"Are you gonna be okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well it's just that I'm leaving and…"

I laugh out loud at that. "You're not that crucial, ass."

Trace's mouth stretches into a quick smirk before it settles into an expression of mock hurt. "Gee, thanks."

"Hey, you're the one who abandoned my ass without a PA."

"I got you a replacement!"

"No, Sophie got me a replacement," I correct him. "You just got let off the guilt trip."

"Ah ha! So you admit you were guilt tripping me."

"Well duh."

Trace gives me a light shove and I give him a light shove back. It's a manly expression of affection, don't ask me to explain. As per usual, we're stuck in a venue, although this one is in Florida and not New York. Trace extended his stay for one more stop, but now he really does have to fly home. It's okay though, we'll be back for the LA gig before any of us know it anyway. On the bright side Joey and Kelly are leaving Briahna with Papa Joe for the night and coming out for the show, which makes me excited in ways that would make *NSYNC fans sigh with nostalgia. I still feel bad I never managed to make it to a Dancing With The Stars taping.

"I mean I gave Chelsea the itinerary, so…"

"Dude," I interrupt. "You know Chelsea had that thing memorised before you'd even managed to get hold of a copy. Chill, she's got it covered."

"I know, I know," he concedes. "Just like to check she's got everything, since I dumped her in the deep end."

I still find it weird how protective he is of her. I know they're not dating, and he's made mention of some date he has fixed up for back home… but still, there's something. It's hard to put my finger on it, but they're closer than you might expect them to be. She's definitely closer to him than me and at this point I've probably spent more time with her than he has. It's cool that he looks out for her and it's been good to know she's had somebody on the tour she's a little more familiar with than the total strangers she got thrown in with, but I find it incomprehensible. It'd be easier if I knew they were screwing, that would explain shit.

Chelsea's been busy dealing with the latest PR catastrophe that has come my way. I honestly thought the papers would have given up this woman beater shit by now, but they haven't. Monica gave an interview in which somebody quizzed her about it, and the press have done their usual twist job on it. If you're smart and actually read what she says by itself, it's totally harmless. It's certainly nothing I'd be mad at her about, and I told her that when she called me to apologise. The problem is that as usual they present it with this narrative that makes it seem like she meant something else entirely, and of course now everybody else is taking it the way it was presented instead of the way it was meant. Her PR has been on the phone with Ken Sunshine constantly, but nobody wants to hear what she's saying or if they do they dismiss it as desperate backtracking.

So how does my temporary PA come into that? Well, she's sitting on the stage right now with a pile of papers in her lap and she's setting up appointments with my lawyers, my PR and between my management and label. Mom and I mutually decided that sitting back and hoping it goes away isn't working, and that it might be time to talk - though not without getting everybody's input first. I didn't get where I am now by making rash decisions. She's managing to be surprisingly upbeat about it, actually. Say It Right has been playing over the speakers and she's bobbing her head and mouthing the words to herself while she's reading or on hold or whatever.

Speaking of songs Timbaland produced, he should be getting here tomorrow. I can't wait. Tim is wiser than a lot of people give him credit for; he always gives me good advice. It's nice to have another person around on my level… and before you think I'm being arrogant and saying that I'm all wise and shit, I just mean that he gets me.

"Okay… I'm guess I'm out." Trace holds out his hand to me and we give it the old handshake slash hug that we do.

"Call me when you land."

"Don't I always?"v You're not allowed to tell anybody I told you this, but I hate planes. They're necessary and so I deal with them, but I always like to check in with everybody to make sure they got to where they're going alright. I'm a pansy, I know, but whatever gets me through the day.

"Hey Chels!"

Trace jogs over to the stage and I'm guessing tells Chelsea he's leaving. She gives him a quick hug and kiss on the cheek, but then she's straight back to the papers and the scribbling. I swear that girl never stops, she's all business. It's a trait I wish I could emulate, actually; she seems able to functionally calmly and professionally whatever mood she's in, whereas I have to confess that sometimes my bitchier moods air themselves in interviews and shit.

Then again, at least my bitchier moods do get aired. Sometimes I think that woman is repressed as all hell.

Though she did actually tell me what happened with Will in New York, and it made me laugh. Clearly she's picked up a trick or two from Sophie, because it sounds like she gave him the serious burn. I guessed when he left in such a hurry he was hoping to catch her, but I'm glad she got to give him the 'like I care' treatment. I suspect she still does care, a little, but I don't begrudge anybody a little closure with their ex. Not least because that would make me the world's biggest hypocrite - Cry Me a River and all. I still find it remarkable that she's been so nice about him whenever he's been brought up. I mean, I don't know him or the full situation, but on paper leading your girl on like you're gonna marry her and then dumping her out of the blue for somebody else? Not deserving of politeness. That woman is tougher than she looks.

Eh, I don't know why I'm dwelling on Chelsea's ex when I have rehearsal to get on with. Kevin and I suddenly decided to replace Last Night with Damn Girl in the set… this is all very well, but it requires rehearsal. So instead of dwelling on Chelsea's ex, I need to go tell her to move the PR operation elsewhere while I do my shit. She's on my stage and I need it.

***

Dear God I'm bored.

I have run out of people to call. This is partly because it's two in the morning, and partly because I already spoke to Kennedy too many times today. I already filled up my mother quota of phone calls for the week - I can only take two before she starts needling me about something or other, but two she can keep pretty pleasant. Lisa's a no go; with all those kids she gets precious little sleep as it is.

Justin was gracious enough to tell me I looked tired and that I shouldn't bother coming to the show. It was one of those spectacular male 'foot in mouth' moments - men are so clueless. They're trying to show concern for you but don't realise that they just managed to tell you that you look like shit in the process. His mother totally rolled her eyes at him though, so at least it wasn't just me being oversensitive. I guess I probably do look tired though, the late nights and travelling have started taking a toll. When Sophie's travelling she turns in a lot earlier, so even through all the upheaval I still get a decent amount of rest. Touring is not like that: late nights and early starts.

Sophie… I wish I could call Sophie, but I've been avoiding her. I miss her. Those two things may sound mutually exclusive, but you'd be surprised.

You don't realise how used you get to a person until they're gone. Sophie always gives me my time to just read or have my bath or have some quality self time for a little while, but she has an uncanny knack of knowing just when to knock on my door saying she's bored and do I want to try this mud pack she got sent. We've had some great moments, just sitting in one or other of our hotel rooms and cackling away about nothing while doing girl stuff. I was a lot more tomboyish before I met her, but she helped me find my feminine side… and my whole style, really. She is the best at girly nights in (almost better than Kennedy).

On this tour it's all or nothing - I'm either surrounded by people or totally alone. It's like there's no balance. I really want to call Sophie, and with where she is I could probably just about get away with it time wise (though it's pushing it a little). The problem is though that I really don't want to talk to her knowing that she wants this information on Justin that I cannot bring myself to give her. I hate feeling like I'm spying on him. It's irrational of me because I know she's being totally harmless and she hasn't asked me to do anything that isn't a daily occurrence amongst thousands of women all over. She hasn't asked me to go through his drawers or dish out confidential information; she just wants me to feel him out a little for her.

So why so I feel like I'm spying? Ugh, it's not like it matters. The end result is still that I can't bring myself to talk to her because I spend our entire conversations worrying about what I'll say when she asks. Sometimes she doesn't even ask, but does this stop me? It's so stupid, I can only pretend to miss her calls so many times before she gets it into her head that I'm avoiding her… and then she really will start calling me non stop.

You know what, that's it. I'm sick of being by myself and I'm bored of reading. I'll go see if Trace is still up… oh wait, he got on a plane and left this morning, That was real smart, Chelsea, well done for that piece of blondeness. Though I suppose… nah, Justin will be asleep. Though I don't know, he's usually pretty wired after shows and he tells me he can be an insomniac. It came up because he asked me to go buy some over the counter sleeping aids in Chicago (apparently he uses them as a last resort, though he refuses to take anything that really would knock him out). Justin wouldn't want to hang out with me anyway.

Though that never seems to stop him invading my room when he's bored. Maybe it's time for him to return the favour.

***

Shit, was that a knock on my door? At this hour?

Oh well, it's not like I was asleep anyway. Monica called me up crying with no comprehension of what time it is here. I really wanted to hang up on her so I could go to sleep…but considering that she's so upset on my behalf and that makes it a little unfair to blow her off, I kept with it. You know, it's funny, when we were dating she'd never have been so concerned on my behalf and I never would have hesitated to hang up if I felt like it. We're nicer to each other now than we ever were back then.

I quickly yank on a pair of sweats as the knock softly sounds again. "Coming!" I say as I make my way to the door. For a moment I worry that maybe something's wrong, but then if that were the case it'd be about fifty people hammering down my door. That has happened before, and sometimes not when I would honestly define the situation as "urgent."

I pull open the door and there's Chelsea, standing before me in a sweater, PJs and… purple fuzzy slippers. Well that's interesting. She was embarrassed by me seeing her in curlers but not in those worn out things which really look like they've seen better days? I don't understand women.

"Hey," I say succinctly.

"Hey. I didn't wake you up did I?"

No, you're just preventing me going to sleep in the first place. "No, no. I was awake. What's up?"

"Umm, could I come in for a sec?"

"Sure." I step away from the door, holding it open for her to slip through. Now I'm a little worried. She seemed quiet. She's always quiet, but she's not usually quiet while knocking on my door at this godforsaken time of the morning.

She walks into the living room area of my suite and shuffles around. It'd be pacing if it wasn't so slow and random (and hampered by footwear). Her arms are folded over her chest and she looks self conscious. With a slight jolt I realise this is the first time I've seen her in glasses - or at least it's the first time I've noticed, anyway. I guess she wears contacts. It's also the first time I've seen her totally devoid of make up with her hair all scraped back like that; even with the curlers incident she was a little more put together than this. Maybe it shouldn't be so shocking, I've lived with plenty of girlfriends and seen the natural versus the make up, but Chelsea always seems so… yeah, put together. I don't know if she was always like that or it's Hollywood having its usual effect, but she's always so co-ordinated.

"So… what's up?" I try again.

"Oh, uhh, nothing really." She smiles sheepishly at me. "Couldn't sleep."

That's it? She can't sleep so she's come over here to keep me awake? I guess this is payback for all those times I invited myself over to her room. I would love nothing more than to kick her out right now, but I guess I owe her. That and I'm mildly curious - if you'd put it to a bet I'd have laid money on this never happening.

"Do you feel like watching a movie?" Which she really could have done in her own room?

"No, I could have done that without coming over here and bugging you." Shit, it's like she read my mind... I hope she didn't read it from my face. "I just… felt like some company. If that's okay," she adds hurriedly.

Oh. She just wants company? Okay… strange, but I guess I can do that. With any luck she'll tire out quick and then I can go back to bed. She's so neat and organised I almost imagined that she falls asleep whenever her pretty little head schedules itself to. Insomnia doesn't fit her image.

She sits down on the couch, and I sit down next to her. Silence ensues. I'm guessing that when she said 'company' she meant the pure physical presence of somebody else rather than actual conversation and shit like normal people. That does fit her image more than insomnia… for being somebody's PA and thus attached to their ass twenty four seven, Chelsea has always struck me as a little bit of a lone wolf. That's not just me being mean or anything - Trace has said the same. It's not like she doesn't have friends, obviously, but she just seems very independent. In a way I kind of admire that; for all my complaining that I never get any alone time, whenever I do get it it's not long before I crave company (the normal kind with the talking).

"I guess if I came over here for company I ought to start talking, huh?" She jokes out of the blue. Now I really am wondering if she's telepathic.

"Hey," I shrug, "whatever." Do you see how chivalrous I'm being here? I'm really uncomfortable and I really want to go to bed, but whatever she wants.

"I don't know why I can't sleep," she says as she rubs her eyes beneath her glasses, a little pair of rimless squares. "I'm bone tired."

"I get like that sometimes. I've still got those pills you bought me, if…"

"No," she shoots down my cunning plan, "I'm allergic. I thought they sounded great in the store and I was gonna get some for me until I read the back."

Huh - I guess insomnia probably is part of her image then. That's weird, she never lets on that she's anything but totally awake. How the fuck can she do that? When I'm tired, everybody knows it. It's not that I'm a bastard or anything, it's just that no matter how hard I try I can't pretend to be with it if I'm not.

"You're not coming down with something are you?" I suggest. She still shakes her head.

"No. If I was I'd have a sore throat, that's always the first thing."

"I start sneezing first."

"My Dad starts dying first," she jokes. "He suffers from man flu a lot."

"What does he do?" I ask. Mindless chatter about families should work well enough.

"He owns his own construction business. Mom's a nurse. I'd ask what your parents do but I think that'd make me look pretty stupid."

I actually laugh at that. If this is anything to go by, she jokes a lot more when she's tired than she does normally. "Yeah, I'd have to question what the fuck you'd been doing for the last couple weeks when you were supposed to be paying attention."

"I confess! I've been too busy plotting the demise of your career. That's why Sophie really sent me here - she doesn't want the competition being prettier than her."

What? What does that mean? Sophie thinks I'm pretty? Chelsea thinks I'm pretty? No, wait Timberlake, she's joking again you moron. Besides, I'm not sure that 'pretty' is really what I want to be. Hot, sexy, or burning hunk of man: that I can deal with, but pretty is just way too girly. I don't know how I'd feel about either of those two women finding me pretty.

"So Sophie thinks I'm hot, does she?" I joke back, trying to shrug it off. "Tell her likewise."

Okay, was it just me or did she just get a flicker of a weird expression? The thing I hate about this girl is that I can't read her. Reading people is an unspoken talent of mine - I don't like to publicise it because it works best when people aren't aware you're doing it. Chelsea, however, totally eludes me. I can't get the measure of her, and I find it both fascinating and really fucking irritating. Anybody else and I'd know what they were thinking, but that was an odd little twitch in her face. Alas, it's gone now and I'm totally lost.

"Speaking of Sophie," I try to steer the conversation back on course, "how is she?"

"Umm, fine. Busy as usual."

Okay, I KNOW I didn't dream that. It was that expression again, and on second glance I smell guilt. I think. I'm not sure. I really wish I knew what went on in thus woman's head. It's lame because it's for no reason other than the fact it's not obvious already, but when did I ever claim to be anything but lame? That's why me and Trace laugh at all these articles which name me King of Cool or whatever; it's because we know better.

"Bet you can't wait to get back to normal and off this crazy boat," I joke.

"Actually it's been kind of cool." Yet again, she surprises me. "It's nice to be doing something a little different for a change."

"Even if I do drive you to insomnia." Okay, why must I start cracking jokes every time I get nervous? It's lame. Then again, we did already establish that I am lame.

"Ahh, don't flatter yourself kid." She pats my bare arm and there's this really pointy part on her ring and it just scratched me. I will not mention how much that stung. "Too much crap going on in my head is all. I think I just can't shut my brain off when it's this busy."

Weirdly enough I kind of understand that, though it again makes me wonder what the heck is going on in there. I guess it's probably like I said earlier - she's repressed or something. Maybe that's the price of her being so invariably on point and with it all the time. I learnt the hard way that if you don't deal with your shit promptly, it'll just creep back up to bite your butt later. I still kind of see this whole woman beater debacle as a consequence of me sticking in that mutually destructive relationship with Monica so long that it came to that. If I will follow the wrong head, this is what I get.

Chelsea however only has the one head, so I wonder what her excuse is. She doesn't get to blame the Y chromosome for her shit.

"Wanna talk about it?" I offer.

"Thanks, but I think it's more of a Kennedy conversation." She gives me a sad little smile.

"Oh, I get it. Now this little visit makes sense; it's too late to call Kennedy so I'm your second choice." I give her a fake sniffle. "I'm very hurt by that.

"Third, actually. Trace isn't here," she says with an evil glint.

Okay, now THAT deserves retribution. I pick up one of the throw pillows and I give her a light smack with it. For a moment she looks shocked, almost indignant, but then she just picks up the other one and whacks me right back - a lot harder than I did.

"Don't start what you can't finish," I warn her.

"Hit me again and you'll be the one sorry you started, Timberlake."

"Never let it be said I back down from a challenge." She gets another hit for that. I get another glare for that.

"See now I know why they say you're a woman beater. Maybe I should call In Touch."

That's it. Bitch is going down for that. I go in for the kill, and the duel begins. I'm probably going to have to pay out for these ridiculously expensive cushions if we manage to send the feathers flying, but I'll consider it a necessary expense. Miss Chelsea is going to pay for that.