Deranged Delusions

 7. Nobody Else But You

Not working has done wonders for me. There’s no stress, no obligation to be anywhere, no commitment – it’s pretty much the best feeling in the world and I can’t believe its taken me this long to become unemployed.

Granted I’ve been out of work for a month and a half and I’m living off of Melissa and Neal, but who cares? They aren’t complaining and neither am I. It’s good to be lazy sometimes and I never got to do that while I was working for Justin.

Neal still bartends for his parties and he gives me the full report that Justin’s reputation as the Go-to-Guy for a good bash is going down the toilet. I knew it; Trace can’t plan his way out of a paper bag so he definitely wouldn’t be able to plan a huge party. I think I squealed with delight when I heard about the failed party attempts. He’s lost without me. Hah.

I flip the channel on the television and I settle down to watch Flava of Love reruns. Yes, I love trashy reality television a bit too much for my own good but like I said earlier, I don’t care anymore. I’m taking some long overdue “Me” time and I’m going to enjoy it for as long as I can.

“Flava Flaaave!” I yell at the opening credits as I take a handful of Doritos from the bag and shove them in my mouth.

“You know he can’t hear you right?” Neal asks me from the doorway into the kitchen. I turn around and look over at him with a huge smile on my face.

The best thing about not working for Justin is that I have more time for Neal and that’s simply wonderful. Before my unemployment, I would see Neal maybe two or three times a week. I’m over at his house more and more because Melissa usually has a guest that I can’t stand sitting on my favorite spot on the couch. His visits are getting more frequent and I’ve found that I’ve practically moved in with Neal, which I’m not complaining about. We’re practically married anyway.

“Hey, how was work?” I ask as he makes his way towards the couch. A quick peck on the lips and soon the television is paused for the moment. Thank God for TiVo.

“Fine. Made some good tips and I think I’m going to put a down payment on one of the new buildings they put up in West Hollywood.” If there’s one good thing about Justin living the high celebrity life it’s that Neal gets large amounts of tips on top of his regular paycheck. The past month he’s been on the phone with various business partners about renovating old buildings and converting them into swank nightclubs. And now it looks like something is finally going to happen, which will probably get me a job.

“That’s great! Do you want something to eat or drink?” I ask as I rocket off the couch and start towards the kitchen. He shakes his head and I give him a skeptical look. “You sure? It won’t take me that long.”

“Honestly, Lor, I’m fine,” he explains with a satisfied sigh before I sit down beside him. He automatically makes a grab for my Doritos and I yank them out of his reach. No one takes my Doritos without my permission.

“So Justin’s over at your place?”

“Yeah, they’re doing some Disney marathon and the thought of listening to singing princesses and animals through the walls of my apartment isn’t too appealing right now. You can tell he’s taking it to the next level with her because he told her about the whole Disney thing,” I explain. I hope Melissa acted surprised when he told her about his obsession with Disney movies. That was the first thing I told her when I came to the realization that Justin was, and still is, a complete asshole. She thought it was the cutest thing on the entire planet and I’m sure she still feels like that. How many movies will they get through tonight? Not a lot seeing as they’ll probably become more preoccupied about…

Okay Lauren, lets not think about that. Ew.

“Wow, the Disney stuff? Who could’ve imagined Melissa and that little ass together…”

“Tell me about it. I keep wondering when he’s going to stop calling her and drop her like a bad habit. He better pray he doesn’t hurt her because I’ll kill him with my bare hands,” I explain as I grip the bag of chips tightly, crushing the food inside. Oops.

Soon, Neal and I fall into that silence that most couples find themselves in. You know, where nothing really needs to be said? I enjoy it because the ringing of my cell phone or the beeping of a pager alerting me that Justin has to get a hold of me doesn’t interrupt the silence I’m enjoying so much right now. That is, of course, until Neal opens his mouth to speak.

“Have you found a job yet?” Oh here he goes with the whole job thing. Brilliant.

“No,” I say quietly before I turn to the television and press play. One of the whorish women on the show spits in a fellow contestant’s face and I laugh to myself softly, trying to ignore the conversation that I know is going to happen.

“It’s almost been two months,” Neal points out and I almost snap at him for stating the obvious.

“Well I was working for Justin for three years, give me some time, huh?”

“I don’t think you need over one month to get over him. Its not like you were dating him or anything…”

No, thank God.

And I don’t understand why I have to get a job right away because it isn’t like I’m mooching off my boyfriend or best friend. I’m not Trace, here. I still have a ton of money left over from working for Justin and once I start to run out of money and when I’m ready, I’ll start heading out to other labels to look for jobs. Once they see that I survived three years with the Justin Timberlake, they’ll be lining up to hire me. I come highly recommended and the money will come rolling in.

I turn to get a good look at Neal. His face is a bit pale and his clothes reek of spilt alcohol and smoke. His hair is limp and his blue eyes are dull and betray his feelings of fatigue even though I know he’s trying to stay lively so he can stay up to talk with me.

“Are you feeling okay?” I ask him as I reach forward and brush a lock of hair away from his face. I can’t remember the last time Neal looked like this coming home from working a party. He looks like complete crap and I half expect him to keel over on the couch and sleep for hours.

“Yeah I feel fine,” he states with a simple shrug of his shoulders and my look is skeptical. He has to realize that I can see through his lying, macho bullshit that he likes to pull sometimes. I mean I <i>did</i> work for a guy who thinks he’s God’s gift to humanity.

“You sure? You’re looking a bit peaky. Let me go get a thermometer,” I say with concern. I don’t want him to get sick or anything because I know how much it sucks to be sick when you have to work.

“I swear I’m one hundred percent healthy. I’m just tired,” Neal explains as he grabs onto my hand and squeezes it gently. I look at him with questioning eyes and he leans forward and kisses me on the forehead. His lips are dry and I can feel heat radiating from his body.

Nice try, bucko.

“You’re warm. I’m going to make you some soup…”

“Would you just sit down and stop fawning over me like a baby!” Neal practically yells in my face and I sit back on the couch and look at him in shock.

“You don’t have to blow up at me, I’m just concerned,” I say slowly. I hate it when I get yelled at, it makes me feel like I’m not doing my job right and I’m failing miserably in everything that I do.

“I appreciate that but you have to stop treating me like a damn baby. Last time I checked I’m not Justin,” he snaps and I quickly pause the television (God forbid I miss one minute of Flava Flave) and glare at him.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

He sighs dejectedly and runs his fingers through his hair. I’m still waiting for his explanation and he’s taking his time trying to find the right words that won’t make me barge for the door and spend the night in Bentley.

“Its just that,” he sighs again and shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Good, he better be uncomfortable, “ever since you stopped working for Justin you’ve been a bit…left of center.”

I hate the male brain and how they have to either say everything in a jumbled mess without thinking or they have to sit there and think about every single word they have to say before it comes out of their mouth. He’s walking on ice right now and all I want to do is slam down on the surface and make it crack. Get on with it already!

“Its almost like you’re treating me like Justin but without the yelling, swearing, and death threats. And I appreciate the fact that you want to make sure I’m alright but I’m not Justin and I don’t need a handler or a keeper or anything in between. You’ll just have to trust me when I say that I’m not sick and I feel fine. Because the last time I checked, Justin was the one with the huge pig head and not me.”

I’m a little miffed that he would place himself in the same category as Justin because the two are on opposite ends of the spectrum when it comes to how they act and think. I bite my lip and lean back on the couch again as I look over at Neal who’s got a sheepish grin on his face. So he’s out of the doghouse and that’s all good and well but still, I have no idea why he’s thinking I’m fawning over him all the time. I give him breathing room, I’m not over here all the time, and I definitely don’t chuck objects at his head every time he pisses me off.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you miss working for him.”

And the line has been crossed.

“Excuse me?”

“You miss working for him, admit it,” Neal says with a small laugh and I raise an eyebrow in his direction. Surely he can’t be serious.

“I miss it? Do I miss not being able to spend time with you? Do I miss being called at all hours of the night because Justin and Trace feel like drunk dialing? Do I miss Damage Control? Please that is the biggest misconception on the face of the planet. I don’t miss working for Justin,” I almost want to throw in an ‘As if’ for good measure but I stop myself. Can I help it if Clueless was on TBS earlier today?

“You might not miss those aspects but you do miss it,” he points out and I roll my eyes, “You miss being stressed out, you miss bitching about him all the time, you miss the fact that you can piss him off, you miss knowing that there is one person out there who depends on every single thing you do or say. You haven’t tried to look for work when there are at least two messages from other labels on your voicemail asking you to come down to their studios for an interview. Whether you want to admit it or not, Justin Timberlake is your baby.”

Oh God, he’s right. For some reason unbeknownst to me, I have become Justin’s surrogate mother who stops short at using a wire hanger for abuse. Neal is completely and totally right with his little monologue but I don’t let him know that. So I do what comes naturally to me, I get mad.

I chuck the Doritos at his face and I jump off the couch before I grab my jacket, purse, and keys. Neal’s laughing and telling me he’s joking and that he meant it as a joke and Justin wasn’t really my baby because he didn’t get my gorgeous genes. Well that pissed me off even more because quite frankly I do not want to think about being Justin’s mother. I feel sorry for the woman enough as it is, because you know that birth was painful as hell.

And now I’m having visuals of giving birth to a grown Justin Timberlake. Oh God, I’m going to have nightmares for weeks. I blame Neal for this; he’s going to pay for my therapist.

I throw myself into Bentley and pull out of Neal’s driveway. Of course its only after I’m safely on the freeway that I realize I can’t go back to my apartment because Melissa and Justin are probably Christening the sofa (note to self: don’t sit on the sofa without putting a towel down first) and I’m not about to turn around and go back to Neal’s place.

Looks like I’m sleeping with Bentley Lexus tonight.

***

My life is perfect.

No, it’s beyond perfect. I don’t think my life could get any better right now. I mean, I’m well off; I have a great job that lets me do basically whatever the fuck I want, my family and friends are there for me at the drop of a hat, and I have a great girlfriend who accepts me for who I am and enjoys spending time with me. What more could I possibly want?

Do you want the truth? Okay, I’m going insane.

Really, I am. If I have to listen to Trace try to memorize my schedule one more time I am going to take his date book and shove it up his lily white ass. I appreciate the fact that he’s trying hard to be a good assistant, but he blows. Really.

 I know he’s trying and all but I can’t take it anymore. Lauren was right when she said that Trace is the worst Personal Assistant in the world. Maybe not the world, but he’s pretty shitty. And knowing that he sucks at Personal Assisting makes me want to tell him he can just be my best friend and Ego Booster for the rest of his life if that means he will never try to tell me where to go ever again. He’s like my brother and all but he doesn’t need to be planning my parties or telling me what I’m supposed to be doing at six o’ clock on a Saturday night.

That’s Lauren’s job and I need her back. Now.

But I have a snowball’s chance in hell of getting her to come back and work for me. I haven’t spoken with her since Christmas and it’s almost the middle of February. Melissa says she’s still trying to decompress after working for me and I really don’t know why she has to do that. I’m not that terrible to my employees and she still hasn’t paid the bill for my motorcycle even though I already got it fixed. But the dent is still in my wall if that means anything.

“So on Valentine’s Day you want the day off so you can hang out with Melissa, right?” Trace asks me while we’re sitting on the couch. I’m playing a new video game and he’s going through his schedule book that has a billion different colored flags poking out of the top and he’s nursing a beer that I wish I could have but I’m trying to wean myself off of drinking seeing as the recording schedules are picking up. I’m spending most of April in Miami recording the album with Rick Rubin and let me tell you I’m excited beyond explanation. It’s Rick fucking Rubin man and the fact that I get to work with him is pretty much orgasmic.

“Yeah,” I say as I deliver a three pointer straight into the basket. I’m a monster on the virtual courts just like I am in real life. Worship me for I am amazing.

“And then you’re booked in the studio for the twelfth, right?”

I press pause on the game controller immediately and turn to face my best friend and crappy assistant. He’s looking at me with an expectant look on his face, as if he’s expecting me to throw him a fucking bone or something for a job well done. I raise my eyebrows, as I look at him and he checks his schedule once more.

“Fuck,” he mutters to no one in particular, “I scheduled the wrong day. You aren’t supposed to be in the studio until the fifteenth…”

Jesus Christ. Trace above all people knows how impossible it is to book studio dates. Even though I’m Justin Timberlake, the people who book the studio time don’t fuck around and they won’t listen to Trace. Trace is too new to this whole going-to-act-like-a-real-personal-assistant and the schedulers will laugh and put my requests below Jessica Simpson and, dare I think it, Britney.

Lauren already has a good standing with the studios I record in because they all rally together and talk about what a jackass I’m being. I allow it because it gets me the best recording booths and it allows Lauren to stay happy, but Trace is a loyal employee and he would never talk about me behind my back, no matter how much of an ass I’m being. And besides, Lauren would never book the wrong date in the first place.

“I’m sorry man, I’ll call them first thing in the morning,” he says apologetically and you can tell he feels really bad about this. Ever since Lauren left, Trace has been trying to prove that he can be a better assistant than the Lo-ho and he’s failing miserably. But you have to give the little guy props for busting his ass to be as good as Lauren.

He’s fighting a losing battle but I don’t have the heart to let him down like that.

“It’s okay, man. You’re trying your best and it’s cool. Don’t worry about it.” He looks over at me with baleful brown eyes and I sigh heavily before I hoist myself off the couch and make my way into the kitchen. I can’t take it anymore.

 I hop into my Escalade and soon I’m speeding the familiar trek towards their apartment. A couple of months ago I wouldn’t have dreamed of going to Lauren’s apartment and now I can’t get enough of it. There’s something <i>normal</i> about that place. The dirty dishes in the sink, the fact that every single thing about the place isn’t immaculate and cleaned to the point of sterile are all things I wish my house could be, but I know it’ll never amount to the normalcy of Melissa and Lauren’s place. They probably pay twelve hundred a month for rent and I’m holing up in a multi-million dollar mansion that only two people live in. I’ve never had an apartment before. I went straight from kid to millionaire and I’m not complaining about that. But I seemed to have skipped the whole starving artist phase.

Within the hour I’m dashing up the steps to the front door of their apartment and I’m banging on the door. The window is illuminated, indicating that someone is home at this time of night. I’m praying to God that Melissa is here and hopefully Lauren is as well, because this will make everything so much easier if I don’t have to go traipsing all over LA to try and find my ex-assistant.

The door opens and Melissa’s smiling face is staring back at me, the light from inside her apartment illuminating her beautiful visage to angelic proportions. Oh God, I am completely pussy whipped.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” she asks and she leans forward and I kiss her quickly. I have no need for foreplay and I’m not here for a quick make out session that I know will turn into a quick fuck. I need to get in and get out and hopefully not make an ass out of myself. The last thing I need is to come across as some desperate guy who needs a break. She’d totally relish in that and Justin Timberlake is not going to beg. I refuse.

“Where’s Lauren? I need to talk to her,” I blurt out and I ignore the blatant look of hurt strewn across Melissa’s face. I stalk past her and look around the living room finding no sign of Lauren. Some news show is on the television and its almost drowning out the pulsating glam rock music coming from the back of the apartment.

“She’s in her room, but there’s a jam session going on. I wouldn’t bother her unless you don’t want to have children,” Melissa points out, clearly confused as to why I’m here to see her roommate and not her. I don’t have time to explain because what I’m about to do is something that I completely and totally don’t support, and if anybody knew I was doing this, I’d probably be the laughing stock of the entire Hollywood community.

Continuing my obvious ignoring of my already huffy girlfriend, I rush towards the loud music and stop at a door that I mark as forbidden territory every time I step foot into the apartment.

I try knocking on the door but realize she can’t hear me because the music is deafening. I wonder why the neighbors above and below haven’t started to complain yet because its almost nine o’clock at night and I’m sure some people have to get up early for Church or something the next day.

I knock again and when there isn’t an answer, I open up the door and peer inside. I’ve been in this apartment so many times, but I have never tried to peek into Lauren Walter’s room. I marked that as forbidden territory the moment I stepped foot inside this residence.

A queen size bed is located between two large windows that no doubt overlook the courtyard in the center of the apartment complex. The bed is made and various throw pillows and quilts are strewn across the probably soft comforter. Her bed looks like it should be in some retirement home rather than a twenty-five year old’s bedroom but I digress.

Various posters of wild animals decorate her walls. I had no idea Lauren was a fan of the Animal Kingdom and I find it kind of comical that she has various pictures of bald eagles and foxes gracing her white wash walls. I would never expect that from prim and proper and yet crass and crude Lauren. I mean who would expect a girl who swears like a sailor to have pictures of baby bears and deer framed on her bedside table and on her desk? Certainly not me.

Her desk is strewn with newspapers and various other notebooks and novels. I spot The Davinci Code strewn across the desktop and her laptop is opened to reveal Monster.com and I pray to God she hasn’t started to post her resume online. That would be the death of me right there.

The main focus of her room is the enormous stereo that’s located just next to what I assume is the door to her closet. The stereo system is blaring what seems to be ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ and I bite my tongue to keep from laughing at the scene before me.

Lauren is in the center of her room, her curtain of dark hair strewn over her face as the guitar reaches epoch proportions. She lets out a wild rock and roll scream before throwing up the devil horns and then proceeds to run towards her bed, jumping on the granny throws and pillows, throwing inhibitions to the wind. Really, it’s the funniest fucking thing I have ever seen in my life and I have half the mind to find a camera so I can take pictures and save them for a rainy day or a good laugh but I can’t tear my eyes away. It’s like watching a fuzzy little animal getting killed and eaten on the Discovery Channel. It’s such a horrendous scene that you want to look away, but you’re just too damn curious to stop watching.

“So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye! So you think you can love me and leave me to die?!” she yells at the top of her lungs as she continues to jump on her bed like some kind of possessed teenager. This is the funniest damn thing I have seen in a long time and I’m counting the time when Trace ran buck-naked through the snow up in Utah when we went up for Sundance a few weeks ago.

The music starts to slow down and she throws her hands up in the air, waving them back and forth to the beat. Her back is to me but she’s slowly turning around, her hair finally away from her face. It’ll be just a matter of seconds until she realizes she has company and I know she isn’t going to be very happy.

Suddenly her blue-green eyes land on mine and she drops her arms to her side and the sudden frosty exterior she’s been giving me is back full force, only this time she’s even more pissed because her privacy has been invaded.

“Nice show. You know, when I start up my touring you could open for me,” I quip and I internally tell my stupid mouth to shut the hell up before Lauren becomes enraged.

“What the hell do you want?” she seethes and I can already tell that I’m going to have my work cut out for me.

“I came to talk to you,” I explain and I make a move to walk further into the room but she stops me with a single look. Damn, if looks could kill I would have been incinerated.

“There’s nothing to talk about. Get out and leave me alone,” she mutters as she quickly turns off her stereo.

“You’re being so childish. Can’t we talk like adults?” I ask and I’m astounded by my sudden turn from stubborn jackass, to diplomat.

“I’m the one who’s childish? Last time I checked you were the one with the five year old tendencies and I was the one playing mother,” Lauren explains as she picks up a piece of clothing that managed to free itself from her closet during her mini jam session. I know it’s going to be chucked at my head before the end of this conversation, soon to turn argument, and I brace myself for impact.

“Okay so I’ve always been the immature one when it comes to our talks and arguments. But I’m ready to talk to you like an adult and all that shit, so will you please listen to me?” I ask her quickly and she rolls her eyes before she throws the clothing into her closet and goes to sit on her disheveled bed.

“What?”

“Come back and work for me,” I blurt out. Its better to get things like this out in the open rather than talk around the issue for ten minutes. I don’t like awkward conversation; I’d rather get straight to the point.

“No. Out of the question,” she responds immediately and I refuse to let this go without a fight.

“Come on, Lo-ho. You know you want to,” I say in a singsong voice and I begin to start up the Timberlake-Whine. No one can resist it and even Lauren is powerless against it. She knows it’s coming so she turns her back away from me. Smart girl.

“No.”

I don’t want to do this. I really don’t want to get down on my knees and beg, but I’m tired and I want to get that studio time figured out before the label gets on my ass about not showing up to record my shit. I walk forward and face her, kneeling down so I’m staring her dead in the face and putting on what I hope is my best pleading/begging face.

“Look Lauren, I know I’ve done a lot of things in the past that you’ve hated but I know you’ve missed working for me. I know you haven’t gone out to get another job…” you don’t know that, Timberlake. For all you know she could be starting at Arista tomorrow and you’re totally wasting your time and making an ass out of yourself, “…and you haven’t done that yet because you miss working for me. You don’t have to admit that out loud but I know you have a soft spot when it comes to bossing me around and yelling at me, and throwing heavy objects at my head.”

“I’m about to throw a heavy object at your head if you don’t get the fuck out of my room,” she snarls and I can already tell that this whole thing is going down hill.

“Okay if it makes you feel any better, I’m sorry for the way I’ve treated you in the past. Really sorry. I’m sorry I betrayed your trust and believe me when I say that you’re the best Personal Assistant and Party Planner I’ve ever had. Seriously the past few months have been absolute hell and everything has been shot to shit with Trace at the helm. I’m sure Neal has told you about the horrible parties that I’ve had and I know its because you aren’t there to head them up.

“And…And,” Oh God am I really going to say it? Am I really going to cross that line and go from apologizing to groveling? Her eyes are unmoving and she isn’t buying the apology. Yup, I’m going there.

“I miss you,” I manage to get out through my loss of air. The change in her face is almost immediate and I can tell that I’m just a few choice words away from getting her to come back to work for me. Justin Randall, you are a fucking God, “and it’s taken me almost two months to realize how much I’ve taken you for granted over the past few years and now that you’re gone and not helping me through all the stuff in my day to day life, I realize how lost Trace and I would be without you. You’re the best of the best, Lauren and I’m still kicking myself for being such an ass.”

Whoever said that if you compliment a girl enough she’d crumble, is a genius. I can see her reserves crack beneath her and its only a matter of seconds until she opens her mouth to say ‘Yes. I’ll come back and work for you.’

“Well,” she says slowly and I’m waiting on bated breath. She looks thoughtful for a second and then an absolutely devilish look flashes through her eyes, “I’ll think about it.”

Think about it? She’ll think about it? Really, if I had an international pop star sensation show up on my doorstep and tell me that she can’t live without my guidance and support and wants me to come back to work for her, I’d accept immediately. None of this ‘I’ll think about it,’ bullshit that she’s pulling right now.

But I have to remember that I’m going to be an adult about this and I am not going to get on her ass about it. That would not serve well for the message I’m trying to convey here and so I let it slide. I stand up from my kneeling position and I walk towards the door, knowing that Melissa was probably listening to every single word I said out in the hallway. Not like I care, it wasn’t like I professed my love for Lauren.

“Alright then. Thanks for taking the time to listen to me. I’ll let you get back to your previously scheduled jam time,” I explain before I close the door behind her and walk back into the living room. Melissa is, miraculously, sitting on the couch and watching some chick flick on Lifetime. She looks up at me as I flop down on the couch and I smile before pecking her on the forehead.

“Everything good?” she asks and I shrug.

“Don’t know yet. Hopefully everything will turn out for the best,” I explain and she nods. My stomach starts to rumble suddenly and I look from my tummy over towards Melissa with a big grin on my face, “Methinks my stomach is telling me its time for pizza, and only Pizza Hut can fulfill that craving.”

“You drive and I’ll pay?” she asks before she stands up and starts to grab her purse and jacket. I turn off the television and walk towards the door, placing a hand on her smaller back.

“How about I drive and pay?” I offer and she smiles broadly before standing on tiptoe to kiss the tip of my nose.

“Even better.” I step out of the apartment and she closes the door behind her but not before I hear the familiar guitar of “Bohemian Rhapsody” blast through the apartment.

***