Deranged Delusions

1. Just Around the Java Bend

“Watch where the hell you’re going, bitch!”

“Fuck you too, man!” I shout at the man sitting in his big Mercedes just off of Madison Avenue. At this moment I’m not a woman who needs to be honked at, and then called out in front of dozens of tourists and high end Manhattenites. As of this moment I’m dangerously balancing eight coffees in their egg crate holders, and a bag of muffins in one hand while the other is trying to secure my purse and get my cell phone out at the same time. So what if I ran out into the street when the signs were flashing ‘Don’t Walk?’ I’m on a tight schedule dammit and if I’m late there’s going be hell to pay.

My phone starts to ring, as if the bastard knows I’m running a second behind schedule. It’s just like him to do that too, he’s always impatient and at times like these I wonder why I stay around.

Luckily, I manage to get my phone up to my ear without spilling anything on the dirty New York streets. Call it experience, I guess. “Lauren Walters speaking.”

“Lo-ho, where the hell are you? We sent you out hours ago!” his voice hollers over the phone before he laughs loudly at something someone over on his end said. I groan softly, I hate that nickname with a fiery passion and I roll my eyes as I hurry down into the depths of the subway, praying to God and his Son I don’t lose reception. Last thing I need isfor him to think I hung up on him.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Timberlake, but you sent me at least twenty blocks away from the studio and there’s mid-morning traffic. I should be back to the studio in at least twenty-five minutes…”

“Well step it up a notch Walt, I’m not paying you the big bucks to fuck around in the city! We need our java so we can get the creative juices flowing!” he says shortly into the phone before the line went dead. I roll my eyes again and held the phone between my teeth as I try to get my metro card out of my pocket.

What an asshole.

But it’s a day in the life of Lauren Walters, Personal Assistant, Party Planner, and Damage Control to none other than Justin Randall Timberlake, the hottest entertainer on the planet. Too bad he thinks the same exact way and has no problem letting you know he’s hot shit.

So why, do you ask, am I working for him? Well the pay is good and it gets my name in with all the right people. My ultimate goal is to not run out in the middle of the day and get coffee for belligerent producers and singers or is it to call cabs for highly intoxicated guests at parties. No, I want to be an executive at a recording company or at least work within close proximity to a record executive. But working with the spoiled boy of JIVE is the best I can do right now and I’ll just have to suck it up until I get a promotion.

Too bad Justin loves me. And no, he doesn’t love me in the ‘I-want-to-spend-the-rest-of-my-life-with-you’ way, quite the contrary. He says I keep him ‘grounded’ and he says I’m ‘funny.’ Well if you think my absolute dry humor and ability to be a complete smart ass funny then by all means keep me around. The pay’s good and I enjoy watching him make an ass out of himself. It keeps me entertained when the going gets rough in my life.

I graduated from Stanford with a degree in Business with an emphasis in Entertainment. Not like you care, I’m sure you just want to know about Justin and who he’s fucking just like the rest of the world (yes, its still Cameron, sorry ladies). But guess what, this is the little bit of me time and you’re going to hear it, okay? I got that nice diploma in my hands in 2003 and I haven’t looked back. And yes, I’ve been working for Justin ever since.

But, you start to say, isn’t Trace Ayala Justin’s assistant? No. Trace is Justin’s bitch, there’s a huge difference. Trace is Justin’s business partner and best friend and therefore he gets the comforts of Punking Justin without getting fired and also mingling with the celebrities at parties. I have to work in the background and make sure the things Trace does for Justin actually gets done. Trace is Justin’s personal assistant like my big toe is the Queen of England. But it makes for a cute little story, Justin doesn’t forget about his childhood friends, he brings them along for the ride and loves them unconditionally.

Yeah right, tell that to the rest of the people who know him and they’ll laugh at you in the face. Trace is only around because he can put up with Justin and his shit. I’d be lying if I said Justin was the sweetest guy on the face of the planet. On the contrary, he is a bona fide, grade A, one hundred percent stuck up asshole – and that’s being polite.

So here I am, on the New York Transit System, trying to get back to the studio with enough time to spare before Justin gets on my ass about running late. I’m not Moses; I can’t part the sea of traffic and pass through it with the coffee held high like it was the baby Jesus. Oh sorry…two different Testaments. I was never good with religion. The barista thought I was absolutely insane when I showed up with my orders and rushed to the front of the line, which was wrapped around the building.

“Um, the line starts back there,” the girl had pointed out and I almost wanted to choke her before I leaned forward across the counter, trying to ignore the hundreds of death glares I was warranting from the myriad of disgruntled New Yorkers who just wanted their coffee so they could get to work.

“I don’t think you understand who I work for. You see, I’ve got a very moody pop star waiting for me at the recording studio and I need to get back there as soon as possible. If you could get these started for me,” I began and I pulled out a list, yes a list of what Justin and company wanted for their morning java jamboree.

“Look sweetie, unless he’s Justin Timberlake or Michael Jackson or something I can’t help you…”

“Funny you should mention Justin Timberlake…” the girl looked at me like I was a complete idiot.

“Fine, I’ll go to the back of the line. Consider yourself lucky that this is the only place he likes to get his coffee from,” I said as I pointed threateningly at the girl, “but after I inform him about the way you treat his personal assistant I doubt we’ll be coming here any longer.”

I huffed to the back of the line, trying to ignore the looks of pity and hatred from the customers. I even heard one woman mutter to her co-worker ‘Poor dear, she must be one of those junkies from Central Park. We should slip her a five on our way out.’

Which is funny seeing as I don’t look anything like a street performer nor do I look insane. Although now I do seeing as I’m running behind schedule. Wonderful. He was going to ridicule me and make me look like an incompetent fool in front of all his producers, which wasn’t a good thing seeing as his record company hired them all. Just great.

Ten minutes later and I’m rushing down Broadway with the coffees and muffins still in hand. I nod a quick greeting to the doorman as he lets me in and I continue my hurried scamper towards his block of recording studios he had set aside for this particular session.

I burst through the doors, expecting wild applause or some sort of greeting but seven pairs of eyes were focused on the individual in the recording booth. Why there needs to be such a large amount of people in such a small room I never know. Only three of the people in here are actually producers. Trace is here, dicking around on his Blackberry, compliments of Justin. Cameron sitting next to him, watching her boyfriend with adoring eyes and Eric and Mike, his security guards, are taking up an entire couch that should seat four. There’s nowhere left for me to sit so I just place the coffee and muffins on the table and stand to the side.

“Lo-ho!” a voice shouts over the speaker and I jump, bumping into the table, causing one of the coffees to slosh over the top a bit. The last thing I need is to march back up twenty blocks to go get one coffee. I could hear the producers grumbling to themselves as they pressed button after button, flipped switch after switch. Apparently my appearance had ruined what seemed to be a perfect recording of vocals, amazing.

“Here’s the coffee you ordered and the muffins as well,” I explain as Justin left the booth, the enormous headphones situated around his neck as he licks his lips hungrily at the coffee and muffins sitting at the table. I stand there next to the table and he stood at the other end, still eyeing the coffee and looking at me with expectant eyes. “What?” I asked.

“Well aren’t you going to pass it out?” he asks me and I swear to God I almost told him to fuck off then and there. Is he too lazy to walk the three feet over to the table to grab his damn coffee? I had to distribute all eight coffees around the room like a damn waitress? I’m not getting paid to do this.

Sighing heavily, I pick up one of the egg carts filled to the brim with iced coffee and began to read off the slanted writing on the plastic cups. Eric and Mike were simple enough; they just ordered simplistic iced coffee. They each nod in thanks and took their drinks before they continue to talk about whatever it is bodyguards talk about. I’m not going to bore you with what everyone else ordered, I wouldn’t want to be bothered so why should you?

But of course when I got up to Justin and gave him his venti Chai Green Tea Latte he looks at me with disdain and shakes his head. “You got this from the New York Coffee Shop didn’t you?” he questions and I murmur a ‘yes’ in response. It was where he told me to go so I went. You see, when Justin Timberlake tells you to jump you say, ‘how high?’ and then you do it. No questions asked.

“I didn’t want it from the New York Coffee Shop. I wanted it from the New York Coffee Company Shop. You went to the wrong place. Everyone stop drinking their coffee, Lo-ho has to go back and return these and make sure I get my money back.”

What. The. Hell?

“And I don’t want a Chai Green Tea Latte anymore. Get me a Caramel Macchiato from the NY Coffee Company and then go pick up a Tazoberry with Cream at Starbucks. Thanks Lo-ho,” and with that he hands me his Latte and turns around, heads back into the studio, joking around with the producers while everyone looks at me expectantly. Trace started to laugh and looks at me as if I’m the biggest idiot on the planet before he went back to checking his emails on that damn Blackberry.

Reluctantly, I gather everyone’s coffee and make my way out of the studio. I throw away the coffee. There’s no sense in going back to that coffee joint again. They didn’t accept my claims of being in the know with Justin Timberlake when I was in there almost an hour ago and they wouldn’t believe me when I come back with half drunken coffees, claiming that Justin hadn’t been happy with the outcome.

At least he didn’t say anything about the muffins.

***

I have a confession to make: I love Disney movies.

No joke, I have a slight obsession with them, just don’t ever tell my people that because they would never let me live that down. I mean can you imagine that getting out? Me, Justin Timberlake: hottest musical act on the planet, loving Disney movies? It’s laughable, its preposterous, but I love every single bit of animation that goes into those damn movies.

Call me a kid at heart but I can’t get enough of the catchy tunes, pop culture references, and morals that go into each film. This obsession hasn’t been with me my entire life. I think it started once I went solo, which is a good thing because I think Chris would never let me live it down. Everyone would know about it and I’m kind of glad that only a handful of people know about my slight…infatuation with Walt Disney and his band of colorful cartoons.

My mom knows because, let’s face it, she’s my mom, she pretty much knows everything about my business and me. Trace and my security know about it although they’ve been sworn to secrecy. Sometimes Trace uses it to his advantage. He wants to get into a club and I don’t want to go – he brings up Bambi and how I cried my damn eyes out every time his mom was killed. I have no choice but to get up and go because really, US Weekly would have a field day. I would never be able to live those gay rumors down if it was publicly known.

Cameron knows but she thinks it’s the cutest thing since Dakota Fanning so I’m safe on that front. She says it brings out my sensitive side and we’ll watch Beauty and the Beast or some other Princess movie that she finds so damn appealing. But why am I ridiculing her? Last time I checked I’m the one who had a problem.

Unfortunately one more person knows about my secret love of the classics and it’s someone who could probably use it to her definite advantage. Yeah, Lo-ho knows about my guilty pleasure and she doesn’t let me forget it. Actually, she’s my main supplier so I can get my Disney fix. And I can’t believe I just made a metaphor comparing Disney movies to drugs. But its true, and Lauren is my Disney Dealer.

She goes on eBay and Amazon and goes to different video stores to pick up various movies for my viewing pleasure. Trace wouldn’t be caught dead picking up a chick flick let alone a cartoon movie with fluffy animals talking, dancing, and singing all over the place. So I leave it to Lauren to brave the storm of five year olds wanting to get the same movie as me and she never disappoints.

I own them all.

Granted they’re under lock and key whenever I’m at home and I keep them very well hidden while on tour. And no, I’m not going to tell you should there be the slight chance that you get on my tour bus. I only watch them when I’ve got me time and I can easily tell you that I don’t get that that often.

Life has been pretty hectic these past couple of months. My record label has been getting on my back with heading back into the studio and I’ve been doing just that. They want something by the fall of next year and I’d love to give it to them and there’s not a doubt in my mind that the fans want it too. Because let’s face it, in the day and age of fat, gnarly rappers who have retainers bedazzled and studded more than the jeans I wore back in the boy band days, I am the hottest thing to hit the market.

It’s true. I mean what self respecting woman would want to fan girl all over a guy who wears mouth guards embellished with precious stones? I believe in putting those jewels on women and not throwing them in my mouth. Please, I might be young but at least I know how to treat a lady. None of this grill nonsense. Besides, my mother would kill me and Trace would want a matching pair with his phone number or something inscribed in it so when he smiles girls can jot down his number. But Trace is a pimp.

And Trace the Pimp is pissing me off right now.

“Would you pick a fucking ring tone and stick with it?” I shout at him from my position on the couch. I’m channel surfing and I can’t find anything good, and Trace blaring Tupac and Snoop Dog from his phone isn’t helping me decide on TRL or Law and Order.

“Sorry man, you know picking the right ring tone is an important decision. An incoming tone tells you everything you need to know about a person,” Trace explains as he passes the rap and goes straight to some classic rock. If I hear ‘Shook Me All Night Long’ one more time I think I’m going to scream.

“Are you getting all philosophical with me and shit?” I ask as I land on CNN. More on the war in Iraq, not so fascinating. Where the hell is Larry King? He interviewed me a while ago you know. It was pretty sweet. They talked about it in Shelby Forest for about two months before they went on and on about the Barbara Walters interview. Gotta love it.

“No,” Trace says defensively, “I’m just saying you learn a lot about a person by their ring tone. For example, what’s yours right now?” I roll my eyes not believing Trace actually wants to talk about this. I have a date with Cameron in an hour and I want to get some quality television viewing in before we go out for dinner.

“Humor me, Justin, c’mon.”

“Fine. ‘My Style’,” I say finally giving in. I know if I evade the topic of conversation Trace will persist and I really can’t deal with him annoying me right now. I’m just not in the mood to deal with it.

“See that’s easy,” he explains casually as if he’s all of a sudden an expert on the inner psyche and how its related to personalized ringers, “You like to get down and funky, you’re in with the new, and you like to hear yourself all the time. So that makes you half fun and out going and the other half a self centered bastard. But you’re a nice guy most of the time,” Trace adds with a laugh as I frown in his direction. He has a point, I love the song but then again, I helped produce it and was a featured vocalist so what isn’t to like about it, really?

“And what have you picked?” I ask him as he continues to search through his plethora of tones. Thank God I don’t pay for his phone bill, the dude probably has at least two dozen downloaded ring tones that probably cost him close to two dollars a pop.

“Haven’t decided yet,” he replies casually. The sudden slamming of the front door indicates that someone else has decided to announce his or her presence at my home. I know it isn’t Cameron because she has full access to my garage even though she wouldn’t be able to park her car inside. My cars and bikes take up all available space. So who could it be?

“Oh hey Walters,” Trace quips from his seat at the mini bar that I have set up in my entertaining room. I sit up and watch as my extremely flustered looking personal assistant and party planner comes stalking into the room, cell phone in hand and a pissed off look contorting her features. Well something was amiss, “Did you get my phone call?”

“Yes I did, and the last time I checked Ayala you weren’t the multi-platinum recording artist. If you want someone to pick up your damn dry cleaning go do it yourself,” she bites back before she looks at me, her big blue eyes demanding an explanation out of me. I don’t know why she’s freaking out about Trace and dry cleaning or why she’s looking at me as if I’m the guilty party in the apparent dry cleaning fiasco.

“What?”

“Justin,” she begins, letting out an exasperated sigh, “How many times do I have to tell you that you cannot call me and expect to put together a party for one hundred and fifty people in less than a week?”

“Well the last party I asked you to do you managed to pull it together,” I begin to argue. Really all I want to do is have a small party celebrating the start of the holiday season. Is that so much to ask? Apparently it is because Lauren looks like she’s about to pass a kidney stone right in the middle of my entertaining room.

“Yeah, barely. Can you reschedule it for another time?”

“Out of the question Lo-ho,” I say grumpily. Who does she think she is, Trace? She can’t come in here and tell me when I can and cannot have my party! Is she nuts? I’m starting to get annoyed seeing as I’m getting hungry and Cameron’s running late. I wish Lauren would just shut her trap and start with the planning but apparently she wants to fight me on this. Doesn’t she know that you can never win a fight against me? She’s just wasting time.

“I don’t think you realize the preparation that has to be put into parties,” Lauren begins again and I hold up a hand to respond when Trace suddenly opens his mouth to interject.

“What’s your ring tone, Lauren?”

I wish Trace would learn when to shut the fuck up.

“What?” she asks incredulously as her attention is taken away from me and onto my best friend. Okay, lets focus on the issue at hand here, my party; not what Lauren Walters’ ring tone is.

“Your ring tone, what is it?” Trace asks again and I can feel my patience growing short. He can be so damn annoying sometimes, thankfully he’s short so I take pity on him most of the time.

“I didn’t brave traffic on the 10 to come here and discuss ring tones, Trace. I’m here to ask why Justin has to have a party for one hundred and fifty people in five days when no preparations have been…”

“Excuse me,” I interject, “I’ve already called or emailed or talked to all the people and so far everyone says they’ll be there.”

“Great,” she says sarcastically, “You know Justin sometimes you have no…”

“Let’s not go there Walters. You’ll regret whatever it was you were going to say to me later.”

“Which is why she should answer my question and tell us what her ring tone is!” Trace added and I want to laugh at the predicament Lauren has found herself in. Sometimes I feel sorry for the poor girl and the way she has to deal with my shit. But hey, she’s stayed this long I don’t think she’s going to leave anytime soon. I mean seriously, who wouldn’t adore working for me?

“Is the survival of the world depending on my answer?”

“Yes,” Trace and I reply at the same time and Lauren rolls her eyes. I’m expecting something entirely embarrassing like angry chick rock that you’d only get from lesbians or fans of Lilith Fair, or maybe an embarrassing television jingle, or even worse, the horrid Nokia ring tone that used to be on everyone’s phone. If she has that one, I’m firing her on the spot.

Lauren opens her mouth to protest but Trace throws her a demanding look and I back him up. Bro before Lo-ho, always. “Why do you want to know?” she asks finally able to sidestep Trace’s commanding gaze.

“Because it’s a window into your soul,” Trace explains dramatically and Lauren rolls her eyes yet again. I swear if she keeps doing that her pupils are going to get stuck in the backside of her head.

“Fine,” she says finally giving in. Its easier that way, you just can’t win with Trace and I, “It’s ‘Under Pressure,’ are you happy?”

“You listen to glam rock?” Trace asks his mouth open in shock.

“If you must know its classic rock. Queen happens to be my favorite band, that’s my favorite song of theirs and…”

“Save us the novel Walters,” I interject as I inspect my fingernails before giving her a stern look, “I’m not paying you to talk about your favorite band. I’m paying you to be my assistant and plan my parties. And, I’d like to add, you’re doing a pretty shitty job of completing those tasks. Go pick up Trace’s dry cleaning and get to work on the party.” The look on her face amuses me as she flaps her mouth open and closed to argue but finds that she can’t. After all, I am her boss and she knows where to draw the line of being cute with me and when she needs to do her job.

Smart girl, no wonder why I’ve kept her around for so long.