Deranged Delusions

2. Once Upon a Photo

Sometimes I just want to kill him. Really, I just want to wring his scrawny neck and watch the breath leave his body as he begs for forgiveness. Sorry, I already killed you. Bummer.

But now I realize how much that makes me sound like a serial killer. Or just a chick with extreme issues. I have twenty-eight minutes and nineteen, now eighteen, seconds until this party starts and I’m running around like a chicken with her head cut off.

Why does he do these things to me? Why does he have to test me all the time? Why does he have to sit up in his room and make a grand entrance through the front door of his own house? Seriously, what the hell does he snort?

Wait…I’m not going to ask that question because I don’t want to know what he snorts. God only knows and I don’t want to know him that well.

I run around the ground floor of his house, shouting orders into a cell phone to the caterer who can speak English but is pretending not to understand a word I’m saying right now. Bitch. I’m sorry if Justin is a lousy tipper but that doesn’t mean you should treat me like shit. I’m just like you, the help.

“No, you take an exit at North La Cienega and go down the street until you reach the base of the hills. Go up to the gate and press ‘4521’ into the key pad…”

“No entiendo,” the woman responds and I almost throw the phone down on the floor and stomp on it for good measure. Not only is she being difficult with me right now, but its going to take her more than twenty-six minutes and forty-five seconds to get to the house. People are going to get here and there isn’t going to be any food.

Thank God the bartender got here at a reasonable hour. He’s someone I can depend on. But then again he is my boyfriend so go figure. And now I’m going to get all mushy because let’s face it, I love my boyfriend to pieces. But the really funny thing is, I guess I have Justin to thank for helping me find this said boyfriend of two years. Ironic huh? The pain in ass actually did something other than tell me off and give me money for all the crazy shit I do for him. He managed to lead me to the best thing that’s ever happened to me in my life.

So kudos Justin, you are good for something.

But Neal Feat is the best thing that’s ever happened to me in my life. No kidding, I think we’d probably be married by now if I weren’t already dedicated to serving Justin’s every beck and call. A lot of guys would have probably stopped waiting for me to come around but not Neal. He’s patient and kind…and he’s patient. But I already mentioned that.

We met, where else, at one of Justin’s parties. I was running around like a crazy person trying to make sure everything was perfect. At my fifth trip to the bar that night, Neal told me to sit the hell down and to stop stressing out. Seeing as the only thing I had been doing that night was standing over h shoulder and breathing down his neck to make sure the drinks came out to everyone’s liking.

We ended up talking the whole night and it was fabulous. There isn’t anyone quite like him. He understands me because we’re both in the same industry. We live to serve the rich and famous and, quite frankly, we’re on the bottom of the totem pole trying to make it up in the world. He wants to own a club in LA and I want to make people stars. Same goals, different industry. Because I suck at mixing drinks.

But that’s where I’m going right now, to see Neal. My nerves are already shot because I had Justin and Trace yelling at me all day and guests are still calling me and asking for directions. Note to self: never let Justin handle invitations to parties ever again. I know I’m going to get blamed for that as well. He blames me for everything. Bastard.

There are a million and one ways for this party to g wrong and yet, talking to Neal makes that all go away.

“Hey babe, how are you holding up?” he asks me as he mixes what is probably Trace’s third martini of the evening. He is going to be so shit faced tonight but I don’t even care. Bastard deserves a good hang over.

“I’m doing okay. The caterer is pretending not to speak English right now. I’m guessing she’s getting back at Justin for the time when he…”

“…called her a bitch and a bad cook…”

“…in front of the entire party,” I finish as I shake my head sadly. He really is so blunt when he’s intoxicated. I wonder what hurtful things he’ll yell at me tonight.

“Are you on damage control this evening?” he questions and I nod my head yet again. Neal frowns and goes back to shaking Trace’s martini. I hate how Justin runs my life but I can’t say now. He’s like the perpetual lost puppy who isn’t potty trained and I’m the perpetual owner who has to pick up his…okay bad analogy.

“Can’t you skip it just this once?” Neal whines. He isn’t one to whine let me tell you and I know we’re more than likely going to headed towards Arguing Couple Town, Population: Two.

“I can’t,” I respond as I place a comforting hand on his arm. He stops shaking for a moment and his green eyes look into my blue ones, shivers rushing up and down my spine. After two years he still looks at me as if we just found out we were in love. If I weren’t so flipped out about this party I might have gone weak in the knees but of course, Trace has to interject at the most inopportune moments.

“Hey lovebirds, no socializing on the job!” Trace yells as he runs up to the bar and snatches the just poured beverage from Neal. “Justin wants to know why the caterer isn’t here yet. Also wants you to tell valet that they need to be super careful with Pharrel’s Ferrari because if there’s so much as a finger print on the paint job then  <i>your</i> ass on the line.”

I roll my eyes and push Trace away as he knocks back his drink and asks for another round. He’s going to be gone before the party even starts. Oh well, he’ll be entertaining to watch when he’s shit faced.

Walking towards Justin’s master suite, I wonder why I have to deal with this right now. Not only is Trace driving me crazy, but I have a feeling Justin’s going to make things much worse.

***

Correction: Justin Timberlake is going to die in his sleep tonight. How do I know this is going to happen? Because I’m going to smother him in his sleep. Fifteen minutes and twelve seconds until the party officially begins and here I am in Justin’s Escalade doing ninety down a residential street because I have to make it to a grocery store before the deli closes.

I went into his room so I could explain that the caterer has a beef with me instead of him, and what is the little bitch doing but sitting down in the middle of his room, playing with his damn X-Box. Not helping me with the party or checking his own damn self to make sure valet takes care of Pharrel’s car but dicking around on his god damn X-Box!

“Hey Lo-ho,” he said as if playing on a game console minutes before he’s giving a huge party was no big deal. He paused the game and looked up at me without a care in the world. “Just to let you know I fired the caterer so we have no food. I’ll leave it up to you to find us some grub.” And with that he un-paused the game and went back to swearing at whatever valiant character he was playing with. He’s not even dressed yet.

So here I am, driving like fucking Danica Patrick so I can go pick up veggie plates, meat and cheese platters, and frozen finger foods from the grocery store before the guests arrive. Trace was laughing at me as I raced out of the house grabbing my purse (because I have to pay for it out of my own purse thank you very much) and Neal was throwing me sympathetic looks as he made yet another drink for Trace.

Its times like these when I really hate my job.

I make it to the grocery store in record time and barely have time to turn the car off before I’m racing through the parking lot, grabbing a cart in the process and flying into the store like the Apocalypse is coming and I need canned food for the fallout shelter.

The night cashier greets me by name because I somehow manage to make late night pit stops in this store all the time. Yes, Justin will call me while I’m at home and ask me to do his shopping when his ‘official’ Personal Assistant is sitting right next to him, talking about the latest model he’s banged. When I say I do everything for him I mean I do everything.

I’m not even going to tell you about the condom episode. Even when he’s having sex the man thinks about nothing but himself. “Make sure you skip out on the whole ‘ribbed for her pleasure’ bull shit. And get the largest size you can find!’

Whatever, the man probably has to use a pair of tweezers to take a piss.

But all talk of Timberlake and his preferred condom choice aside (and no I won’t tell you because even though I go and buy them I don’t ask the size, although he’d love to tell me. I like to live in a dream world where there’s one thing the Timberbastard doesn’t have going for him).

I roll the cart around the store and grab as much shit as I can find. I’m sure the only things the Wafer Women will eat are peanuts and their cosmopolitans so I don’t really have to worry about them. The men just stand around and talk while they sip Cristal and watch the scantily clad models shake their asses in time to the music. Another normal night in Justin’s life and I’m the one who has to plan it all. If you gave me a penny for the number of times I’ve seen a woman fall out of her top I could retire right now and live in some big ass castle in Europe. 

Check out comes and goes and four hundred dollars later I’m shoving what seems to be thousands of grocery bags into the back of Justin’s car. The party starts in five minutes and four seconds and I’m ten minutes away from the house and that’s if I’m doing ninety. But if there’s one thing that’s good about Hollywood parties its that everyone makes a late entrance so therefore only the losers and those who aren’t in the ‘know’ show up on time.

Ashlee Simpson should be arriving at any minute.

My phone rings right on cue as I turn on the car and start to speed down the street. I wonder who it could be? Please note the extreme sarcasm…because it couldn’t be anybody else but Justin.

“Where the fuck are you Lo-ho? Ashlee just got here and she wants something to eat!” I roll my eyes and groan under my breath. Maybe if Ashlee had eaten before coming over she wouldn’t be complaining for the food that was currently sitting in the back of the truck.

“And what do you want me to do about that, Justin?” I question my fuse running short. I’m a time bomb and I swear I’ll go off at any second, “I’m already going twenty over the speed limit and if I go any faster you know I’m going to get pulled over!”

“Go faster!” he urges totally not listening to a word I’m saying, “People are going to get here soon and I can’t go out to greet them until at least midnight!”

“Jesus Christ, Justin! Just be a good host for once in your life and go mingle would you? I am not announcing your arrival like I did last time…”

“But that was fun! You got applause for it!” Justin explains.

“No, you got applause because you came up behind me and pretended to smack my ass. Repeatedly,” I grumble and he laughs loudly on the other end. Seems like he’s gone to visit Neal already, “And then you practically humped me…”

“Aww c’mon, Walt! You know you liked it,” he says coyly and it takes all my love for life to not drive the car into oncoming traffic, “Do you know how many people would kill to get dry humped by me?”

“Can’t imagine,” I reply statically and he starts to whine like a sexually frustrated four-year-old boy trapped in a twenty-four year old’s body.

“Just hurry up, would you? I’m starving here and so is Trace…”

“I hope you realize that Trace is your assistant as well and he could easily make food for all of you while I come with the stuff,” I explain but I already know Justin isn’t listening anymore. I swear he has ADD or something because every time I try to scold him or yell at him, he just turns off the volume. The insufferable little prick.

“I know but shit, he can’t drive right now. He’s on his sixth martini and he ain’t stopping anytime soon.” Great so not only will I be making sure that Justin doesn’t drown in a pool of his own vomit later tonight, but I’ll have to make sure Trace is still breathing throughout the night. God, why me?

“Fine. I’ll be back in like two minutes, okay? Just don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone and have Trace entertain people and no, I am not introducing you. Introduce your own damn self,” I snap before I hang up the phone. I am in no mood to deal with Justin’s shit right now and I ignore the ringing of my cell phone because I know Justin will just try to yell at me and make me feel like shit before he acts like nothing happened. That’s just how he is.

***

If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s how to throw great parties. So far I’ve counted a total of six boobs thrown into my face due to over zealous dancers and the amount of alcohol has been flowing all night. Oh, scratch that: seven Boobs.

The music is thumping and I ain’t feeling a thing. Seriously, Neal makes the best Apple Martinis on the face of the planet. Remind me to tip him an extra three hundred or so by the time the night is over because damn, I am feeling good.

And there goes Lauren. She’s following some model that I met a few years ago at an open call for one of the extras for my music video. I think her name is Christina or something. I don’t know, I don’t know half of the people here. I just scroll down my address book and pick the people who sound hot. I can’t tell you how many people I have in my sidekick but shit man, it’s a lot. I am a pretty popular guy. And the girl who I think is Christina just threw up all over my marble floor. Oops, that must be embarrassing.

I don’t care about the floor because if it gets ruined I’ll just pay for someone to come over and clean it out or replace the slab. Either that or I’ll go buy some expensive rug and just put it over the stain. I can do that you know, or I can force Christina or whatever her name is to pay for the damages. But I’m not that mean am I? I mean she probably won’t even remember she was here when she wakes up in the morning so why should I give her any more problems?

Because I’m Justin Timberlake dammit and I can do whatever the hell I want.

“Justin, I’m going to send Sarah home, alright?” Lo-ho says a little too loudly in my ear. Yeah okay so the music is pretty loud but I can’t help it if Will.i.am wants to pump the bass up. Not my fault but it’s Lo-ho’s fault that she’s screaming in my ear about someone named Sarah…oh, its Sarah, not Christina. My bad.

“Whatever, just make sure you get her information so I can bill her the damage on my floor in the morning,” I explain with a shrug. Lauren throws me an incredulous look, as if she can’t believe I’m actually thinking of billing some poor model who probably lost twenty pounds just by throwing up all over my floor but hey, I gotta look out for my best interest, right? Besides, she’ll just go fuck her agent or something for money and she’ll pay me back.

“Lo-ho, did you ask someone for the coke?” I ask as I grab onto the collar of her shirt and pull her closer to me. She smells nice, like daffodils or some other kind of frilly flower. At least it smells better than the smoke, alcohol, and drugs that are shifting through the air right now. I take a few deep breaths before she moves away, a disgusted look on her face.

“You know that isn’t my deal. Trace handles that stuff,” she says as she rolls her eyes. And as if on cue, Trace comes bounding through the throngs of people with a plastic baggie filled with grown up goodies. Thank God for Trace.

Lo-ho moves away and heads to the bar. Probably going to eye fuck her boyfriend or something like that. The only thing that fills my line of vision are the various white lines of powder that Trace has set up on the coffee table.

I take a few hits and watch as the line starts to form. Its not like I’m addicted or anything, I think doing a few lines enhances the party atmosphere to out of this world proportions. I know where to draw the line and I don’t have parties often so I’m not going to any rehabilitation clinics anytime soon.

Besides, that’s just not how I do.

Next thing I know, some big-busted blonde with a super skinny waste is on my lap, laughing hysterically and sloshing her drink all over my designer jeans. The girl is so far gone I almost take pity on her and let her grope me for a few more seconds but that’s until I see the accusatory glare from Cameron. Silly girl, she knows I only have eyes for her.

But apparently she’s had enough because the next thing I know she’s dragging me into another room away from the hubbub of the main party. I start to wonder if anyone will actually miss me but that’s until I hear Will scream about a wet T-shirt contest going on in the backyard.

Ain’t no party like a Timberlake party because a Timberlake Party don’t stop!

But the party’s stopped for me.

***

It’s World War Fucking III and I’m the poor schmuck that has to survey the aftermath. The food I put my ass on the line to get is still in the kitchen relatively untouched. I’ll have to drop it off at the fire station so the firemen can munch on the fruit platters because I know Justin and Trace won’t finish them off.

Speaking of Trace, he’s lying face down on the floor completely passed out. I leave him there seeing as I really could care less about getting him into a bed. As long as he hasn’t got alcohol poisoning or is drowning in his own vomit he can stay on the floor. I’m not getting paid to babysit him. No, I have to take care of the big baby who’s currently leaning against a speaker, singing Olivia Newton John at the top of his lungs.

“I looooooove you! I honestly loooove you!” Gone is the suave and sophisticated pop star who makes a million girls weak in the knees the minute he starts to sing a single note. No, all that’s left is a bellowing drunk who manages to make a bigger ass out of himself now than when he’s sober, if that’s even possible. “Lo-ho! Great fucking party yeah!”

And he only gives me compliments when he’s drunk which I guess is better than none but it’d be nice to know that your boss remembers dishing them out when he wakes up in the morning. I approach him slowly, the last thing you want to do is make sudden movements around a drunk person.

“Alright buddy, lets take it easy. We’re going to get you upstairs so you can go to sleep okay?” I coax gently as I step up next to him. He reeks of alcohol and his eyes are blood shot. God, how many lines of coke did he do tonight and why do I let him? Oh that’s right, because if I tried to stop him he’d yell at me and remind everyone of the time when I fell into the pool during his first holiday party wearing a white dress. I had to stay in the pool the entire night because I refused to show everyone my naughty bits and Justin declined my incessant requests for a towel. It wasn’t until the sun started to come up that I could finally get out of that damn pool because everyone had either gone home, or was passed out on the lawn.

I allow him to lean on me for support as he staggers through his living room. There’s only maybe four or five people strewn about on his couches, Trace is the only one who managed to pass out on the floor. Good for him, hopefully he’ll wake up with a sore back and a huge ass hang over.

 There’s no way in hell I’ll be able to get him up the stairs to his master suite so I opt to throw him in the guest suite on the bottom floor. I usually sleep there when Justin has one of his parties and I have to hang around in order to supervise Damage Control. Guess I’m sleeping in his room tonight. Wonderful. Maybe I’ll pop in Sleeping Beauty and fall asleep to fairies and happy endings.

He’s mumbling incoherent things at me now, talking about an album and rubies and other completely random shit that he won’t even remember saying the next day. It’s these drunken confessions that give an insight to the real Justin, the Justin that isn’t all talk and huge ego. Sometimes he’ll act like the person I thought he was before meeting him but that gets thrown behind the monster he becomes when he’s sober and sometimes I long for the times when he’s drunk off his ass in hopes that the real Justin shines through.

I load him onto the bed and he looks up at me as I help him under the covers. He acts like such a little child when he’s drunk and even though his eyes are glassy and distant, I can still see the far away glow of gratitude that’s lost in the depths of his blue eyes. That’s what makes Damage Control so worthwhile. That and the black mail pictures but we’ll get into that later.

“Thanks Lo-ho,” he breathes as he snuggles underneath the covers. I catch a whiff of whiskey on his breath and I make a face. He giggles like a small child and lets out a shaky sigh, “I really screwed up.”

“Why?” I ask and I sit down at the edge of his bed. Hopefully he’ll go to sleep soon and I can saw a few logs myself. After all, it’s nearly six in the morning.

“Cameron broke up with me.”

Oh holy fucking shit that is not good. For one, Justin and Cameron are a match made in heaven. When Justin is around Cameron he isn’t acting like the Spawn of Satan. The two are the biggest goofballs on the face of the planet and its actually refreshing to watch him pick on somebody else for a while. Except when he picks on Cameron he does it out of love whereas with me he does it out of spite and frustration and just plain entertainment. And the worst part of Cameron and Justin calling it quits is the fact that Justin is going to throw more parties and be even more pissy because he doesn’t have a girl to call his own and hang around with all the time.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. My life just got a whole lot worse.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Maybe things will work out between the two of you,” I say and he shakes his head before he sighs heavily.

“No, she says she’s through. She’s had enough of my immaturity and she doesn’t want to deal with my shit anymore. Who could blame her?”

That’s right, who could blame her? If I weren’t so dedicated to my job and worried sick about this kid killing himself I’d be out the door too. But I can’t leave him with Trace. I wouldn’t trust Trace with a colony of Sea Monkies let alone a breathing human being. I don’t even trust Justin to take care of himself even.

“Give it some time…”

“If only she was understanding like you are,” Justin murmurs and I roll my eyes. I hate the empty compliments because they’re the main reason why I stick around. Sometimes I hope one day he’ll wake up drunk and realize that this is the person he’s supposed to be. Not the terrible, self-absorbed ass wipe I have to deal with every day. I think he’ll wake up and he won’t treat me like shit.

I’m beginning to think that it’s never going to happen. And now he’s asleep. Good.

I pull out the camera from my back pocket and turn it on, allowing the device to focus on Justin. He’s strewn across the bed, his mouth wide open and drool poking out the side of his mouth. He looks like shit and I calmly take his hand and stick a finger up his nose.

Quickly I take a few pictures before I remove his hand and go out into the main living room. I snap a few pictures of Trace and grin to myself as I look through the pictures I took from that night.

Shots of Justin smacking some guys ass, a shot of Trace with a woman’s thong on his face; dozens of pictures that I know will get me fired should they ever discover them but all of them hilarious in their own way.

It’s my own little form of payback. Every time I get treated like shit, I take a picture. And let me tell you, I have hundreds of pictures that tabloids would sacrifice their first-born child for. It’s ludicrous but I keep them for my own self-enjoyment. It’s amazing they haven’t discovered the pictures yet but I keep them more heavily guarded than Justin’s prized Disney movies.

Which reminds me, I have a date with Sleeping Beauty and her three fairy guardians.

***