Deranged Delusions

4. Oh I Just Can't Wait To Be Free

If there’s one person I can bitch and moan about Justin to for hours on end and not get a single eye roll or muttered complaint its to my best friend Melissa Moore. I’ve known Melissa since I first stumbled into our dorm room our freshman year at Stanford. We hated each other at first but about two months into our hate relationship we found we had the same weakness for Queen and other old rock bands that were in their prime way before we were even born. And our friendship grew to the point of sisterhood. We’ve been best friends ever since and we even went so far as to move in together once college was said and done. She works for an advertising agency and I; well you all know what I do for a living.

And you’d think I’d be living with Neal now, but Melissa and I still share the same apartment we bought back when we were fresh-faced college graduates. For some reason Justin thinks I’m living with Neal right now but then again the only things Justin knows about me is that I love Queen, a slight obsession with Orlando Bloom, and that he seems to be the only person aside from Trace who can piss me off in less than two minutes.

“So he basically took your promotion out from under your nose?” Melissa asks me as we carry a load of groceries into the kitchen. I nod my head and she makes a noise that makes her sound like she’ll start hissing at any moment. “That rat bastard! He knows how much you want to be apart of a record label…”

Actually he doesn’t know. He knows I want to be in the higher echelons of the label he just doesn’t know that I’d give my left arm to stop him from breathing down my neck every hour of the day. So I just nod my head again as I begin to unpack, Melissa making more guttural noises as she helps me.

“It just pisses me off that he doesn’t show any respect for me or my feelings. He treats me like shit and he takes me for granted all the time and I’m getting really sick of it!” I exclaim as I pull a crate of eggs out of one of the bags. I have half the mind to crush every single egg in there but I hold back. The last thing I want to do is go back to the market.

“Totally!” Melissa agrees.

“And he wants me to do all of his Christmas shopping! Seriously why can’t he just buy shit online or something? He just sits on his ass all day, or he can ask Trace to do it since all he does is spend Justin’s money anyway!”

“That’s bogus. Complete bull shit,” Melissa quips as she stows away the bread and some health bars.

“Sometimes the pressure and everything gets to be so much I just want to quit…”

“NO!” Melissa yelps and she drops the orange juice she’s holding. It bounces on the ground and for half a second I expect it to explode all over the Formica but thankfully it holds fast, with the exception of a huge dent on the bottom.

“Why not? I’m getting sick of his shit, I should tell him he needs to wake up and respect me or he’ll be without an assistant.”

“Well I’m sure he’ll get better, I mean if you just talk to him. He can’t be as bad as you say he is…” Melissa mutters as she picks up the carton and looks at me with big brown eyes.

Melissa has yet to meet Justin, which I guess has its pros but it definitely has its enormous cons. She thinks I over exaggerate when it comes to all the bullshit Justin makes me go through every day. Melissa still believes that the confident, sweet Justin that is shown on the television screens in interviews and award shows is the Justin I have to deal with day in and day out.  I tell her over and over again that Justin is basically the Devil Incarnate and while she’ll listen to me complain about him over and over again, she tells me to keep my job and to not throw the towel in. If I wasn’t so intent in protecting Melissa’s ego and silver lined dreams I would introduce her to Justin right away. But sometimes it’s a little endearing to hear her gush about my boss. And, in a way, it starts to make me believe that he can’t be as bad as I say he is.

“Melissa I’m really getting tired of all the stuff he’s putting me through. He’s planning another party in two nights and its going to be absolute chaos. Cameron still hasn’t forgiven him for his last screw up and I’m sure he’ll be rubbing up against every half naked female in the club he’s rented out…”

“Wait, he’s single?” Melissa asks immediately and her head whips around so quickly I’m surprised she didn’t get whiplash.

“Yeah. It’s been about a week…”

“Okay I know he doesn’t like it when you bring friends to parties…but please! Please let me go!” Melissa all but begs and I half expect her to get down on her knees and start kissing my feet.

“Mel, you don’t want to go. You know how I always come home smelling like pot and sex? It isn’t the new Liz Clairborne fragrance; it’s from running around like crazy trying to make sure everything is perfect so he doesn’t bite my head off by the end of the night. You don’t want to go, you won’t have fun.”

“Not have fun? Please girl, there’ll be celebrities and models and hot guys. Hot, single guys…” She’s putting me into a corner and I don’t like it. I really, really, really don’t want to bring Melissa along because not only will I have to make sure Justin keeps his ass out of trouble, but I’ll have to make sure he keeps his grimy paws off my best friend.

Melissa Moore is what you would call an exquisite beauty. She’s got long brown hair that is almost always done to perfection and she has these big brown eyes that are so expressive it’s a wonder she didn’t become an actress or some sultry model. But with those looks also comes her naivety. Melissa is probably the sweetest person you would ever meet and while she’s good at her job, her street smarts aren’t up to par. She sees the good in everybody, which is why she still seems to think that Justin is just a misunderstood celebrity who needs a good woman’s touch to make him behave. She loves to fix people up. Complete opposite of me, if something’s broken, why take the time to fix it? And Justin is pretty much unfixable, why try to change him?

“I’ll ask Justin but don’t get your hopes up,” I say finally relenting. I know he’ll say yes because he’ll see the reluctance on my face when I ask him about it and he’ll automatically say yes. When it comes to opposites, Justin agrees to everything that will put me in an embarrassing situation or make me even unhappier than I already am. Melissa squeals and hugs me in delight, totally forgetting that she’s holding onto a package of strawberries. The food goes flying all over the kitchen and we both erupt into peals of laughter. Leave it to Melissa to get my mind off of murdering Justin, and that’s just one of the reasons why I love her so much.

***

There’s only one set of women that I’ll date exclusively – blondes, and not just any blondes, but celebrities. Blonde celebrities are the best to date because when you hit that red carpet, all eyes are on you. You could be the ugliest motherfucker on the planet but if you go out to any public place with a big breasted, blonde haired hottie you will be the talk of the party, no fooling.

I was with Britney for almost three years before she screwed me over with that bastard, Wade and she was at the top of the industry when we were dating. And where is she now? Bringing the Country to Malibu with a deadbeat husband who can’t rap to save his life and a little baby who could have been mine if she hadn’t fucked up.

And then I bagged Hollywood’s hottest actress. I remember back when *NSYNC was in its hey day and we would play the age old game, ‘Which Celebrity Would You Date?’ of course I would always say Britney because even though she was a cheating cow, I still loved her…hell I still do. But when the guys would hassle me and tell me to pick someone other than my girlfriend I would pick two women. Janet Jackson and Cameron Diaz. Who knew that years down the road I’d expose one of them to over a billion people and I’d be dating the other one for three years. Only goes to show you that I am the shit.

Of course the whole thing with Cam is still up in the air. She hasn’t called, she hasn’t been back to the house, and quite frankly I’m scared shitless that she’s actually serious about leaving me this time. I made Trace sit through Fantasia 2000 earlier this morning and he complained the whole way through. Cameron would have loved it. She’s just a kid at heart and she loved the fact that I have an infatuation with Disney movies. And while it was entertaining to make fun of Trace as he sat through the movie, I wanted to sit there with someone who would actually appreciate the movie and not bitch about it the whole way through. I almost got so desperate as to ask Lauren to come over and watch it with me but then I realize that she has no intention of being my friend and that includes coming over to ‘hang out’ and watch Disney movies.

Tonight is another party and it’s the first time I’m stepping out into public without Cameron. People are going to be talking, rumors are going to start, but hey I don’t really care. Let them talk; it’ll get my name out there, which is a good thing since the album is dropping in the fall. I have to start whoring myself to the public and soon you won’t be able to walk five feet without hearing, seeing, or thinking the name Justin Timberlake. 

“Trace you fucker, what did you do with my hat?” I yell from my walk in closet as I fling clothes off their hangers. We’re driving out to the club in about an hour and I’m still not ready to go. I’d be closer to finishing my nightly regime if Trace would stop being such a bastard and give me back my William Rast hat.

“I don’t have it man,” Trace mutters from my bathroom. I have no idea what he’s doing in there and I don’t ask as I grab a button down shirt and hold it up against my chest. Eh, I wore that a month ago, can’t wear it tonight.

“Well then where the hell is it? I have a whole outfit planned for tonight and its centered around that hat!”

“Pick something else then,” Trace says casually and I can feel my temper wearing thin.

“But I want to wear that!” I whine and I grab a pair of jeans and quickly throw them to the ground. Nothing’s working and I’m getting antsy. This is my first night on the town as a fresh-faced bachelor and I don’t want to look like a complete tool. I have to look hot because you never know who you’ll end up screwing by the end of the night.

“Then I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t have your hat and I don’t know where it is. Call Lo-ho, maybe she knows.” Before he can even finish his sentence I’m on the phone waiting for Lauren to answer her phone. I know she’s already at the venue, trying to get everything ready for our arrival. I have complete faith that she’ll be able to pull this one off seeing as she’s done everything else on such notice.

“Lauren Walters…”

“Lo-ho! Justin here,” I say quickly as I continue to tear apart my closet.

“Hi what’s going on?”

“Is the club near a Bloomingdale’s?” I question and I can hear her exasperated sigh on the phone.

“Yes, why?”

“I need you to go pick up that camo William Rast hat for me, like now.”

“Justin I can’t leave! The caterer’s going to be here any minute and I’m not about to drop everything to go find you a hat that you already have!” she practically screeches into the phone and I can just see her stress levels rising over the phone.

“But I can’t find my hat and you know I’m not about to run into a Bloomingdale’s to get one. I would cause mass hysteria!”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that,” Lauren mutters under her breath and I nearly laugh at her small outburst. She’s got spunk.

“Please Lo-ho,” I whine; “You know I’d love you forever if you did this for me.” She sighs loudly and I know I’ve got her under my thumb.

“Fine. I’ll have Melissa go get it,” she mutters before she hangs up and all I have to do is get dressed and let her find me my hat. I don’t know who Melissa is, but as long as I have my hat, I’ll be just fine.

***

I guess I should also point out that I have a weak spot for dark haired women. Not enough of a weakness for me to spend the rest of my life with one, but they’re good for a night or two. I mean if you look at my career it’s easy enough to see the pattern. Some girl leaves me in the “Gone,” video, I fool around with some brunette for ‘Cry Me a River,’ ‘Rock Your Body, Like I Love You, and Senorita,’ all feature leading ladies who have that classic brunette hair and not once did you see a blonde in there. Okay, so there was the Britney-Look-A-Like, but I was making a point.

And unless a blonde totally takes my breath away tonight I’ll more than likely be chatting it up with some wise talking, smoldering brunette who can’t get enough of me. When you think about it, brunettes know how to seduce a guy. In fact, all dark haired women do. There’s something mysterious about a pretty face hiding behind a curtain of dark hair. It’s inviting and yet makes you think ‘danger!’ all at the same time. Most of the blondes I know are bright, bubbly, and highly energetic. They keep things interesting months after you met each other and they’re just so damn cheerful all the time that its hard not to be happy whenever you’re with one. Or maybe I’m reading too much into hair color, all I know is that I’m not looking for a blonde tonight although I won’t turn down any offers to dance with hot women. I’m not that crazy.

I’m still a little upset that I don’t have my hat with me but Trace and I are still sitting outside the club in my car, waiting for Lauren or whoever she mentioned on the phone to come out and give me my hat. I’m not kidding when I say I won’t go into the club without that hat on my head. Period.

“Shit man, why can’t you just go in there? You do realize you’re missing your own party, right?” Trace asks me from the passenger seat and I roll my eyes as I lean back in my seat and lean my head against the window. I’m getting real sick and tired of waiting for Lauren. I know she has to deal with all the party arrangements but what part of, ‘I need my hat,’ does she not understand?

I’m about to make a real snide remark in Trace’s direction when the door to the club opens up and someone walks out, clutching a brown bag in her well-manicured hand.

“Holy shit,” Trace whistles and I concur with a low whistle and a nod of my head as the hot little number scampers around the front of my car, the headlights showing off well toned legs that seem to go on longer than Cameron’s and a short black dress that’s probably illegal in at least forty states.

It’s totally obvious that she’s coming over to say hi to me and I roll down my window obligingly as she holds up the brown bag from Bloomingdale’s. Her dark brown eyes are alight with mirth and a hint of adventure as she pushes a tendril of brown hair behind her ear.

I do believe I’ve found my arm candy for the evening. I take the bag and open it up, inside is the hat I designed myself, sans receipt. Good old, Lauren, always comes through. The woman looks at me with a knowing glance, as if she’s known me all my life and I must say I’m kind of digging the way she’s looking at me like she can’t stand to see me fully clothed. Definitely a turn on.

“Hey there sweetie,” I coo and I can see the faint traces of blush appear on her cheeks. I hear Trace snort next to me while I lay on the charm. I use my free hand to smack him in the stomach and he mutters a few obscenities under his breath before he opens the car door and jumps out.

“Hey yourself,” the girl responds silkily. Well she certainly knows how to return the charm, and the ability to make me want to pull her in the car and screw her brains out with a single look and two words.

I can’t take it anymore and I open up the car door, the hat long forgotten in the passenger seat. She throws me a skeptical glance before she looks into the car and raises an eyebrow at the hapless cap.

“Aren’t you going to wear that? Lauren went through a lot of trouble to get it for you,” she states simply and she leans back on her heels, probably putting all hundred and twelve pounds of her on the heels of her five inch heels that add onto her probable five foot seven frame.

“Oh so you’re a friend of Lauren’s then?” I ask flashing her a toothy grin. She returns the smile and I offer my arm to her which she takes without question. I hand my keys to valet and in one smooth motion we’re walking towards the club, the flash of cameras simply dazzling. That’s right; love me and the woman that’s with me, even though I don’t know her name yet.

“Yeah, Melissa,” she states with another smile that somehow has me weak in the knees. I wasn’t kidding when I said I have a soft spot for dark haired women.

“Well Melissa,” I say, my voice growing louder as we enter the club, the music making it almost impossible for her to hear what I have to say, “How would you like to hang out with me this evening?”

“Really?” she all but squeals in my direction. If she wasn’t holding onto my arm I’d expect her to jump up and down and squeal in delight. That’s something I haven’t seen in a couple of years, at least not since the last fan encounter I had that didn’t end in hurt feelings and tears.

“Really.”

“But what about Lauren? I told her I’d hang out with her tonight,” she relents and I quickly tell myself that I’m not going to let Miss Melissa out of my sights that easily. Especially with Lauren running around and acting like the head case she usually is whenever I have parties.

“Why hang out with her? She isn’t exactly in the mood to have a good time right now,” and as if to prove my point, Lauren runs by, completely oblivious that her friend is hanging onto my every word like a lovesick puppy. She’s shouting into a phone and waving her arms frantically as if the person on the other end can’t already tell that she’s about to have a complete and total bitch fit. I know Melissa is starting to give in by the way she’s starting to sway those awe-inspiring hips to the music. It only takes a gnarled scream of frustration in Lauren’s direction to make her tighten her grip on my hand and lead me out onto the dance floor.

Worship me for the Lady Killer that I am.

***

Six in the morning and you’d expect me to be asleep, right? Wrong. I’m currently driving to Justin’s house so I can wake his sorry ass up out of bed. Like always, Trace failed to inform him that he booked some studio time for eight in the morning on today of all days and of course Trace isn’t picking up his phone right now. Figures.

So I had to pry myself away from Neal’s arms this morning, and the best sleep of my life so I can drive across Hollywood to yank a lazy pop star’s butt out of his three thousand dollar bed. Don’t you love the irony of it all?

Let’s not even talk about Melissa who pretty much ditched me at Justin’s party. I have no idea where she went and I assume she got cold feet and ran away soon after she ran out to give Justin his hat. I mean the girl was practically falling over her feet when we were leaving the house for the venue and that was hours before Justin was slated to arrive. Not that I blame her. If I put someone so high on a pedestal like that I would be nervous as hell to meet him or her. But it’s Justin and he’s the biggest ass on the face of the planet. Why would anybody want to meet him?

Oh that’s right, I should ask the million girls who want to get into his pants that very same question.

The one good thing about driving over to his house on a Saturday morning is that half of Hollywood is still in bed nursing their hangovers from the night before. So the roads are pretty much clear aside from all the tourists who are running up and down Hollywood Boulevard trying to find their favorite star on the Walk of Fame and running after the Michael Jackson impersonator. No traffic equals no road rage and I’m happy for that because I know I’ll be plenty pissed trying to drag Justin out of bed.

Ten minutes later I’m pulling up his driveway and parking Bentley behind the garage door that holds his seven motorcycles. Maybe it’s seven, I lost count after he brought home the fourth one. If he doesn’t die from alcohol poisoning then he’ll most certainly bite the dust from crashing one of his damn Harleys.

I walk into the kitchen and throw my keys on the counter. I practically live here anyway and I know the noise of my key chains clanging on the stainless steel counters isn’t going to wake anybody up in this cavernous house. I know he shares this house with Trace but seriously, its huge. You could fit an entire African village in this house and they’d still have room to fit all their livestock.

“Hello?” I call out and I’m met with silence. Of course, the fucker is still probably fast asleep in his own bed dreaming of getting back with Cameron and scheming of more ways to make my life a living hell. I don’t bother to check Trace’s room because I know he’s probably passed out on his floor. After a wild night of partying he’s never able to make it back to his bed. I have enough pictures to prove that.

I walk up the steps and head towards Justin’s master suite, pausing for a moment when I fail to hear the familiar strains of Disney music coming from his room. Usually if he comes home by himself after a long night of boozing and dancing he’ll pop in a Disney movie and zone out to all the bright colors and all that shit before he nods off to sleep. But there’s no music which can only mean one thing: he brought someone home with him.

“Oh Jesus this is going to be so awkward,” I mutter to myself as I stand outside his closed doors. I can’t even begin to count the number of times I’ve walked in on him sleeping with his arms around with Miss One Night Stand and don’t even make me start to recount the instances where I’ve had to assure Justin that the reason why Miss One Night Stand Numbers 12 through 16 had to leave was because they couldn’t stand the pressure of being with Mr. Big Shot Timberlake.

Do I stroke the ego? Yes, but can you blame me? I’d do anything to keep the infamous Timberlake Whine away from my already bleeding ears.

I give them the respect of knocking first because the last thing I want to do is walk in the Morning Fuck-a-thon as I like to call it. I did it once and I do not want to do it again. There’s not a response so I take it that they’re still sleeping. Thank God. Maybe I can wake him up and get him in the shower before I pull the girl from his bed and tell her to just go home because he won’t be calling her.

Oh God I don’t want to do this. I really don’t…and then I’m opening the door and walking inside.

“Justin?” I say quietly, my voice carrying throughout the room but it ends up being absorbed by the thick curtains that are drawn against the windows. I walk closer to the bed and notice that he’s got his arms wrapped around…

Oh holy fucking shit I do not believe this. My eyes are pretty much burning in their sockets right now because I cannot fucking believe what I’m seeing. The next thing I know I’m running around to the other side of the bed and snatching Justin by the arm.

“Ugh,” he mumbles and he grabs onto his pillow as I continue to yank and pull him out of bed. I don’t give a fuck if he’s buck naked right now I am so pissed I can’t even see straight. The nerve, the absolute nerve.

“Get the fuck out of this bed right now,” I growl and I grab onto some pajama pants that are hanging haphazardly from his nightstand drawer. Thank the good lord that Melissa is a heavier sleeper than Justin is.

He’s still in some sort of stupor but I can see that he’s just starting to realize that a very pissed off personal assistant of his is pretty much yanking his arm out of his socket.

“…the hell?” he mutters and he looks up and sees me standing over him like some psychotic bitch and he suddenly wakes the hell up. “Holy fuck, Lo-ho, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He’s grabbing wildly for the blankets so he can cover himself up but I shove the pants into his toned chest and he grabs them with his free arm as I continue to tug and pull our way towards his enormous walk in closet.

I would consider it absolutely hysterical watching him trying to dress with one arm free but I’m still seeing red. At long last I shove him into the closet and see just a peek of his bare ass before he yanks his bottoms onto his lean waist, still looking at me in bewilderment.

“You mother fucker! You piece of no good rotting shit! I cannot believe you!” I shriek. The boy is pretty much petrified because here I am, at six in the morning, yanking him out of a sleep that’s going to help him recuperate from a night of drunken debauchery, and calling him all sorts of names. But you know what? The little shit is going to get what’s coming to him and I’m glad I’m the one who gets to do it.

“What?” he mutters as he rubs his head out of confusion, “I don’t understand.”

“Oh don’t play that bullshit game with me Justin because I am so sick of it right now I could scream but I don’t want to wake up your little guest in the next room! Because guess what, she happens to be my best friend!” I hiss and for good measure I pick up a hat that’s resting on top of some jeans. I look down and see it’s the damn hat he lost last night. You know, the one he couldn’t live without and so he sent me to go pick up a new one. I yell in frustration and throw it at him with all my might. He deflects the apparel easily and I half expect him to grab me and shove me against a wall so I can get a grip on myself.

“Uh…” is all he can say. Sheer brilliance at six forty-five in the morning, ladies and gentlemen.

“Really can you stoop so low? Can you really get any lower than this? You have no idea how naïve she is. She actually thinks that you’re a good person who can do no wrong in this world and now you had to go ahead and ruin that perfect little image she has of you. And now I have to sit there and hold her at three in the morning when she comes running into my room, crying because you failed to call her back and wanted nothing from her than a piece of ass! I have to sit there and tell her the truth that she fails to hear because she believes that all Justin Timberlake is made up of is charity, charm, and selflessness. I have to tell her that you’re nothing but a selfish, egotistical, stuck up maniac who only wanted to be with her because she looks good in a little black dress and doesn’t know the strength of her own moxy if it bit her in her tight little ass.”

“Can we talk about this later…you know after I’ve had a chance to get over this hangover?”

Oh he did not just go there.

“That. Is. It.” I growl under my breath before I pick up one of his prized Air Jordans and chuck it at his head, “I’ve had it with your parties, I’ve had it with Trace, and I’ve had it with you. You can do this on your own now because I’ve had it. This is the last straw and I’m done. You can do everything your own damn self because I quit.”

Silence. Oh how I love the silence.

“What?”

“You heard me you little shit, I quit. I’m done and I’m through. Fuck you, fuck your dogs, fuck your house, your career, and your little friend Trace because I am so done with your shit it isn’t even funny. If you even think about trying to call me for something I’ll…I’ll sell out your Disney obsession to the media. Don’t think that I won’t do it, because I will. Don’t you dare try to come near me anymore because I am done. So Hasta La Vista Fucker. I’m out.”

I turn around on my heels and storm out of his closet, not even caring if he follows me. I feel like a new woman and I want to scream it from the mountaintops. I’m finally free. 

***