I really wish I wasn't sat in another club right now. It's necessary since I'm performing here tonight, but after all that alcohol I don't want to see the inside of another bar for a month. Oh well, tough shit - you're gonna have to suck it up JT.

Thankfully I have Trace to remind me how much worse it could be. He's supposed to be flying back home after the show tonight but I doubt he's going to even get himself out of bed for that, let alone make it cross country. He and I drank about the same, but he's a lot smaller than me and he's got less flesh to soak up the booze. The girls are in a pretty bad state too, but because they weren't mixing their drinks as much as me and the munchkin they're doing a little better. It also helps that with being girls they can pile on the concealer, so the bags under their eyes aren't so obvious.

My mom didn't have a lot of sympathy; she said it was self-inflicted and unprofessional of me. I tried to blame the girls but she just glared at me and asked me if I thought she'd been born yesterday. She knew full well that it was me and T basically pouring the drinks down their throats. Kennedy's doing okay but Chelsea looks a little green. Lucky for her she's usually quiet anyway so nobody's noticing the difference, whereas when Trace and I are quiet they know we're hung over. I keep getting crew members coming up to me and slapping me a little too hard on the back and talking a little too loud at me. They all know I'm suffering; they're doing it on purpose.

Well, I'm sorry, but after the movie I didn't really want to do and this club tour I didn't really want to do either, I deserve to let loose. I know they were both necessary evils, but Lord if it doesn't piss me off. All these years later, you'd think I'd be a little more in control of my own affairs. I'm certainly doing better than a lot of people in my position, but it's still kind of galling that I've managed to get this big and I still don't have the sway I need to get some time off when I want some without having to sell myself out first.

That said the tour's a lot easier to deal with than the movie because at least I'm enjoying this. It is awkward as hell being on a movie set where your director is making you doubt that you talk realistically in real life, let alone that you can do it while trying to act. Touring… okay, I'm tired and I wanted the break, but this is the place where I rock my shit. I rule at this, and nobody can tell me otherwise. As a result, I can relax into myself a lot more. That and at least when I'm on tour I'm in charge and I can pick the people around me, not like a movie set.

I'm hung over and I wish I had a little more time for a nap, but things are still mostly looking up. I can deal with that.

"So does that make any kind of sense?" Chelsea asks me before taking a sip of her iced mocha.

I have to shake my head out a little, as if to clear the cobwebs. "I'd be lying if I said yes."

"Eh, me too." She rolls her eyes at herself and then winces as if her head feels a little too sore for such effort. I gulp down my own latte (my third today - whoever said caffeine gets you sober is a liar) and I point at the call sheet she has printed out for me.

"So what time am I expected at the radio station?"

"Twelve," she tells me. "We've got another forty minutes here before we need to leave, in which time we've got a couple of journalists stopping in to see you… as soon as I've let Hannah at you," she refers to the make up artist. Guess I'm getting some concealer after all. "Then we'll pick up some lunch, head on down to Best Buy and then you got a couple of hours free to rest up before the show."

"Do you feel like Italian?" I ask her.

"Do I feel like an Italian? Why would I feel like an Italian I'm from San Francisco," she asks me quizzically. I have to laugh.

"Italian food. I was thinking we could all go to Destino's tonight."

"Oh." She blushes a little. "Sorry, I think I left my brain in the bottom of that last daiquiri last night. Sounds good, I'll call and get a table. How many?" She scribbles a note in her 'to do' notebook. I notice her recent lists have been much shorter than her Sophie lists.

"Well, you girls and me and Trace, so that's four, Momma five… hey Marty!" I yell over to where he's deep in conversation with Kennedy. I'm glad she's taking the opportunity to schmooze, considering that was half the reason I invited the dude.

"Yeah?" he yells back.

"You eating with us tonight bro?"

"Count me in!"

"Six," I tell Chelsea as I turn back to my call sheet.

"Cool. Anything else you need me to do on my travels?"

Chelsea doesn't actually spend all day with me, despite being my PA. It's kind of pointless to have somebody to do all the errands you don't have time for if you insist on being attached at the hip at all times. One thing I have learnt about her, from our time on set and now, is that she is the world's speediest when it comes to said errands. It's fantastic, I ask her to do some stuff and it's rare she's gone more than an hour unless the list is really in depth or traffic is bad. She's really efficient (though less so when hung over). If she worked for Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada she'd never be all stressed and running everywhere like that English chick, she'd have everything done in half the time.

I did not just admit to watching that flick.

"Uhh… remind me what you're doing again?" I ask like she hasn't already repeated this three times today. My brain isn't working.

Chelsea shakes her head at me and messy blonde curls bounce around her head as she does. I think everybody's doing the 'just rolled out of bed' image today because we didn't have the energy to do much else, but it suits her. Might I add that Kennedy and Chelsea's respective versions of 'just got out of bed' are a hell of a lot more successful than mine - this doesn't seem right, considering that I don't even have hair to worry about. Maybe I should have shaved this morning…

"I'm stopping in at Jive to pick up those papers for you to sign, picking up a fresh supply of Advil, booking that table at Destino's and I'm going to run into Nike and pick up those shoes you're not supposed to have yet."

What? So I got a pair of sneakers a couple of months before the general public will, big whoop. There has to be some compensation for becoming public property!

"Justin!"

Oh, my mother's calling me and she sounds annoyed. I hope she didn't hear about me flipping off that paparazzo on the way home last night. I can't see her from here; Chelsea and I are tucked into a little alcove at the back of the club. It was Chelsea's choice, mostly because she had to try for twenty straight minutes to get my full attention. People do like to interrupt me a lot, it's a thing. Finally she got fed up and marched me over there where we were out of the way - I get the impression she's used to it though.

"Yeah?" I yell back and then wish I hadn't. My head still kind of hurts.

"Could you two come over here please?"

Damn it, I was hoping it'd just be a quick question and answer. Now I have to get up. Wearily Chelsea flips her folder shut and shoves it into her shoulder bag, grabbing her phone off the table as we both get up and start walking the Green Mile over to my mother for whatever lecture we're going to get now. I pull a quick face at Chelsea and she pulls one back as we trudge over there.

Until Chelsea goes rigid, loses all blood to her face and ducks behind me.

"Oh God. Hide me."

I look over and my mom is standing over there with a couple of cops and some other guy I'm guessing is probably a plain clothes cop. This is odd - I don't recall having done anything illegal lately. I mean, okay, last week I might have sparked up a joint or two with a couple of guys from the band but that was in an entirely different state. Why's Chelsea so afraid? Is there an APB out on her that she's neglected to mention?

"Uhh, why?" I mutter as I keep walking over there and she keeps trying to hide.

"That's Will."

"Will? Who's Will?"

"Ex boyfriend Will."

"Ex boyfriend Will?"

"Ex boyfriend Will who got married last week and I didn't actually bother to RSVP on account of you pyromaniacs torching the invite with the return address on it."

"Oh. That Will."

Well fuck this is going to be awkward. It should be pretty entertaining for me but I bet Chelsea wants the ground to swallow her up right now.

"You didn't mention he lived in New York," I tell her. I figured he would be in California, since she said she's always lived there.

"Well I had no plans on being anywhere near him so it didn't seem pertinent," she hisses at me as we reach the group and she's still standing behind me. The hiding is pretty stupid, but heck she might actually get away with it. I am pretty tall.

"What's up Mom? Officers," I smile at them nicely while wondering whether it's one of the guys in uniform or the guy in jeans and a blazer. I have no idea what kind of taste Chelsea has in men so I wouldn't hazard the guess.

"The good officers would like to talk to you about the noise level in rehearsal this morning. Apparently there have been complaints."

A rookie would think my mother was being all sweetness and light, but I know her too well. She's annoyed; I can see it in her face. At a guess, I think it's because they have no reason at all to be talking to me about this. It's the venue they need to speak to because any noise violations will be through their sound proofing or them violating their approved hours by letting us in too early or whatever (which I didn't think they had). At worst, they might need to have a quick word with one of my managers - hence talking to my mom they can get away with. But insisting on talking to me? That's totally unnecessary. Sadly, it wouldn't be the first time officers of the law have abused a little power so that they can have a good story to tell their buddies over the jelly doughnuts.

"Complaints?" I ask.

"From the neighbours. It's a little early for this kind of volume, Mr Timberlake. May I ask what you were doing?"

That was the plain clothes guy. I am now assuming he is Will because already I don't like him. This is a widely publicised gig, it's a night club, and there's a pile of state of the art music equipment on stage. What the fuck does he think I was doing, drilling for oil?

"As I told you, officer, he was performing his sound check for his show tonight." My mother's interruption is a quiet signal to me to keep my mouth shut as much as possible. "We've already checked with the club that their licensing covers us doing this at this time and it's not like it's the middle of the night, so I really don't see the problem."

"We've had complaints, ma'am." One of the officers in uniform says to her. "We have to investigate."

"Three of you?" I hear Chelsea mutter under her breath and I really want to smirk.

"Well, as I said to you before, sound check is over," Mom says firmly. "If there has been a licensing violation it is the club which is liable, which I'm sure your fine selves will be aware with your expert knowledge of the law, and we did the same here yesterday without a single complaint. We really have told you all we can."

Chelsea tugs on my t-shirt and I lean back surreptitiously, trying not to look like I've got somebody behind me. She starts whispering to me. "I think it might be because somebody's opened the skylight."

It's only then I look up and see what she means. She's probably right, all the soundproofing in the world means nothing if some idiot leaves a window open somewhere. Well, on the bright side, we just saved a few people the price of a ticket since they've got a taste of the show anyway. I won't give these officers the satisfaction of letting them know all this, but I will make sure the club gets a heads up. I might ask Johnny if he could get somebody to send a letter of apology to the residents around here, too. It doesn't hurt to look contrite.

"I'm sorry did you say something Chelsea honey?"

Well, sorry Chels, I tried. Reluctantly she has to step out from behind me and when she does so it's the uniform on the left who goes pale at the sight of her. Damn, I guess that's Will. I was so sure it was Plain Clothes Guy.

"No, just checking that Justin didn't need anything else before I go. Didn't want to interrupt," she lies.

"No, I'm good, thanks babe." I give her arm a supportive little squeeze and I see him go even paler. He probably thinks I called her babe as some boyfriend thing - this means nothing, I call Rachael babe too and she's my cousin, but heck if I can make him squirm on her behalf then cool. It wasn't my intent, but call it a bonus.

"Are you going anywhere near a pharmacy?" Mom asks her. "I think Trace could do with some Advil."

Chelsea smiles at her and I totally catch Will looking at her legs and giving her and her white sun dress the once over. It's a good thing she didn't do what she threatened to do and come here in her pyjamas or that really would have been embarrassing.

"Already on the list. Do you need anything Lynn?"

"Oh no thank you sweetie I'm good." My mom rubs her arm too and I can practically see the thought bubble over Will's head wondering precisely how involved with the Timberlake entourage his ex girlfriend is.

"I'll see you later." Chelsea gives me a quick look before stepping swiftly past Plain Clothes Guy without even a glance in Will's direction.

Well, well, well… nothing like a bit of ex drama to provide some entertainment for the morning (so long as it isn't mine). He looks pissed, it's pretty funny. I look down and see a gold band on his finger, so I guess he did get married. I'll say this much for him, he hasn't breathed a word since we got in here. At least he's not either of the assholes trying to pretend like they need to speak to me at all. Though he sure does fidget a lot… or has Chelsea just done a number on him?

***

"Chelsea!"

Oh crap. Why aren't there any taxis coming? I really need one to be here so I can jump in before he gets over here. Heck, I needed one five minutes ago while they were still unnecessarily giving Justin the third degree.

Oh, and by the way, that was so transparent. I see it all the time with Sophie, though you can imagine that since they all masturbate over her they're even more obvious about it. It's ridiculous, they think they're playing it so cool but I know and more to the point she knows exactly what their ploy is. They just want to talk to a celebrity and unlike most people they've got a ready made excuse to do it. Celebrity entourages might be able to tell regular citizens to back off but we fight the law and the law wins. Fame can't get you everywhere.

"Will." I smile politely at him through gritted teeth before turning my back to him and watching out for that cursed taxi.

"How are you?"

"Fine, you?" I'm still not looking at him.

"Fine. Michelle and I got married last week."

Oh I might have known he was over here to throw that in my face. I swear, every time I have talked to him since we split up he goes on and on about Michelle. If I thought he did that to everybody I'd forgive him, sometimes love makes you yammer, but I know he talks normally to everybody else. We still have mutual friends (many of whom, by the way, totally agree that he was a fuckwit over the break up).

"Oh, right, I forgot about that. How did it go?"

"Great." He seems taken aback by how little I apparently care. In actual fact, I'm kind of surprised by that too. I mean, I care a little bit, but not even half as much as I thought I would. "We, uhh, missed you at the ceremony."

"Oh, didn't you get my RSVP?" I say innocently without even looking at him. This has the dual purpose of keeping up the 'don't care' image and also preventing him from seeing the lie in my eyes. "Couldn't make it. I mean, clearly, you can imagine I've been with Justin the last week or so. Glad it went good though."

I let that sink in for a moment, giving him a minute to formulate a response.

"Yeah, Justin Timberlake. That was kind of a… what happened to Sophie?"

Wait, wait, wait… this is perfect. I detected jealousy there. He's totally put out that he was going to throw his nice suburban dream in my face and it turns out that I'm hanging around with a guy a lot more successful than he is. I know full well that Will has no interest in me, but my sister once told me in disgust that her husband was at work and his secretary…

Okay, long story short, our circles still overlap. Via her other half, Lisa told me that Will has boasted about how I'm still hankering over him. Well, not boasted, he was apparently pretending to be all concerned and wanting me to feel better, but if you read between the lines I think he has the impression I still want him. He probably thought that I would go back to him in a heartbeat (umm, no, ass) and that'll swell anybody's pride, thinking that they have an easy back up just waiting in the wings. The idea that I might have moved on to bigger and better has got to be a killer for his ego. And that's purely on the job front, never mind if he's got the idea in his head that I've been to bed with JT. It's so petty of me to encourage that, but do I give a shit?

"Well, you know. Justin begged to steal me, how could I refuse?"

What? It's only a small embellishment. He really was desperate for a PA even if not me specifically.

"Wow. Music though… little different from film, isn't it?"

You see? He's totally fishing, trying to wheedle an explanation out of me.

"Well he's impossible to resist." I sneak a glance sideways and see him looking just green enough to satisfy my more childish little urges. I think I'm done here - I may have just proved that I'm not as mature as I should be, but I don't give a fuck. This is for all the false promises, for the way he led me on, and for the way he has continued to treat me like a second class citizen ever since.

"Taxi!"

Finally somebody pulls up beside me, and I give Will a quick smile and the most dismissive 'goodbye' I can muster.