You know, after a week of touring with Justin Timberlake, I know him a little better than I did on the set. Mostly that's because I didn't pay him much attention while we were there. In any normal situation it would have stayed that way, but the thing with being somebody's PA is that it speeds up the whole process of acquainting yourselves. Being attached to somebody's ass twenty four seven, you know more than you ever needed to know faster than you ever needed to know it.

I know that Justin's stylist also buys his underwear. I also know from the order forms that she doesn't buy a lot of it, which begs a question I don't think I want answered. I know he can create burps that register on the Richter and I also know that he gets upset if he doesn't pour the perfect amount of milk on his cereal. I think either he has a touch of OCD or he's a complete freak, because I've seen him toss out the entire bowl and start again. Oh, and I also know that he totally reeks after a show. I don't know why his fans all want to run after him once it's over because… eww. Sweat and grossness.

I have also learnt that the bastard cannot just be. He has to be doing something. I am extremely good at just being with me and loving it, so his incessant need for activity and company is somewhat grating. To be fair, it's not the company so much as the activity I object to (I'm wicked and I'm lazy), but either way I wish he could be on his own for five minutes. He claims he craves solitude, what with always having so many people around, but then every time he gets any privacy he's knocking on my door. Sometimes I want to read my book or watch my girly films in peace without him complaining that Die Hard would be a better choice.

Nobody puts Swayze in the corner or takes him out of the DVD player, capische?

Like right now… I had big plans for a bath and a book, because I'm tired. We just got to New York and beautifully we had the afternoon and the evening off because his show isn't until tomorrow. I immediately cut out with his masseuse, Tasha (he claims he has a back problem, I claim he's a pampered pop star) and we went out. There wasn't a lot of time for sight seeing, but we managed to fit in a quick peek at the Statue of Liberty. We wondered about maybe going to the Guggenheim before giving up all pretence at culture and hitting Bloomingdales. I also… I can't believe I let her talk me into it… we went into Tiffany's window shopping and she actually talked me into buying a bracelet I can scarcely afford. I think she was living vicariously through me…

Anyway, I'm tired and my feet want some TLC - they need a soak and a pedicure. Not least because my polish is chipping. But no, this is not on Mr Timberlake's agenda. He has invited himself into my room, set up camp on my bed in front of the TV and… well, actually he's not doing a lot. He doesn't seem to expect me to talk to him. Keeps looking at his watch a lot like he's bored to be here, so why he still is I have no idea. I just know I'd like him to leave.

My brand new I Don't Need A Man ring tone sounds and I know it's Kennedy. Yes, we are sad enough to have matching personalised PCD tones - hers for me is Beep. Justin rolls his eyes, and I want to tell him to put a sock in it. I would if it weren't for a small technicality (him never opening his mouth). He seems to think my phone goes off too much; I just told him that he ought to start taking his own calls, which shut him up real fast. I wonder if he gave Trace or Rachael this much grief.

"Hey babe," I say. "What's up?"

"Not a lot. What you doing?"

"Glaring at the humungous lump on my bed that won't leave me be," I joke for Justin's benefit. His eyes are shut, but he still smiles and swivels a finger in my direction. Charming. I can see why all the girls swoon.

"Huh?"

"Justin's spoiling my plans for me and a big bubble bath," I explain.

"Well hey, if you wanna get naked don't let me stop you."

Kennedy laughs - clearly she heard that. "Tell him down boy."

"Hmm." No, I won't be telling him that. I make it a rule never to repeat anything that I think an innuendo could be made out of. "So how did your audition go honey?"

"Eh," she sighs. "She thinks I need a little more work. She did give me the number of somebody who runs classes at Millennium though, so I'm hoping that was a hint to come back to her after some work."

"Sounds like it."

"Oh well, next time. It could be worse; I could be sinking to the depths of Search."

That, if you didn't get it, was a reference to that blasphemous reality attempt to find a new Pussycat Doll. Neither I nor Kennedy will acknowledge Asia as a Doll; Kennedy would give her right arm to be in the dance troupe (she has no interest in singing and believe me my eardrums are glad) but she swears if she ever has to go on a reality show to win an audition she will shoot herself. I told her I'd shoot her first. Enrique's still pissed at me for being the one who talked Sophie out of one for CW, but I think those things are career killers.

"Hmm. So what are you up to tonight?"

"Not a lot. I did send you a present though."

See now she's perked me right up. "Present?"

As if on cue, there's a knock at the door. It's an instant buzz kill. Most people would be excited, but I'm immediately suspicious. I'm not overly fond of surprises at the best of times, but when things are too conveniently and perfectly set up like this I just know something's amiss. Call me a paranoid freak if you want, but… actually there is no but there, just call me a paranoid freak. My mom says she's given up surprising me for my birthday because I always look more afraid than delighted.

"Kennedy what did you do?" I'm eyeing the door like it's a rattlesnake, and Justin's now peering at me through the slits of his barely opened eyes.

"Open it."

"I don't wanna."

"Open it bitch or I'm not talking to you again."

"Fine," I sigh, going to the door and placing my hand on the knob. Taking a deep breath in, I open the door.

And may I say holy shit? It's Trace freaking Ayala. Isn't he supposed to be in some warehouse hemming shirts or something? Heck, isn't my whole presence on this tour based on the fact that he is NOT supposed to be here? Since when do he and Kennedy conspire against me? I don't know what the hell Ken thinks she's doing, but Trace Ayala is standing at my door with… my God, I can barely say it…And oh shit he's opening his mouth to sing.

"One! Cut a hole in the box…"

There's a loud thump behind me and when I look around Justin has actually fallen off the bed in out of control laughter. His face is red with hysteria and he looks like he can barely breathe; I'm the same but it's out of humiliation. I expect I'm the same colour as that bow on the blue box he's stuck to his crotch. Now he's caught sight of Justin he seems a little more self conscious, but still he keeps going.

"Two! Put your junk in that box!"

Does he have to be so freaking LOUD? Half the hotel's going to be in this corridor in a second!

"Three!"

"I am not opening that box Ayala so get your ass in here and shut up!" I yank him through the door and slam it while he and Justin laugh their nasty male butts off at me.

"I didn't… think…" Justin's having a hard time getting sentences out. "Kennedy… such a small gift…"

Trace just punched him in the arm for that little snipe. Justin punches him back and before you know it they're rolling around on the floor pounding the hell out of each other. In my room. In my room where I had planned a nice quiet and non-humiliating evening in which nobody was going to sing Dick In A Box at the top of their lungs. Did I mention that I don't do well with public embarrassment? I was not built for it, I blush too easy.

"Ken…" I finally remember she's still on the phone, "I hate you."

"Huh. You should be honoured." Trace sniffs at me as he pulls the box off his jeans - thankfully it was stuck to the front and he hadn't actually put anything in there. "It's not every woman I offer Trace Junior to."

I shudder, but then remember he could have called it worse and I should thank Heaven for small mercies.

"Well I guess you're too pissed to let me in then, huh?"

***

There goes my peaceful evening. Justin seemed more than happy for Kennedy and Trace to drag us both out, but I really wanted my quiet night in. Oh well, c'est la vie. They flew all this way so I guess the least I can do is attempt to be sociable. I did plan to sulk for at least a little bit at first (and I did while I was putting on my make up and my dress), but get me into a Japanese restaurant and I'm easily bought. Justin and Kennedy were on sushi, Trace was digging into ramen and I was happily sitting there stuffing my face with katsu curry. Well, I say happily, I wish it wasn't one of those authentic places where they insist you sit on the floor. My butt got real numb.

On the bright side it gave my feet a rest because Kennedy put me in some real stupid shoes. They're zebra striped and so pretty but they are not sensible. That's exactly why we've now gone dancing in them - because I am clearly some kind of masochist. She's crowing because she wore flats, the bitch. First she humiliates me in public and then she straps me into these torturous things - this must be payback for something.

Though I also think Trace and Justin must have angered her in some way because she's taken us to this real dive club where they play the weirdest and possibly cheesiest selection of music either. One minute they were playing Elvis Presley, then it was Panic At The Disco, and then it was the Spice Girls. That's just plain weird. It's oddly fun though, it's like one minute you're at a high school prom and then the next you're in a mosh pit. The guys hate it. Justin keeps trying to talk us into going to Pure instead, but Kennedy and I are turning a deaf ear (not hard to feign in this deafening roar). They've pretty much given up and have decided the way to cope is to keep buying more shots.

That's the other reason these shoes were a bad idea. They bought us a ton of cocktails in the restaurant and now they keep passing me shots too. I do have to work tomorrow. On the bright side, since Marco Fako isn't here at least I can guarantee neither I nor Kennedy will be hospitalised this time - so long as we quit the shots soon. Otherwise I can't discount the possibility of alcohol poisoning.

"If you ain't got no money take your broke ass home!" Trace yells in my ear as he jumps over to us, despite the fact we're not at this part of the song. Apparently what Wham couldn't do, Fergie can (I told you the music in here was weird). He slings an arm around my shoulder and gives me a squeeze. "What up, ladies?"

Kennedy just grins and continues doing the silly butt popping dance she always does to Glamorous. She likes to make up stupid dances to songs, says it reminds her to lighten up. I guess dancing for a living could take the fun out of it if you didn't goof off once in a while.

"Nothing." I shrug. "You?"

"Still thinking JT had the right idea," he says as the man in question trails over with yet another round of beers. "This place is lame."

"This place is only lame if you're too lame to drop the pretentious shit and rock out," Kennedy replies loudly. I have to laugh at that, not least because she's got a point.

Trace shakes his head for a minute before giving up and bouncing over to her. They look incredibly ridiculous - she's doing a kind of exaggerated street ho thing and he's jumping up and down like a five year old on a trampoline. For a moment I wonder how he managed to put his arm back around me from way over there, and then I realise its Justin who has hooked my neck in his elbow. It's a particularly stupid mix up given how much taller he is than Trace, too.

"Are you sure you don't want to go to a real club?" He yells in my ear. I turn around to yell back, and even in hells I have to stand on tiptoe.

"You dragged me out, suffer the consequences."

"Oh well, if you can't beat 'em…" He shrugs, gulps back half his beer bottle and then swallows in time to sing along with Trace, letting go of me. "If you ain't got no money take your broke ass home!"

He, Trace and Kennedy are all waving a hand in the air with the rest of the club, and I'm just standing here looking at them with what must be the oddest grin on my face. This whole thing is so surreal. Weird happenings, weird music, my friends being nutty… and I actually kind of like it. Sophie and I never do this; we tend to frequent more upscale clubs. I can't imagine her ever jumping around like she was at a festival. We always have a blast, but it's cool that this is different.

But if anybody asks, I'd still rather be in bed with the book.

There's a tight little squeeze around my neck from Trace, who has taken Justin's place and is looking at me in disapproval because I'm not bouncing with the rest of them. The footwear is not a great choice for this but I figure that if I break my ankle at least I'll have had fun while I'm at it. I'm not exactly going to be leaping around but a little bouncing never hurt anybody did it? Kennedy in her nice comfy flats (bitch) jumps on over and flings her arm around my neck as well. They're cutting off my air a little bit, but whatever. I'm having fun anyway.

We jump around and goof off to song after song - the guys seem to have given up on what they call "real music" coming on. Trace tried to pole dance around Kennedy to Dirrty and then around me to Rihanna - the four of us have been running around like lunatics. Even Justin's totally making fun of himself, and he actually did all the moves to MC Hammer. The only line that was drawn was the Macarena, to which we all retreated to the bar until some much safer Aerosmith came on. It's nice to finally have been taught the words to Walk This Way, because I could never make them out.

It's less entertaining when some random guy who's been trying to grind up on everything in a skirt tries it with me, but it winds up being kind of funny anyway. Before I know what's happened Justin has grabbed my wrist and in one swift movement has managed to pull me backwards and loop our joint arms around my waist. He gives him the Timberlake Glare O' Death and it sends the dude packing. Kennedy and I just bust out laughing - it was the look on the guy's face. Apparently he didn't count on having to square up to a pop star (I think he was under the impression I was Justin's date or something). I nearly had that ankle breaking moment but it was worth it for the laugh. Justin is particularly scary when he's glaring, it's the way his eyes just go steel.

"Thanks," I pat Justin's arm as a let go signal as soon as I'm sure the guy is well and truly gone to try his luck elsewhere.

"Anytime." He gives me a wink and then flings an arm around Kennedy's shoulders, jumping up and down with her in time to Smells Like Teen Spirit.

Trace is eyeing me critically - it's probably the way I'm wincing at every step. "You ready to go home Chelsea?"

I look at my watch and realise it's two in the morning. Did I mention that Justin's call is for nine on top of my feet burning? I may just have to walk around in my slippers for the day. "Shit, we'd better. We gotta be up tomorrow… or today."

Being the chivalrous sort that would give a lady his dick in a box, he also gives me a piggy back out to the taxi rank.