I watch as more alcohol is brought to the VIP part of the club. A group of people have the room packed as the world has just stopped just for us. A couple of guys are smoking a joint across from me and the four red walls surrounding me seem to be closing in. It occurs to me that this is not at all possible, but just like all the other fleeting thoughts I have had since injecting myself with some sort of substance, I push it away. Girls half naked crawl over men twice their age and me in hopes of some fame rubbing off on them, or at least a fifty dollar bill in their barely there skirts.

I go in and out of consciousness as the illicit drug runs through my body like a house catching fire. At least if I do die, I hope to go down in history the way every legend before me did and have survived in our hearts and radios. Although my death won’t be a result of my creative yet insane mind taking over like Kurt Cobain or made my mark like Keith Moon, I hope that someone out there would mourn my loss from this world forever other than my family and Trace.

A pair of arms grab me from my comfortable position on the couch that I was taking up and I hope to God that it’s someone I know and not a band of groupies. Someone tell my mom I love her. The haze of the drug starts to really take affect and I drift off into unconsciousness. At least there I’m understood.

I walk into the arena, the Tweeter Center in Boston. My high heels hit the floor and make a clicking sound on the floor as I walk through security and am greeted my a girl carrying the new blackberry. She extends her hand in greetings and I put my hand out to shake hers, “Hi, I’m Gia. You must be Bethany.”

I take a deep breath and force a smile, “Yes, nice to meet you.”

“You won’t be saying that later.” Gia says, searching in her purse for something. The purse is practically the size of a beach bag and is overflowing with more paperwork than should ever be carried at one person. She’s a walking fire hazard.

Gia hands me a blackberry identical to the one in her hand and gives it to me, “This is your new life line, believe me. The phone numbers and e-mail address you need are already stored in the phone so you don’t have to worry about that.”

I give the phone a once over and put it in my own bag, “Okay, thanks.”

“Alright, follow me. Now this is his dressing room to my right.” Gia says, gesturing to the door with his name printed on a piece of paper stuck on the door.

I make a mental note of where it is so at least I can get some sort of bearings where I am in accordance with where I have to go in order to do my job. I continue to follow Gia as she gives me details at about a mile a minute, “Now Justin is a typical celebrity, so don’t expect the royal treatment with him. I swear sometimes that man pms’s out on people when the least expect it.”

Great, that’s exactly what I need. Gia stops abruptly and I almost slam in to her. She turns around to face me and leans back against the door, “Okay, remember to breathe, answer is complete sentences but mostly just do what he asks you. I will meet you after your day is over, whenever Justin calls it a day, were sharing a hotel room since I’m Justin’s manager’s assistant.”

Well at least I have someone to talk to if I need to. She opens the door and the smell of pot fills the air. I realize right away that this job is not going to be like my last client, Keith Urban. He had given up drugs long before I was hired. Gia gives me an apologetic look before beckoning me to follow her. We walk through the room until we see a few people gathered around a couch doing drugs and drinking. Gia clears her throat and five girls and two guys, one of whom needs no introduction, look up at me, “This is Bethany Addison, your new personal assistant. Bethany, this is Justin Timberlake and his friend Trace Ayala who will be with Justin most times.”

Justin nods his head at me, or it could be a spasm from the way he looks, glazed over and incoherent, “Now Justin, you have a concert tomorrow so I suggest you not ruin your voice.”

Justin snickers as does Trace. Sweat beads up on their faces and drips off slowly. These guys are a walking advertisement of why kids should stay in school. I swallow but my mouth is dry as Gia gives me a little push forward, “Okay, well I’ll leave you guys to get acquainted.”

At least she’s hotter than my last assistant I think, letting my eyes go over her body slowly. I watch as she shifts uncomfortable under my gaze. One of the girls next to me attaches her mouth to the side of my neck and I forget about… whatever her name is as I close my eyes in contentment. The girl climbs into my lap and I start to grope her, enjoying the attention this girl is paying me. Trace’s voice comes through the fog and address the girl, “You can go get some lunch, if we need you we’ll have someone page you.”

The girl hits the spot and I fade out, letting her do her thing. I open my eyes once more to see a look of disgust on what’s her name as she leaves. If this bothers her, I’m going to need a new assistant by next week.