They say that the number of layers you make in a sandwich is parallel to the number of walls you set up in between yourself and other people. I find that to be a load of bullshit because if it were true, the five-layer sandwich I’m making for a Mr. Trace Ayala is indicative of the fact that I’m trying to keep a lot of bullshit behind a lot of walls.

I sigh heavily as I slap a healthy helping of mayonnaise onto Trace’s towering sandwich. The days since Justin’s departure on his world tour have come to a complete total of two weeks and, as much as I hate to admit it, I’ve been missing the stupid bastard for every single second. Don’t get me wrong, Trace can be a fun guy, when he’s asleep and out of my hair, but it’s times like this where I’m making lunch for the whole house and I don’t have Justin throwing tomato seeds at me or whining that I shouldn’t have to make food that his absence is deafening.

Two whole weeks. I remember when I was happy to get two whole minutes away from Justin. Now I’m counting down the minutes for his arrival back in town for the Grammys. There’s still almost three weeks to go and I don’t know if I can do it. I feel so stupid for even thinking that with him gone there’s this empty hole in my stomach that won’t be filled by my turkey sandwich waiting in the fridge. All he does is sit around and make my somewhat complicated life more complicated, but as cliché as it sounds, he is the water to my fish, the Mario to my Princess Toadstool. Sad enough, I’d be lost without him.

I put the last slice of bread on the sandwich and I yank my own out of the fridge. I almost trip over Bruno who has been my own personal shadow since I saved him from Elliot’s cramped apartment. He gives me a stupid look and gambols after me as I walk slowly into the family room.

“Oh snap!” Trace yells incredulously as I enter the living room. He’s sitting on the couch in front of Justin’s enormous sixty-inch television screen playing some random snow boarding game. He apparently just finished maneuvering a rather tricky move and the small man is currently giving himself a pat on the back.

“Well that was an interesting little move,” I explain as I sit down next to him. I hand Trace his sandwich and he takes it with a quick nod of thanks. Bruno sits down in front of me, giving one of his stupid looks. It sadly reminds me of the expressions Justin used to give me when I would yell at him. I sigh heavily as I take a bite of my sandwich before looking over at Trace. He’s already eaten half of his meal and it looks as if I’ll be running back to the kitchen to make him another one.

“So what do you want to do tonight?” he asks me. I shrug in what I hope is a noncommittal response before I lean back in the couch and look at the paused game on the television screen.

The weird thing is, since Justin’s absence, I’ve been spending a lot more time with Trace. Granted there have been more than enough times when I’ve chilled with my ‘brother’ and Elliot, but that’s when I need to get away from the memories of Justin. Being with Trace reminds me too much of Justin. When they’re together it’s like I have to deal with two Justins at the same time and that’s enough to drive any person fucking crazy. But now that one of them is away, it seems as if I can’t get enough of being around Trace. To me, it’s the shorter, less attractive, but by no means less asshole-ish of Justin.

“I don’t know. I have to stop at the Hilton later today to pick up my schedule for the upcoming Senator’s wedding, but I should be free until tomorrow morning. What did you have in mind?”

“Well I was going to smoke…” I roll my eyes in his direction. I hate it whenever he gets into his ridiculous pot smoking moods. All he does on some of his days off is kick back on the sofa and light up. He doesn’t even do me the courtesy of exhaling through an empty paper towel roll stuffed with dryer sheets. No, I have to walk into the house and be hit with a wall of smoke. The sad thing is, he doesn’t do it with anybody…that’s how I know he’s missing Justin; his ganja buddy is gone.

“Please Trace, you do realize you can do something much more productive than sitting on the damn couch like a vegetable,” I say my lips pursed. I take another bite of my sandwich and chew on it thoughtfully as Trace finishes the rest of his. I’m thinking the two of us could go out to dinner with Theo, but seeing as he’s been spending every single waking moment in Compton, well it seems as if it’ll just be me and Trace again.

“Okay, okay, so I won’t smoke…” this is the thing that’s so weird with being alone with Trace – if Justin were here, he’d make a big fucking deal about me not letting him smoke and complain to the point where I would throw up my hands and tell him to do whatever the fuck he wanted. But with Justin gone, it’s almost as if Trace is a completely different person. I don’t think he feels the need to be tough around me like he does when Justin is in the same room. But I’ll probably just blame this on the fact that this is the first tour for the both of us when the three of us aren’t together and I think it’s driving us all crazy.

Well, I don’t know how the affect it has on Justin seeing as we hardly ever talk. I mean we have phone conversations just about ever day, but he’s distant…almost as if he’s in another world. I can’t blame him though, Justin always gets into this zone when he starts up a new tour – but the thing is I was always there with him to be in that zone and now I’m hundreds of miles away and…

Well I haven’t been laid in almost a month and the thought that I won’t get what Trace and Justin call ‘a bone’ for at least another three weeks is enough to drive me crazy.

“Movie?” Trace offers. I shake my head and set my plate on the ground. Bruno surges forward and his enormous tongue goes to work on the ceramic. The last time Trace and I stepped out in public a tiny little blurb showed up in the tabloids proclaiming that while Justin was away his girlfriend and former PA were getting it on behind his back. I’m just glad rumors haven’t popped up about him and Maura because if those little gossip gems rear their ugly head I’ll be on the first flight out to wherever Justin is to pop the girl in the face.

“You okay?” Trace asks. I guess he can read the tension in my face as I think of Maura and I quickly smile at him and take his empty plate from his grasp, placing it in front of my newly acquired pit bull.

It’s not that I don’t like Maura, she’s great and gets the job done in a less than timely fashion. I’m just…dare I think it….jealous. Jealous that she gets to spend every waking moment with Justin and while I wish I was in her shoes, I know that it would just drive me crazy. I mean fucking your boss and being in a relationship with him while he’s barking out orders at you? No, I don’t think so. And I refuse to be the girlfriend that does nothing but sit backstage or on the bus while he’s doing shows. I can’t do that it would drive me up the wall.

“So what are we going to do? I don’t want to sit at home all night. We could go out to a club or something?”

“No,” I state quickly. I don’t want him to get into the club mindset. Because I know if I agree I’ll somehow be bullied into becoming some retarded form of wingman for Trace while he tries to pick up some girl. I keep telling him time and time again that he needs to move on from Elisha and find himself a nice girl who will make him happy. But the little gnome believes that he still has some wild oats to sow and I merely throw up my hands and let him continue on with his college trysts. “Let’s just do a movie tonight. I don’t want to sit at home either.”

Trace smiles happily and starts going on about the latest slasher flick that came out in theaters. I sigh under my breath so he can’t hear me as he gathers the plates away from Bruno and traipses into the kitchen to, shocker, clean up. I’d much rather go see some cut ‘em up, scare the crap out of you film with Justin, but seeing as he’s in Fresno at the moment (and didn’t want me to make the drive up), that’s kind of out of the picture.

Smiling wistfully to myself, I grab my phone and press the first button on my speed dial that will take me one step closer to the comfort of his voice. I called him earlier this morning but he didn’t pick up. I blame it on the countless radio station appearances he needs to make, not to mention the other interviews, sound checks, and strange appearances he needs to tend to before he takes the stage around eight o’clock almost every night. The phone continues to ring and my smile is ear to ear as someone picks up the other end.

“Hey Lauren!” a female voice sounds into my ear. I take the phone away from my ear and look at it as if it’s sprouted another head. Who the fuck is answering his phone?

“Unless you got an unhealthy boost of estrogen in your breakfast, I’m going to assume this isn’t Justin and whoever this is will go give him his phone immediately,” I all but seethe. Bruno gives me a questioning look before he turns tail and goes to find better company in the form of Trace who is singing something at the top of his lungs, horribly.

“Did you need something?” the all too familiar voice all but croons into the phone.

“Yes, Maura, where’s Justin?”

“Doing his sound check right now,” she states matter of fact, “How are you?”

Oh I’d be doing so much better if you weren’t answering his phone and he was here with me and I didn’t have to hang out with his best friend instead of his sorry ass.

“Great! How are you holding up? Tour life catching up to you?”

“Not at all, I’m having the time of my life!” she exclaims and I try to ease up on the fist I’m unconsciously making. “How are things at home?”

“Peachy and not stressful in the slightest,” I respond. We’re having a silent battle of the wills. I can tell by her voice that she’s exhausted but she’s trying her best to stay as perky and excited as possible and I’m almost positive she can hear the anger in my voice at the fact that she picked up my boyfriend’s phone…which should be on him at all times – except when he’s on stage.

“That’s great! Well look, I’ll tell Justin you called, he just started his sound check so he won’t be done for another twenty minutes or so. Don’t let me keep you, I’m sure you have a lot of important stuff you need to be doing.”

“Oh yes, very important things…” like thinking of ways to reach through the phone to strangle your pretty blonde neck, “But yes, just tell Justin I called and that I miss him and the like…” there are several other things I want to tell her, but I refrain.

“Will do, you take care Lauren. Tell Trace I said hello and hopefully we’ll see you soon!” she sounds like a newlywed who’s calling home to tell her spinster sister she’s having the time of her life. I flip my phone shut and jam it into my pocket, trying to keep the yell of fury in my throat.

“Whoa you look like someone just shot you in the foot or something,” Trace exclaims as he comes back into the room, “You look pissed. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say automatically, “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine, you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

“I said I’m fine, Trace!” I snap. He flinches and I sigh heavily. Trace is the only person who kind of knows what I’m going through. Elliot and Theo try to be sympathetic, but I don’t think they fully grasp what I’m going through. Trace is my ally and I’m pushing him away. “Sorry,” I apologize, “Maura answered his phone and…”

“Are you going to turn green and become one of those girlfriends who freak out every time he has another chick sniffing around his heels?” Trace interjects. I give him an incredulous look – he sounds like Elliot.

“No!” I exclaim, “I just…”

“Justin’s been really absentminded lately and is leaving his shit all over the place. I would have been surprised if he had answered his phone, you have to know this; you call him all the time!” I look down at my feet feeling something opening up in the pit of my stomach.

Every time I call Justin, it goes straight to voice mail and I end up leaving a few messages so he can call me back. The only times I do get to talk to him are when he calls me because I’m a right desperate fool and have my phone on me at all times. This is the first time Maura has answered his phone with me on the other line. Granted we text each other to the point of obsession, but it isn’t the same as hearing his voice. You can’t really tell how much someone misses you when it’s displayed on a cell phone screen.

“I just…”

“Freaked out like most of his old girlfriends did, and let me tell you it didn’t work in their favor. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but they aren’t around anymore.”

“Ha, ha, Trace,” I state sarcastically. I pull out my phone again and look at it with forlorn. Trace rolls his eyes and claps a hand on my shoulder.

“Don’t sweat it, Lauren,” he says with a wry smile, “you know he only has eyes for you and you of all people know how he gets around tour. Don’t freak out about one phone call. I know for a fact that Justin has never looked at Maura the way he looks at you.”

I return his smile and bring my hand up to pat Trace’s hand that’s on my shoulder, “Thanks, Troll. Shall we go see some people get slashed to death?”

“Fuck yeah, nigga!” Trace exclaims before he turns around and heads towards the exit.

“Trace,” I state not moving, trying to stop from laughing. He stops at the door and turns around, the goofiest smile on his face.

“Don’t ever say that again.” 

*~*~*~*

“And make sure you have the caterer here no later than four thirty, do you understand?” I yelp into my headset, flipping it off before I hear an affirmative. Rubbing my temples, I plop down in a chair that’s adorned with red velvet and trimmed with gold tassels. I’ve been working on this damn wedding for almost two weeks and I can’t wait until the happy couple run out of the Hilton ready to start their new life together. This planning is driving me up the damn wall.

“Hey Lauren,” a familiar voice says above me. Looking up, I see Elliot take a seat next to me. He’s looking just as flustered as I am and I reach out and pat him reassuringly on the shoulder. Both of us are at our wit’s end with this ridiculous reception and all I want to do is scream at our almost non-existent supervisor until he fires me. But that won’t do me any good because then I would hear nothing but pleading from Justin to have me go out on tour with him.

So maybe me getting fired would be a good idea, because then maybe Justin would talk to me longer than the obligatory ‘how are you? I miss you! Love you! Things are great! I love you! Can’t wait to see you in a few weeks!’

“You doing alright there Elliot?”

“Not really. The sadistic and masochist interns are starting to get on my last nerve with their incessant bickering and woe is me bullshit,” he states. I raise an eyebrow at his apparent frustration with the underlings we have to babysit and I almost can’t believe he said ‘bullshit.’ I guess my better self is rubbing off on him.

“Tell me about it. I almost drop kicked one frigid bitch because she didn’t want to get packaging under her fingernails when the flowers arrived earlier today.”

“I can’t wait until next Christmas so I’ll get my huge bonus…”

“Elliot, you’re Jewish,” I point out.

“Yes, but Christmas bonuses are universal. That alone is one of the reasons why I almost believe that Jesus was the Son of God.” I laugh loudly before I turn towards the clipboard I threw down onto the table. It’s thick with various papers and I want nothing more than to dump it unceremoniously into the garbage can by the exit. But I have to stay strong. After all, this party is like a kiddy fiesta next to the extravaganza that Elliot and I are trying to put together by the eleventh of February.

Every year the Beverly Hills Hilton hosts the Grammy party, and both Elliot and I are at the helm this year. I’ve been planning this shit since the beginning of January and the fact that it’s approaching at the speed of a runaway train is enough to send me into a bucket of twittering nerves.

Let’s not even discuss the fact that Justin’s crowning moment will be at that party. He’ll be performing for all his peers in private and it’s considered one of the highest honors to be invited to perform at this soiree. I couldn’t be prouder for him, but the fact that I’ll be the one to blame if something goes amiss is something that makes me want to turn towards Vicodin or some other type of painkiller.

I’m about to respond but the words die with the ringing of my phone. I almost jump out of my seat as I scramble for it, hoping by some grace of God that it’s Justin. My heart plummets to my feet when I realize that it’s only my randomly adopted brother, Theo.

Theo and I haven’t really spent a lot of bonding time together and it’s both of our faults. He’s been so busy trying to do his project in Compton and I’ve been married to my job so that doesn’t leave us much time to chill out. When we are together, Elliot or Trace is usually with us – but the four of us are never altogether. I think Trace’s head would explode from the advance vocabulary and blatant science geek jargon that Elliot and Theo spit back and forth.

Nevertheless, I still feel guilty that I haven’t been able to devote more time to my brother, but he never presents himself as available so I guess it isn’t all my fault.

“Hey Lauren,” his voice is hiding traces of frustration and I hope that I didn’t do anything wrong.

“Theo! How you doing?”

“I’d be doing a lot better if I knew where my damn camera was!” he exclaims and suddenly his easygoing shell is shattered by what seems to be pent up frustration and anger. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him this upset and quite frankly it’s putting me ill at ease.

“Where was the last place you had it?” I ask calmly hoping that me not getting all bent out of shape will help him keep his nerve under control.

“I had it in my room and now it’s gone! And with how the weather is right now, Christ I could have gotten my shot today!” I roll my eyes against my will, he’s forever going on about his photo and I know that he’s got at least fifty on his computer at home that fill the requirement of his ‘perfect’ shot. I don’t know where he got the drama gene from…

“Well maybe you should just take the day off and just hang out. You’ve been working too hard.”

“Whatever,” he interjects loudly, “I’ll just go buy a stupid disposable camera, maybe this time I’ll get what I’m looking for,” and before I can say anything else, I’m left with a dead line.

“Well that was odd,” I say to Elliot as I put the phone back in my bag. He gives me a quizzical look and I merely shrug. I’m about to reiterate what Theo was grumbling into my ear when a nervous looking underling approaches.

“Question, Stewart?” Elliot asks. This kid looks like someone is holding him at gunpoint just to be standing in front of us. I know something is wrong and I almost want to cover my ears and run away to avoid hearing Stewart’s answer.

“Um…the bride-to-be cancelled the caterer,” he says meekly.

Elliot and I have two very different reactions.

He sits back in his chair flabbergasted although for the most part he looks calm. Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, he turns towards the mountain of paperwork next to him and begins to file through it, no doubt trying to find a replacement. Yours truly, on the other hand, has erupted out of her seat. I can feel the blood rushing to my head and if I didn’t have any self control I would probably smack the poor man in front of me out of frustration.

“What do you mean she cancelled the caterer?” I all but screech. The frustration of being without Justin, of having Theo biting my head off, trying not to go crazy with Trace and my employers breathing down my neck…it’s getting to be way too much. This little set back is the icing on the cake.

“She found out her fiancé was gambling behind her back and she flipped. So she cancelled the caterer to make him sweat…” Stewart responds quickly. I roll my eyes and look back towards Elliot to see if he’s come up with a solution.

The woman getting married is the daughter of some big Senator. The wedding is supposed to be the crème de la crème of all winter weddings and it was left up to Elliot and I to oversee that the reception would be executed smoothly.

But no, the bride-to-be had to get a case of the ass and fire the damn caterer! I swear if I ever do get married I’m just going to fucking elope. I would never want to subject another person to this kind of pressure! Still, this is the kind of pressure I live for and for some odd reason I feel shockingly happy as I begin to order people around. Stewart gladly runs away to join one of his coworkers who’s setting up some tables.

Turning my headset on, I begin to bark orders as Elliot gets on the line to contact an emergency catering company. If we play our cards right, the Senator and the groom won’t even have an idea that the Bitch Daughter cancelled one of the most important elements of a wedding reception.

Once our crisis is taken care of for the time being, I sit down and pull my phone out of my bag again. Twirling it around in my hands, I sigh heavily and flip it open. One call couldn’t hurt and maybe I’ll catch him at a moment where he’s in between interviews or taking in some rare downtime at whatever hotel he’s in.

The phone starts to ring and after a few minutes of waiting, I can pretty much guess that he won’t answer the phone. I’m about to stop the attempt when suddenly…

“Stop it! Hey Lauren!”

My heart stops. Maura. Again. What the fuck?

“Maura…” my voice fades away and I look over at Elliot. He doesn’t seem concerned that Justin’s assistant has answered his phone. He’s acting as if this is an every day occurrence – oh how wrong the little Jew Boy is…

“What can I help you with…ouch! Don’t!” She seems distracted by something, or rather someone. I can hear Justin laughing far off in the background and I’m about ready to snap.

“I was under the impression that you have your own cell phone, Maura,” I say trying to keep my icy tone from reaching her ears. She didn’t hear the acid in my voice, in fact she’s laughing. “You know, I thought calling Justin’s phone would allow me to speak with Justin, not his assistant.”

“Oh well you know how those things go…” she says absentmindedly. There’s a crash on her end followed by raucous laughter from not only her but a few other people who are no doubt in the same room as her.

“Yes well…”

“Would you give me the phone?” I hear Justin’s voice in the distance and my heart skips a beat. Is it just me or do I hear a hint of frustration in his voice?

“No. Not until you apologize!” her voice is taunting him and I almost wish I wasn’t on the line to hear her ridiculous attempts at flirting with him.

“Never!” he says valiantly. I want to reach through the phone and clean both their clocks.

“While this is sickeningly sweet to listen to,” I admonish, “I have a lot of things to do and I’d like a quick word with my boyfriend before…” but my voice is drowned out by peels of laughter and Justin’s next words:

“Maura Delaney is the apple of my eye and the goddess of my universe and I sincerely apologize for putting her in the wrong.”

Oh hell to the fuck no.

I know he’s joking, but honestly you don’t say that to a personal assistant. He never said that to me.

“Talk to you later, Lauren,” Maura says quickly and there’s a great deal of noise as the phone is passed over to the last person I want to talk to right now.

“Lo!” his voice is breathless but I can hear the unmistakable joy that’s practically radiating from him. “How are you? I miss you!”

My anger wins over the desperation I feel to talk to him and I quickly snap my phone shut before angrily shoving it into my purse. Elliot looks taken aback at this course of action and it isn’t until I’ve started carving my pen into my pad of paper that he opens his mouth to speak.

“What was that about?”

“He’s such an asshole,” I mutter under my breath, “Saying those things to her when I’m trying to talk to him.”

“Did Maura answer the phone again?”

“Yes!” I spit and all the frustration and aggravation I’ve felt from this workday is starting to catch up with me. I refuse to let my eyes water over with tears, and I don’t want the rest of my coworkers to see that something could upset the Great Lauren Walters.

“I don’t think it’s that bad, I mean how many times did you answer his personal phone while you were working for him?”

“Hmm let’s see, how about never?” I snarl as I continue my violent doodles on my paper. “He always had his phone with him unless he was onstage and then it was off and tucked away with his bag. I think I only answered it once or twice in the almost six years I’ve been working for him.”

Elliot’s string of reasoning has been cut short because he silences himself and looks up at me with caring eyes, “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation and you shouldn’t worry about it. I’m sure he misses you terribly.”

“Yeah, well if he misses me terribly he could pick up a damn phone call once in a while,” I mutter. My spastic drawing hand has slowed down some and I can see the angry scratches and ink blots that have traveled their way over some very important notes for the wedding at hand.

“You’ve said it before, Lauren,” Elliot begins, “He’s probably just really busy and it’s easier for him to have Maura manage his calls than having to catch up on hundreds of voicemails and talk for hours to various people. Don’t worry about it. He’ll be home in a few weeks and you guys can talk about it then, or argue…part of me thinks that your discussion of his phone etiquette will end in some form of disagreement.”

I smile and pat Elliot’s hand. That was his way of telling me everything will turn out for the best. “Thanks El,” I say with a forced smile. Grabbing my pen and paper I turn on my headset again and fall back into the tireless effort of ordering people around.

At least I can make others almost as miserable as me.