"Hi honey, I'm home," I yell out as I toss Trace's keys on his hall table. Since we don't live too far from each other, he and I have exchanged keys for plant watering and apartment watching purposes.

"Hey, in the living room!"

I follow his voice and walk into his sprawling living room. His apartment must be twice as big as mine, and it's a lot less eclectic in its décor. His living room is all white with trimmings in various shades of grey, and all his furniture has a very geometric feel to it. The only splashes of colour are a few bright posters in frames on the walls. All the lines in here are sharp corners and right angles, no curves; it's very masculine. I like it, but I couldn't live here. I need something a little softer, warmer.

"Playing Halo. Again. I never would have guessed." Even as I sit down on the sofa next to him I'm pulling off my heels and breathing a sigh of relief. Even in my sensible shoes, my feet are killing me.

"And how was your day?" He totally ignores my sarcasm.

"Brett… sorry, Mr Henderson… is totally kicking my ass. I really hope he's just playing bad boss to test me out and this isn't actually how he is or I'm never going to hack it."

I sprawl back into the sofa cushions, so glad to be finally sitting down. Apart from a brief sighting of Jerry Bruckheimer and Steven Spielberg, which was very exciting, my day has been all about dry cleaning and picking his kids up and copying papers. The past two weeks have been exactly like this, too. I half expected it since he's just gearing up for a shoot right now and isn't on set, but dear Lord this is boring. Again, here's hoping he's just trying to see how I take it.

"Hey, I'm sure he's just trying to break you in. You're two weeks into a month's test period right? That means you're halfway through and he hasn't kicked you out yet."

"The glass is quite literally half full," I echo. "Here's hoping I get through the next two weeks, and then I'm smiling. Especially since Sophie's on my case and getting more interviews might get tricky."

I have, apparently, mortally offended Ms Lumos. I don't see why, she has absolutely no claim over Justin and ironically enough now neither do I, but all I can say is it's a good thing she'd already handed over my references. She's not doing anything overt, but then this town is all about whisperings. There was briefly some renewed paparazzi interest in me, but when they worked out I was going nowhere near Justin or Sophie they moved on. This is the life of being the hired help; you are only of associational interest. I'm kind of like the moon to their sun… if it wasn't for their light being reflected on me, you wouldn't see me at all.

"Yeah, explain to me what her problem is again?"

"I think she's having a tough time dealing with the idea that a guy wanted me not her. Since it's, like, the first time ever. I don't know. At this point I'm not even sure I care."

"You sure she isn't just doing that whole girly 'but you didn't tell me' thing?"

"Considering that we weren't even talking at the time…"

"Good point," Trace concedes as he gives in and turns off his X-box.

Reaching for his soda, he copies me by flopping back into the cushions and just chilling. There's a brief silence, and Trace is being a little twitchy. He keeps drumming his fingers against the arm of the sofa. I know exactly why he's being twitchy - he's been twitchy every time I've seen him lately. His face is pulled a little taut, the smile is a little forced, his hands will not sit still, and it's all in the name of He Who Trace Dares Not Name. The poor boy is trying to so hard to avoid the subject and to be nonchalant about it that he's done the opposite. It is, in fact, the elephant in this room, and it's so unnecessary. As usual, it's up to me to address it.

"Do you want me to just ask and put you out of your misery?"

"Huh?" He says.

I smile knowingly at him. Trace is kind of cute when he's feeling awkward. "How's Justin?"

"Oh. Fine."

"That was about as convincing as Bush claiming he's going to pull troops out of Iraq any time soon."

"Well did you want me to say he's pissed as hell at you?"

"Ouch." I wince at that news. I fully expected it, but somehow it's different hearing the confirmation. "Good point. I understand."

"I'm glad somebody does. He's still kind of narked at me too, for still talking to you."

"Really?" Guilt gnaws at my chest.

"Yep. Rachael says I'm an idiot and that if I had any sense I'd be a little quieter about it until he's calmed down some."

It takes me a moment to process this, but then something ticks over in my head. He hasn't said it outright, but if you put this new information with an old piece that I just happen to have - namely that Rachael is still in contact with me - logic draws me to a not so great conclusion.

"So Rachael hasn't mentioned to him that she's still talking to me?"

"She says that she's waiting for the opportune moment to casually drop you into conversation. I asked her when that would be but she kind of shook her head at me and said I have no appreciation for subtlety and that's why I'm an idiot. Though she also said to say hi and to keep your Saturday free because she's got tickets for some thing she thinks you'll like."

Much as I'm hurt a little that Rachael's keeping me on the down low, I understand it. Blood's thicker than water after all and Justin's a relative as well as her boss. I'd probably do the same in her position. Hell, I think doing the same but just waiting a little too long is what got me into this mess to begin with. Here's hoping she's better at spotting the opportune moment than I was… though I can't see Justin reacting like Sophie to anything Rachael ever did. He's just not that guy.

"Cool. I'll send her a text as soon as my phone's charged back up," I say through a yawn.

"You're not mad?" He asks.

"That she hasn't mentioned me?" Trace nods and I shrug. "Nah. It's awkward, I get that. Besides, I'd be kind of a hypocrite, given Sophie had to walk in on me and Justin to find out anything had happened."

"True. You're kind of an idiot too."

"Yep." Sadly, I have to nod and agree. "Still, at least we're idiots together. We could just be sad ass idiots with no friends."

"I'll drink to that." He raises his can and pulls a face at me. I can't help the smile that breaks out.

This is a moment I'd like to take to appreciate Trace right now. He could so easily have just sided with his buddy and turned his back on me. Trace being Trace, however, is at least able to differentiate between people having issues with Justin and people having issues with him. I think there's an unfortunate stereotype he has to put up with; people assume he's just the lapdog and that as JT goes so goes his nation. Don't get me wrong, I think if I'd hugely betrayed Justin or something I wouldn't see Trace for dust either, but right now I'm just thankful he's not so petty with his allegiances that he'd stop being my friend over some silly tiff I had with the pop star.

Might I add, it was totally silly. That whole night was kind of ridiculous. Justin was being drunk and a great big girl, I was being an ungrateful killjoy, and then that whole thing in the corridor… dear God, do I think I'm Paris Hilton now? I'm supposed to have more common sense than that; anybody could have walked in there and caught us. The ensuing scandal would then have hurt Justin's career and absolutely killed mine. I was so caught up in the moment that the second we stopped and my brain kicked back in I was more embarrassed than I've ever been in my life.

That's not the only thing either; I'm kind of appalled that the way I chose to deal with being angry at him was to turn into Ms Back Corridor Whore. Since when do I deal with my issues by screwing a guy? It wasn't exactly the most mature and adult moment of my life, that's for sure. I couldn't even look at Justin, I was so humiliated. I'm not quite sure how that then translated into Justin dumping me - Sophie barged in before I had any time to think or respond to him, but in hindsight I think Justin took my mortification for me being embarrassed at him rather than at the way I acted. Naturally he hasn't spoken to me in the meantime for me to set the record straight.

I would like to set the record straight, and maybe if Brett 'The Taskmaster' Henderson would lay off me for two seconds I could go do that. Justin's kind of prickly when wounded and it's going to take multiple attempts which I do not have time for right now. Still… I don't want to leave it too long. I feel bad about the whole thing. As well I should, I guess, but I'm still kind of annoyed that he just leapt to a conclusion there. I've sent him a few texts since to ask if he feels like talking, but naturally they haven't been replied to.

"Do you think you're going to make it up with Sophie?"

Great - in order to get off one awkward topic he's jumped right to another. Well, I guess it's less awkward for him maybe, but for me it's definitely a rock and a hard place kind of deal. I understand though; pretty much the first thing he said to me was that I'd better not tell him too much about my side of this whole weird fight with Justin. He says that it's a conflict of interests and that he'd never be able to help opening his mouth to Justin. Why this means I have to talk about Sophie instead I'm not sure, but I guess I owe Trace here.

"Umm…" I prop my elbow up on the arm of the sofa and rest my cheek in my hand. "I don't know. In a lot of ways I miss her, but I'm still kind of furious that she fired me for no reason and that she's being petty about the whole Justin thing."

"Well, if Kennedy managed to come up with a decent explanation for her part of it, maybe Sophie will too?" Trace throws the thought out there and I guess I can kind of see what he means, but at the same time I can't think what explanation there could possibly be.

"But what though? How can she ever justify firing me because Kennedy had a bitch fit at her? I mean, God, it has to be the first time in her life she paid much attention to anything Ken ever said."

"Hey, I never said I had all the answers," he says as he grabs a packet of Doritos from the table in front of them and noisily opens it.

"That's because you're an idiot."

"As are you."

"As am I." I give him a wink and he gives me a smile. It helps me ignore the lump that's been sitting heavily in my stomach ever since I watched Sophie and Justin both slam doors shut on me. "How about we talk about something that doesn't involve me fighting with people?"

"Oh, wanna hear about my idea for the fall show?"

I presume he's talking about William Rast, so I say "sure" and settle in to listen to him talk about colour swatches and catwalk shapes and lighting designs. It sure beats being reminded of my various screw ups. Though speaking of those… if I only sent my last message to Justin yesterday is it too stalker-esque to send another today?

***

"Yo, dude, in here," I call out in response to Rachael's yelled greeting. I should get an intercom for inside the house as well as the gate - trying to be heard across rooms in this cavern requires a lot of lung power.

"Since when am I a dude?" The yell sounds a little closer and sure enough it's only thirty seconds before she's in the kitchen with me. Although she lives in the guest house and we try to make sure we're not always hanging out together (in case we start overdosing on each other and thus fighting), most nights she'll come over and cook with me. This is the good thing about having a cousin nearby - I almost never have to be alone if I don't want to be.

"Remind me what I'm doing with these potatoes?" I ask. Rachael's half made some thing called a shepherd's pie, which is groovy and all but she told me to peel and boil some potatoes and then waltzed off for half an hour without telling me what else I need to do with the darn things.

"You mash 'em and spread them on top of the meat in the dish, and then we throw it in the oven."

"Oh, okay." This seems wrong to me. She claims it's some British thing she got out of Jamie Oliver's cook book but these English people seem kind of whack to me if this is their idea of cuisine. Meat and potatoes are supposed to be cooked separately, as far as I'm concerned. Why mix them up?

Rachael reaches into a drawer and hands me the masher - she knows the utensils in here better than I do - and I get to work. Call me weird but I kind of like my mashed potatoes a little lumpy, so I'm not quite as thorough as I could be. She reaches into the fridge and without asking picks me up a Bud as well as one for herself. This is why I love my cousin, she knows what's needed.

"Umm, hello genius, you need some milk and butter in there too!" She taps the recipe book and rolls her eyes at me before grabbing the necessary additions from the counter.

"Hey, I'm an old fashioned guy - I was raised to believe that men bring home the bacon and women cook it. How'd you expect me to know?"

"We're not cooking bacon and you know as well as I do that your momma raised you to shut up and help. I'm pretty sure she also taught your dumb ass to read, too, so a recipe shouldn't be beyond you." Rachael clips me upside my head affectionately and then starts grabbing some of the dirty pans and tossing them in the sink.

"Well fine then. My dumb ass will no longer be taking you surfing on Saturday," I sniff.

"Oh, Saturday? I'd love to but I can't do Saturday," she says as she takes the masher from me and starts pounding out all those lumps I like.

"What you up to?" I ask as I grab it back from her and jealously safeguard my potatoes which will be done as I want them, damn it.

"Oh, me and Chelsea are going to that new exhibition at the museum, the one on film production and Old Hollywood and stuff."

"Oh." It takes me a second, but then finally it hits me that she's talking about Chelsea who is the source of my current pissy mood. "Chelsea?"

"Yeah." Rachael nods as if this were no big deal.

"I didn't know you were still talking to her," I say sourly. Rachael slings an arm around me and pokes my cheek.

"What, you thought Trace was the only person around here who's friends with her?"

"Yeah, but…"

"But what?" The tone is teasing and she's smiling, but deep down I know that this is really her laying down the law. "This isn't third grade, J - I'm allowed to be friends with her too."

"I know!" I say defensively. Actually I'd like to throw a bitch fit and tell her never to see her again, but the chick has cunningly set me up so that anything I say to veto this makes me sound like a total child. I hate women and all their wily ways.

Honestly, I thought at least Rachael had taken my side when Trace refuses to, but I guess not. Maybe it's immature of me to want there to be sides, but my ego's taken a bruising here and knowing they're all still bestest buds doesn't help. With all the hot and cold she was running Chelsea really has done a number on me, and it kind of stings knowing that she's still hanging out with my friends like nothing's happened. Trace rolled his eyes at me when I said that, but it's true. Actually, I'm kind of especially fucked off with Trace about it. He was the one saying she was stringing me along and now he's the one saying I haven't considered her side of what happened. I mean, make your fucking mind up brother.

I especially didn't appreciate it when he called what I did "screwing her and abandoning her without letting her get a word in." Excuse me? She's the one who was stood there looking at me like I was the most shameful thing that had ever happened in her life. I mean, okay, that whole thing was kind of weird and angry sex is always kind of awkward when you're done… but compared to what Monica and I used to be like that was nothing.

Also, I'm really pissed that she never told Sophie. I mean, I know she told me she hadn't when Sophie paid that unexpected visit to her apartment, but I thought by now it would have come out. It was embarrassing enough that she was so ashamed of me before Sophie walked in on us, but when she did Chelsea went twice as red and I could just tell.

Ugh. I was kidding myself the whole time. I was being used and once again I failed to notice. I need to give up women. Do they let you become a monk if you're not Catholic?

"Hey." Rachael pokes me again. I guess I was silent too long. "Stop pouting."

"I'm not pouting."

"You so are and you know it."

"What?" I say defensively, prompting a sigh from her.

"Justin, I love you and all but I'm not going to ditch a friend just because you had a falling out."

"I wasn't asking you to!"

"Maybe not out loud but you're getting awful bent out of shape about it," she says bluntly as she snaps the top on her Bud. "You know, I seriously think you should talk to her."

"Yeah, right." I fold my arms over my chest in defiance.

"She keeps texting you so clearly she wants to make it up. I mean, isn't that what you were whining about? That supposedly she doesn't care?"

"What?" I don't see her logic at all, but I will admit to some measure of interest here. Only academic interest though, like I said I'm giving up women. Do they let priests watch porn or when they say give up sex do they mean totally and in all forms?

"If she didn't care, she wouldn't bother."

Rachael swipes the bowl from me, briskly mashes up the last of my lumps, and then starts spooning the potatoes out over the meat already sitting in the casserole dish. I stay silent, still pouting (I did not just admit that) but I confess to being a little confused. There's a treacherous part of me that kind of likes her thinking but a bigger part of me is telling myself not to get taken for that ride again. It is true though that Chelsea's last text message to me was only sent half an hour ago. She hasn't been too full on about it, that's not her style, but she is still attempting to talk to me. Every time I get one of her messages I spend about an hour debating over whether to reply before the 'screw you' part of my brain kicks in and I delete it.

"Chelsea… she's not a big gesture kind of person," Rachael tells me as she tries to spread the potatoes evenly. "She's used to being the player in the background and not making a big deal out of stuff, and obviously it makes her uncomfortable putting it all out there. I know you're Mr Romantic and all but maybe it's time you started looking for all these signs you wanted in less obvious places. Starting with the fact that two weeks later, she's still asking you to talk."

Hmm… maybe, I guess, but I doubt it. I'm still trying to picture myself in those brown monk robes. Do they come in any other colour?