"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.