You know what really sucks about movie sets? Night shoots. Any time you're on a movie set there's lots of waiting and annoying shit and it's really not that glamorous, but night shoots are the worst. Cold, dark, boring, and did I mention I'm yawning every other sentence?

Still, this isn't so bad, and I'll tell you why. It's because Kennedy is here. Kennedy is my best friend in the whole world despite the fact that I'm a lousy friend who is never around when needed. I don't deserve her or her uncanny ability to know exactly what kind of junk food I need at exactly what moment, but still she's mine and has been since we were about eight years old. I never used to be a crappy friend, but being at Sophie's command twenty four seven I've had to cancel on Kennedy at the last second or run out on her in the middle of things more times than I can count. Kennedy, being the awesome piece of awesomeness that she is, forgives me every single time.

We clink our Corona bottles together in a silent toast, and then huddle a little closer under the blanket. It'd be warmer in the trailer, but there's something a little more interesting about sitting under the stars with our little portable heater. Sophie has a long and involved scene to do with Justin tonight where they're meeting up with some journo source in a remote spot on a huge story, but don't realise he's meeting them both at once to create a little bidding war between them for his services. This is why I needed Ken here, this shit is boring and I have trouble staying awake.

"So, come on, you slept with any of 'em yet?" Kennedy nudges me with a grin. She means hot celebrity men, and she asks me this about once a week just because she knows it's irritating.

"Not my type," I smirk before taking a swig.

"Weirdo. Can't say I'd kick that Elliot out of bed, I bet you he's got a six pack under there…"

Elliot doesn't do a lot of shirtless shots, leading the tabloids to wonder whether it's shyness, artistic integrity or some hideous deformity. "Well if you're after a guaranteed six pack I can introduce you to Justin," I tell her.

"Eh," she makes a comedy out of blowing a piece of hair out of her face; it makes her look like a puffer fish and I have to giggle. "Not my type. Besides, I saw Miss Lumos over there getting her flirt on, she'll have ditched the designer in the month and started boning him I guarantee it."

Did that seem overly catty to you? Well, thing is…

The flip side of that whole being so saint like with me about my schedule thing is that if she doesn't blame me for never being around she has to blame Sophie - hence they don't get along too well. They think they're real subtle and adult about it, but they really aren't. Whenever Sophie gets brought up or comes into the vicinity Ken kind of bristles, like she just goes a little more rigid. Sophie's nervous tick whenever Ken gets brought up is this little pursing of her lips and a twitch in her eye, like she's trying to stop from rolling them.

It has been put to me by my mother in one of her less annoying and more insightful moments that they're in competition for my affections. Mom's theory is that Ken does it by vying for confidant status and then flaunting it and our history in front of Sophie. On the other hand, Sophie does it by taking up my time and hammering it home that I'll always drop whatever I'm doing with Kennedy for her. I see a very big flaw in this scenario. Naturally I confide in Sophie and Kennedy about totally different stuff so that doesn't work, and it doesn't work Sophie trying to assert importance via my time either because she's paying me to be at her call. That doesn't automatically mean I'd go if I wasn't being paid and Ken knows that.

Of course the other big flaw in the scenario is that it's dumb as all hell.

"I don't see it," I shake my head. "She's flirty with everybody and besides, Marco Fako is the shit in her book. Don't ask me why."

"Money?"

"She's got plenty of it herself."

"Good looks?"

"Hell, her business manager is better looking than him AND probably has more money. You really think he's good looking?"

"No, just theorising that she does. Well hung and or good in the sack?"

"I never want to know."

Kennedy chuckles and kind of tips the side of her head against mine. We probably look like the Bobbsey twins, except for the fact that she's got bright red hair and I'm blonde. We're both in jeans and flip flops, both got little beanies on our heads - hers is black and mine is pink - and when I went to pick her up today she had to change out of her PCD hoodie because otherwise we really would have looked like we did it on purpose. You know how you see those thirteen year olds around the mall trying to be fashionable but too young to honestly have their own sense of style? You know how they all wear practically identical outfits because that's what they saw in Cosmo Girl that week? When you look like that at our age, it's time to rethink the ensemble.

(Yeah, about that… we have stupid teenybopper love for the Pussycat Dolls, alright? And is it our fault that Nicole's Don't Cha hoodie rocks and we both wanted one after the show?)

"Seriously though honey…" She kind of does this weird smacking motion with her mouth, like she just put lipstick on. "I did kind of notice you and that guy earlier at the catering table."

"Me and what…" I don't need to finish that sentence, I remember. Holy shit she means Trace. Trace! "Wait, Trace? Justin's friend? What the hell do you think is going on between me and Trace?"

That would have been a high pitched scream if I had wanted to be overheard. Since I don't, it came out as more of a high pitched hamster squeak. I sound stupid, and this is making Kennedy do that evil Wicked With of the West laugh she does - seriously, she cackles and she sounds just like a witch. It's true; it's just her natural laugh. She got ferociously teased for it in high school because even when she was giving a totally innocent little chuckle she sounded like she was up to something. It meant she was always the teachers' first suspect if shit happened and all because of that laugh.

"You just seemed friendlier than I've seen you be with a guy since…" she deepens her voice and does a Darth Vader impression, "the dick wad."

I hate it when she does that. She can't refer to him by name and she always does that stupid voice. "Ken, we've been through this. Will is not a dick wad."

"Yes, I am firmly aware that you still think he's a good guy despite him leading you to think that he was going to propose and then breaking up with you instead. I still think you're stupid. I love you, but you're stupid."

Will is a cop. Will was my high school and college sweetheart. I'd had boyfriends before him but he was my first love. Everybody fully expected us to get married, including me. Then one day in a scene totally out of Legally Blonde he takes me to an expensive restaurant, starts making speeches about our future and then drops the bombshell that it's actually his future and I don't feature. The difference being he's not an asshole like Warner and he was a little gentler about it. It wasn't like he was smooching me all the way there like nothing was wrong. People grow apart, it happens, why do I have to hate him?

"Whatever," I huff, wanting off of this subject and immediately. "There is nothing with me and Trace. He's more fun to talk to than the other personal assistants around here and the crew always have shit that I shouldn't be interrupting. I can only read so much Janet Evanovich, you know."

"You can never read too much of Janet. See, you need to date Morelli."

Did I mention Morelli is the fictional boyfriend of the fictional Stephanie Plum? This might make it hard to date him. "I always preferred Ranger: more mysterious, less Italian."

"What's wrong with Italian?"

"I'm sorry, have you MET Marco?"

"He doesn't count, he's faking!"

"He is actually like an eighth Italian."

Okay, I have to agree with her on the eye roll there because I didn't realise how stupid that sounded until I actually said it.

"Whatever."

She tilts her head back and sighs. She takes a long gulp of her beer, and then with the neck of the bottle still pressed to her lips she starts looking around the set. There are the world's bright floodlights everywhere, but at this moment they've been dimmed so they don't mess with the lighting on set. I actually had a vaguely interesting chat with the DP about that, he was telling me about the different gels and tones they use to get various effects. He was saying that light even from the surrounding buildings and stuff can mess with what comes out on film if it's in the wrong place or too bright and stuff. At night they have to be particularly careful because obviously once the sun starts to come out you lose the dark very quickly and even just the pre dawn lightening of the sky can mess it up.

That was a tangent. The point was Kennedy starting to get twitchy, and sure enough she opens her mouth to complain. "This place blows, sweetie. Your job has ruined all my Hollywood illusions."

"Mine too," I respond dryly.

Then she gets this little glint in her eye and she shifts suddenly in her seat to face me, making her half of the blanket drop and a rush of cool air flow into mine. The sudden change in temperature makes me shiver.

"This place blows but I know somewhere that doesn't…" She says tantalisingly.

"No. NO!" I repeat with a little more force. "You know I can't leave."

"No, I know you won't leave. Can't and won't, two very different concepts, Chelsea." Then she tries the whining tack. "Come on, it'll be so much more fun than this!"

"What will?" I ask suspiciously.

"You, me, cocktails and a lil' late night getting our groove on."

Actually, she has a point. Kennedy is a dancer; she does some music videos and very occasionally a tour, but she's based with a studio in LA where she gives hip hop and street lessons. She's also ballet trained. The girl can never keep off the floor for too long and happens to know where every decent club in California is - she swears blind that she once got a compliment off Carmit from the Pussycat Dolls, and this is an extremely big deal for her because Carmit was originally in the dance troupe PCD before they became a band. I'm not entirely sure I believe her, though. Especially since she would have called me on the spot and told me to get my ass down there if she'd seen a Doll in a club.

That was yet another tangent, but to be serious for a second Kennedy is THE girl to go clubbing with. She might not be able to get you into VIP everywhere like Sophie but she can always get you through the door and usually without a cover charge, and she knows where's good to go. It really would be fun, even if I'm a little underdressed (which would be made better if I exchanged the flip flops for the heels I left in my car last night - might give me some blisters though).

"I can't," I whimper. "I have to be here and if I'm not and she needs me she'll go ape shit."

"Are you her employee or her dog?" Kennedy asks me while doing her best to put her hands on her hips and look menacing. It's harder sitting down. "You don't have to come running every time she tells you to heel, babe."

It's hard to argue with that, because if I do I look like a total wimp who can't do anything without Sophie's say-so. I look down at my watch and even though I know this is a stupid idea I feel myself start to waver. She can't send me on the usual errands at this time of night and it's not like she's even spoken to me in the last two hours. Would it hurt? Really? If all goes to plan shooting will be over soon anyway.

"Fine." I huff a little. "Only if we can run back to your place and do a little emergency make up though."

I would just sneak into the trailer and use Sophie's but it's totally the wrong colouring for me and Ken.

***

Some girls dance with women knowing that it gets them attention, according to JC Chasez. Well, I don't do that. I do it because Kennedy's a much better dancer than me and she makes me look good. Plus, it's kind of fun because she's so crazy. This kind of dancing might be more suited for a guy and a girl (or at least two people with a sexual thing going on, I make no discriminations) but I could never be this comfortable with a guy. Put it this way, Kennedy has seen me in my comfortable underwear; guys are never allowed to see me in anything less than my 'this isn't wholly unacceptable if I have male company' underwear if not my sex underwear.

Kennedy offered me a change of clothes but I only swapped my jeans for a skirt - the hoodie's kind of fun to wear clubbing, guys keep coming over to confirm that either they do wish their girlfriend was hot like me or to that there's no girlfriend and no issue with me being hot. Okay, I'm a great big skank purposely out for attention but it's a hoot. Occasionally I need to feel sexy and worthy of admiration, and if a cheap stunt with a hoodie gets me there that's fine by me. It's better and less slutty than wearing my skirt so short it doesn't cover my ass.

Come to think of it, what we're up to is kind of skankalicious. I know if I saw two girls doing this I would be a big old hypocrite and mentally accuse them both of being a total ho. Kennedy doesn't have to try too hard to look good doing this since she's trained and all, but I can guarantee you every guy in this club would be watching if she really turned it out. Half the girls would be too, in either awe or envy. Don't get me wrong - Kennedy is not the prettiest most fantastic girl around and it's not like every guy anywhere will fall at her feet, but dancing she rocks at.

Me, I rock at… well, still haven't worked that out actually.

"Do you want a drink?"

Kennedy yells in my ear over the pounding beat. Somebody messed with the bass too much, I can literally feel it through my chest with every thump. I nod and she takes my hand and pulls me to the bar. You have to do the whole hand holding thing in clubs or you get separated before you can breathe.

It's really hot in this club. It's smaller than most, so everybody's crowded into one place. There's one big dance floor, and at either end is a set of stairs to a bar and some seats. One is VIP; one is for the common folk. If you want seats you either have to be VIP (who are so exclusive there's never a shortage) or really fast on your feet. Everything but everything is painted black, although the seats and bars are decked out in cherry wood and white trimming. Any colour in this place comes from the people or the lights; I guess that's their idea of decoration. As far as decoration goes it's certainly cost effective, because they were always going to have lights and customers anyway.

While Kennedy takes evil amusement in ordering up Sex on the Beach for herself and a Long Island for me, I'm scanning the floor, people watching. We miraculously managed to pick a relatively quiet moment at the bar so it only took a few minutes to get served and I got some room to peer out over the dance floor. I like people watching. I especially like doing it in places which aren't movie related, since that seems to be my life at the moment. I still have that producer dream in the pipeline somewhere, but my dues have to be paid first as does my rent. I'd be stupid to pass up my current salary to go broke trying to get in with the executives; I need a little more experience first.

Oh well, in the meantime I'm having some fun, about to get some alcohol down me (it's okay, we got a cab from Kennedy's place and I'll just crash there), and life is… damnation, hell and holy shit.

I can't honestly describe how cold my blood is running, but spotting Sophie at the other bar has certainly dialled down the temperature (I told you it was a small club, this room is not long). I probably look like a pet bunny faced with the neighbourhood cat. This cannot be happening. I do ONE frickin' thing I shouldn't and I'm about to get caught? How is this fair?

The thoughts are running through my head at light speed and it along with that damn bass are bringing on a headache. The biggie is naturally an impending feeling of doom, but an important afterthought is 'what the hell is Sophie doing in a club like this?' It's small, it's not an 'it' club and there's minimal sitting/talking/schmoozing space - this is not her scene at all. She goes clubbing to be social, not to dance. I'm amazed she's clubbing at all, given how late the finish was tonight and that she's back on set tomorrow.

"Holy shit what's she doing here?" Kennedy nudges me nonchalantly as she hands me her drink. The tone and the swearing don't really mesh, she clearly doesn't give a crap.

"I'm asking myself the same thing," I breathe. "Shit!"

The only thing I can figure is that we'll have to stay this side of the room and try to blend in with the crowd. By her usual track record, Sophie should stay up there and not mingle too much. It suddenly occurs to me to check my Sidekick… and I have a bunch of missed calls. Hell.

"HAH!" Kennedy suddenly slaps the railing and points at Sophie with a shit eating grin on her face. "I so called it!"

I look up and I realise that what she's talking about is Justin, standing next to Sophie and chatting away. My stomach twists in an uncomfortable knot as I watch them there. They're standing too close.

You might tell me that it's none of my business, and on the personal level you'd be right. This isn't personal, however, it's business. This will get photographed. If somebody doesn't tip off the paparazzi and get them in here, they'll take the picture themselves on a cell. And then Marco will hear of it and he'll get all pissed off and then that'll get in the tabloids too and I'll have to clear up the mess. It'll be the love triangle of the year, I'm sure. They seem to like his love life even more than hers.

I knew I should have stayed at the stupid set. I could have prevented this. Stupid Kennedy and her fun club plan. I'm feeling physically sick watching the pair of them. Only thing that could make this night better would be Enrique, Marco or Will showing up. Or better yet, all damn three of 'em.

I'm now torn between leaving before I get caught or marching over there and doing damage control. Ay yi yi.