You know what I've had a surprising yen for of late? A man.

See, you might not think this is surprising but it truly is. It's surprising because I haven't felt any particular need for a man since the day that Will stopped by and told me he'd found somebody new (this day, coincidentally, was about two weeks after he finished with me). It's been pretty empowering, actually, I've found an independence being on my own. It's an incredible improvement on my previous co-dependence and pitiful following him around, I can tell you. My theme song since our break up has been 'I Don't Need A Man.' Well, okay, me and Will split up before PCD came out with that song but that's not the point.

The point is that I have been fine with being single. I only stopped being fine with being single after that stupid non-date with Trace. It started out in a not so great way with me turning up at Justin's palatial home to pick him up and Justin making a great big slip about me not having made much of an effort (gee, thanks Timberlake). By the way, I was in jeans and a vest and I looked casually hot; he's just blind. Anyway, it continued in a very non-date like manner with Trace and I just chilling out. We had the food, we saw the movie, and we talked; he talked about some girl he's got a huge crush on and asked me for lots of girl advice. Yet after that evening I suddenly wanted a man, completely out of nowhere.

Don't get me wrong, it's not Trace. It's male company. It's having that somebody to sit and talk and hang with, and knowing you've always got a date.

"Jake, don't push your brother!"

"They're just playing," I tell her.

"Oh you're so naïve. This is exactly how it starts. Just wait 'til you have kids and you'll see what I mean."

My sister Lisa is simultaneously passing juice off to her eldest, Rebecca, keeping a watchful eye on her twins who are playing soccer and spoiling for a fight, and rummaging through the nappy bag for Abby's bottle. Abby would be the bundle of cuteness sitting in proud Auntie Chelsea's lap. Lisa's ten years older than me, hence she's managed to have so many rug rats. Our age gap actually worked out well for us because we were never in competition for anything at the same time, and she was a good alternate mom for when ours was driving me nuts.

"After hearing about your hormones and your stitches and how many hours? Never," I proclaim.

She smiles and pinches my cheek before rubbing Abby's. "Just you wait. The right guy will come along and you will."

See, even my family are making the guy craving worse. I had this really sad fantasy last night. I've had various boyfriend type yearnings for the last few days after our little excursion, but this is the one that's getting to me. It starts with me having a particularly crappy day and coming home to find Mr Right waiting for me. He takes one look at me, knows he needs to leave me alone for five minutes and he runs me a bath. This isn't a regular deal but he's just being especially nice because he can see I'm in bitch mode. He makes sure my towels are all nice and warm and he's there to take advantage of me when I get out and I'm all wet and naked and feeling more like a person.

Do you see? Too much detail - clearly I'm turning into a sad old woman who can't get real dates and has to resort to dreaming.

"Hmm," I reply sardonically before I catch Abby putting a big chocolate hand print all over Sophie's schedule for tomorrow. "Abby!"

"Don't try to wipe it, it'll just smear," Mommy dearest says wisely. "See, this is why I told you to leave the work at home. It's your day off."

"Not it's not."

Lisa frowns, not getting it. "Then how come you're here?"

"I'm on call," I explain. "On an actual day off she's not allowed to ask me to do anything and if she does I can say no. If I'm on call, she may or may not want me but I have to be ready to jump the second she does."

Oh great, I can see that expression coming onto Lisa's face. Lisa doesn't hate Sophie the way Kennedy does, but she really disapproves of my job. My parents disapprove of it too, to be honest, but they unlike Lisa have bought the whole 'it's necessary experience and better money than being a runner' rationale. She asked me out on a picnic today with the kids, but I brought along a list of interview requests that I'm pre-screening for Sophie. I then go through her schedule and work out precisely when she's got free slots to do them.

"Honey…" she begins.

"We're not having this conversation again."

She purses her lips, clearly trying to find a new route of attack. We have had the most circular arguments about this, but she always resists my attempts to be adult and remind her that the discussions always end up in yelling.

"Honey, I know you said this was good experience but how long ago was that and you're still running around to her every bratty whim? She treats you like a slave."

I could point out that said treatment is the job description and exactly what I signed on for, but I decide not to bother. I'm also going to withhold any information about Sophie's great new suggestion of moving me into her guest house, yet another idea she's picked up off of the great Justin Timberlake. Those two are spending too much time together and she's starting to act like him. I don't care if his cousin is his PA and lives in his guest house, she's family and I bet she doesn't have to spend nearly as much time with him as I do Sophie.

"I have to pay my dues, Lisa," I state firmly. "And this is by far the best paid way to do it. Sophie is fine and if it was that terrible I'd quit, so will you please back off? We were having a nice afternoon."

"Hmm. Don't see how nice it could be on that rabbit food," she sniffs, trying to tease me.

"Hey, you've had four kids; you have an excuse to be carrying a little extra around the hips. I got nothing."

Actually, I just wanted a salad. Lisa got in some sandwiches and juice and chips for the kids -though she insisted it would be fruit and not chocolate for dessert, that's the compromise - but I felt like a salad. I would have made up for it with cookies for dessert if it wouldn't have set the kids off whining. Lisa has also claimed in the past that Sophie's (quote) "malnutrition diet" has rubbed off on me, but she's wise enough not to do so today. I'm the first woman to dig into a burger and fries if I want one, but today I'm in the mood for greens. I think it's because I've been eating McDonalds on the run for the last three nights and it's started to make me feel sluggish; detoxifying is the order of the day.

"Are you trying to tell me I'm fat?"

"Are you driving me home?"

"Yes."

"Then no."

She's about to fire back something witty, but I start smelling something funny in the air and I'm immediately handing Abby back to her. I love my nieces and nephews, I do, but I do not deal with number twos. I will change wet diapers only, not dirty ones. I guess that would make me a pretty crappy babysitter, if I wasn't always too busy babysitting Sophie.

Just as Lisa is pulling off the really nasty diaper, somebody's cell phone starts blasting SexyBack. I'm about to ask Lisa why the hell she's got Justin Timberlake as her ring tone, but then to my horror I realise it's mine. Who the hell changed it? I was rocking Maroon 5 and was perfectly happy about it. My bet's on Trace or Sophie.

"Hello?" I answer.

"Hi, Chelsea, it's Trace."

"Umm, hi." Does somebody want to tell me how the guy got this number? I didn't give it to him.

"I'm sorry to disturb you and everything but, umm…"

"Umm what?"

"Marco sold an interview to US and Sophie's going schizo. I don't think she's spoken a word of English in the past twenty minutes and nobody can get near her because she's throwing shit around her trailer."

"Hold on, Trace… Lisa give me your US Weekly."

"What makes you think I…" I give her the look and she stops even trying. "Oh okay it's in the diaper bag."

You can always count on my sister to keep up with the gossip. We spend half our time in my family teasing her about being a sixteen year old in disguise. Half the time she's the first one to give me the heads up on Sophie's unexpected coverage, but I guess she's been too busy to read it yet. (I say unexpected, because you'd be surprised how many rumours and sightings have actually been fed to the media by somebody or other in our camp - never me, I hasten to add).

"No wonder," I say to Trace as I do a quick skim read. "Have you seen it? He's claiming she and Justin have been screwing for months behind his back."

Lisa covers Rebecca's ears, throwing an evil expression at me for that little slip up. My attention is drawn away as I see some pictures I don't recognise. They're not on set, and they're not from the three occasions I've known Sophie to have been out with Justin. She's in a little black dress, the kind she wears when she takes huge concern in her appearance but wants to look like it took her five minutes, and he's in his shirt and waistcoat get up only with actual suit pants instead of jeans. They do look kind of like they're on a date, and he's all leaning into her and stuff. When did this happen and why didn't she tell me?

With a feeling of gnawing concern in the pit of my stomach, I flip the magazine shut and toss it back into Lisa's bag. "I'll be there as soon as I can get a cab."

***

You could say I'm having a bad day.

As if the tabloids and this bitch fit of Sophie's weren't bad enough, Enrique showed up about ten minutes ago and started chewing me out like it's my fault they're painting me and Sophie out to be red hot lovers or whatever. How come he never blames anything on his daughter? If I really had slept with her she'd be an equal participant, after all. See, whoever had the smart idea of getting Chelsea down here, that dude I can get on board with. Whichever dumb ass called Enrique needs to get his head examined - that kind of masochism requires psychiatric counselling.

I find that over the weeks, Chelsea's slowly built up some respect with me. She has this real quiet way of just getting shit done, and her patience with Sophie is nigh on incredible. We all ran out of that trailer in fear of our lives; Enrique managed about five minutes of yelling at her in Spanish before storming out to bitch at the AD like it's his fault. She just strolled right in, yanked whatever Sophie was about to throw out of her hands and calmly managed to tell her how stupid she was being and got her to relax. How I'm not sure, but me and Trace are in awe.

It almost makes me wonder why nothing else happened with her and Trace. They went on that one date which Trace keeps telling me was not a date, but they're still all flirty and shit. Every time they pass each other something has to be said, and they're always cracking each other up. She has this way of standing there talking with me and him but without actually talking to me. Even though I'm participating and she'll answer me if I ask her something, I always feel like a third wheel.

Chelsea finally skips down the steps of the trailer, ignoring everybody who asks her a thing about Sophie. She starts walking off in the direction of catering, and I follow. I have a couple of awkward questions to ask about the coverage and about Sophie's PR machine; I wouldn't feel great about asking them to Sophie at the best of times given that I'm about to accuse her camp of leaking photos and stuff. Right now I'm too scared shitless to suggest anything of the sort to Sophie, but given how cynical Chelsea seems to be about Hollywood I'm reckoning on getting a straight answer out of her.

Plus, catering - they might have brownies.

Her phone goes off and I'm a little flushed when I hear the tone is SexyBack. I didn't know Chelsea listened to my album. She stops to answer it and for a moment I'm caught by this little chocolate handprint on the back of her previously white halter. Does she have kids? I've never heard her mention any.

"Hello?" She answers it and I hang back. I'll give her a second to finish before I interrupt her.

"Hey, Will." She goes to the nearest table and perches herself on it. If I might say so, I'm a little intrigued by the shock on her face. I start paying a little more attention - don't judge me, you know you would too.

"Umm, no, it's fine, I just… it's been a while, I wasn't expecting a call. So how you been?"

Call me nosy (others have) but I really want to know who this Will guy is now. Normally I'd be hanging around tapping my foot and desperate for her to get off the phone so I could get my business done, but this is very interesting. I'm totally eavesdropping and if my mom was on set today she'd be smacking me upside her head, but she's not.

"Yeah, I'm fine, still working with Sophie." A pained expression passes over her face and she gives a forced laugh, like he made a joke that's either not funny or she's not sure it was a joke. "I don't get premiere tickets; I just have to make sure her ass turns up. So, what's up, Will? I mean why the call?"

Clearly she did not expect this guy to be calling (am I Sherlock or what?), and given how awkward this all seems I'm guessing that they did not part on good terms. Maybe he's an ex boyfriend? The way she's playing with her hair and constantly pushing it back behind her ears definitely screams 'uncomfortable.'

Oh, and so does the way the blood just drained from her face and she looks like she just got sucker punched.

"Umm… wow. Congratulations, that's great. You picked a date yet?"

OUCH. Her ex-boyfriend just called her up to tell her he's getting married. That's a total assumption, but I'm pretty sure I'm right. I'm not so sure about the rest of the scenario in my head which involves him marrying the woman he cheated on her with, that might just be my imagination doing overtime.

"No, no. I mean, I appreciate you taking the time to let me know personally but it really wasn't necessary Will. I mean why would that be a problem?"

Now she's gritting her teeth and she looks pissed. She also looks oddly like she wants to cry. Again I'm making lots of assumptions that I really don't know Chelsea well enough to be making, but she just seems really on edge. Though I'd probably have been on edge if Britney had felt it necessary to call me up and announce she was getting married - I had to read it in People like everybody else. That said, when I read it I wasn't half as irritated as Chelsea looks. I was too busy laughing at how I'm a frog (long story, you had to have read the article). Whether she's irritated with him or with herself for her own reaction is a different question, I guess.

"To be honest Will Sophie's booked solid for a while, but I'll definitely try and make it. I'll look out for the invite."

Okay, possibly this should have occurred to me earlier but as I watch her give her excuses and hang up, I feel like I shouldn't be standing here. Her eyes look glassy and I think maybe she's actually upset rather than pissed off. I mean, if my wild conjecture is actually right then it has to be a little bit of a kick in the balls for her… well, if she had balls, which I'm thinking she doesn't because she looks very woman shaped. She quickly dials another number, and about thirty seconds go by before she starts speaking.

"Hey Ken, it's me. Can you give me a call as soon as you get this?" Ahh, she's got voicemail. "You know that guy you said was an asshole because he let me think he'd marry me and then dumped me and hooked up with Michelle Laurel two weeks later? You were right, the asshole just called to tell me he's marrying her. Call me."

Okay, now I REALLY feel guilty. Shit. And I have to go ask her awkward questions now. This sucks.

Though, umm… if he led her on, dumped her and hooked up with some other bitch within seconds, how come there was a question over whether or not he was an asshole? I don't get women.