Every muscle in my back is killing me.

I'm not exaggerating. Well, okay, maybe it's not technically every muscle because I have no idea how many muscles are in my back, but it hurts. The last couple of days have been a total mother, and we're barely two weeks into shooting.

How hard can it be, they said? My previous roles were way more involved than this; this is just a rom-com, my first foray into leading man status and mainstream film. (Shrek doesn't count, I'm a voice). I mean, how hard could that possibly be? My agent puts a nice, easy looking script on my desk that I can just knock out on my down time, and finally the fans get to see me do the rom com they've apparently all been clamouring for. Hey, it's a film my younger crowd can go see because there's not so much cussing in it. I get to make out with Sophie Lumos. Really, they said, it's a no brainer.

Bastards didn't know what they were talking about, this shit is insane! These people are like a frickin' production line - okay, there's always a lot of waiting around on set but once they get going they got the momentum of a freight train. Everything always needs to have been done five minutes ago and they always seem to be behind schedule. The studio suits hang around a lot more than they ever did on the independent stuff I've done. And I get way less sleep than I ever did on any other movie set.

Oh, and now I see where the Hollywood stereotypes all come from. All my experiences on film sets were really good, so I figured it was just a myth. No. This set is the embodiment of one and while I can't say I'm having an awful time or that the script is crap or anything, it's kind of draining. Lots of backbiting and hustling for position in the hierarchy and if I may say, an awful lot of suspiciously motionless faces. Except for the camera and lighting guys who are awesome. The DP and AD are also incredibly funny guys (director of photography and assistant director, for any rookies) and my make up lady is a sweetheart. Being me I get the luxury of not having to bother, my place is pretty set, but it's pretty tiring all the same, watching everybody else hustling.

"Can I get you anything Justin?"

I'm interrupted from my thoughts and I probably look stoned. Catching me unawares is not an attractive sight. "No thanks… Dana?"

"Diana." She looks overly happy that I got her name almost right.

"Diana. Thanks anyway." I flash a smile and look back down at my Sidekick, which is the subtle Hollywood signal for 'okay, you can go now.'

Or, in my case, 'thank you but you don't know me and I'm feeling awkward and if you could take pity on me and leave I'd appreciate it.' Maybe it's like the working equivalent of summer camp or something, but people on sets seem to make friend real quick and get overly close overly quickly. My theory is that's why so many film stars hook up on set, it's like holiday romances. Not that those ever last, but as I've found to my cost neither do Hollywood relationships. This is all very well and shit, but if you're like me and have a tendency to be closed off with strangers it gets uncomfortable. (Yes, I know, obvious defence mechanism but a guy in my position needs some defence).

Various people's personal assistants are also very amusing in their scrabbling for prime position, Diana for example - except for mine and Sophie's. Mine because obviously it's Trace and he doesn't give a shit, and Sophie's because…

Okay, I don't want to sound mean, but Sophie's PA is… she seems like she really doesn't give a shit. In some ways that's kind of refreshing in this town, but in others she kind of comes off like she doesn't want to be here and she thinks she's above all this. Which, obviously, she isn't: if she was, she wouldn't be here. Anyway, that's beside the point, she doesn't run around ass kissing like the rest of them, just gets on with her job.

Sophie, however, is almost freakishly perfect. Hot looking, friendly, very well spoken and has a sense of humour often lacking in Hollywood types. That said, she does order… is it Chelsea, her PA? Whatever, she does treat her like a maid. It's probably just me not getting the usual PA/employer relationship because mine is my best pal and my mother changed his diapers as well as mine, but I find it kind of wrong. I mean, I know these people are paid to help out but it looks kind of demeaning. Heh, look at that. In one breath I'm saying I think she's stuck up and the next I'm feeling sorry for her downtrodden self.

And speak of the devil…

"Hi, Justin, sorry to disturb you but could you…"

"What?" I prompt her when she doesn't finish. There's a lightly pained expression on that rounded face of hers and she looks kind of embarrassed. I almost thought I heard her mouthing the word 'shit.'

"I'm really sorry, but…" Okay, that was an actual wince. She's obviously mortified.

"So long as you're not about to ask me to impregnate you it can't be that bad." That earned me a little smirk.

"You get that a lot?"

"More often than you'd think."

"All legal?"

I grimace and shake my head, and that actually gets a laugh. She still looks like she'd rather be doing anything else but at least she's stopped tugging at the hair that's fallen out of her bun. Instead she's yanking unnecessarily at the hem of her shirt.

"I'm trying to have a meeting with Sophie and Marco the Great keeps interrupting to yell at her about how you're apparently screwing her behind his back. I'm so sorry to sound so high school but could you please tell him he's being ridiculous?"

What? I have to go reassure Mr Pretends -to - be -Italian - but -we -all -know -he's -from -Nebraska that his girlfriend's not doing me? Yeah, she's right, this is high school. Now I know why she looks so totally humiliated. Damn straight, I would too.

"Umm…" How do I say no without being rude?

"You know what, forget I asked." She waves a hand and rolls her eyes at me. "I'll tell her I never found you."

I was seriously about to be affronted, but then I realise she's not saying that because she thinks I'm just being an ass who's refusing (even though I was about to - refuse, not be an ass). She's saying it to save my hide and she's going to take the hit so Sophie doesn't think I was refusing to help her. Romantic comedies can be awkward to shoot if the leads are pissed at each other.

That's nice of her. I'm about to say thank you but she already disappeared and Trace is on his way over.

"J."

"Trace."

"So…" he trails off.

"So."

This is why Trace is my PA. In precisely four words we've established that we're both just dandy and there's nothing to report. I can't stand people who babble for the hell of it. Well, I can, but I just wish they wouldn't do it to me. Like I said, for somebody in my line of business I can be overly reserved with other people. Does that make me shy or just anti social?

"Still tired?" Trace asks.

"Yep. Nothing a good long sleep won't cure."

"You'll be waiting until Saturday," he warns me. Saturday is the first day all week I'm not needed for shooting.

"I can live 'til then," I shrug. If a few long hours are the worst thing I have to worry about I figure I'm doing alright. They've even managed to keep the paparazzi a good distance out. It's at Sophie's behest, not mine, but you think I care as long as I catch that benefit too? A clue, no. I'm doing okay.

"Speaking of Saturday, they're looking to set up a few more meetings for those scripts we were considering."

I never knew there was a difference between looking at scripts and considering, but this town appears to have a language of its own. If you're looking at a script, you've received it and are just reading the thing. If you're considering it, it's the next step to putting yourself up for the role and agreeing terms. Then if they have multiple actors considering then the casting people can start having fun and the studio can feel smug that they got competition going for roles in their movie. As far as I was aware this film was just a little project to keep me occupied between music stuff, but apparently not. I don't mind, but I would have appreciated it if I'd been consulted first.

"Eh."

"Postponed."

He doesn't even have to ask. I love this dude.

"Do you need anything, Justin?"

Wow, where'd the redhead come from? I think she's… no, I have no idea whose PA she is.

Trace laughs out loud. "I'm standing right here."

"Oh, umm… sorry," she mumbles before high tailing it at a speed a little too fast for her heels. As such, she takes a spectacular stumble that looks like it twists her ankle right sideways. I'm about to run over to help her up (and maybe call a paramedic) before I see her yank herself up and scurry out at the exact same speed. I'm impressed, I would've thought that would be at least a sprain if not a break but she wasn't even limping.

"Clearly a rookie - the more experienced PA will always wear flats unless necessary to impress," Trace says wisely. "And a rookie would never be stupid enough to try and work my client in front of my face."

I have to laugh at his stupid self. "Even forgetting the fact that I'm not your client, ass, how the fuck would you know about stilettos? Been giving Louboutin some custom lately?"

"Chelsea told me."

Trace has been hanging with Chelsea a lot. Okay, maybe not a lot, but enough to make me notice. He doesn't have a lot of time for Hollywood types, so I guess this means she passed muster. Actually, to be more accurate, Trace doesn't like people who act like Hollywood types. He doesn't actually care if you're famous or not, so long as you don't act like a snobby asshole. It's not a bad call.

"Oh, Chelsea's been teaching you the ropes, huh?"

"It's oddly fascinating," he tells me. "These bitches really have some political shit going on. And I can say bitches because the guys are supposedly just as bad. She was saying that she's been on a grand total of three film sets where nobody was doing it, max, and Sophie's made about twenty movies."

"Come on," I say in disbelief, "it can't all be that bad."

"I said that to her." Trace shrugs as he needlessly plays with his Zippo lighter. He always was a complete pyro, even at Scout camp when he never wanted to let anybody else start the fire. "But she just said that she used to think the same before experience taught her better. She said the actual crews aren't usually this bad but the world of the PA is a cat fight to the professional death: quote."

I'm not sure what I'm finding so funny about his wording, but it totally cracks me up. It just conjures up a 'handbags at dawn' kind of image. That said, I suppose she may have a point - at least about this set, anyway. I often wonder why everybody else's PA is asking me if I want stuff done. Call me naïve but I figured they were just being helpful. I guess I have a lot to learn about the movie industry and its quirks. Actually I know I do. I kind of figured it'd be just like music, but the game is surprisingly different.

"So how're the claws on Ms Chelsea then?"

Trace laughs derisively, a little glint in his brown eyes. Dude needs a hair cut, actually, his hair got way too shaggy. Mine's in a nice neat trim at the moment, they said that my usual (and much preferred) buzz wouldn't look right for a newspaper journalist. I don't know how many newspaper journalists these guys have met but I'd bet it's a few hundred less than I have.

"Ms Chelsea doesn't need the claws out, she don't give a shit. While they're all busy with the backstabbing she just walks right past the mob and gets on with it. If you ask me that's probably why Sophie keeps her, did you see the look she gave that chick who works for Eliot?"

This I have to nod my head at. Sophie doesn't seem too Hollywood: despite the designer boyfriend and the designer clothes and the father manager who's a bigger diva than she is. That dude scares the hell out of me, especially when he speaks Spanish.

"Yeah. She was really annoyed this morning because she said some dude kept trying to close down a store for her when she was shopping. Said that if she wanted to do some solo shopping she'd quote 'fucking well do it on the internet instead of inconveniencing other fucking people,' unquote."

Trace muses on this, his eyes shifting upwards as if looking for confirmation from the heavens on something. He purses his lips too. "Is it just me or did her righteous concern riff for the little people kinda get wrecked when she called them fucking people?"

I think about this for a second. "I can see that."

"She strikes me as one of those types who tries to stay real but can't quite get there."

I cock my head sideways at him, and I can't help kind of frowning. How'd he get that out of her swearing a little too much? Sophie seems fine to me, and believe me when I say I got radar for diva bullshit. "How'd you figure?"

"Just some stuff Chelsea said."

Before I have time to wonder if Chelsea's been bitching about Sophie behind her back, Sally starts heading towards me, brandishing her touch up kit. Did I mention that I despise wearing make up and I hate that my job requires it. It does not make me feel manly, even if it does even out my complexion and stop me looking washed out under lights.

"How we looking, Justin?" Sally peers through her pince nez at me (yes, my make up artist is old enough to have grandma hair and wear pince nez glasses).

"Like shit as usual," Trace says on my behalf. I'd like to retaliate properly but Sally is old enough to be my mother and would probably smack me down like my mother.

Sally just ignores him and starts brushing on some more base with her little sponge. "Not too bad, but how many times have I told you not to rub your face when you've been made up?"

Fuck, she can tell that? I only did it once and I didn't even do it all that hard. "Sorry, won't happen again ma'am."

She pokes me playfully and keeps working as Trace continues to give me a lecture on how girly and pathetic it is that I wear so much make up in my professional life. He suggests I might like it better if I went emo and thus had an excuse to wear eyeliner. Much as I keep him around to keep me humble and to mock me where others would kiss my ass, this is irritating. I really want to say something, but every time I do Sally tells me to quit moving my face. I'm wearing some bruises right now and she has to work carefully to maintain the continuity, she even has little polaroids of when she first did it.

And while Trace keeps on rambling, he doesn't notice her loading up her brush with some heavy amounts of blusher. One 'honestly JT you might as well go for the sex change now' later and she's swept a bright pink line of powder across his bratty little face.

I told you my make up lady was awesome.