I mean is, what changed in the way you feel? Apart from just generally feeling like shit?"

"I don't know. Just… no energy. This nagging feeling that something was missing or not right. My mojo totally fell off at work too." That's not a lie; it was just in the studio not on the bank floor.

"Ahh, so that's why your boss agreed to you taking time out?"

"I'm pretty much my own boss," I answer truthfully. "There were various people I had to inform just out of courtesy but it was my call."

"Fair enough," she says as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "So was the plan to just stay here until you figure it out?"

"I was hoping that the distance might let me just chill out and relax enough to find some perspective." Finally I dispense with the stick, tossing it into some bushes. "I might not realise the answer until I get home but I was hoping some time to unwind might do me some good. Hence why it's all so open ended."

"Well… I don't know what I can say, but if I can help just ask. I wish I had some great piece of wisdom to give you but I really don't."

"Hey, I'd rather you say that than just feed me some trite bullshit because you felt obligated," I reassure her. "Thanks. It's kind of a relief just to get it off my chest."

"It's a shame you couldn't have met Lily," she says breezily as we hit the beach. "She's like this natural therapist. She just has this aura around her, you see her and stuff just starts coming out. She'd have you fixed in no time, but she's going home tonight."

"Yeah," I mumble weakly. "Shame."

I'm not sure whether I feel sorry for the nice pale people I see buying bottles of nearly non-existent SPF oil or whether I think they deserve what's coming to them. Honestly, sometimes when I walk along the strip at Playa Del Sol I see them all stretched out on the beach and I think they look like sausages on a grill, all roasting in the sun. I don't mean that to say that they're fat - though some have no business being in a speedo or a bikini at that size - but it's the way they stretch out and just lie there all day, occasionally turning over to make sure they cook on both sides. It really does remind me of one giant barbecue.

Me, in contrast, promptly on the hour (or… okay, somewhere between an hour and two) I'm slapping on plenty of high factor sun protection. I hate it and it makes me feel all sticky and gross, but sticky and gross trumps burnt and in pain any day of the week. Joan Collins supposedly swears by good sun protection and not laying out too much and how awesome does she look for her age? That's my rationale and I'm sticking to it. Also, there are a few older people around here whose skin looks like tanned leather. That's not a compliment.

"So what do we need?" Mike looks over my shoulder impatiently. He hates coming on these supply trips, but I make him because I refuse to do this all by myself and then get yelled at for forgetting stuff he never told me we needed.

"Umm…" I pull a crinkled list out of my pocket. "The full set of cleaning and laundry supplies, we probably need to get some new sheets for your bed, we might as well do the food shopping while we're here and Dad said we need to get some paint to touch up the rails and shutters."

"Since it's his show home shouldn't he pay for that?" Mike grumbles.

"His logic is if we weren't in there causing wear and tear it wouldn't need doing half so often."

"Logic is overrated."

"Yes, you never have been a fan have you?" I take my first shot of the day. Mike and I may no longer get into fist fights every time we look at each other but we still tease each other to death. It's a sibling thing.

Most of what we need we can get in the village, but if we want to do any clothes or electronics shopping we have to come out to Playa. There's also a big hypermarket and we tend to buy all our cleaning supplies there because they're a lot cheaper and come in much bigger quantities. This is considered sacrilege by one certain convenience store owner we know and love, but is it our fault we're low paid and need to economise here and there? Maybe every six weeks or so we plan a trip out here to just buy a ton of stuff and pack the car - it works pretty well, it's then only the basics we need to top up on. These are the parts of domesticity and having your own place that are mundane and less exciting than throwing parties and having your own stretch of beach to play with.

"Remind me, who was it that thought they built the Leaning Tower of Pisa that way?"

"Shut up."

Mike laughingly flips his middle finger at me and then throws an arm around my shoulders. Because he's so fair and I'm so dark it's often assumed we're not related - a couple of times we've even been mistaken for girlfriend and boyfriend, which I feel is particularly gross. The colouring may be different but the nose and chin aren't.

"So, Addy, couldn't coax the boyfriend out?"

"For the last bloody time, not my boyfriend!" I chirp in a cheery sing-song voice.

"I know, I know. It's just the easiest way to wind you up, sister dear."

Funnily enough, he could be talking about more than one guy right now. I'm just not stupid enough to draw attention to that by asking, thus giving him more material. Lily and Nina are both on my case about Justin (Lily via text message of course, since she's back in England), but the guys in my group are all hinting around Antonio and it's driving me nuts. Antonio and I dated for about five minutes a long time ago purely because it was expected of us. Well, okay, not because it was expected of us… but in our group, with us being so far away from most people our age on the island, it kind of naturally happens that occasionally two or other of us have been involved. I dated Christophe once too, prompting many 'frog' jokes from my brother since he's half French.

Anyway, the amount of time I'm spending with Justin - despite the fact it's out of pure convenience because they're always out at work - is ruffling feathers. Apparently Antonio still has a thing for me. This surprises me because it never seemed like he had much of a thing for me to begin with, hence why we didn't last very long. Nothing like perceived competition to send the men folk on a stupid macho jealousy trip… funnily enough I did ask Justin if he wanted to come out and see the sights, but he squeaked out some lame excuse not to. Honestly, he could have just said he didn't feel like it, it's not a big deal.

"Well two can play that game and lest you forget, I'm better at it than you. Not to mention you give me way more material, how is Tanya these days?"

"Shut up. That's done; seriously, the woman's a nut job."

"That's what you said the last three or four times. Forgive me if I'm slow to believe you."

I get a poke in the ribs for that effort and he gets an elbow back. But still we stroll along with our arms slung around each other. We're in the wrong area for the hypermarket, but the tourist shops along the beach front do occasionally yield some cheap electronics stores, even cheaper than the hypermarket itself. Mike was stupid enough to drop his phone into a boiling hot cup of coffee - God only knows how. It probably would have survived the wet, but it didn't survive the heat. There are the usual cheap t-shirt and knick knack stores, places selling boogie boards and inflatable toys for the beach, a few cafes and a couple of jewellery and perfume shops. The signs are cheap and gaudy, the shops themselves are kind of tacky and I'm sure that back home most people would never deign to enter such places, but on holiday they all jump in with enthusiasm.

Still, they may be tacky but they are cheap and useful. I know a few of the store owners too so they let me haggle.

"Excuse me?"

Somebody's tapped Mike on the shoulder and we turn around to see a slightly portly middle aged man who's wheezing slightly.

"Sorry to interrupt but I heard you speaking English, I wonder if you could please help me… do you by any chance know where I can find a pharmacy?"

"Oh yeah," Mike says easily. Once again, we have been assumed to be natives who just happen to speak English. "If you go back the way you came, all the way down to the Regent hotel, you turn left at the street just before you get to the hotel and then carry on up and take your second left. Should be one down there unless they've moved it again."

"Fantastic, thank you… wife's accidentally eaten some shell fish and come out in hives," he tells us as he mops his sweaty brow with a tissue. "So I turn left before the Regent and take the second left after that?"

"Yes," I nod. "The pharmacies all have big green cross signs in neon out the front, you can't miss them."

"Great, great, thank you so much."

"No worries, have a good holiday," Mike says as he waves the guy off and we then turn back in our intended direction.

As much as we do make fun of the tourists and the various ill thought out or ill prepared things they do when they come out here, encounters like that are oddly nice. It's nice to be able to help and most people are usually very grateful, especially to have somebody who speaks English well. Not all of the islanders do, particularly the older ones. It's really only the ones who are about thirty and under who've been properly schooled in the language, that was roughly when they made it compulsory in the schools and started teaching them young. Sometimes we get chatting to the tourists in the restaurants and bars and stuff and it's nice to be able to hear about England and life back home. It's nice to see people when they're relaxing and away from all their usual pressures and stresses.

Though, it once got very awkward when we bumped into our old Spanish teacher. It's a small world after all! Neither I nor my brother had any interest in the language in England and we were hopeless at it, so of course the fact that we're now fluent and I myself am teaching English to Spanish speaking kids just killed him. He would not shut up about it all night, we were so glad to leave that restaurant.

"Oh, I meant to say to you…" Mike starts casually as we pass yet more souvenir stores. I know there's an electronics shop somewhere down here, but I'm starting to wonder if we started at the wrong end of the strip.

"Yeah?"

"You know I was talking about that job in the City?"

By 'city,' he means the City of London. A friend of his works at some posh banking firm over there and he vaguely mentioned something about getting Mike in. It would get him a lot more money, but would of course require him to return to the UK. Last I heard it was a hazy possibility that most likely wouldn't happen.

"I surely do."

"Well he called me yesterday and said that he'd made a few noises and the feedback seemed decent, so he called and asked if I was serious about pushing on and if I was he'd start making more formal noises and trying to get me an interview."

"And you said…?"

"I said yeah."

"Okay, cool," I say. He immediately looks relieved; I can understand why he'd be nervous. Mike moving to the UK would disrupt not only our cosy family scene but also my living arrangements, since I couldn't afford the mortgage on my own. We got a great deal through Dad and it's very cheap - but not cheap enough for one. "So these noises have been good so far?"

"Only in the sense that nobody seems overtly opposed to the idea." He scrunches up his nose and pulls a silly face at me. "We'll get a better idea once he's done the real groundwork. I just wanted to make sure you knew so you can start making plans for if I do wind up going."

"So… saying yes now, how big a commitment is it?"

"No legal commitment, but if he does all this for me and I change my mind about wanting to go for interview he's probably going to fly out here and murder me in my sleep."

"So you're pretty sure this is what you want?"

"Yeah."

"Well then…" I readjust my sunglasses for a moment. They're very nice Chanel knock offs, I look so Audrey Hepburn right now. "You'd best go for it then. Would you live in London or commute?"

Mike sighs. "I have to start working that out now. But obviously you'd need somebody to take up my half of the mortgage… or maybe you could use it as your excuse to go do that exchange thing you wanted to do. Did you say it was the US?"

"Yep, I could either do California or Texas, otherwise I could go to Mexico. Or if I wanted to stick to Europe I could go to Italy or Spain. I don't know, I'll have to think about it. You know how I love my beach…"

"Yep. Can't say I'd be going back for the weather," Mike says in distaste. "Where would you want to go most?"

"Finally, phones," I say in a distinct change of subject, pointing at the store. Mike very much likes to delve right into detailed hypothetical discussions when it comes to stuff like this but I prefer to have a little think to myself first and then start hashing out details. It's just the way my brain works.

Still, I see no sense in worrying about it too much. He hasn't even got an interview yet, let alone the job. And if he does… well, I'll miss him but I'll deal with it. I have my own life to be getting on with and I see no point in being afraid of change when it's only going to foist itself on you anyway. Some changes are good. Moving to Adora was a good change. Moving out or back might also be a good change, or just having someone new to live with might be a good change. It'll all be fine. Besides, what my big brother wants out of life I think he deserves to have, so if he wants to be some City banker then I am your official City banker cheerleader.

In the meantime, I have phone and grocery shopping to do.

***

Aww man, I really shouldn't have switched my Blackberry on.

I have so many messages I didn't even know where to begin. So many message alerts were coming through that I had to put it on silent and leave it in a corner for half an hour or so until I was sure no more were on the way. I couldn't work out whether to attack voicemail, e-mail or texts first; eventually I plumped for voicemail because I figure when you can hear the chastising tone it is definitely worse, so I'd get the worst over with. I wasn't looking forward to it, but the problem with putting things off is that sometimes they get bigger in the meantime. Time to face the music.

Johnny has sent me a series of increasingly irate messages pleading with me to call him and just let him know my plans because he's getting pressure from my various companies and work contacts. He says he won't be mad, but it's hard to believe him when he sounds like his teeth are gritted harder and harder together with each message. Trace is just swearing at me a lot, saying how much I've upset everybody and he can't understand why I won't just call to let them know I haven't died or anything. Dad keeps telling me that I'm worrying the life out of Granny and Grandpa, they just want to know when I'll be back so they can quit frettin', and Mom keeps moving between upset, disappointed and mad.

Because I left the message for Trace they haven't called missing persons or anything, they know this was my choice, but they're all a little ticked at being out of the loop. Mom's last few messages are very quiet; I think she's taking it personally that I haven't confided in her. Problem is that it's hard to explain to somebody why your problem isn't something you can discuss with them without discussing the problem with them, which kind of defies the point. The last thing I want to do is dump this as yet unexplained life problem on her and have her think it's anything to do with her or that she should have seen or known or stopped or whatever. Sometimes Mom does that, she still kind of takes my problems on as hers and she shouldn't have to.

I think I'll take the coward's way out and e-mail… I still haven't checked those yet, but I'm guessing they'll be more of the same. I navigate my way into my e-mail and ignore the fifty messages in my inbox, going straight to composing a new message. It doesn't take long to get my mom's contact details up and in the 'To' box. Now I just have to think what to write.

Hi Mom,

I'm sorry I haven't been in touch sooner - I just wanted to go somewhere without any interruptions. Please tell everyone not to worry, I'm okay. I'm just having a mental health vacation and thinking through some stuff, as soon as I get it straight in my head I'll come home and tell you all about it. I'm sorry if I scared you, I just really needed some time out with me myself and I.

Not sure when I'll be home… maybe another couple of weeks or so? I really don't know, depends how long I need to work things out. I promise I'll explain it all to you when I get home, and I'll let you know when I'm coming back as soon as I know.

Love you and I'll see you soon,

Justin x

I must have written, deleted and re-written five times before finally settling on a reply. It seems weak and inadequate, but that's only because it's weak and inadequate. There's no excuse, I really should have done this sooner; I bet they were all worried as hell about me and it's not like that message gives them any real clue what's going on. I swear I'd give them a clue if I had one myself…

After the last few days hanging out with Addy and trying not to think about all this stuff, turning the outside world back on was necessary but bad. It's a crushing reminder of how in the dark I still am. I hate this; I've always been so together and had everything so figured out. Well, okay, not everything, but enough. I think I might go see if she's home from the strip yet, I could use some friendly advice. She was really great last time, and she didn't give me any bullshit platitudes either. If she doesn't understand she tells you she doesn't understand and if she thinks you're just being weak she'll very kindly and politely call you on it but without making you feel like a moron. Perhaps I deserve some tough love right now but I don't think I could stomach it, so her brand of wizened sympathy is helpful.

Also, her brother's an awesome cook and I haven't eaten since this morning.

Today has been one of those wonderfully depressing days. My oh-so-mature response has been to come and sit out on the beach in the dark by myself for wallowing purposes, but at this point I'm beyond being mature. In fact, I'm not sure it is such an immature response anyway. I defy anybody not to object to the fact that suddenly their life choices are all being taken over by people who aren't them. I am the High Ruler of me, God damn it. I am Her Royal Eminence Highness Majesty Queen of Me.

This thing with Mike seems to have snowballed at an incredible rate. They're already planning no less than two trips to London for him for interviews. He has itineraries and flight details and hotel stuff thrown all over the living room, and he keeps asking me for interview tips because he hasn't had an interview in forever. He must have printed off every interview advice website he could find. Mike should worry less, there is almost no way that they're not hiring him… and I have to admit it panics me a little bit. I would try not to read so much into it, but they're not exactly playing hard to get. I'm happy for my brother, the more I hear the more this sounds like a great opportunity for him, but suddenly the decision I thought I had lots of time to gently mull over is being thrust upon me at light speed.

What doesn't help is that everybody has decided for me that it would be perfect if Antonio moved in to take Mike's place. They all think this is a fabulous idea since he needs to move out of his parents' place and we get on oh SO well (nudge wink) and it would just be perfect for us. Excuse me? Do I not get a say in this since it's MY house? It's really irritating; I wish they'd stop trying to force us together. I like Antonio, but I don't even want to date him let alone live with him. The guy is a slob. They're always pushing us to sit together at meals and always conspiring to make sure I'm walking next to him at the back of the group so we can be alone or whatever and they are so transparent it's not even funny at this point.

They need to stop. Suggestions are always welcomed, really, sometimes advice is good, but I'm not even sure I want to stick around myself. Thinking on whom I'd live with is getting a little ahead of me when I'm not definitely staying. I'm scared shitless of the idea of moving to yet another foreign country, but seeing Mike so happy and excited for a new prospect kind of has me thinking that maybe I should stop being so chicken. I still have all the papers and applications and stuff and the deadline is pretty late since they often have an imbalance of teachers who want to swap out and teachers who want to swap into their particular spot. Besides, an exchange doesn't seem quite as permanent as what Mike's doing, so at least I could always run back here if it did all go wrong.

I just… I don't know. I thought I was going to have more time to think this through. I admit I'm kind of curious to see somewhere new, but I really do love my little slice of Adoran heaven and it's going to take something massive to make me leave it even for a little while. I guess I just need to work out how worth it this exchange would be to me, monetarily and spiritually. While fending off my friends who are already offering to help Antonio pack.

"Hey, what are you doing out here so late?"

I can't believe I didn't hear him approach, but Justin's walking up to me. It's pretty dark out here; the only light is coming from the house and the moon, so I can barely make out his face. The shadows make him look all brooding and mysterious, kind of Heathcliff without the psychotic asshole aspects.

"I live here. What are you doing out here so late stranger?" I tease him. "I was beginning to think you'd gone home without saying goodbye."

Mr Timberlake has been missing in action for two days. I actually knew he wasn't gone because Carlotta said he hadn't checked out, but he did seem to have crawled into a hole or something. Since we started hanging out he's been by every day, even if only for ten minutes or something. It's been really cool; I'm not usually so open and welcoming to strangers but he's very easy to get along with, he's very laid back. I get the impression maybe Justin's not such a laid back character at home so it seems Adora has been good for him. From what he says about his job he sounds like a workaholic.

"I've been having insomnia and thus I've spent most of my days sleeping." He pulls a face at me as he takes a seat next to me in the sand. "I woke up at one in the afternoon today and have been running and doing every physical activity I can think of to wear me out fast. This was my last stroll before bed time."

"And are you tired?"

"My feet are killing me; don't know if that'll put me to sleep though. So how you been, little lady?" He claps a friendly hand briefly on my knee.

"Ugh." I pull a face. "Having dilemmas about whether to go on this exchange or not and otherwise being bored. I'm almost ready for school to start back up again."

"I'll swap you for the massive guilt trip I had after I finally answered one of my mom's emails and she sent one back panicking about me. I thought me sending her a note would reassure her that I wasn't dead or something, not set her off."

"Nice," I say sarcastically, "but I think I'll pass."

"So you often sit out here this late?" He asks as he pushes his shirt sleeves up to his elbows and stretches his legs out in front of him.

"Not often, but enough. I like the sound of the water."

"I can't believe how clear the sky is," Justin says as he looks up. "In LA you never see any stars, they're all hidden behind the smog and shit."

Well… strike one for LA then, if I do go on this exchange. If I do take the plunge, I've narrowed it down to Los Angeles and to New York. Call me a cliché if you want to but all those random US towns in the middle didn't mean much to me, whereas at least in LA or NYC I know there'd be a ton of stuff to do. I have a feeling New York would probably have more sarcastic people like moi in it but maybe LA would have more home-like weather. Of course when I say home-like I mean Adora not wet and rainy England. Then again… wouldn't New York have pretty bad smog too, seeing that it's so busy? I must go look these things up.

"What's LA like?" I ask him. A little fact finding wouldn't go amiss, and he is a resident after all. A shadow seems to pass over his face, but I'm wondering if maybe it was a literal one and not the deep dark secret my overactive imagination wants to sense.

He begins to chuckle, a strange one somewhere between irony and amusement. "It's, umm… interesting. It's hard to describe to anybody who hasn't been there."

"Try."

"Umm… busy. Always something to do. A lot of people like to focus on looks and appearance too much, but you can just kind of ignore 'em. It's more laid back than somewhere like New York where everyone's moving at warp speed, but compared to somewhere like here it's… well, fast paced. There are some really cool spots and places to go though."

That was unhelpful. Not in the sense that it was a bad answer, but in the sense that I'm unsure whether somewhere faster paced would be a good change or a huge culture shock. Maybe it'd be both, I don't know. Addy Elliott as I know her is so laid back she's almost horizontal, I don't know who she'd be if she got caught up in that scene. The fact that I'm referring to myself in the third person even thinking about it cannot be a good thing. Isn't referring to yourself in the third person supposed to be a sign of madness, along with looking for hair on your toes? Or was that talking to yourself, because I do that too.

"Hmm." Witness the extreme and almost impressive brevity of my response.

It was a conversation killer, because for the next few minutes or so we both stare out at the barely visible horizon. Occasionally I take a glance back at Justin, and idly I wonder what all his tattoos are for. Remind me to ask him when we're in better light and I can see more. Thinking about LA and what I'd be like there again makes me wonder who Justin is when he's at home. For all the melancholy and confusion he talks to me about, he just shows no sign of it. He smiles more than he frowns, he's active, he's funny and apart from his refusal to leave the town he's been pretty sociable and friendly; these are not traditional symptoms of depression. Someone shrewd might ask if that's because he's more chilled out here or just because he's used to swallowing bad moods and acting like he's fine.

I don't know why I even think about it, maybe I'm just a nosy broad, but the more time I spend with him the more I wonder who he is. The other reason I'm usually so wary of tourists is that even the most well intentioned person in the world is not the same on vacation in foreign territory as they are at home. People will do things on vacation they'd never think of back home - sometimes in good ways, sometimes in bad. I've seen chicks who are clearly good little girls at home go wild, and I've seen stuffy repressed types loosen up and start conga lines or the Macarena. As well as you get to know somebody while they're on holiday, if you went and visited them at home you could find a slightly different person or a completely different person, you just never know.

I wonder if this is the real Justin letting loose when out from under the pressure or if this is just him pretending to be someone else for a few weeks to get away from his life. You can never tell.

"So what do you think you'll wind up doing?" Justin asks me when he can't stand the silence any more.

"I don't know. I think I do need to get off this island for a while at some point but I'm not sure if now is the time. Guess it depends on how brave I feel."

"Heh. I hear that." His voice trails off quietly.

"That how you feel about going home? You need to feel braver? Because I'm afraid the only courage I can provide is the Dutch kind and they don't let people fly drunk."

It was a bad joke that I only made to cover up some awkwardness, but he's polite enough to give that a chuckle too.

"After I got my mom's email I did think about going straight back, but I don't feel any more insightful about shit than I did when I got here. So I figure if I can't work anything out at least I can relax a little more and maybe it'll make it easier to work out when I do go home; I think maybe a couple of weeks max though, I've probably been here too long already."

"Ah. People always fall in love with it here and never want to leave."

"I can see why. Fresh fruit in the morning, sun, waves, nice people, practically zero social problems, nobody bugging you for time… I could so live here if I could sit still long enough."

"Heh. I knew it."

"Knew what?" I get an eyebrow arched in my direction.

"I had you figured for the type who works a lot."

He heaves a sigh. "That's me. Always gotta be doing something."

I stretch my arms over my head and then hug my knees to my chest. "Well you came to the right spot. Nobody around here could be like that if they tried, the place just doesn't let you."

"Yeah, it's good for the soul. Still, there's something to be said for being busy and productive."

"Definitely… so long as you enjoy it." Okay, I admit it, I'm fishing. I'm manipulative like that.

"So long as you do." He nods and goes quiet again for a moment before continuing. "My mom always said that. Like, through my life, anything I wanted to do with like activities or after school stuff or whatever she always said that she'd support me with anything so long as it was fun. Same with the career stuff, too."

"So when'd it stop being fun?" I ask softly.

Justin shrugs, dropping his shoulders with a sigh and rubbing a hand over his head. "Not even sure what stopped being fun. It's not for lack of new shit though… I, uhh, kind of branch out into a lot of things, I guess you could say I'm kind of an entrepreneur on top of the day job."

See, I was right, definitely a workaholic and somebody who stretches himself thin. Of course, from what he says that used to be good for him. I'd hate it, I'm a 'one thing at a time' kind of girl, but some people thrive on it.

"That's cool," I say lightly. "Got to pay the bills, right?"

Again a wry smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "True. Can't say money's a problem though."

"Are you going to tell me you're one of those rich playboy types? Can't say I had you pegged for such a cliché," I joke with a light elbow to his side.

"Actually I'm a millionaire."

It took me a few moments before I realised that he wasn't joking. I was all prepared to laugh and start cracking sarcastic jokes, but then I realised he hadn't been sarcastic to begin with. It was all flat, deadpan, not a hint of playing on it. God, now I know he must be a workaholic - you can kind of tell when somebody was born rich and Justin clearly wasn't.

"Wow." It takes me a few seconds to think up a response, and typically it's a wise crack to cover up how uncomfortable I am. "And to think I actually paid for your drinks when you were all rich and shit."

Oh, bad thing to say, he's getting all defensive and the shoulders are hunching up. "Well I'm sorry if…"

"No, no, it was a joke, don't be sorry. Lily's rich as hell and I still buy her stuff."

"Nah, nah, it's okay… I swear I don't normally drop that in conversation like I'm confessing to murder."

"No, no, it's no big deal, really. Still, I suppose it explains why you can afford lots of time off. My only excuse for that is the school year running out."

Once again, uncomfortable silence falls. In those moments the sound of the waves seems to become deafening, like somebody's playing with the volume control. You concentrate on talking and it goes down, you stop and they dial it right back up. My foot taps involuntarily against the sound, and I'm very conscious of the way my chest rises and falls with every breath. I honestly don't care if he's got money, I'm just very aware that I did not handle the news in the most smooth and elegant fashion that I could have. Making him feel awkward would be bad, he's my only entertainment and respite from 'well Antonio would be a great idea, he needs to move out.'

"Do you think I should go back?" He suddenly asks, a slight tone of misery to his voice. Crap, my joke was so bad it's driving him off the island.

"Well… do you feel ready?"

"No."

"Then don't," I reply, tentatively rubbing his arm the way I do Nina when she's upset. "Wait until you're ready."

"What if I miss being ready?"

"If I think you're ready and just avoiding it I'll kidnap you and drive you to the airport myself."

"Thanks, Addy," he says suddenly, clasping his other hand over mine on his arm. "I think I would have gone crazy if I hadn't had somebody out here to talk to."

"Well I would have gone crazy if I'd had nobody to hang out with, so this was a mutually beneficial relationship."

He rushes on, his line of the conversation jumping around a little. "You know, if you wanted to test LA out and try before you buy or whatever, you'd be more than welcome at my house. It's the least I can do, I really…"

"Boy, you're good. Quit worrying. This is Adora, we don't worry here. We merely…"

"What?" Clearly I'm getting too obvious, because from the look on his face he's waiting for a joke. Maybe I should look for a new defence mechanism here.

"Ruminate."

"Ruminate?"

"Ruminate."

He sounds sceptical. "Do you even know what that means?"

"Ye… probably. I think. A dictionary check might not go amiss."

"God, woman, your jokes are lame." He slings an arm around my shoulders and gives me a squeeze, so I put mine around his waist and squeeze back.

"So I've been told."

For all the sun, sea, sand and good company, the thing I have loved most about Adora is what it's missing. It's missing that horrible sinking feeling I get in my chest and or stomach when I walk into a room and everybody's starting at me. It doesn't offer the ear burning sensation of knowing that people are whispering about you over their drinks - the one that makes my neck itchy, as my neck gets when I'm nervous - and it doesn't have even a hint of the smell of bullshit in the air when people are talking.

There's a bonfire going on, we're at the beach. There's a very loud stereo playing various salsas and tangos or whatever until one of the younger types manages to get something more current on there for a second, and some of these old folks clearly had the moves when younger. I may be able to beat box and kill a good few of my dancers in a battle but I've never been able to do this ballroom or Latin whatever it's called stuff. There's a ton of homemade food littered around, lots of alcohol, and I think half the town is here dancing under the stars.

This party looks to be all kinds of fun for everybody else but as far as I'm concerned it bites. It bites because for the first time, I feel like people are muttering about me behind my back. I'm not sure why that is, but suddenly Addy's friends aren't being as nice to me as they were before. Mike, who was still cool with me, unexpectedly disappeared with this ex girlfriend chick Addy's always rolling her eyes over. Nina who has always been nice to me when she sees me at the complex suddenly looks awkwardly away whenever I approach, and Dante's doing the same. Addy is in the mix with all those people who are hell bent on pretending I'm not there. It's only half ten and I'm seriously about to turn tail and go back to the apartment.

Also, I've knocked back a few more beers than I should have by this point because of lack of anything else to do. I might need to give it a rest for a second or there's a good chance of me stumbling head first into the damn fire.

"You won't dance, Justin?"

Whoever that was said 'Justin' more like 'Justine.' I turn around and it's a very dark lidded woman around my mother's age, but with freakishly younger looking skin. The accent's French, so I'm guessing this woman is something to do with that Christophe guy Addy introduced me to. I knew somebody was there the whole time since I could smell the cigarette smoke, but I've been kind of lost in my own world.

"I've never done this kind of dancing. Wouldn't want to injure anyone."

"Nonsense, the salsa is the easiest thing in the world to pick up if you have any co-ordination." She shrugs, inhaling the last of her cigarette before stubbing it out and leaving it on the table behind her. I'm still not even sure where those came from. "I am Monique, Christophe's maman."

See? I knew it. "Nice to meet you, Madame." That may be the only French word I ever retained from school. "Are you enjoying the party?"

"It is very Adoran," she smiles indulgently. "Where I am from our parties are much more… formal."

In my experience, 'formal' equates to either 'stylish' or 'pretentious,' depending on your point of view. I'm guessing a lot of people around here would choose the latter. I don't know - more formal shindigs can still be pretty great with the right mix of people. Looking at her, I'm guessing that she's not as Adoran as the Elliott family now is; she still seems extremely French in every mannerism. There's a lot of poise, a lot of grace, almost an aloof quality to her. She hasn't picked up any hint of the local accent.

"I've been to Paris and Cannes a few times but I'm afraid I don't know much about France except that you make some pretty good wine." It's weird how sometimes I find myself adapting to the way somebody else talks. Two minutes with her and I'm more proper and civilised than I've been in the last year.

"I spent many years in New York working for Vogue magazine before I met Paolo and moved to Adora for the quieter life," she says conversationally. "Where are you from?"

At the mention of national magazines, I feel the back of my neck start to sweat just a little. She must have lived here a good twenty years since I remember Christophe saying he was born and raised on the island, but I'm a little nervous about how much she still keeps up with the trends. "Tennessee originally, I live in Los Angeles these days."

"I thought you must be somewhere more metropolitan, I don't know of many fashion houses in the South. Your shirt is Valentino, yes?" She asks as she strokes the hem - not to touch me up, she's rubbing the material between her fingers critically.

My mouth gapes open a little bit. No-one else has noticed anything more or less expensive about my shirts than everybody else's; it's just a white shirt, one I'm abusing by rolling up the sleeves. "Good eye."

"Ah, his lines are classic, instantly recognisable if you know anything at all about designers."

She waves a slim hand dismissively as if it's normal to be able to spot a label at fifty paces. I'm sure she's probably wearing something flashy but hell if I know my Gabbana from my Gap without being told or seeing a tag. That's probably bad coming from a guy who owns his own fashion line. Well, co-owns, Trace always smacks me upside my head if I forget the 'co' part.

"Well, I'm still impressed," I respond politely for lack of anything else to say. I really want to leave this party now, as far as mingling goes I'm dying a protracted and excruciating death here. I am just chock full of epic amounts of fail tonight.

"You should not worry that they ignore you," she says mischievously from left field. "The only thing that stops them fighting between themselves over the girls is when an outsider comes in and they can fight with him over the girls instead."

"Excuse me?" Bewilderment is making me blink a whole lot.

"Mais oui, they see the young Addy is spending more time with you than whichever of them thinks she's the love of his fickle young life this week and they band together against a common enemy when usually they fight between themselves. There are few girls their age in this town, they all routinely fall in love with one or other of the girls, usually until the next tourist boat pulls in. I wouldn't worry, next week it will be Mariela and you will be forgotten."

Yep, still blinking.

***

"Hey, where you slinking off to?"

I turn to face the tugging on my sleeve and it's Addison, looking very nice but a little worse for wear. She's in a red polka dot dress that would remind me of Minnie Mouse if Minnie showed more cleavage.

"Umm… walk?" I respond weakly.

"You were so wandering off and leaving me in this hell-hole, shame on you." She pokes me lightly in the ribs.

"I left you?" I laugh. "I've been standing on the sidelines dying while you played Ms Social Butterfly, I think you left me pal."

It surprises me that she calls this a hell-hole; she was doing a pretty good impersonation of somebody having a ball. At a guess, she's thrown back as many drinks as I have at this point - not too drunk or out of it, still coherent enough to be large and in charge, but a little unsteady nonetheless.

"Details, schmetails," she waves a hand dismissively, bangles clinking together as she does so. "Are you hating this as much as me?"

"Well I hate it because like I said I've been standing there like a loser with nobody to talk to." Remembering how I said anonymity had to have as many of its own downfalls as fame does, I think I'm going to judge nobody talking to you as bad as a ton of strangers refusing to leave you alone. "Apart from a few moms who took pity on me. Why do you hate it?"

"Ugh." Addy rolls her brown eyes heavenward, shaking her head as she tucks her arm through mine and we continue walking off in the direction of my apartment. "It's like I've grown a bunch of shadows. Normally I mingle lots at these things and I wanted to grab you and introduce you round, but they just would not shut up and anywhere I went, they followed. I felt really bad; every time I went to go nab you they were asking me something else. Don't know what the hell's got into them but it's seriously fucking irritating."

"Christophe's mom told me it's supposedly because they're jealous of me and they think I'm after their chick."

"What, do I have their brand on me or something, am I bloody cattle?" Again with the eye rolling - Addy's got a serious glowering going, a deep scowl written onto her face and crinkling her eyes up a little. "I should have guessed this was about bloody Antonio. Stupid thing is they're pushing more than he is, he looks seriously embarrassed about it, yet I seem to be the only noticing that they're humiliating him more than helping. I should have poured a pint over their heads or something."

I will never get used to the way she keeps calling beers 'pints.' I'm not even sure all these measures actually are pints, so that may be kind of inaccurate. And what's wrong with the metric system, anyway?

"Sorry, I'm staying out of it." I throw my free hand up in the air in surrender, since she's still hanging on my other arm. "For all I know they're going to come beat me in my sleep. Dante has keys to my apartment you know."

"Dante likes you. He's just afraid because Juan is bigger than he is."

I laugh about it, mostly because I consider this shit dumb and kind of high school. Maybe it's understandable, given everything Addy's told me about the problems they have with tourists flittering in and out and only so many women their age who are permanent residents… but come the hell on. It's not exactly like me and Addy are sexing it up. We're only even hanging out solo so much because the rest of them are always in work, the rest of the time I'm more than happy to do the group thing. Hey, maybe they're just jealous of me and my sexy bod here. I do work out, you know.

"Saw you doing all that fancy salsa stuff though," I change the subject. "Didn't know you could do that."

"Growing up round here, that's pretty much all you learn. I have no idea how normal people my age dance in clubs."

If we weren't walking arm and arm, that would be my cue to do the robot or the running man or something stupid. It's amazing how quickly we're getting out of sight of the party - it was about halfway between Addy's house and the apartments, but it's still a good stretch of beach in between. It's a very balmy night, there's a breeze pushing in from the ocean that stops it being too sticky or humid.

"You might be better off," I say remembering some of the frankly dangerous arm flailing and jumping around I've seen in clubs. I've also surreptitiously watched a couple of guys attempting to dance like me to Sexyback or Rock Your Body or whatever and failing miserably. Sometimes, I like to send Marty out there to show 'em all up; I don't do it myself because that's just attention whoring. "Some people should just never be allowed to attempt dancing."

"What about you?" Addy nudges me while tucking a strand of hair back behind her ear. She started the evening with a nice neat bun and now it's all falling out messily. It suits her though - she's just not that kind of girl who should have every strand in place. She's a little more… well, something. Casual, maybe, I have no idea what word I'm looking for. "You got two left feet?"

"Yeah, I can dance."

"Yeah, I bet you do a great Macarena," she snorts. This woman likes ribbing me every five seconds, she wasn't wrong when she said that's how she shows affection. She's even worse with Mike and Nina and all her friends.

"Hey, just because you can do your stuffy old waltz or whatever doesn't mean that nobody else got some moves." I stick my tongue out at her - not my usual method, but it just seems rude to point my middle finger at a lady.

"And you're too hip for a waltz, huh?"

The mental image of a waltz in my stage show cracks me up - I can just see me waltzing while I tell a bitch she's bad as hell, should have thought of that rather than the lap dance - but obviously I can't tell her why. Instead I merely yank her into me by the waist, ignoring her little yelp as I then start us off in the most purposely clumsy and ridiculous waltz I can manage. Addy's screeching with laughter and keeps throwing us off even more as it makes her body crease up.

"Okay…. stop… need air…" She manages to throw out through her giggles but I take no notice, providing the music with an obnoxious 'la la la' until I accidentally steer us right into the water and manage to drench my own shoes.

"Oh fuck," I swear as I leap back from her. Of course, she's now even chuckling even harder and clutching at her side like she's in pain from it. She's in flip flops so a bit of wet won't kill her, but it may have killed my sneakers.

"Oww this hurts," she giggles out as she folds at the middle, trying to stop laughing. "Nice going, dumb arse."

"See? Waltzes aren't that great."

"Neither is the Macarena."

For that one she gets tackled off her feet and into the air, as I swing her round until she's dizzy. I do that with my little brother all the time but I'm guessing when you're already a little tipsy it's something else.

"Ahh! No! Put me down you son of a…. WHAA!"

Oops. I acquiesced with her request but didn't get it right; she just fell right on her ass in the sand. Whoops. I really didn't mean for her to do that, she was supposed to land on her feet. The way she's just sat up and glared at me is kind of hilarious though, she's huffing and her hair's pretty much all fallen out now and her facial expression is just kind of classic.

"Arsehole. That was just mean. Are you trying to kill me?"

"If I was trying to kill you, dropping you all of two feet onto some nice soft sand would be a pretty crappy plan. A gun might work better."

My attempt at humour still doesn't remove the scowl, though I can tell she's struggling to keep it up and she wants to laugh. I reach out a hand and hep pull her to her feet. My punishment is a sharp poke in the chest with her index finger.

"Meanie."

"Aww, I'm sorrrrrrrryyyyy…" I put on a mock pout and flutter my eyelashes at her, which adds some lip biting to the scowl as she tries to keep it on.

"Hmpf."

"I'm sorrrrrryyyyy…" I flutter them more and really stick out my lower lip, wrapping my arms around her and squeezing hard.

"Don't care. You're still mean."

"Forgive me, pweaseeeeeeeee…" She's cracking and she knows it, so I slap the sloppiest kiss I can manage on her cheek with a huge smack. "Plllllllease…."

"Are you this irritating at home?"

"Yep. Pllllllllllllllllllllllllease…"

"Fine, fine. Forgiven."

"See? You adore me really."

"No," she says as she returns the hug. "You're an irritating little shit but I just couldn't take any more of that ridiculous eye fluttering. You looked idiotic by the way."

"Aww, that hurts, I'm gonna cry…" I bury my head in her neck and let out the loudest and most eardrum gratingly obnoxious fake sobs that I can.

In a monotone, Addy says "there there poor baby" and pats my back. I didn't know that patting someone on the back could be done in a condescending way, so kudos to her. Done, I immediately throw my head back up and grin at her. I love her facial expressions; she clearly doesn't know whether she thinks I'm funny or just an idiot. Maybe a little of both would be appropriate.

"You are such a freak."

"It's been said," I respond brightly. "Can't tell me I'm not entertaining though."

"True." Addy gives me a quick peck on the cheek and then a more 'what am I going to do with you' pat on the back. Who knew one gesture could be so expressive?

Well, this is weird. Here we are, standing here in a congenial hug all friendly like, she gives me a kiss on the cheek all friendly like, and now the kiss is on the lips. You'd think I'd know whether she did that or I did that part, but I don't. I'm aware she tastes like strawberry lip gloss and whatever wine she's been drinking and I'm aware that when my hand grasps the back of her neck it strikes the final blow to her hair style, but on the matter of who kissed who I'm kind of stumped. I'm not that drunk, you'd think I should know. My lips have involuntarily parted and so have hers and suddenly I'm all with the making out.

Time passing is a little hazy, no idea how long it's been, but I can smell whatever lotion Addy uses on her skin - mango, maybe - and I'm very aware of how small she feels. If I was one to exaggerate I'd say I could nearly get my arms around her twice. Her fingers keep slipping between my elbows and my biceps and I'm not sure whether I can hear the beating of the waves in my ears or my pulse thudding through them.

I'm not sure how long it is before Addy then pushes back, putting space between us even though we still have a grasp on each other's elbows. I feel like I'm Darth Vader, I'm breathing so heavily, but the only effect on her is a slight quickening in the rise and fall of her chest. Also, a slight look of panic in her eyes.

"Okay… slight turn up for the books."

If my brain wasn't otherwise occupied, I'd be laughing at her choice of comment. "Uh huh."

"Umm… shit…"

"I'm sorry…" I begin to speak but she interrupts.

"No, no, don't be sorry, you didn't do anything wrong, I… I'm sorry, I don't do this."

"With tourists, I know, I'm sorry." I know she told me not to apologise, but I got nothing else.

"No, I'm sorry, you don't seem like the no strings type to me and this couldn't be anything else, I… I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that."

Does that mean she kissed me or is she talking about kissing me back? Perhaps I should be more worried about the weirdness of trying to communicate with somebody after something like that's just happened, but I really am preoccupied with my selective amnesia here. This is all kind of strange.

Also, I'm kind of wondering whether I'm the no strings type.

That's it. This time I mean it. I have said it before and never actually followed through, but this time I mean it with all my heart. I am never drinking ever again.

My head feels like somebody opened it up while I was sleeping and they've stuffed a bunch more stuff in it that doesn't fit. The resulting pressure is threatening to make my cranium explode. My mouth feels like a whole family of something crawled in there and died, it's all dry and I have cotton mouth. It's like a family of little fuzzy animals had a suicide pact and chose my tongue as the perfect place to end their lives. More than anything, I would like some water. There's actually a bottle of it on my bedside table, but I have a suspicion that if I move my head is going to start pounding and I'm going to get dizzy. On reflection, I think the tongue thing is the lesser of the evils.

Going back to sleep would probably be the best thing for it apart from the water, but that won't happen. For one thing it's hard to relax and get back into it when your head feels nasty, and for another it's too warm in here. Somebody who shall go unnamed is apparently a hot blooded little so and so because I'm boiling. Then again, maybe I'm just not used to sharing; the bastard is practically on top of me. Also, he breathes a little heavily. Any louder and I'm going to have to nickname him Darth Vader - maybe I should urge him to see a nose ear and throat guy about that.

Still, I suppose not moving to get the water has the added bonus of not waking him up when I have to push him off me. The best I can do for now is throw my leg outside of the covers and get some air on what little of my body I can get out from under the sheets. I really hope he's not hung over either otherwise it's going to get pretty pathetic in here. If I can't even manage to reach for my water then a trip to the bathroom for some ibuprofen is probably a lost cause.

Justin looks kind of stupid when he sleeps. I know you're supposed to look at them while they snooze and think how angelic and sweet and childlike they are or whatever, but his face is all smushed up against the pillow and his mouth's gaping open. I don't see drool but it's a distinct possibility, as is a big red crease against his face when finally he burrows out. I'm impressed really; I don't think you could physically get any further into the pillows and sheets without actually pulling them over your head. The bed's a little short for him since he's so tall, and he's had to curl up.

"Hmm." He breathes out a little sigh and for a moment I think he's waking up, but he merely pushes his face further into the pillow and my shoulder.

After we kissed, the discomfort led us both back to the party we'd previously been so keen to leave. What Justin was thinking I'll never know, for my part I was looking for people to distract me. People did distract me, but so did sangria. Justin's lovely, I think he's great, but he is leaving at some point and a fling really is all it could ever be. I can deal with that since it's just the way it goes around here, but I'm not going to push for it if he'll wind up regretting it - especially when he's already depressed and confused over other things. He's already been here for what has to be at least three or three and a half weeks, so we're talking nearly a month. We've spent so much time together it feels like I've known him longer, but that's how long it's been. It's been good times but I figure his trip has a shelf life of two more weeks, tops.

I think he also took solace in the sangria and in a classic piece of Addy over-compensating I made a big deal about inviting him to crash at my place because it was closer and he was a little too wobbly to walk very far. In my silly little head, rather than being an obvious danger zone inviting him back was my little way of pretending things weren't embarrassing as hell and we were still the best of buds. The sex stuff as I recall started because he had tipped a glass of sangria down his shirt and obviously since red wine stains it was in peril. I told him I'd soak it in the sink overnight and wash it for him in the morning so naturally his shirt had to come off, which was the start of the nudity. He was also muttering something about Christophe's mum telling him off for abusing a classic, but I have no idea what that means in real English.

Well, you add drunkenness to sexual tension and partial nudity and it's not surprising that we wound up in bed. Maybe Mike's disappearing act was a blessing; if he was here to witness any of this he would never let either of us hear the end of it.

"You awake?" I hear a croak from somewhere near my neck. I guess the sighing was a precursor to awakening.

"Yeah," I respond.

"Is something pounding or is it just my head?"

"It's both our heads," I say wearily. Oh well, at least I'm not the only one suffering.

"Do you by any chance have any liquid nearby?"

"There's water on the stand but I'm afraid if I move I'll vomit."

Gingerly he uncurls himself from me - which is very nice because it stirs the sheets and gets a little air in there - and manages to sit up. The crease I foretold is indeed slashed across his cheek like a scar. His eyes are a little bloodshot but he doesn't look as bad as he sounds. He reaches across me for the water, making the sheets fall off my chest. Considering that we've been naked all night and obviously had sex I probably shouldn't be blushing when his body brushes over mine, but I am. Morning afters aren't always this uneasy… all I can do is try to pull the sheets back up as subtly as I can. I may be embarrassed but I'd rather he didn't realise that. Well, I'm not really embarrassed by the sex or nudity, just the conversation we're going to have to have; I don't think nudity helps these things.

Greedily I eye the bottle, but since he was the one who could be bothered to grab it I don't begrudge him the first gulps. He drinks like a man in the desert, but is still polite enough to make sure I get exactly half of what was there. I practically snatch it from his hands and suck it down as fast as I can swallow. It does wonders for that whole cotton mouth thing. I can feel it swiftly rushing down into my stomach and diffusing out to where I need it, running in nice wet streams around my body and clearing out the debris.

"That's not actually so bad," he tells me as I finish my drink. "I think with a little more of that I'll be fine."

"Yeah. Might not even need the aspirin… which is in the bathroom if you do want it."

"Thanks. What time is it?"

"Umm…" Feeling better, I'm now able to move myself and grab my watch. "Shit, it's nearly midday."

"Well the party didn't finish until three so that's not really that bad," he points out through a yawn. "If you have eggs I can make Trace's patented proven hangover cure."

"Trace?"

"My friend," he clarifies. "Eggs?"

"Yeah, in the kitchen," I say as if they'd be anywhere else. "Oh, I need to put your shirt in the washer…"

"Don't worry, I can do it. It's my shirt and my own stupid fault," he jokes weakly as he shuffles over to the side of the bed and grabs his jeans and boxers.

It's just occurred to me that until I've sent his shirt through the dryer as well as the wash, he's going to be roaming around here still half naked - which is what started this trouble in the first place. Warily I eye the angel on his back and the muscles rippling underneath, and yet again I swear to myself that alcohol is the devil and I will partake in its evil doings no more.

***

A little guilt hits me when I finally emerge dressed and showered and I realise that in this time Justin has already managed to wash and dress himself, put his shirt in to wash and get a good part of the way through making breakfast for us both. He's even managed to find the cutlery and set the table. This is my house, if anybody's playing host it should be me but I'm just too sluggish this morning. With lots more water my head now feels better and I'm not going to feel any more after effects of last night, but I think my head's going to run at a slower speed today.

"There she is," he says brightly. "I was just about to send in a search party."

"How are you so chirpy?" I ask incredulously.

"I probably decimated your bottled water supply but I'm all re-hydrated now," he continues in chipper tone. "Do you want a drink? Hope you like scrambled."

"This is my house, you're supposed to be the guest and I'm supposed to look after you and I need tea." The whining tone wasn't intentional, really.

"English and she wants tea? What a surprise."

"Hey, tea fixes everything I'll have you know." I bump him with my hip, nudging him out of the way. "That smells nice."

"Like I said, patented hangover cure, you'll feel like you could run 10k when you're done with these."

I find that doubtful, but I humour him. "So long as I can manage walking to market later, that'll do me."

"Market?" He asks as he taste tests the eggs.

"Yeah, there's a little market on Sunday mornings in the next town over. It's like the one they do on Saturdays in Playa Del Sol except less teeming with holiday goers."

"Would you mind if I tagged along?" he requests while turning off the heat and reaching for plates to dish out the food. "I probably ought to grab some souvenirs or something for people. I figure if I pissed them off by disappearing I can at least bring them back something touristy and tacky."

"Or you could bring them back something actually nice." I crack a smile. "They do some nice glass and jewellery along with the fake Prada."

"You and your girly eye can steer me straight," he chuckles as he hands me a plate of what do look like pretty good eggs. As if on cue, the toaster pops up and he throws a slice of wholemeal onto my plate with it.

"I should warn you that we usually bike it over there. Any objections to cycling? It's about half an hour."

"After all that booze last night? I probably ought to do some exercise anyway."

If I was feeling wittier and less uncomfortable I'd make a joke about sex being good exercise, but this normalcy is actually throwing me off more than if he'd immediately started the big dreaded talk. He seems much calmer about this than I am. Does he do this a lot or is he just that laid back?

We fall into silence, mostly because he's wolfing down food at an impressive rate and I am preoccupied with trying to eat mine and make tea at the same time. These eggs are pretty good; I suspect the involvement of some seasoning I don't know about. We do have seasoning in this kitchen but it rarely gets used, so I wouldn't know one if it smacked me in the face - or if I tasted it, which might be more likely. Justin's opened up the patio door and the fresh air is a good thing. As always it smells mildly salty from the ocean, but there's a clean crisp edge to it that definitely helps with clearing out a hung over head.

I find my eyes are flicking back and forth between Justin and my plate. As you might expect, most of the people I date around here are very Mediterranean looking. They're dark and in some cases a little stocky, and usually the eyes are dark too. I am a fan of dark eyes (which helps since I have them myself), you can find all kinds of warmth or mystery there depending on the circumstances. Justin's eyes are a bright shade of dark blue. I'm sure there's a name for that shade, but since I don't know it 'bright dark blue' will be my chosen description. They're intelligent and very piercing at times. Justin's different in general - he's not ever going to be described as stocky, he's very tall and lean, quite an athletic build. A lot of the guys around here have the kind of cheekbones Michelangelo would chisel out of rock but Justin's features are quirkier, on some faces they'd seem a total mismatch but on his they work. His head is kind of square, not that I'll be telling him that.

Sitting opposite him after a night like that, I'm taking some time to ponder how I feel about this whole thing. He's a great guy and he's good looking, we have a lot in common and we enjoy each other's company… but for two or three weeks of fooling around sometimes it's not worth taking it up to that point. Unless it really is too good to miss, sometimes you're better off continuing to have a blast as friends and then parting on that level where it's not going to leave one or both of you covered in 'what if we'd had longer.' I talk very casually about having no strings summer romances, but the fact is that you can't be blasé about everybody just because you want to be. Some guys you can like too much to keep it casual.

I don't feel like I'd have that problem with Justin - I mean, while I do like him it's not going to kill me when he leaves - but I wonder if he'd have that problem with me. I don't say that because I'm such irresistible hot stuff or whatever, I'm not that egotistical, but the guy is in a weird situation out here and he's vulnerable. We've hung out in groups sometimes, but in any way that counts I'm the only person he's really been in contact with for nearly a month. He still won't tell me what's at the heart of all these issues he's having and I'm not sure he's even pinpointed it himself, but as much as I try to help him have fun and take his mind off of things he and I both know it's still there. He's pretty much dependent on me at the moment for company, advice and sanity. Such circumstances may not really allow for casual.

Well… I say that, but he's doing a pretty impression of casual. I seem more bothered about this than he does and I'm the one who according to me is supposed to be more at ease with the idea of us having done anything together. Why does sex have to complicate everything so much?

"You're quiet," he comments, startling me out of my reverie. "You still not feeling well?"

"I'm just concentrating too much on my food," I smile at him. "They are good eggs."

"They're just about the only thing I know how to do well unless I'm standing over a barbecue."

"Typical male. How come you guys can only cook when it's over a grill? Is it some caveman fire thing?"

"If you'd tasted my barbecue, you wouldn't care."

"If ours wasn't currently busted I'd challenge you to test that theory."

The conversation is trivial, but that makes things easier. "So what time do we need to go to this market thing?"

I glance at my watch again. "Give it half an hour to let the food go down and we can head out. It's a nice scenic route, I think it's probably the only thing I haven't shown you."

Inwardly, I cringe at the glaring but unintentional double entendre. Justin either doesn't notice it or is too polite to mention it, because he just smiles amiably at me as he chews and swallows. How is he so calm? I feel like there's a large African bull elephant in the room and I don't know whether to bring it up or not. He hasn't brought it up, but he wouldn't be the first person in my life to play that fun little mind game where they force you to mention it first to give them the power in the conversation. He doesn't seem like the type, but then neither did anybody else until they proved themselves to be.

Maybe I'm kidding myself about this whole casual thing. I'm not casual about this at all; I'm positively wound up.

"Are you okay?" Justin asks again. The tone sounds innocent, but maybe he's just a good actor. "You really are kind of quiet.

"Fine." It was a little squeaky but believable.

"Do I need to put you out of your misery and bring up last night?"

Oh. Well, on the bright side, he's definitely not trying to manipulate me into bringing it up first. I still think he has the power here though.

"Am I that transparent?"

"No, it's just kind of a prerequisite of the morning after that you feel awkward."

"True." He's definitely not wrong on that one.

"Well…" Finally I seem to have stumped him for a moment. His hesitation, however small, reassures me that he's not totally chilled out. I'd feel all the more foolish if he was. "I'm okay if you are."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay."

"Then why the face?" He asks knowingly as he picks up his glass and takes a swig of grapefruit juice. He nearly blew up the juicer by neglecting to put the lid on, but once I showed him how to use it we averted the crisis and had nice freshly squeezed juice with our eggs. Mike's already sent juice all over the ceiling once and it took God only knows how long to get off.

"It just… I don't know what to say." I throw my palms up for a second in a gesture of confusion. "I have no idea what you want or expect out of this and you're so chipper and acting like it was nothing that you kind of threw me."

His eyebrows crease, almost meeting in the middle as he frowns. "You wanted me to be angry or upset or something?"

"No, no, fuck no, I just…expected you to be less nonchalant, is all."

"Why?" Justin asks with a shrug and another gulp of juice. "We're adults, we like each other, you made it clear what the score is and I have no problem with that. We don't have to embark on some star crossed affair to enjoy being around each other and have some fun for a couple weeks."

Quickly I scan his face for any sign of bravado or doubt, but I see none. Maybe I really was just making too big a deal out of it. He seems fine with it and I couldn't have described my thinking any better than he just did. So long as it stays on that level and he gets it then everything's peachy.

"Fair enough," I tell him honestly and with a smile. "Consider all awkwardness done."

"We're all good?"

"Dandy."

"You sure? You're not going to have one of those girly turns where you change your mind and suddenly want to fight with me about it?"

I snort. As much time as we spend together and how I feel like we've been friends for longer than we have, sometimes he says things like that and reminds me he doesn't know me all that well. That has never been my style. "How many times do I have to tell you that this is Adora and we like it drama free?"

"Then it's all gravy." He drains the last of his juice. "But if we're going out I need a change of clothing. You want me to meet you back here in about half an hour and we'll head out?"

"Sounds like a plan." I throw my napkin on the table and stand up with him, automatically seeing him to the door - force of habit.

"See you in a few then."

Justin kisses me goodbye and then jogs out and down the steps to the beach like we've been doing this the whole time. My fingers go to my lips for a second and I slide the door slowly shut behind me, staring at the dirty dishes on the table. Now he's been so cool about everything I feel a little silly for worrying about his reaction, but I'm gladder than I thought I'd be that this is the way it's gone. Prevention is better than cure and if I'd had a little less alcohol last night then maybe none of this would have happened, but if I'd had to turn him down or if I'd embarrassed him or whatever it probably would have put quite a strain on the friendship. I'm glad it's worked out okay. Almost a little excited, in fact - a little summer fling can be great sometimes and it's been a while since I had a fling of any kind, casual or otherwise.

Also, apparently I underestimated the boy. He's got a few surprises in him it seems, which is always interesting…

It's interesting how much you can have communicated to you when you don't understand a word being said.

Addy is speaking in rapid fire Spanish to some guy named Pedro. I understand maybe ten words of what's been said, and since most of those were 'no' and 'Pedro' they don't really count. I still know exactly what's going on here. I saw this really pretty coloured glass vase that I knew my mother would go nuts for - I have no idea how they do it, but it's this really intricate swirl of blues and greens that reminds me of ocean waves. He wanted me to hand over sixty euros for it and I was about to when Addy started shaking her head, grabbed my wrist to stop me and started bargaining with him. He's gesticulating between her and the vase with his hands and constantly groaning like she's trying to cheat him or depriving his kids of their college fund. She's standing firm, raising her eyebrow and folding her arms in a definite 'I am not backing down' stance. It's fascinating.

Finally he sighs, takes a sideways glance at me and shakes his head as if to say 'women' and makes a mock bow which I know is a concession. Addy swipes a note out of my hands and tells me to hand over the rest - she somehow just bargained him down to thirty five, which is nearly a fifty percent discount. Pedro's tanned and weather beaten hands wrap the glass up with the greatest of care, and as he mutters to himself I can just imagine he's complaining about how he's just been denied the right price for his quality goods. He hands it to me and I say thank you to him - one thing I do know the Spanish for.

Addy tucks her arm back through mine, where it's been for most of the afternoon, and I just have to ask. "So how'd you beat him down?"

"Ugh, did you hear him call this Murano glass?"

"Uhh, hello, no speak-a el lingo?" I mock her. "You think I have a clue what either of you were saying?"

I get a teasing glare for my insolence. It gives her this sultry European look when she does that. "Murano glass comes from this little town somewhere near Venice, my parents took us there on holiday one time. I was telling him he was full of shit calling this Murano glass when neither he nor it is Italian."

"So does that mean if I buy Chinese food when not in China it's not real Chinese?" I ask teasingly.

"I'm sorry, is it a problem that I just saved you twenty five euros you ungrateful brat?"

She pretends to put me in a headlock, and I laugh as she struggles to reach that high. I won't remind her that I'm a millionaire and that I don't really care, a few euros over the odds isn't going to hurt me too much. My new and improved plan of attack is to never allow the subject of my career to come up ever again and to only let her be reminded of my bank balance if it's unavoidable. It's a little more comfortable for me now she knows that, feels a little less like I'm a dirty big liar, but I figure that omission of information from now on is a far better tactic than telling tall tales.

"My apologies, oh glorious one, You are the Queen Bargainer."

"Bargainer isn't a word."

"Yes it is."

"You just made it up."

"You just nit pick too much, that's your problem." I sling an arm around her shoulders and plant a joking kiss on her forehead with a flamboyant smacking of my lips and the stupidest noise I can get out of my mouth. "I thought you said you Adorans liked it laid back and hakuna matata or whatever?"

"Hak-a-what-now?"

"You never saw The Lion King? Were you deprived as a child?"

"I was busy being outside and doing actual activity rather than enslaving myself to the television. It melts brain cells you know."

If I hadn't been already warned that her way of showing ease and companionship with someone is to relentlessly make fun of them, I would think this chick was downright abusive. Luckily for her she had enough presence of mind to warn me and now I find it oddly charming, in an exasperating sort of way. "Hakuna matata. It's some African phrase meaning no worries. Swahili, maybe? I don't know; it's from a Disney film anyway."

"Oh. The only film anybody could get me to pay any attention to as a kid was Grease. Oh, and Pretty In Pink."

I resist the urge to ask how two such wholesome films (well, okay, Grease is a little dirty once you're old enough to understand the Rizzo and Kenickie condom conversation) managed to influence a young mind so it grew into this sarcastic little madam. Or maybe that's just natural and there was nothing pop culture could have done to stop it anyway.

"I liked The Breakfast Club better."

"You shouldn't have mentioned breakfast. Now I want food," she groans.

I'm not unsympathetic, that bike ride was glorious but harder work than I thought it would be; there were a few nasty inclines. Oh well, speeding back down them on the way back should be a hoot. The scenery is amazing. "Is there any place worth eating around here?"

"Not really," she says with a shrug. "Though unless you were needing to buy yet more stuff we could just get on the bikes and head back, I think I have enough stuff in the cupboards to rustle up some paella."

"That's a good point… how am I getting all this stuff on the bikes?" I ask doubtfully.

"I'm disappointed, Mr Timberlake, did you think I'd come unprepared?"

She reaches into her rucksack and I see that it wasn't stuffed with crap as I believed it to be - there's another rucksack cunningly folded in there. Clearly she's done this before.

"I'm sorry, I'll never doubt you again," I say with a squeeze of her shoulders.

When we first got here I was a little reticent with arms around waists or shoulders or anywhere else, but I subsequently decided to take the Adoran attitude and lose the drama. We got a few funny looks from some of the locals who know Addy and from some of those idiot guys who are getting territorial over a woman none of them are even dating. For a moment my face got all red and I was thinking they somehow knew, but then I remembered that I'm not acting any differently with her than I was prior to last night and they cannot possibly tell. So, I mentally called myself an idiot and gave that right up.

Thankfully I was a little more collected this morning when it counted. If Addy had seen through my façade she would have realised that my reaction was closer to hers than to the one I pretended to have, but thankfully I made like a cucumber and remained cool.

It wasn't like she was freaking out or anything - thank God, I hate that drama - but she more openly acknowledged the fact that things were a little uncertain and that she was naturally uncertain with them. Sex doesn't have to be a big deal, but whether people admit it or not it does change things at least a little. I was being a little guarded, I guess. There was no lie, I honestly was cool with it (won't be the first or last time I drunkenly hook up with a friend), but she's made her feelings on holiday romances or flings with tourists very clear. I'll admit, I expected her to outright tell me it was never happening again or for her to assume that I couldn't hack the no strings deal.

So I put up just a little bit of a front. The thinking was that it would either convince her that I could hack it or that at the very least we'd still be friends out of it and I didn't mind, whichever way she wanted to take it. While she was washing up, I had a little time to think about how I wanted this to go and what I wanted to say to her about it. She's a great girl and we have chemistry. Some light adult fun in the sun wouldn't go amiss for me right now - so I'll admit I was keener on the 'fling' option - but I decided I'd let her make the call. For one thing I can't be bothered to chase after her if she resists, it's too much effort for the sake of a two week fling, but for another she has more experience with this whole schtick than me. I wager she can probably sniff out potential over-attachment or awkwardness better than I can in this situation.

Either way I would have kept hanging out with her, but I figured the best thing I could do this morning was my level best to convince her I was unlikely to overreact or declare my undying love out of it. She needed to know that I wouldn't make it awkward or heavy, so I let her know. Where we go from here… I assume we just go as normal and if anything happens it happens. It's cool if it does and it's cool if it doesn't, so long as I keep her for a surfing buddy either way.

Damn, thinking of sex and surfing makes me think of physical activity, which reminds me that I'm hungry and that there's a bike ride home to get done before I can have any food. Damn, my stomach's rumbling.

***

"So how long has he been MIA now?" I ask with a sip of wine. Addy must have the tallest wine glasses ever, the stems on these things are long as hell and I keep thinking I'm going to break mine.

"A few days. I thought he was supposed to be organising this trip to England but it seems like he's more concerned with his hook up. Either that or Tanya's finally done him in and buried him in a quarry somewhere."

I laugh at the unconcerned look on her face. "You seem fairly calm about that possibility."

"He died without a will, I'm sure I could get my hands on all his assets."

"What a loving, supportive sister. So how'd you think she finally killed him?"

"Well…" Addy muses, her head tipping thoughtfully to one side and mock contemplation creasing her brow. "I see it as a crime of passion so I'm thinking she clubbed him over the head with a vase. Though a frying pan would be funnier."

Don't even ask me how we got onto this conversation. We ate and we talked and gradually the light went away and now, just after sunset, we're sitting on her balcony in these great cushioned wicker chairs. Usually I hate wicker chairs, they're uncomfortable and leave imprints on your ass, but these are nicely padded and you can sink right into them. I have Addy's left foot still propped in my lap from the foot rub that finished about ten minutes ago. We've nearly drained a bottle of a good Bordeaux and I like this. By 'this' I don't mean the wine - it's decent and all but I'm not some alcoholic or great wine connoisseur - but just the sitting and chilling through a sunset. I like sunsets, they're all pink and orange. Those aren't usually my favourite colours but sunsets are cool. I like to kind of see the day off, like a farewell or something. Also, it's nice to sit and chill with some lazy conversation.

"But if you want all his money won't you need to have him declared dead first? Maybe you should call him just to check that he doesn't pick up the phone. That might point to him being alive."

"Eh, he'll answer his texts when he's ready," Addy says dismissively in one of her more normal moments. "I got a vague 'sorry, be back soon' message from him a couple of days ago so I'm assuming he knows what he's doing. And if worst comes to worst I'll tell Tanya that there's a spider in the bath so she needs to untie him and send him home."

I really did not need some kinky mental image of her brother being shackled to a bed or whatever. "You're afraid of spiders?"

"No, but she doesn't need to know that. It's a very cunning plan."

"It's a cunning plan?" I ask in the kind of tone that says I'm deeply unconvinced.

"Yes, it's as cunning as a fox who's Professor of Cunning at Oxford University."

That was a really lame joke. It was a very un-Addison joke too; she doesn't usually say things like that. "Say what now?"

"Oh I forgot, you're American - quoting Blackadder is probably lost on you."

"Black what now?"

She lets out a sigh, one that says I'm one of those stupid colonials who have no appreciation for English culture. "It was a BBC comedy."

"Fine." I shrug, making an exaggerated pretence at being pissed off. "Next time an opportunity presents itself I'll make some obscure Days of Our Lives reference and then look at you like you're a moron for not getting it."

"Wasn't Joey on Friends supposed to be in Days of Our Lives?"

"Yeah," I answer, glad to hear that at least some quality American programming makes it over here.

"Isn't it a soap opera?"

"Yes."

"So you just admitted to watching soap operas?"

Fuck, she's good. "Uhh…"

Addy breaks out into sunny peals of laughter, probably because of the 'I'm so busted' look that just passed over my face. I'm sorry, I spend a lot of time cooling my heels in hotel rooms and sometimes daytime television is the only option. There are only so many hours I can spend parked in front of Guitar Hero. She's got one hand grabbing at her stomach to subdue the chuckles and the way the other hand is shaking with the effort, the liquid in her glass is swirling and threatening to spill over at any point. Hey, it may not be very manly but watching soap operas is better than being bored out of your skull.

She may be poking huge amounts of fun at me all the time, but this is really nice. It's the mental equivalent of a broken record, I keep thinking it over and over again, but I guess that anything being nice is a novelty after everything that's been going on. Much as I hate to keep mentally harping on at myself about this, I really have been a wretched bastard for the past few months. The more time I spend out here relaxing the better I seem to feel, so I'm starting to wonder if maybe this terrible thing going so wrong in my life was just me stretching myself too thin. After all the worry it seems almost too simple to be the answer, but then Mom always says that things are usually simpler than we build them up to be.

There was me panicking that my life or career or something huge was going to have to be cut, but maybe I just didn't learn the lesson that I thought I did after I made Justified. I promoted that album too much and ran myself ragged and got sick of the sound of my own voice. I saw myself everywhere and I was even fed up of my own reflection in the mirror because my face was already plastered over everything else, so I swore I'd learn to stop and smell the roses. Between albums and tours and movies and businesses, maybe I haven't done that. Maybe I shouldn't just learn to do something other than music so I can keep music fresh; maybe I should learn how to do nothing once in a while so I can keep myself fresh. The 'workaholic' accusation isn't exactly unfair when it comes to me.

Huh. After all that gloom and introspection and self doubt, if this is the big epiphany then it's a little anti-climatic.

"Hey. Where'd you go?" She pokes at my stomach with the foot that's still in my lap.

"Oh, sorry." I give her ankle a squeeze by way of apology. "I zoned out."

"We've probably been slouched out here for too long. These chairs will put you to sleep."

"The wine probably doesn't help," I tell her with a yawn. "Wine always makes me sleepy."

"Yeah, it's weird," she replies. As she yawns and stretches I see a sliver of her stomach poking out from under her camisole. "Beer chills me out, spirits make me rowdy but wine puts me to sleep."

"Beer and spirits work pretty much the same for me," I shrug. "It's all good for the party."

"Do you do a lot of partying back home?" Addy asks curiously as she drains the last dregs of her glass. "It's kind of weird that you see me in my natural setting but I have no idea what you're like when you're back on the clock."

She can say that a-fucking-gain. She has no fucking idea who I am or what I'm like on the clock. She still thinks I'm the finance man. It's an interesting point, though - I guess that's another reason why she's wary of tourists. What they see is always what they get, but she has no idea if these folk are even remotely the same person when they let loose their holiday inhibitions as they are back home in the daily grind. Hell, I'm not sure that if she'd seen me in LA knowing even vaguely who I really was she would have paid any attention to me at all, apart from the usual 'celebrity at four o' clock' kind.

"Well…" It takes me a few moments of screwing my face up and mental straining to think of how to answer this question honestly. "Yes and no. In my industry I'm expected to put on a lot of show, and a big part of that is showing up to the right events and schmoozing. And I like to relax on my own time too, do the more chilled kind of partying where you're not worried about networking."

"The type that's actually fun instead of another work chore?"

"Exactly," I nod. "But it's not like I'm out every night. I still need enough energy to get on with doing what I do and I ain't twenty one any more. I've grown out of it; I'm a lot more selective about where I turn up now."

"This is kind of the bonus to moving up the ladder I suppose. Not that I as a teacher have much of a ladder to be climbing since I have no desire to ever be a head teacher. I might manage head of department but that's about it."

"You're not ambitious, then?" I ask curiously. I've been so ambitious since I was knee high to a grasshopper that I can't even imagine being anything less.

The darker it gets, the more her hair kind of fades into the night sky. It's almost like there's a mass of shadow blending her in, like she's being drawn back out of the world or something. Clearly I watch too many sci-fi and fantasy movies if I'm spouting shit like that, but it's interesting. I don't think Addy quite understands how pretty she is. The fact that she's so make-up and fashion free all the time is a welcome change to the hyper-grooming of Los Angeles and celebrity circles in general. Most of the time back home I'm wishing I could see women without all the war paint on, but here I actually wonder what she'd look like if she suddenly decided to make herself up more. She manages to be gorgeous as hell bare faced in flip flops and shorts, she might give a few guys a heart attack if she started trying much harder.

"No." Addy shrugs delicately, hugging her free leg to her chest and propping her chin on her knee. "I was always a fairly chilled out person anyway, but living so well here on relatively little I know that I'm already content as it is and I don't need to go constantly searching for some grand goal to make life good."

"Wow. Wish I could take that attitude, probably be a lot less stressed out." I'm only half joking by that.

"Eh." Her lips purse slightly. "Sometimes I think I get a little too complacent. I like being content but at the same time I don't want to just coast by and not achieve anything."

"Maybe that exchange thing would be a good idea then," I suggest. "Mix it up a little and give you a new experience without you suddenly trying to revolutionise the profession or anything."

"The more this London thing with Mike moves on, the more I think about that," she confides. Her nails scratch lightly at the back of her head, and I wonder if she's like me and gets itchy when uncomfortable. "I've pretty much decided that if I do it I'll go to NYC, but I'm still umm-ing and aah-ing. New York would be like going to another planet, it's so fast paced."

"True. But maybe that's what you need, if only for a little while. If you like it you could probably get a visa and stick around but if you don't then it's only one school year and you could run home and vow never to leave again."

Addy chuckles at that; it's a lower and more subtle sound than the ringing laughter of the 'Justin's a little housewife who watches soap operas' revelation.

"I don't know. You're the one who's changed pace most recently, how's it working out for you?"

"Good," I answer honestly and with a smile. "I feel a little better, I actually have a tan for once in my life, and I even got laid. It's been a pretty successful trip."

Yep, that's the ringing laughter again.

Is it stupid to feel isolated when you're spending all day every day with somebody? Well, I suppose that's not weird since it happens all the time, you can be at work with people you don't like all day so that feels pretty lonely. I guess what I find weird about this feeling is that I really like the person I'm with. We get on fabulously, we have great chemistry and good sex, and I enjoy his company. Add it all up and it just doesn't seem to fit with me feeling lonesome.

The last few days have passed by in a great big blur of water sports, hiking, sex and food. Much of that was all happening before, but it is a little different when you're teasing each other with kisses and cuddles as well as words and when the dinners become more intimate. Beyond sex, there's a certain romantic vibe going on here. Neither of us is under any illusions about what this is and how long it'll last, but I guess it feels a little deeper than a fling; maybe the best word for it is affair? No, that sounds like he's got a wife at home. I have no idea what the term is, I just know I actually lit the candles on the table for the first time in forever. We went out to the tapas bar and he was holding my hand while we were chatting. He cut his foot on a half buried rock and I kissed it better after I put the plaster on (he insisted it was a band aid, but I'm British so it's a plaster). It's just little things, small things which say that maybe this is just a good time but we do at least care about each other.

It's nice, and I'm basking in it. That may seem contradictory with the whole lonely complaint, but it's been a long time since a guy fussed over me. It's nice to have somebody play with my hair and make an effort to compliment me on something. I haven't really been dating much at all for a while, and it's nice to have a hug and to do all that silly horsing around when we're swimming and to flirt and be close with somebody. I like the way he rubs my arm when he's put it around me while we're walking, and I like the way he lets me play with his fingers while we're sitting on the beach talking and watching for a decent swell. It's stupid, I haven't known this guy very long at all but we have this really easy affection together and it's just… nice. I need a wider vocabulary, but it's nice.

If only my friends would be a little more supportive, this would be perfect. They all went out to Mario's at Del Sol and didn't invite me. That's the ultimate snub in our group. Nina at least had the grace to look mortified about it, but the effect was kind of ruined when Justin came back down from changing his clothes and we went straight back out. The sight of him apparently removed her shame, so I yanked him straight out of there. Her glare could have melted glass. If I genuinely was ignoring them for him then I'd see their point, but I'm not. The time I've spent with Justin has all been while they were out at work - I'm a teacher on summer break and I have a lot of free time to fill - and I wasn't standing them up for any of our normal dates. It's not like I was forcing Justin on them either, he was more than happy to give it a miss and let me have some time with my friends. He's been nothing but charm itself to them and they have no reason to be doing this.

They're being such arseholes about everything, and it stings like hell. It's so unfair. We've all put up with each other falling into stupid, ill advised romances with people who are leaving in a week. We've all sat and sympathised through the inevitable histrionics even when we want to say 'shut up you idiot what did you think would happen,' we've all been there and we've all been the idiot so we hold our peace. We've all sat inwardly fuming when somebody insists on forcing the new love of their life onto the group and suffered silently through the gushing. So why am I the exception when I'm not even doing those things? Nobody's going to be bursting into tears when the inevitable separation comes and I've been pretty casual about Justin around them, purposely so because I don't want to be annoying. What gives?

This had better not be that stupid possessive thing Justin said Christophe's mum thinks it is. I will hurt them.

"Addy?" Justin says sleepily as he turns over to face me.

"Yeah?"

"What time is it?"

I grab my watch from my bedside table. "About six."

"You mean I slept through the afternoon like an old man?

" "No. Because that would mean I slept through the afternoon like an old lady and I'm not one."

We've been extremely active this whole time, so we are exhausted a whole lot. It's the kind of exhaustion you welcome, however, because it's the good kind that comes after you had too much fun all day. I have unleashed my inner harlot a little; we have been going at it often. We've been going at it at all hours of the day and night, too. Our afternoon nap today came after a morning of swimming and a post lunch roll in the sheets. Yesterday we'd barely had breakfast and we wound up attacking each other on the roof; I was showing Justin my secret sunbathing spot.

Our roof was designed almost to be a second patio, and the little walls on it are just high enough that if you sit up on it you still can't be seen - they'd see you if you were on a chair though. He was making fun of me and claiming it was my 'nekkid tanning' roof. Somehow, don't ask me how, he got me to admit to the odd bit of topless sunbathing - tan lines can get very bad around here, just look at the tourists - and then things just degenerated from there. It's a good thing it was early in the day and the sun wasn't at its strongest or his pasty white backside might have got burned.

"Hmm." Justin lets out a low chuckle and pulls me over to him. I willingly go, curling up against his side and laying my head on his chest while he idly trails his fingers down my arm. I'd forgotten how good this part of dating someone feels, just curling up together and chilling out. "I'm starting to feel old. Next thing you know I'll be in bed by ten every night, you're wearing me out woman."

I could say the same of him. He hasn't slept in his apartment since our first time; he just goes back there to get him things or change clothes or whatever. I'm even washing them for him, he might as well have moved in here for the duration of his stay. If I didn't know he was a millionaire I'd be suggesting he did to save the hotel fees; since he's been putting off going back he has to keep extending his stay and Carlotta charges through the nose when people do that. However, he is a millionaire and it's not going to break the bank so I consider it no bad thing that he has a bolt hole to run back to if he wants his own space.

"There's no gun to your head," I say lazily. "You can bugger off at will."

"Why would I do that? Your mattress is better than the one in the apartment."

"Charming. He's here for my furniture."

"Well you would be the added bonus, of course."

"Hmm," I say in mock consternation. Justin merely kisses the top of my head at my hairline and says nothing.

As I run my fingers slowly over his chest (and it's a very nicely defined chest) I once again can't help wondering what he's like at home. This is all a little too dream-like and perfect; as much as I like it, I know it's not reality. We've been running around in this lust filled haze having the time of our lives, but I'm aware this isn't real. For all I know, if I'd met him when he was at home I might not have even liked him, if I'd even taken a second glance. He might have been the guy I just passed by in a crowd. It's hard to think of, since I think he's gorgeous… but then again, when he first got here I didn't think that much of him. He's moved up from 'decent looking' on first impression to 'gorgeous' after I've got to know him.

It feels warm and cosy to just stretch out in his arms and not have to say anything. I love the feeling, but the fact that I don't know him as well as I feel like I do does nag at the back of my brain. It's just impossible to bring up. For one thing, I know he's having difficulties with who he is at home and I don't want to spoil his good mood (which I'm pleased to say has not abated in a good few days), and for another you can't rely on people's own views of themselves. Obviously they could lie, but even when they don't it makes no difference; we all have skewed impressions of ourselves and our lives.

"Do you feel like staying in or going out for dinner?" Justin asks. His eyes are still half closed in lazy indolence, so just a small flash of blue is visible behind his drooping lids. At this point he's allowed to assume he's welcome to join me at meals.

"There's a restaurant about halfway between here and Del Sol that's good, if you like the more traditional Spanish grub."

"Grub?" Justin sounds horrified. "Like bugs and worms?"

"No," I laugh with a teasing slap on his arm. "Grub is just British for food."

"You British people need to learn to speak English."

"Oh really? So what precisely do you think we speak in England then?" I ask with heavy emphasis on the 'England.'

I get no answer, just a poke to the hip. "Is this restaurant teeming with tourists if it's close to that Playa place?"

"No," I answer. "It's busy, but for most of the tourists it's too far to come out just for food since there's nothing else to do in that village."

"Works for me then."

It does amuse me that he's a tourist who is so anti-tourists. I think it's cool though that he's experiencing a whole different way of life and not just here for the water parks and cheaper booze. Well, at least he seems to be listening when we walk through the village and I tell him about the way of life here. He could just be feigning polite interest.

"Cool. Give us a couple of hours to kill first."

"Yeah, I'm never going to get used to this whole Spanish eating so late thing," Justin comments. "Back home the diet brigade look at you like you've just swallowed arsenic if you eat carbs after eight or whatever."

"That'd be why they call it La La Land, huh?" I laugh at him. I have to admit, it's some of his weirder stories that put me off LA and made me think of NYC for this exchange thing. I'm sure NYC has its share of crazies, it's just better in blissful ignorance.

"Yep. They're la la over diets, la la over clothes, la la over celebrities and la la over everything."

"Ooh, you ever run into anybody famous then?"

"No."

It may be my imagination, but he said that a touch too quickly. I'm guessing he ran into some hot actress and did something embarrassing. I'll get him drunk and prise it out of him later.

It's getting to that point where lying in the crook of his shoulder is starting to hurt my neck. Having an arm going round the back there is mildly more comfortable to begin with than, oh, say, a log, but after a while it all starts to feel the same. I just don't like to disturb the otherwise cosy moment. Also, I've found that almost anyway you snuggle up to somebody in a bed one of you is going to wind up getting something squashed or pins and needles or whatever. For all I know Justin's shoulder now hurts as much as my neck but he's not mentioning it either. Sofa cuddling is much better, things just fit together better sitting up.

"So what we doing until dinner time then?" I change the subject, tapping at his temple with my index finger.

"Umm…" Justin yawns lazily. I don't know why he's yawning; he's spent all afternoon sleeping. "We could go swim some more or for a walk or something. Or watch a DVD or something? I don't know, you pick."

"I asked you precisely so that you would pick."

"Well obviously that backfired."

"Are all Yanks as difficult as you?"

"For the last time…" He picks up a spare pillow and gently smacks me over the head with it. "I'm from Memphis, I'm a Southerner."

"Well I'm a middle class girl from the Home Counties and that didn't stop you calling me cockney," I say as I grab him before he can land the second hit and snatch the pillow away, giving him a retaliatory smack in return. "I mean, do I sound even remotely cockney to you? You might as well have called me a Scouser."

"A what now?"

"Liverpudlian."

"Huh?"

"Liverpool! Land of The Beatles? I thought you said you liked music, how can you not know Liverpool?"

"I know Liverpool," he says, now kind of clambering over me trying to snatch the pillow back," I just don't know that weird Scooser word."

"Scouser."

"Whatever."

Justin took a little longer than he should have to realise he could have just grabbed another one of the pillows instead of having to take the one that was in my hand, but he's now attacking with full force. I'm screaming and laughing and trying to defend myself, but apparently the best form of defence really is attack because he's definitely winning here. I get in a few sneaky side swipes, but mostly I'm just holding my own pillow over my head trying to absorb the fast and furious blows of my opponent. I'm starting to think he's done this before… or, to be fair, it might just be that this guy actually knows what a gym is for and has been to one. I can't say the same.

"Okay, okay, surrender, I wave my little white flag," I say through giggles.

"Surrender?" He asks, still poised to strike.

"Much as it kills my ego, surrender."

"Cool."

He takes my pillow from me and tosses it down with his before launching himself back down onto the mattress with a little bounce that makes the whole thing shake like it was a water bed or something. Yet again, I find myself giggling. You can't say he doesn't make me smile. Justin rolls over with a grunt and throws his arm around me, pressing a few kisses on my neck and jawbone. We have so much fun together, meeting him was probably the best possible way I could have spent this summer.

I'm still kind of giggling and he's tickling me which is making it worse, so the only thing I can do is tickle right back. I catch a glimpse of the angel tattoo on his back and it amuses me because while he was napping on the beach I may have coloured in the face with extra sun cream. It's still pretty white against his dark tan, like this angel has a luminous face, and it just amuses me because he can't see it and has no idea. My mental age is twelve.

His lips make their way to mine and before long we're having a nice relaxing make out session. There's an art to the make out session, some guys only ever see it as a warm up to something else, but Justin seems to share my opinion that sometimes it's best when it's for its own sake. He has nice lips; they're a little thin, perhaps, and his stubble scratches a bit, but he's got just the right mix of firm and soft going on and if a girl wasn't careful she could lose a lot of time doing this. For the reason of shitty friends as mentioned above, I have a lot of spare time to lose doing this.

Gradually and without me really noticing the process his body winds up settled on top of mine, our arms and legs wound up comfortably together. Both parties seem to develop wandering hands and it's a pretty pleasant feeling, running my fingers over him. His skin has that warm glow people get when they're been in the sun (or tucked up in bed for a few hours) and it's just slightly weathered to the touch. It's not rough, but it's not exactly baby soft either; it has the wear and tear of skin not used to so much sun and salt water. Oddly I like that - it feels real, somehow, real and earthy.

It's a long and languid process as his hands and lips eventually move south. As his hands stroke and knead my breasts and my kisses make little circles around my belly button I hear myself emitting the occasional little contented 'mmm.' It's almost lazy as his body slides back upwards and he goes to kiss me again, but instead I find my mouth going to his shoulder, kissing along his collarbone. My hands are rubbing large, easy circles over his back and sides while my lips take their time brushing over his neck, Justin's doing the same in kind. He chuckles lightly when I nip at his ear, but other than that we're both concentrating on the kissing. There's little sound other than the rustling of sheets.

Even when he finally slips inside of me and all those new sensations start hitting, we're still both concentrating more on the kissing than anything. As such we're kind of off rhythm and I almost want to laugh or crack jokes about it, but somehow that seems wrong in this wonderfully quiet, indolent moment. If ever I had ideas about how sex should go this is probably the opposite of them, but it's doing it for me all the same. There's a low buzz in my skin the entire time, almost a light, pleasant humming. My hand goes to his face, stroking his cheek, and in response his gets buried in my hair while I feel his lips curve up against mine in a smile. Mine can't help but do the same.

Before long I can feel Justin starting to tense in my arms a little, involuntarily telling me he's close to getting there. In response I tighten my hold on him and kiss him a little harder, encouraging him. I'm not there but I don't need to be, the tingling I've been talking about making this all worth while enough even without the big finish (not that I ever tell guys this, they never seem to understand and they take it as an affront to their prowess). A few shudders and an almost inaudible grunt later, Justin's extracted himself from me and curled himself around my body, arm hugged snugly across my chest. We both smile at each other and I plant a kiss on his forehead. Nice to know I can put a twinkle in a man's eye - and he does have very nice blue eyes. They're pretty.

We're probably going to have to get up after this - as we should, since we've been in here all afternoon - but for five more minutes I'd just like to lie here, all tangled up with somebody. As much as I'm annoyed with my friends and the way they've been about this, having Justin around takes the edge off whatever else is happening. It's no magic fix, but for a few minutes I get to lie here, stave off all the other crap that's been bothering me and concentrate on nothing but the thud of my own heartbeat and the smell of him.

I'd say it was nice, if I hadn't already used that word enough for the next decade.

I have officially done it. It's all booked. There still would have been a chance to change my mind, but my temporary girlfriend is far wilier than that and made sure I sent an e-mail to my mother telling her when I was arriving home. Now I really can't back out.

Before I even knew what was going on Mom had arranged for the charter to bring me to Memphis rather than LA. She said my grandparents needed to see that I was alive, for one thing, and for another she said that if we were going to have awkward talks they'd probably go better from the comforts of home. Normally I might object to her meddling in my plans like that - I'm near enough thirty, she is not my boss any more - but in this case I kind of agree with her so I'll let it slide. I'd be lying if I said I was looking forward to it, but I'm not dreading it so much. It'll all depend on how well I can explain that the conclusion may sound simple but it really was difficult enough that I needed all these weeks away to work it out. Now I'm really glad I bought them all presents.

Addy's been really good about this whole thing, I'm trying to dream up some way to thank her. I half wondered if she'd get hurt by me saying I wanted to go home, but she just hugged me and said she was proud of me for working through everything. Then we went for a hike. There wasn't even the smallest sign that she was sad about me going, which is a relief. As much as I like her and as great as these past few days of us being together have been, I was always going to have to go home and I have enough issues surrounding that without worrying about upsetting her.

She's gone out to dinner with her folks and her errant brother, finally returned and claiming he's never going to see this girl again despite being AWOL with her for all this time. Addy and I made up a new sport in response - synchronised eye rolling. Mike quickly worked out I'd been staying over in the mean time, and I think he was disappointed that his own much more ridiculous situation prevents him from mercilessly teasing his sister about ours. I wound up cooking for myself in the apartment and then coming back out to the beach for a sunset swim. I'm going to miss this place; I've become a serious beach bum in my time here.

"Hey, Dante!" I call out as I spot him jogging back up the beach with his surfboard in hand. This guy never seems to be out of the ocean when he's not working, but this was a bad time to be looking for swells.

"Hola," he says awkwardly, planting his board in the sand for a second and leaning on it. He looks tired, I wondered how far up the beach he went.

"No luck with the waves, huh?" I ask.

"Nah, it was wishful thinking."

An uncomfortable silence settles in for a few seconds, and it's only politeness that stops me pulling a face. I don't know what their problem is with me and Addy but they can just save it. Still, it gives me a chance to gaze out to the horizon. The sky is a fantastic shade of orange, streaked with red; there are far more clouds lingering that usual but they serve only to punctuate how spectacular it all is. The water's almost glittering in the last few rays of the sun, determined to put on a show. You'd never see this kind of sky in LA with all that smog. Baywatch lied about that.

"Look…" Finally I decide to take the bull by the horns. Can you explain to me what everybody's problem with me is? One minute you're all nice as pie to me and the next everybody's avoiding me. And avoiding Addy, too, which seems kind of shitty since she's your friend and all."

The look on his face is pretty pained, and it immediately confirms everything I've said. It also tells me that Dante's not especially happy about it.

"Look, I have no problem with you. You seem like a good man… but you're only here for a short time and it's not, how you say, worth having a problem with my friends for you."

Fuck, I knew it. Also, I now see what Addy means about having to teach them how to speak English like English people do; it's not incorrect but it sounds overly structured. As God damn irritating as I find this whole thing, I can understand where Dante's coming from. In his position I wouldn't consider me worth the hassle either.

"But why do they have a problem with me?" I throw my hands in the air, pushing one over my wet hair.

From his expression, I'd guess that Dante is weighing up whether or not it's worth telling me this and whether or not I'd make an issue with it. I can't do much about that, other than try to make my posture as relaxed as possible so he doesn't think I'm about to go beat somebody's face in over it. He's fiddling with the end of his ponytail, and looks kind of effeminate doing so.

"You know our friends have been trying to match Addy with Antonio, yes?"

"Yes. She's not happy about it."

"Neither is he," Dante informs me. "He likes her but he knows she doesn't feel the same and he finds what our friends are doing… what's the word?"

"Embarrassing?" I guess purely from how I'd feel in the situation.

"Si, embarrassing. But they will not stop and they find her friendship with you very annoying. They saw, I think before you did, that it would lead to romance and they are angry that Antonio is passed over for a tourista when you will of course leave soon."

"But if she doesn't like him anyway, what's the difference?"

"I have asked them this. Nobody has given me a good answer," he says wryly. "I'm sorry, amigo, I would have liked to spend some more time surfing with you and Addy but I like my life with no problems more."

"It's okay, I understand." I scratch at my head with a sigh. "But you know they're all really hurting Addy over this, right? She hides it, but they're really upsetting her."

A sorrowful look passes over his face and for a moment I think about telling this guy to get to LA. I bet they'd kill to have somebody with his features on the books, you can just see him playing the Count of Monte Cristo or some swashbuckling Latin hero or something. "I know. I hope that once you have gone they will stop. The chicas are as unhappy as I about it."

"Well, you can tell them I'm leaving next week; that ought to make them happy." If I sounded slightly bitter, it's because I am. I thought skipping high school for a music career meant skipping this type of bullshit too.

"Not because of them, I hope?"

"No." I shake my head and droplets of water are still falling from it. "It's just time to go home. I stayed too long as it is but I love this island."

That puts a smile on his face. "Maybe you can come back next summer. They should have forgotten it by then."

I laugh. "Maybe." Actually, I might suggest this place to Mom and Dad because I bet they'd love it.

Me… I don't think I will come back, or at least not for a very long time. As much as I've loved it here and it's beautiful and I could probably be convinced to never leave, this island belongs to a certain time and place in my life and coming back here just wouldn't be the same. I've been marvelling over how well Addy and I get along and how easy everything's been, but I've come to realise that's because it has an expiration date on it. She and I are never going to have the chance to disappoint each other because I'm only here for five more days. All I'm going to remember is sun, sea, sand and a great little summer romance; it's been idyllic, but it's not real life. If I stayed here and carried on whatever it is I've got going with her, eventually we'd fight and let each other down. That's how real relationships go - they can be great, but never perfect.

This little slice of life with Addison has been perfect and I think it deserves to stay that way. I don't belong here. The more I think about it the more I think I met her for a reason, she's shown me this whole other side of myself that can be relaxed and doesn't have to work at full speed all the time, but I need to go home and this thing would never work long distance. I'd like to remember it as the blissful little piece of heaven that it's been instead of wrecking it trying to stretch out its life span or recreate it next year or whatever. It'd be a great big lie if I said I haven't wondered what would have happened if we'd met in a situation more conducive to a real relationship though. The phrase 'in sync' has been ruined for me forever since I now can't say it without it being some big pun, but she and I have been very much that way for these past few weeks. She gets me and I get her and we get along. It's all been so easy, and I guess in a way I will be kind of sad to go.

Still, leaving feels easier than I thought it would. This trip has certainly done what I wanted it to, but now it's time to go home - a few more days to enjoy paradise and then back to normality. I'm even kind of looking forward to it.

***

"Hey Timberlake!"

I hear the now familiar voice approaching and it startles me. I look at my watch and I'm surprised - It's only been a couple of hours since I came out here, I wouldn't have expected her back for at least another two, one at the very least. Does she not like her parents or something? That was a very short dinner.

"Hey," I say in surprise. Addy bounds up to me and flings her arms around my waist. Obligingly I return the hug and add a small kiss for good measure. "You're back early."

"Dad has an early meeting and Mum wasn't feeling too great." She shrugs carelessly. "What are you doing out here?"

"I had a swim after dinner. What are you doing out here?"

"I was walking over to the apartments to see you," she says brightly. "Guess you saved me a walk. Good job too, I reckon we're in for a storm."

"Really?" I sound sceptical, but that's only because it's rained all of twice since I've been here and neither of those showers lasted for more than ten minutes. I can't imagine this place having a real storm.

"Yep," Addy replies with a critical eye up at the sky. Although the sun has set, it's still surprisingly light. "There's a lot of cloud cover and we're probably overdue for one. They're great, the skies open for a night or a day and it beats it down like nobody's business, but it kind of clears the air and stops it being so humid for a while."

"Well how soon do you think it's coming?" I ask. I have no desire to be a lightning rod.

"We'll be tucked up in bed long before that happens," she assures me as my arm around her shoulders tugs at her to get her moving back towards the apartments. I don't care if she stays with me or wants me to stay at the villa; I just know I'll need more clothing than my swim trunks.

We walk along and for a few moments it's in companionable silence. Short though our fling has been, we've now developed a standard walking along pose where she slings her arm around my waist and I throw mine around her shoulders. Even holding hands seems like too much space in a weird way - not that we haven't, but when we walk we're usually gassing away and it seems more confidential, more conspiratorial between us when we walk with our arms around each other like this. It's like the world is blocked out and nothing we could ever say can reach outside ears. Clearly that's not true, but it's just the feeling it brings. It's about talking as much as walking.

"So, guess what we were talking about at dinner."

"Let me get the paranoia out of the way first and check it wasn't me?"

Addy lets out her sunny laugh. "No, it wasn't you. Mike apparently managed to stop shagging the woman he calls psycho long enough to make some headway on the England thing, so he's off for his interview a couple of days after you go."

I still don't understand how Mike can insist this chick is a psycho yet keep running back to her. It's just weird and defies all kinds of logic and common sense. "That's great, good for him."

"Yeah, well," she says in a tone that tells me Mike wasn't the point of this. "Dad was asking me what I wanted to do about the mortgage and I put my exchange idea to him and Mum and they loved it, said it was time I did some travelling and Dad's more than happy to keep the house for me until I get back, rent it out in the mean time to pay the mortgage and then when I get back it'll just be about getting a room mate, assuming Mike gets this job. Looks like I'm going for it."

"That's awesome, babe, congratulations!"

I plant a big kiss on her temple, genuinely pleased for her. She's always been careful to keep my little depression issue at the centre of things, hasn't wanted to offload her shit on me in return, but I really do get the feeling that she needs to experience life off this island as much as I needed to experience life on it. Not forever, I think she loves it here too much not to come back, but it'll do a world of good for her.

"Yeah. I've still got time to put in a late application, so long as I get on with it, so hopefully New York here I come."

Believe it or not, I'd actually already considered this scenario in some of my 'what if' imaginings. I own a restaurant in New York, I'm there often enough… but I won't mention it to her. If it was LA and she was going to be around all the time things might be different, I might offer her my number so we could catch up some time, but NYC is still too far. I've already made up my mind on this one, we need to end here. Besides, I'd put money on her neglecting to ask for my number just as I'll neglect to offer it. She's been through this before; I think she knows how this works better than I do.

"That's really great, I'm so proud of you."

I stop to wrap her up in a big hug, and I get a breath of her musky perfume. She almost smells like night, in a way - darker than she does in the day time. Her shoulders give a little shrug as she squeezes me back, and though she says nothing she's giving off this little glow that tells me I gave her the reaction she was hoping for. I'm not just being positive because I know it's what she wants to hear, I really do believe that she needs this.

She puts herself down and says she's not ambitious or whatever, but I think she wants more than she admits to herself. She's not like me, she's never going to need to make herself high powered and best of the best to feel like she's accomplished what she set out to achieve, but I do know she's got more in her than this island can cater for. I'll be happier to leave knowing she's got all these plans and is reaching for this, I think it'll be great for her and ultimately when she gets back here she'll be more fulfilled for it. Although she's told me she's suffered depression or whatever in the past I can't imagine her being less than the happy go lucky, contented little chick that she is now. It makes me feel good to know she'll be staying that way.

"Maybe I can see if all those other Yanks are as much of a pain as… uh oh."

Her ribbing of me is interrupted by the most incredible crack of thunder you ever heard. It was almost like the sky was pissed off and roaring its head off at somebody. It sounded like it was right on top of us too, so I'm thinking we'd better move quickly before the lightning starts. Water does conduct electricity a little too well for my liking.

"Come on."

I start tugging her away as the sky opens - and boy does it open, the rain tips down with a ferocity that has us both soaked to the skin within sixty seconds - but she's resisting. Like a five year old she's giggling and has her mouth tipped open to the sky, catching raindrops on her tongue. Hell, the rate it's pouring down she's probably caught a whole bucketful in her mouth already. I hope she doesn't think this is cute, because with her mouth so far open and her tongue sticking out she looks ridiculously stupid.

"Come on, you're getting soaked!" I protest. I'm in a swim suit anyway but she was in this diaphanous little peach dress which has now gone almost see through. If I wasn't afraid of a lightning strike I'd probably have got horny and attacked her, but my preservation instinct is currently stronger than my sex drive. That's a rarity but it does happen.

"So? It's warm, live a little!"

Addy laughs and throws her arms out, twirling in the rain, her skirt trying to flare out around her but too heavy with water. It's like the corniest movie scene you can imagine, but I feel one corner of my mouth sliding up against my will. This woman is nuts, but she's free. I can't imagine being able to do this with anybody in LA. Pointlessly I push the water out of my hair, trying to stop it dripping into my eyes. It only gets immediately soaked again anyway, so quickly I give up that plan.

"Seriously woman we need to get inside, this isn't safe."

"What did I tell you? This is Adora, stop worrying."

She bounds over to me and pinches my cheeks before throwing her arms around my neck, grinning all the while. They may make this look glamorous in the movies but mascara is streaming down her face and her hair has clumped together in these tendrils that make it look like rat tails or something. I put my arms around her waist hoping to pick her up and start dragging her off, but her lips meet mine and sucker than I am I give in for a few moments. As stupid as I feel and she looks, there's something oddly sexy about kissing a girl in the rain - hey, I've never done this before so add it to the list of things experienced. I ought to do it at least once in my life.

As we break away, I grin at her. "Dying after being struck by lightning is one way to stop worrying but I prefer myself raw rather than fried. Come on."

"Fine, fine."

Addy lets me grab her hand and we start sprinting in the direction of the apartments, since they're closer. Guess that means we're staying at my place tonight.

I knew this day had to come, but I'm inadequately prepared for how I feel about it. That's kind of weird, considering how long I've had to think about it.

Justin really should have packed last night but he's been complaining like a typical man that he can't get everything back in the cases. He insists his belongings have tripled in size since he got here, to which I can only roll my eyes. Mike is exactly the same, he's starting to think about England and he insists that his humungous suitcase won't be enough. He's only going for three days; a decent sized gym bag would probably suffice for most of his stuff. Naturally, I have wound up doing most of the work for Justin as I will wind up doing most of the work for Mike. Apparently the feminist movement hasn't covered the packing of luggage.

The weather has calmed back down after the storm, and the weather forecast over the Atlantic is decent so hopefully Justin should have a nice smooth flight home. The cab is booked for the airport this afternoon, he'll hop a short flight over the ocean and then from the mainland he'll catch his long haul flight to the US. He's a little preoccupied, but I'm assuming that he's nervous about his return. From what he says I'm guessing he has to have some uncomfortable conversations when he gets back; it's all very well running off to Europe but you do have to explain yourself when you arrive home. I'm preoccupied myself, wondering precisely how to handle this goodbye.

Packing has helped. It's a nice, methodical, boring chore that lets me clear my brain out. I made Justin deal with his own dirty laundry, folding that up so I could put it in a separate bag, but I've been systematically removing and folding his clothes before arranging them in the suitcase to take as little room as possible. Apart from a few souvenirs he's not taking much more home than he brought with him in the first place, so why he's acting like his stuff has been breeding and giving birth to new stuff he has no room for I'm not sure. A couple of designer labels have caught my eye - I've never heard of William Rast - but mostly I've been just quietly folding and packing and then rearranging when I think I can make it a tighter fit.

"Addy, did I put all my bathroom stuff in that bag?" He asks distractedly.

I humour him by not responding in my 'you're an idiot' tone. "Yes. You already checked twice."

"Right. You can tell I usually don't do my own packing, huh?"

"I'd never have guessed. Mom?"

"Assistant."

My mouth gawps a little bit. "You have an assistant who does that?"

A quick little flush comes to his cheeks, though I have no idea why. Maybe he's just embarrassed; that is really self indulgent. "Yeah."

That's clearly as much as he wants to say on that subject so we fall back into silence while I continue smoothing out shirts (it always helps if you can limit the creases at the other end) and he packs his hand luggage. Meticulously he checks and doubles that he has his wallet, passport, tickets and a few other valuables. There's something about it that almost reminds me of OCD; he checks, re checks, and then a third and final check.

It's probably a good thing that school starts back up again in a few days. I think it'll be easier to get used to him being gone knowing that I won't be left to languish on my own with no company while everyone else is out at work. Amazingly (can you hear my mental sarcasm?) everybody has started warming back up to me now they know he's going. Quite frankly, Dante is the only one I'm not treating a little frostily since Justin said he was cool to him. Mike, still being in favour, has heard the conversations they have when I'm not around and apparently he's pissed all over their stupid whining about Justin. I'm glad to know that my big brother is still sticking up for me and my friends.

Sadly, it appears that my last minute crack at NYC is not to be. The only spot they had left was in Los Angeles and I just didn't want to go there. My name's first on the waiting list for next year though, so it's not a total loss. The guy I spoke to was really apologetic and said they would have had the perfect spot for me but now it was too late to get the work visa ready in time. The only reason LA was still open was because it was covering maternity leave and she still had a few weeks left before she started on it. I'm disappointed, but another year won't hurt I guess. I just might have to put up with a new room mate after all - though I will slit my wrists if it's Antonio.

Okay, that's a little too melodramatic even for me, but I'll still sulk for a week or so.

"Addy, what time did the cab say it'd be here?"

Yes, Justin, the cab said when it would be here because cabs can talk. "The driver said he'll be here for two so you can get to the airport for two forty five. That'll give you time to check in and a little leeway if he hits traffic."

"Cool."

Justin has such a serious expression on his face. His eyebrows are all furrowed and his nose has wrinkled up almost as if in distaste. There's a pout threatening but not quite managing to emerge from his lips. Between tasks he seems to tap his fingers on any and everything. I complimented him on his shirt (it's a pretty baby blue colour that suits him) and he looked at me like I had two heads. I have no idea where his brain is right now but I'm not sure it's on the same planet as the rest of us. How scary are his parents, exactly?

I'm almost curious and concerned enough to ask him for his e-mail address, so I can check up on how it all goes. It doesn't take long for me to dismiss that thought; I adore him but I don't think I need to dwell on our little relationship here. He'll be there, I'll be here. I'm not going there and he's not coming back here. Dragging out the inevitable is pointless and awkward. People go home with all kinds of promises to stay in touch but you're lucky if they manage to keep it up beyond a week or two. These last few weeks with him have been a glorious little bubble of perfection and I don't want to pop it by doing the lingering death thing.

I mean… okay, I've entertained the thought more than I would have with anybody else, he is just that brilliant to be around, but common sense has to win out at the end of the day. I'll be a little sadder than I thought I'd be about it, but there will be no regrets here. We will finish as we started, just some no strings fun together, and I'll look back over this summer in my photo album and laugh about it. There has been much to laugh about, he is such a… what's the American word, is it dork? Well, whatever the Americans like to call it I call it being a muppet, and in the best possible sense Justin Timberlake is an absolute muppet. It's my favourite thing about him.

The sex will be sadly missed though; I'd forgotten how much fun it was getting laid.

***

I feel a little bad about the way I've been today. These were my last few hours with Addy and instead of making them memorable I've been morose and quiet.

The prospect of leaving is harder than I thought it would be. A lot of that is fear of the consequences when I get home, but a lot of it is this place. Adora has been amazing for me. I love it here. It's shown me a side of myself that I never knew existed, and there is no way I can go back to normal food after having all this freshly picked or caught and cooked cuisine over here. I'm healthy, I'm tanned, and I've been really active and had a great chance to relax as well. The air is fresh and smog free, you can see every last star at night, and the sunrises and sets have been mind blowing. The sea and the scenery has been beautiful; I'm going to miss the views. The dark blue of the sea water and the messy wild flowers growing around various palms and cacti, the dogs running everywhere who come bounding over to you, Carlotta with her funny accent and that lady in the store who's always so happy to see my money…

Then there's Addy.

This thing may have been casual and it will be ending that way, but I couldn't deny the fact that I've caught some feelings. Everything I thought about this before still stands, this thing has an expiry date and for a good reason… but in other circumstances I probably could have gone nuts for the girl. Trace always teases me about stuff like this; he says that I'm a co-dependent serial monogamist who'd fall in love at the drop of a dime. Whenever he says that shit, I just ask him whether he got it from Oprah or Doctor Phil. Lord knows only talk show hosts and women's magazines speak in such terms. Whatever Trace would have said about this - or will say about it, I'm not sure how much of this I'll tell him - there is a wistful part of me that wonders what might have been. There's no point doing that and I know it, but I can't really help it. Sometimes I'm just not in charge of what's going on in the back of my brain. I'm not in love, but in time I certainly could have been.

The distant sound of an engine and the crunching of gravel beneath wheels alerts us both to the imminent arrival of my taxi. We've been waiting outside in the sun with my bags. About ten minutes ago I said goodbye to Carlotta, Nina and Dante and headed out here to wait with Addy. We haven't said much of anything; she's just stood here patiently holding my hand. If she's at all upset that I'm going she's hiding it well. Her tanned face is arranged in a perfectly comfortable expression, not even the slightest hint of a frown on her lips. The car just appears at the top of the drive and confirms that it is indeed a taxi and not a local just stopping by.

"Looks like this is it," she says lightly, pulling at the hem of her tank top.

"Yep." That wasn't my most eloquent response ever but I have no idea what to say.

Addy doesn't either. Her gaze hits somewhere at my neck rather than my face, She's still holding my hand, and as she turns to face me properly her other hand kind of lightly claps against my chest.

"Take care of yourself, okay?" Her brown eyes hit mine with a strange yet still warm expression.

"You too." My arms reach out to fold her up in a hug for the last time, and when my chin hits the top of her head I can smell that funny mix of salt water, fruit shampoo and floral perfume. In the unlikely event I ever smell anything like that again it'll always remind me of this summer. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too. I have no idea who's going to reach that shelf for me now."

A chuckle passes my lips. Both she and Mike are too short for the top shelf in their kitchen, which amuses me since their dad designed the place. I've got a couple of inches on him so I can manage it.

"Good to know I've been useful."

This is so awkward. I have a million things I want to thank her for and say to her. I want to tell her how beautiful I think she is and how much I think she's going to offer the world once she goes travelling. I want to make her promise me that she will and that she won't make some excuse not to go. I want to tell her how great she's been for me this summer and how much of my sanity is now probably owed to her. I won't say it though. The words won't come and there's just too much.

"I hope everything goes okay when you get home." She says weakly, tucking a lock of dark hair back behind her ear and then pulling away. Her hand's still in mine and now that she's reminded me what I'm going back to, I'm almost afraid to let go.

"Addy?" My voice betrays a little of my fear.

"Yeah?"

"I, uhh…" Her hand gives mine a little squeeze and the cab is nearly upon us. "I know we said no strings, but…"

"Don't." She interrupts me with a warning glance.

"No, I wasn't going to say that," I respond, knowing that she thought I was about to drop the L word or beg to stay in touch or promise to come back. "We already agreed that and I haven't changed my mind. I just… I just wanted to say that if things were… you know… different, I would have… well, you know. Under other circumstances I really could have been with you."

"Oh," she says softly, her lips forming a small but perfect circle as she does so. One corner of her mouth tugs up and for the first time today she's betraying a little emotion there. It can only be a second before she answers, but looking at those espresso coloured eyes and trying to guess her response makes it feel like eternity. "Don't dwell on it. We were here and this happened this way for a reason."

Maybe it's presumptuous, but I'm going to take that as reciprocation. It was that half smile thing; clearly she didn't hate me saying it. That's a good sign.

The guy has now pulled right up to us, and she moves to leave. I tug her back, refusing to let go of her hand, but she looks up at me reproachfully and shakes her head. I guess she doesn't want to watch me leave. I can understand that. Still, I drag her back for one more hug and one last kiss. I fold my arms across her back and squeeze tightly, maybe too tightly, and the hairs stand up on my neck as her arms lock around it. Her hand rubs the back of my shoulder reassuringly but it's little comfort. I'm kind of scared of what I'll find when I get home. I'm almost ready to beg her to comeback with me and be my safety net. The last kiss is small but it says it a lot. Her lips linger on mine only for the briefest second before she pulls right back. This time I let her go.

I guess the cab driver's used to this sort of thing, because he doesn't bat an eyelid and just packs my bags quietly into the trunk while I watch Addy walk back into the complex and disappear from view.

"Man, you're loud brother."

"I told you to turn it down precisely because I was gonna sing it loud."

"And I heard you but you were still loud, man!"

I can only take this as Tim expressing some kind of surprise that I'm capable of that volume. Mostly that's because that kind of volume is at the upper end of my ability and it's a stretch. If I sang like that all the time I wouldn't have a voice left. My throat would be full of nodules again and it'd trash my vocal chords. If I ever get around to doing this song live I won't be able to push it out that loud every night, but for a studio version I like it.

This is going to be the twentieth track I lay down for this album, and I have no idea how I'm going to cut it down to twelve or thirteen. I have maybe three or four songs that are going on the record whether Barry Weiss likes it or not (though he's only made encouraging noises so far so I'll take that as a good), but the rest I have no idea. Tim and I are in the zone right now. After I got back from Adora, I spent the fall and winter just chilling out. I had a long talk with my parents about everything and we mutually decided I should continue to take a break and rejuvenate, but around March I started getting itchy again. It was a good itchy though, a fired up and ready to roll itchy. The break did me a world of good, because creatively I've never felt so full of ideas.

"So you still thinking you like that first riff or you want me to try something else?" Tim asks. As ever, half the backing track is being built around this crazy beat box he did and now we're just trying to get the melody right. We have the basics but it needs tweaking.

"I don't know." I pull off my headphones for a second so I can scratch my ear. "Maybe it's not the riff itself but we just need to get some effects on it, try running it through something else. Like, maybe it kind of needs to sound more synthetic even though it ain't."

A lot of people would hear me say something like that and wonder what the hell I thought I was talking about, but Tim always gets it.

"You happy with that take or you wanna go again?"

"I think if we splice that first half of that one with the second half of the one I just did we got it."

"Cool, come on out for a sec and hear this."

Typically, within thirty seconds of me making a suggestion Tim has got a few things for me to hear. To be fair, when all you're looking for is a sound effect and he has a zillion of them programmed into this board it's easier than some requests I could make of him, but the guy knows his shit. He plays me the same riff being put through a number of different distortions and all I do is say 'maybe' or 'no' to each. It's weird though, for all the possibilities we go through more often than not we'll both say 'yes' to exactly the same thing at the same time. It has been suggested that we share a brain in the studio and I'm not entirely discounting the possibility.

I'm trying to take even more control of the songs than I have done in the past, to the point where I'm even encroaching on what's usually Tim's territory in the studio. He doesn't care, just jokes that so long as I don't get so good I put him out of a job he's not bitching. That's what I like about him; some producers can be kind of controlling and they want you to stay in your box without ever learning about their role in everything, but Tim figures that the more his artists learn from him the better the energy gets in the studio. Two minds are better than one and all.

The past year has been all about taking control back. What Dad said to me when I talked with him and Mom was that sometimes you can control everything around you so tightly and get so wound up about it that you lose control of yourself, and I think he hit the nail on the head. I was so busy and putting my fingers in so many pies without ever really taking a break - my idea of taking a break was switching from one kind of work to another. My time away showed me that there is a part of me that can just be, without having to be somewhere or achieving something all the time. Mom suggested I see a counsellor as well, but I said to her I'd rather not do that unless I absolutely had to and I thought just continuing to relax at home for a while would do the trick. I owed my grandparents some time after scaring them half to death anyway.

It's been great. I still had to keep an eye on William Rast, but Trace took over the bulk of it and we limited my input to just creative approval for the time being and turning up to the shows. I turned down a bunch of scripts (though that wasn't such a loss because there was nothing all that inspiring) and did some travelling. After Memphis we went to Hawaii and then to Switzerland for some skiing and I have never enjoyed doing nothing so much in my life. Having that break has now allowed me to get my fire and my energy back and now I feel better than ever about doing what I do because I'm back in control of myself as well as my job. I really owe Addy for the life revelation here - I almost wish I'd taken her e-mail so I could send her a note telling her how great life is right now.

I also owe her because one of the songs definitely going on the album was sort of inspired by her. It's a kind of dirty, tongue in cheek thing (that description matches her pretty well I think) about thanking somebody for the fling and it was good while it lasted. The lyrics don't exactly fit our situation, Tim and I embellished a whole lot, but in spirit I think she's in there. I kind of like that, it's my own private little nod to her since nobody else knows about her. In the end I kept that part of my visit to myself; I think I just needed to leave that entire affair on Adora where it belongs and that includes telling the story.

Writing the song was the first time I'd thought about her since I got back and it felt good. There really are no regrets, and despite what I said to her before I left I certainly haven't found myself wishing it could have been different. In fact, I'm glad it worked out this way. I never felt the need to dwell on it, and now I have been thinking of it there's nothing but memories of a good time with a cool girl.

Dare I say it… the past year has fucking rocked. Given the depressed asshole I was when I turned up on that island, I consider that a minor miracle.

"That's the one" I say at the same moment Tim says "this one." It's the same tone you've heard all over the joint - Cher on Believe, Madonna in Music - but when you put it on the track rather than the vocal it does something a little funkier.

"Great minds think alike," I reply. "So you think Keri will mind coming in and laying down some backing vocals? I just hear her on this one."

"I don't know, I think she's supposed to be doing something with Nate for some up and comer I never heard of." Tim shrugs. "But we got time; I bet I can get her for a day or two."

"If not her who else?" I ask. "I really want a female on here."

"You sure?" Tim looks at me with a raise of his eyebrow. "I think it sounds pretty tight as it is."

"No, I need a girl on here. It's a song about flirting, I want them to hear who I'm going back and forth with... that sounds kind of dirty when I say it like that."

"Boy you make everything sound dirty these days. Sure sign you need to get some."

Tim is not the only one who has ventured this opinion. For the first time in my life though, I'm happy to be single. I've been a serial monogamist since the age of about fourteen, and I'm fast approaching thirty. In the past even when I haven't been in an exclusive relationship I've been at least dating around, and for the first time ever I've actually been happy to be truly single, alone and not dating at all. It wasn't a conscious decision; I was just so focused on getting myself better that women went on the back burner. After a while I started to notice that I was still single, and then I realised I was actually okay with it.

Whatever else Tim or Trace or anybody says about it, I'm still okay to be single. It's actually made me realise how much of my life was wrapped up in being in a relationship, and how much energy it took from me. In a fucked up way, I needed a girlfriend to keep going. I was taking something from these women that I should have been getting from myself already, and that's not healthy for me or the relationship. So now I'm happy to be finding that within for the first time in a long time, and when I do start dating again it'll be purely because the girl in question is just that awesome.

Yeah. This year really has rocked.

***

"Lil, where are the pans?" I ask in frustration.

"They should be in the kitchen with the rest of the kitchen boxes, Addy."

"Well unless I've gone blind, they're not."

"Oh. Maybe we should order pizza then."

"Good idea."

It's been over a decade since I last had to move house, and I cannot say that I particularly missed the experience in the mean time. Between Lily and me there are about seventy thousand boxes to be unpacked (we're female, it can't be helped), and apparently we didn't do as good a job of labelling the boxes as we thought we did. We had this cunning plan where we would put all the boxes in their appropriate rooms before starting and then just unpack them in order of necessity, but half the stuff seems to have wound up in the wrong boxes. We did our bedrooms and the bathroom first (we figured that we can go out to dinner or find other places to hang out and chill but we cannot shower or sleep elsewhere) and even then we've found a lot of stuff missing or in the wrong boxes. All boxes and furniture was definitely accounted for when the removal van got here, however, so the fault is ours if stuff is not where it's supposed to be.

Lily enters the room from the lounge where she was trying to unpack the electrical equipment and the entertainment centre. We have a cunning but pathetically female plan wherein the guy who comes to install the Tivo is going to, ahem, advise us on how to set up the other stuff. She's been setting up the shelves and cabinets for the DVDs and music collections - that's much easier, it's just wood and screws without wires and confusing cables. The fun thing about living with a millionaire's daughter is that he does not skimp on space or on electrical goods, even if we did buy a lot of cheap furniture. He offered to buy us more expensive stuff but we said no on account of the fact that we can foresee a lot of wine being spilled on the upholstery in the near future and if something's going to get stained, it should be a cheap something.

"Lord." Lily pretends to collapse over the kitchen counter. It's a very nice kitchen, all white tiles and black marble counters. This apartment is in a brand new complex so everything still looks very shiny and new. "I hate this. Why did I tell Dad no when he offered to hire some guys to help?"

"Because we'd only have wound up rearranging everything they did anyway."

"That was it, thanks." Lily doesn't lift her head but puts her thumb up at me in recognition. It's funny - I'm hot and sweaty in my shabby sweatpants and vest top, but she's wrecking her Juicy Couture right about now. I told her she should have worn something older and less pristine. "This and I know I'm going to wake up at some stupid hour of the morning. I hate time zones."

"I've seen tons of tourists manage it, it only takes a few days," I assure her. "Just be prepared to keep some funny hours in the mean time."

"You know what, I am so glad you're here doing this with me because I think I'd be going nuts already by myself. That's a bad sign since we've been here less than a day."

"It'll be fine, Lil," I tell her as I ruffle her now slightly lank hair. "It could be worse; at least they speak English as the first language here. You could have moved to Russia or something."

"It's like the phrase 'have a nice day' is following me around. I know they're just being polite and everything but it's everywhere, it's eerie."

"Are you honestly complaining that people in the service industry are being polite to you?" I snort. "You're going to last about five minutes before they decide you're a snooty English bitch."

"No chance of that with my accent," she replies. Her Dad's originally from Newcastle and has a strong Geordie accent which has somewhat influenced hers. "You'll be the one they think is all posh and rich." Finally she lifts her head and props her face in her hand, looking at me pitifully. "How long do you think this lot'll take to unpack?"

"Fuck knows. We may have unpacked it all by the time we're ready to pack to go home."

"Fabulous."

The past year hasn't exactly worked out as I expected it to. I had a very simple plan wherein I was just going to wait it out until the next September when I could go to New York, but life as ever has a funny way of gumming up the works. Thankfully when Mike left for England (of course he nailed his interviews and won the job) I didn't have to room with Antonio, Dante moved in instead after it was decided he needed to move out from under his mother's roof before she killed him, but it wasn't the easiest of matches and there was tension. He's a messy slob who was basically too used to his mother doing everything for him, and while I eventually trained him to be a little more considerate it took some time and expletive filled arguments. Antonio has now moved into my room in my stead, and I'm praying that when I go back those boys won't have trashed my beautiful villa.

According to the plan I shouldn't be in the US this early and should actually be on the opposite coast, but Lily came up with an opportunity that was far too good to miss. Her parents pulled some strings and managed to get her an internship with a start up fashion label based in Los Angeles - her father knows one of the financial backers through some business deal or another. Since the parent company is Spanish and a couple of the team they've sent out to LA to start things up in America are Spanish, they were keen to have some bilingual people on the team and so her father dropped my name as well as Lily's. At first I wasn't interested, I'm a teacher not an office worker and my heart was set on NYC, but I'd have been stupid to turn down the salary rise. For now I've got a year's contract, so if I don't like it then I can just return to Adora no harm no foul, but if LA grows on me I may have the option to extend.

I'm excited to live with Lily, as well. As you can imagine her parents made sure we got a great apartment (though my Dad did a lot of the leg work, since property is his turf) and I can't wait for the girly bachelorette pad to take shape and for us to settle in here. Let's just hope that we finish unpacking some time this century.

"You know, I had this ridiculous idea that we were going to unpack and have enough time to go out for a celebratory drink." Lily rolls her eyes at herself.

"You may have underestimated our belongings, which seem to be breeding. I thought the clutter was supposed to get smaller not larger as we went along."

"I'm starting to wish I'd said yes to Mum when she offered to help us out. Instead I told Dad that we didn't need any workers and Mum that we could do without her and I didn't want her to have a wasted transatlantic trip."

"Well that was thick," I observe.

"Yep. That was really thick."

"Though we're in America, we should say dumb now."

"We're English."

"When in Rome…"

"We're not in Rome either."

I can't help giggling. "Ahh, so willing to integrate into local culture. They're gonna love you."

"It's LA. Local culture is supposed to be fashion and materialism and I think I shop enough to fit right in," Lily ripostes. She's not wrong, even before her family got rich she could wreak havoc with a credit card. She just used to do it in cheaper stores. "Hey, didn't you say Lover Boy lived in LA?"

Ugh. I wish she'd stop calling him that. He has a name, though I'd prefer she didn't call him by that either since I'd prefer she stopped rambling on about him full stop. "He did a year ago, couldn't speak for him now."

"We could look him up."

"NO." I say firmly. "I don't want to look him up. It was a summer fling, Lily, and it was a summer fling you weren't even involved in so why you won't let it go when I did months ago I have no bloody clue."

Lily has been desperately annoying about Justin for the past year. Don't ask me why - like I said, it's nothing to do with her - but I suppose since she lost her own boyfriend she has to live vicariously through her friends. Still, I don't know why she fixates on Justin instead of Steve who is my most recent romance and who I was involved with far more seriously and for much longer than Justin. He was a holiday rep on Playa Del Sol but when I got the opportunity to come here and he got the opportunity to relocate to one of their resorts in Greece it just seemed like the right time to call it quits. We're still in touch though; he seems to be having a ball in Athens.

"You're no fun," she pouts. "Besides, we don't know anyone here so I don't know why you're turning down friends when you've got them."

"The whole point of moving new places is that you make new friends, Lil. We'll meet a ton of people through work and through that God forsaken yoga class you're forcing me to against my will."

"You knew the deal so don't complain now. You come to yoga and I learn to surf properly so I stop embarrassing you."

"You've missed out the fact that I also have to start having pointless manicures."

"In return for me driving you around until you learn," she counters. She's got me there; I never needed to drive on Adora since everybody else did, so I never learned.

"Fine, fine," I grouch. "Now, how do we find the number for Domino's because I really need food now."

Lily pulls out the Bible - actually a pamphlet from the landlord thoughtfully advising us on numbers we'll need and how various appliances work - and starts scanning down it for directory enquiries or whatever it's called over here. I find myself oddly calm about this move. Last year I'd been putting it off and being indecisive because I didn't want to leave Adora, but now I'm out and about in the world I feel good about it. I miss the clean air and my beach, but life in a big city feels like it might throw out some surprises.

I can't wait!

I can't believe that you actually have to pay extra to have real vegetables that haven't been laced in pesticide and chemical fertiliser, just so they can use the word 'organic.' How ass backwards is that? Surely buying chemicals is more expensive than just growing vegetables normally? I miss my island and all my fresh food.

Lily and I are having trouble getting round the supermarket without fisticuffs. She's used to convenience food and stodge - if I start eating that after years of the healthiest diet there is I am going to get bloated and fat. I will not let that happen. Apart from anything else, she always raves about the food when she comes to Adora so I don't see why she objects to me recreating that for us. I suppose we all just like what we're used to, continuity or something. We are slowly and painfully coming to find the middle ground, but it's very hard work. This is okay though - we've both lived with housemates before so we both know that the transition from good time pal to being under each other's noses twenty four seven takes a little effort.

"Well, at least you're not fighting me on the pizza," Lily says cheerfully. "Then I would have to kill you."

"Everybody loves pizza; I just insist on fresher toppings."

"Fair enough."

"Isn't compromise fun?" I beam at her with a sly grin.

"I have a feeling that overall this compromise just means it's you getting your own way but what the heck. I can't exactly complain about being made to eat fruit and vegetables."

"Well, you could but nobody'd have much sympathy."

"True," she snorts. "So are you all set for work on Monday?"

Wisely we gave ourselves a week to get out here, unpack and start getting to know our way around before we had our first days. The less stressful we could make this transition the better - that was our creed and it seems to have worked beautifully. It's only Wednesday and we've got the apartment mostly in order, so we have the whole rest of the week to explore. Though I still cannot for the life of me find my blue court shoes. I love those things and I know I definitely packed them.

"I think so…" I say slowly. "I'm a bit nervous, been years since I had an office job."

"I'm going to make a prediction," Lily announces to me. "The only thing you'll miss about teaching are the holidays."

Spoken like a woman who has never worked with children. They're a pain sometimes (though in all fairness so are adults) but you do get a bit attached. "Maybe," I reply in my most non-committal tone.

"Hey, can we stop by the magazines?" Lily asks as we round the corner to that aisle. She does love her gossip, that woman, which is I suppose why it works for her that she can wheedle any information out of anyone. If she wasn't set on being a designer, she'd make a great investigative reporter -or gossip hag if she didn't want to do the high brow stuff.

"Yeah, I want to buy some newspapers anyway." I've always had a newspaper with my breakfast so I need to try a few and work out which one I like before settling.

"Great. Now I feel guilty because not only are you Miss Health you're also more intellectual than me," she teases.

"Oh shut up." I don't say it without affection, but she does annoy me when she acts like I'm holier than thou. I'm not and if I ever start acting that way I'd like somebody to shoot me.

In companionable silence, she flicks through magazines while I flip through newspapers. I pick up Marie Claire and Glamour anyway, I do like my monthly glossies, but I have a mission to find my new breakfast read. I don't know why I bother since I skip half the pages anyway but I suppose I just like to have some idea of what's going on in the world, even if it is just a vague one. Also, if you get stuck in conversation and struggling for small talk you can always ask 'did you read about X' and it helps kick start things. Small talk is hard to come up with so keeping well abreast of current events helps.

"Oh God I hope not."

"What?" I ask Lily on the off chance she was talking to me and not herself.

"Justin Timberlake is far too good looking to be wasting his time on whoever this girl is. I never even heard of her."

Apparently I need my ears cleaned out. I cannot have heard her say what I think she just said. "Who and who?"

"Justin Timberlake and Alicia Warren. She's apparently on some TV show I never heard of and rumoured to be his new notch in the bedpost. Serious downgrade."

I think I deserve an award for how calm I'm being about this. You cannot tell me Timberlake is a common surname. "Let me see?"

She hands over the magazine and my worst fear is realised. There staring back up at me is the guy I spent last summer with. I walked, talked, surfed and slept with him. That silly, goofy guy, the one I kept making fun of, is a serious A lister according the article I'm now hurriedly skim reading. He's a musician and a movie star and has some fashion label too. The blue eyes, the big nose and the funny smile are all there. This is my guy. This is the unassuming and quiet guy I spent last summer hanging out and talking with, the one who told me that his life utterly sucked and he was really depressed about it. Like being rich and famous is a hardship.

That bastard. He told me he was a banker.

Oh, and if you're taking me as the starting point then yeah, Alicia Faketits is a serious downgrade.

***

For a while, I managed to be surprisingly calm about all this. I wasn't yelling or screaming. I did not shame myself in public, I held my composure. I didn't let onto Lily that there was a problem and I didn't say a single word about it.

Yeah. I think that must have been shock because now I'm PISSED and expressing it. Cushions have been thrown, feet have been stomped, and I let out a string of curse words to make any sailor blush. I've never been one to swear like a squaddie but right now I am doing so and at the top of my lungs. Lily went downstairs to check the mail so it's fine, she can't hear me. The wooden floorboards are wonderfully hard and allow me to make a wonderful clomping noise which sums up how I feel perfectly. Having come from all that time on Adora, relaxation capital of the world, I am not used to being this angry. Of course I've had stress in my life and problems and times when somebody's upset me, but the place is so laid back that it teaches you to be laid. Usually when I'm upset, I do it in a 'quiet disappointment' kind of way. I'm really not used to this rage and being so furious.

Honestly, I'm not even sure why I am this angry. This was a guy I had a quick fling with last summer. He wasn't really my boyfriend, we weren't that deep, and it was a year ago. I just… UGH. I just hate being lied to. And it was such a fucking stupid lie… did he seriously think that I was never going to leave that island again and so I couldn't find out? The stupid bastard even encouraged me to go travelling and to move to New York where hello, I'm guessing they're aware of his fame too. This really was the dumbest lie ever. That said, in hindsight it explains a lot about why he refused to go anywhere near Playa Del Sol. He said he hated tourists and I kind of assumed that if he'd been he'd been while I wasn't with him (there were a few days we didn't spend together). Silly me for assuming, silly me for swallowing that pile of crap, silly me all round really. I never should have trusted him.

Maybe this is what's pissing me off. Apart from him telling me that his name was Justin Timberlake and he's a millionaire, both of which are proved to be obviously true, I now feel like I can't trust a word he said to me. All those conversations we had about his problems and depression, everything he told me about himself, the amount of stuff we shared and all the advice he gave me, I just cannot believe a single word of it any more because he lied to me about something so stupid. Clearly I didn't know who he was, so was I going to care if he was famous? Hell, even if he'd said he was a musician and failed to elaborate at least then he wouldn't have actually lied.

Now because I know he lied once, it's like I can't trust anything about him or anything I thought I knew about him. It's tainted my entire memory of last summer, which up until now had been really perfect and positive for me.

"Okay, who killed your mother?"

"God, you startled me." I was so caught up in stomping that I didn't hear Lily on the stairs.

"Are you okay?"

"Patently not."

"Sorry, just didn't know what else to say."

"No, sorry, it's not your fault," I replied grouchily after flopping back onto my bed. I do like my bed. It's currently covered in beautiful powder blue sheets and it's very large and squishy. It goes nicely in my room, which is white with various blue accents on the walls and furniture. It's very light and airy.

"You want to tell me what's wrong?" Lily asks gently as she sits down next to me.

"Yes but I'm not sure I should."

"Why?"

"Because sometimes rich people get money hungry and you might go to the News of the World."

That confused her, because she's looking at me like I have three heads. It makes the freckles on her nose scrunch up together. "What are you chatting about?"

"You know Justin? Lover Boy Justin?"

"Yeah." She looks even more confused.

"You have to swear you won't tell."

"Sure."

"I mean it, Lil, on your father's life."

"Okay, now you're scaring me, what the hell is it?"

"Swear."

"I swear on my father's life."

"Lover Boy Justin is Justin Timberlake."

There's a momentary silence while she looks at me with a positively stupid expression on her face. In this moment she looks utterly vacant and lacking in any IQ. Her mouth is hanging open and her eyes are bugging out. Her mouth flaps a couple of times like she's trying to form words but doesn't remember how.

"You're not serious," she finally splutters.

"Deadly," I reply sourly. "I didn't realise until you showed me that article about him and that actress today. I'd never heard of him and he told me he was a fucking banker."

"How could you not know who he is?" She asks sceptically, clearing not believing me.

"I'm sorry, have you SEEN where I used to live in the back of beyond with no decent TV or internet access?" I say irritably. "If you don't believe me look in the photo album." I point towards my dresser, where the offending album is splayed open. I pulled it back out from the depths of the crap I hadn't yet put away just to check that I hadn't dreamed the whole thing and the guy in the pictures really was the guy from the magazine. Sadly, he was.

Lily rushes over there and positively screams when she sees it. "OH MY FUCKING GOD!"

"Louder, I think there's somebody in the Bronx who only heard half of that."

"You're not joking. Oh my fucking God you're not joking. That's Justin Tim… OH MY GOD YOU SHAGGED JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE?"

"Apparently," I reply bitchily.

"Do you have ANY idea how globally desired this man is?"

"Clearly not, since I thought he was a bloody jobs-worth in a bank." I can't help it, I'm pissed and upset and when added to my usual sarcastic tendencies that just makes me bitchy. Lily apparently is too astounded to take much notice of my tone anyway.

"Fucking hell, Addy," she says as she rushes back over to the bed with the album, flipping through pictures. "This is huge."

"I know," I reply bitterly. "Apparently Justin Twatmerlake is a big deal and he neglected to mention it. More than that, he actually lied to me about it."

"Oh." I've said before that Lily is a born agony aunt, and now the shock is subsiding her usual instincts are kicking back in. "You guys got pretty close, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"So the reason you're stomping around isn't because he got a new girlfriend or anything, it's just that he lied to you."

"I feel like that one piece of knowledge has just invalidated the entire time I spent with him." I pick at a loose thread as I talk, flipping over onto my stomach and kicking my feet in the air as Lily strokes my hair. "Like, I told you he'd been having problems and he helped me with some of mine and now I feel like I can't believe in anything he told me about himself or even about me any more. And it pisses me off because I adored him."

"Well, what did he tell you about it?" She asks. Oh God, I hope she's not about to tell me she owns his albums and is a mega fan or something.

"He said he was from Memphis, parents divorced, step dad's in banking too, umm…" I'm struggling to remember the details. "Moved to LA, likes golf…"

"That stuff's all true." She says. "It comes up in like every interview he does. Maybe it was just his occupation he lied to you about? I mean, you can get why if he was feeling like shit he might not want to flag up being a celebrity. I know you didn't get internet access out there but they cop a lot of shit from paparazzi and stuff."

"All that stuff about being depressed?" I ask her doubtfully. "You think that's true?"

"Well…" I seem to have her here, she's hesitating. "I don't know. I mean, from the outside I wouldn't have said so but… I don't know, babe."

"Yeah. Well I don't know either and now I'm wondering whether it was some bullshit line he fed me to live out some fantasy or play some stupid game with me to amuse himself. Hell, maybe it was just to get into my knickers, who the fuck knows?" I thump a pillow in anger.

"God…" she trails off for a minute, biting her nails. I haven't seen her do that in years. She brings her feet up under her on the mattress and lets out a loud sigh. "God. I can't believe I so narrowly missed meeting Justin Timberlake. If he hadn't been sick he would have been at that dinner I threw you guys."

"I wish you had, you would have recognised him." If I sound bitter, it's because I am deeply so.

"I'm having a tough time with the idea that you shagged this huge celebrity. He is a really big deal, you know. Please don't take offence, you know I think you're gorgeous and if I were a guy I'd shag you myself, but…"

"I know, none taken." I wave a dismissive hand, I know what she means. I'm having the same problem. Addy Elliott is not exactly a supermodel or celebrity or whatever. Hell, it's going to be new to me having to wear make up to work every day. I barely used anything but mascara on Adora.

Lily drums her fingers against the hard cover of the photo album, biting her lip. She always turns into a fidget when she's wound up. "I mean… you didn't just shag him though. You, like, had this full on summer romance with him. I know it was no strings, but…"

"He actually told me before he left that under other circumstances he really would have been pushing for more."

"Really?" Wow. If she was shocked before now she just looks… I don't know, what's a step up from shocked? Scared maybe? "You never told me that."

"Didn't seem pertinent, it never could have happened. Besides, it now turns out that I can't believe a word out of his mouth anyway."

"Is…" Lord, she looks like she's about to choke on whatever it is she's about to say. "Is that why you're upset? You felt that way about him?"

It's not a difficult question, but I'm struggling for an answer. It's one of those things where what's in my head does not want to come out in a nice, eloquent and easily understandable kind of way. "I knew he was going home so I never looked any further than that. I mean, I guess if he hadn't been going home I wouldn't have objected, so in that way I guess you could maybe say that, but I really wasn't looking to catch any feelings so I just never, like… I don't know. I can't think of it that way because I only ever had it in my head as a fling for a few weeks, you know?"

"But you liked him?"

"Really did." I respond resentfully.

"Because, you know…" Her face scrunches up in an expression that's somewhat worried. "It's not totally out of the question that we could bump into him. I mean, he's a jet setter and everything but he does live here."

"Heh. He'll ignore me with the rest of the common folk and I'll ignore him out of seething rage. It'll work out."

"He wasn't exactly ignoring you with the rest of the common folk when you two were having all that sex."

Sometimes, I hate Lily for being so astute and so unwilling to pull punches. "That was different. He was in a tiny village with nothing else to do. Here he has pneumatic actresses to shag and millions to spend and stuff."

"God." Finally she seems to give up, falling backwards and laying down. "Justin fucking Timberlake. My friend and Justin Timberlake. You're right; I bet the News of the World would pay a ton for this."

"I have photographic evidence and everything, I could use the money."

For a while we concoct a nasty revenge tale about exposing him and his lies to the world, with lots of dirty and slightly untrue details about him being crap in bed and having a small dick. The fact is that Justin's secret is perfectly safe with me and Lily, I would never kiss and tell and Lily would never splash my business around. The details get ever more outlandish and I burst into giggles when Lil tells a very detailed story about him sunbathing nude and burning his private parts, but it's cold comfort. I suppose feeling like you've been sliced open is just the inevitable unpleasant side effect of being stabbed in the back.

Hollywood parties are not all they're cracked up to be. Big names turn up to the hot spots and paparazzi camp outside and it all looks like it's glamorous. Nobody ever believes you when you say that they can be dull as all hell. I don't know why, enough celebrities say it is and the idea that we're conspiring to pretend our jobs are hard is much fucking dumber than the idea that maybe work parties and schmoozing are not the same as going out with friends, but whatever. The fact remains that sometimes these shindigs are cool and sometimes they make you want to stab sharp objects through your eardrums because deafness is preferable to that fucking bullshit being spouted at you.

Tonight, so far, is kind of a mixed bag. Trace and I only came to this show to support Elena Suarez and see if we could talk her into doing a small diffusion line for William Rast, and we managed to make contact with her and talk shop a little. Groundwork has been laid and this is good; we weaselled a promise out of her that we can set up a meeting to discuss the possibility. She's a nice lady and her people seem cool, so that's all fine. The problem is that we also had to do the press line and every moron who wants a better shot at their picture making the cut has been sidling up to me with a photographer hot on their heels and it's really fucking irritating. I did my work, I'm now trying to relax and have a drink with my buddy. Leave me the fuck alone.

Oh, and also, if one more person asks me about Alicia Whatshername I'm going to smack a bitch. This is what I get for agreeing to take one fucking picture with somebody at a premiere.

"So how seriously did she really take that diffusion idea?" I yell in Trace's ear over the insanely loud music. "Honestly?"

I ask him because he's so much more hands on with this side of things than I am; he's a little more fluent in the language. "Well her PA actually handed me her business card."

"Which means?" In taking things easier, my involvement in William Rast has been scaled back down to a point where I'm pretty much only approving shit and doing promotion. I wasn't that heavily into the business stuff (aside from overseeing and just making sure I know what people are doing with my name and brand) to begin with but now I'm pretty far back out of it. Once the album's done with I'll push back into it a little more.

"If they weren't willing to at least hear our pitch, she'd have smiled and said we'd set something up but never given us any way to contact them to do it. We'd be looking them up in the fucking phone book," Trace says with a laugh.

I let out a chuckle and take a sip of my whiskey. Usually I'm more of a beer or shots man at these events but I needed hard liquor tonight. "Cool. Just try and set it up for some day when I'm in the state this time."

"Fuck, man, it's time to let that go already."

"Why would I do that when it's results guaranteed?"

"Asshole."

"Munchkin."

"Fuck you."

Trace is such an easy mark. All these years later you'd think he'd work out that the fastest way to make me drop a cheap shot is to stop reacting but he still hasn't got there yet. It's awesome, he just looks so irritated and he gets so whiny. Maybe I'm a bad friend, but he's funny when he's pissed. He's so short he looks like a sulky twelve year old.

"You know, they reckon Alicia Warren's showing up soon. If you need me to get you a room…" Yeah. The problem with baiting Trace is that sometimes he swipes right back. I guess I can't complain since I provoked him and all - but he's still an irritating little hobbit.

"Thanks, I'll pass."

"You know, you really need to…"

"Get laid, I know," I interrupt him. "So you keep telling me."

"Seriously, isn't your hand tired yet?"

Trust Trace to lower the tone. Best thing to do is refuse to take the line. "Doing fine, thanks."

"How can you not have had sex in so long? It's been, like, since you broke up with Nicole."

Heh… no it hasn't. I haven't had sex since I waved Addy off at the apartments but I haven't mentioned that to Trace yet. He knows that I was friendly with some locals and that some of them were girls, he has heard her name before, but the whole sexing it up thing never got mentioned. Mostly because I didn't need the inevitable shit he'd give me about it.

"Really, it's not a big deal," I tell him with a shrug. "I hate to admit it but the females might have a point about sex not being everything."

"Who are you and when did you lose your balls?" Trace responds in mock disgust - or at least I think it's mock.

"Quit worrying. When I meet a suitable attractive female I'll be back in the game."

"Good, 'cause I was worrying. I was starting to think maybe you had something you wanted to tell me about Lance."

Maybe I'm just slow (or drunk), but it took me a minute or so to get that he was implying I'm homosexual. It wasn't up to his usual standard, he's normally much wittier. Seriously, people don't look at Trace and think he's a wit (probably because, let's face it, he is an irritating little hobbit) but he can be seriously hilarious when he puts his mind to it. I guess because he's worked out that all these years later I'm not going anywhere he's quit making the effort.

"You know, homophobia is just fear of your own latent sexuality."

Heh. Now it's taking him a minute or so to realise that I'm implying he's homosexual. I enjoy abusing him right back.

***

I am a stupid, stupid man. I should know better than to get hammered the night before a nine am meeting. My head is no longer killing me but still kind of delicate, and no matter how much liquid I pour down my throat I cannot rid myself of that cotton mouth feeling. It's not really a hangover, I'm in no danger of tossing my cookies, but I'm not exactly at my brightest best. My IQ is probably temporarily missing ten or fifteen points. Which is awkward given that I'm meeting Barry Weiss to argue… I mean, uhh, discuss which songs will go on the album.

The problem is that I'm having a really hard time listening to him right now. We're slouched back on the comfortable leather couches in his office and to be honest I'm more inclined to sleep than sit up straight and pay attention. It doesn't help that he's on a spiel right now, yammering on about promo schedules and how excited they are and blah blah blah. I'm grateful that they're excited and I should be taking a keener interest in this promo plan considering I'm the one who's going to have to follow it, but I really want to go back to bed. For a week if possible but I'd settle for a few hours. I almost wish I had that concealer stick my make up artist uses to get rid of the circles under my eyes.

"So… shall we get to the track list?"

"Yeah, sure." Reluctantly I pull myself upright so my body language is more attentive and less lazy bastard. This I need to actually concentrate for.

Barry opens up the slim leather folder he's been holding on his lap and pulls out a piece of paper and a pen from it. I can see it's got scribbled notes all over it. "Right," he says setting it on his knee. "If we start with the songs we're keen to get on the record?"

"Go ahead," I acquiesce as agreeably as I can manage.

"Okay… we're definitely thinking Rewind, Turn Me Out, Knock Knock, Taking It Back, Do You Remember Now."

This may be the best start to one of these negotiations ever. Three of those five I definitely wanted and the other two I'm pretty okay with depending on how the rest of it shapes up.

"I'm a definite on Remember, Taking It Back and Rewind," I tell him, "and the other two are definite possibilities."

"Excellent." Barry smiles as he ticks three and puts question marks next to the others. I can just tell he was thinking the same as me on the whole good start thing. "Twenty five percent right off the bat ain't bad."

"Probably a record for us." A grin spreads on my tired face and he chuckles back.

"Speaking to the big wigs…"

"Big wigs? Because you ain't important," I say sarcastically to the head of my label. That makes him laugh again. It just amuses me that he still doesn't place himself in that category half the time even though he's one of the most high powered men around here.

"No matter how high you get, there's always some ass higher up who could squash you like a bug."

"Ain't that the truth," I groan. "Sorry, you were saying?"

"Right, back to the list… rest of it's all looking pretty negotiable, which is a good situation to be in where we got lots of choice. I figure if we take a look at the three we definitely want and try to come up with whatever concept or theme that you want running through and we'll narrow it down from there?"

"Sounds like a plan to me," I nod. This is why I like Barry, he always knows what he's doing and it limits the need for me to know what I'm doing.

"Only songs the opinion polls weren't so hot on…" He glances down the list, tapping his pen against the name as he reels it off. "Mirror…"

"Nah, me neither." I scrunch up my nose. "If you need a b side it's fine but not the album. That was kind of an experiment that didn't come off."

"Nix Mirror," Barry agrees while striking a line through it on the page. "We thought Stand Trial sounds a little too much like What Goes Around."

"Uhh…" I'll agree on striking it from the record (excuse the pun) but it does not sound like What Goes Around. I do not make the same record twice… and I was about to argue that point with him until I realised that if I don't want it on the CD anyway it is so not worth it. But that song is so not like What Goes Around, anybody with ears knows that. Or at least they would if they heard them both to compare. "Yeah, okay, we can ditch that one."

"Uhh…" he scans his eyes through the rest of the names. "Wow, another good run, only three to nix. This bodes well for the album." Barry smiles encouragingly, tapping his pen against the folder. "Last objection is Here's To You."

"That I want on the record."

He shifts in his seat and tries to explain their thinking. "What people said about it was that they thought it was a little too far out of your niche."

"Which would mean it's different and shows off my versatility."

"General consensus was that there's enough potential amongst the rest of the songs and that they're more cohesive together as a whole, we're not sure where Here's To You would fit."

"I want it on the record. That one's non-negotiable for me."

"Okay…" Barry says slowly, tapping his pen and trying not to let a fight brew. "What are you thinking about it, I mean, what to you makes this song so important?"

Hmm. I can't tell Barry that I wrote it about some chick nobody knows about and I really want to put it on the CD as a personal tribute. Well, I could if I wanted to be laughed out of his office. That's by no means my only reason, the song rocks if I do say so myself and screw this not stepping out of your niche shit, but even though it is a dirty club song I do have some sentimental value invested in it. You'd think that if you were going to get attached to a song it'd be a ballad and not some dance beat, but it holds a memory for me.

Also, more than anything, it's a kick ass song that I think I can make another SexyBack out of with the right promo attack. I'm not sentimental - or stupid - enough to put a piece of shit on my album because some girl was cute.

Playing with my watch, swivelling it around my wrist, I try to put this in as convincing and professional a way that I can. "I just think that it's the standout track. I mean, you guys have picked it out as being different and to the left of everything else on the list, and that's what I need. I want to keep showing off versatility and bringing something new and unexpected in; I don't want an album of twelve songs that all sound the same, and that track will kill in the clubs."

"I can see what you're saying and true enough there could be a club market, but we need tracks to kill radio more," Barry points out.

"Yeah, I know. But you guys thought SexyBack was too club oriented too and that turned out okay." That was a serious side swipe, but I'm playing hard ball on this one. I'm more than happy to negotiate the rest of them since they already agreed to all my other must haves, but this album is not hitting stores without this song on it even if I have to beat these guys into submission. Metaphorically, obviously, I'm not about to bite the hand that feeds.

Thankfully he took that little jibe with grace and lifts his hands up as if in surrender. "Fair point. Okay, if we leave it on the maybe list for now you can have your chance to change people's minds, but you'll have to be prepared to plead your case. People really weren't convinced on it."

"There's precedent for that." I shrug. "It always grows on them."

"Great. Well…" Barry looks down his list again to sum things up. "We're agreed that Remember, Taking It Back and Rewind are on there for sure, Mirror and Stand Trial are definitely out, and everything else is absolutely negotiable. I already mentioned we're looking to get Knock Knock and Turn Me Out on it, is there anything else you feel particularly strongly about one way or the other before I finalise the maybe list?"

"No." I shake my head at him. "Just the three we're already agreed on and Here's To You I want on there, everything else I'll take opinions on."

"Great. All in all that looks pretty promising to me, gives us a good foundation of definites and a lot of great maybes. In which case I'll get a time set up for you to come back in and sit down with everyone instead of just me, and we'll hash it out then."

"Can you try and get Tim there, if we can find a schedule window?" I ask. "I kind of feel like this one isn't going to be as obvious as FutureSex/LoveSounds and I'd like his take on it, if we can."

"Sure." He scribbles a note on his pad. "I'll try to get that set up for the next couple of weeks, sooner the better so we can start planning the advertising. Have you thought any more about a title?"

The title to this album has eluded me. I mean, with the group and then solo albums the titles haven't always been my personal idea, but I've always had ultimate say. Well, not so much in the group, I had a fifth of the ultimate say, but you get me. None of the song titles I've got really makes sense to me to sum up what this album is, though I guess maybe that could change once we finalise the track list. I don't know… you'd think that you just make twelve songs and that's it, album done, but this shit is more complex than you think. Or at least it is if you care about getting a good cohesive record together and not just churning it out as fast as possible.

With a smirk I think to myself that maybe banking is less complicated.

I absolutely love it when the dulcet tones of The Kaiser Chiefs blare out of my phone. Why? The reason would be that the dulcet tones of the Kaiser Chiefs blaring from my phone means that ex boyfriend Steve is calling. A lot of people don't like it when exes call them but I make a habit of staying friendly with mine wherever possible.

"Steve-o!" I say brightly as I flip it open and press it to my ear.

"Alright darlin'?" He's equally chirpy. "How's it going?"

"I never knew that office work was so dull and yet so interesting."

"That doesn't make sense darlin', you know that?"

I love Steve's accent. He and Lily both have a Geordie parent in common, but since Steve's father is from Liverpool he's also got a hint of Scouser in him. Newcastle accents and Liverpool accents are hard enough for the unacquainted to understand on their own, but together they're near incomprehensible unless you're very used to it. Hardly anybody ever understands what Steve is actually saying and some have even said he sounds like the village idiot, but I love his accent because I think it's hilarious. I never say this to him though; it's one of those things that are okay to think but not to say. Some things just never sound as innocent or well meant as they are when spoken out loud.

To be honest, though, I did spend the first couple of weeks of our courtship concentrating extremely hard trying to make out what he was saying; it did leave me with a bit of a headache.

"It does in my office," I explain. "Paper work is boring and having to translate boring admin instructions to people in Spanish is boring, but office politics are fascinating. Oh, and couture clothes are fascinating too."

"Wangled any freebies yet?"

"No, but I do get to borrow an outfit for the party she's hosting next week. Apparently everyone in her inner circle has to wear her couture for these shindigs. Lil's just annoyed that as a lowly intern she doesn't get to."

"Yeah, I bet she was well pissed like, seeing as this was her thing to begin with."

"She was, but then she remembered that she gets paid much better than me."

"Ahh. Well in the case if yous can keep her in designer shoes that'll keep her happy."

I love the way he says 'yous' instead of 'you.' Don't ask me why, he does abuse grammar a lot. "So how's Greece?"

"Yeah, it's alright," he says cheerily. I imagine him giving a shrug as he says it. "I never thought anywhere'd be hotter than Adora but effing hell."

"Aww, you suffering?"

"Bit, yeah. I comfort myself knowing it makes the lasses walk around in less."

I roll my eyes heavenward, laughing. "Oh yeah. It's alright so long as you can see more tanned flesh on display."

"Only from the lasses, mind!" He says with mock indignation like I was suggesting he likes boys. "The lads can put it away."

"But it's good, yeah?"

"Oh yeah. It's easier to give cultural tours in a place like Athens than Adora, because try as I might there's no way to make one church and Bonzo's Wave Park sound cultural, like. Talking about Greek Gods is a bit more convincing. Night life's good though."

"Pulled any one yet?" I ask casually. It's not fake casual either, I really don't mind if Steve is dating anybody else. It may be the easiest and most mature break up I've ever had. Lily looked sceptically at me and said it must mean we never cared that much to begin with, but I told her to shut up. I adore Steve, I just don't adore him enough to spend a year pining over being unable to see him. I don't think I adore anybody that much.

"Forgive me, Lord, for I have sinned."

"Tell me you didn't."

"I was really rat arsed."

In translation, this means that Steve copped off one night with one of the tourists. This isn't unusual behaviour for reps - hell, in some resorts it's basically the only reason they took the job, to score with as many holiday goers as possible - but Steve shares my general abhorrence for drunken tourists. He must have been rat arsed to have slipped in such a way.

"How rat arsed?"

"About twelve pints and God knows how many shots later, I'm surprised I could even get it up. Worst of it was I turned over in the morning and the beer goggles must have been on, like, 'cause she was a serious minger."

My friend is telling me that he got drunk and slept with somebody he doesn't even like - thus risking all kinds of diseases - and I really ought to be more concerned than doubled over cackling. I swear, it's the way he tells these things, I have no idea whether he's trying to be funny or not but it's just the way he says it. Even as he protests down the phone about how it's not funny and she really was that ugly, I just keep howling with laughter.

"And then to add insult to injury I went down the clinic to get tested and it was a bloody woman who didn't speak a lot of English, so I got no warning before she'd just picked it up and shoved a swab in it. And she was way better looking than the bird who started it in the first place."

"Stop it, stop it," I tell him gasping for air. After a while laughing starts to get painful, I now have a stitch. "This is what you get for shagging tourists you know."

"I know, I know, I'll never drink again. How about you, love?"

"Not yet."

"Not yet she says, already got an eye out?"

"I will soon have a hot couture outfit to wear to a posh industry party; some hot men have to be there right?"

"Well I'd offer my presence to guarantee it like but I believe I'm scheduled to do the airport pick up. Or maybe the kids' club, God 'elp me."

Steve hates doing the kids' club. Sugar and sun hyped children are an absolute handful and for some reason he just does not have the organisational knack it takes to keep fifteen children in any kind of order. On days when he ran the club at the Regent on Adora Hell tended to break loose, so after a while they stopped making him. The kids of course loved him, the adults who were having their quiet pool time interrupted by the screaming didn't. I guess the hotel in Athens hasn't worked this out yet, or maybe children are just better behaved in Greece. I doubt it, but it could happen.

"God help you, God help them you mean. I have no idea how you haven't managed to lose or maim one yet."

"Jesus loves me."

"Yeah. Okay then," I snort.

"You know you never believe me and that's very hurtful, Addison."

"It's going to get very hurtful if you ever call me Addison again."

"But it pisses you off so much, it's great!"

I hear the door slam downstairs and Lily yelling "ADDY" up the stairs at me. She sounds somewhat agitated. "Oh, Lil's home babe, I've gotta go."

"Yeah, I should probably get on me way as well. Good to talk to you darlin', and remember if yous want come out just give us a shout, yeah? I know Lil's loaded but my ten percent discount should still not go to waste."

He makes me smile, bless his funny little heart. Steve's just a generous soul by nature, very open and easy going; Mike has been known to suggest that he's me in less PMS-y form. I just smiled and proved him right by giving him a good smack for saying it.

***

"Well?" Lily asks me, biting her nails as she does so. Without even looking up I gently slap her hand away from her mouth.

With all our stuff finally unpacked and the grocery shopping done, our kitchen seems a bit homier now. We still need to wear in the furniture so it looks more lived in than pristine and new, but it's coming along. The worktops are shiny and clean, we have a pretty fruit bowl sitting on the island between us and we're both perched on tall cushioned stools while we chat. Two steaming mugs of tea sit by us - hers half drunk and mine not yet touched because I'm concentrating - and it's quite cosy.

"Lil, I thought I told yous not to go hunting through gossip rags for this shit," I say with mild exasperation. I didn't notice the Steve like slip up until it was already out of my mouth.

"I can't help it," she groans, tapping her neat fingernails against her brightly coloured mug. Little Miss Trouble, it says, they got that right. I'm Little Miss Sunshine, which is right about eighty five percent of the time. "I cannot process the information that you shagged the superstar without having huge curiosity about him for a while. It's a phase, promise. I'll be over it by next week."

"Just in time for the next weekly issues to hit stands and spark it back off," I respond knowingly. To her credit, she doesn't even try to keep the guilty expression off her face.

"But… I mean, wouldn't we have known if he'd come into see Elena? Hell, wouldn't you have been in there?"

"Last time I checked Justin could speak English, a translator probably wouldn't be necessary."

"Oh, yeah. Forgot."

Lily's role is pretty standard for a fashion intern. She makes and cuts patterns, does some odd jobs, colours in the sketches for the designers (I teased her about that, offered to buy her an executive box of Crayola), and she does some of the stitching and beadwork on the handmade stuff. In all reality she's a very well paid dogsbody, but she just loves being in that atmosphere and being around the designers so much that she doesn't care. She just likes knowing how it all works. My role is a little stranger. As a translator I'm at the beck and call of Elena's executive team aka the inner circle (not all of whom are bilingual like she is), but often enough I'm not needed in that capacity and I just revert to being a general admin assistant. I'm part PA, part receptionist, part typist, part every menial office job you can think of.

I told Steve it was boring, but it's actually not that bad. I had no idea what the fashion industry was about (I basically spent the last twelve years in a bikini and some shorts) so there's a lot of new information to take in and learn. Office politics and people watching are more interesting though, and I do get to speak to some interesting people on the Spanish side of things. They like me because unlike most of the non-Hispanic folk around here, I don't just speak the necessary business Spanish. I can chatter away like I was born Spanish myself and they like it because they can have a bit of a laugh and a joke with me.

So really, I had enough entertainment going on without Lily bringing home People magazine and its short blurb claiming that Elena's going to design some things for William Rast, which is apparently Justin's fashion label. Well, he did say he was an entrepreneur as well as a bloody banker, I guess on that front he wasn't lying. That makes a nice change for him.

"Even if it is happening," I tell her after finally closing the rag and tossing it at the surface in front of her, "they're not going to require my services. It'll be a US only thing which won't need the Spanish folk involved for me to have to translate, and it's not like they're going to need me in meetings. I'll never have to set eyes on him."

"God, you must be the only person I know who wouldn't want to confront him."

I shrug my shoulders and put my palms out in a 'so what' gesture. "He lied, I know he lied. Me badgering him for details or yelling at him isn't going to change that and it's not going to make me feel better. I may as well just let it go."

"If I'd lived on Adora too would I be as laid back as you? Or is it just you?" Lily asks wonderingly.

"Bit of both, probably." Another shrug. "I just really don't see the point, hon. I don't want to know him, I don't want to scour the magazines for what he's doing, I just want to forget about it and leave it last summer where it belongs. I had my 'what the fuck' moment and now I'm over it."

"And like you said, it might not even be true. It does sound kind of like they're basing this on pure proximity."

"Exactly."

Lily sounds more like she's trying to convince herself than me, but I think I'm safe from Tosserlake. I really cannot believe that if there were serious intentions to do something for Justin Timberlake or for Justin Timberlake to ever show up at the building there would be so little gossip about it. I've heard nothing about this from work; Lil's had to read it in a tabloid. That doesn't exactly inspire confidence in the reliability of the tale. If there is any truth to it then I'd assume it's still in preliminary stages and may not come off, and even if it did then it doesn't mean Justin would come for meetings here. For all I know he's just the celebrity face and the money. Whatever might be going on between Elena Suarez and William Rast, it's early days yet.

It was kind of funny to put a name to Trace's face though, he mentioned him a few times. He's shorter than I imagined him.

Of course, Lily still can't let it go. I can tell by the way she's squirming in her seat and tugging at her ponytail, in under sixty seconds I can expect her to try and continue on this conversation despite my attempt to draw it to a close there. She can be entirely infuriating like that, it must be said. In a way, I think she's so used to people just naturally opening up to her (and they do, it's freaky how she makes people start spilling their guts without even trying) she gets confused when somebody doesn't. Even if she knows that there's nothing else to really say and that there's no problem, you can tell her it's fine until you're blue in the face but she may not necessarily get it until she's forced every minutiae out of you so she can work through it herself.

"But… theoretically…"

"Theoretically what?" I ask dangerously. Silly girl misses the tone.

"If you saw him again, especially in a work setting, how would you react? I mean, for all you know he'd be thrilled to see you."

"I doubt he cares," I reply curtly, "and if he does that's tough shit for him. The guy's a knob."

"You said you adored him though. As far as you can tell he told you one little lie to protect his privacy."

"LITTLE lie?" I'm seething now. She really needs to know when to quit.

"Well, okay, it was…"

"A total misrepresentation of who he is and what he does that renders everything else he said to me untrustworthy."

"But how would you react? It could happen, you know."

She is obsessed with it happening, I don't know what's with her. She apparently wants to dwell over this thing more than I do, I wish I'd just stayed on the phone to Steve now. In the unlikely event that it happens, I'll brush it off just like I'm trying to brush off the whole discovery of it in the first place and like I would have already brushed it off if she had quit harping on about it already. I really don't understand what her deal is, but I'm acutely aware that because I'm reacting she'll take it as evidence that I care more than I'm admitting to. The idea that it's her pissing me off and not so much him won't cross her mind, funnily enough.

I've never lived with any female other than my mother before and I'm starting to see a downside. It never occurred to me before that the qualities about somebody that make you love them can be the qualities that make you pissed at them if you're overexposed to them. Maybe that's my own fault, I should have considered before I moved in with her that this weird ability to make people open up and her own complex about wanting to understand everybody all the time might get annoying when you just want to drop a subject and let it go. That's who I am, I don't dwell on things. I stay laid back and just let them go, and on Adora I was surrounded by people who were the same and who encouraged it. Apparently big city life is a little more neurotic and I'm not sure I like that aspect of it so much.

"I'll cross that bridge when I come to it," I say crossly as I pick up my now lukewarm tea. "In the mean time, I'm not going to waste all that time and energy obsessing over something that may not even happen and wouldn't matter much if it did. I suggest you do the same."

"But…"

"But nothing, Lily." My tone is now outright hostile and there's a serious warning to it. God, a week or so in LA and I'm already becoming a bitch. Maybe it's the food; I don't care if they call it organic it's still processed and I can feel the crap it's putting in my system. Maybe that's what's making me cranky. I miss Adora and its beautiful fresh food and its less nosy people. "Forget about it."

"Okay, okay." She holds up her hands in surrender and starts flicking through the magazine, doubtless to look at all those articles she passed over in order to search for any mention of Justin.

"So what was the cell phone count? Trace asks once we're finally all seated and the waitress has done the standard 'I'll give you a minute and come back for your drinks order.'

"I saw at least three on my left," Rachael replies with a roll of her eye.

"I got two on the right," Nick adds.

"Any further adds?" Trace says looking at me like I do anything except look at the floor when walking into restaurants. I've discovered that it's just easier not to point my face in any direction where somebody may get a good shot. Also, I really hate this little tally tradition that Nick started because it just reminds me that I live in a goldfish bowl.

"Okay then, today's show was brought to you by the number five," Nick announces in an official tone.

"Today's show is going to be brought to you by my middle finger if we don't change the subject." Yes, I'm tetchy, but today has been one of those days where the paparazzi feel like the James Bond style car chase is a good idea on the Los Angeles freeway. This was why I insisted on coming to this restaurant, because they have private rooms. You have to pay through the nose for them but I'd like some respite from being a display subject for the freak show. People really don't seem to find anything rude about snapping pictures of me on their cell phones throughout my meal.

"Here's a new topic," Rachael announces. "I've been meaning to ask for a guy's opinion on this for a while - sides of the bed. If you get into a new relationship and you both normally sleep on the same side of the bed, who wins out guy or girl?"

"Umm, why?" Trace asks with a raised eyebrow.

"Because Lacey's been bitching about Rob for a while because he just assumed she should have to give it up."

"I don't know," I shrug. "Flip a coin?" It occurs to me that either every girlfriend I've had has handily preferred the opposite side to me or that they've just very quietly given it up without a fuss.

"She won't shut up about it. It's getting to the point where I think she wants us to tell her that it makes him the world's worst bastard so she should dump him."

"Why do women do that?" Nick complains as he scans his eyes over the starters. "If you don't like the dude just dump him, don't fabricate lame excuses to make somebody else tell you to do it."

"Says the guy who whined to me for a week straight that his girlfriend left tea bags on the counter and dumped her for it," I say while trying to work out whether I want a steak or a burger. These may be the world's most expensive burgers at thirty bucks a pop but this is the price I pay for privacy.

"That shit stains," Nick responds weakly as Trace leans back in his chair, clapping his hands and laughing.

"Whatever, she's starting to piss us all off."

"So tell her!" Trace says to Rachael as she shakes her head.

"No, not worth it. Then she'll just get pissed at us instead. I'm trying the old change the subject trick, I figure I have about three more days before she notices I'm doing it."

"Oh, sorry to change the subject myself…" I say as I remember the shit I forgot to ask Trace this morning. "Where are we on that meeting with Elena Suarez?"

"She hasn't got an open in her schedule for the next two weeks but next Thursday she's throwing some shindig with her sponsors for cancer research and we are invited to come along."

"In other words they know he's famous and will bring the cameras as well as the sizable donation," Rachael assumes.

I think she's probably correct, but this is the way this shit works. Usually if I don't want to go I'll say no and just send a small donation. I know I'm rich and it's good to give to charity but no matter what people think I cannot just throw million dollar cheques at everybody any time I feel like it. I don't have that much money and I still have my own shit to be paid for. I clear my conscience by having a few charities I make yearly donations to, my own charity and putting my face to various PSAs for them. I prefer to do the work and appearances for them rather than just hand out money all the time.

"Am I even free on Thursday?" I ask her since she's the one who has my official schedule. It immediately sends her delving into her purse for the little black book where she writes down my schedule. Grabbing it, she pulls out the weird ribbon thing that marks her place and flips over the page to the next week.

"You have that track list meeting with the label in the morning and that's it."

Turning to Trace, I consider the opportunity with the twitch of my lips that says I'm not sure. "How lame is this thing likely to be?"

"Lame as hell, but you can guarantee everybody major at her office will be there - even the ones we wouldn't meet at a prelim meeting," he points out. "It's prime schmoozing territory."

"Is that your way of telling me that you're going and I'm expected to turn up with you?"

"Yep."

"Okay, okay," I say with a sigh. Soon the album promotion will start again so I'm trying to enjoy the rest of my free nights work free before they become all work and no play. Sitting next to me, Rachael quickly scribbles 'Suarez event' into the space that represents next Thursday night.

"It's a date," she says as she caps her pen and tosses everything back in her bag.

"Yeah, I think it's kind of sad that Trace is the only person Justin can get a date with these days," Nick says with a smirk.

"I can get a date with anyone I want, ass," I reply with a middle finger at him.

"Which means that you're choosing Trace and actually that's just worse."

Rachael pokes at my arm. "He's got a point…" She jibes in a sing song voice.

"So what you guys are saying is that even going somewhere with anybody male or female is a date?" I ask slyly. "In which case you're all some serious fucking whores."

Even if they had a reply to that, they have to shut up anyway because the waitress has come back and I've already decided I want the biggest steak they can fit on their plates.

***

"It's true though!" Rachael persists as we all laugh at her (or in my case, near choke on a mouthful of fries laughing at her).

"It's so not true."

"It is!" She insists, stabbing a cherry tomato with her fork. "You guys all go on about the natural glow or whatever but most women only achieve that glow with a ton of concealer and blusher. If you saw them without make up you'd just think they had bad skin or looked like crap or whatever."

"You look fine with make up," Nick disagrees. "You're not wearing any now."

"My point exactly. What you think is me in my natural state is actually foundation, blush and mascara."

"It is?" Trace leans over the table and gets right in her face. For his trouble he gets shoved back into his side of the booth.

"Do not ever do that when you're eating garlic," she tells him with a disgusted, scrunched up expression. "But see, that's my point. You thought this was natural, it actually took at least ten minutes in the mirror this morning."

"You know…" I say with only a slight pause while I chew thoughtfully on a fry. "She may have a point. I think I've only ever known one girl who routinely didn't wear make up."

"Who, Claudia Schiffer?" Nick says sceptically, obviously pissed over having his world view disproved by the fact that Rachael was deceptive in her application of make up.

"No, this chick I met on Adora while I was over there last summer," I say as I fork up some of my salad. "In fact, most of the girls in that town didn't wear a lot of make up but that was probably because it would have all melted off their faces anyway, that place was fucking boiling."

"But that doesn't count, I bet those girls all had years of glowing tan built up," Rachael points out while she picks up her beer.

"True, true," I concede. "But I have to admit, a couple of times I wondered that if that was what she looked like without make up what the hell she could have done to a guy when she was making an effort, those girls were hot."

"Hmm." Fuck it, now Trace is looking at me all suspiciously. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything. "I don't recall you mentioning any hot girls on that trip. Of course, you tried to tell me that jetting off to the Mediterranean was some kind of hardship for you."

"I was going through a hard time and I did mention to you that I'd done a lot of surfing with the locals, she was one of them," I shrug.

"Name?" Nick says casually. He says it too casually; I can tell he's watching for a reaction.

Oh well, I'm an actor as well as a singer now. "Umm… I want to say Addy. Addy or Annie or something like that. She was cool. That whole place was cool actually, it's nice to be able to go to a restaurant without having to take a tally of how many people are taking pictures of you."

I'm taking a leaf from Rachael's book and trying to subtly change the subject, thankfully, they seem to be falling for it.

"You miss the anonymity?" She asks with a sympathetic expression.

"Yep. None of those people had a clue who I was, it was great. If somebody was being nice to me it was because they liked me, and I know that when they emptied the trash in my room they weren't going through that shit."

"Maybe you should buy a place out there, make it like a regular vacation spot," Nick suggests. "Can't be too many places where they don't know who you are, unless we're talking Third World countries."

"Maybe," I agree without sincerity. I already decided Adora's going to be a one time thing for me. "Though to be honest I think I'm only missing it right now because I know my name's about to go back up in lights. The stalkerazzi are already putting more guys on me."

"Oh, really? I hadn't noticed," Trace says sarcastically.

He must have personally flipped off at least three in the last week, and that car chase today wasn't exactly a hoot. There have been times when I'm honestly afraid for my life when they do that, or if not mine then somebody else's when those bastards run red lights to catch me up. It gets worse the more of them they have on you - if you just catch amber at the last second before it turns, the entire procession of paparazzi behind you will run the red regardless of how long it's been red. They don't just sneak across at the last second; they will all just keep driving regardless of oncoming traffic. Maybe the first one or two would just be a little cheeky rather than outright dangerous, but cars six and seven will still be following. I don't understand how nobody's dead yet.

"Is it time to get the guards to start driving you?" Nick asks sensibly. It's not a bad plan, they're all trained in defensive and evasive driving, but I resent it. I should be able to drive my own damn car but while I'm on promotion I wind up being driven everywhere, even in LA where I'm at home and could drive myself. If I'm in NYC or London it makes sense that I'm not driving, but if I'm in Los Angeles you'd think I could drive myself around without being harassed.

"Why can't I drive my own fucking car," I whine.

"This is the price you pay," Trace says grimly. Sometimes I think he feels awkward when I complain about this shit - he gets most of the perks with far fewer of the downsides. He's making a really good salary, he gets to travel the world with me living the high life, but he doesn't get tailed unless he's with me. In a weird way, sometimes I think he feels guilty when I'm going through one of the shittier phases with the press.

"They ought to mention that in the record contract."

Normally I don't grumble so much about this stuff. Over the years I've become pretty resigned to the fact that it won't go away and all I can do is come to terms with it. It's just that having taken so much time off over the last year, being so chilled and about as low key as it ever gets being me, I guess that now it's starting back up again I have to get used to it again. It's kind of like alcohol - if you don't drink it for a while it takes a lot less of the stuff to get you hammered. If you're out of the media shit for a while it takes a lot less of the stuff to piss you off.

Rachael throws her arm around my shoulders and gives me a quick, silent squeeze. My friends have all learned by now to just let me get it out of my system, they're pretty good about it.

"Whatever, sorry, I'm being Debbie Downer."

"Nah, no problem pal," Nick says congenially as he picks up his beer. "Of course, this is why I think you should be going out and getting laid. There's gotta be some consolation out of this fame thing, right? So why not the ability to score whoever?"

I chuckle, pushing a piece of lettuce around with my fork. "Maybe. I was thinking about it, but I can't be fucked to start something up right now when I'm about to start travelling so much."

"No, traditionally he waits until the tour so he can drag her with him," Trace says with a glint in his eye. I resent that, I've only done that with… fuck, the last three girlfriends. Maybe he has a point. It's dangerous to ever admit that to Trace though, he doesn't let it go.

"I don't drag anybody anywhere," I protest. "Is it my fault that women will cross continents to keep this?" I gesture at my torso.

"Beauty is a curse. Lucky for you you're safe from that and it's only your money the bitches are after," Nick swipes.

"Lucky for me," I agree. "Otherwise I could be a loser like you who has to beg for it."

Rachael rolls her eyes at us. "Men. I don't know why they call women the bitches because you guys are way nastier to each other than we are."

"No, we're just more overt about it. You bitches are sneakier." That's Trace's contribution to the gender debate.

"Whatever." Rachael's is a little more succinct.

"You know it's true."

"Girl you know it's true… ooh, ooh, oooooh…"

"Can one of you please tell him that anybody who sings Milli Vanilli at my table doesn't get their lunch paid for?" I gesture at Trace and Rachael with my knife because I refuse to look at Nick after that display.

"Isn't this lunch technically going on business expenses anyway?" Rachael asks.

"Yeah, but still," Trace smirks. Since we're running around between meetings and this lunch was technically supposed to involve my agent who had to bail at the last minute, it's going down as a business expense. I don't understand how it works but apparently there's some tax reason to do that. I just listen to Dad, he's the finance guy. "There's no excuse for Milli Vanilli."

"If only they knew that Justin Timberlake is doing the same thing. Do you think they'd take your Grammys away too?"

"Ass."

I throw a fry at his head. On the bright side, my friends may say stupid crap like that to me but it's distracting crap. That little snatch of crappy singing cheered me right up.

Call me naïve, but I always thought that a so called business lunch was really just an excuse to expense a nice meal. You claim there's some vital purpose to it and the company pays for your food, seems fair to me. After all, it's taxing trying to think of a good excuse for why two people desperately need to have a meeting at a fancy restaurant instead of in the board room.

Apparently this is not the case. I have spent all week attending various business lunches and spending more time making notes than actually eating. It makes me very, very grateful that Lily and Alex yanked me out of there for the more traditional not-really-a-business-lunch before somebody could take me on yet another actual business lunch. It's criminal for me to have to leave a fifty dollar meal barely eaten because everybody else was able to eat instead of take notes and wants to leave; both from a fiscal and hunger perspective. I wound up having to buy myself a second lunch mid afternoon because I was that hungry.

"So will you do it?" Alex asks.

"No. The kind of courage required for that only comes from the Netherlands," I say shaking my head.

"What?" He looks at me quizzically, unable to work out why Lily laughed. These Americans have no appreciation for my sense of humour.

"Think about it for a second, you'll get it," Lily tells him with a smirk.

Alex is one of the designers who are mentoring her and he's also in charge of dishing out the outfits for this event on Thursday. He wants me to wear this blue satin corset dress thing which I dutifully tried on to be co-operative but had to veto. I'm not averse to showing a little cleavage but when my boobs are up around my ears that's when I know I'm dressed like a slut. Also, that dress gave me breathing issues; he yanked those laces so tight I think he may have cracked a rib or two.

"No, I just don't," he protests with a sip of his mineral water. All these Angelenos or whatever they're called make Lily and I feel alcoholic, apparently wine with lunch isn't so socially acceptable in LA. "You Brits have a weird sense of humour."

"It's just a little too sophisticated for you," Lily teases before dipping some more bread into the olive oil.

"Bite me," he responds cheerfully. It's weird, my part of the office is very politically correct; you can have a little fun and make some jokes but you have to be kind of careful. In that workshop downstairs however the PC brigade would probably suffer nervous breakdowns just on entering, they will say anything. "So come on, explain why this is so funny."

"But explaining the brilliance of my quips ruins the effect," I tell him.

"Think about," Lily ignores me. "Things from America are American, from England are English, from the Netherlands are…?"

"Dutch," he responds correctly.

"So what kind of courage comes from the Netherlands?"

"Dutch… oh! Well so why didn't you just say Dutch courage? Or better yet just admit that you don't have the balls to wear couture without getting drunk first? Are all you Brits such alcoholics?"

"Hey, just because you're Mr Miyagi or whatever doesn't mean the rest of us can't have a little fun," I tell him while blowing a discreet raspberry. We are in the middle of a nice restaurant, after all.

If the Mr Miyagi comment makes no sense, we call him that because he's some martial arts freak and his body is a temple and he's on some purification diet or whatever. We work on the theory he was tied to a chair and forced to watch the Karate Kid over and over again as a child… though that doesn't explain the penchant for fashion design. To totally defy all stereotypes, he's also straight.

"You're destroying your livers."

"Actually, red wine is medically proven to have health benefits," Lily replies in a faux snotty manner.

"Like what?"

"Don't know, didn't read the specifics. All I needed to know was that finally I had a legitimate excuse."

"Something to do with preventing heart disease, or maybe antioxidants?" I chime in helpfully while making a show of taking a sip.

"I don't believe you."

"You never believe us," Lily laughs.

"Yep," I nod. "One of these days you're not going to believe us when we tell you a car's about to hit you or something and you're going to feel really stupid when it does."

"Well who could ever believe a word from you two after that Viscount crap?"

"It's true!" We both whine in unison before laughing about how we whined in unison. I'm sorry, but it's not our fault that sometimes the truth is more outlandish than fiction. We really did go to a party at a viscount's country manor (Lily's dad worked with him) and his son really did get drunk, hit on Lily and then try to climb into one of the seventeenth century suits of armour to impress her. Maybe that bit's believable, but the part where he fell out of the window seems to have convinced Alex we were telling fibs. Every word is true though - unless you ask the viscount's son who swears he got that scar on his arm on safari in Africa. Masculine pride is a fragile thing.

"Sorry, sorry…" We're breathlessly joined by my next door cubicle neighbour Aurora (who else thinks of Sleeping Beauty every time they hear that name, I wonder) who throws herself into the seat next to me as if she's run a marathon. "Did you order?"

"Chicken Caesar salad as requested," Alex parrots.

"What would I do without you," she says with a grin before holding a bag out to me, handle dangling from her finger tip. "You owe me, woman."

Even though I know what's in there, I still start to squeal like a kid at Christmas. I reach in and pull out that beautiful, shiny box which tells me that I am the proud new owner of the very latest, greatest and shiniest Blackberry on the market. Lily gives me that look only rich people can - that look which just doesn't understand the giddiness of getting expensive freebies through work that you can't afford yourself. Of course this is a work Blackberry so I'm going to have to keep personal usage to a minimum, but do you think I care? Now I don't have to pay for work calls on my own cell phone AND I get this beautiful shiny Blackberry, the kind that would only arrive on Adora six months after the rest of the world had got over it and moved onto the new model.

"You are a goddess, I love it," I tell her gratefully.

Aurora is in charge of the office budgets - she gets to decide whether we can buy more printer paper, whether somebody can have a new lap top and who is allowed company credit cards and phones. I have a genuine business need in my capacity as general dogsbody to the senior team, but Aurora only went out and grabbed it for me personally because I'm special and I buy her Starbucks muffins. It's our deal, I stop by Starbucks for our morning caffeine and sugar hit and she gives me special treatment. In truth she also buys me lunch half the time so it even out monetarily, but the special treatment is what I care about.

"You should, I don't do that for just anybody you know."

"I know, I owe you."

"I will collect."

"I know," I pull one of her curls (she has the wildest afro hair, I love it) and giggle while busily gazing at my beautiful new Blackberry. I can't wait to get back to the office and set it up, but for now I have to put it away since the food will be here any second. There's also a spare bottle of water we thoughtfully ordered for Aurora so she's busy opening that while smirking at me.

"You know it's kind of weird for a girl to get that excited over a gadget," Alex tells me with a raised eyebrow. What he's trying to imply about my femininity I'm not sure.

"Nah, she cried when her kids send her their school project this morning. She's a girl," Aurora snorts.

You can make as many derisive noises as she wants, but I keep telling her that if she hasn't worked with kids she cannot understand how cute it is when your class's project with their new teacher was to make you a scrapbook in English to tell you what they're doing this year. The English was kind of terrible so it's good to know they're not doing much better with her than me, but it did make me homesick for a short minute there. Then the phones started going crazy and I had to snap right out of that, too busy.

My response is to pull out my blouse and peer down it at my bra. "Yep, definitely still a girl."

"I don't know, let me check…" Alex starts leaning over but with a short sharp yank Lily pulls him right back into his seat.

"Pervert."

"Shut it Red."

Lily is very grateful that in America she gets referred to as Red rather than Ginger. Though funnily enough people stopped calling her Ginger like it was a bad thing when her parents got rich… what a strange coincidence, huh?

"Bite me," she replies cheerily. She's adjusted very well to American slang, it has to be said. Somehow it still sounds unnatural coming from my mouth, and since Lily and I have similar accents it can't just be down to that. Alex keeps telling me to practice dropping 'shizzle' into sentences and it'll sound like I was born and raised here, to which I could only reply that to fall for that would mean I was born yesterday, wherever it was.

"Why are people hovering at that door?" Aurora changes the subject, staring quizzically around the room. There have been a lot of buzzy whisperings in here but hey, what are lunchtimes for if not gossip?

"I hadn't noticed anything," I say with a shrug.

"Last time I was in here and that happened, Jennifer Aniston was in there," Alex contributes.

"Oh. It's probably Miley Cyrus or something equally lame."

"Don't say that," Alex admonishes her. "We're supposed to dress Miley for some thing soon."

"Oh." Aurora looks grossed out, her nose is scrunched up in distatse. There are certain celebrities she thinks the label should not be associated with no matter how much publicity you get; I knew Paris Hilton was one but I guess Miley's on the list too. "Well let me know when that's over so I can go back to thinking she's annoying again."

"Oh you can still think she's annoying," Alex flashes a sly grin at her, "just don't say it where anyone can hear you."

Believe it or not, I got briefed on this very thing since Elena is starting to make a name for herself and get celebrities wearing her as an up and comer. It was a lengthy yarn that basically could have been summed up as "don't bitch about anyone in public." Their idea is that you can and will be associated back to the company and your thoughts and opinions will be assumed to be those of the company however far that logic has to leap.

"If I don't think the thought then it can't accidentally fall out of my mouth," she replies.

"Good point," Alex concedes.

The food then arrives and we're too busy tucking in to say very much. Alex tells a few distasteful jokes that make all three of us choke; I'll be surprised if we make it through this meal and nobody has to deliver the Heimlich. It's nice to be able to do this with people who aren't Lily. As much as I love her, I do need friends who aren't her. For a while there I was almost worried I wouldn't make any, LA has been such an adjustment for me. I still can't get used to the pace of the city; I miss my beautifully laid back beach. Everybody here is always so busy and their lives are packed to the last second and there's no time for spontaneity. My life, sadly, is getting like that too. On Adora Dante and I might decide to go fishing on a whim, or to drive to the volcano for a hike. Now even my weekends seem to wind up structured and scheduled with work drinks or whatever. Nobody seems to just be, you know?

For a while I felt kind of like the place and the people just weren't me. I didn't understand them, they didn't understand me and I was starting to feel like I was going out of my mind. I still hate this emphasis on beauty, too. Everybody assumes I exercise my butt off and that I'm one of these five in the morning boot camp exercise freaks who's on a macrobiotic low carb diet and all that rubbish yet the second I tell them I'm not they look at me like I'm obese or something, despite the fact that I'm as healthy and in shape as any of them. I'm sure a doctor would probably say I was healthier than them since I'm not starving myself. It's apparently not enough to be thin and healthy; you have to be doing what they think you should be doing to attain that. Sensible diet and exercise with a lucky pinching of good genes is not enough - they want extremes.

I said that to Lily though and she then started panicking about the eating disorder they're still convinced I had no matter how many times I say otherwise, so I had to quit that soapbox.

Gradually, though, I've started to get used to it. I'm learning that there are normal people around, even if they do move at a faster pace than I'm used to, and that different types of people can be good for me if I let them be. Alex, for example, is good for exercising my sarcastic side. Aurora and I compliment each other; I'm so laid back I calm her down when she's stressing, but she's so efficient and organised she gives me a kick up the butt if I'm moving too slow. Being so laid back isn't always a good thing when there's a deadline looming and you're not moving urgently enough. I am slowly getting into the groove, but it's been a much bigger transition than I thought it would. Though heck, if I'm this bad in LA thank God I didn't go to NYC where I'm assured life goes even faster.

"So much for the Miley Cyrus theory," Alex smirks. I have my back to the door so I have no idea what he means.

"What, who is it?" Aurora twists in her seat.

I don't need to twist in my seat because the 'my friend fucked Justin Timberlake' expression is all over Lily. I haven't seen it since I last snapped at her about letting the whole sorry debacle go, but I'm assuming if it's back on her face that he just walked out of there. Glancing to my left and right, though refusing to look behind myself, I see people all staring in the direction of the door, some with their phones and cameras out to take pictures.

"Justin Timberlake. Now you definitely can't say shit about him in public. This diffusion line for William Rast is practically a done deal," Alex divulges.

"Really?" Aurora says interestedly but without turning away from him. She's talking in a low voice from the corner of her mouth since we're not supposed to make the possibility public yet. Even though the magazines already have. It's complicated. "I didn't think they'd even had a formal meeting yet."

"They haven't," I reply while trying to keep the sour tone from my voice. "Nothing was in anyone's diary."

"Elena's set on it," Alex explains. "A Timberlake association is currency and she knows it. It's just terms they need to agree."

Wow. I didn't know bankers had such power in the fashion world. Here was me thinking it was just Wall Street they had their dirty little hands all over.

Aurora keeps nudging me to take a look, so I try and hide behind my hair while doing so. Sure enough, there he is, standing uncomfortably by the door with a guy I now know to be Trace. They're apparently waiting for their companions who are lingering in conversation with a waiter and gesturing at the bill. Clearly he's uncomfortable with the attention, so I guess I can see why he avoided Del Sol. I don't think there's one person in this room who isn't staring at him, though in my case it's against my will and better judgment. People are not subtle and have no shame; they're not even attempting to hide the fact that they're taking pictures. It's probably what it feels like to be a zoo animal, or maybe a freak show attraction.

Oh, and also, he looks like a hobo. His jeans are tucked into the kind of lace up boots only construction workers should wear and he's growing a small furry animal on his face, possibly a squirrel. It's not attractive. As much as I thought I was prepared for the possibility of clapping eyes on him again, my stomach is still twisting into the same pissed off knot it did when I saw that wretched magazine. It was such a stupid fucking lie, why did he have to spoil everything by telling it? I really wouldn't have given a shit who he was.

As much as I don't want to gawk at him like everyone else (not out of any compassion, his very presence is just irritating the shit out of me and I don't want to pay any attention to him), it's oddly difficult to turn away. I don't manage it until finally he catches sight of me and the look of stunned recognition hits his face.

I'm a little perturbed by how perturbed I am.

Trace doesn't get it and keeps telling me to snap out of it, like anybody can just click their fingers and stop feeling a certain way. He doesn't get it; but that's probably because my explanation wasn't exactly the fullest ever. We talked about my depression and why I went to Adora, but I don't think he ever really got the extent of it. Again, that might be because I underplayed things, but it was difficult enough having that conversation with my mother who's a lot more perceptive and persistent. He'd have to be an idiot to miss my reaction on seeing Addy in that restaurant, but once again I managed to play it down. I haven't lied to him about anything, I wouldn't, but there's stuff that remains unsaid and unless he gets it into his head to ask directly, it'll stay that way.

First of all, it was a shock to see her. I don't just mean that in the obvious 'what the hell are you doing here' way, though there was a lot of that too. Maybe she decided to do LA instead of NYC for that teacher exchange thing after all? She didn't exactly seem keen on LA… whatever, I can't say I care. The fact is that she's here and that's weird enough in itself; in my head she belongs on a Mediterranean beach in her bikini with sun block and sand clinging to her. What got me first though wasn't so much that she was here, it was how different she looks. The Addy I knew was tanned, smiling, bare-faced and relaxed. If it was possible to be any more laid back than horizontal, she would be. The Addy in that restaurant was wearing make up - not just a little lip gloss, but a full face of make up. Her hair was coiffed instead of flying around her face in the wind, and she was all dressed up like she meant business.

"How long is this likely to take?" Rachael asks, snapping me from my reverie.

"Hopefully not long," Trace replies. He's driving and I'm riding shotgun, staring out of the window without really taking in any of the scenery. "We just go in, drop off the documents and while we're there see if we can bump up our meeting."

"Yeah, remind me why we're doing this instead of a courier and one of those staff we pay to call people for us?" I ask.

"Because we happened to be headed this way, it's cheaper and it's not so easy to bullshit people about there being no gaps in the schedule when they ain't in front of you."

"Or maybe you're just an anal retentive control freak who has to do shit the hard way."

Trace starts cussing her out for that and I just grin. Rachael is so right it's not even funny. Well, it is, but you get me. They even succeeded in taking my mind off of Addy for thirty seconds. It's not like I've been obsessing for the last few days, but I saw my surfboard in the garage this morning and it brought her to mind.

She looked uptight, too. Even before Addy realised I was looking at her and her expression went all hard and scary, she looked tense. Even in our heart to heart moments when she was talking about shit she'd been through or that was worrying her, she never looked so wound up. That's what really kills me, that scary expression on her face. I was just getting over the shock and about to head to her table for a delighted reunion (because my ass was happy to see her) when she gave me the death bitch glare and turned her back on me. She turned her fucking back on me. If there hadn't been an audience of gawking diners I would have marched over there anyway, but while I don't mind witnesses to a nice little catch up I am not dumb enough to let my adoring public see me get bitched out or ignored or whatever. That's a gossip columnist's dream, some mystery woman giving Mr Hollywood the big brush off.

Three days later, and I've pretty much worked out that she must have realised I'm famous by now. It'd be hard not to see some article about me somewhere, we are in paparazzi central.

Since this is the only thing that could have changed since the last time I saw her, I'm thinking that's why she's pissed. Which seems pretty unreasonable to me, the more I think about it. Okay, I lied, but it was one lie and in context it's a pretty understandable one. It can't take much to see why a celebrity if given the chance might fail to mention his fame and riches to some total strangers he's never met before. People always assume they could handle it and be blasé about it, but whether they realise it or not the second they find out they treat you differently and you can see it. Some manage to stay cooler than others but with all of them there's still that little extra attentiveness, agreeing with you more than anybody else, kissing up to you just that little bit.

"Hello?" Trace waves a hand in front of my face. "Earth to Butthead, are you listening?"

"Nope." I yank my cap down over my eyes and purposely ignore whatever expression he may be pulling or finger he might be flipping.

"Fine, your loss."

"Not much of a loss. I could definitely go without hearing that you can't keep it up ever again. Just get the bitch a vibrator and stop whining."

I burst out laughing, Trace bursts out swearing, and Rachael just grins evilly. I can see her in the mirror. "Rach, babe, I love you," I tell her.

"Who could blame you?"

"You're both brain damaged, both of you." Trace mutters.

"Oh lighten up," I tell him.

"This coming from Mr 'I'm Sulking Because Some Ho I Met Last Year Doesn't Wanna Know," he snorts loudly. "Not exactly Mary Fucking Sunshine, are ya pal?"

Fuck, I'll be truthful, he's not wrong. I have been kind of pissed. He's massively exaggerating, it really only was this morning that it's been on my mind, but he's not entirely off base.

I'm pissed because the second I saw her I thought maybe I'd get to show her how much better I've got since she last saw me. I'd idly daydreamed about the notion once or twice, so the idea of making it a reality was great until she and that icy glower of hers burst my bubble. Hell, I didn't think she had it in her to look that fucking evil. I was kind of scared of her, which is the other reason I didn't risk trying to say hello anyway. My ego while healthier than it was isn't exactly invincible (no matter what certain gossip bloggers will try to tell you). She just… she was such a big part of my little psychological break through that in a weird way, I kind of wanted her approval or congratulations or something.

It's pathetic to want validation from some summer fling you only knew for a couple of months, but I'll admit it.

It shouldn't bother me so much and I'm kind of annoyed with myself for letting it. It is pathetic, she was just a summer fling, and it wasn't like I wanted to rush over there and immediately resume it. In all honesty she doesn't look so hot right now, when somebody's clearly so uptight it's not attractive. Her hair doesn't look so cute scraped back like that and she doesn't need the war paint either, she looked better without it. It's not even like I suddenly wanted us to be best pals; I only thought it'd be cool to meet her for a drink sometime and catch up. I could get this stupid need for approval out of my system and she could tell me about her travels, since she's finally taken my advice and got off that island for a while. It would have been a nice way to round that whole episode off, you know? A quick epilogue to see we're both doing good and maybe get a number to send the odd 'hi' text once in a while. That would have been cool.

Ugh, fuck it; I need to stop thinking about it. Trace says it's just my narcissistic need to be liked by everyone that's making me sweat this, not any care for the woman herself. There may be something to that, except for that dumb ass narcissistic part. If she wants to be angry about last summer she can be angry, it's not my problem. I have no regrets.

Well, no regrets except trying squid. That shit was rubbery.

***

"No woman, I'm telling you, she's booked solid."

"But I definitely scheduled it in her diary!"

"Clearly you didn't because I'm staring at it and it's booked solid with meetings that aren't with you," says an really exasperated British voice. I can't fucking believe it.

"Are you calling me a liar?"

There's some chick in a pencil skirt standing in front of a reception desk with her arms folded. She's glaring at Addy who is sat back in her chair glaring back with just as much gusto. Of all the fashion houses in all the world she just happens to work for the one I'm trying to get on board for a diffusion line? What are the odds? This shit only happens in movies; it's way too coincidental.

"I am stating a fact - your meeting is not scheduled in her diary. Infer from that what you will but stop standing there like this is my fault or I can do something about, because it's not and I can't. I also have about a zillion phone calls that you're keeping me from."

Trace leans into me and in a low whisper asks me the question. "Dude, am I dreaming or is that the chick from the restaurant."

"I wish you were dreaming," I mutter back. I'm not enjoying Addy in LA. Maybe less than three minutes is too little to judge, but LA Addy seems like kind of a bitch.

"I thought you said this chick was really chill?" He says incredulously. "She looks like she's got a major stick up her ass."

"Well it wasn't there when I left," I whisper back with a shrug. Rachael is just rolling her eyes at the pair of us, but she's crabby anyway because she thinks this little errand is a waste of time. I can't say I disagree with her but hey, I had nothing better to do.

The lady who can't schedule meetings flounces off in an obvious huff (the effect is ruined by her stilettos which are so tall they make her stride really short - she's waddling) and Addy immediately presses a button on her phone and starts talking. She's got a really expensive looking wireless headset on. From the way those two were talking to each other I don't think either of them noticed they had visitors and it's not exactly a great impression to make. Addy still hasn't realised, I don't think.

"Sorry Tess, Nancy was just being a moron again. Yeah, whining about Elena not turning up to a meeting that's not in her diary. I might have been nicer about it if I wasn't already busy as hell… so yeah, cars for Maria and Stefano, I need to book flights for you and David and book a meeting space for the Bloomingdales pitch on the 15th, right?"

There's a bunch of assenting noises as she listens to whatever this Tess person is saying and much scribbling of notes. Her brow is furrowed in creases that I don't remember seeing once on Adora. The woman looks stressed, no other word for it. Her make up isn't quite hiding some dark smudges under her eyes and her shoulders have hunched a little. It's hard to equate this woman to the one I knew, yet I know they are one and the same. I guess it goes to show that no matter how hard and fast you click with someone, it takes a long while to get to know them properly. I'd never have guessed she could ever be like this.

She hangs up and would have immediately gone to make another call if Rachael hadn't stepped forward and said 'hi.'

"Hi, I'm sorry I didn't see you there." Props to her, she seems unembarrassed by what we heard and by the fact that she's clocked my presence. "What can I do for you?"

"Hi, I'm Trace Ayala for William Rast," he steps forward and goes into business mode. "We're just dropping off the proposal for Dan."

"Great, thanks." Addy takes it from him and immediately stashes it in a neatly labelled cubicle. Funnily enough, it has Dan's name on it. That would make sense. "Dan's not actually in the office right now, did you have an appointment?"

"No, no," Trace says waving a hand. "But we do have a meeting set up with Elena that I was hoping we could pull forward?"

Addy shakes her head. "Sorry, but she's booked solid. Next available appointment is probably later than the one you already got."

Trace gives her the date and a really crappy attempt at a charming smile, but politely she runs through the diary anyway. She's avoiding my eye completely, but at least that's an improvement from the bitch glare. Rachael stares at me curiously wondering why I'm staring, but I'll tell her later. If I can muster the inclination, that is. It's just weird to see her go from so bitchy to so clinical. Even in my own thoughts I sound like a broken record, but I just cannot believe this is the same chick who dared me to kiss her in a lightning storm and who laughed at me because I was afraid of a spider (a huge fucking ass spider, I might add).

"Okay, okay, I give in, you're right." Wow, she got the annoyingly persistent Ayala to cave. Impressive. "But this thing is still on for Thursday night, right?"

That was a definite look passing over her face. She had no idea we'd be going, and I'm guessing the discomfort means she will be too. Seriously, coincidences like this just do not happen. "Yes it is. Tickets are going out by courier tomorrow so your offices should get them by three, latest."

"Great, thanks," Trace says. "And also can you point me at a bathroom?"

"Down the hall and to your right. Can't miss it." She points with a wry smile.

"Ladies' room down there too?" Rachael asks.

"Yep."

It's not until Rachael starts walking after Trace that I realise this leaves me alone with Addy. He had better not have done that on purpose, the little bastard, or he's in for some pain. She ignores me, naturally, typing away with alarming speed and occasionally tutting when she reads something she dislikes. I can only see her top half, clad in a crisp white shirt with her hair straightened and pulled back in a pony tail. It's a far cry from her past bed head look. Contrary to what girls think, sometimes less is more on the styling front.

"If you're going to stare at something please stare at something that isn't me," she says dryly and without turning her head from whatever she's typing.

"Oh, umm, sorry." Was it just my hearing or did I stutter a little. "It's just weird seeing you; you're supposed to be in Adora."

"And you're supposed to be in a bank but am I gawking?"

Oh yeah, she's definitely pissed about the occupation thing. That sarcasm which used to be affectionate is now out to cut. Lucky for her (or more for me I guess) I have a thick hide - you need one in my line of work.

"Yeah. Sorry about that but… well, you know the shit that was going on, it was kind of nice not to be famous for a while. Took the pressure off."

"I'm not sure I do know. Apparently you're not averse to lying so I'm not sure I can trust anything that comes out of your mouth."

Fuck lady - bitter much? Again she surprises me, because I didn't think she'd care. After all, she was the one who was all 'I don't get involved, we move on at the end of the summer.'

"I'm sorry, didn't mean to hurt your feelings or anything. But I swear that was the only detail I changed. Everything else I told you was Gospel truth, promise."

Addy bristles defensively. "You didn't hurt my feelings. I'm just a little annoyed, is all. Not fond of liars."

Clearly this is totally bogus because otherwise she wouldn't give a shit, but I am not stupid enough to voice such things out loud to a woman. It's on the same level of stupid as asking if it's that time of the month when she's pissed, you have to be a real dumb ass to go there. The safer course is to take the conciliatory approach rather than actually start spitting out truths or pointing out any overreactions. That's the way to earn yourself a night on the sofa and at least a week in the doghouse.

"I'm sorry," I repeat again. "If it's any consolation, it was great to see you until you gave me the death glare."

I think that twitch in her cheek meant she was trying not to smile. "Not helping yourself here."

"No, really," I press. "It was a shock, obviously, but it's cool you finally got to travel, like you said… but how come you're not teaching?"

You see what I did there? Reminded her how attentive and helpful I was with the advice? The ice is starting to melt; I can see it in her eyes. Brown eyes can look just as frosty as blue ones - you wouldn't think so, but they can. "They didn't have a place in NYC for me but Lily got an internship here and they happened to need bilingual office staff."

"Right, because Elena's backers are in Spain?" I ask. She nods.

"So… mega pop star, huh?"

I wince a little. "Yeah. Again, sorry about that."

"Ahh… I'll get over it," she says grudgingly. "Just a bit of a shock to open up a magazine and see your surf buddy's some sex symbol or whatever. You're just lucky I didn't call the Enquirer."

"For which I am insanely grateful." I mean every word of that. Most of the time if you read shit about me sexing some girl on a beach or on a roof it'll be a pack of lies dreamed up by some wannabe model with fake tits, but Addy would be telling the truth. That's far more dangerous than any shit somebody wanted to make up. "So it looks like they keep you pretty busy."

"Slammed, it's pretty non stop around here. Bit of a culture shock to say the least."

Trace turns the corner, and Rachael is right behind. I think a swift exit now before I say or do anything else to put my foot in my mouth is a good idea. If it spends any longer in there it's going to have to set up a forwarding address. "So you going to this charity thing?"

"Unfortunately I have to work it," she groans. "Laugh a minute, that'll be."

"Well…" God help me, for I'm about to push my luck. "If I buy you a drink to keep you going is it going to get thrown in my face?"

She still looks to be considering that a little too seriously for my liking, but with a long suffering expression she shakes her head and says "I suppose not."

"See you there then."

With a small smile I say a quick 'bye' and head out. Trace and Rachael take the hint and do the same, although from the nosy looks on their faces I know I'm going to get grilled about this in the car. I bet the little asshole left me alone with her on purpose. Meddling idiot - I don't care if it helped he needs to mind his damn business.

Still, at least she doesn't totally hate me. Safe in that knowledge I think I'll spend the afternoon with less Addison on the brain than I did this morning.

"So, let me get this straight…" Lily says with that expression which lets me know she thinks I'm a muppet. "You're still hopping mad at him, but you told him all was well."

"What was I going to do, stand there and lay into him in the middle of the office? Bet they would have loved that piece of gossip downstairs, disgruntled secretary rips shreds out of pop star."

"Well, yeah, but doesn't it seem a little two faced to you? Acting like you've forgiven him when actually you still think he's a wanker?"

"I thought it was rather mature, personally," I shrug. "Putting my personal feelings aside for the benefit of a harmonious office and not screwing up this deal Elena wants to get."

"Hmm."

That's the noise Lily makes when she knows somebody has a point but she's still not entirely convinced. That's fine by me, since I don't need her approval to justify myself. I can't say I particularly enjoyed the fact that I had to capitulate so easily just because he fluttered his eyelashes, but in grown up land sometimes you have to swallow your loathing and just get along with people. Maybe Justin is fool enough to think that a little smile and sweet talk is enough to gloss over that supreme piece of idiocy on his part, but I am not fool enough to make a scene with a hugely influential potential client. No matter how much of a poop head I think he is.

"Don't 'hmm' me," I tell her. "Or if you have to, do it while getting this zip please?"

Lily raises herself off my bed and I can see her wryly smiling at me through the mirror as she stands behind me and tugs at this incredibly stiff zip. Eventually they managed to find me some couture that I didn't deem too unbelievably slutty and so I am dressed in a lemon yellow shift dress with this cool little sash of white flowers strapped across it. Lily told me I had better appreciate wearing it since she spent no less than three days strategically gluing Swarovski crystals to said flowers. I promised her that so long as this very form fitting dress allows me enough oxygen intake to power anything beyond basic motor functions, I shall most surely do so. If I'm not too busy enduring the slow murder of my feet via a pair of very lovely Elena Suarez sandals. I miss flip flops.

"So how lame do you think this party's going to be anyway?" I ask.

"Well, for guests I think it's going to be great. For us working plebs I think it's going to be the seventh circle of hell. I don't understand why we have to go around serving people when they have caterers, unless they just want us to get people hammered so they'll agree to whatever Elena asks and then can't take it back when they're sober."

"I still think we should have tripped Ben and Rosie on the stairs this morning," I respond. "Then we could be handling the guest list and have our job over and done with by nine."

She gives me a playful arch of her eyebrow in the mirror. Lily pulls the best faces sometimes; I have some absolutely priceless shots of her from various nights out. "There's still time…"

Lily is one of those people who is unbelievably stunning when she dresses up. She's got quite unusual features, all very delicate and chiselled, and her hair colour makes her stand out. She's like some little elfin fairy, and tonight she's in a diaphanous earthy green chiffon number that make her look positively ethereal. She was supposed to buy her own outfit rather than borrow one, but since she saved Alex's arse (very bad mishap with him forgetting to book a courier and nearly missing a chance to dress Emily Blunt for a premiere) he owed her. Of course it wasn't a complete freebie since instead of borrowing a pair of Elena's shoes she splashed out on some Choos.

Sometimes I have more fun getting ready for nights out than when I actually get there. I think it's the anticipation and fun of watching yourself turn from unkempt and just showered into some glamorous goddess. Well, maybe not goddess, but somebody a little different from your everyday self. Lily curled my hair and put it into a messy up do for me, and I spent an age making little tiny plaits in her hair so that she could pin them up and make patterns in her bun with them. Oops, I'm in America now, I'm supposed to say braids not plaids. We helped with each other's make up (I'm the master of eye shadow and liner, but she can make any amount of blemishes disappear while giving you what looks like a naturally rosy complexion) and giggled and ate chocolate while we were getting ready. I love being a girl.

"But…" She says as she keeps tugging (I swear the dress does fit, it really is the world's stiffest zipper and even Alex said so), "what are you planning to do if Justin comes over to you?"

"Avoid him while trying to make it look subtle," I tell her with a shrug. "If not, I'll just play it polite but not overfriendly. I'm not going to sit there and pretend to be his best mate, I just don't want to be a bitch and screw anything up for the company."

"I guess that's probably wise," she finally concedes. "You can't exactly make a scene even if you are royally pissed at him."

"Exactly." At least she finally gets it. "I'm not going to be kissing up to him or pretending like nothing happened, I'm just going to try and be adult about it and get along with him instead of making it an issue."

"True. And who knows, maybe if you play at it long enough eventually it'll be true."

I caught that sneaky expression on her face; she forgets I can see her in the mirror even if she is behind me.

"Hah! The bitch is beaten!" She says as finally the damn zip makes it to the top of the dress.

"And just in the nick of time," I say as the door bell goes. Since I live in Lily's land of the rich there's an intercom in every room instead of just by the door. That works well since I'm so lazy, I just have to reach over and press the button. "Hello?"

"It's me gorgeous, can I come in?"

Alex calls both of us the same pet name and then swears to each of us that really we're the only one of the two he's sincere about. We just tell him he's full of shit. Without another word I just push for the door and start looking around the room for where I threw the shoes. I'm trying to keep them off my feet for as long as possible, a pitiful attempt to prolong the unavoidable. Really I shouldn't be tossing five hundred dollar shoes around the room so lightly, but who's going to know?

"Oh, where the bloody hell did I put my Gucci?" Lily starts moaning. Why she thinks her bag will be under my pillows I'm not sure, but she tosses them on the floor to peer behind them.

She's like a little old lady with her glasses, she puts things down without thinking and three seconds later she can't remember where it is. Except that since her things tend to be designer and a hell of a lot more expensive than little old lady glasses, it's kind of careless. Still, I long for the day when I can afford such expense so easily that I can be careless with it! If I'd realised my little summer fling was so rich at the time maybe I could have got some bling out of it. Well, at least a couple more drinks; I still feel kind of silly for insisting on picking up the bar tab so much. Clearly a few rounds of vodka and Diet Coke weren't going to do his purse strings much harm.

It's funny how coming to LA has made me so much more aware of money. Part of that is because I'm working at an international business aiming at the wealthier end of the market, but mainly it's because certain sections of this town are so obsessed with it. It's like they can't put down their Blackberry or Sidekick, ever. I think they'd take surgical removal. If I wasn't afraid of them ruining my island by making it the latest 'must go' hot spot and turning it into some trashy tourist place over night, I'd tell them to all go to Adora and learn how to relax. Alex's explanation for why he hasn't had a girlfriend in months is that every time he goes out he winds up dealing with some out of hours emergency. How sad is that?

It's contagious, too. Lily has been trying to nicely find a way to tell me I've become more uptight since I got here, and to be honest she's not wrong. I'm not a mean bitch who's just a bitch; I'm a stress head bitch who's too harried to keep a mental watch on what's about to come out of my mouth. I always regret it once it's happened and I always try to make up for it, but prevention's better than cure so they say. We've agreed that we're going to abuse my power over the vacation booking process to make sure we can both take our days at the same time, and we're going to go to one of her dad's many holiday homes. We nixed Adora since we don't want our girly holiday mixed in with my homecoming, that's unfair to Lily if it's all about me, but we're still thinking along the same hot and laid back lines. I can't wait. I like me more when I'm relaxed.

"Hello lovely ladies!"

Apparently my aimless staring in the mirror has given Lily enough time to go away, find her bag and usher Alex in.

"See, what did I tell you?" He gives me a continental style kiss on both cheek and then takes my hands so he can hold them away from my body and critique The Dress. "It's perfect for your colouring. I told Jake it'd look better on you than Stella."

"He wanted to put it on Stella?"

Lily snorts derisively - not at Stella, but at Jake's idiocy. Stella is a blonde bombshell with serious curves on her; modern clothing does not cater to her body shape (which is why she says her wardrobe lives in the forties). This dress would cut her to shreds if she could even get into it and the yellow would not be good with her skin tone. I am what many people would call too skinny (except the weirdos in this town who think near starvation is a good look), but Stella is the only person who has ever managed to nicely bitch about the fashion industry only catering to girls my size without inadvertently insulting me or saying girls with my body type look ill. I'm skinny, okay, I'd love to fill out a corset the way Stella does but it won't happen and it's not because my piggy self doesn't eat. I have wanted to slap a few bitches in the office who call Stella fat though - having an hourglass does not make you fat. She's only one size bigger than me, but then the fashion industry is not known for realistic body image. Another reason I feel this city is too weird for me sometimes.

"I know." Alex rolls his eyes. "Thank God you arrived Lil, you seem to be the only person other than me who knows how to dress her. The silver was a stroke of genius, when I left it was like Marilyn was back in the room. You ladies may be eclipsed."

"I wouldn't care if you could find me flatter shoes," I say hopefully. My only response is a 'you should be so lucky' kind of huff through his nose. It's not attractive.

"Oh, before I forget… I have assignments for you ladies."

"Assignments?" Lily asks quizzically.

"Yes. You think we dressed you in couture just so you can act like glorified waitresses? We have some people for you to schmooze, gorgeous."

"Oh fun, my favourite." Lily's displeased expression doesn't adequately reflect the depth of hatred she has for schmoozing. People do it to her all the time to try and get to her dad and it's left a sour taste in her mouth. She'll do it if she has to, she's not stupid and she knows sometimes it pays, but once she gets behind closed doors she complains loudly. Lucky me, I guess 'behind closed doors' this evening will be back here at home where I'm her only audience.

"Who are the lucky punters tonight?" I try to sound at least slightly more enthused, but Lily has set such an incredibly low standard that it's not difficult. "I assume Antonio and the España gang are here for me to entertain?"

"Lil, you and I will be charming the pants off Eliza Jenson and David Green, chief buyers for Selfridge's who are over from London…"

"Eliza loves Mum, that shouldn't be too hard," Lily shrugs, looking relieved to have any kind of head start.

"And Miss Addy has correctly guess that she will be looking after the Spanish contingent and also Justin Timberlake and Trace Ayala for William Rast."

I could kill Lily for how amused she looks. She's clearly struggling to contain loud, cackling laughter. "Why William Rast?" I ask with as much nonchalance as I can muster. "Those guys speak English, right, I thought I was on translation duties only tonight."

"Apparently somebody mentioned to Elena that you'd dealt with them when they came into the office, she wants a familiar face to look after them. I don't need to tell you that they're VIP tonight and you better be prepared to kiss some serious ass."

Hmm. Now is probably not the time to mention that Justin Timberlake is familiar with far more of my body parts than just my face.

"Who told her that?" Lily does some prying so that it doesn't look like I'm desperately worried. I am desperately worried, but Alex never needs to know that. He'd only ask why and like I said, now is not the time. "They were only there for about five seconds."

"Nancy mentioned it."

That witch - she was pissed about the whole un-booked meeting thing and exacted her revenge by sticking me with VIPs as well as having to run around with the Spanish speakers. I'm now landed with double duty. It's a good thing she doesn't know I'm irked with the pop star or she'd have taken extra pleasure in screwing me over. I am so going to find a reason to have her expenses queried and thus held up for a month while the accountants go over them.

"Well I'll do my best." I sounded kind of defeated when I said that.

"Good job I put you in that dress, I'm sure they'll enjoy the view."

Alex earned himself a tag team smacking with the clutch bags for that remark. I got a little more force behind mine because Lily is kind of unsteady on her shoes. They're a little high even for her; good job we're so early, she'll have time before the guests get there to practice walking in them. It won't do for the guests to think she was drunk before the event even started. They might be, but she's not allowed.

"Bloody effing hell," Lily says as he answers his Blackberry - presumably the driver wanting to hurry us along. "Put you in a right old mess hasn't she?"

"No matter, I will find a way to make her rue the day."

"You'll beat the bitch," she advises me solemnly.

"Well I am English." I salute her back.

This is our mantra for dealing with the weirdness we find in this town - both the good and the ugly. We are English. Our grandfathers beat the Nazis away from our shores; we can deal with one stupid event for work.

Never mind looking drunk before we start, I wish I was drunk before we start.

"Could you at least try to look a little more enthused?" Trace asks me through gritted teeth.

All I can do is shrug in response. Sorry if I can't look like some lame party is the night of my life, but I don't see why we're even here. We already know there's zero chance in Hell of moving this meeting up; so why am I here to kiss ass? Kissing ass is all very well when it's strategic and it might get you something, but when you get nothing out of it that just makes you a pathetic kiss ass. So sue me for not finding that appealing.

"Whatever. How long do we have to be here?"

Clearly I'm pissing him off, but instead of chewing me out like I can tell he wants to he does the stiff upper lip thing. You can tell Trace is on his best behaviour when there's more than half an hour between flippings of the bird.

"As long as it takes to get some decent face time with Elena. Then we can go and you can go back to bed and sulk, ass."

I had a cold, okay? I'm entitled to stay in bed for three days when I have a cold! He needs to stop bitching about me being ill or calling it man flu. Only girls are supposed to accuse guys of having man flu, when you say that to your own gender it's tantamount to betrayal. I'll admit that possibly the third day was a little superfluous but it's not like I have a nine to five to play hooky from. A little extra time to make sure I'm fully recovered is a fortunate luxury for me which I will be enjoying to the utmost since once promo starts back up I won't have a day off for months and if I get sick they'll pack me out on the road anyway.

This isn't exactly new for me; I can't find it in myself to get all excited about industry parties any more. When you start out they're all shiny and have the novelty factor; they're in expensive places with expensive drinks and people wearing expensive outfits. It's a taste of the glamorous world you thought you were getting into before you realise that actually, being a celebrity isn't too glamorous when you're sweating like a pig in studios without air conditioning for ten hours a day and travelling the rest of the time. After a while though you work out these shindigs are all the same. A lot of grandstanding in expensive outfits, people doing cocaine in the bathrooms and mistakenly thinking they're being subtle about it, grand looking venues that are really overblown and overrated… I could go on. This is a nice function room and everything, the Havana theme's all very nice and Elena from what I can see designs some nice dresses, but I'm fucking bored already. The fact that we've only been here twenty minutes is no reflection on my attention span.

"Fuck off," I mutter to him under my breath. Not my most mature response ever but whatever, he's way too uptight about this.

"Wow, they really go all out with their waitresses," Trace says as he's distracted by a buxom blonde in silver moving past with a tray of drinks. The look is very Marilyn Monroe.

"But I saw a bunch of waitresses just looking like… well, waitresses." I jerk a thumb in the direction of some much more normal catering staff - guys and girls in the ubiquitous white shirts and aprons. Trace peers around me to see them, and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

"Weird. Also dangerous, don't think I'd want to carry a tray of liquid with those kind of heels on."

Having already pissed him off today, I ignore the obvious insinuation that he uses heels the rest of the time. "Waste of good booze when you inevitably spill."

"Speaking of which, let's get to the bar and grab something to drink before we try and attack Elena."

I try not to groan at his choice of phrasing. In some ways I feel a little guilty about my lack of interest in this; since I took a break and stepped back from everything, I've been pretty out of the loop on William Rast stuff. If I'm honest I'm finding it hard to get interested in all the bitty details again. I'd be quite happy to wait and see her at the meeting. Since I know how important this is to Trace I'm trying to show willing; I just suck at pretending to be happy about it.

We get to the bar, and I stop dead in my tracks about ten feet from it. Chatting away in Spanish, Addy's standing there in what's obviously a couture dress and looking… looking…

I remember wondering to myself on Adora what Addy would look like if she really pulled the stops out. She never used to wear make up or dress up much, and she still managed to look so pretty that I figured she could probably kill a guy if she made an effort. When I saw her in her work clothes I figured I must have been wrong, but I guess I should have put work clothes in a different category because right now she looks fucking stunning. I'm sort of shocked. Her hair's all piled up on her head with a few curls hanging loose, and she's wearing this yellow dress with white flowers on it that's clinging in all the best places. If she had longer legs, she wouldn't look entirely out of place on a catwalk (I say entirely, she's not quite a model but she is prettier than your average).

"Hello?" I'm startled out of my stare by Trace clicking his fingers impatiently in front of my face. "Ground Control to Major Moron, what do you want?"

"Oh, umm…" Typical, one pretty girl in a room of dozens of pretty girls and I turn into a slack jawed idiot. "Sorry, JD and coke." I feel tonight is going to be one for hard liquor.

Like I wasn't feeling awkward enough, I'd almost forgotten that a girl who was kind of mad at me would be here. To make it worse she looks entirely too hot and it's confusing me. Her coming to LA has been really inconvenient for me - I had her categorised in a neat little box whereby she was this cool cute surfer chick who had failed to disappoint me in any way at all. She was supposed to sit still and stay there. That was a good box; it was neat and tidy and stored away in the back of my head and all was right with the world while she was in it. Now I've had to add stressed out and kind of bitchy in there, and it was a stretch enough trying to get the idea that she had some seriously less attractive qualities in without now having to extend it even further to fit the idea that she's hotter than I originally thought in there. My box is now all fucked up and overflowing.

I really wish I wasn't here. Maybe I should ask Trace to make it a double.

"Sorry, let me get those guys…"

And while I was busy staring into space she suddenly appeared next to me and now I have to try and avoid looking at her cleavage which has been pushed up and out. Somebody shoot me, this is seriously fucking uncomfortable. With a reasonably subtle fake grin on her face (I've both given and received a lot of fake grins in my time, I can tell), she hands us both our drinks and gives the bartender a nod which makes him refuse Trace's money. Huh. Where was she for the last two rounds? Maybe if she could go away for now and I can just call her back when I need more alcohol.

"So how we doing, having a good time?" She asks politely.

"Yeah, great," Trace replies. This may be his best ever acting job, he's been scowling at me all frickin' night but he's smiling at her. Then again, I guess she is prettier than me. "You?"

"Busy, busy, busy!" Addy's chirpy in tone but you can see just the slightest touch of gritting going on with her teeth - her jaw's a little tight. "So you spoken to anyone interesting, would you like me to introduce you to anybody…?"

Wow, is it just me or does she suck at schmoozing? That lacked some finesse. Trace's eyes open ever so slightly wider and I know he's thinking the same.

"No, we're good," I answer for him. If that's the way she does it then I'd rather we worked the room ourselves.

"Great. See you guys in a bit."

In the blink of an eye she's racing back over to the Spaniards, tottering and wincing a little on those overly impractical shoes. Slowly, in unison, Trace and I turn our heads towards each other and meet eyes with an identical 'what the fuck' expression.

"Remind me never to have her host any of my parties," I comment. It's a far cry from the relaxed and smooth gatherings she hosted on Adora. She mingled like a pro back there.

"Umm… dude…" Trace's brows wrinkle in towards his nose and it makes his forehead scrunch up. "Forgive me if this is inappropriate, but was this girl like a really good lay or something? Because she seems really fucking weird and I'm not understanding the attraction. You know, beyond the nice tits."

"Man…" I shake my head slowly side to side; my mouth dropped a little open in disbelief. "I swear to God, I'm wondering if it's even the same chick. It's like she's been body snatched since I last saw her."

His lips purse together sceptically. "You sure you weren't just blinded by the sun and the pussy?"

Normally I'd call him some kind of name for that, but on this occasion it's a fair question. Still, I can just imagine what Rachael would have said in response to that if she was here. Sometimes I don't need TV or clubs or anything, I only need to set Rachael and Trace off on a verbal sparring match and that's my entertainment covered for at least an hour.

"Sure. When I saw her there she was this cool and really laid back girl. Now she's… well, you can see for yourself."

"You mean the enormous stick up her ass? Yeah, I can see."

There's a part of me that feels inclined to defend her for that - especially since I finally got the record company to cave and put 'her' song on the album and it seems wrong to let insults to any muse of mine stand - but I'm not sure he's wrong. Even as I watch her out of the corner of my eye, there's something about her that seems flustered and panicked. It's not obvious, and I'm sure anybody not already acquainted with her would probably think she was reasonably poised (if a crappy mingler) but I can see it in the way she's holding her back and shoulders, she's too rigid. Or is that just the outfit?

"Hmm," is my eventual and non-committal response.

"I mean, don't get me wrong, the girl's gorgeous," he continues, "but it doesn't seem like she's really on this planet."

"Hmm." I don't even want to talk about her any more; I find it kind of depressing seeing her this way. This is the girl who taught me how to relax and enjoy life and now look at her. Kind of makes me look at everything I thought I knew about last summer differently. "Let's just go hunt Elena down and get this over with already. Then we can go to a real bar."

"Solid call," Trace replies as he gulps back the last of his drink and carelessly shoves his empty glass in the direction of the counter.

***

This may have been the weirdest night I've had in a while. And I've had some fucking weird nights in my time.

First of all, it took Trace and me about an hour and a half of trying to subtly stalk Elena across the room to score a chance to chat. When we did, it was mostly taken up by some subordinate of hers (a VP? I don't know) talking loudly about our last fall line and what he thinks we could have done better. Trace was seriously ready to sink his foot into the guy's balls and I can't say I'd have stopped him. Elena barely spoke, Trace got all red faced trying to keep from telling the guy to go fuck himself, and I stood there desperately wishing I was somewhere else.

Then, some chick in a red corset who didn't have the breasts to fill it out right started stalking us to ply us with drinks and introduce us to people. That was annoying but to be expected - what was weird that she seemed to do it any time Addy got near us (presumably to do the same, can't be sure, the chick in red kept interrupting first). It was like she thought it was a competition or something. Fuck, maybe it was, I don't know - the best I can figure about all these couture clad waitresses is that Elena's put them out there to subtly direct people to mingle. Well, some are better than others; I thought Addy was bad but this chick is about as discreet as Lil' Kim on a red carpet. She may also have been trying to flirt with Trace, but I can't tell whether the way she was batting her lashes at him was flirting or because she'd thrown on so much make up that she was getting glitter in her eyeballs.

Now I'm kind of hiding in a disused cloakroom. I only came in here to take a call in private, but I finished talking to Barry ten minutes ago and I still can't bring myself to leave. Trace finally gave up even trying to have a decent conversation with anyone important, but my driver said he was stuck in traffic and was going to be half an hour. By my count I still have fifteen minutes to kill in here; I left my best pal draining whiskey at the bar. Call me yellow, but I really can't bring myself to go back out there until the last possible second. Maybe like three minutes before the car's due.

I nearly shriek like a girl when the door opens, but it's only Addy bursting through. I guess that answers the question of whose stuff was lying across the table.

"Uhh, hi," she says in a bemused tone.

"Hi," I reply in a monotone.

"I really can't seem to get rid of you can I?"

If she hadn't smiled, I would have taken that real personally. It's still a pretty dumb thing to say to anybody, but I can tell she's had a few too many. She's not sloppy drunk, but she's tipsy.

"Sorry."

"Hey, it could be worse. I could have been you this evening. Sorry about Nancy by the way, I did try to stop her throwing herself at your friend every five seconds."

"Oh, her name's Nancy?" Huh. I guess that shows up precisely how hard I've been listening to anybody tonight.

"Yes." She rolls her dark eyes and lets out a puff of air with her lower lip that momentarily lifts a curl away from her face. "Elena purposely asked me to look after you guys tonight so you wouldn't have some stranger fawning over you but Nancy had her own plan. Sorry about that, by the way, I've been neglecting you both."

Ah-ha! I knew this whole exercise was some weird schmoozing plan. Still, at least Elena had intended to let an acquaintance look after me instead of me having to put up with some stranger for the night. Sad that plan never came off.

"Don't worry about it," I tell her with a shrug. "You looked busy."

"Tell me about it," she says as she starts digging through her purse. "Twenty Spaniards plus you two to look after was a little over-ambitious on somebody's part."

"Yikes. I'll never be rude to hostesses again."

"You mean you were rude before?" She frowns as she says it, but not at me; clearly whatever she wants in her bag isn't showing itself. "And here I thought you Southerners were gentlemen."

Heh. A year later, she's finally learned not to call me a Yankee. "I thought you'd have learned from experience by now."

"Oh you're not that bad."

Not exactly the greatest compliment I've ever been given but I'll take it nonetheless. "What are you looking for?"

"Elena's bloody Blackcurrant."

"Her what?"

"Blackcurrant aka my pet name for her BlackBerry when I'm annoyed with the bloody thing."

"Oh. Like when you can't find it?"

"Exactly."

Why anybody needs to have a pet name for their BlackBerry at any time is a mystery to me, but everything I ever found weird about Addy I usually put down to some strange British eccentricity. Sometimes it was cute, lately not so much.

"Nice dress," I tell her for lack of anything better to say.

"Thank you. If only I could breathe in it I'd marry it."

That actually does make me laugh. Her sense of humour is pretty sarcastic, but then so is mine; we always matched each other on that level. It only tended to fail when we came up with some American-British reference ignorance.

"Finally!" Victorious, she yanks the offending technology out of a deftly concealed side pocket and starts tapping frantically at it.

I'm nosy, and this is killing the time, so I enquire. "What you looking for?"

"The fashion editor from Glamour just told Elena she can't make it to their meeting Monday, so I have to re-schedule it. If you're really nice to me I might give your pal first dibs on the free slot."

"You'd be his favourite person forever. He barely got a chance to speak to Elena tonight and he's seriously pissed about it."

"Ugh." A guilty expression passes over her face. "I'm sorry, that's probably my fault. I should have looked after you both a bit better; I'm not usually this bad at the whole mingling thing but with twenty two people to keep up with on these shoes I just couldn't do it."

"Yeah." I look down at the things and the heel looks scary. In those things she's not all that far from my height and I don't understand how she can stand in them. I think I'd snap an ankle the second I tried. "I hope their health insurance package will cover the amputation."

"Right now I'd welcome it." She shakes her head, not looking at me but rolling her eyes in response. "I miss the beach where I never had to wear anything but flip flops. And surfing, I miss surfing."

"Yeah, I'm back on promotion soon so it'll be a while before I see any waves."

"Oh, you have some new stuff coming out?"

It seems stupid now that I was worried about her still being mad. It's not like we're back to being bosom buddies… oh crap that was an unintentional double entendre of a thought… but she's being perfectly pleasant. The small talk is small but not uncomfortable.

"Yeah, the first single hits radio week after next. There's even on about you on it."

For the first time since she found it, her head snaps up from the BlackBerry and her eyes meet mine. I'd forgotten how deep chocolate they were, almost an espresso colour. "Really? How's it go?"

She sounds kind of suspicious. With a deep breath and fingers surreptitiously crossed in my pocket, hoping she doesn't hit me for this, I give her a soft voiced blast of the chorus. For a moment she looks stunned, blinking and expressionless as a china doll, but then she bursts out laughing and slaps my bicep.

"You filthy bastard!"

Nervously I chuckle. "Like it?"

"You should be glad I did or it would have been your face I just smacked!" Clutching the BlackBerry to her stomach with one hand she hides her mouth with the other, trying to contain her giggles. "Oh that's class. Justin Timberlake wrote a song about me being his holiday shag. That's just brilliant."

A smile creeps on my face. "It's kind of exaggerated for effect. Poetic license and all."

"I hope I get a cut of the royalties."

"Sorry. I'll throw you a free copy."

"That'll do." As she tries to smother the rest of her laughs they kind of come out like hiccups. "Right, let's go grab your mate and Elena before she mentions to somebody else that she's free Monday and they wangle the spot."

"I warn you, Trace might want to kiss you for this."

"That's fine so long as his breath doesn't stink. A couple of people have had really bad cigar breath and it's hard to keep a straight face when you want to throw up."

Hmm. After all this weirdness she's displayed this evening, I now find her weird precisely because she's not being weird. She's being pleasant and helpful. That really shouldn't be weird, but she was so weird before it's now weird that she's not being weird. And I need to start using some word other than weird.

Women are just fucking weird.

You know, it's funny. Most of my friends who have similar jobs to me have always said that theirs run very hot and cold. Sometimes they're so busy they're in the office way after they're supposed to be, and sometimes they're leaving two hours early because they've only had one e-mail the entire day and have had to fill in the rest of their time filing their nails or playing Solitaire. My job has no such ups and downs; it's always hot, hot, hot. I've taken to coming in earlier to get stuff done because I find it easier being up early and working while the office is quiet than being there late at night. It's too depressing looking at the clock knowing that home time went about two hours ago.

It's not like there's no compensation. The money is pretty decent and it's certainly a prestigious job to be able to put down on the old curriculum vitae. Still, it's starting to feel like it's taking over my life. Lily only has to work late if they've got a rush order or something urgent to do, so I see less of her. I'm usually so worn out that I don't feel physically up to having a social life, so we spend even less time together because she wants to be out all the tine, she's got into the party scene with a bunch of the other seamstresses. As though I'm somehow disembodied and watching myself from above, I can see myself getting irritable and crotchety with the lack of downtime but I can't stop it. I'm just lucky that I'm so tanned dark circles don't really show up on my skin.

It's not always bad, I like the people I work with and we find a few light moments in the hustle and bustle, but today has been the crappiest day in the history of crappy crapdom. It's officially The Crappiest Day Ever™.

What else can you expect of a Monday?

First of all, when I got in today I found an e-mail sent exactly five minutes after I left Friday evening warning me that I needed to arrange a working lunch to be delivered for the William Rast meeting I so smoothly set up for Justin at the party. It was about the only smooth thing I did do that evening, I was on appallingly bad form; it was like I'd misplaced all my schmoozing mojo. I was embarrassed by my incompetence. Anyway, that was last week; today I had to beg our caterers who usually require one working day's notice to cover us, and I have no idea how I'm going to explain the extra hundred dollars it took to cajole them into it. I have no idea why it should take so very much notice to knock what amounts to some posh sandwiches together, but then I guess I'm not a caterer.

Then, Nancy decided to hand me a pile of purchase orders that had to be raised. This is part of my job, but it looks like she purposely left them all until they were very urgent so that I'd have to tear my hair out getting them raised before the invoice deadlines and we incurred penalties - for which I would probably get blamed. I'm probably over-reacting, they were probably just stuck in a paperwork pile somewhere and she's only just found them (it's not exactly uncommon), but she seemed to take pleasure in seeing me panic. I managed to do it, but the unexpected diversion means I'm now behind on answering my messages and so on. By rights I should be nearly done on my to do list for today and thus then ready just to take on tasks ad hoc if they come up, but I'm not even half done. And as soon as their late asses get here, I'll have to sit in on this stupid William Rast meeting and take minutes while trying not to show off any body language that might indicate to Elena that her new business opportunity and I spent last summer at it like rabbits.

Why is this day not over?

No sooner do I think such things then the objects of my fear inevitably walk in, as Justin and Trace just have with Elena and Alex, deep in conversation. That's odd; I thought Elena and Alex were at another meeting. What's also odd is that Trace is making faces at Alex behind his back, but a good receptionist PA general dogsbody never tells.

"Oh, Addy, never mind the lunch we all just ate," Alex says absent-mindedly as he reaches into his cubby and pulls out a stack of papers. Oblivious to the gobsmacked and very irritated look on my face, he continues. "Can you please arrange a car to pick up Mr Timberlake and Mr Ayala at three and I guess you can just offer the lunch round the office if they already delivered."

Well, Alex, for that total lack of consideration I'm putting those expenses under your name. You just bought everyone a very expensive lunch, jackass. Suddenly I'm with Trace, I'd like to make some very rude faces behind Alex's back right now.

I think Justin's picked up on my annoyance, because as Elena is consulting her glossy William Rast brochure and Alex is rummaging through his papers he's shaking his head and mouthing 'sorry' at me. See, at least somebody has concern for employees around here. Shame it's not my bloody superiors. One of the vice presidents is so notoriously fickle about which hotels he wants to take and when that every administrator in the office has learned not to actually book him rooms until he's landed at the other end and has told us he's on his way. It's dicey and occasionally they've been full and we've had to pretend they must have lost the booking, but the finance team got really fed up of us charging short notice cancellation fees every time he had us book somewhere and then on landing in the city suddenly changed his mind. There are a few hotels who are now very reluctant to take any bookings at all from us thanks to him, and who gets to deal with that on the phones? Us.

God, I'm such a miserable bitch lately that all I can think about is various gripes about work. I need a life, immediately.

"Well if we're all ready," Elena says in her Spanish lilt. "Where are we, Addy?"

Even as she speaks I'm setting my extension to voicemail and marking myself as busy on my e-mail calendar. "Meeting room C."

They swiftly stride down the corridor and leave me scrambling to grab a notepad and pen before scurrying to catch up. Trace, to his credit, has dawdled a little so I can catch him up.

"Do they always move this fast?" He mutters to me under his breath.

"Oh this is slow for them," I whisper back. He pulls a stupid face at me and I can't help but smile. I can see why he and Justin are friends, because it's a very Justin expression. It's something in the way his mouth curls up.

Hopefully this meeting won't last too long. Taking minutes is one of the most boring things ever.

***

"Is he always such a jackass?" Justin asks in disbelief once he, Trace and I are alone in the room.

"Alex?" I ask distractedly as I'm leafing through Elena's diary looking for her next free spot. I could have just kept their originally scheduled meeting, but that's for next week and since Elena wants to be presenting concept sketches at the next one it's just a tad bit short notice.

"Yeah, Alex, or Dickwad as he shall now be known." Clearly having to make a neutral face for the last hour and a half was killing Trace, because now he's stuck his tongue out and pulled the kind of 'yuck' face I used to whenever my mother told my six year old self that I would be eating the cabbage whether I liked it or not.

"He's not that bad, he's just… creative. You know, creative temperament," I offer as a weak excuse.

"I'm creative but am I a dickwad?" Justin snorts.

I fix him with a warning glare. Alex is a friend, after all. "I thought you were a banker."

"You're never letting that go are you?"

"Not this century," I respond curtly. "Umm, how's 3 weeks today?"

"No good, Justin's got a video shoot."

"Do I have to be there? You know, if it gets things rolling quicker I won't take offence if you go ahead without me."

Heh, he can try to cover it up as altruism but I heard the tiny amount of glee in his voice, I know his game. He doesn't want to attend the next meeting and is hoping to find a way out of it. I can't say I blame him, I know I will be trying to make sure somebody else gets minute taking duty for that one.

"I've also got to get some of our business guys over here." Trace is talking ostensibly to me but honestly I think he's more telling himself. "They should have been here today but we had a crisis with our primary supplier."

"We know all about those over here, it's fine." I wave a hand dismissively while scrolling through the most insanely busy diary ever. Sometimes I wonder when Elena sleeps. "It was only a concept meeting anyway, I'll make sure the contracts get over to your guy asap."

"See, why can't I have one of her?" Trace jerks a thumb at me while looking at Justin. "After all these years of doing your shit I think it's my turn to have somebody organise my life."

"What life?"

I'm bemused to see that Trace is already comfortable enough with me to flip the bird at Justin in my presence. It's even more impressive that he's doing it while in business mode. From what's been said today I gather that Trace is more the designer while Justin throw out concepts and ideas, approves details. It seems to work, because they're wearing their label today and while I don't know much about fashion (awkward when you work for a fashion house) I know about men looking good and the two of them do look good. It's smart and classy enough for a business meeting, but has a more relaxed air than the Prada Alex was rocking. In a way Alex came off worse by comparison; he looked more posed whereas Trace and Justin have this slightly more relaxed look. You might think it was sloppy from the sound of it, but it actually adds an air of quite confidence, like they don't need to pose.

There's nothing relaxed about my clothing. It's a tweed print shift dress which looks very smart but is too tight around the shoulders and thus movement restricting. I'm tempted to strip it off and run around naked as a protest to women being slaves to the bonds of fashion. However, there are far too many pervy guys in this building and also, I think Elena would fire me on the spot. Lily would think it was funny until Elena fired her for associating with me. After that she'd kill me, spot that I borrowed her boots this morning and then have me resurrected just so she could kill me again. It's not my fault her brown boots go better with the dress than my black ones. And that the heels are lower so they're less feet murdering.

You know, I never used to be quite so look-conscious when I was a teacher. The kids don't care unless you're stupid enough to turn up in something that emphasises your boobs or your bum.

"The week after on Tuesday?" I ask.

"Done," says Trace, scribbling it into a notebook. I try to ignore the few crude drawings that surround it, some of which I suspect to have been made by Justin earlier.

Justin sighs a bit, which I take to mean he's available that day. "And I'll make sure that we take them out for lunch so you don't have to arrange another one that don't get eaten."

"Oh, it's not a problem," I shake my head while flushing a little bit. I don't want to come off like the stroppy receptionist who can't cope if something doesn't go to plan.

"No, that was rude," Trace agrees with him. "I'd never have suggested lunch if I knew you'd laid on something here. Still, they don't charge you for it right?"

"No, I just charged Alex. Petty revenge."

"My kind of woman. You know, I bet Rach would love her," he says to Justin as if I'm not in the room.

"Rachael has way too much shit on me for me to ever let her near any ex of mine," he snorts in response.

"What, and I don't already have quite enough shit on you?" I riposte. "US Weekly's a phone call away."

"Bitch."

"Trace, did Justin ever tell you about El Diablo?"

Before Trace can respond Justin's moved behind me and clamped a hand over my mouth. Quite tightly, I might add, it's a good job he didn't get my nose as well or I'd be asphyxiating right now. El Diablo is just the hiking trail that Justin insisted was no match for his big buff self… until he saw the incline and suddenly decided that he was allergic to cacti. The fact that there are cacti everywhere on my island and he'd seemed just fine was apparently irrelevant, this was an allergy only brought on during exercise. Quite a unique medical condition, really.

"Point taken, Addison." He takes great detail in calling me Addison and I take great delight in jabbing my index finger sharply into his ribs. As a bonus, he's so busy emitting a high pitched shriek that he lets go and I get to breathe through my mouth again.

Trace is guffawing. It sounds scarily akin to a donkey. "I can see why you two went out."

"Wow, you can tell he bought me seven tequilas by that?" I ask sweetly. It's a true story, but it happened well before we hooked up in the carnal sense.

"See, you're so much more fun when you're not all uptight and shit."

He's very lucky he's one of my boss's most favoured people right now, or Mr Ayala would have been bitch slapped into the next decade for that.

"Trace!" Justin at least has the grace to look mortified.

"Sorry, but the first few times I saw you, you were obviously stressed. Now you're more chilled and cracking jokes and it suits you, you should do it more often. In fact, I think you should come meet Rachael with us tonight," he says as if totally oblivious to how ready I was to kill him. "Seriously, you two would hit it off like crazy."

"I'll be working late tonight." And if Mr Trace is always that bloody blunt, I'm not sure I'm sorry. A nagging voice asks if I'm just pissed off because the bastard's right, but I quickly smother it with irritation.

"You can't be working until nine, that's insane," he persists.

I shrug. Actually tonight it'll be more like six but nine is really not unheard of. "I don't know."

"I promise I'll muzzle him first," Justin offers.

I don't know. It was but earlier I was bemoaning my lack of a social life, and I was saying to Lily the other day that I wished I had time to make some non work friends in LA. Still, friends who are also Justin's friends? Do I really want to go down that road? We long ago agreed to leave last summer in last summer where it belongs, and though obviously there'd be no sex involved I still find the idea weird. Especially since the stupid lie still has me slightly bruised, if not as sore as I was at first. He's also now in business with my boss, which could get awkward if it all goes awry.

But… then… social life. I do miss having one of those.

"Umm… go on then. Why not." Even as I say it I'm wondering if it's a good idea, but Trace has already chucked his business card at me and has pulled one of mine out from the folder in front of me while Justin is yabbering on about whatever restaurant we'll be hitting.

Sometimes I think I ask for trouble.

"So, make me understand this…" Addy says slowly, rolling the words around her tongue as she mulls over a thought in her head. "You hate attention but you're having a huge department store open especially for you at this time of night?"

Well, yeah, if she puts it that was it does sound kind of self-contradictory. I swear there's a good explanation.

"It's not exactly low key, I know, but if you'd ever tried to go shopping with him in the middle of the day you'd see it's the lesser evil." Rachael explains as she critically eyes up the goods on display. You can tell she's unimpressed, her nose wrinkles up a little. "If you're not being interrupted for autographs every five seconds you're being filmed on people's phones. At least this way we get some peace and quiet and nobody's recording our conversations."

This seems to satisfy Addy, because she gives a quick nod and says "fair enough" before her own nose scrunches up in distaste. "Eww, why would you?"

I look over her shoulder and see the necklace she's talking about. It is pretty hideous; it's a gem encrusted flower pendant of different colours. I expect those are all excellent gem specimens, hence the price tag, but really it's a waste of precious stones to me. It's butt ugly.

"More money than taste?" I offer.

"You'd have to be." She gives a little shudder as though it physically offends her, and I chuckle.

Hopefully this trip won't be too long; I'm buying something for Mom as a gift and figured I'd take advantage of having two sets of female eyes. Addy's surprisingly adept at it - of course she doesn't know Mom's taste but Rachael does and once set on the right track, she's pointed out some nice stuff. Now if only I weren't so damn indecisive, we could leave and get on our way to dinner.

"Besides, the other thing about Justin and these places is the worst thing he can do is go to the jewellery counter," Trace says with an evil grin. "They'll think he's buying a rock for somebody."

"Oh fuck don't." It's my turn to give a shiver of repulsion. Marriage is a beautiful thing and all but it scares the living shit out of me - and that would be even if I was with somebody I loved. The crap where I'm engaged to every girl I take on one date is stupid; if I'd really proposed every time the press said I had then I'd make Julia Roberts in The Runaway Bride pale in comparison. "They'd think I'd proposed to Alicia Faketits."

"You call her that too?" Even before she's taken another breath Addy's clapped a hand over her mouth and flushed pink. Trace is laughing his head off; clearly she didn't mean to speak that thought aloud.

"Yep," I say through barely suppressed chuckles. "You know I had like one picture taken with her and they thought that meant we were a couple. But she really is fake tits - I brushed up against one by accident and it was unnaturally firm."

"Accidentally on purpose, he means," Rachael says with a very nasal snort while tapping her finger on the glass over the top of a pretty cool looking studded cross with black stones in it. My mom's kind of a rock chick at heart, and this is nice enough that you could wear it with a bunch of stuff but still has a bit of edge to it. I'll keep that one in mind, unless she'd like earrings better… "He and Trace were debating her tits all the way over there in the car and I still maintain he was just trying to win the argument."

"It's not Trace's fault he ain't seen enough naked women to know the difference."

Justin?" Addy leans towards me with an evil grin. "You do realise that you totally backhanded yourself, right?"

"What?" I'm confused.

"Because while trying to insult Trace's prowess you just suggested you're enough of a slut to have seen enough breasts to compare."

God damn her, Trace is now doubled up pointing and laughing at me. Rachael let out a guffaw and is hiding her mouth behind her hand. If I didn't think she'd hit me, I'd have a great comeback about having definitely seen Addy's breasts; those were definitely natural. You can always tell because natural breasts have a little more droop to them and don't look so symmetrical. Fuck, I do sound like I'm a pervert who's been comparing too many boobs.

"Well, I'm pretty sure a lot of those *NSYNC groupies were too young to have tits yet."

"That's it," I fume. I can take a little joking about being a slut but not a statutory rapist, thank you very God damn much. I've always been about girls my own age or older, was never one for younger women. "You two jokers can go over there until I'm done. Assholes."

I don't care if that sounded like I'm a diva who thinks I can order them around. They're on particularly irritating form tonight and I think it's Addy's influence. She's always used sarcasm and irony as her ass backward form of affection in the time that I've known her, and once you get used to it just being the way a person is you can either take it or leave it. Kind of like if you date somebody who doesn't really say 'I love you' a lot but you get the message in other ways - I learn to take things the way people mean them rather than the way they might come off at first. Rach and Trace are not that way, however, they've just picked up on the fact that I'll let Addy do it and taken it as their excuse to follow suit. And it's a hell of a lot less cute on their lame asses.

Actually, Addy has kind of got away with murder this evening. She was supremely late, which usually annoys the shit out of me, she's been (as she puts it) 'ripping the piss' out of me for the last hour or so, and she has ganged up against me with Rachael and Trace far too readily. I'm starting to regret letting her anywhere near Rachael, in particular; but I was so damn pleased to see her looking more like Addy a la Adora that I'm letting her off the hook.

I opened the door and some redhead I assume is Lily answered. She went white (and given how pale she is it seems like a special feat that she could go any paler), called for Addy, and left me waiting by their door for the next ten minutes while she rushed off somewhere. Finally I had to wander up the stairs myself to try and hurry her up - I know Addy says Lily's dad is some mega bucks man or something, but I'll bet their apartment's a million, easy. For two young females it seems like a lot of space, but it's a nice place and very homey, lots of warm reds and browns everywhere.

It took me a few doors to find Addy's room, but finally I got an answer to my knock, opened the door and could have kissed the floor when I saw her. The hair was loose and wavy, the make up a little heavier than last summer but still pretty low key, and she was in the kind of little sundress she used to wear when we'd go out to dinner. Finally she looked like the girl I met last year again, and that made me pathetically happy. This whole big city fashion thing doesn't suit her, she looks so much better when she's in more casual stuff.

I also had to refrain from sniffing her when I gave her a hug. I wasn't being creepy, it's just she was wearing a scent that seemed very familiar but I couldn't place it. The smell wasn't strong enough, but in order to get a proper sniff I'd have had to put my face in her neck and that would cause boundary issues. I had to leave it, but it's going to bug the crap out of me until I remember what it is. I could just ask her, but that means admitting I smelled her. Whatever, it was a good smell and she looked good, like the girl I knew, and because of that I've been extraordinarily lenient with her making so much fun of me.

Okay, that's it, I'm getting that cross. Now, before I change my mind.

***

"I will never get used to LA's idea of organic." Addy is pushing her fork around her plate with the look of somebody who's not overly impressed with what she's had put in front of her.

"Snooty British lady looking down on we stupid colonials." Trace pokes his tongue out at her.

"Nah. If you'd tasted the food where she's from you'd understand," I clarify on her behalf. To be fair to the restaurant though, I had the same thing as Addy and it's a good two or three levels below the standard of their other dishes. We eat here a lot and this is the worst thing I've tasted here - and even then it's edible, just not really that good though. It had no chance when being compared to the standards of fresh caught fish and oranges freshly picked from the tree. Man, I really miss the food. More than I missed Addy, if I'm honest.

"I'm so going to have to check this place out, J was raving about it when he got back," Rachael says as she forks up some more of her risotto. It's goat cheese and roasted vegetables and it looks way better than the gloop passing for salmon mousse on my plate. I wonder how much of it I can eat under the guise of 'just trying some' before she works out what I'm doing?

"It has the most amazing beaches," Addy tells her as she picks up her wine and takes a sip. "The surf's good, they do have some of the tourist trappings but that's all the other side of the island from where I live. We have this great local market that does some great glass stuff, and the food's all grown locally. I don't know what their secret is but even their salads taste great instead of being the stuff you eat because you feel fat and guilty."

"Yeah, because you're so fat," I say sarcastically as I struggle to pinch very much of it on her hip at all. I can't see beneath her dress, but I think most of what I got was skin anyway. She is pretty skinny. "But yeah, Addy's house is right on the beachfront, the view is fantastic and she has this amazing little sun deck on the roof."

She shifts in her chair next to me, her lips slightly tugging at her expression. There's a wryness in her eyes that confuses me until I remember us having sneaky sex on the rooftop. I'd forgotten about that - mostly because there's no way in hell I could ever repeat such shenanigans on the continental US. There'd be pictures everywhere before you could say 'stalkerazzi.' It's a shame I'd forgotten about that actually, the other day I was asked about the most random place I've had sex and I struggled for an answer. A rooftop would have worked great for that.

"Spent a lot of time there, did we?" Trace gives a surreptitious waggle of his eyebrows, but if he's trying to embarrass anyone he's failed.

"Yep," I respond, matter of fact. "Her brother's surfboard at my disposal, gorgeous sunset views, pretty girl running around making me food… I'd be stupid not to."

"Doesn't that say it all, the attraction is that some eye candy makes good food," Rachael jokes.

"And great conversation," I add in her defence. "But yeah, really fuckin' awesome food. I still dream about that lemon chicken."

It's interesting to me that Addy's been nothing less than relaxed and comfortable with me and my friends this evening… until right this second when last summer started being discussed. She's turned into a fidget all of a sudden, twirling her fork and playing with her napkin. You might mistake it for boredom, if you didn't catch the awkward look on her face. This isn't somebody who's zoned out; this is somebody all too aware of what's being discussed. That's interesting to me, because throughout the whole time she was always much more emotionally detached than me. I wasn't exactly emotional myself, I was still happy to walk away at the end of the summer with no violins, strings attached or heartbreak, but she was even cooler about the whole thing than I was.

I liked that. I liked the fact that there was zero pressure or expectation. It was what it was and we didn't have to make anything bigger out of it. It wasn't some star crossed love affair; it was two people who meshed well together feeling an attraction and acting on it without all the drama. It had to end and it did, without sad goodbyes, recriminations or tears. In that respect it may have been the healthiest relationship I've ever had, despite its brevity.

And now I can sit here next to her, openly acknowledging the past and without feeling sore about it or ill at ease. I'm just surprised she isn't so comfortable with it.

Then, as if I imagined it entirely, she's recovered from the blip and giving a faux modest smile. "Thank you, thank you, yes I am awesome."

"So LA had to be kind of a culture shock then," Trace comments as he picks up a fry and chomps on it. Typical Trace, we bring him to a fancy restaurant and he orders steak while telling them not to bother with the béarnaise sauce and to give him ketchup and fries instead of sautéed potatoes or whatever suitable fancier thing came with them. Addy looked bemused, Rachael got that 'why do we take him anywhere' expression. Hell, I say let the man eat what he wants. If you give a crap what he's eating you probably need to remove the stick from your snooty ass.

"Understatement," Addy replies sardonically while spearing a green bean. Her arm brushes up against me as she does so and I get another whiff of that damn smell. Until I identify it, it will bug the crap out of me. I need to engineer a situation where I won't look weird for asking. "It's been crazy."

"Yeah, I remember when I got to Adora it was weird at night that I couldn't hear traffic or anything. I guess you had it the opposite way."

She nods emphatically at my comment. "Oh yeah, it was about two weeks before I got a decent night's sleep. But we had a pretty Spanish lifestyle over there, siestas and late dinners and all that. You guys keep to such a different schedule and you're all so much busier, pace wise it was kind of like going from the Dumbo kiddie ride to Space Mountain. And now I'm in an office job I realise how much I took school holidays for granted."

"Gee, I like the sound of this place, when can we go?" Trace says. I think he's about ninety percent joking.

"Well you're welcome at my house any time, so long as I can kick Antonio out."

"Oh, Antonio's there with Mike now?" I ask, curious.

She shakes her head. "Mike got that job in England, though it got a lot less fun for him since the credit crunch. Dante has his room."

"Oh, cool," I say. Rachael and Trace already have that blank uninterested expression that people get when they have no idea who you're talking about. It's not often I see that expression on either of them, since we pretty much have the exact same circle of friends.

Their boredom becomes evident once they get up and leave, uninterested in Addy filling me in on what I've missed in Adora for the past year. To give them their dues they managed about ten minutes, but then they saw somebody and took the excuse to make an exit for a while. I'm not too bothered about it; I'm drawn into Addy's tales of life back on the beach. She's not telling me anything all that exciting, it's just small talk, but I like picturing myself back on the beach and witnessing these events with her. If it wasn't obvious enough, I have a huge affection for Adora.

"But hey, that's nothing compared to all this." She waves a hand, indicating the restaurant. "Pop star. Our little island pales in comparison."

I can't help the grimace that crosses my face. "Yeah. You remember me telling you I was on Adora in the first place because my life sucked?"

"You mean that was true?" She says it almost idly, but it discomfits me a lot and I bristle. I'm kind of offended.

"Why wouldn't it be?"

She gives me a pointed look. "You have previous when it comes to lying."

"What?" That made no grammatical sense.

"British for saying you've done it before."

"Yeah, but that was all really minor stuff because I didn't want to be famous for a while," I dismiss that notion. "I might have changed the gift wrap but the package was still the same. Everything I told you was true, except that I made it into a banking analogy."

"Really…" She trails off into thought.

"What?" I wave a hand in front of her distant eyes, still a little annoyed. Even looking like she did last summer doesn't get her off the hook here.

"No, it's just… after I found out you lied, it really changed my perception of last summer and the time we spent together." Her fingers dig into her hair and scratch the scalp at the back of her head awkwardly.

"Hence why you were so pissed at me." "Yep. But… I don't know. I don't know what to make of it I suppose." Her shoulders shrug a little, and incongruously the thought pops into my head that she's less tan than she used to be. Clearly she spends too much time inside at her desk, because California's still pretty sunny.

"If it helps, I still view last summer as a very refreshing and mentally reinvigorating break from my life where I spent a good time with a great girl who didn't hang around me because I'm like, oh my God, Justin Timberlake." I mimic some of my zanier fans in falsetto and I get a small smirk for it. "It's refreshing for me to have something not be made five times bigger than it has to be just because I'm me. I get kind of nauseous with that after a while."

"Well…" She's still hesitating a little. "I guess it does explain a lot more about why you were so stressed. I mean, I'm fucking stressed living at this pace and I don't have people pointing cameras up my arse while I do it."

"Really?"

"Yeah. The pace is so hectic and my job's so insanely busy that I don't get two minutes in the day to think. I'm just not used to it yet, it really was a culture shock."

"So, you're not enjoying LA?" I ask with a sip of my water.

Again she pauses, before finally shaking her head. "Honestly, I don't know."

She doesn't know it, but I've just officially made it my duty to change that answer into a definite 'yes.' I just need to come up with some really cool things for us to do that won't cross professional boundaries while William Rast is working with Elena Suarez and won't get Addy into the papers as that girl I just spent all that money on at the jewellery counter.

No matter where I've lived, the routine when I walk in the door is always the same. I unlock it, drag myself and usually an overly large handbag through, and immediately kick off my shoes. Then I shut it behind me, dump the bag and keys down on the nearest available surface that isn't the floor, and feel grateful to be home. Sometimes I take a moment to wriggle my sore feet into the nice plush carpet, happy to be out of the stilettos. Today was one of those days, though they are a pair of fabulous gladiator sandals that Alex got me. He was teasing me about my lack of designers, I told him if he wanted me in designers he'd have to pay for it since I sure as hell don't have that kind of money to waste on shoes… so while he didn't pay for them, he did give a freebie sample pair to me instead of letting them rot in the store cupboard as usually happens. Then, after I've kicked off my shoes, I always pad over to the kitchen for some water or a Sprite or something.

That's exactly what I've done tonight, but as with the last week or so there's something different. When I called Lily's name, she didn't answer. She's out, yet again.

It's not unusual for us to leave or get home at different times, even though we work in the same building. My hours are often longer and more unpredictable than hers. To begin with it wasn't a problem, sometimes she'd be out and sometimes she'd be in waiting for a girly night, but these days I barely see her. I don't begrudge her making new friends, not in the slightest, but I feel extremely left out right now. I barely see the woman even though I live with her; is it so much to ask that maybe once in a while she spends some time with me? She never invites me to these things, even though I've dropped plentiful hints. I'd be happy to go meet them somewhere if I was working late.

You'd think she'd want to spend at least the occasional night at home, but she's too busy partying it up instead. It's weird, actually, she's never been a party girl but now she seems to spend every evening at some club. I'm not worried about it, she's way too sensible to do anything stupid, but it's quite a personality shift. It just isn't like her to be burning the candle at both ends or neglecting any one of her friends, let alone me. Lily's just not that girl… or at least she never used to be. Then again, I can't say I haven't changed since I got here too, so maybe I should cut her some slack. Still, I'm not thrilled about yet another night alone with me and my laptop. There is only so much time you can spend on Facebook.

When I pull the laptop off of the shelf, the preview copy of Justin's album sitting on it reminds me that I meant to shove it on my iTunes. He sent me a copy so I could give him my thoughts, but mainly so I could hear the song about me before it gets released. He's already got the first single out and done some performances, he's been jetting to and from New York and various places promoting. I haven't seen him very much, but he has started calling me quite a lot. I think he gets bored while he's in the car and hanging around at photo shoots, it's mainly so I can entertain him. I don't mind though, since I need the entertainment myself with no Lily around.

It's a good thing he warned me though that the song about me is exaggerated for effect. Since he told me that I was able to take it in good humour, but if I hadn't been warned I would have thought he was making me out to be some kind of freaky slut. It's not really my kind of thing, but I have to admit it's oddly catchy.

When my Blackberry rings, I was half expecting it to be Justin since I was just thinking about him, but I see from the screen it's Steve.

"Hey babe," I say after I've answered it.

"Alright darlin', how's you?" He asks me in his chirpy Scouse manner.

"Bored, tired, usual for after work. You?"

"Knackered but never bored around here. I've got the joy of running the evening ents for the week, and I'm so desperate for ideas I'm about to resort to karaoke."

"Hell no," I shudder. "Buy a few board games and set up a game night. Fun for all the family."

"That's not a bad idea, cheers."

"How exactly did you ever manage to do that job without me?" I ask him as I prop my feet up on the sofa and boot up my laptop. "I seem to spend half my life giving you suggestions."

"You know me, blag artist of the century, like."

"Too bloody right. Artful Dodger, you are."

"I dressed up like him for school once."

"I bet you did…" My reply is a little distracted since I'm concentrating on logging in and clicking away various toolbars and IM windows that pop up as Windows starts. Do I check my emails first or go straight into iTunes?

"Anyways, I was wondering, there's a chance I might be coming out with a mate to Vegas in a few weeks, and I was thinking I might stay a few extra days and come see yous, if you've got a sofa going handy."

"Oh God please," I respond happily. "I'm so bloody bored right now; you'd be a breath of fresh air."

"Why you bored, you and Lil not painting the town?" He asks.

I can feel the pout marring my face as I tap my fingers against the keyboard. "She's never around, she's off with her new set of friends and I'm dependent on the TV or Justin and Rachael being in town."

"Justin and Rachael?"

"Yeah, you remember, I told you about him. Justin who I went out with before you? Him and his cousin."

"Oh yeah, the one who had to go back home, yeah. They not around?"

"He has to travel for work a lot. To be honest I'm not even that close to them anyway, but the only other people I could hang out with are work types and I see them way too much as it is the hours I work."

"Well it's hard to get close to people when they're not around a lot. Give it some time and just make sure yous take advantage when they are about, it'll happen," he sagely advises.

I love the fact that he's so unperturbed by the idea that I'm hanging around the guy who came before him. Steve was never possessive anyway, but he's still friends with nearly all of his exes; he's just that kind of guy so the idea that I would be the same is just natural to him. There are never any problems or drama with him, that's why I adore him so. If we'd both stayed on Adora I have little doubt that I'd still be with him now, Steve is just that fabulous. I was pretty blue about it when we had to break up, even if I did have no desire to do long distance.

"Yeah, you're right, I just feel a bit like Billy No Mates sometimes. Normally I'd join a book club or a class of some type to try and meet people but I just can't do it when my schedule's so bloody all over the place."

"You tried talking to Lil?" He asks. "Maybe she could introduce you to these people she's hanging around with."

"I've dropped hints the size of New Guinea but she's either clueless or just purposely ignoring them."

"What is it with you birds and hints? I keep telling yous, just ask the bloody question."

"And I keep telling you that you have no understanding of female relationships," I tell him with a smile as I wait for the computer to finish converting Justin's CD into mp3s. I bet I could make some money leaking this stuff, but Justin told me that he can and will take a hit out on me if I do. He has the cash. "It's not that simple. You ask outright and it's like you're inviting yourself, you have to wait to be invited."

"Women. You're absolutely crazy."

"Says the man who tried to tell me that it was better to spend the night bleeding than to go and get the necessary stitches."

"It wasn't that bad."

"It cut so deep the blood was pumping out. Not trickling, not seeping, pumping."

"And on that lovely note I need to go eat. Though I'm not sure I'm hungry now."

"Well let me know what's happening about the visit and I'll try and make sure I get at least a couple of days off," I say.

"Will do. Talk to you soon darlin', see yous."

"Bye!"

The phone gets unceremoniously dropped onto the cushion next to me and for a moment my attention is caught up in taking the CD out and putting it back in its case. Now that's done, I have a very simple internet routine to do. Call me obsessive compulsive, but I always do everything in order. First I check my e-mails (both accounts), then I check Twitter and then Facebook. Anything from there on is the result of whatever whim I happen to have in the moment, though when I'm desperate YouTube usually yields some comic gems.

I just feel like a bit of a sad case for having nobody to go out with. I rarely if ever had that problem on Adora. There may have only been a small group of us the same age in that town, but with our various friends in the tourist spots we amassed a pretty extensive network of friendly acquaintances between us. I might not have been best pals with all Nina's friends, for example, but I certainly knew them well enough to call any one of them up and ask if they felt like going for drinks. The life there is very sociable and I miss it. LA is just this huge throng of strangers and of the people I do know, most of them I feel like an imposition if I'm invited along to something. I don't get it, I'm never usually shy.

It occurs to me that I might as well start making myself some dinner, so I interrupt my routine before the Twitter stage to get up and pad to the kitchen. The floor is all white tiles, so it's a bit of a cold shock to my bare feet when I step off the carpet. I open the fridge and see that Lily hasn't bothered to get any food in as she promised to. The fridge yields a pretty pathetic showing of vegetables that have seen better days, a box of eggs and a few potatoes. The cupboards don't yield anything except baked beans, chocolate and cereal, so I guess I'm making Spanish omelette. I could just call out for a takeaway - wait, I'm in America, takeout that should be - but ordering for one always feels a bit pathetic. It shouldn't, but it does.

After lots of sniffing and squeezing of the vegetables to work out if they're still edible, I decide that the tomatoes, beans and broccoli just about pass inspection but the carrots and peppers have got to go. Bell peppers should not be wrinkly.

I've always liked cooking. I'm not exactly some haute cuisine chef, but I've mastered enough to judge when something's about to curdle and precisely how long lamb needs to be cooked before it gets overdone without checking timings, things like that. It's great, because I find that when my hands are busy and I'm concentrating on the task at hand I get to switch my brain off. I'm not always great at that, which is partly why I think I had the stint of depression (the one that led to the anorexia myth). Thinking and allowing yourself to experience emotion is good, but dwelling on things just leads to them getting blown out of all proportion. When I'm cooking, I feel like I'm doing something productive, like I'm accomplishing something. Even if it is just making something to stuff my gob with.

I've just poured the oil into the pan and am waiting for it to heat up when my phone rings from the other room. Quickly I jog to pick it up, and then answer it as I head back to the kitchen.

"Hello?" I forgot to check who was calling.

"Hey English."

"Memphis," I reply. He wanted to call me Windsor, but since that's the Royal Family's name I told him to come up with something else.

"How's it going?" The line is crackling a little, but I can hear Justin well enough. He just sounds a bit distorted.

"Not much, usual." He can't see it, but I shrugged.

"Overworked, underpaid, in need of a foot massage?"

I giggle at that - when I was complaining about my feet hurting the other night he suggested I get a foot massager, and I let out a longing groan the likes of which he says he'd only heard from me before when we were in the bedroom. He now makes lots of jokes about foot massages. "About sums it up."

"So, where's good to eat in Windsor?"

"Umm… I don't know, haven't been there in years and half the restaurants will have changed. Err, why?"

"Because I'm there."

I glance at my watch and my eyebrows shoot up when I work out the zone difference. "Justin, have you got any idea what time it is? You're going to be lucky if McDonald's is even open."

"I'm all too aware of what time it is, but I can't fuckin' sleep when my body clock thinks it's only eight pm," he tells me in a very child like whine. "The flight got massively delayed and they wouldn't let me stop in the airport because of a bunch of paparazzi. Someone tipped 'em off."

"Have they even let you check into a hotel at this time?"

"Yeah, a bunch of people got here at a more normal hour of the day so they got all our keys and stuff."

"Well, I guess on a Friday night you might have a few greasy burger places open trying to get the clubbers as they let out," I say sounding doubtful even to myself, "but you showing up in front of a bunch of drunk partiers is probably not the best plan."

"Ugh. It's just a good thing they gave me a day to adjust my body clock, if I had to work tomorrow… or today I should say, I'd be fuckin' sleep walking."

He sounds very awake and very grouchy. There's a discernible pattern to the times that Justin calls me, and they usually involve him being bored or being cranky. Maybe some people would find that a bit of a backhander, like people who only like you when they're drunk, but with him I've come to learn that letting you see his bad side is a sign of trust. The couple of times I've been out with him, it was almost scary seeing how good he is at turning his facial expressions on and off. He'll be all neutral or even smiling one moment, then the second we're out of sight and away from the cameras he's got a face like thunder and he's bitching. Certain people get to see and hear him complain, the rest don't, and I've come to learn that the common denominator among the chosen few is him considering you a friend or at least somebody who can be counted on to be discreet. It's almost flattering, in a weird and baffling way.

"Well, if you can manage it I'd suggest trying to go without sleep until some vaguely acceptable time of the evening so that you sleep tomorrow. Or today, even," I correct myself as I make the same mistake.

"Hmm. Enough about me though, tell me what you're doing."

"Right this second? Trying to crack eggs in one hand while holding a phone in the other."

"Food…" There's a longing in his tone. "What cha making?"

"Spanish omelette."

"Nice. You and Lily having a quiet night at home then?"

"Nope. I'm Billy No Mates."

"In American?"

"She's out, it's just me."

"A rare night to yourself is always good."

Hah! Maybe they're rare for him; they're becoming pretty routine for me at the moment. God, I really am a sad act. Maybe I should advertise for friends on Craigslist… though I'd have to make sure no guys thought that was code for sex.

"Meh." Again, he can't see me shrug as I start mixing everything up. "I got home, talked to Steve for a while, now I guess I'll just have to find something on TV or a DVD or something. I need to find a library or something, I have no books."

"Man, what exciting lives we lead," he chuckles. "Here's me sitting up by myself at three am in some boring hotel room and you can't even find a book to read or something."

"Hey, my life's not supposed to be exciting. You're meant to be Mr Glamorous Pop Star."

"Rock star."

"You're pop, bitch, deal with it."

Another in joke that has sprung up between us - he made an ill judged joke about the whole lying to me about his occupation thing (he makes a lot of ill judged jokes), I made a snippy comment about him being a pop star and he insisted that he's a rock star. Now I just call him pop star as my own trivial revenge because I know it's not his preferred term. I never claimed to be anything than petty, pettier and pettiest.

"You cut me cruel, woman."

"Whatever."

"Heh." I can almost hear him giving me a sardonic smile. He does a great line in wry and ironic smiles; it amuses me to provoke them. "Well I guess I better attempt to sleep. I'll speak to you soon."

"Night Memphis."

"Goodnight, English."

Well, at least talking to him entertained me for ten minutes, even if it has somewhat delayed the cooking process. Now I just have to work out what I'm doing for the rest of this long, dull evening.

I am so fucking glad to have a night off. It's been non-stop promo for the last few weeks and I feel like a God damn zombie. My stylist is threatening to invest in some industrial sized vats of that under eye concealer stuff and charge it to my Amex because she says I'm running her through them on a daily basis at the moment. It's not that I don't want to sleep; it's that nobody's giving me any opportunities. The circles will get larger, it's not my fault.

Lord only knows how I managed to sneak away to Addy's apartment without being tailed by any paparazzi. Of course because the song's all over radio and I'm doing all the interviews and stuff they're pursuing me even harder than usual. I was in two minds about whether or not to even attempt it because you know they'd pull out some bullshit story about me sneaking away to my newest girlfriend or whatever, but the idea of sitting and chilling somewhere nobody knows where I am was too tempting. Addy and I have had a totally mundane evening chowing down on Chinese takeout, watching TV and making bullshit conversation. It's just what the doctor ordered, because I never want to go out ever again. Except I have to because tomorrow night I'm supposed to be hosting some thing at some club for some company. I don't even know what it is except that they're paying me to show up so I have to. Rachael has the details, I'll ask her tomorrow.

"Okay…" Addy turns the page of her magazine while wriggling her toes in my hand. I've finally given her that foot massage I've been joking about for weeks. It's oddly relaxing for me as well as her - concentrating on just kneading my thumbs into the balls of her feet kind of blocks other thoughts from my brain. "First kiss."

"Some chick in junior high, nothing special. You?"

"David in middle school. I remember thinking it was kind of wet and gross."

"Nice, English." I smirk. Addy was flicking through her magazine while I took a phone call from Trace, and she came across a quiz on what you're apparently supposed to know about new acquaintances before you can call them friends. There was nothing decent to watch on TV so she's killing five minutes running us through the list.

"Oooh, first time," she says wickedly. "Dante, in his surf shack."

"Are you serious?" I bust out laughing. I'm not sure whether it's more at the idea of her and Dante or the idea of them going at it as sixteen year olds surrounded by his surfboards. If they were sixteen, I just assumed.

"Yep. And it was thoroughly unromantic too, we only did it because we were the last two in the group who hadn't and we didn't want anybody realising."

I really shouldn't be laughing so hard at that. I'm supposed to be a role model or some shit, I should be disappointed and saddened not laughing my ass off when told shit like that. Peer pressure's an ugly thing, blah blah blah. "Totally opposite. I was fourteen and convinced I was desperately in love like it was some Romeo and Juliet shit. It was dumb."

"Hey, at least you didn't wind up with sand in bad places wishing you hadn't because you really didn't fancy her that much."

"I'll tell Dante you said that."

"Hah!" She snorts. "He knows."

"You told him? That's harsh!"

I know how delicate the male sense of self-esteem can be, and ragging on the bedroom prowess is extremely off putting. It's a pretty low blow, too. After that whole thing where Britney was supposed to have accused me of having a tiny dick, I was really self conscious whenever I got naked with a girl for months after. And that was even after being shown the clip and deciding that I don't think she was actually referring to my penis - what can I tell you, the male ego is fragile. I never said it made sense.

"He came to me after asking for critique so he could improve before getting in the sack with his new girlfriend. I was tactful but honest."

"So you didn't just tell him he sucked?"

"No, that's just mean. Though I did tell him he'd better not take her to that bloody shack again because that was not sexy."

"Yeah, I can imagine. Though I'm never going to remember that place the same way again." I give up on the foot rub and idly rub my hand against her ankle instead. She's stretched out along the sofa with her feet in my lap, and this is so chilled it could almost be like we're back in last year.

It's been a welcome break from being in this year and finally back to work after all this time out. Apart from being so tired all the time, I've been having some issues with the label. The first single's doing fine in airplay but it's not as immediately huge as the last album's singles were, and since it has had some mixed reviews they're worried about the next song choice. I want to release the song about Addy because it's so edgy and different and experimental, but for the self same reason they're running scared of it because they're worried it won't be radio friendly and I'll bomb. It's frustrating; you'd think they'd learn to trust me by now. The first single wasn't my choice it was theirs, and look how that's turned out.

I tried talking to Addy about it, but all this industry shit is so alien to her and she doesn't really get it like Trace or Rachael would. Also… even as I started trying to tell her I was thinking that actually I prefer it when she's left out of it. Addy-land is kind of like my personal escape bubble right now, since I don't have enough time to be able to take a trip to my usual escape bubble back home in Memphis.

"Anyway, moving on…" She drags a pink painted nail down the page until she finds where we were. "Childhood dreams. Guess that's obvious in your case."

"Pretty much. You?"

"Never really had that kind of drive or focus for any one thing." She shrugs her shoulders prettily, and I can see the way her collarbone appears and disappears beneath the movement of skin and muscle. "Which is why I'm always impressed with anybody like you who can be knee high to a grasshopper, work out what they want and stick to it all their lives. I'm just missing the ambition gene."

"You find me impressive?" I waggle my eyebrows at her Home Alone style and she smacks at my arm with the magazine. Lucky for me she can't quiet reach since she's slumped so far down into the cushions.

"You are the cockiest little git I have ever met, you know that?"

"And you're the snarkiest little bitch I've ever met. That's why we get along so well." I pat her foot condescendingly.

"Hmm."

Addy rolls her eyes and shifts yet further into the cushions. I'm doing the same myself, slumping ever further down in my seat. The elusive Lily (who I still haven't managed to meet properly apart from a quick fly by 'hello') is out for the evening yet again, so it's just us and our juvenile laughter. We both came straight from our various work things, but over the evening we're both managed to get increasingly scruffier. I came in doing my whole jeans and waistcoat and tie thing, but the tie and the waistcoat got thrown off at some point and I've done what my mother hates me doing and rolled up my shirt sleeves. When Addy came in she had a very Victoria Beckham look to her, she was in a strapless fitted black dress with some funky belt around the middle and all these chunky bangles and shit, looking all fashionable or whatever. Now the copious jewellery has been taken off and tossed on the coffee table, the belt has joined it, and the smart ponytail she had her hair tied back in is now falling out and she's got all these odd strands of hair in her face. Personally, I prefer it, but I won't deny that she looked good when she walked through the door. Certainly not out of place in the fashion industry.

"So what did you say you were doing tomorrow?" She asks me through a delicate yawn.

"Radio interview, TV spot, photo shoot and then some event opening in the evening." I tick them off on my fingers.

"Lord. And I thought my job had crap hours." She reaches blindly for her bottle of Bud and takes a swig from it. I would never have pegged her as a beer girl but she always smirks and says I need an education on English girls and the way they drink.

"Lifestyles of the rich and famous," I shrug. I don't actually mind promotion half as much as I make it sound sometimes, but once you get on that wheel it can get a little monotonous after a while. It'd probably help if I got more sleep. "Thank God the next few days are gonna be dance rehearsals so I can get a break."

She looks at me like I just announced that I'm a hermaphrodite. "You call dancing your arse off all day a break?"

"I enjoy dancing. I don't enjoy dumb journalists asking me dumb questions."

"Yeah, I heard your interview this morning by the way," she said in amusement. "When he asked you about your ex I thought you were going to lamp him."

"I was going to what him?"

"Lamp. Hit. Smack the shit out of."

"Oh. In which case yeah. Like I give a fuck who she's fucking now."

"He said in an extremely bitter tone which suggests exactly the opposite."

"Nah, I'm just jealous. I haven't got any in months."

"Well then…" She picks up her foot and trails it down my chest in a sexy manner. I'd wonder if she was suggesting something, except she then abruptly pulls it away just before it reaches my crotch. "Sucks for you. Bad luck mate."

"Cock tease."

"Wanker."

"What does that even mean?" I ask through my chuckles.

"Well, it's pretty much a generic insult… though a guy who wanks is masturbating so come to think of it if you haven't got any in months that's probably quite accurate."

"Remind me why I ever thought you were a lady?" I shake my head in disbelief.

She lifts her palms out and shrugs. "Search me. I certainly never pretended to be one."

"See, first you're saying shit like wanker and then you're all Miss Posh 'I Certainly Never' and shit… make up your mind, will ya?"

"No, you make up your mind… pick a DVD, will you? I've run out of magazine questions and delightful as you are when you're whining I don't fancy a slanging match."

I have no idea what a slanging match even is, but since she's twisted her legs off my lap and around to the floor so she can stand up I take the hint and wander over to their shelves. Luckily for me their movies seem well organised by genre, so I can immediately skip the girly shit and go for something more interesting. There are a few interesting looking thrillers, but I don't really want to concentrate tonight so maybe some other time. I'm thinking mindless popcorn movie, and between Top Gun and Transformers she does have a good selection of those.

As I run my index finger along the titles, trying to decide, I suddenly feel an index finger running along my arm.

"Find anything?" She breathes nonchalantly into my ear. She's standing right behind me; her body is close enough that I can feel it brushing against my back.

"Still looking. Not sure what I want."

"Might I make a suggestion?"

"See, there you are with that posh… holy shit."

Umm… it sounds kind of bad if I say that I'm used to women grabbing my dick, like I'm some kind of man whore, but fans just have zero sense of personal boundaries sometimes. Addy however isn't a fan, this is territory we've been over before, but I'm kind of wondering where the fuck this has come from.

"Uhh, Addy?" I can't think of any better question than that, so let her take it whatever way she wants.

"You're bored. I'm bored. We could both use a little relaxation… why not?" She asks. "You and I have already proved we can do no strings."

I should probably be alarmed that she kind of made sense saying that, it's a major sign that the blood is too far gone away from my first brain and that I'm about to be completely vulnerable to doing stupid shit because it seemed like a good idea to the other one. And that other brain doesn't have the greatest track record when it comes to recognising what is or isn't stupid shit. And now I've just noticed that she's been rubbing my crotch this whole time and I've been trying so hard to have thoughts that I haven't done anything about it yet.

I turn around, which breaks her hold on my crotch but just leaves me to notice the lascivious and kind of naughty expression on her face. It also leaves her to push up against me and guide my hands to the zipper on her dress. Come on, brain, don't let me down now, what should I… oh fuck I'd forgotten what great tits she has. I knew that dress didn't leave room for a bra.

Her mouth meets mine and to fuck with it all, it's been a year and I want some fucking sex. The kisses are fast and furious, and the pair of us are both struggling to get my shirt unbuttoned at the same time while not breaking our lip lock. Finally my shirt's off and she throws herself at me, her bare chest pressing into mine while my hands wander over her back and sides. The fact that she's standing there in just a pair of panties while I'm half naked myself has me over-excitable after such a long drought, and I have to give myself a few mental reminders not to rush too fast. It's just hard when I'm so oddly turned on that she basically attacked me in the middle of her living room… and I don't think we're getting anywhere else either because she's too busy pawing at me. Whatever her lips are doing to my neck it's fucking awesome, and we both start to sink to the floor.

I'm going to have rug burns tomorrow but I don't give a flying rat's ass as she climbs on top of me and starts fiddling with my belt buckle, sexily dragging her lips along my torso as she does so. Her hips are pushing into mine, and I'm sure she can feel how aroused I am before she lifts her hips to let me slide off my jeans. Her hand then slips nonchalantly into my boxers and I hiss as I feel her tease the length of me with her fingertips. I fight fire with fire by immediately starting to pay attention to her breasts (which is all kinds of fun for me too, I will never get sick of women and their breasts), but I think she's still got the upper hand because even as I'm running kisses over her I let out little hisses against her skin when she hits a good spot.

Then out of nowhere she stands back up, and I give a little whine of protest. It soon turns into a whoop of joy as she sexily starts to pull her panties off, teasing me every slow second of the way down until she finally steps out of them. I'm laid back on the floor and she's standing over me giving me a fucking glorious view. She's not as tan as she was the last time we did this, but every mole and scar and lump and bump is just how I remember it and it only makes the bulge in my boxers stiffen with the knowledge that I'm guaranteed a good time with this one, she's already tried and tested. That sounds really assholish but I swear it's not meant that way.

I'm nowhere near as cool or sexy as she is as I scramble to get mine off while she's sinking back to the carpet. I'm a little undignified but right on time as she sprawls her body over mine and her tongue finds its way from my belly button right up to my chin and then my mouth. Happily I roam my hands over her body, marvelling at it. She hasn't got as much junk in her trunk as I usually like in my women, but slowly my hands slide over her buttocks and I enjoy every second of it. I'd forgotten how nice she is to touch, slim and toned but with the right amount of meat on her to make her soft.

When finally she puts me out of my misery and slides herself down onto me, I let out a loud hiss that sounds suspiciously like the word 'shit.' Usually girls take a minute or so to get used to me before they start going for it, but immediately she starts rolling her hips in a way that makes guttural moans escape my lips. While my hands slide along her thighs and then grip her hips to guide the rhythm, she rocks back and forth on me and trails her nails lightly down my chest. At every thrust her hips meet mine, she rolls and bucks and squeezes me and quite frankly I think I'd let her do whatever the hell she wants to me right now so long as she keeps this up while she's at it. I should have slept with more English girls before.

Before long we're both sweaty and panting, but the heat and the pace are rising and Lord I hope Lily doesn't get it into her head to come back home just yet because that warm feeling is starting to hit my groin and I know I've got to get her there soon otherwise I'm going to get there first.

"Mmm, Justin," she breathes out as I allow my hands to trail the front of her body. It sounds really fucking hot when she says my name like that.

"Yeah baby, say my name," I grunt.

She looks down at me with a challenging glint and pushes harder down on me, making me yelp. "Say mine."

"Oh fuck, Addy…"

"That's it Justin…"

"JUSTIN!"

***

"What?"

Addy's clicking her fingers in front of my face with an amused expression. "Rise and shine Sleeping Beauty. Remind me never to take you to the cinema, waste of a ticket."

"What?"

What the fuck? We were just fucking in the middle of the floor and… oh. Wait. No we weren't. Well, we were, but only in my wishful imagination which hasn't got laid in over a year. I didn't pull the zipper down on her dress while she writhed sexily against me; she disappeared into her room and came back down in a sports bra and sweatpants. I saw nothin', sadly. I got nothin', even more sadly. I just had one hell of a wet dream which has now royally pissed me off because as good as it was I then had to wake up and remember it didn't actually fucking happen. And that was a hot dream, too.

"I'll get you some tea." She rolls her eyes and tousles my hair affectionately before making her way into the kitchen. I follow her there, rubbing my eyes sleepily and hoping my jeans disguise the bulge in my crotch well enough. Thank God I didn't get there in the dream or I might have… eww, let's not go too far into that thought.

"Did I fall asleep?" I ask a dumb question which she would normally give me a sarcastic answer for, but she's too busy rooting in the cupboards. Even after all those years on Adora, she's still English enough to think tea solves everything.

"Yep. Right about the time that Goose took the Polaroid of that guy in the Mig 28."

"Wow, so like five minutes in?" I'm almost embarrassed. I must have been more sleep deprived than I thought. I think some of the first part of the dream did actually happen (not the sex parts, obviously) but I don't trust my brain to properly separate fact from fiction.

"Nah, it's okay, you looked like you needed the rest and I got to lust over Tom Cruise before he went all crazy in peace. Maverick's hot."

Then I remember that she was using her lust in ways far more fun for me in my dream and fall into a slight sulk. I've had wet dreams before, sure, but that was unusually vivid. Trace is right; I need to get fucking laid. When I go to this shindig tomorrow I'll try and make sure I meet some women.

Damn it, now I can't stop staring at Addy's butt. Somebody help me.

"Hey there gorgeous!"

"Oh my God I love you!" I squeal as Trace dangles a Starbucks cup in front of me. I have no idea what's even in it but I love him for getting me caffeine. Today has been crazily busy and I barely have time to even get up and get water, never mind make coffee which requires time and water boiling.

"Hope you don't mind a plain latte, we couldn't get through on the phone to ask you." Rachael has taken the liberty of stepping behind my desk to give me a hello hug, but I'm happy for her to do so. She's quite the opposite of most of my friends - she's not very girly - but she's very easy to chat to so we've been getting on well. She's not Lily, but as far as substitutes go I could find far worse.

"Hey, how come she doesn't get a snotty 'respect the desk,' what's that about?" Trace says through chuckles.

"Because she's prettier than you." I take Rachael's wide grin and second hug as a seal of approval. "But what are you guys doing here?"

"We came to see if you wanted to join us for dinner later?"

It strikes me as odd to come over personally to do that, but then I remember that they couldn't get through on the phone. Then I add that thought to the Starbucks and wonder whether this dinner invitation idea came before or after they decided to stop by. Generally speaking you don't turn up with coffee in hand just to ask somebody to dinner. That is no way a complaint, however, because if this latte isn't a life saver it is definitely a sanity saver. I am really fed up of people leaving their expenses until the last minute before the deadline and then expecting me to get them checked in time along with the other twenty people who did the same as well as my usual work. I finally decided to prioritise in favour of those who are in lower paid jobs and as such will have more fiscal issues if they're late paying their credit card bills. It may or may not be coincidence that they tend to have shorter expense claims.

"I can't, Steve's arriving later."

I can't wait - firstly because Steve is awesome, and secondly because I have three beautiful days off to spend with him. I can't wait. There's going to be a lot to cram in because he wants to see as much of the place as possible, but then hanging with Steve is usually a whirlwind of madness and zany capers anyway. So it'll be nothing new.

"Bring him too. Well, so long as he ain't likely to go all weird because of Justin."

At first I wonder why Rachael would bring that up, I don't see why the ex thing should be a problem for Steve and can't even remember telling her Steve was the one after Justin anyway. Then I remember that the ex in question is famous and a lot of people go weird around him as a matter of course, whether they've slept with me or not.

"Okay…" I grab my mouse and click into my e-mail so I can check my calendar. I also have a traditional date book, but my date book doesn't handily give me fifteen and five minute reminders. "Well, his flight's due in at seven, but by the time he's done passport control and baggage claim we're not getting out of there until at least eight, I reckon."

"We'll make it eight thirty then. I'll give you a text when we know where," Rachael tells me decisively. I still have no idea where half the places they describe are, but thankfully I now know enough of the roads in LA that I have a vague idea of what roads Rachael is talking about when she gives me directions. As a brand new driver it doesn't help being in an unfamiliar city, but Trace and Justin have both offered to go out with me one day on a sort of driver orientation thing. Given how insanely busy Justin is right now I'm putting my stock in Trace for that one.

"Mr Ayala, what a pleasant surprise." Alex has appeared out of nowhere and is shaking Trace's hand. A neutral expression has passed over Trace's face and it's a pretty convincing one, but since I know that he and Justin generally refer to Alex as Dickwad I can just tell what he's really thinking. I don't know how many dealings Rachael's had with him but even so I'll bet Justin and Trace have put her off the guy.

"Nice to see you again."

"Did you have an appointment or…?"

"No, we just stopped by to see Addy."

Damn it, nobody really knew that I have any personal relations with any of the William Rast crew, and I can see the gears in Alex's head whirring round. "That's great. Did you get my expenses off, Addy?"

Actually his are at the bottom of the pile because he dropped me in it with that lunch and also I know how insanely well he's paid. Don't get me wrong, Alex is cool, but sometimes his sense of entitlement grows a little larger than is genuinely warranted. He's a smart guy who works hard, everything he's got he's earned, but sometimes he forgets that once upon a time he was as overworked and underpaid as his underlings now are. I'm not stupid enough to do anything petty to him or take it upon myself to teach him a lesson or some ridiculous crap, that's really unprofessional and really not my place, but I don't feel too guilty about him being on the bottom of the pile. He always does this and I've already unfairly prioritised him on more than one occasion.

"Sorry Alex but there were a lot of late submissions and yours were the last ones handed into me." That's only slightly untrue, they were the second to last ones handed in but the last ones were David's and unlike Alex he was extremely apologetic and brought me a conciliatory cookie. Plus since David's usually bang on time with his it's easily forgiven. "I'll try but I can't promise."

He gives me that 'just remember I'm senior to you' look and then says goodbye to Trace and Rachael. He's barely turned the corner before Trace rolls his eyes and says "dickwad."

"Hey, be nice." Even if he can be a bit of a wanker on occasion, Alex is generally alright. I do think Justin and Trace are a tad unfair to him - he's not really any cockier than Justin, though he lacks the charisma to mask it as well.

"Anyway, we gotta jet but eight thirty?"

I nod. "Yep. Can't wait."

"I suppose it's pointless if I say Lily's welcome too?"

I give a shrug and a sheepish smile, but he's just struck a nerve. Lily is still playing the invisible woman and whenever I do see her there are humungous purple circles under her eyes. I'd say she was burning the candle at both ends, but that doesn't sufficiently cover it. If she ever sleeps at all, it's certainly not in our apartment. After the hundredth futile attempt to check in with her I've stopped even bothering to go down to the workshop to talk to her. Clearly whatever she's doing she doesn't want me involved so she can have it her way; I'm not her mother, she's a big girl who can make her own bed and lie in it.

"See you later."

***

"Fucking bloody hell," Steve breathes out as soon as we're alone at the table. I'm not sure, but he may have been holding his breath ever since we got here and he realised who Justin was. He knew Justin was the guy before him, but as much as I probably should have prepared him in the car I just couldn't really find the right way to tell him. Besides, he was chatting nineteen to the dozen in his usual Steve way, it would have been hard to get a word in edgeways. "Yous might have said."

"It's not a big deal." I shrug.

"I'm just fucking glad you didn't tell me you'd shagged Justin Timberlake before we got it together, like, I might have had performance anxiety."

That makes me bust out laughing - firstly because Steve is just funny when he comes out with things like that, and secondly because I can't imagine him ever having performance anxiety. Apart from being a horny little git, he's so confident bricks would probably bounce off him. He's not cocky in the way that Justin or Alex is; he's got nothing to prove even to himself let alone anyone else, he's just very quietly self assured. Whereas Justin I think has things to prove to himself and Alex has them to prove to everyone else. It is definitely funny how even similarities can come from such very different places in a person's head.

Steve, to give him credit, has been pretty calm. The only real giveaway that he was at all ruffled was the uncharacteristic reserve. He's still been companionable and has chatted away happily to everyone else at the table, but he's not his usual larger than life self. Normally he's one of those people who can dominate a conversation without even trying, purely because he's so enthusiastic, but tonight he's toned it down a lot. Thankfully he and Justin seem to like each other well enough - not instant buddies but perfectly pleasant and friendly. Sometimes I wish I had Steve's ability to be so sociable.

He even took it well when Trace said he had the most incomprehensible accent 'in the history of ever.' I, on the other hand, gave him a swift kicking in the table for that.

"God, this place is right upmarket. You're not in Cassio's now are yous?"

Cassio's is the incongruously named fish and chip shop on Playa Del Sol. The very Adoran owner quickly worked out that British tourists often scorn local cuisine in favour of eating just like they would at home (which strikes me as a waste of money, if you want to act and eat like you're in Britain you might as well have stayed there), so he opened up a very English fish and chip shop and makes an absolute fortune out of it. That said, since the fish is fresh caught it's still a step up from your usual local grease pit back home. Since it's right next to the resort where Steve used to work, we ate there a lot. The owner (Pedro, not Cassio), liked us since he quickly worked out we spoke la lengua and that we often opted for the Adoran options on the menu too. It's amazing how much nicer the locals were to people who even attempted to speak Spanish - not that they were rude to the rest, but English people are appalling for just assuming everywhere speaks English. I once watched Pedro patiently wait for a tourist to rifle through her phrase book and then murder the phrase 'one cod and chips please,' only to very nicely in English congratulate her on her pronunciation even though it was terrible. He was a sweetie.

This place - I forget its name - is a world away from the white tiles and greasy smell of Cassio's. The seats are covered in artfully distressed brown leather, the walls are a warm cream colour with expensive looking paintings strategically placed around the room, and the lights are kept low. The closest Pedro got to decoration was a community notice board which was usually covered in flyers for various bar promotions. The food seems more decorative than anything else, coming in small but expensive portions. Steve's eyes bugged out of his head when he saw the menu, until Justin announced that it was all on him because he finally beat the record company down and he breathed a sigh of relief. I haven't had a chance to ask him about what yet, but I know Steve's grateful whatever it was because the most he'd have been able to afford would be a small starter salad. Though given that I ordered salad as a main and it's pretty small, I dread to think what starter size would look like.

"Definitely not," I agree as Steve slings his arm around the back of my chair.

"God, it's weird thinking of yous in this place. Nothing like Adora."

"You get used to it." I give him a shrug.

It's true actually; I'm still kind of stressed out, but I'm getting to a point where I've got a better balance going on. Justin has been very helpful with that actually. I really ought to get him something as a token of appreciation, he's insanely busy with promotion right now but he's still been taking time to show me round a few places. Sadly that means I have now appeared in more than one magazine as Justin's 'mystery lady' (paparazzi are evil sons of bitches) but he's already been on Ellen and told her that I'm merely a friend and the magazines are full of shit, so they've eased off a bit.

"Shame Lil couldn't make it out, she on the razz tonight?"

"And every night." I tried to make a joke of it but I sounded bitter and I know it.

"Without you?" He asks perceptively.

"Yep. Fine though, she's entitled to her own life."

Before Steve can dig any further Justin is back from the bathroom. Flashing me a broad grin, he starts digging back into his pasta.

"I was just saying to Addy like that it's a far cry from Cassio's," Steve says conversationally. I'm grateful that he's sensitive enough to realise that I don't want a big discussion about Lily. Apart from the fact that I'm still kind of sore about the whole thing, I don't like broadcasting my issues at what's supposed to be a fun dinner.

"Cassio's?" Justin asks.

"You never took him to Cassio's?" Steve asks me in mock horror. "How could you deprive him?"

"Yes, because taking a pop star into one of the busiest tourist spots on the island would be such a good plan." I haven't mentioned to Steve that I didn't know who Justin was to begin with and I don't plan to. I wish I could forget it myself - sometimes I catch myself questioning even little things he says to me, even though I know I'm only being paranoid.

"True. Those people get excitable enough over the water park, show 'em a celebrity and there'd be a stampede."

"Yeah, those aren't fun. Trust me."

"Yeah, bet you been in a few, like. Still, bet you've shagged some nice birds out of it, I wouldn't say no to that Cameron Diaz."

"Steve!" I elbow him hard in the ribs, horrified.

Justin smiles and nods, but I can tell that he's heard this before and it didn't amuse him then, either. "A gentleman never tells."

"Sorry, you'll 'ave to excuse me and me big gob, shit comes out before I remember I shouldn't. Me mam always told me that I needed to be seen and not heard."

Thankfully Justin cracks a slight more genuine smile at that, though I still mouth another 'sorry' at him. I love Steve but sometimes he really doesn't work the brakes on his big fat mouth like he should. At least to his credit he usually realises that he shouldn't have in order to apologise in timely fashion.

"I know that feeling. Hey, at least you ain't dumb enough to do it in front of a reporter."

"Only by default because they're not interested."

Steve rubs my shoulder and I grab at his fingers, holding his hand. I catch Justin eyeing up this interaction with a thoughtful expression on his face, but when I catch his eye he only winks at me. Sometimes I really can't work out what goes on in his head; I just know that he's more intelligent than he usually gets given credit for and it gives me some cause for worry when I can't work out what he might or might not be thinking.

"Oh but you can bet if they were you would," I tell him while pushing my fork around my plate. I haven't been especially hungry lately; even the salad seems like too much.

"Yep, it's a talent. Remember the time on the roof when I accidentally let slip to your Dad that we'd been at it up there?"

Now Justin's narrowed his eyes at me and I can just tell that his meaning is 'but that was our spot.' I knew that getting two ex boyfriends together in the same place was a bad plan. Why did I do this again?

"You mean the way you just let it slip to a guy you only just met?" I say after letting go of his hand and folding my arms in annoyance.

"Oh God, sorry!" Steve smacks his hand against his forehead and looks apologetically at me and then Justin. Clearly Justin's presence still makes him nervous, because even he and his big mouth aren't usually this bad. I dread to think what clanger he's going to drop next.

"Don't worry. I can always use more blackmail material." Justin's blue eyes glitter evilly at me and I visibly cringe. I'm really starting to wish I'd taken Steve straight home and ordered Chinese.

"Just remember that I have pictures, buddy," I say as I dig back into my salad with far more interest than I had a minute ago. If I'm looking at my fork I don't have to look at Justin.

"Jesus Christ man, are you looking for Aphro-fuckin'-dite or something?"

I'm going to pretend that I didn't hear Trace say that. I could make a snappy comeback about it being Helen of Troy or Audrey Hepburn actually, but that would be giving the little troll some kind of dignifying response. He's been bitchy with me all day, and as much as he'd like to pretend it's my fault the ass has enough of his own issues without requiring me to create them for him.

This process can be kind of dull though, so I guess I can't blame him. We're stuck in yet another faceless dance studio. They all look the same - plain white walls, sprung floors, mirrors. Nobody ever seems to paint the walls anything except white; maybe we dancers just don't have a lot of imagination when it comes to decorating. It's all the same. Marty calls the girls in one by one and we have them grind up all over Eddie so we can see how they move. I already have my group dancers so we don't need to bring them all in here to teach choreography or so we can compare. What we need to see is how these girls move in an intimate situation, since if they get hired that's what they'll be doing with me for this video.

To tell you the truth, I sometimes wonder if these auditions are kind of sexist because it's sort of like a cattle call. Give 'em a number instead of a name and call them in one by one so you can stare at them and either accept the goods or send 'em away. It never used to bother me until Rachael made this comment one time about us treating them like slabs of meat instead of people. She insisted it was the process at fault and not the people behind it, but she failed to come up with any other solutions when I asked how else you can choose a woman to star in a video when the criteria is that she has to be good looking. Call me shallow if you want, but while I try my best not to judge people by superficial shit in the real world I cannot hire an ugly woman for a video. It's not because I think she's worth any less, it's because when people watch a video they don't care if you're beautiful inside; it's all about the aesthetic.

"Oh it's not Aphrodite he's looking for."

"And what's that tone supposed to mean?"

Rachael remains silent, hiding under her cap, and I flash her an annoyed look. She was fine when we started, but as time has gone on she's slumped further and further back into her chair, with her arms folded and a pinched expression on her face. I don't know what the problem is with these two today but it's like they both took PMS pills. The type that causes it instead of cures it.

Besides, they know the drill; they've been through this a hundred times before. Heck, Marty does it five times as often as they do and he's not whining about it. It's a pretty simple process; we get an agency to send us various head shots, we pull out the ones we like and invite them to an audition. Sometimes all we need to do is check that they're cute and can hit a mark; sometimes we need dancers or somebody with a little more acting skill. Those take longer. This audition today isn't too bad since even girls that can't do choreography can usually shake it a little - except this one girl earlier who had a great ass but no rhythm. I felt sorry for her, she was totally awkward and even she could tell she'd blown it.

"You feeling anybody JT?" Marty asks as the previous girl leaves.

By my count we have another fifteen to see unless we make a decision right now. That sounds harsh, that some girls won't even get the chance, but we only do that if we discover somebody so on point that we get really excited. That doesn't happen much. There are so many beautiful women in LA trying to make it in this business that you almost take it for granted.

"They're all fine, but nobody really stands out."

My nose screws up in a little bit of frustration. I'm really feeling that tingle in my toes which says I have a hit on my hands with this song, and I want the video to kill it. Whoever plays opposite me needs to sizzle on screen and while these girls are all good looking, I've yet to see what I need. Call it charisma or sex appeal or whatever you want, but it's that thing that makes it impossible for you to drag your eyes away. I need it.

Not least since I had a total beer goggles moment this morning when I turned over and the girl I picked up last night looks nothing like she did last night. The sex is kind of hazy in my memory too. She was pleasant enough and didn't assume that one hook up meant she was going to be my new paramour, which is a nice change from all those girls who are already dreaming of the Hello magazine wedding spread after the first night, but despite my extreme horniness I'm not sure it was worth it. She wasn't all that and the only reason I ever thought she was is named Budweiser. You'd think after so long a drought just to get laid at all would make me a happy camper, but in my old age I get less satisfaction out of one night stands than I did at twenty one when playing the field was the best thing ever.

So yes, today I really need to see a girl and have a 'wow' moment. If Trace or Rachael thinks I'm being too fussy then fuck them. My so called 'anal retentive perfectionist control freakishness' pays their damn bills.

"I need a break," Trace groans, his chair squealing as he pushes it back and stands up. "You want a smoke break Rach?"

"Sure." She follows suit.

I'm not sure when those two started ganging up on me instead of me and Rach ganging up on Trace, but I don't like it. The two of them even look identical from the back - baggy jeans and vests with trucker caps. From my label, I might add. Pre-menstrual bitches, the pair of them.

I heave a deep sigh and look at Marty. "You wanna call the next one?"

He duly does so and in she walks. She's in a similar uniform to the rest of them - they all try to look casual but flash as much flesh as possible. There is definitely a lack of subtlety in this town; they all seem to have taken the "less is more" approach to mean less fabric instead of less flesh. All the girls are tailored to a similar look, since I have a definite vision in my head of what I want for this video. It's all going to be about dark corners and dark sexy hideaways, lots of heat, so I wanted somebody to fit in with that - dark and sultry. So they're all dark haired and have a slight Latina vibe to them, and like I said they all dress practically the same: sweatpants to look casual, but figure hugging ones. Cropped shirts of various dance or sports gear labels. They may all be in sneakers but they're out to show off their bodies.

A lot of guys would kill to have this kind of day at work, but over a decade in this business and I've become utterly blasé to it. Still, it doesn't exactly suck.

I tap my pen against her headshot while Marty gives her the instructions. They're short and to the point - when the music comes on, get up on Eddie and freestyle it. Be sexy. The one thing that has been pretty different is the way the girls interpret those instructions. Some basically started behaving like strippers, some were total teases, some got heavy with the looks and eye contact and some, like this girl now, seem to be channelling the Pussycat Dolls. Since what I had in mind was more of a cross between tease and the normal way you might get up on somebody in a club, I don't think she's what I want.

She's not bad looking at all, she has almond shaped green eyes and a perfect Cupid's bow for lips, but the way she moves isn't what I pictured at all. Marty subtly tries to direct her more that way - as he has with all of them, we don't expect them to be total mind readers - but although she takes the hint she's still not quite there. That'll make it another line through another name. Out of thirty plus girls, I have about twenty five crosses and the rest all down as a pretty unenthusiastic maybe.

Heck, maybe it's only because I'm not in the right frame of mind for this today. Maybe if we brought them back tomorrow I'd see them all through totally different eyes. Maybe I'm just a picky bastard with impossible standards. Blah.

***

It's not long before I get bored myself and give Marty a break so I can have one. We only have seven more girls, five minutes won't kill us. I'm still hoping I'll see the one and save myself from a second round - or worse, a second batch of new prospects some other day - but I'm not willing to compromise. If you want first place then it never pays to take second best. Sometimes that really complicates my life, but I quickly learned in this business that when they tell you about the glamour and accolades they never mention the trials and tribulations.

Despite their grouchy moods, I head out the back to hunt down Trace and Rachael. It's weird, even when they're grumpy I'd usually still rather hang with them than anyone else. I have plenty of other friends I could hang with, but there's a definite comfort factor in having those two around. I'd never tell them because it's sappy and they'd mock me endlessly, but I really do love their annoying asses. It's great to have people like Matt or Tim or Addy around to mix it up, but somehow I always end up with Trace and Rachael.

When I step out into the lot the smell of new tarmac hits my nose. It's not great, but it's mostly covered up with fresh air. I can hear the gruesome twosome talking around the corner of the building, and I'm just about to head round there when I start to tune in on what they're saying and stop dead in my tracks.

Trace sounds doubtful. "Are you sure you're not being paranoid?"

"Come on, the resemblance is pretty fuckin' obvious."

"Well the song is about her, a subconscious association wouldn't be a huge deal."

Rachael lets out a grunt. I can't see her face but I imagine she just rolled her eyes. "It's way beyond that. These aren't just passing similarities Trace, every girl in there has the same skin tone and colouring as her. All practically the same height, too."

"But that's about the same height as all his other dancers. You know they like the girls to be shorter than him, looks better."

I have no idea who the hell they're talking about, but it's already obvious that Rachael's bitching about my video and Trace is sticking up for me. I take back what I said about him being a troll. What's her problem and resemblance to whom, exactly? I just picked a look I wanted and chose head shots that fit it; I didn't have anybody I know in mind when I did it.

"Which on its own would mean nothing but add it to everything else and the way he acts around her…"

"What way?" Trace voices the thought in my head for me.

"You don't see it? He never normally spends so much time with women he isn't dating, especially when he's on the road and can barely make time for anybody. He's always texting and calling when we're away, and you've seen the way he looks at her?"

"What way? It looks normal to me."

Rachael lets out the kind of exasperated 'ahh' that Mom used to give me when I wouldn't clean my room. "Well you look at every woman that way you little perv so you would think it was normal." That's true actually, Trace is a little lecher. "Point is it's not healthy."

"He hasn't been laid in over a year; of course he looks at her like he wants to jump her, he looks at every woman like he wants to jump her. It's called being a guy." Little does he know about last night - I was laid less than twenty four hours ago, even if it wasn't exactly the most orgasmic experience ever.

Okay, I think that was an actual foot I heard stamping on the ground. He's obviously pissing her off now. "No, it's her. He goes off to that island all fucked in the head and has some weird intense thing with her, suddenly bumps into her a year later when she's all fucked in the head and picks right back up where he left off. It's not good."

Wait… Addison? She's talking about Addy? Hell no bitch, those girls look nothing like Addy! What, am I supposed to shy away from ever casting a brunette again because I dated her? I've dated women of every hair colour; I'd never be able to cast any female ever again! Stupid woman, what the hell is she thinking of?

And don't get me started on that little assessment of my relationship with Addy because she has no idea.

"Fucked in the head? A little uptight maybe but it's not like she's some head case."

"That's not what I mean…" Now she's taken on a whiny school kid tone. She lets out a sigh that even I can hear from my little eavesdropping position. "She's nice and I like her, but she's obviously depressed. She barely goes out except with us, there's some weird thing going on with her room mate and she always looks like she only slept three hours. And she's so damn negative all the time, you notice that? He was depressed back then when they first hooked up and I think she's depressed now, and the fact that those two seem to use each other as their own personal Prozac substitute when really they don't know each other all that well is a little twisted."

There's a pause, and if Trace values his life he had better be thinking of some brilliant and incisive comment to cut her down with.

"I never thought of it that way. I kind of see where you're coming from."

Bastard. I'm making a list and you're on it, so you better sleep with one eye open pal.

"But hey, isn't that what friends do? Lean on each other?" Trace then continues.

Hmm. Maybe you're off the list, depending on how the rest of this conversation goes. I can't believe they still haven't realised that I'm listening in. I'd have thought they'd hear me approaching; it wasn't like I was sneaking up on them.

"There's leaning on each other and then there's having some messed up symbiotic parasitic crap where you're co-dependent."

Yeah. Rachael is so off my Christmas card list and onto the dead before dawn list. I have a lot of lists.

"Well what do you plan to do about it?" Trace asks. "You know if you say any of this crap to him he'll just disagree and get pissy."

"I don't plan to do anything about it, it's his life." Oh really? You noticed that while judging it all without knowing shit, did you? "It just annoys and worries me because I don't think it's healthy for either of them and I think he likes having her need him a little too much, and he's still hot for her. As evidenced by the fact that he's insisting on releasing a song about her and isn't going to be happy until he finds her doppelganger to cast in the video."

"I don't even care if it's Addy's god damned twin at this point, I'd just like his picky ass to choose somebody already. We were supposed to go meet Dickwad an hour ago and I had to cancel, God only knows when we'll be able to reschedule."

"Another one who's hot for her."

"What? Dickwad? How can you tell?"

I'm with the troll, I've been around Alex the Dickwad a good few times now and the man is like an ice block. He has lots of smart comments and jokes but they're never warm or friendly, just annoying, hence his new moniker. There's no sign that he's ever thawed out enough to desire the touch of any woman, let alone Addy.

"He stares at her too. Though she can stay away from him because he really is a dick."

"Agreed."

Yeah, that'll be the first thing we've all agreed on throughout this whole conversation.

"And that Steve guy too, there was obviously something still there. And Justin looked totally jealous which is just more evidence for the prosecution."

"He was perfectly cool to the guy!" Trace protests.

"Never said he wasn't. Just said he looked jealous. Though Steve twittering on like a total idiot about him and Addy didn't help. Who tells your ex's ex all about your relationship with her?"

"The dude seemed fine by me."

And by me too, so Rachael can shove that theory where the sun don't shine. I really do not like her today; she's uncharacteristically full of bullshit. Usually even when I don't like what she has to say I can admit the truth to it, but nothing she has said about me and Addy makes any sense. I am not jealous of Steve. He was a nice guy, but like she said he babbled a lot. And why would I even be jealous since they're not together any more anyway?

Though I did kind of wonder if maybe they hooked up while he was staying, they were kind of touchy feely in the restaurant. He was supposed to have left yesterday and I nearly asked, but then remembered it's none of my business. If I really was jealous I'm sure I'd have masochistically asked anyway purely to torture myself.

Just like I've been masochistically eavesdropping on my cousin bitching about me. Good times.

I need to stop biting my nails. I thought I'd broken the habit years ago, but it must still be a nervous thing since I can't keep them out of my mouth at the moment. There's a certain amount of foot tapping going on too. Why is nobody ever around when I need them?

"Hey, you've reached Justin. I'm busy right now but leave me a message and I'll call you back."

An unnecessarily high pitched beep sounds in my ear, and I take it as my cue to leave the message. "Hey, Memphis, it's English. Umm… I guess you're not around, I was just calling for some sanity. It's just, uhh, Lily's got some friends over and they're kinda loud and stuff. I don't know them too well and… never mind. I'm just being silly. Call me soon and we'll chat, yeah? See ya babe."

Oh that was pathetic. I suppose the desperation of being unable to reach Trace or Rachael and having nobody else to call made me pathetic. That would make sense, since having nobody else to call is equally pitiable. Justin's been working hard on a video shoot all day; he's probably still there and shooting from what he told me about the process, which sounded lengthy. I didn't need to bug him with stupid voice messages about me being a wimp.

I am a wimp, hiding in my bedroom. For the first five minutes I was stupidly happy about the fact that she'd brought people home for once. Firstly because it meant she wasn't dead in a ditch somewhere (if there are any ditches in Los Angeles), and secondly because I hoped that if I could chat to these people she's friends with I would be reassured that she's okay, and who knows, maybe get friendly with them myself. It only took me five minutes to get the impression that I'd been overly optimistic, and ten to decide I did not want to be there.

They're extremely loud, for one thing. Even putting aside the fact that it's my iPod they've cranked up to insane volume without asking, they're now yelling to talk over the music. That makes no sense to me; why would you do that when you're in a private apartment and not a club? Why if you want to talk would you blast music out at so many decibels you have to yell? It's preventing me from burying myself under my duvet and ignoring them, because I can hear every word very clearly through the floor. They're all acting like they're still in a club, too. Drinks are getting spilled and smashed underfoot, they're sloppy drunk (though I suppose they must have been before they even got here to be so far gone) and I think when I went downstairs to grab an apple that I saw something going up someone's nose. Two guesses as to what that could be.

I'm in shock, but I'm also kind of scared. My father always warned me that I'd had a sheltered life on Adora but I never really believed him. Like any son or daughter, I thought he was being a typical parent who didn't know what mischief their kid got into. Now I can see he was right - the worst I've seen is a bit of weed smoking, the idea that they're passing coke around in there shocks me. I mean, I know it's rife in the fashion scene and in big cities, but despite that knowledge that the idea that Lily might be involved with anyone who did it just never entered my brain for so much as a millisecond. What I know and what I considered any kind of possibility never really interacted with each other in my head. Now it makes horrible sense - she's rich, she runs with a rich crowd. They're exactly the kind of people who can afford it in exactly the kind of industry where it's considered socially acceptable. I hope she's not doing it too, but it would explain some things.

The scared part of me - which is also kind of angry, come to think of it - is wondering precisely how badly these people behave when high. There is a bunch of drug taking strangers in my front room and even if they are with Lily, I don't feel safe. There's no lock on my bedroom door, but even if there was they're still in my home with all my stuff and my best friend. Since I've never seen anybody coked up I have no idea what to expect. If they were all stoned or simply drunk without the coke taking I could deal with it; I wouldn't be any happier but at least I'd know what I had to look forward to. Right now I feel a bit helpless and pathetic and afraid to even go downstairs in my own apartment. I'm angry at being put in that position, but more than anything it's the anxiety that's working on my last nerve.

Which is why I was desperately trying to reach Trace or Rachael or Justin - I figure that being around the entertainment industry they'd be able to reassure me, let me know what I'm in for, but none of them are available. Trace and Rachael aren't answering texts or calls, and Justin obviously went to voicemail.

The doorbell ringing is a welcome relief.

Quickly I run downstairs to open it. I'm not surprised that Lily has made no effort to, but then I'm amazed I managed to hear the intercom (we have one in every room, it's the ultimate in laziness) and I'm not the one sitting by the speakers. When I open the door it's Alex, clutching a large presentation binder. It looks like he said 'hi' but I can't lip read very well so I put the door on the latch and step out into the hallway, shutting it behind me. The music is still stupidly loud but at least I'll be able to hear him.

"Man that's loud. Party?"

"No, just some obnoxious friends of Lily's."

"Fun." He rolls his eyes. "Anyway, I'll spare you the preamble. I came over to ask a huge favour."

"Oh?" I ask. I should have known this wasn't a social visit.

"I know I said you could have tomorrow off, but I just had this dumped on me by Frank and he wants it done by close of business tomorrow. I've done as much of it as I can, but I'm in an all day meeting with buyers and it still needs proof reading and shit and everybody's swamped. I can't even try the ol' all nighter on it since I'm already doing that for meeting prep. I'm really sorry, can you help me out?"

Part of me wants to get really pissed off by that rather cheeky request, but two things have stopped me. One is the mention of Frank, who is unofficially referred to in the office as SME whenever Elena's not around. SME may sound like a Peter Pan character but it actually stands for Scariest Motherfucker Ever. The second is that Alex's request was uncharacteristically humble and apologetic. Now, that makes it sound like he's usually a bastard and he's not, but he tends to take it for granted that since he's the boss and you're the underling he asks and you do. He's not an ass about it, but he's never exactly falling over himself to make it sound like you have a choice.

"No that's fine." I shrug. It was more of a mental health day than anything, I had no set plans.

"You're an angel, thank you," he says with a relieved smile. "Just call reception when you're done and we'll send the courier. Thanks gorgeous, you've saved my ass."

"What else is new?"

He manages to chuckle at that. "Yeah. Actually I wanted to talk to you about that fine ability, but maybe now's not the time with the nightclub you're running in there?"

"Ugh." I shake my head and give a little shudder. "I have a bunch of coked up friends of Lily's in my living room and no idea what to do about it."

"Oh." His total lack of surprise fits neatly in with my theory that it's rife in fashion. "Not much you can do about it if Lily's invited them. Won't she kick them out?"

"She's totally ignoring me."

"I had a roommate who used to do shit like that, have a ton of parties and let his friends BYO. I used to do the occasional line myself, no big deal, but they all turned into druggies and then they started calling the dealers over to our place. I drew the line there."

"You mean they don't all turn into druggies?" I let out an unconvinced huff. The look on his face tells me he knows what I'm insinuating and he finds that view naïve. The reply I get is totally candid and very matter of fact. "No, they don't. With some people it's like social smoking, they do it once in a while and then one day they just never do it again and don't notice the difference, I was like that. Some people go through a stage and then get bored… I ain't tellin' you it's smart or it's right, but it's the real world. A lot of people wind up trying it in this industry. The real problem comes if you go overboard and get hooked; that's when you got trouble. You know if Lily's been using?"

"No." I shrug. "This is the first I knew of this; she's been out partying a lot."

"Hmm. Well, I'd keep an eye on her." He shrugs. "This happens a lot in this business and mostly it turns out okay, so long as she's not doing the hard stuff too often."

"It's not her I'm worried about so much as the random strangers in my living room. I have no idea who any of them are or what they might do, they're all shit faced to begin with even without the coke."

I push my hand over my forehead, frowning fiercely. It's a lie that I'm not worried about Lily, I care about her way more than any of those wankers she's hanging with, but at least I have some idea of how to handle her if she goes off on one. What Alex seems to be saying is that it's life and if she's only doing it once in a while nothing terrible is likely to happen; I'm unconvinced, I've read too many tales of people dying on their first try of drugs and them being laced with all sorts of horrible things. Still, I suppose I can see that realistically he's merely giving me his firsthand experience. He and people he knows have done it once in a while and walked away with no ill effects. Problem is that I have no idea how often Lily's been doing it - or if she's even done it at all, it wasn't her I spotted snorting. I've noticed her looking extremely tired and worn down, but is that alcohol and late nights alone or is she overdoing it on coke?

More to the point… where was I when this was all happening? She's fallen in with some total gits, it's obvious, but where was I?

It worries me that I had no idea, and that I was so dismissive. I'm now feeling incredibly guilty for having had this down in my head as her ignoring me or shutting me out. It seems very middle school of me to have treated this like it was some 'but you're MY friend' thing. What if it's me who's been ignoring her and not being there for her when she needs me? I do work some stupid hours, maybe she turned to them because I wasn't here? We've always had fun but she's never been a huge partier, and it's not like we haven't had opportunities to get into the stupid drunk/partying cycle before. She's never succumbed to that temptation before, so why now? I can't shake the feeling there was something I could have done had I realised earlier, and that more pertinently I should have realised earlier.

"Look, don't worry." Alex claps a sympathetic hand on my shoulder. He is being pretty good about this, I have to say. Technically he's Lily's superior too, he could have got really pissy about this. "It's midnight now, hopefully they'll either go home, crash out or decide they want to head to some bar soon. If they're as far gone as you say they are they won't be able to keep this up."

"Ugh, I just… I don't know how to handle this."

His brown eyes smile at me sympathetically, and I'm about to smile a pathetically grateful smile back when I hear the lift doors open.

"Addy!"

Justin rushes over to me and immediately swoops me up in a hug, kissing the top of my head without noticing that he's shoved Alex out of the way. "Are you okay? I got your message and you sounded really nervous, what's going on?"

Looking at him, I'm wondering if he rushed straight over here from his shoot. I think he still has make up on. "It's a long story…"

"I'll leave you to tell it," Alex says as he shifts uncomfortably and then passes me the binder. "Thanks again for the favour, I owe you."

"No, that's okay. Thank you," I tell him, hoping he gets that I'm not thanking him for dumping work on me on my day off; I'm thanking him for being here with the reality check.

"Oh, bye Alex." Justin makes a vague wave in his direction as he walks away but you can tell he doesn't really give a shit. He's still staring at me. "Are you having a party or something?"

"No." I sigh. I don't feel like having this conversation again in the corridor, least of all with a pop star that may attract attention if anyone sees him. "Come on, I'll fill you in."

***

"Much as I hate to say it, Dickwad's right," Justin tells me with a sigh. I stealthily manoeuvred him past the high people and upstairs without being spotted, and I've been telling him the whole sorry tale. It's extremely late and Alex's prediction has yet to come true.

"Neither of you can convince me that it's okay if it's occasional." Call me naïve if you must, but I'm very much an advocate of 'just say no.' My parents indoctrinated me to believe drugs are the devil and it worked, what can I tell you?

"That's not what I mean." He brushes my arm gently with his hand. "I'm not telling you it's okay or right or anything like that, and I'm not telling you there's no risk. I'm just telling you that in the industries we're in, a lot of people occasionally use and even if it's wrong, most of them come out from it unscathed. Fuck, even I tried it once. It's not the actual coke I'd be worried about so much as it sounds like she's partying too hard in general. Even if she's only on alcohol there's only so long you can burn the candle at before ends before you run out of candle, but if she is overdoing the coke that'll happen faster."

"Gah." I flop forward and my head now rests in his lap. Sympathetically he starts stroking my hair. I feel only marginally less pathetic for the fact that I now have company while I'm hiding in my room. He's sitting back against the head board of my bed, legs stretched out ahead of him, and I'm curled up in what's a bit too akin to the foetal position. "I just want them out of here. I hate having all these strangers here when I know they're on something."

His index finger brushes over my ear. "If they haven't bothered you so far they probably won't. I guess you just need to talk to Lily and ask her to keep it out of here."

"Heh. I haven't talked to Lily in weeks," I say miserably. "I'm not sure I could get anywhere near her to even say it, and even if I could I doubt she'll listen to me any more."

"Won't know until you try." He stops stroking and ruffles my hair instead. I could tell him that he should have showered before coming over here, but since I'm insanely grateful to have somebody here to look after me right now I don't care. He doesn't stink that bad, anyway.

"I hate feeling so distant from her." I rub at my nose fretfully. "But knowing there's shit like this going on makes it worse, I feel helpless."

"You are about the furthest thing from helpless I know, Miss Thang. You got your shit together way more than most people I know. How many people could just jump into a whole new career and country at the same time?"

Hmm. A voice in my head says it doesn't share his conviction that I completed said feat successfully, but I won't let it speak out loud to him. "I've been friends with her all my life, why is it all suddenly going to shit like this?" He shrugs. "Sometimes going to a new place fucks people up for a while. LA being Crazy Town don't help it much."

"How do you stand it?" I whine.

"I got paid to simulate sex with a hot woman half of today and dance with her the rest of it. It numbs the pain."

"Yeah, I bet you just hate your job."

"Worst day at work ever."

"Does the video at least look good?" I ask.

"Hopefully, the dailies look good, but the proof's in the edit. If you're around you can come with me when they screen it."

"Cool."

Maybe I should be more freaked by the fact that he's releasing a very dirty song about me, but it's not like it'll be me he's sexing up in the video. And it's not like anybody but him and probably Trace and Rachael knows it's about me. I might have told Lily if she'd ever been present for me to do so. It'd be a lie though if I said I was as fine with the song as I let on. As far as Justin's concerned I'm amused and flattered, but if I'm honest it makes me a little uncomfortable.

Actually, if I'm being honest our whole history makes me a little uncomfortable. That ridiculous lie he told still lingers between us like a bad smell sometimes, but it's more than that. Being friends with Steve comes absolutely naturally to me; we even stopped ourselves from having benefits sex while he was here because we both agreed it was more emotional hassle than a quickie was worth. But Justin… maybe it's because we were in such an unrealistic little bubble for a while there. Maybe it's because thinking we would never see each other again made us drop our inhibitions more than we'd have ever dared if we knew that our paths would cross again. Whatever the reason behind it, there's this weird knot of emotion I feel in regards to him that confuses me sometimes. I know it's not love, but it's not simple friendship either and it's a head fuck right when I don't need another one.

Finally the music is turned off. His hand has stopped playing with my hair and is now running along my arm and shoulder, occasionally stopping to massage it with his thumb.

"At least they finally turned that shit off. It wasn't even good music."

"Well next time I have a bunch of cokeheads over I'll be sure to tell them that you're the DJ."

"Fuck, it's late," he says as he twists his wrist to look at what I imagine is a very expensive watch. It's all bling encrusted and in my opinion, not actually that nice. Diamonds may be pretty but that doesn't necessarily mean they'll look good if you throw them over everything.

I glance at the clock and see he's right. "Good job I don't have to be up early. Day off."

"Me too, since the video's wrapped." He lets out a big yawn, and suddenly I feel awful for letting him sit here and listen to me complain. He's been working really long hours for two days straight; it's unfair of me to keep him awake. Especially when he was so considerate rushing over here to check my wimp of a self was okay.

"It's too late to be driving home babe, you can stay here if you like."

"Normally I'd insist I was fine but I'm too fucked to protest. Where's your bathroom?"

"Next door," I answer through a wide yawn, pointing haphazardly in the right direction. Thankfully, the loud chatter is starting to die down and I hear the front door opening and shutting. At least some of them are leaving.

"Thanks."

"No, thank you babe," I tell him. "This was above and beyond."

"Hey, what are friends for?"

I give him a sleepy smile before wondering whether I can really be bothered to change into my pyjamas or if it's easier and less effort to sleep in my sweats.

"Morning."

"Morning."

"Addy's just gone out, not sure where. You're welcome to hang around and wait a while if you like."

"Oh, thanks."

"Breakfast? I was about to do some eggs, you like scrambled?"

"Uhh, sure, thank you."

I have to say this was the last thing I was expecting this morning. It's about ten, but after two long days of shooting and a late night listening to Addy freak out over a little cocaine… well, coming downstairs and having Lily brightly saying hello and offering me eggs wasn't how I envisioned this going. Still, she looks entirely too alert for somebody who spent last night wasted, so I'm guessing she didn't partake in the lines.

It's weird - my image of Addy as a laidback character has taken its strongest hit since I first bumped back into her and she was pissed about the occupational white lie I told her. You'd think after living on an island full of clubs and tourists she'd be a little more acquainted with drugs, but she was freaked. I did my best to tell her it wasn't a big deal, but it's hard to do that without sounding like you're trivialising or condoning shit. I could have told her that there a number of high powered industries with coke running through them and most people still function pretty well, but she seems to equate any and all drug use with being a total crack head. Trying to gently explain that there are places between the addict and clean extremes and the odd night here and there while not great is probably not going to kill anybody was a waste of time I could have spent sleeping.

Still, it was fucked up of Lily to bring that shit in here. That group was obnoxious and it's Addy's home too; it's not fair to bring back a bunch of assholes that are going to take over, bring drugs in and keep her up until some insane time in the morning. If they wanted to do that they should have gone home with somebody who didn't have a room mate to disturb. When Trace and I lived together we had to have that agreement - he knew that sometimes I had shows or promo to do and needed my beauty sleep, so they took the party to somebody else's house. If I was up and awake, it was fair game - but then he didn't bring back anybody I didn't already know.

"So how are you this fine morning?"

Yes, she is definitely too perky to have been on anything. "Cool, little tired."

A frown passes over her face as she reaches into a cupboard and pulls out a mixing bowl and a whisk. "Yeah, I'm really sorry about that, I couldn't get rid of them."

"Rid of them?" I question curiously as without being asked she grabs a glass and pushes it plus the carton of orange juice towards me. I'm hoping that she's going to put enough coffee in the pot for me too. "I thought they were with you."

"They were, but…" She pulls a face at me as she opens a fresh carton of eggs and inspects them for defects or cracks. "Only about half of them are my usual crowd. After the bar closed they all wanted to go back to somebody's and I got volunteered since I have the biggest place, which was fine, but then we got back here and they started blaring that crap music and tipping drugs all over my nice clean table and no matter how many times I told them they needed to go so I could clear up and get to bed they wouldn't leave. Wankers."

"Oh. Way it looked I thought you were all together."

"Well, speed at which you and Addy bolted through here I'm not surprised it looked that way." She doesn't say it in an accusatory way, just gives a light shrug. "Nah, I was out with my usual crowd and they're friends of friends of someone or whatever. They kind of invited themselves."

"Oh. Because I think Addy got the impression they were with you." Has anyone else notice that I'm saying 'oh' a lot?

"Fuck no. From the way they were knocking it back I think they're all total druggies. They'd already drained the bar before we even got back here and they started on coke." Lily shakes her head in disgust and red hair falls out of her ponytail, brushing back across her face. "My lot might do it once in a while but they're not arseholes enough to do it in my house."

"So you don't?" I ask casually, running my finger slowly around the rim of my glass in thought. I don't really care if she does or not, just curious. It seems like Addy got totally the wrong end of the stick last night.

"In the past I have, all of about twice. Never did much for me."

"Me neither."

"So…" Lily looks at me and suddenly I get exactly what Addy meant when she said you can't hide anything from this girl. I don't know if it's purely the green eyes and that slightly piercing quality they have simply by virtue of being an unusual colour, but it's like she's looking through me. If she asks me for my credit card number right now she might just get it - lucky for me she won't ask since she's rich anyway. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Uhh, sure." Oh God, she is going to interrogate me, I knew it.

"How's Addy?"

That's an interesting question. She lives with her for Pete's sake (who is Pete anyway? Pete Wentz?), she should know - and even if she doesn't, why is she asking me instead of Addy? And how do I voice those questions without sounding like a total ass to a woman I barely know?

"Why do you ask?" I sip my juice and try to look equally inquisitorial. I fail, but never mind.

"Because lately she doesn't talk to me and since the last time she did that we were thirteen it scares me shitless."

She's very matter of fact about it, and in the same vein I decide the direct approach is called for. I have no basis for that really; I'm not subtle enough to be able to manipulate this conversation (or any) in that clever sneaky way my mom does when she wants to dig for info, so direct it is.

"That's interesting. Way she tells it you're never here and you never talk to her."

"Really?" She purses her lips and frowns deeply, eyebrows furrowing together in a tight crease above her nose. "Bloody hell. Damned if I know what goes on in that girl's head."

It might be I'm imagining it, but she seems a little forceful as she cracks the eggs into the bowl and starts beating them. Her wrist is moving at a speed nobody but my grandmother is capable of when cooking normally - it's the kind of speed that can usually only be achieved when fuelled by being pissed off. If this was Trace I'd be throwing things out and speculating, see what I get back, but I don't know Lily well enough so sitting back and waiting for her to talk seems like a better idea. Girls always seem to want to talk more about this stuff than guys anyway, so I doubt it'll be long before she does.

It takes her a few moments though. "How much of her life did Addy tell you about last year?" She asks finally.

"Umm… bits and pieces. I probably know more than most but less than some."

"Did she ever mention Rob?"

"Rob? Doesn't ring a bell." "Well, he was this guy who came over from the UK for a holiday, they got together and…"

"Oh wait, wait, wait," I interrupt. "Is this the guy who said he was going to move out there to live with her and then came back with a fiancée in tow?"

"Oh, so she did tell you."

"Real briefly, never got a name though." Now I'm intrigued, what does this have to do with him? As far as I'm aware she hasn't seen him and years, and why would it make her not talk to Lily?

"How much did she say?"

"Heavy thing, he broke her heart, she's never dating a tourist again."

"That's the bare bones, yeah… but it sounds like what she probably didn't tell you is she had a pretty nasty spot of depression after him. Stopped eating, stopped going out, generally worried the shit out of everybody until she got sent to counselling because her mum thought she was anorexic. After that she seemed to snap out of it, though I'm still not entirely convinced she ever got over it properly." Lily explains as she pours the now liquid eggs into a pan and turns the heat on.

Maybe I should feel guilty for not offering to do something; I am a guest in her home after all. Seems a little rude to just sit here and let her wait on me when she barely knows me. Though, I am used to that. It's a pop star thing, people fall all over themselves in really unnecessary ways.

As I'm thinking such mundane things Lily continues on, stirring with one hand and tapping her other fingers against the counter as she does. "Well, I'm having a serious case of déjà vu, because this feels a lot like that again. She's buried herself in this job even though I know it's not really her cup of tea, she always looks like she hasn't slept and I've given up trying to talk to her."

"But she says she's given up trying to talk to you," I butt in. "She says you're never around."

"I'm not now but that was after I gave up, not before, so if she was trying to talk to me she was doing a good job hiding it." She lets out a mournful sigh. "I kept trying to get her out to meet people but she just didn't want to know. I'd wait up for her to get home from work but even then she didn't want to do anything except stare at the TV or something, always said she was too tired to go out even if it was just dinner. To be honest, I think you've become pretty much the only person she'll drag her arse out for and after a while I had to leave her be. I can lead a horse to water but I can't make it drink, and in the meantime it was making me just as miserable sitting in all the time waiting for her to talk to me. I love her, but as my dad rightly says you can't save somebody by sinking with them."

Fucking hell, I was not expecting this.

It makes me supremely uncomfortable because it reminds me way too much of what Rachael said when she thought I wasn't there - that Addy's depressed, won't go out except with us and negative all the time. I don't get it though, she seems fine with me. A little overworked and out of her comfort zone being in LA rather than somewhere more like Adora, but it's not like I look at her and think she's depressed or something. Because if what Lily's saying she's been like now is true, you add that to a history and it actually kind of sounds like she's maybe ill or relapsing or something. And I'd have no idea what the fuck to do with that, never really been around anybody with any mental health issues going on. I'd have no idea how to help.

Trying to equate that with the Addy I've known in LA is hard, because I can't comfortably fit her in either category. It's true that she's not as full of the joys of life as she was on Adora - I can't imagine her coaxing me to kiss her in a lightning storm in downtown Hollywood or anything - but she laughs, she smiles, she makes jokes the same. This not eating thing is news to me, I've seen nothing questionable about her eating habits while she's been with me. Maybe you'd need more knowledge on the subject to accurately assess the situation, I don't know, but if you asked me I'd never think she needed counselling or meds or anything.

It's also only now striking me that I have been having what could be termed a fairly personal conversation about her with the childhood best friend she's barely speaking to. Am I breaking confidences or crossing a line here? Is this even any of my business? I know I have a huge nose but that doesn't mean I like to poke it in where it's not wanted.

"Ahh, I shouldn't drag you into this. She's still talking to you, let's keep it that way." Lily gives me a tight smile and no matter which version of events is the right one, I feel sorry for her. Whatever this thing is standing between them, she looks like she wants it gone.

"Cool," I say as she starts scooping eggs onto plates of toast I hadn't even seen her prepare. Was I really that zoned out? And why is she pouring ketchup on her eggs? Gross.

"So, tell me about you. Your album's out soon, right?"

"About six weeks. Video's premiering next week, I just finished shooting yesterday."

"Oh yeah, I remember helping Jessica pick out a few outfits for it a while ago."

As part of our fusion line deal, we agreed to showcase some of Elena's designs in the video. It's all very subtly done, there's no branding in the picture; I'll just need to mention in a few interviews that she's the designer. I hate those videos that are basically product placements for Nokia or whoever.

"Yep. I haven't seen the final edit yet though."

"What's it about?" She asks in an interested tone as she passes me a very nice looking plate of eggs. They're just the right colour and fluffy; making good scrambled eggs is an art.

"Well," I say as I fork some up. My momma taught me not to speak with my mouth full, but I ignore her advice unless she's here to witness it and smack me upside my head. "It's basically me meeting a girl I used to date in a club with her new guy and then me having flashbacks of when I was with her, except instead of a fight or a hook up or whatever at the end we just kind of acknowledge each other and walk away. It looks better than it sounds."

"No, I can see it." She nods. I find this sometimes with creative types, even if they're not musicians - when you're used to working in any kind of visual medium you can usually picture others pretty well, even if it's not your own. "Sounds cool. I know the song's been on the radio but I haven't had time to give it a proper listen yet."

"Steal Addy's laptop, I gave her the whole album to put on there."

"Hmm." The smile she gives is slightly wistful, but genuine. "And to think last year she thought you worked in a bank, now she's getting exclusives."

"Actually…" I pull my phone out of my pocket and start flicking through my photo gallery. "Maybe you can help me out."

"How so?"

I find the picture I want, me with the model who played my ex, and show it to her. "My friends think she's Addy's twin but I don't see it. Tell it to me straight?"

Lily puffs up her cheeks and lets the air out in a long expression of doubt. "Umm… sorry, but I'm with them. They're not totally alike but I don't know how you could not see it."

"Fuck." I scratch at the back of my neck, because this news is not good.

No matter what shit Rachael and Trace said it was never my intention to cast an Addy lookalike; that would make her really uncomfortable. Fuck, now I've heard it from an unbiased source it makes me really fucking uncomfortable. Addy isn't completely unknown to the press - when they failed to get any pictures of us so much as holding hands or whatever they finally gave up on the idea that we're a couple, but they could very well read into this exactly the same way Rachael did. It's bullshit, and if there was any subconscious part of my brain that intended this it would only be because the song's about her and not because of any current lovin' going on, but even I can see how that looks. Hmm. I might have to call the director with the sudden bright idea of never really letting the audience see her face. If we have the camera angles to support that, which is a big if.

Fuck. Apart from the eggs, this has not been a good morning so far.

One of these days, I am going to have a nice steady workload. It'll be busy enough to stop me getting bored, but not so huge that I spend my day running around at the speed normally reserved for when Freddy Krueger is on your heels.

Alas, today is not that day. Almost all of the executives are on some business trip to New York with Elena, which means my area of the building is pretty much dead. My workload comes from them and without them… I get to sit here and file my nails in my best secretary cliché impression. There are a few other people who give me stuff, but mostly it's their PAs who are in the same no-work boat as me so asking them is no good. Everybody downstairs is still bustling with business as usual, but since what I do has little to do with them it's no good asking if they want help.

For a couple of hours or so, it was great. I caught up on my e-mails, wasted some time on Facebook and read a few news sites so I could feel knowledgeable about current affairs. Now I'm just bored out of my skull but I can't leave because somebody still has to be here in case the phone rings. Everybody else decided they'd go out for a nice long lunch since the bosses aren't here and somehow I got disinvited and volunteered to stay behind. I'm still unsure how this feat was accomplished, especially when I never agreed to it, but unfortunately I'm stuck here now.

I hear the lift ping and automatically look up towards the doors. They creak open with that worrying sound I've been bugging maintenance to take a look at and a familiar head of red hair is behind them. Lily strides out looking purposeful (and very chic in knee high boots and Roland Mouret) and then hops up to sit on the counter in front of me with a cheery smile.

Given that I haven't set eyes on Lily in about three days, this is strange.

"I have a present for you," she announces. It's not unusual for her to skip pleasantries; we've known each other too long.

"Oh?" I squeak, unsure how to process the way she's acting like nothing's out of the ordinary.

"Mmmhmm. Daddy was on business in Milan and bought me and Mum some new watches, except Mum didn't want hers so she sent them both to me and I do not need two watches, so you are going to take the other."

Sometimes I wonder when that girl pauses for breath. The fact that she wants to offload what is likely to be an extremely expensive item on me isn't what I'm raising an eyebrow at; that happens a lot. Her dad is very generous to her and she in turn is generous with her friends. He gives her a lot of stuff she doesn't necessarily want or like and she claims to see it as us helping her out if we take it off her hands. I just don't understand how she can avoid me for weeks, bring a bunch of crack heads into our living room and say nothing but then three days later she's plonking herself on my desk and throwing designer goods at me. What the blazes is going on in her head?

Lily is apparently oblivious to what I imagine is a pretty perplexed expression on my face. She's too busy digging in her bag (naturally, it's a Birkin). "I couldn't decide which one I wanted so I figured I'd let you pick. The white one's just the right side of tacky but cute and the blue one is really nice but might be limiting in outfit choices."

Now I have to take back what I said about being unfazed by her giving me stuff; she's just put two bling encrusted Dolce & Gabbana watches down in front of me. I'm fairly sure the bling is real (it would be just like her Dad to pick something like this, his taste does lean to the ostentatious sometimes). The white one has a leopard print face (I assume that's why she called it tacky), and the blue one is cute but a very bright blue which would indeed be ensemble challenging.

"No, Lil, I can't." I couldn't take a gift that expensive and I couldn't take any gift while she's being so weird.

"Yes you can. Now choose before I flip a coin and choose for you."

I look away at my computer screen as if it could tell me what to do; how the hell do I react to this? I don't get her.

"Fine." In the blink of an eye she's called heads for blue and flipped a quarter. Why do I get the feeling she was prepared for me to protest? "Tails. You get the white one missy. Probably a good idea, electric blue and fuchsia are a bad mix; that dress is wicked, by the way."

"What are you on?" Is the only question I can think to ask after she's taken the liberty of fishing my rather less expensive bag from under my desk and throwing a watch that probably costs more than the collective contents of my bedroom. I suspect I'd probably choke if I saw the price tag.

"I was stupid enough to participate in two Starbucks runs today. Caramel frappuccinos should come with a health warning on them, way too much sugar."

"Oh." Not my most articulate response ever but the best I can come up with.

"Anyway, that's not actually why I came up here, I need you."

"You need me?"

"Well, more like I'm going to pretend to need you because I'm taking a bunch of stuff over to… uhh… some studio somewhere… wherever, it's for Justin and his dancers and I figure it'll be far more entertaining if you come with me. I have to stand around and wait for them to be done and make sure they don't so much as pull a thread which is going to be extremely dull even if it is at a show, plus I figure Justin will want to see you way more than me so it works all round."

"Umm…" I need some aspirin. I have no idea what's going on here and I don't understand why she's acting like everything's all rosy again and it's giving me a headache.

"And I saw them going out without you and leaving you to handle all this by yourself which is pretty bloody rude, so I'm thinking you'll be able to rub it in that in their absence you got chosen to handle Mr Timberlake. Not literally, obviously, though of course if they knew you'd already done that too their silly little heads would explode. But anyway, all you need to do is forward your phone to Carla's desk; she said she could take messages until they get back."

Well, she's got this all worked out. That makes it awkward to say no since she's already shot down every excuse I might have made. What is going on with her? Does she want a useful go between so that relations with Justin's team run smoother or something? I know she met Justin a few days ago since they were having breakfast when I got back, so she can't need an introduction. What's her game?

"Did I mention that this is mandatory and if you don't come willingly I will drag you?"

"Fine, fine," I groan. Sometimes it's better to go along with her, even if you do know there's got to be a catch somewhere. She is an unstoppable force but I am not an immovable object, so she's going to win every time. The only question is how much energy I waste fighting and I am not in the mood right now.

"Great!" She smiles brightly at me. "We'll pick up lunch on the way and I promise it'll be much nicer than wherever they were going."

"Tao," I answer.

"Yuck and double yuck. Crystal works there and she says she knows at least one waiter really does spit in the food, so you can guess I haven't been there since."

For the first time all day, the corners of my lips may have curled up a little bit.

***

"Hey English."

Justin plants a quick kiss on the top of my head as he gives me a hug to say hello. I almost feel a little silly - apart from the fact that too many TV crew members are peering interestedly out of the corners of their eyes at everything he does, I feel sheepish after the last time I saw him. It's not like I don't know that people take drugs. Hell, it's not like I didn't know that Lily has in the past known people who do, so why it should surprise me that in La-La Land she knows a few more I'm not sure. It was a total overreaction and it's embarrassing that he saw me so frantic.

Well, maybe not a total overreaction. Bringing it into the apartment and keeping me awake until all hours is still utterly rude and wrong and generally not on.

He was so good about it though; I think that's what embarrasses me most. It was so obvious that he thought I was making Everest out of a molehill but he never said that to me and he just tried to put it to me in a way he thought I'd get. Sometimes it really frustrates me when I'm so silly about stuff in front of him. Lord knows he must have the patience of a saint to put up with me, but then Lord knows what he thinks about watching the crazy woman getting wound up over nothing. It doesn't exactly show me off at my most flattering.

"Hey Memphis," I greet him as I hug him back.

"Lily," he gives her the nod. "What are you ladies doing here?"

"I have to be here to look after the outfits and I dragged her because I didn't want to get bored waiting around on my own."

"You should have let me know, I could have organised for you to come with us this morning."

"Nah, you're good, we had work and a lunch date."

"Oh? Nice." It sounds totally innocent to those not in the know, but I am in the know and there was definitely a tone. It was a tone meant for me, too. He's subtly asking me what's going on with me and Lily, as well he might when he spent a good few hours listening to me fret about the state of our friendship a few nights ago.

"Sorry, I got dragged at the last minute otherwise I'd have texted you." That was my (hopefully) equally subtle answer to his unspoken question.

"Cool. Well we'll most likely be late here but if you feel like a late dinner you're welcome to join us, Rach is cooking at home."

"You mean you'd just dump two extra guests on her without warning?" I poke him in the ribs. "And you wonder why she takes the piss out of you; it's vengeance."

"I think six hours is fair warning," he retorts. "Interested?"

"I have a date so count me out, sorry. Some other time? You can come over to ours and I can talk Addy into letting me pretend her paella was a joint effort."

"You can't fool me, I have already tasted the heaven and you were nowhere to be seen."

Well, at least he likes my cooking even if he does think I'm a naïve ball of hysteria. Apparently I do have some redeeming qualities - though he's just like Steve, ruled by his stomach. I could've beaten Steve's mother to death with a frying pan and he'd have forgiven me if I made him my lemon meringue. Well, it's my mum's actually, but I call it mine. Consider it my inheritance.

"Darn it. What have I told you about not giving away my secret?" Lily jokes, squeezing my arm.

I can't help tensing up when she does it. It's not that I don't want her to be my pal again, it's just that this level of friendly affection has been conspicuously absent for a while now and nothing she is doing right now is giving me any clues as to why it's back. Maybe it says more about me than her that I find it so suspicious when a lifelong friend is being nice to me, but I can't comprehend the sudden turn around. I'd understand if there had been some kind of trigger, like maybe we'd cleared the air or she'd had a bad time and had needed to speak to me or something, but she's brought this totally out of left field.

It's… ugh. Perhaps it's only me being paranoid. My mother always said my need to control everything and know exactly what was behind everything was only going to bring me stress. I replied that surely it would mean I knew what was going on and could relax because I'd be prepared, but she rolled her eyes at me and said I needed to learn that seeking to know and understand everything was an exercise in futility and I'd only piss myself off trying. Especially when it comes to other people, she said. Maybe she was right.

"Heh! Addy has no secrets from me. How is Mr Floppy, by the way?"

Oh fuck. Way to drop me in it, Timberlake - I'm not supposed to tell anybody about him.

***

"You alright?" Trace asks me as he stretches out lazily on the couch next to me.

Lily is currently with Justin's stylist watching her like a hawk and protesting every time she even thinks of pinning something, so until he sat down I was Billy No Mates. They're filming some one hour TV show thing where Justin sings a few songs and takes audience questions, so everybody is hustling and bustling and I'm lurking in a dark corner feeling like the fourth corner on a triangle (yes, I do know there are only three corners on a triangle, that's kind of the point). I really have no idea why Lily insisted on dragging me here. As soon as Justin got called away I ceased having a reason to be here and since then I've just been feeling guilty that I'm sitting on my arse while everybody else is working.

"Bored but otherwise peachy. You?"

"Same," he chuckles. "Doesn't matter how used to it you get, hanging around for this shit is still dull as all hell."

"Lord, I don't know how you could do this so much." I shake my head. "It'd drive me round the bend."

"Is that weird British talk for crazy?"

"I don't know. Was that dumb American talk for stating the obvious?"

"Dang. I'm gonna get you, you know."

"Yeah, yeah, talk it up Trash Boy."

Exchanges like this to the casual observer may make me appear to be nothing but a heinous bitch, but it's actually a private joke Trace and I have developed based on our cultural differences. The reason I always one up him though is not because I'm English, it's because I'm female and therefore cleverer than him. He takes a shot at my nationality, I take a shot at his, and the best man always wins - which is always me. I'm just better practiced at witty repartee than he is; I think he must be the butt of all Rachael and Justin's jokes because his comebacks are seriously underdeveloped. Clearly he's been effectively hammered into submission over the years.

"So what news on the Rialto? Hot dates, living it up?"

"Early nights and cocoa because I've been catching up on sleep before it gets manic again."

"Oh. That's… nah. I tried to say nice but I'm going to have to say really, really dull."

"Oh you're alright mate; I know I'm a saddo." I give a shrug as I pick at a loose thread on my skirt. "One of these days I will get a life. I swear I used to have one but I must have misplaced it."

"You're telling me. Want to start with a barbecue on Sunday? JT's away so Rach and I are having a pool party and messing with all the shit he doesn't let us touch while he's at home."

"Such as?"

"His surround sound, the quad bikes, the trampoline…"

"Why would he be precious about you using a trampoline?" I ask incredulously only to receive a shrug.

"Because he's an anal retentive freak? Anyway, it should be good; we have a bunch of people coming."

"I'll think about it."

"You'll do it."

"I'll think about it."

"Alright, but you'll do it."

There is only one word for Trace, and that is 'incorrigible.' It's like he doesn't have the impulse in his brain that normally tells you when to quit. Sometimes it's endearing- sometimes it's a pain in my arse. "Oh wow, is that Justin's new video?" I'm distracted by the between-takes entertainment going up for the audience. Previously it's been old videos (though not old to me who was under the delusion for some time that Justin had a job which did not involve making music videos) but this one I haven't seen.

"Yep."

Is it weird that I'm biting my nails and kind of nervous? It's not like it's me in the video, but then the song is kind of loosely based on me. And of course the audience have no idea about that. So why am I nervous?

The beat kicks in and Justin's in this dirty looking club, like it used to be an old meat packing plant or something. Or at least how I imagine meat packing plants look, which since I've never been in one probably isn't very accurate. He's watching some girl pass him by hand in hand with one of the dancers I saw on stage with him earlier, and she meets his gaze and arches an eyebrow. Then it starts on various risqué flashbacks of him and her dancing and… other things.

"Lord she's gorgeous," I comment. "What I wouldn't give to look like her."

Trace immediately starts choking on his Coke, and I thump him on the back in alarm as he coughs and splutters.

"You alright mate?"

"Yeah," he manages to spit out. "Hit my nose funny and then I swallowed wrong."

"Well try not to kill yourself, dear."

He merely grimaces at me and gives another cough.

"Come on, help me out here."

"You know I'm crap at this," I shrug. "My idea of a party is still jelly and ice cream and pass the parcel."

Kate from accounts recoils in horror. "You Brits put jelly on your ice cream?"

Lily and I share a confused look. What's wrong with jelly and ice cream? "Well what do you eat it with?"

"Toast, peanut butter sandwiches?"

"Oh, British - American translation error," Lily says with a grin. "What you call jelly we call jam. When we say jelly we're talking about the type that wobbles on a plate."

"You mean jello? Then why didn't you just say that?"

We share a mutual 'these bloody colonials' look and say no more of it.

Lily has dragged both me and Kate out to help her organise some event for one of her pals. I've never even met this pal but apparently her birthday's a similar time to mine; Lily said it's a couple of days before. Why I have to be dragged out to do an activity I hate for a girl I don't know is beyond me, but since Lily has actually been talking to me lately I'm trying not to turn down opportunities to hang out.

You could call me chicken and you'd be right to do so, but I haven't had the guts to ask her why she was ignoring me. Why she suddenly stopped the absent treatment all of a sudden I have no idea, but since she's actually been at home occasionally and is asking me to do things with her again I don't want to upset the apple cart by bringing it back up. Whatever it was it's apparently no longer an issue for her, so I guess it's only my curiosity that asking her would satisfy. Either way, if suffering through some party planning keeps her onside then suffer through party planning I shall.

I just hope this girl shares Lily's elaborate taste, because she's going totally mad here. I shudder to imagine how much this shindig is going to cost.

"Wow, look at this…" Kate stops by one of the pictures and gapes in awe. It's a circus themed set up - the whole venue has been set up to look like a circus ring, right down to the canvas on the walls, there are fire eaters and even live animals on display. I don't even want to think about how much it costs to have a panther sit in a cage at your party.

We are standing in the office of one Felicia Taylor, party planner for the A list. Judging from the walls there is no expense or concept too big for this woman. Each picture is labelled neatly with the theme of the party and details on a few of the decorations, and reading them is making my eyes pop near out of my head. How you'd even find an apparently genuine early 15th century suit of armour in LA for a Henry VIII themed party I don't know, but I can't help wondering why nobody told them that Henry VIII wasn't born until the 1490s. That would be the late 15th century - still, I'm just impressed they managed to find anybody daring enough to lend 600 year old historical artefacts out for display at a drunken party. Historical inaccuracy can be overlooked.

"What kind of theme do you think we should go for?" Lily muses as she looks over the walls. "Bombay Dream?"

"Isn't that the name of that curry house we used to order takeaways from?"

"Hush," Lily smirks, elbowing me as I burst into giggles. That Bombay Dream was about as far from Hollywood A list as you get. It was cheap, cheerful and if you were stupid enough to order the hotter stuff an enemy to the bowels. "Arabian Nights, Night at the Oscars, Medieval Court… Blingtastic?" I peer over her shoulder. It's pink, every possible surface is studded with rhinestones or sequins and it looks like Barbie's Dream House exploded in there. "I'm guessing that's the stuff they do for the thirteen year old Hills brats with too much of Daddy's money and not enough taste?"

"It's really revolting, isn't it?"

"Oh yep."

"I kind of like the Arabian one," Kate offers.

"What would you wear though?" My nose scrunches up in distaste.

"Like, Princess Jasmine stuff."

"Which is fine until you see the guys having to wear parachute pants to look like Aladdin. MC Hammer is not a good look."

"Good point. I concede."

"So Arabian Nights is off the list… how about something medieval or Tudor-ish though?" Lily asks. "Henry Cavill and Jonathan Rhys-Meyers seem to look hot enough in that stuff, and there's got to be a ton of costume stores who'd do that kind of outfit."

"You know this girl better than me, but if I were her I cannot think of anything I'd less rather do on my birthday than spend the night in a corset struggling to breathe," I respond. "Do you really need to do a theme? I'm sure they could just make the place look good without some wild thing."

"There's always stuff like Hawaiian or Oscars though, stuff that people could still wear normal clothes for," Kate points out, gesturing to a luau set up. "Or you could just do a general costume party so that people who want to wear corsets can and anybody who doesn't can come dressed as Marilyn Monroe or something."

"Hmm." Lily's got her 'thinking' expression on, a crafty look on her face. "Problem is how am I supposed to get Amy into a costume without rumbling the surprise?"

Kate and I both ponder this for a moment and both fail to come up with an answer. "Yeah, there's no way," I say. "Nobody gets ordered into fancy dress around birthday time without smelling a rat."

"Champagne Supernova?" Kate tries another one. "This looks just like some upmarket thing, all you'd have to do would be dress up a little."

Lily and I catch each other's eyes and immediately burst out singing at the same time. "Some day you will find me, caught beneath a landsliiiiiide, in a champagne supernova in the skyyyyyy…"

"I'm embarrassed to be seen with you two." Kate shakes her head. "I really am."

"Come on, it's Oasis, it's a classic!" Lily protests.

"If you say so."

Lily and I share another 'bloody colonials' look. Either way, I'm hoping Lily picks something soon so she can talk to Felicia and then we can go. Huge parties aren't my thing.

***

I've decided that I actually quite like Kate. She's fairly new and since her office is on the lower floor of the building I don't see her very much; hence we haven't hung out much before today. Apparently though she and Lily have become quite friendly, and now I've spent time with her today I can see why. She reminds me a lot of Nina, actually, she's very bubbly. I had a slight pang of Adora homesickness when I thought of that, but she and Lily make a sufficiently amusing double act to keep my mind occupied on other things.

"So, now Lily's not here to tell me off for being nosy, I have to ask you about Justin Timberlake."

"Really?" I try to keep my face straight, but my eyebrow wants to arch itself up. We're lunching at Nobu and Lily has just nipped out to go to the ladies' room.

"Yeah. Nothing bad, don't worry," she gives a tinkling laugh, "but I know you girls on the top floor see him more than we do. Is he Mr Mega Star or does he actually take time to acknowledge the little people?"

It's hard to keep from breathing a sigh of relief. Either she's the world's best actress or she doesn't know how close I am to Justin's circle. "No, he's really nice."

"Is he as good looking in person?"

"Better," I say.

"Man, I used to have such a crush on him back in the *NSYNC days," she giggles. "I wrote his name in hearts on my notebooks and everything."

"So you're a fan, huh?" Privately, I smile to myself.

"Well, I'm not harbouring delusions that we're going to get married any more but I go to his shows and stuff."

"I've never been," I reply as I attempt and fail to pick up a California roll with my chopsticks. "The music scene on Adora is really behind the rest of the world except when it comes to Latin stuff."

"The shows are amazing; we should go when he does his next tour." She smiles, and for a moment I envy her for her openness and easily friendly manner. "The album's out so the tour can't be long off."

How right she is - last time I spoke to Justin he'd just come out of a meeting about his set list. "Sounds good. So who else are you into?"

Kate blithely fails to notice my 'change of topic' ploy and keeps gabbing on about my pal. "The last tour, my friend got us tickets for the VIP circle and we were so close it's unbelievable. Normally I'm stuck up in the nosebleeds relying on the screens so it was weird to see him actually up close and real. You see them on TV but never in person and it's almost like they don't really exist."

"Oh, he exists all right." He and his slightly smelly socks, tendency to whine like a three year old when bored and disgusting burps really do exist.

"I saw his new video the other day and it nearly revived the marriage fantasies. Boy looks good."

"Yeah, he does."

"You know…" She looks at me, chewing thoughtfully. "Now I think about it, you look a hell of a lot like the girl in the video."

"I wish." I roll my eyes, letting out a laugh.

"No, seriously, you really do. You're prettier but now I look at you the resemblance is really strong."

"Nah." That would be freakish and weird, given that the song is about me.

Kate drops her chopsticks and starts digging in her bag. Pulling out her Blackberry, she starts playing with it. "No, you definitely do. Let me find a picture…"

"Oh come on, Kate, like I look like some model."

"You do!"

"Nuh uh."

"You do."

"Do not."

"Do so!"

Before the conversation can get any more childish, she's found what she wants and has handed me her phone. "You see?"

In total horror, I do see. She's managed to find a still that really does make the chick look scarily like me. She's so scarily like me I can actually feel my hand shaking a little bit. I'm so unbelievably confused - how did I not notice this before? How did nobody else who knows me notice? Why would Justin do this? Now I see it, the resemblance is way too strong to be a coincidence. He knows the last thing I want is the world knowing too much about me or our relationship, and I made him swear he would never name me as the inspiration for the song. So why would he do this?

I recognise the feeling bubbling up in my chest, and it's the same anger I felt when I found out he'd lied about himself. A lot of people would probably think I was protesting too much if I said that I want no part of the fame aspect of his life, but it's true. As much as I'm sure that a lot of the leeches who do only want his fame insist that they're not in it for money or whatever, I mean every single word. Being the focus of attention is not something I have ever enjoyed, and the last thing I would do is seek it out. Having too many people looking at me makes me really uncomfortable, and I can't think of anything I'd less rather do than have the world's press knocking on my door because they think I've got something to say about Justin. Hell, I refuse to leave his house or my apartment with him unless we're part of a group or if I've checked there are no paparazzi around. It's not some moral thing of 'see how little I care about money' or whatever. I just don't fucking like it.

So the idea that he's put me in so much danger of it by making my lookalike his love interest in a video infuriates me. What the hell does he think he's doing?

"See?" Kate asks again.

"I guess I have a doppelganger," I shrug, trying to smile like I think this is cool or funny. Getting upset about it is only going to clue Kate in that I have something personal invested in it.

"Man, just think, you could go around telling everybody you were in a video with Justin Timberlake!" Kate giggles as she takes her phone back. If only she knew that I could say much bigger things about what I've done with Justin Timberlake and that they'd all be true.

"I could tell them he has to have his trailer blessed by a Hindu priest."

"You could tell them he stuffs his pants with socks."

"I could tell them I caught him getting a blow job from a rent boy."

Kate bursts out into hysterical laughter. She thinks I'm just being funny; I know that I'm being vicious. "The possibilities are endless."

"Indeed."

"And what are you two chuckling about?" Lily says brightly as she slides back into her seat.

"Addy looking like the chick in Justin's new video."

"Oh."

It's only a subtle twitch in her cheek, but it's enough to let me know that the similarity hadn't escaped Lily and it's enough to make me give her the look that tells her I know.

"My turn for the ladies', excuse me."

Kate excusing herself couldn't have come at a better time, and immediately I glare at Lily. "So you weren't planning to mention it."

"You didn't seem to have noticed and I figured that all I'd accomplish was shit stirring."

"You should have told me."

"Sorry." She gives a helpless shrug. "I didn't see what good it would do. Besides, nobody seems to have caught on except me."

"And Kate, apparently."

"Only because we know you," she points out not unreasonably. "If you're worried about the masses catching on, I don't think they will. You're careful enough around the paps."

"Why would he even do it in the first place?" I grumble, taking a sip of my water.

"Well, if you ask me that song sounds an awful lot like it's about you." She's really not wrong. "Maybe it was just a subconscious thing?"

"If you managed to spot it why wouldn't he? He's…"

I was about to finish that sentence with 'spent a lot more time with me than you lately.' That really isn't wise, so I'm glad I managed to halt my mouth before it got me in trouble.

"Close to you?"

That sounds like a plausible end to the comment, so I nod. "Yeah. We spend a lot of time together, how could he not notice?"

"Maybe he was just looking for a Latina?"

"I'm not a Latina. I'm English, which you of all people know."

"But when you're tanned you could pass for one. And he did meet you on Adora."

"True…" I muse out loud. "He mistook me for a local the first time we met."

"See?" Lily replies brightly, reaching over to steal some of my seaweed. She can do that, I hate the stuff. "It was probably a dumb but innocent mistake on his part."

"Dumb is right," I grumble. "I need that like I need a whole in the head. Like there's not enough shit going on."

"Really?" She frowns at me. "What shit?"

"Just… life, you know." I pull a grimace at her.

"Maybe."

She's giving me that stare she gives me when she sees right through me but won't push it. When she gets that expression there's nothing much I can say in response, so instead I start playing with my food. Perhaps it's my own petty way of punishing her, but as of yet I'm still not comfortable enough with her again to let her into my head on stuff like this. I love her and I'm willing to just hang out again no questions asked, but she doesn't get to swan back in after ignoring me all this time and expect to be let straight back into my deepest thoughts.

Besides, it's not that bad. I have a stressful job and a relationship with an ex that's confusing. Neither of those things is especially rare, I should be able to cope. Nobody needs to swoop in and save me from myself, Lily or Justin or whoever. I hate it when people take it upon themselves to stick their noses into my business like that - I didn't talk to my mum for an age after she forced me into counselling. I did not have anorexia and I did not need to be forced into treatment for eating disorders since I didn't have one. Even the damn counsellor agreed I didn't. I was a bit depressed over a break up, boo hoo, woe is me, like I was the only person in the world who felt crap after a break up. Or, in this case, who's a bit pissed with a friend (or two, in this case).

I'll live. I just hope nobody's got any more surprises for me because I'm not sure I can take another one.

This party ought to be awesome.

It's only taken about five minutes to get it started - usually you have to wait at least an hour for people to get a few drinks down their throats and get brave enough to dance before there's a decent atmosphere. Tonight, however, everyone is clearly in the mood and the place is buzzing. The drink is flowing freely, the music is great, the place is done up like this decadent circus thing and there was a frickin' lion tamer on stage a while ago. The walls are even draped to look like a circus tent, they have these freaky clowns and acrobats and fortune tellers running around, and the vibe is insane. It's like the Ringling Brothers took a whole bunch of LSD. I don't even want to think about how much this cost Lily, and I'm a millionaire.

It is not awesome, however. It ought to be, I ought to be having the time of my life right now. This kind of show is exactly the kind of thing I love; having attended so many events as part of my job, it takes something really wild and out there to impress me much these days and this is definitely it. I like my simple down home shindigs and barbecues, but when it's time to go get the serious partying done I love to see people go all out like this. Letting your hair down is important in any job where it's stressful, but it's even more important in a job like mine where so much of your private down time and so many of people's normal relaxation activities get annexed by paparazzi - which immediately puts you back in work mode while you try to remember what your publicist told you about breathing deep and not flipping the finger. To be here and know not a single photographer is in here is great. This should be amazing for me, but it's not.

It fails to be awesome because I know Addy is going to get in here and hate this. Lily hasn't made her as much the centre of attention as she could have, but Addy's name is plastered everywhere and to be honest, even if it wasn't this party is so crazy that just being the person it's thrown for is enough to toss you in the limelight for the night. Some people would love that; if I did this for Trace he'd probably kiss me. He's a sociable guy who enjoys doing the mingling and playing host for the night, he takes it well if you throw him on a stage and then make a speech about him or embarrass him or whatever. We actually did that for one birthday accompanied by a montage of really humiliating childhood photos, and he laughed harder than anyone.

The way Addy's been behaving though? She's going to detest this. She never wants to do anything that doesn't strictly fall in the category of 'low key,' she never wants to do anything too strenuous or out of the ordinary, especially not if it involves too many people. She's in her comfort zone and won't leave it right now; this is going to be her worst nightmare. Seriously, if she was in A Nightmare on Elm Street this would be the way she'd die: burned to death under a spotlight or something. I know that Lily has gone to huge trouble and expense over this and that she's trying to do something good for Addy, get her out and socialising. The intentions are good, but you know which road those pave and the destination is probably almost as boiling hot as this club. It's getting sweaty very quickly.

So, I can't enjoy this the way I want to. Because I have already seen the future, there's a not especially happy birthday girl in it, and it's a total party pooper.

"Here you go."

"Thanks babe."

I accept my Corona and a slice of lime from Rachael while staring pensively out over the crowd. Lily breezily informed me that Addy is under the impression she's attending a party for some other chick. Under this guise she has been cunningly seeking opinions and approvals from her on various things while leaving her none the wiser. If I thought the end result would be what Addy wanted I'd be commending her for a sneaky and brilliant technique, but right now I'm too nervous.

"You know Addy better than me…"

"Yes?" I could be sarcastic about that, but obviously Rachael is going somewhere with this rather than simply playing Captain Obvious.

"Do you think she's going to like this?"

"You don't?" I ask with a swig of my beer.

"Like it myself or think she's going to like it?"

"Why don't we say both."

She's not drinking, just playing with her bottle, swilling the beer around inside it and picking at the label. "If it were for me I'd think this was the shit, but I'm not Addy and she seems a little too introverted for this."

That's a very understated way of putting it. I wish I'd thought of that earlier when describing my concerns to Trace (who cannot be here tonight). I said it was like locking a claustrophobe in a closet and telling them to have fun, to which Trace called me a massive drama queen.

"I wouldn't disagree with you," is my careful response -don't want to say anything too controversial or Rachael will start grilling me. I haven't forgotten what she said behind my back about Addy being depressed and me and her having some fucked up co-dependency going on. Still haven't quite forgiven her for it, actually. Either way, I don't want to feed the psycho-analysis too much.

"You said there was that VIP room though? Lily's limited access, right?"

"It's for us, Addy and Lily and a few 'carefully hand selected individuals,' quote. Mostly she said it was so Addy had somewhere to duck out and that I could hide if too many people notice me."

"Smart move," Rachael says with a nod. "For you as well as Addy."

"Yeah. Lily managed to work out that I didn't need people all over me but not that Addy doesn't. Weird, given how much better she knows her."

Rachael shakes her head, black hair swishing around her face before she brushes her bangs out of her eyes. She has a habit of playing with her bracelets when she's trying to think what to say, and I can see her doing it now. "You know I think Addy's cool and everything, but from what she's been saying about her and Lily being on the fritz maybe you can't blame Lily for getting it so wide of the mark."

"Qué?"

She hates it when I do that. It's my code for 'what the fuck are you talking about,' and it earns me a slight elbow to the ribs. "I just mean that Addy seems like she's been going through a lot and they haven't been talking. Lily's clearly overcompensating, but I just wonder if maybe because they haven't been talking she hasn't had the opportunity to read Addy's mood and work out that this isn't such a hot idea."

Okay, that actually made sense. I thought she was about to spout some bull crap about Addy again. "And yet, we are still here, waiting for the shit to hit the fan."

"Yeah." My cousin frowns, and her fingers go to her sleeve this time. "Maybe this wasn't such a hot idea on our part either. But it's her birthday; people ask you to somebody's birthday and you say yes, it's kind of the done thing."

"Why else do you think I'm here?" I ask. "I thought this was a bad idea the second Lily mentioned it."

"So… explain to me why you didn't tell her?"

What? How is this my fault? "What makes you think I didn't?" I challenge her.

She waves an arm at the mania surrounding us. "The Russian State Circus she's got up in here, maybe?"

"It was none of my business, I barely know her!" Okay, my voice may have been a little high pitched and I may have been a little defensive, but this is so not on me. "What was I supposed to do, spill all the shit Addy's said, tell her I know her best friend since she was a kid better than she does?"

"Do you?" Her eyes have narrowed, and I can just see her adding this to her list of evidence supporting this stupid co-dependence theory.

"In general no, but when it comes to the last couple of months yes. I'm the one she's been crying to while Lily's been AWOL."

Her expression softens slightly, so I think I've appeased her a little. Why I should have to appease her I don't know, but it's odd the way I seek approval from her. Trace, too - though I'd never tell either of them that. I guess when you respect and care about somebody, you want them to respect you back. If they agree with your decisions it means they think you're doing the right thing, and I suppose that's validation of a kind. As much as I rely on them both to be my reality check and not be afraid to criticise me like so many people are (being around fame makes people stupid, I notice), whenever they get too critical it stresses me out. Nobody likes being called out on whatever, but when it's the people you trust it stings a little more.

"Justin…" She breathes in before letting the air out in a big puff, as if she's steeling herself. "You know I like Addy, right?"

"Why do I feel a 'but' coming on?"

"But…" She glares at me slightly for that. "I'm starting to feel like maybe all this crying and being down is something bigger than just not liking crowds."

Here we go, I'm getting defensive again. It doesn't help that the lady in question isn't here to speak up for herself, so I feel obliged to do it for her. "It's a big adjustment, taking on a whole new career and country at the same time."

"I know, I know." Rachael takes a swig of beer, beginning to pick at the label again. "Again, there's a but… I thought it was weird enough that she was so different from the vacation girl you described when she first got here, but she's had a long while to settle in and instead of getting comfier she seems to be going deeper into herself. And she's upset all the time and she spends so much time holed up at home… Trace and I had to drag her out while you were gone, it was like we were taking her out to a frickin' firing squad. I just think that maybe something deeper is happening here. Something she might need some help for."

"Like what?"

"Like… a therapist."

"She's not crazy!" I say indignantly.

"Never said she was. You don't have to be crazy to need somebody to talk to, you know. Whatever she is, she's not happy."

If Rachael has any more justification for the lunacy she just suggested, I don't hear it. I'm too busy stalking off and ignoring her as she calls my name, telling me to come back. That's insane and Addy is not in need of mental help. She's got a touch of the blues; she's not hearing voices or bouncing off the walls.

Maybe it shouldn't bother me so much, but Rachael and Trace don't seem to understand or even want to understand why I've become so close to Addy and they can't talk to me that way when it comes to her. They've never tried; I think they assumed it was some residual sex thing. They think they can pass conclusions on her and that's okay, I'll laugh it off, but I can't. On the most basic level, that girl saved my sanity and I owe her. It would be beyond shitty of me to sit back and listen to people who don't know her judging her without standing up for her. They don't have the right to play amateur shrink, they don't get it.

It's more than simply owing her, though. Meeting that girl changed my whole perspective on my life at a time when I was miserable. When I first got to Adora I barely did anything except sleep, but after I met her on that beach she started making me enjoy existence again. Everything she said showed me a new way of looking at things, and without ever realising it she imparted all kinds of wisdom. Listening to her gave me the objective and calm view on things that I hadn't been able to find for myself. She could have judged me, written me off as ungrateful or irrational like people back home were (especially after she found out the life I was complaining about was fame and fortune), yet she didn't. She didn't treat it like it was some silly mood or phase; she always just tried to understand. Now she's the one who needs a friend and I have to be there for her. It's not some kind of obligation or quid pro quo or me settling a debt, I have to be there for her for me as much as her.

When she stumbled back into my life, it actually fulfilled a wish I'd been harbouring for some time. A wish to see her and show her how much my life had turned around, to prove what she'd done for me and what it had allowed me to do for myself. I wanted to show her the side of me that wasn't depressed and uncertain, the one that was successful and ready for anything. I was lost, and she brought me back to me and I wanted to display the results. Now, I need her to get back to her. I need her to be happy, because she deserves to be and because if she can't be who can? How can I when the person who gave me all this clarity gets lost herself?

She means a lot to me. Enough that I accidentally cast her lookalike in a video - what about that makes Rachael think it's a good idea to make out like she's crazy and needs a shrink? She doesn't, she's just struggling with such a major change in pace, that's all. LA is so different from Adora it might as well be Mars as far as she's concerned. She'll get through it, I just have to let her vent sometimes. She has to be allowed to let the negative shit out and work it through, and Rachael criticising her for that is unfair and it pisses me off.

That anger fades though as from the safety of the balcony bar, I see the big moment happen. Addy is chauffeured in, the spotlight falls on her, she looks shocked and horrified to realise the party is for her, and the people clamour around her. Now I'm just worried.

From the look on her face, you'd think somebody had just ordered her execution. This is really not good.

My mother always said that when you get stuck in a bad situation, the only way to deal with it is with grace and patience.

Well, that was very sound advice on Mum's part, but since I possess neither of those virtues I'm going with alcohol. Since I'm the birthday girl I get free drinks anyway, whoopee. I find that compulsively sipping at a nice glass of red like I'm a drunk prevents me from having to talk while offering a nice main line between that blessed drug and my bloodstream. Booze is beautiful.

I didn't even want to come to this bloody party when I thought it wasn't mine. Lily emotionally blackmailed me into it; at the time I wondered why she was going to such lengths, but on arriving and seeing my name plastered all over the walls on posters her motive became clear as bloody day. I hate this. What's more, I hate that I feel so guilty and ungrateful for hating this. On the one hand I feel like I have a right to be angry because Lily's been pretty insensitive (I mean, hello, doesn't she know me at all by now?), on the other I then feel like I'm a bad person and a bad friend for being pissed at her when she's so clearly gone to a lot of effort and spent a lot of money. Damn you, Lily. Bloody party. Bloody friends. GAH.

Normally if I'm ambivalent about going out getting all pretty makes me more inclined, but this time it hasn't. Lily twittered around me throwing outfits around and suggesting shoes and doing my make up for me because I had zero inclination to do it myself. Objectively, I know I look pretty. She's put me into a nice Grecian type mini dress and some nice heels, showing off my tan and she's given me funky gold eye shadow which brings out my eyes. The problem is that I don't feel pretty, or confident, or any of those things that normally make you feel pumped to do this sort of thing. You'd think that the big surprise and the massively elaborate party and all the people I barely know giving me presents would cheer me up, but no. I even got a lovely card from Nina and the gang saying they couldn't get the flights straight to come out but presents were arriving for me soon and a big 'te amamos.' That actually made me feel shittier, because if they were here I could have clung to them.

What makes it worse is that I feel like a cretin for even thinking this stuff. I should be having a good time, I should be grateful, I should be the belle of the ball and I'm fucking not. Feeling bad because I feel like I shouldn't feel that way just intensifies the feeling that way. Did I say GAH yet? I need a refill.

"Hey baby!" Lily sidles up to me and throws an arm around me, kissing my cheek. She's drunk too, but she's the happy kind of drunk. "Are you having a fantabulous time?"

"The fantabulest!" She's too hammered to notice my sarcasm.

"Good." She plants a kiss on my cheek. "Only the best for my Addy. Did you find all your mates yet?"

Which mates, I wonder? I see work colleagues and a whole bunch of people I barely know, nobody that I'd really call 'friend.' "Who?"

"Umm… that girl, dark hair, can't remember her name…" That really does not narrow it down. "Hangs with Justin…"

"Rachael?"

"Yeah. Her. And Justin. The short bloke said he couldn't make it but says have a drink for him."

I assume she means Trace. I haven't seen Justin or Rachael, but Rachael would be a welcome sight right about now since I vaguely actually know her. Justin I'm still too annoyed with. Nobody else has pointed out that my long lost identical twin is in his video, but it's the principle of the thing.

"No, haven't seen them."

"Oh. Maybe they're up in VIP escaping the crowd."

"VIP?" I sounded audibly perkier saying that, but it's not 'VIP' so much as 'escaping the crowd' that appeals. If there is a VIP I doubt Justin's up there, he doesn't seem to care much for that stuff unless it's to escape media and there aren't any here. But then that would suit me because I'm looking to hide from him as well as the crowds. Stupid git.

"Oh did I not tell you we have a VIP? Well, we have a VIP." Lily sounds incredibly smug. As well she might, if she's kept the guest list low enough then it's the best idea she's had in regards to this party.

"Where?"

"Up those stairs." She points to a section where a tall and burly bouncer is looking stern and guarding a rope. "There's only about ten people on the list, including you and me, so if you need a quiet minute just head on up."

"I just might." Impulsively, I return her kiss on the cheek. It may be insincere, but she deserves to hear one anyway. "Thank you, Lil. You outdid yourself."

"Anything for you." She gives me a squeeze and then pulls away, fluttering off into the night with a 'I'll be right back.'

***

VIP rules. VIP is the best place ever.

In VIP, there are no decorations. There are no crowds. There are no freaky clowns scaring the shit out of me and then offering me balloon animals. There is only a room with some sofas, speakers turned down low enough that you can actually hear yourself think and a call button when I need more alcohol. VIP is excellent. VIP is stupendous. I may just stay in VIP for the rest of the night.

What I am doing in here can only be described as wallowing. I don't generally hold with wallowing, it only seems good for making you feel crappier and bringing on extreme apathy, but tonight I need a good wallow. I was in a foul enough mood before Lily dumped this on me and now it's all mushing up together in my brain with the wine and it's not good. Life is not good right now and I don't see why not. Why shouldn't it be? I'm young, not totally stupid or unattractive, I am in the land of opportunity with a decently paid job that a lot of people would kill for (not because it's all that fun, but because working for fashion house execs opens doors if you're into that sort of thing). Why should any of this suck?

The Justin thing doesn't help, but that's just him being a stupid boy as usual. Boys are all stupid and rocks should be thrown at them. They have no brains under those thick skulls so it probably wouldn't hurt them much anyway. The main source of my present worry is Alex. Alex who thought the greatest birthday present ever would be a promotion to his full time exclusive PA but has failed to notice that I don't actually like the job I'm in now, and his would be pretty much the same only with more hassle. That's not his fault, he's a busy guy and he's only trying to offer me an opportunity - paying me a big compliment while he's at it - but it's just one more tie into a situation I'm still not sure I want to be in and it's stupid that I should even have to think twice about such a pay rise but GAH. I have no idea whether to take it or not.

At the sound of the door opening I look up, indignant, wondering who has the nerve to intrude on my sanctuary. When I see it's Justin, I scowl.

"Hey, this is where you've been. Wondered where you'd got to." Oblivious, he immediately walks over and drops himself down next to me, giving me a quick squeeze and a 'happy birthday.' "Can't say I blame you, it's crazy down there. I nearly got trampled when this girl suddenly decided to notice I was Justin Timberlake, so I'm hiding."

"Heh. I was just hiding from my birthday party." I really ought to get pissed off and yell at him to get out, but like I said wallowing encourages apathy. I can stew quietly.

"Yeah." He gives this funny sideways smile. "I'm not surprised. The second I got here I figured this was a little, uhh…"

"Way too ostentatious?"

"You're more of a, uhh, low key kinda gal." A low chuckle escapes him, and he raises his eyebrows in a funny manner which betrays exactly how bad an idea he thought this was. Well, at least somebody had a clue. Shame it wasn't the organiser. "You really having that bad a time?"

"If somebody would kill me now I wouldn't mind so much."

"Ahh." He presses a quick kiss on my temple. "We'll be fine. We'll just hang out here where the drink's on tap until everybody fucks off."

"Where's Rach?" I ask.

"Downstairs, I guess."

"I detect a tone."

"There… may or may not be a tone."

"Why?"

"Minor tiff." He shrugs. "We'll be fine."

"Speaking of being fine, we're not by the way."

"Huh?" He looks confused. "Why?"

"Oh, I don't know, because I didn't realise I was the star of your music video. Bastard."

Once again his expression disloyally gives him away. There was a visible flinch and he looks guilty as sin. "I swear I didn't mean to."

"What, are you blind?"

"Apparently!" His voice gets a little shrill. "I didn't realise at all, fucking Trace had to point it out to me. After we'd shot the video and I couldn't do shit about it. Now I have no clue how the shit I managed to miss it but I didn't mean to, I swear. I guess it was subconscious because I knew the song's about you or something."

"Well for the record, I'm not happy."

"I'm really sorry. Are you open to bribery? I got you a really cool present."

"That's for my birthday, it can't do double duty."

"I can get you another one. I'm not an investment banker you know, I got cash."

Alright, I'm an easy mark but that one nearly made me laugh. Probably would have, if as previously mentioned I wasn't already in such a stinking mood. "Okay. But only because I'm expending too much energy being cross with Lily so I'm having to let you slide."

"I'll take that! Did I mention you look really pretty?" Justin says with a cheery grin. I'm glad somebody's so easily pleased. In truth I'm letting him off the hook way too easily, as I have with most of his more stupid behaviour (like major lie telling and identity fraud), but he's very difficult to be angry at. He looks like a kicked puppy when somebody's pissed at him, and having somebody who immediately understood why I hate this party makes me feel marginally less like a terrible person for thinking Lily should have got it.

"Am I awful for hating this party?" I blurt out all of a sudden.

"Why would you be?" He looks quizzically at me while taking a gulp of his beer - Corona, apparently, though I see no lime anywhere.

"Because she spent all this money and obviously this took a lot of effort and I hate every bloody second."

"Umm…" Justin scratches at the back of his head, and for one horrible moment I think he's trying to find a nice way of confirming that yes, I'm a bitch. "Look, I don't know Lily that well so I don't wanna judge…"

Oh, Lily. He wants to judge Lily. That's okay. Well, it's not, but she's not here to hear it and at least it's not me he wants to criticise. "But?"

"But I've only known you a relatively short time and I could've immediately told anybody who felt like listening that this was a bad idea. You don't like crowds, you don't like being the centre of attention and you don't like splashy. Lily's supposed to be the best pal who's known you all your life… I mean, I know Trace would never organise a party for me that I was so obviously going to hate, so I'm not sure why Lily did all this. But I don't see how that makes you a bad person because she made a bad call. Sometimes you swing and you miss, not your fault."

He gives a shrug, and while that was exactly what I wanted to hear it oddly doesn't do much to make me feel better. Am I never happy?

"But shouldn't I be filled with overwhelming love and gratitude because it's the thought that counts?"

"Well… that's what I mean. It doesn't seem like she did think about this too well or she'd have known it was a bad plan. I mean, don't get me wrong, you can't fault her intentions, but it seems pretty fuckin' stupid. I'm sorry, I know she's your friend, but…"

"What would you have done?"

I have no idea why I asked that question, it's rather beside the point. I'm even more surprised that Justin takes it remotely seriously. In his place, I'd have laughed and asked what that had to do with it. "I don't know. Maybe a few of us at a restaurant or something."

He's absolutely right, and suddenly I realise how boring that makes me. Small little dinner parties are what my parents do. I know I'm creeping towards thirty but I'm not there yet. "So how come you get that and my BFF doesn't?"

"I'm guessing she just wanted to do something major for you and got a little too excited. Don't worry. You're not a bad person for not liking it. It's not like you've bitched her out or anything is it?"

"No. I said thank you."

That does make him giggle, if men ever giggle. Maybe they merely chuckle. Is giggling a girl thing? "Wow. Saying thank you. Yeah, you're a real bitch Addy."

I smack him in the arm, somewhat harder than I intended to. "It's not funny, arse."

"You hate it, yet as usual you've shut up, not said anything and pretended to like it for her sake. That does not make you a bad person Addison so quit with the self flagellation."

"What did I tell you about calling me Addison?"

"Way to deflect 'cause you know I'm right."

"Yeah. I hate that. Bastard."

This time he tips his head back and gives a very loud laugh. The annoying thing about him is that when he laughs it's a proper belly laugh, and his smile gets so wide it's infectious and bad mood killing. Well I like my bad mood right now and want it to stay, so he needs to stop that.

"Jesus Christ, what's with the filthy mouth all of a sudden? I thought I was the one who cussed in this relationship."

"Oh I always swear when I'm drunk." I tell him in false gaiety.

One blue eyeball trails me up and down suspiciously. "How much have you drunk then?"

"One or two or eleven. Who's counting?"

"Huh. You're surprisingly coherent."

"I'm British. We can drink."

"So I see."

For about five minutes, we sit there in companionable silence. It might seem weird, to sit silently in a room by yourselves hiding from the rest of the world (or the party, as it may be), but it's not as uncomfortable as you might think. Justin's arm is slung lazily over the sofa behind me. I've flopped side ways and am using him as a convenient cushion. We're just sipping at our drinks, starting into space. He pokes at my knee, and I prod his back, but communication beyond that isn't really necessary. I like that. Justin is a very low maintenance kind of friend, and with everything in my life lately seeming to take far too much energy I appreciate that. You'd think being Mr Pop Star he'd be more hassle, but the only real problems I find with him come more from the external aspects of his fame - photographers, busy schedules.

"You ever feel like… I don't know, packing it all in and running away somewhere?"

Justin snorts, loudly. It's not the most attractive sound ever. "Look who you're talking to, woman. How'd we meet in the first place?"

"Oh yeah. So you did." I pause a moment. "What's that like?"

"I don't know how it works when you don't run off to Adora to meet cool chicks named Addy, but it did the business for me." He gives me a sly nudge with his shoulder and I give him a mildly embarrassed one back. "Why, thinking about it?"

"Ahh." I take another large mouthful of drink, swallowing hard before answering. "Alex offered me a promotion which means more money but less control over my hours. Plus it's way more commitment to staying here long term. I have no idea what to do. Thinking hiding until it goes away might work."

"Oh." Justin gently removes the glass from my hand and sets it on the table in front of us, perhaps sensing (and probably rightly) that I may have had too much and entered the 'maudlin' stage of drunkenness. "See, that was the part that didn't work so well. In fact, I seem to remember it was you who kept telling me I had to go home and work it out sometime and forced me to book my ticket."

"Well that was different."

"Why?"

"Because it's me and I'm special."

He licks his lips and give me a gentle chuckle. "I also seem to remember using that excuse and being told, by you, that it was… bullocks?"

"Bullocks are a type of cow. You mean bollocks."

"Yeah, that."

"Must you rain on my pity parade with all your sense? Or to be more accurate, rain on it with all my sense?"

"Oh. Was I supposed to be the friend who indulges and enables the pity?"

"Yes."

"Sorry."

"Meh. I know, I know… stupid to be all 'woe is me' like it's gonna change anything, I just don't know what I want any more."

"Do you have to know right this second?" I assume he's taking my silence as an affirmative, though the truth is that I have no idea - which is becoming a regular occurrence, these days. "Then stop worrying, try to relax, have a good time."

"Did we go over the part where I hate my party? A good time may be asking a little much."

"We're not at your party. We are in our own little bubble where you don't have to hate the crowd, I don't have to get trampled by girls who think they got a shot and none of those freaky ass clowns are allowed."

"I thought it was just me, you think they're creepy too?"

"Fuck yes."

I snuggle closer to him as his hand drops down to my shoulder. It's stupid that him agreeing with me on something dumb like creepy clowns would cheer me up, but I feel so at odds with everything and everyone right now that even some small measure of harmony with others is heartening. So I'm going to stick myself to him in this dark corner, forget that technically I'm still annoyed with him and his phenomenally stupid taste in video co-stars, and try to chill out.

With a sigh, he drops his head on top of mine and gives me a squeeze. "Am I really old and boring for this?"

"It's not exactly sex and drugs and rock 'n roll but eh, who gives a rat's arse."

"I swear, I'm starting to feel like the old man of the pop industry. And I'm twenty fucking eight."

"Well if you're going to work in an industry of pre-pubescents pretending to be older than they are then yeah, you do kind of look old."

"Hey, I was all comforting to you; you're supposed to reassure me here."

"Oh come off it. You're rich and famous and successful and about half the women downstairs would drop their knickers in a second if you asked. You need no pity."

"And the other half?"

"Would at least pretend to have self respect for as much as five whole minutes before giving in."

"You saying only women with no self respect sleep with me?" He's trying to sound annoyed but you can almost hear the smirk on his face. "Because you slept with me a whole lot, ya know."

"But I resisted for ages, thank you very much."

"True. Though it's not like I was trying."

"Yeah yeah, big shot. You tell yourself that."

"Oh please." He pokes me in the ribs. "You seduced me plenty enough times, missy, don't even pretend you weren't hot for me. You attacked me on the roof ya know. Which, speaking of, I'm very hurt that you defiled our sacred place by…" He pauses for dramatic effect. "Shagging another up there."

He just put on a really stupid posh boy English accent and I have to burst out into hysterical drunk laughter. It was terrible. "Sorry if I hurt your feelings, bub, didn't realise the al fresco bonk was so precious to you. Steve and I will write you apology cards."

"Nah. Just call us even for the whole video thing and you're cool."

Ooh, I see what he did there, that sneaky arse. Oh, alright, I'll play. "Done."

"So you're not allowed to bring it up ever again?"

"Only if you aren't ever allowed to put on that voice again."

"Done."

"There." I snuggle happily in under his arm. "Isn't this all lovely and civil? Hurray for the barter system."

"Hurray for the… you're fuckin' weird, woman."

"Take me as I am."

"Already did. A lot, as previously mentioned."

"Oh, I see. I swear when I'm drunk and you get horny. Are you just not getting any?"

"No, actually." The look on his face is so mournful that I really want to display yet more amusement, but that seems overly harsh. Don't want to give him a complex; men are so oversensitive about anything involving their penises. "I ain't got laid in weeks."

"Oh boo hoo, a few weeks."

"Yeah but before that it was like a year."

It takes my alcohol fuzzled brain a moment to work out why that sounds so significant. Then I realise it means he must have been celibate for a while after me. I hope not because I put him off women or anything, that would be really ego bruising. Almost as bad as hearing you'd turned a man gay.

"Really? Why?"

"Why? What do you mean why?!"

"I thought the word 'why' was self explanatory."

"But it's… weird, asking!"

"Way to avoid the question."

"Fine." Wow, he looks really annoyed with me for asking the question. His eyes are all narrowed and his lips are pinched like I broke his favourite toy. "I was being all good and introspective and working through my shit alone before trying to be in a relationship. Happy?"

I prod him with a shaky finger in the chest. Man, how much did I drink if I can't drive my index finger in a straight line? "That's it? You got all defensive over that? You stupid sod, that's a good reason to be celibate. Not like you were some saddo who couldn't get any."

"You know, you're charming when you're wasted. Just charming."

"You love me anyway."

"No idea why."

"Because I'm pretty."

Hah, I can see it, his lips are twitching and he wants to break a smile. He so does, I can see it. "I suppose so."

"You suppose?"

"Oh you're fuckin' gorgeous and you know it, quit with the fake modesty doll."

"Aww." I plant a big smacking kiss on his lips. "Aren't you sweet?"

"Aren't you full of it?"

"Is this because I didn't tell you you're pretty?"

"Okay, you just got downgraded from pretty to irritating."

"Will it make you feel better if I give you a pity shag to end the drought?"

Justin moves as if he's going to get up. "Okay, that's it, I'm calling the bouncer to toss out the alcoholic in VIP."

"Like you didn't drink just as much anyway. Come on, you know you want to…"

I'm jokingly trying to smooch him and he's jokingly batting me away and we're pretty much wrestling on the couch. Given how pissed off I was when I got in here it's now kind of ridiculous that I'm giggling and squealing and playing around like I'm a five year old on a jungle gym - though in a much dirtier and more adult way - but so sue me. I'm a woman; it's our prerogative to be easily changeable and impossible to follow even with a map. My giggles are getting ever more high-pitched, his guffawing is getting louder and louder, and then there's a great big thump as we both fall off the couch.

"Oww." Justin rubs the back of his head while still laughing.

"Ah ha!" I spot my opportunity and clamp my lips down on his, victory sealed. He's still trying to push me off, we're both shaking with laughter and it's entirely possible that at any minute said laughter is going to erupt out and make one of us accidentally bite the other or something, but I'm still clinging onto him like a barnacle because this means I won. Possibly he's just being nice to the girl and not using his full strength to shove me off, but I still take this as a big fat win for me.

"Okay," he manages to cough out once he pushes me away, "this looks remarkably dubious right now."

"Why?"

"We're on the floor on top of each other, your skirt is nearly up over your ass and my face is probably covered in your lipstick."

"My skirt is…" I turn around to start fixing it but then roll off of him instead in a fit of hysteria. I don't think he understands how absolutely hilarious this is. "Good job nobody else is in here then. Just think, we could've been actually shagging all this time and who would've known?"

"What, you mean I wasted all that time trying to cheer you up when I could have been getting laid? Well come 'ere…"

Screaming with laughter now, I'm pretty much killing my stomach muscles with over-exertion as he grabs me and starts rolling us across the floor, pretending to bite my neck like a vampire as I still keep giggling helplessly. I think we just knocked the wine off the table and this time my skirt definitely was up over my bum for a second there.

How we wound up in a cab going back to the apartment, I have no idea. I just remember us both cackling with laughter the whole way. Hah, I knew it wasn't just me who was a drunk.

"Well look who finally crawled in. Have fun on the Walk of Shame?"

"I'm sorry, remind me whose house it is I just walked into?" I give Trace a very emphatic flipping of the bird and throw my jacket at him. This is my home, my dominion; I do not have to explain a damn thing to anyone here.

"Like I give a shit. Where the hell did you get to? Rach is threatening to kill you for ditching, so I hope the ass you got last night is worth dying for."

"Dude," I say in disgust. I mean, I can be pretty crude when it suits me, but that really is crude.

"Whatever. She's upset and angry and when she's upset and angry I'm the one who gets my ear blown off while she rants and rages about what a dick you are. I don't appreciate that and I'm holding you responsible. Where were you?"

"You know, it's weird, I could have sworn that I was a grown ass man and that you were not my mother."

"Yeah, your mother don't know half the shit I do. Stop avoiding the question."

"For fuck's sake, I partied too long and crashed out. Big deal. I'm a big boy now."

"And if you think I'm buying that for a second, you seriously underestimate me. Who was the girl?"

"For God's sake Trace, can I not get in the door of my own house and maybe get a coffee before the Inquisition starts?"

"No. I hope you didn't bed another one of those groupies."

"So what if I did?" I sigh.

Trace may think I underestimate him, but actually I've got him pegged. He will take what I just said as a confession and will immediately start on that track. He will have no idea what I did or who I was actually with, thereby keeping my shit private while still managing to get him off my back because he's got his little lecture out of his system. Unfortunately, this plan while effective still requires me to suffer through to his little lecture. The lengths I have to go to get some privacy are ridiculous.

"How many times have I told you, JT? Those one night stand girls are nothing but trouble."

"Yeah. No strings sex, how terrible." You see how I'm not actually lying but am deftly avoiding the truth? I got mad skills.

"Yeah, they say it's no strings. But you know as well as I do that they say yes to that because they're convinced that once your throbbing member lets out its love between their quivering thighs your souls will merge as well as your juices and you'll realise they're the one…"

"Fuckin' A, what the hell kind of Harlequin shit you been reading?" I'm thoroughly appalled by what he just said, it sounds ridiculous.

"Actually Nate discovered some sex thing on the net some fan wrote, thought I'd be amused. She's got some seriously deluded ideas about how big a penis is supposed to be, I gotta tell ya. Real life is gonna disappoint her."

"Oh, oh," I spit out in disgust. I'm not sure which is worse, the idea of 'juices' or Trace reading about me having sex. That's almost like him walking in on me while I'm having it, it's disturbing and gross. "Cut that the fuck out, man."

"Yeah, well the point stands. These girls think you're giving them something more than a roll in the sack and when you don't they get pissed and they call the tabloids."

"If I say I'm sorry and I won't do it anymore will you swear never to say any of that freaky shit again?"

"Will you mean it?"

"No."

Trace lets out a huge sigh, scratching his head and pulling an expression like he's some long suffering martyr. Why the guy feels the need to be up in my business like this anyway I'll never know. "Fine, fine. Be a dumb ass. Just don't say you weren't warned and don't expect me not to gloat about how I told you so."

"Wouldn't dream of it," I mutter as I abandon my thoughts of coffee and instead head for the shower.

Maybe it's childish, but I'm fuming and stewing a little as I yank off my clothes and turn on the water. Normally when I step under the shower I find the water mentally as well as physically cleansing. I scrub at my skin and simultaneously scrub away all the confusing thoughts until my mind is a little clearer and I don't feel so irate. This time it's not working though, and it's all Trace's fault. Apart from the fact that he is not my keeper or my conscience, he knows how much I dislike it when he plays that card. He's done it before; he knows I find it gross to think about, so he trots it out every time he wants to take a cheap shot.

Though if I'm honest, as repulsive as his turn of phrase was he has a point and if I had in fact gone and had a one night stand with a groupie, he would be dead on. Since, however, I did not go and sleep with a fan, he's way off base. To be honest I think what I did actually do probably wasn't the best plan either… man, I really hate having a conscience. It's okay when you're drunk and the alcohol shuts the damn thing up for a while, but when you wake back up more sober and it's yelling at you it really sucks being in possession of one.

Addy seemed a bit confused about why I made my excuses and cut out of there so fast; I don't think she saw the big deal, but I do. It's kind of stupid to me that I should feel at all guilty or hesitant about this. I've slept with women outside of a relationship before, nothing disastrous happened. I've had friends with benefits before, and it's always been fine - except for that one time my idiot self failed to spot that she wasn't really in it for the same thing I was and was secretly hoping that somewhere along the way I'd start reciprocating her feelings. Once upon a time when I was fourteen or fifteen I had big ideas about sex and true love and all that but as I got older I learned that it's entirely possible to be in a healthy sexual relationship without being madly in love, so long as you know when to quit.

Heck, I've had that relationship before with Addy, for crying out loud. Given that once you've already had sex with somebody it's a lot easier to fall into the sack with them again, it's amazing it took us this long. But we were drunk, we were being silly and things got out of hand. Or, more accurately, various things got into people's hands and… let's not get graphic. We left the club because we got bored of hiding in VIP and figured that we could continue acting like idiots with much more space and comfort at her apartment. We were continuing to goof off and run around like we were five years old and shit escalated to things that five year olds should definitely never do. She was drunk, but so was I. It was a good time, and since neither of us had been there for a while it was certainly an enthusiastic and kind of dirty time. Once again, nobody got used or taken advantage of, we gave each other moral support and then later a physical release, something that on both counts we had both needed. So why the fuck should I feel wrong about it?

I guess maybe it's because I can't return to where we were on Adora as if nothing's changed. That thing we had was great, and I meant it when I said in other circumstances I'd have loved to give it a real shot with her, but part of what made it work was that it had a shelf life. It could never be any more than what it was and neither of us could get caught up in wishing or wanting it to be. Addy seems to view what happened last night as if it's no different, but I can't. Like she always used to tell me about the tourists, they get to go home and forget but you can't because it's your life, not a vacation. As much as I hate to be a girl about it, I think this is dangerous emotional territory.

She wants me to go back over there later this afternoon. I said "maybe," and I'm still in two minds about whether I really want to and whether I really should. It's not going to help if the answers to those questions wind up being contradictory. I mean, fuck, I think it's obviously how much I like her. We connect, simple as that. I can't get all deep and spiritual about it because it's not something really that deep or spiritual; we just instinctively get each other. Not everything about each other, but the important stuff we got covered. Still, I've learned the hard way that the right person at the wrong time works out no better than the wrong person.

Addy is here, where I live, and there's a possibility of her sticking around. This isn't a nice neat little island bubble where I can pretend I'm not who I am with all the incumbent fame bullshit. There's no expiry date here, no boundaries, and I'm really not comfortable with that. Not for myself and definitely not for her while she's got so much other emotional shit going on. So now I have to feel guilty for having great sex with a hot girl who's offering more great sex up on a silver platter. That's ridiculous. We're adults, we both know what we're getting into, so why should I have to sit here and second guess it as though I'd be doing something wrong? Why am I wrong for enjoying a little fun? Damn my fucking conscience.

Cockblocker.

My phone rings as I'm wrapping a towel around my waist and shaking out my hair. Haphazardly I grab it and lift it to me ear. "Hello?"

"Cocksucker. Where'd you get to?"

"I'm sorry, when I went to find you I couldn't and then I got drunk. Crashed at Addy's."

"Hmm. Never saw her all night either. Why must I be saddled with such shitty friends? Lucky for you I'm such a social butterfly who can ingratiate myself whatever bunch of strangers I get dumped into."

"I'm sorry, Rach," I plead in my most pitiable tone of voice. "Forgive me?"

"After that hissy fit and stomping off like that? Hell no, the baby voice isn't going to cut it, pal."

I sigh. "I'm going to be buying you shit, aren't I?"

"I could use a new house."

Shit, I really did piss her off. Normally she only goes so far as some designer bag or big car. "I really am sorry, I was full of impending doom and beer; it's a bad combo."

She gives a little sigh over the phone. "So did Addy freak or what?"

"She hid out in the VIP room most of the night like we predicted."

"Oh well. Anyway, that was why I called. I was going to suggest we made it up to her tonight with something more like it. I got us a private room at that Indian place Matt was raving about; Trace can make it this time. I did ask her roommate too but when I called she sounded like she was dying."

"She was throwing these fruity umbrella things back last I saw her. They looked deceptively strong."

"That'll be why. Seriously, you think Addy would be up for it?"

This may be the answer to my problems. I will still see Addy so can't be accused of avoiding her, but I won't be alone with her either so there is no chance of awkward conversations or ill advised sex happening. The problem with ill advised sex is that it's always that much more tempting because it's risky, so the best way to avoid it is to put yourself in a nice public situation so you can't have it. See how smart I am?

"Sure. I'll call her now."

“Okay, so what?”

Rachael and Trace told me we had to have a ‘talk.’ They said this in the same tone I imagine people say ‘you’re going to the firing squad.’ I don’t know what this is about, but they’re sitting on the other side of my dining room table with stone like faces and in Trace’s case, looking like he wants to shit himself. I’m racking my brain trying to think of other times in my life they’ve tried to pull intervention on me for anything, see if it gives me a clue. There was a brief time during the Justified promo where they thought I was getting too cocky and becoming an asshole, there were a couple of post break up issues where I was kind of depressed, and then there was the time they thought I’d graduated from weed to coke. I hadn’t, they’d been listening to too much gossip.

Rachael shifts uncomfortably in her seat, and I’m wondering why she hasn’t spoken up. She looks a lot more resolved than Trace does yet she’s obviously waiting for him to go first; maybe he lost at rock-paper-scissors again. I keep telling him that if he always picks paper everybody else will always pick scissors.

“Okay…” Trace coughs a little, clearing his throat. He fiddles anxiously with his watch. “First off I guess I better say we know you’re not gonna like this, but I swear this is out of concern for all parties and not us trying to be douches or tell you what to do.”

“Word to the wise, brother,” I say while compulsively sipping my water. “Starting off a conversation like that only tells me shit’s about to be said and I’m probably going to get pissed at you.”

“That’s the risk we have to take for being honest with you, I guess,” Rachael shrugs. “But seriously, we want your absolute assurance that you realise we’re not trying to be assholes and we’re just worried about everybody.”

“Okay. You’re not trying to be assholes, but I need your assurance that you realise this will not necessarily prevent you being them.” What? You try being sat down like a child and handed this crap without being sarcastic. It can’t be done.

“Oh I can see this is gonna go well.” Trace rolls his eyes before leaning forward and settling his hands together on the table. “I’ll level with you, it’s about Addy.”

“Oh God…” I immediately start to scrape my chair back, but Rachael snatches my wrist and gives me a warning look.”

“Like I said. Concern for all involved. That means Addy too.”

“Fine.” I sit back down, leaning back in my chair and folding my arms tightly across my chest. I feel hostile right now. “Talk.”

“I know you and Rach have already fought about this, but after that dinner last night I have to agree with her. I’m sorry man, but I think something’s really up with Addy and I think she needs help.”

“Why? Is she shooting up crack or something?” I bite out. “What?”

“You know what,” Rachael sighs. “Being so withdrawn, barely talking or going out, hating everything, worrying all the time, working herself to death. You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed this shit, JT. It’s not the behaviour of somebody who’s happy.”

“She seems fine to me.”

“Does she really?” Trace asks, eyeballing me. “Or are you seeing what you want to see? Dude she was barely talking last night, barely eating either.” I remember Addy mentioning a time when she’d been blue over her ex and had lost her appetite, so Trace’s comment stings more than he knows. “She’s never been Miss Outgoing, but last night she was practically catatonic even though we took her to a quiet place, just the three of us, nobody else there to make her uncomfortable. She’s never been the chattiest person in our little gang but she’s never been a fuckin’ mute, either.”

“So she had a bad night the night before and was still a little cranky, is that so wrong?” I won’t mention either that she may have been pissy with me after the whole sex thing. Still, if she was that mad I suppose she’d have begged off coming at all.

“Look, Justin…” Rachael sighs yet again, and I will grudgingly admit that she looks genuinely worried. It’s the way her forehead has creased up. “I know you hate me going on about this, but I really am worried about her. She just seems so miserable all the time, and while I really do get that she’s had a tough transition to LA it’s not normal to be so down so long. I want her to get better, but that means somebody’s going to have to do something about it.”

“So why are you lecturing me not her?” I challenge.

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

“Because while you two are boating down the Nile together, she’s never going to admit there’s a problem,” Trace butts in bluntly.

“So what, you think I’m enabling her?”

“Basically.”

“That is so much bullshit.”

“Is it?” Rachael asks. “You throw a fit at me every time I say anything about her being less than peachy. She always pretends she’s fine even when it’s obvious she’s not, like that party she pretended to enjoy to Lily’s face while telling you she was in Hell. But you’re always defending her, comforting her, explaining away everything she’s done. And I know it’s because she’s your friend and you want to stick up for her and that’s sweet, but while you keep doing it she’s gonna figure that ‘hey, Justin thinks I’m okay.’ You’re telling me there’s never been one time when you thought she was overreacting?”

“Well yeah, but that’s every friendship in the world” I point out, not unreasonably I think. “What am I supposed to do, make it worse by pitching a fit at her?”

“Honestly babe, I think you’re making it worse by letting her pretend the way she reacts to shit is normal.” Rachael reaches out to squeeze my hand, but I grumpily withdraw it from her.

“This is all so much bullshit. I went through exactly the same, remember?”

“It’s different, J.”

“How?”

“Because you knew shit was wrong,” Trace says. “Okay, running away was a dumb idea, but you knew something was wrong and in your own messed up way you were trying to fix it. You admitted it was wrong to the rest of us, and to Addy. Has she done that?”

I admit that makes me pause for a moment, but then I shake my head and keep glaring. “Dude, she fixed me when I was all fucked up. She knows how to handle shit and it’s fucked up that you guys are talking all this crap when you don’t know what she and I have talked about.”

“This is my point exactly!” Rachael throws her hands up in the air, exasperated. “You feel so indebted to her and you’re so bound up with making sure you got her back that you won’t see that we’re not attacking her here. I really like Addy, Justin. I do. I think she’s really nice, and that’s why I’m telling you this because she needs help and I want her to get it. All the while you keep defending her because she’s been this saviour for you and the idea that she needs saving fucks with your head too much, but as long as you keep doing that it allows her to keep sticking her head in the sand and pretending it’s okay because you make up excuses for her.”

“So much bullshit.” I keep repeating, shaking my head and feeling murderous.

“Okay.” She reaches into the purse she’s left on the floor by her chair and pulls out a page which has obviously been ripped from a magazine. “Let’s test the theory, shall we… how many of the following apply to Addy? Number one, do you feel continuously low or sad?”

“Check,” Trace says.

“Two, feelings of hopelessness and helplessness?”

“She’s always claiming there’s nothing she can do and she has to just get on with it.”

“Three, low self esteem?”

“Every time I say she looks nice she disagrees with me. Usually chicks just say thank you.”

I would really like this little double act to stop now, but the bastards continue regardless. It’s not often that I want to hurt Trace but this is one of those moments. It’s even rarer that I want to hurt Rach since she has the ‘you don’t hit girls’ advantage, but she’s on the list too right now.

“Four, tearfulness?”

“Caught her crying and trying to hide it when I went to see her at work.”

“Five, feeling irritable and intolerant of others?”

“Exhibit one, Lily. Exhibit two, pretty much everybody but us.”

“Six, lack of motivation and enjoyment.”

“Check. She’s always saying she only keeps going to work because she has to.”

“Lack of energy, change in appetite.”

“Reference last night.”

“Do you need me to keep going?” Rachael asks as she eyeballs me. “Because there’s a long list here and the only one I can honestly say doesn’t apply to Addy is the one about suicide. Or at least I fucking well hope that doesn’t apply.”

I don’t think I’ve ever quivered with rage before, but this is it. I don’t like it; it feels like my head wants to explode.

“You two are so out of line. You have no idea what’s going on with her, you only even know her because of me. I mean, what, you go out to dinner with her a few times and you think you’ve done a deep psych evaluation or some shit?”

“And what did you do, Justin?” Trace asks quietly. “You were on a beach with her for a few weeks. We’re not claiming to be Freud, but you can’t pretend you’re some expert either. We’re just telling you what’s obvious, and what’s obvious is that she is not happy and it goes way beyond some petty work shit like when the rest of us get blue or whatever. If you refuse to see that then clearly you don’t know too much about her either.”

That’s the last straw for me. I loudly scrape my chair back, throwing them a death glare, and stomp out of the room. Yeah, I stomp. Stupid fuckers, what makes them the experts? I spend way more time with her than they do, so clearly whatever they’re going about isn’t so blindingly obvious because I don’t see it. Lily hasn’t said anything about it either; okay, I know they’ve been strained recently, but she does still live with the woman.

“I knew this shit was going to blow up in our faces.” I can still hear Trace from the other room.

“Well what else are we supposed to do, let him keep on denying everything? Good friends call bullshit when they see it.”

“But at least friends who don’t call bullshit are still friends at the end of it,” he says with a groan. “Maybe he’s right, maybe it’s not our business.”

“She’s miserable and starting to pull him with her. Yeah it’s our business.”

“But…” There’s a pause, like he’s thinking about what to say. “Is it possible we’re wrong?”

“Sure it is, but I really don’t think we are,” Rach replies. “If he really thought everything was okay he’d be with her by now.”

“With her? As in, ‘with her’ with her?”

“Yeah, shit for brains. What else do you think I meant?”

“Come on. You don’t think he still…”

What? Still what? I wish Trace would finish that sentence, because I’d like to know what the fuck they’re talking about. Yeah I liked Addy, yeah I had a fling with her, but it’s not like we were Romeo and fuckin’ Juliet (which is good, considering that didn’t end well).

“Yes I do. Why else do you think he’s so idiotically but loyally stupid about all this stuff? He wouldn’t be this sensitive about the whole thing without feeling for her.”

“Oh fuck. Wish you’d mentioned that before.”

“Why?”

“Because then I would have told you that pulling an intervention over a chick he’s in love with was gonna do nothing except get his back up and piss him off. Nice job, Rach.”

Huh. I find myself torn. On the one hand I utterly agree that Rachael’s whole idea was really frickin’ dumb, on the other I really want to march in there and object to that whole ‘in love with her’ thing. Only that would let them know that I was eavesdropping and they’d probably claim that proves them right.

Damn those fuckers.

I’m having a lot of days right now where I’m just really sick and tired of bloody life. This is yet another of them.

In general I could talk about my overly strenuous job and the way Alex is being insanely pushy about this promotion offer. The fact that I would have to rearrange my entire plans to stay in the country on a more permanent basis and sort out a new work permit and all that seems to have completely passed him by; it’s a bigger decision than he seems to think it is. I could also talk about the way I’m fed up of all the rude people I seem to attract in this city – most of them working in the same building – but mostly I’m pissed at Justin. What else is new? Between stupid banking lines and blowing so sodding hot and cold, Justin could set a new world record for pissing me off.

We slept together. We were drunk, we’d both had a shitty night out which only got better once we’d managed to find each other and leave that godforsaken party, and we fell into bed. I don’t understand why he is turning this into some huge deal, or freaking out that I suggested hooking up. I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, didn’t we spend a good deal of last summer in bed together? That worked just fine, no strings and no commitments and no stupid head games or making it into something bigger than it was, so why one year later does it have to be any different? If I had known he was going to go all 90210 about it then I would never have asked (what can I say, a big part of the original attraction was him not behaving like a teenage girl about it - it’s only sex).

Sure, my ego was momentarily bruised when it became clear that he was avoiding both me and the issue afterwards. My anger’s about way more than that though; I count on Justin to be the one uncomplicated thing in my life. With Justin there’s supposed to be no stress, no drama, only two people who have a good time together hanging out and occasionally taking a little moral support from each other. Even if he was going to turn down any future bedroom action, all he had to do was tell me no and forget about it. Instead, he’s rambling about bubbles and expiry dates and where he lives and I had not a single bloody clue what he was going on about. All I know is that he was very high pitched and has been very standoffish ever since, and I resent it.

I mean God, how many men would kill for some no pressure hook ups?

In fact, you know what, I lied; my ego is sore right now. We get along great, I know he’s attracted to me, we had good sex, and not last summer he was telling me that if he didn’t have to go home then we could have had a fun time seeing where things went. Well… now’s your chance, kiddo. Nobody’s putting any stress on it, this time we have time and there’s not thousand of miles between our places of residence any more. He was the one who apparently has me on the brain so hard that he inadvertently cast my lookalike in his stupid music video. So what gives? Where the hell is this inexplicable and irritating attitude coming from? Am I all of a sudden not good enough because I’m actually here and available?

“Addy, does this give me cankles?”

I have no idea how an item of clothing could give you cankles, you either have those or you don’t, but I shake my head at Lily as she steps out of her dressing room and models for me. I suppose I really ought to concentrate on the friend I’m here with and who isn’t currently behaving like a total stranger.

“No, but I hate the ruffles.”

“You hate the ruffles?” Lily picks at them with one hand. “I was going for girlish.”

“Yeah, but it’s too far into girlish. Like, we would have thought it was the shit during our legwarmers phase girlish.”

“Oh. Enough said.” She rushes back into the changing room to remove the offending garment and try on the next.

Lily is another thing annoying me right now. The topic of Lily, not Lily herself – if that sounds contradictory then let me explain. Lily herself is trying ever so hard to make up for that weird little period of estrangement. Between the party and all the places she’s dragging me out to she’s trying way too hard and totally misreading the situation, but I couldn’t possibly be irritated with her for it because clearly she just loves me and wants to fix things. That’s not annoying, it’s sweet – though in a slightly hopeless ‘what am I gonna do with you’ way. The topic of her frustrates me though because even though we seem to be talking more, we’re communicating less than ever. I feel like she and I are two totally different tracks right now and though we may seem to be moving towards each other, what we’re actually doing is setting ourselves up to speed right on past without ever actually meeting in the middle.

She wants to go left, I want to go right. She wants to go shopping and to dinner, I want a movie and a takeout. We used to be incredibly in sync without ever having to try to be; we could be apart for months at a time while she was in England and I was on Adora, but two minutes in the same room and it was like we’d both been there the entire time. Lately, it feels like we’re struggling even to get in the same vague area and it’s incredibly frustrating. I miss how natural it was. It’s not for lack of trying, but we don’t seem to be talking each other’s language at the moment and it kills me because Lily’s like a sister to me. Not breezing through friendship with her is like… like forgetting how to use a knife and fork. Incomprehensible and unthinkable, and yet you don’t realise how much you need them until you’re stuck trying to cut a sirloin without cutlery.

“How about this?” Lily saunters back out and she knows without me telling her that she looks great – hence the sauntering.

“Perfect. Very Victoria Beckham.”

“Does that mean it makes me look really skinny?”

That wasn’t what I meant, actually, but truth be told it is very slimming. “It gives you a nice shape.”

“Done, I’m having it.” She sweeps back into the changing room and pulls the curtain shut with a flourish. “So what do you want to do now mission’s accomplished? Shall we see if anything worth watching’s on at the flicks?”

I consider this for a moment. Personally my feet hurt and I’m bored and want to go home already, we’ve been out all day and I’m knackered, but then sitting in the dark for two hours would I suppose be as much a rest as sitting on the couch back at the apartment. It would also make Lily feel more like we’d been out and done something than if we stayed in.

“Works for me.”

“Wicked!” Even without seeing her, I can tell she’s smiling brightly. I do love her and want to make her happy, I do. I want to be social; I want to be a good friend. It’s only… sometimes it feels like a hell of a lot of effort for something that used to come as second nature. Is this merely a phase or am I changing, somehow? “You want to invite Justin?”

This is another way in which she’s annoying me right now. In a bid to be welcoming and accommodating of my new friends, she keeps offering to invite Justin along everywhere. Problem is I haven’t exactly told her that I’m narked off with the little git.

“Oh he’ll be in meetings or photo shoots or some boring thing like that,” I say airily. “Besides, I’m in chick flick mood.”

I thought I’d done really well with the breezy tone, but she’s poked her head around the curtain and is gazing at me through narrowed eyes. I’d forgotten that she’s Lily and impossible to hide things from.

“I detect a tone.”

“There’s no tone.”

She disappears again, clearly mindful that she needs to get out of there because the attendant’s glaring at us. We have been in here a while; though I’m hoping Lily remembers not to say anything which would tip her off that we’re talking about a famous Justin and not just any old guy who happens to be named Justin.

“There is so a tone.”

“Is not.”

“I don’t care how childish it is; I will say ‘is too’ if you keep that up.”

“Gah. I hate you.”

“I love you too.”

Finally she emerges, ignoring the death ray stare from the attendant and pushing me back out onto the shop floor. It only takes five minutes to pay for her purchase and leave the shop, which is five blissful minutes free from the Lily Inquisition – which I’m willing to bet is far more effective than the Spanish variety. It’s this freaky ability she has to prise anything out of you. I’ve often wondered why they don’t make her a spy; she could extract state secrets in no time.

“So what’s with the tone? Boy issue?”

“Oh, he’s just being… blah.” Futile though it is, I’ll attempt not to give all away too easily.

“What’s he done now?”

“Oh, he’s being… I don’t know. Standoffish.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“That was not very convincing. You know and you don’t want to tell me. And if you don’t want to tell me, that either means you did something bad that you feel guilty for or you had sex and you’re embarrassed.”

“Huh… wha?” As hard as I’m trying, I can’t seem to complete any words or phrases.

“You had sex then, okay…” I have to say, for such a revelation she does seem to be treating this in a very matter of fact manner. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost say she’d been expecting this… wait, do I know better? Was she expecting this? I’m so confused. “So what’s the issue?”

“Fine, I give up, you win… we had sex and he seems to think it’s some bad thing that’s going to totally change our relationship in a bad way.”

“Well will it?” It’s a sensible question I suppose, but the way Lily’s watching my face lets me know that she will be reading into whatever answer I give her.

“I don’t see why. We’ve been involved before and it was never heavy or some big deal. It’s not like we don’t like each other. You’d think it would be easier not having some deadline over your head knowing it’s a holiday romance and you have to go home soon, but he was talking about bubbles and best before dates and I had a really hard time following him.”

“What if that’s the problem?” Lily asks. “Maybe he just found it easier to deal with knowing there was an end to it and the idea that if it happened again it might be something more is freaking him out? You know how even the vague spectre of commitment scares boys.” She loops her arm through mine before shrugging. “Did you tell him about Alex’s offer?”

“More or less, in among the whining about how Alex is a total pain who expects a decision too quick.”

“Well maybe that’s it. Maybe he’s scared that it’s going to get into the dreaded ‘exclusive’ territory or something and he doesn’t want it to go that way. Or maybe he’s just worried that if he gets attached and you then decide not to stay he’ll be all heart broken.”

My brow furrows and my lips purse. “You do realise those are two pretty opposite things? One being about not wanting a relationship and the other about wanting it?”

“Well now you mention it… yeah, I guess they are.”

“So really, you’re about as helpful as a chocolate teapot.”

“Hey.” She smiles nonchalantly. “A chocolate teapot may be no good for making tea but it’s still damn tasty. You got to think of other possibilities.”

“Like the one where you’re insane and I should really have you committed?”

“If you haven’t done it by now you never will.”

“Only because they’d probably take me in too for being friends with you.”

“You know what they say.” An evil grin comes over her face. “Good friends post bail but best friends are in the cell beside you asking how the fuck you got yourselves into this one.”

“Pah.” I just have no comeback for that one, and I’m trying not to giggle at her because then she’ll know she’s won.

“Seriously though…” She squeezes in next to me to avoid hitting a passerby with her bags. “It’s always weird emotionally when you mix yourself back up with an ex, even if it’s an ex you’re on good terms with. And this time you’re here in his town shaking up his little status quo that he’s used to. He’s worked you into things here as his friend, and now things are getting mixed back up with how you guys were on Adora. He’s probably being a dummy and freaking out that things aren’t all going to plan and staying in whatever neat little box he’s mentally shoved it into, that’s all.”

“I just…” Lily’s words do hold an air of plausibility to them, but I’m still not satisfied. “It makes no sense. Even here, we’ve always been really laid back and kind of go with the flow about each other. It’s weird that he’d freak out.”

“In which case maybe it is that he likes you and doesn’t want to get burned?” Lily suggests. “Though to be honest, I’m surprised you say that.”

“Why?”

I feel her body stiffen next to mine, and it makes me nervous. A glance at her face and the awkward expression tells me she’s let slip something I’m probably not going to like. “It’s just that… well…”

“What?”

“Ugh, you know when you have something to say which isn’t a bad thing but you know if you say it wrong it’ll sound like it?”

“Lily…” My tone tells her that delaying is not a good idea.

“It’s just that since we’ve been in LA, laid back is not a word I would use to describe you.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“See, I told you it’d sound bad!” There’s a whine in her voice which reminds me of when we were kids. “I think it’s just the pace, like you’ve said everything happens so much faster here and you’ve been so much busier. But… yeah, you just seem to be a bit more stressed here. Or at least more vocal about it. Which, like I say, isn’t a bad thing, it’s just different, and I can totally get it. Especially coming from a place like Adora where it’s impossible to get stressed out and people aren’t so abrasive as they can be over here. Like Alex, I mean, you’d never find an Alex type on Adora.”

Hmm. This is one of those things where I don’t think she’s really said anything that bad or that gives me proper cause to be pissed off with her, and yet still I am. “And that has what to do with Justin?”

“Nothing,” she squeaks. Clearly she’s worked out that she should have kept quiet. “All I meant was that if you guys have been so laid back about each other and everything’s been going one way, a sudden change like sex coming back into it would be a reasonable explanation for him flipping out. Have you talked to him about it?”

“He’s avoiding me.” As quickly as I angered, I deflate again. What’s the point of being mad with her? It’d only undo what little good work we have managed in patching things up and besides, she’s probably right as usual.

“Persevere. He’ll quit being dumb eventually.”

Maybe she’s right, maybe she’s not. But now I’m bothered less about Justin than her assessment of me.

Thing is, I don’t feel like I’m a different person than I was on Adora. I feel like all this shit is happening to me that never would over there and I have no clue how to deal with it. My internal world’s the same, it’s the external one I can’t handle. How exactly does one manage to be laid back with fifty people all wanting different things out of you at the same time, and being pressured to make huge life changes on short notice, and having a confusing relationship with a member of the opposite sex? I mean, I do think of myself as laid back, but I’m still only human. Why should I know all these answers?

Maybe not though, maybe it is me. Other people seem to love this city and thrive in all this. And heck, nobody’s life is ever going to be all smooth sailing so shouldn’t I be able to cope under heat? I took this job to branch out and travel and to do something other than take the easy road and stay in the same place doing the same thing all my life. What’s the point of experiencing nothing beyond your own front door, right? So why is it that I can’t cope with something that thousands of other people do every day? Why is everything suddenly wrong? If I’m not flying by the seat of my pants at work I’m screwing up with Lily or I’m scaring Justin away… and both those friendships are supposed to be solid. Yet I’m even making a mess of those. Whatever I try to do to fix things just seems to make everything worse.

I really don’t know what to do or think about anything any more.

You know what I think is rude? Not answering text messages within a reasonable passing of time.

Now, I’m not one of those guys who expect instant answers and can’t cope if somebody doesn’t message them back within five minutes. I’m busy, I have things to do, and I’m not so egotistical that I assume nobody else does. People do still have lives to live and there’s a whole lot of stuff that can be going on at any given time. It’s not that people don’t think I’m important or fun; I’m just not the only important or fun person around. That’s cool, I get it, I’m not going to pout and get bitchy because people aren’t there at my every whim.  I’m sure that there are better and/or more crucial things going on for people to attend to first.

So when I say “reasonable passing of time” you know that I’m not talking about something stupid like two minutes. I’m talking about two days.

“Still no word?” Rachael asks.

“No.” I scowl at her as if it’s her fault. That’s very immature but I’m still angry with her over that dumb intervention. Since it is Addy who isn’t answering my messages she’s getting unfairly blamed.

“Strange.” She doesn’t seem as bothered by it as I am, if the shrug is anything to go by. “Oh well, they probably just got her buried under a pile of paperwork. You almost ready to go?”

“Almost.”

“We have to be in the car in five minutes,” she warns.

“What’s this one?”

“Another performance, though you’ll have to do a five minute fluff piece afterwards. They never ask anything too probing so minimal brain power should be required.”

“Good. I got no brain power left after last night.”

Last night was an extremely raucous dinner and then club scenario during which we all consumed a lot of alcohol. Nobody meant to consume as much as they did, especially since we’re working today, and I am paying for it. Trying to dance and look peppy is difficult when your stomach is groaning at every jump and turn. Still, I think I’m allowed – it’s a celebration of the single hitting number one. Funnily enough that was why I texted Addy in the first place. I thought it only right that the muse should join in the fun. She likes notice so I made sure I gave her plenty, but she never got back to me and still hasn’t.

Addy has been extremely distant ever since I refused to start things back up with her. No matter what Trace says that has nothing to do with the bullshit they said to me about her. Yeah, she’s not as laid back as she used to be but she has more on her plate than she used to. She’s coping fine. Lily seems to be atoning for whatever girl crap was happening between them and there’s no problem with Addy in general. The problem is specific. Specifically the problem is that my little prediction back on Adora came true and I’m not willing to go there with her.

I predicted that if I had more time to spend with her, I could catch some feelings. That is exactly what has happened. Why wouldn’t it? We have a lot in common and we have a great rapport with each other; it’s not often you can really talk with the opposite sex. She frustrates me sometimes, sure, but that’s because she challenges me and I haven’t been with a woman who challenged me in a long while. So when she said she wanted things to be the same as they were last year it may have tempted me for a little bit but eventually the brain in my head won out over its rival. No was the only answer. If all Addy wants is to be friends then I’d rather leave out the sexual complications. It was one thing while we were both on the same page, but we’re not now. I want more and she doesn’t, so we’ll keep it clean and civil.

Well, we would if she’d answer my fucking messages. I think she’s sulking.

“Well finally,” Rachael snipes as Trace deigns to enter our presence. “You were about to make us late.”

“Oh please. It’ll be LA traffic that makes you late so there was no point in me hurrying.”

“Whatever, short stuff. We all here now?”

“Yes Randy,” Rachael smiles sweetly at my driver. It’s no good, he has us all clocked. Innocent smiles are useless before him.

“Then put your seatbelts on and try to keep the playground bickering to a minimum.”

“So are we still on for tonight?” Trace asks.

“Does it involve alcohol?”

“Not really, unless you want wine at dinner.”

“Then we’re on.” I push my head back against the seat and sigh a little, staring at the ceiling. My stomach still feels too acidic for drinking. “You coming Rach?”

“Umm…” Her nose always screws up in this really funny way when she’s considering something. “Yeah, go on.”

Trace nods. “Groovy. Only this time please do not suggest tequila.”

“I thought that was you?”

“No, that was you,” I interject. “Trace is the dumb ass who suggested we got the sambuca.”

“Hey, that was going fine until Mike decided to break out the matches and lighting shit. How’s your thumb by the way?”

“A little singed but still working,” Rachael says as she scrutinises her left thumb. There was some stupid trick suggested which involved wetting your thumb in the alcohol and lighting it. Rachael left it too long and once there was no more alcohol to burn the flame moved on to skin.

Suddenly I’m wondering if Addy had the right idea skipping out. She’s probably still in full working order today, which is more than can be said for us.

“Hey, have you heard from Addy today?” Trace asks. My head shoots up guiltily, as if somehow he could have known I’ve been brooding about her.

“No.”

“Weird. Usually she’s texted me back by now.”

“You boys,” Rachael says rolling her eyes. “She’s probably just busy or not had time to charge her phone or something. Don’t sweat it.”

“Who was sweating it?” Trace retorts. “Just saying it’s not her usual style.”

“Justin was sweating it.”

“Was not!” I protest.

“Yes you were.”

I am not about to start that playground rendition of the yes and no fight, so I remain silent. She can read whatever she wants into that, along with my irritated facial expression.

For once in his life Trace decides to be perceptive and change the subject. “So have the label said anything about the song?”

“Not in huge detail,” I answer, “but you could hear the relief. The big moment’s not until later this week though when they track the effect on the album.”

“Still, no reason numbers shouldn’t go up.” Rachael has a very encouraging look on her face. “They didn’t miss an opportunity to mention the album in the promo for the song.”

“I hope so.” I scratch at the top of my head. It’s a nervous habit of mine and a dead giveaway to those who know me. “I still think they’re holding out on the tour until they get the numbers in. Better they are the better my budget.”

“I thought you said you want to strip the show back though?”

“I do, but I’d rather do that because I want to and not because the finances demand it.”

“I see your point.” She nods. “Always better to come in under budget and have spare to play with than be struggling to cut things down. The meeting’s next week, right?” Rachael flips through the diary to the appropriate page. “Yeah, Thursday.”

“You need me for that?” Trace asks.

“No.” Rachael shakes her head. “Might be a good idea if we can get your mom and dad there though JT.”

“I’ll call.”

I slouch back in my set and fold my arms. The scenery isn’t very interesting but I stare out at it anyway. At least it moves and changes, which is more than can be said for the back of the driver’s seat. It’s funny but even after the fit she threw about me being famous I wish Addy was around for me to talk to about it. The general public find it hard to imagine somebody as seemingly blessed as I am being stressed, but money doesn’t save you from these little worries in life. Of course I’m not like some sales guy who’ll struggle to pay the bills if he doesn’t get decent commission this month, but I still do have work problems. Not only that, I want to do well for its own sake. I want to be good at what I’m doing.  People who aren’t in the industry are oddly more empathetic on the subject; the professionals will all start dishing advice and clichés about what a tough game it is but people like Addy just listen and tell you that it sucks. Sometimes I don’t want practical advice, I want sympathy.

Yeah, I know, poor little rich boy. There are starving children in Africa.

I’m aware that I am blessed in a lot of ways. That doesn’t save me from having some issues like everybody else though, and this feeling of not living up to my own standards is part of the reason I wound up on Adora in the first place. It’s precisely because I’m so lucky that I feel this pressure to constantly live up to it all the time. Somehow, if I’m stressed or feeling bad I feel like I’m being ungrateful. Who am I to feel so shitty when I have so much? I had a really hot girlfriend and that wasn’t enough. I’d made some huge accomplishments in the course of my career but the sales dipped a little and it wasn’t good enough. I couldn’t take some time off to just be because I had to be doing something. Even now that I’ve had that experience on Adora and learned some ways to chill out and take a better attitude, I still feel that way sometimes.

“You okay JT?” Rachael peers at me. “You’ve gone quiet.”

“I’m fine. Thinking.”

“Well that’s dangerous. Amateur like you could hurt yourself.”

Despite myself, I smile and raise an eyebrow at her. She may piss me off sometimes but at others she’s a God send. In moments like this I need somebody to make fun of me.

“Screw you.”

“You love me and you know it.”

“Masochism’s not my thing.”

“What did I say about playground bickering?”

“Sorry Randy.” Rachael jerks her head at the driver’s seat and rolls her eyes.

“I got mirrors, you know. I saw that.”

“Oh so you admit it’s mirrors and not really eyes in the back of your head?” I ask.

“No, I still got those too. I’m watching you.”

I’m saved by the bell. More accurately I’m saved by the sound of The Who. I fish in my pocket for my phone and cast a wary eye over the caller ID. I don’t know how fans get hold of my number so often but they do. It means I have to be careful who I answer the phone to.

“Hello?”

“Hi Justin, it’s Lily.”

“Oh, hey Lily.” I’d be lying if I said I was expecting her to call. “How you doing?”

“I’m fine, thank you, just looking for my errant roommate.”

Mental alarm bells immediately start going off. ‘Bells’ is probably too nice a term – bells do nice things like ring and chime. This is more of a siren wailing in my head. “Then why’d you call me?”

“Where else would she be?”

“Where else have you looked?”

A small huff echoes down the line. Lily sounds a little exasperated with me and now I think about it that probably wasn’t the most helpful or polite response. I don’t mean to be obtuse, I’m just confused. Rachael mouths ‘what is it’ at me but I’m ignoring her to listen to Lily.

“She didn’t go into work today or yesterday. She’s not picking up her phone, nobody’s seen her, and you’re the only person in LA I can imagine her having any overnights with. It’s not like she even knows anybody else.”

“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news but I haven’t talked to her in a few days. She hasn’t been with me.”

Rachael’s mouth silently forms the word ‘Addy’ and I nod a confirmation at her.

“When did you last see or speak to her?”

“Umm…” I have to think about that. “Two days ago.”

“Oh shit.” Lily sounds like she’s on the verge of tears. I’m taking that to mean she hasn’t seen her since then either and was hoping I’d talked to her in the interim. “Umm… I have no idea who else to call. I just don’t know who else she could be with, it’s not like she’s made a huge list of acquaintances in this city.”

“I wish I could help, Lil.” I taste blood and realise I’ve been gnawing on my bottom lip. “But apart from you and work, I wouldn’t know who to check with either.”

“Okay, umm… I’ll think of something. Can you please just let me know if she calls?”

“Of course I will.”

Lily hangs up, and when I raise my gaze from my phone both Trace and Rachael are staring at me with worried expressions. “What’s going on?” He asks.

“Lily hasn’t seen Addy in like two days and she’s freaking out.”

“Shit.” Rachael looks even more anxious. “I haven’t heard from her either. I should have known.”

“What?” I ask doubtfully. “How could you have known?”

“Well, not this specifically, I just knew she couldn’t keep going like she was. I didn’t keep telling you she was depressed to be a bitch, you know.”

“What, you think she’s… run away?” Now I really am incredulous.

“I don’t know. I just don’t think it’s good that nobody’s heard from her in forty eight hours. That’s long enough to file a missing person’s you know.”

I’m not paying attention to her now. That’s partly because I find the idea ridiculous, and partly because I’ve had one last, desperate brainwave. Addy cannot possibly be with the people I’m about to call, but it’s not totally out of the question that she’d speak to them. Even if they don’t know where she is it doesn’t matter. If we can at least ascertain that she’s spoken to somebody in the last two days that should make Lily rest a little easier. Finally my wi-fi decides to co-operate and it gives me the international number to dial. I just hope the time zone is okay.

“Hola.”

“Hi, is that Nina?”

“Speaking,” she slips easily into English. The resort had a website so a quick Google got me the info I needed.

“Hi Nina, you probably don’t remember me but my name’s Justin we met last summer? I’m a friend of Addy.”

“No, I remember. How can I help, Justin?” I don’t even have time to laugh at the accent like I used to last year. It makes my name sound more like ‘Justine.’

“I’ve been speaking to Addy’s roommate, and she’s a little worried that she hasn’t seen Addy in a while. Have you spoken to Addy in the last couple of days.”

“Of course I have.”

Relief washes over me. I love it when my little ideas pan out like this – makes a nice change from the screw ups. “Oh that’s great. When was it?”

“Half an hour ago.”

“Even better!” I can at least reassure Lily (and myself) that she’s not in a ditch somewhere. “Did she say where she was?”

“She didn’t need to.”

That’s an odd response. “Sorry, I don’t get what you mean. She didn’t need to?”

“She didn’t need to tell me where she was, I was standing next to her.”

For a moment, silence reigns. Rachael is frantically gesticulating at me, trying to get me to tell her what’s happening, but I’m too astounded. I cannot possibly have heard that correctly. That would mean that Addy has skipped town and gone back to Europe without telling anybody and that cannot possibly have happened. It’s not like me to be speechless but I just don’t understand.

“Uhh… does that mean the same thing in Spanish that it does in American?”

Now Rachael’s not gesturing at me, she’s just looking at me like I’m the village idiot.

This is the most awkward taxi ride ever.

Mostly that’s because it smells like somebody might have been a little unwell in here and the driver didn’t do a good enough job cleaning, but I’m also very nervous. As well I should be because it’s really awkward being back. I was worried that it might be a little triggering too, but on the whole it’s simply awkward.

Yep, I now use words like “triggering.” That’s clearly a sign that I have spent much too much time in psychotherapy, but you do what you have to do.

I’m really hoping everybody understands that you have to do what you have to do, because I will admit that the manner of my leaving was not exactly great. It’s just as well I don’t want that job any more because I would never get it back after running out without notice the way I did. It was entirely unplanned and I’m still not quite sure why I got it into my head to leave. I think on some level I’d given up.

The drive feels like it’s going incredibly slowly. I keep staring out at the signs and the palm trees and thinking how alien it seems to be back in the US after my trip back to Adora and then England. It really is like being on a different planet.

I had to go because I could not keep on going the way I had been. I was miserable and not coping. In hindsight, I don’t think I had ever really got well again the way I thought I had after that whole stupid tourist incident. On Adora where the lifestyle was the easiest thing going that was pretty easy to mask, as much to myself as to other people, but being in LA where I was a fish out of water and under pressure really showed up the cracks. The only person I really dared speak to from here about it was Rachael, and she didn’t exactly sound surprised when I told her what was going on. I was surprised that it was her and not Justin who called me there but she was really sweet when I explained why I’d gone. Let’s hope everybody else is the same.

Justin… ye gods. I feel pretty shitty about that. I think he was kind of put out by my not telling him about any of it and my disappearing without notice. I think he was especially put out by my not getting back in touch for the first couple of weeks but I really did not feel ready. He hasn’t picked up when I’ve called since (no idea whether that’s intentionally or if he was simply too busy with his promotional tour). He has answered texts so clearly he’s not ignoring me, but they weren’t exactly deep and meaningful. I have no idea what kind of reception I’m going to get here.

Which is awkward considering I’m going to be temporarily staying at his house. Rachael swore she would clear it with him but do I trust her on that? Not sure.

I really hope he doesn’t think this was down to him. He didn’t do anything wrong, as bruising as his rejection was. It was kind of the catalyst for my leaving but not in a bad way – my messed up reaction to it and how badly I took it was what made me finally accept that something wasn’t right. I kept blaming work pressure or things with Lily or whatever but the truth is none of those things were really that bad. Treating them like they were the end of the world was a symptom of what was going on. Heck, they were really only bad to begin with because of what was going on.

In a way though I think the fact that I’m not coming back to the same situation will help. Lily has moved to New York to go to a different branch of the company, so the apartment’s been let go. Rachael very sweetly offered me one of Justin’s multiple spare rooms while I hunt for a place and sort out a job. (I am staying well away from high octane offices this time, going to look back into teaching.) Mum was worried about me coming back at all, but I’ve finally learned to stop blaming LA for my problems. The problem was not LA or the LA lifestyle. I was just ill. In a way I kind of want to prove to myself that I can make a go of it here, but the key thing is that I didn’t want to go back and hide on Adora again. It would have been much too easy and would have led to more dodging my problems. That was why I only stayed long enough to see my parents before going to England for the treatment.

So here I am again. Ready and armed with a new perspective, the number of a recommended therapist in the area and some new meds. I hate taking them but since they’re helping I’ll just deal with that. I will also admit that I am kind of hoping to patch things up with Justin. I hate leaving it on a sour note.

Okay, that wasn’t very honest. I want to patch it up because I love him. That is a big part of the reason why I’m back. No matter what form any future relationship might take I can’t stand the idea of him not being in my life any more because I fucked it up. I’m truly at peace now with his not wanting to be with me and friendship’s fine if that’s what’s on the table; I wasn’t previously. Part of the reason I reacted so badly when he turned down any future hook ups was feeling rejected.

In honesty, I think pretty much all my weird behaviour with him – even the reaction to finding out he was famous – was pretty much attributable to feeling rejected or fearing rejection. There was a feeling of not being good enough for him. I was probably starting to love him as far back as Adora, so when I found out he lied I was scared that meant he hadn’t really thought very much of me. I made that cop out suggestion of friends with benefits because I was too scared to go for what I really wanted and was then crushed when he said no. I fooled myself into thinking I was merely annoyed with him for making it a big deal that I’d asked, but really I just felt rejected. In my head he said no because I wasn’t worthy.

I should add none of that is because he objectively did anything to make me feel that way. This was all my poor self-esteem talking and projecting my insecurities onto him as if he was the person giving me those ideas. I worked this out after a session of my therapist continually asking me what Justin had said to make me think it. When I said I could tell because X she would then point out the zillion other things X could plausibly mean - it took a while, but eventually I got her meaning. I was attributing my own self-doubt to Justin.

Finally we’re pulling up to his now familiar house and my palms are kind of sweaty. It’s all a bit of a blur as I pay the driver and get my single suitcase out (I ran out without much and Lily kindly put my stuff from the apartment in storage, so there’s not a lot). As the driver pulls away again I give myself a quick spritz of body spray, hoping it’ll mask any lingering odour I may have picked up from that nasty car. When I look at my watch I’m more or less on time. I’m fifteen minutes early but Rachael swore she’d be back here for 2pm. Even if she’s not here yet I won’t have to wait long.

When I ring the bell it’s Justin who answers. I was not prepared for that.

He looks good, but he has a pretty inscrutable expression on his face. He’s trimmed his hair so it’s cropped much closer to his head and he’s got some stubble going on. He’s not really saying anything but he doesn’t look like he hates me for anything, so hopefully this means it’ll be okay.

“Hi,” I finally say.

“Hi.”

**

So what exactly do you say to your long lost crush who has just returned from Europe after running away to go to therapy?

Rachael gave me due warning and I agreed to it, but the preparation time has not helped. Once we got past the initial greeting I found myself struggling and it’s not getting any better yet. I’ve done the pleasantries. I helped her bring her bag in and I’ve offered her a drink. I asked her how her flight was and explained that Rach asked me to be home because she got caught up. I call bull – I think she engineered this because she knew Addy and I haven’t talked properly since before she left.

Maybe it’s time to admit that it was dumb to have avoided talking to Addy for this long. I was steamed at her for running out like that, particularly given the situation we were in at the time, but as soon as I found out why she was forgiven. Well, okay, maybe there was a slight delay while I spent some time fuming about how Rachael and Trace and their fucking dumb intervention had been right. (I still say that magazine article was a moronic way to go about it though.) I knew she had some stress and I’d certainly noticed her overreacting to some things, but the idea that she might have a mental health issue never really crossed my mind. Now I think back on it, it seems ridiculous not to have noticed. I complained enough about her having a personality transplant on the flight over from Adora; how did it not occur to me that this was significant?

Now she’s sitting on a stool in my kitchen holding her cup of coffee rather than drinking it. I’m leaning against the counter feeling uncomfortable. I have things I want to say and I suspect she probably does too, but where the hell do you start?

“So how are you?” I finally ask.

“Really?” She gives me a wry little smile. For somebody who got off a long flight she looks in pretty decent shape. She’s wearing a yellow sun dress and a white sweater which looks very preppy. She looks a bit more like herself, anyway. I kind of hated seeing her in that severe work gear.

“Really.”

“Lord.” She raises her eyes to the ceiling momentarily before shaking her head. “Barely know where to start. Better, would be the short version. I’m on some meds which had me a little zombified for a while but it’s passing and I feel more like me again. Therapy is awkward and I hate talking about myself so bloody much but all in all it’s helped. I think I understand what happened a bit better and I feel like I’m honestly getting over it properly now. You know, instead of just being a miserable bitch and turning into a drama queen.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” There’s an overly long pause before I let out a curt laugh and shake my head too, only I’m shaking it at myself. “Man, I just have no idea what to say.”

“No wonder, it was all pretty dramatic. I am sorry about that, by the way.”

“It’s okay.” I shrug. “I was a little upset initially but… it’s your health, right?”

“Indeed.” She nods her head and then looks down at her hands where they’re folded around her mug. She doesn’t look at me when she speaks. “I hope you didn’t think that timing was anything to do with you, or that I was mad at you because I didn’t take your calls.”

Ahh. That’s awkward. I so did but I don’t want to tell her. Shamefully I didn’t take her later calls because I was kind of scared of her confirming that. Trace called me a pussy and he wasn’t wrong, but my ego was dented and that never lends itself to me being my most mature self. I get kind of childish and into avoidance tactics when that happens. It was more cowardly but easier reply to texts in a way that side-stepped any serious conversation.

“What was it?” Hope she doesn’t notice my transparent attempt to deflect.

“It…” Clearly she’s going to shake her head a lot during this conversation. “I reacted really badly to something at work, to nothing really, and while they were looking at me like I was a crazy person it suddenly hit me that it’s not normal to react so badly to everything. So I in turn reacted badly to that little realisation, and in a panic I just decided I wanted to go home. By the time I got there I decided I wanted to go back to counselling because I was sick of being miserable. And…” She looks up at me, somewhat wary, her eyebrow arching just a little.

“And?”

“Okay, so it was a little bit about you. Not in a bad way or anything you did wrong or anything like that, but I kind of feel like I handled that entire reunion of ours wrong from start to finish and I think it was because of the depression and me not processing shit right.”

So now I’m interested. “How so?”

“I… it… I just…” If she’s hoping I will butt in and save her here she’s wrong. Maybe that’s mean of me all things considered, but I’d really like to hear this. “Again, I guess just blowing everything up out of proportion.”

That was a cop out answer and she is shifting way too much in her seat. Call me self-absorbed but I think there’s something she’s not saying there and I think it’s about me.

Maybe that’s wishful thinking because part of me is hoping she’s... I don’t even know. I guess I kind of want a do-over. As mad as I (temporarily) was at her, it came from the feelings I’ve caught. I don’t know if her treatment is like AA where they tell you not to start relationships for a while, but having such a long time away from her to think about it all has confirmed for me that I still think there’s a chance. Or maybe I should rephrase that and say I want there to still be a chance.

In a slightly screwy way, the fact that she’s needed to go into treatment has kind of re-confirmed in my mind that she’s in my picture of what I want. It’s like it has somehow proved that the Addy I first connected with is Addy in her more natural state and the highly strung creature that came to LA was  only her dark side getting more airtime than usual, not necessarily who she really is at heart. And hey, I still dug that version of her too. As my mother rightly pointed out you really must give a shit about somebody when seeing them at their worst doesn’t put you off. Possibly my mother said it more gracefully.

Point is, I know that side of Addy now and instead of it busting the bubble the way you’d think it might (I really had over-idealised her after that vacation) it’s made me see her better. I still want what I see but after that whole thing I have no idea what she wants or is even ready for.

“The way we… left things.” Fuck it, I will poke the bear. On my head be it. “I got the feeling I upset you.”

“Um…” I’m trying to stare her down but she’s giving me nothing. Keeps looking into her coffee again. “I was upset but in hindsight I was being unreasonable. You were right. That would have been like us having a relationship without having one and that’s no good for anybody. Like you said, holiday romances don’t work when it’s home for one of you and I was ignoring my own advice there.”

Well shoot. That was a good answer for her but for me it’s a fail. She’s managed to very reasonably answer the question without giving me the hint I want about her feelings.

Finally I move to stand next to her, folding my arms back over my chest. I feel self-conscious as I lean back against the counter and my mind has gone unhelpfully blank. I need to play this very carefully.

“So what now?”

“Find an apartment, find a teaching job, keep up the treatment and get my life back.” She immediately perks up when she says that. Her voice sounds a little brighter and I’m heartened. “It’s a work in progress but I feel like away from that job and with my issues under control that I can actually have a life here.”

“You didn’t want to stay on Adora?”

She shakes her head. “No. I was there because it was easy and I could hide. Don’t get me wrong, I love it to death, but my life’s got to be bigger than that. This is one of the many things I decided in therapy.” She puts on a silly voice and nudges me with her elbow, trying to mock herself a little. I think she’s embarrassed but she doesn’t need to be. It sounds right on point to me and I judge nobody for going to therapy.

“Sounds good.”

“Thank you for agreeing to put me up, by the way, it’s really sweet of you. Given how we left things and my less than reliable friend behaviour lately I wouldn’t have blamed you for being done with me.”

I decide to be brave and put my arm around her shoulders, giving her a quick squeeze. I wasn’t planning to leave it there, but she hasn’t complained and my muscles oddly don’t want to co-operate with the whole detaching operation.

“It was a fight, that’s all. I care about you too much to let dumb shit like that get in the way. It was only because you weren’t well, anyway. You’re my friend, you’ve had a shitty time and you need a little help, there’s no way I wouldn’t be here for you.”

She starts pursing her lips in a really funny way and I wonder what she’s doing until I see a tear spill out. She’s trying not to cry.

“Sorry,” she mutters. “I seem to have sprung a frickin’ leak lately. I cry at everything, even dumb shit that I’m not really upset about.”

“Everything?” I tease her gently as I wipe it away with my index finger.

“Seriously. The other night it was a bloody toilet paper commercial.”

“Why?”

“There was a puppy.”

I will not laugh at my friend when she’s vulnerable.  I will not laugh at my friend when she’s vulnerable.  No matter how much I’m tempted to because hey, a toilet paper commercial, I will not laugh at my friend when she’s vulnerable.

The fact that already I’m starting to feel easier and more relaxed with her further cements my notion that it’s worth pursuing the idea of me and her again, but not now. On a more serious note, crying at commercials and being so easily emotional clearly means she’s still got some shit to deal with and I don’t want to overload her. When she’s had time to settle back in and I’ve had some time to get braver, I can broach the whole subject of our hooking up again. I don’t think I ever explained to her that I didn’t say no because I didn’t want to. I did it because I can’t be that close to her and not really have all of her.

Not that I can have all of her now, but I’m a patient man. Besides, I still have half a promotional tour to finish and fuck knows that’ll keep me distracted until she’s had space to readjust to everything. One thing at a time.

“I know what definitely won’t make you cry.”

“What?”

“Making up for lost time ridiculing Trace.” Yes, I am unsubtly changing the subject. “He just got a new tattoo, it’s really fucking stupid, and I think we should go out to dinner tonight to welcome you back and so you can see it. It hasn’t been the same without you to add some British flair to the insults.”

She sniffles a little, still recovering from the tearing up, but she’s smiling. “It’s the accent. Everything sounds more cutting in an English accent.”

“More cutting, smarter, sexier, annoyingly it’s a way superior accent to mine and Trace’s.” Okay, JT, what did you just tell yourself about taking it slow? Quit the flirting.

“Glad you’ve had some personal growth in my absence to be able to admit that.”

See? That’s my Addy there. She’s on her way back.

“Hey, just remember who’s putting you up for free before you go being all cutting at me.”

“Sorry. I’ll save it for Trace.”

Okay, it’s another bad but I kiss her forehead. Really must stop the flirting, she’s barely got through the door. “Atta girl.”