Nine hours, seven minutes, and fifty five second later, I checked my watched for the millionth time, threw back the rest of my margarita, and rose out of my bar stool, slapping a twenty down on the counter.

 That bastard. That fucking bastard. Did I ask too much? Did I? I came to him at the place of his choosing, never mind that the place was something out of Jack the Ripper’s wet dream. I sat through sixty minutes of rush hour traffic hell in the back of a taxi that smelled like old cigarettes and dirty gym socks (both of which I attribute to the large, suspiciously sweaty driver), and I  still  managed to get  to there ten minutes early.

And when the ‘street’ he mentioned turned out to be a dark, dank alley with a rank odor of garbage juice and urine, did I run away like any sane woman would have? Noooo, I still waited there for half an hour. I just thank God I didn’t get mugged or worse.

There I was looking tres fabulous, if I do say so myself, in a killer pair of gold Jimmy Choo stilettos and this flirty pink dress that hugs my curves just right, and I was just chilling in a deserted alley, acting like the crazies don’t frequent dirty, desolate places like that.

After thirty minutes, my feet were throbbing and there were suspicious squeaking noises towards the end of the alley and, despite my obscenely large fear of rats (anything that started the Black Plague is no friend of mine), did I leave? Again no, I limped my sexy behind to a posh little bar right next to the alley and sat there for an hour, waiting on that rude little prick to answer my ten million phone calls.

But you know what? Fuck it. I’ll just wear a scoop neck top when tell my boss that I dropped my phone in the sink; he’ll be so engrossed in my cleavage, he won’t even notice himself assigning me a new phone.

I throw open the door, the warm night air at odds with my dark mood, and walk towards a parked taxi at the end of the block.

‘Hey! HEY WAIT!!!’

I pause and glance to the left to see a guy in a baseball cap and shades with a dazzling smile jogging towards me.

You have got to be kidding. Lo and behold, here he comes, smiling like he hasn’t made me wait ninety minutes for his ass to show up… Speaking of, he is looking pretty good in that Hanes tee and jeans. Wait, no Emma NO! You’re angry!! This man completely disrespected you! So what if his smile is hot enough to melt the panties off a nun. Stay strong! Stay mad!

‘Phew, thought you couldn’t hear me. Look, I’m sorry for - ’

I held a hand, cutting him off. ‘Save it. Just give me my damn phone.’

I gave an impatient huff and agitatedly raked a hand through my hair, scattering the sleek, Tresemmé commercial-inspired curls. He froze and blinked twice, then shook his head and fumbled for the phone in his pocket.

I smiled on the inside. Yeah, I look just that good.

‘It, uh, died a while ago.’ he said, handing it over.

Well, that explains why he didn’t answer my fifteen calls.

I sighed and put it in my purse, handing him his phone in return.

‘So that’s it then.’

I nodded.

He cast his eyes down, looking embarrassed, ‘I don’t even know your name.’

I gave a small smile and began to walk away, throwing the line I’d been practicing all afternoon back over my shoulder.

‘Don’t worry, you won’t see me again. See you in the headlines, superstar.’

------------------------------------------

For the next two weeks of my life, I was in what some call the ‘eye of the storm’. After a bit of turmoil, everything was calm, celebrity free, and relatively normal (except for when I got hit in the face by a flying sex toy at one of Jen’s plays, which was soooo unacceptable…. I’ll never think of Guys and Dolls the same way again ….) Every morning I followed the same routine: Get up, morning yoga, go to work, catch dinner, and go to dance class (I’ll get into that later) or write until I go to bed. After a while, I hardly even thought about the Justin-cedent (though I admit, I did frantically change channels every time he came on the TV). I was just a regular girl working in the big city, that is, until my world flipped upside down on Monday morning.

‘Then this douchebag told me he didn’t think I’d be right for the part!’

Jen slammed her hand down on my desk, spilling some of my peppermint tea.

I sighed, wiping up the mess with a Kleenex, ‘But, isn’t Sweeny Todd a musical?’

‘Yeah’

‘Jennifer, you’re tone deaf.’

‘So? I was born to play Mrs. Lovett. You can teach anyone to sing, but you can’t teach someone how to truly act. You’re either born with it or you’re not.’

I rolled my eyes and opened my mouth to contradict her, when she cut me off.

‘Uh oh, the perv is here. Catch you later!’

And with that, she hurried off to her desk as an impeccably dressed Mr. Klein got off the elevators and headed towards his office, whistling a merry tune. Unfortunately, whistling equals fresh meat, meaning one more couple who’s decided to call it quits and are content with paying Klein, Bender, and Associates exorbitant fees to put their partner through living hell.

As expected, he stopped by my desk and smiled.

‘Good morning, Ms. Porter. I need you to clear out my schedule for this morning to meet with a new client. Also, we’ll be having a meeting in the conference room at ten and I’ll need you there to take notes.’

I nodded. Clearing out the morning schedule meant an exclusive client, not a rare thing in the office best known for getting Paul McCartney’s ex-wife her fifty million dollar settlement.

‘Oh, sir,’ I said, catching him at the door to his office, ‘ What’s the name of the client?’

‘A Mrs. Jessica Biel.’

Oh God…..