The Ritz, 4:32 p.m.

I don’t think this is going to work. I should probably call Angie. Hell, I probably should have told her yesterday that this wasn’t going to work. It’s not that I don’t like her. She’s a sweet girl, she’s just…she’s not what I expected, at all. I mean, I figured there would be times when I’d have to keep her in line or remind her of her schedule. But it’s not like she’s new to this. I thought she had another album with some hits before this one. She acts like she doesn’t care, like all she wants to do is party.

Angie and other people have told me that what her old assistant did to her was horrible, and that it was all lies. But maybe she just got ticked off with all of Meredith’s carelessness. I’m supposed to be an assistant, not a fucking babysitter. And she acts like she has no friend in the world. She has friends. I know she does. She’s almost always on the phone or messaging people on her Sidekick. Wanna talk about no friends and no life, come visit my world. I’m pretty much stressed for 16 hours of my day, worried about where she’s supposed to be, what’s she’s supposed to be doing. I’m supposed to get her whatever she needs, to make her comfortable and keep her healthy. The other 8 hours I try to sleep, but in this business the mornings are early and the nights are long and that 16 hours can easily turn into 20, or worse.

But I’m use to it. And I love my work.

I love my work if my work is easy to deal with. And Meredith is not easy work.

I can see how this type of work that she’s doing now is stressful and annoying, but it’s a part of the business and if she doesn’t want to deal with it then she should get a new job. I know that seems harsh, but it’s the truth. I’ve been around long enough to see how this business breaks people, how tough you have to be. I might have had a bird’s eye view of the action, but it’s a view none the less. You have to have a damn strong backbone to be able to work in these conditions.

Unless you get lucky.

There are some people in my position who have it made, who get to be best friends with their clients. Some start out that way, others build up to that kind of relationship. Well, Meredith and I won’t. I can tell you that right now. Too different, too much. In fact, it’s that name that I kept thinking about today that makes me dwell on it. Trace Ayala. I wondered and wondered all afternoon while I was waiting on her to finish her interviews about where I had heard that name before. It hit me about a minute ago who he was and how I knew that name.

In the world of personal assistants, Trace Ayala has it made. Word has it he is excellent at his job. Everyone knows who he is and apparently he can get anything done quickly and efficiently for his client. He’s good at rearranging schedules and making sure no one, or as few as possible, get pissed off in the process. And on top of it his salary is outrageous and his client happens to be his best friend.

“Justin Timberlake.” I sigh and shake my head.

“What?” I look over and she looks nervous. We’re in the elevator, going up to whatever floor their suite is on. She looks nervous, scared a little. It’s cute in a way, I guess. I mean, you can tell she has a crush, but it’s also annoying. I do not have time to play matchmaker or cover up or best friend for her to cry on if he doesn’t like her back. This is going to be a problem.

“I figured it out that that was who this mysterious Justin was.”

“How the hell did you do that?”

She’s glaring at me now and normally this type of behavior would send me over the edge and piss me off, but when it comes to this kind of stuff I can’t really blame her lack of trust. She was screwed over, no matter how much I’d like to say she deserved it, or how I hoped it smacked some reality into her, I can’t. It was pretty bad. I read the story myself and it was pretty awful what that lady claimed to know about her.

Maybe that’s why she’s so slack in everything. Maybe she’s purposefully making me hate her so that I can’t like her and she can’t like me. Maybe she’s afraid of us becoming friends and then me fucking her over. But I have no need to take pictures and fabricate a story to US Weekly. She’s, well, her manager, is paying me more than enough and I have no desire for fame and I don’t think she could do anything to make me mad enough to want to disgrace her in print.

When I took this job I barely knew who she was besides the bit of information I had heard from just being around and catching Access Hollywood every now and then. When Angie McCrawley called me up and said she heard from a friend that I was a really good assistant, I was shocked. I thought no one knew me, and if they did, I never thought they’d recommend me. She said she had a friend at Whitham that heard of me and recommended me. I was pretty sure that everyone at Whitham hated me, especially after everything that was said about me. And after all that I said in return.

But I was called in for an interview. I liked Angie from the start. She’s very personable but down to business. I could tell she didn’t take any crap, and I like that. We sat in her office and talked for a bit about what I wanted to do with my career and how I would feel about being a personal assistant, then we went to lunch. I guess you could say we hit it off. We aren’t best friends by any means, and I wouldn’t tell her any lame secrets I might have or go to her just to talk, but she’s professional and seems good at her job and we have quite a bit in common.

I’m just not so sure why she gave me so much responsibility in my first week. It’s been four days, no…three. Shit, it’s only been three days. I met Meredith on Sunday, we all had dinner. She was quiet, I could tell she was nervous and after a few days of seeing her on the phone with her friends, seeing her in interviews and seeing her with Teddy, I know now that she had a huge wall built up that night. She was terrified of me.

Maybe she still is.

The next day I met them early at the hotel and helped her get ready for her day. Since she was going to dance practice and then going straight to a meeting, Shanda came as well. She’s a nice girl, but when her and Meredith are around each other and I’m there I definitely feel like a third wheel, like I’m an intruder. Hell, if there’s anyone Meredith knows around I feel like a third wheel, even with mostly silent Teddy. She has a bond with all these people and I don’t. I’m just here, getting in her way and bossing her around.

But that’s my job. And I’m damn good at it. At least I hope so.

I sigh and look over at her and she’s still glaring. Teddy’s eyeing me and looks like he’s about to laugh. Then I realize that she just asked me a question. “Oh, well I remembered that name, Trace Ayala, from some friends who knew him or knew someone who knew him. He’s kind of his own little celebrity in the PA world. It just all clicked a minute ago.” I guess in a sense that’s a lie. I don’t really have friends, but I’ve been around enough to know about Mr. Ayala. For the past half year I’ve been trying to move out of the corporate world down to personal assistantship. It was a no use until Angie called me. But most everyone I talked to told me it was no use unless I became an “Ayala.” I didn’t understand what that meant for a while and finally broke down and asked.

I don’t know why I just lied about having friends. I guess in a way I want to seem cooler to her than I really am. I have no friends. My best friend is my career. And my career is my well being and that’s that. I know it’s lame and I know I seem like a pathetic workaholic but work makes me happy and even though this girl is too much to handle, I guess I’d much rather be doing this than sitting at home…alone, with nothing to do.

That still doesn’t mean that me and this girl are gonna work out.

“Right.” She’s still looking at me funny when the door dings and opens onto the 15th floor. I almost forget that that elevator man is there.

“Fifteenth floor Miss Craven.”

She thanks him and lets Teddy, who’s funny as hell, though I try not to laugh at his jokes cause they’re normally vulgar beyond words, walk out in front of us and scan the hallways, before leading the way to room 3012.

When we reach the door she knocks and I quietly say, “Remember you only have an hour.”

She ignores me and I roll my eyes. This isn’t a good sign. And to make matters worse my cramps are starting to flare up again. The door opens a little bit and a face comes into view before the entire door swings open and a man is smiling back at us, well, I guess at Meredith. He’s short, about my height and wearing a camouflaged hat, a red shirt, jeans, and socked feet. He looks like he hasn’t shaved all day or the day before, but has a bright smile and immediately hugs Meredith calling her a lesbian or something.

Must be an inside joke, at least I hope it is.

I watch as she slips inside and scampers off somewhere further in the room. Teddy marches right on in and I see that behind the man who opened the door there is another tall, oversized black man standing up and shaking Teddy’s hand. Weird. It’s like they’re twins. Even their clothes almost match.

I guess I should follow them in. I go to step through the doorway but someone blocks me and I look up to see that guy, I assume he’s the infamous Trace, staring back at me. His smile looks a little too smug for my liking and he says, “Sorry, private party.”

I shake my head. If that was a joke it was a poor one. “Excuse me?”

But apparently it’s not a joke and the door is slammed in my face. And now I’m pissed off. I’m pretty sure he called me a bitch on the phone to Meredith. This kid won’t know the meaning of the word when I’m done with him. How dare he shut the door like that? I can hear laughter and my stomach starts to churn. Stuff like this isn’t supposed to affect me, but I still get that feeling like I’m back in middle school and Bobby Nowells just pushed me down, stomped on my glasses and stole my lunch while everyone watched and laughed.

Thank God for contacts.

“You guys!” I hear faintly through the door and right before I’m about to go downstairs, order room service and a movie and forget about everything for the rest of the night before I call Angie and quit, the door cracks open and a hand pulls on my arm. “Come on Courtney, he’s just being a dick.”

I don’t want to go in now, now that I’ve been marked a target for their jokes. That wasn’t even that funny of one. I go in and give my death stare to the Trace guy. I take back everything I said about him apparently being a god at his job. He’s the devil incarnate sent along with Meredith to make my life hell. Of course, he’s not even paying attention to me, doing something in the kitchen while I just stand there awkwardly. Teddy and Tiny are set up at the table already into a game of cards. Meredith prances over to the couch. Justin is laying there staring at the TV and not paying me or her any attention as he lays there sprawled out in jeans and a white shirt and socks on the couch. God, what is it with these guys and their matching outfits. He’s also got a camouflaged hat on his head and it’s tipped so low that if I didn’t know any better he could be asleep.

I continue to stand there and be ignored. Soon Trace is crinkling into a bag of chips, sitting on a chair near the couch, Tiny and Teddy are deep into a discussion, though I can’t hear them. Both their voices are quiet and low. And Meredith, she’s laying on the couch with Justin, her body opposite to his and her laughter filling the room as his feet keep purposely pushing into her face.

She keeps laughing and pushing his feet away and smacking his legs and telling him to stop. He laughs and you can see his smile from where I’m standing.

They’re pathetic. But I guess not as pathetic as I look, standing here with my big ass satchel hanging on my shoulder, all alone. I’d sit down and join them, but I haven’t even really been invited in here. I was shut out and then drug in. What the hell am I supposed to do?

“When those beers getting here, Trace?”

I groan. The last thing she needs is a party. I thought this was just a visit with friends. I jump when there’s a knock behind me and Trace pushes himself off the chair and smiles, “Right there.” This is not good. I continue to just stand there and watch as a bell boy comes in with a tray of food and a 12 pack. Great… The next thing I know Justin and Meredith are sitting up on the couch. He’s chomping into a burger, she’s eating his fries and Trace is handing them each a beer.

Oh hell no. I can’t let this happen. Not because I’m Miss Anti-alcohol or anything, but because I can see where this is heading. She’s going to be drunk and sleepy and it’ll be my ass that gets reamed.

“I don’t think so Meredith. You can’t get drunk before your party tonight.”

She looks at me and it’s a strange look. She looks embarrassed and grits her teeth as if she wants me to shut up. Well, it’s my job to keep her in line, dammit. I can’t have her drunk before the damn party.

“It’s just one beer Courtney, it’s not going to do a thing.”

I hear Justin laugh with a mouth full of food, “Yeah right, light weight.” She smacks him on the shoulder and threatens him with a ketchup drenched French fry. I roll my eyes.

“And don’t eat too much either, if you go to that party tonight and not eat, people will start talking. You know Angie will be complaining about how you need to eat better and how you better not get anorexic.”

I get that look again but it’s with a glare, a glare that rivals my death stare. “Thanks, mother.” She rolls her eyes at me. I’ve seen her do it before, but not that bad and normally she tries to hide the fact that she does it. She’s pissed now, but oh well. So am I, dammit.

“Yeah, fatty, you better watch what you eat.” They all laugh and she stands up and leans over Justin to swat at Trace.

“Meredith! Are you even listening to me?”

They all stop and stare at me. Ok, maybe that was a little much, but this isn’t high school. She’s got a job to do and so do I.

“Courtney, right?” I’m utterly lost when I hear him say my name. Justin’s standing up now and walking towards me. “Do me a favor and go down to the lobby and get me a paper, why don’t you?” He smiles at me, that charming, million dollar smile that’s supposed to make girls melt.

It fucking makes me want to punch him.

I don’t realize it but I stand up on my tip toes to try and make me closer to his height. “Sorry, I don’t work for you.” I shoot my arm out and point at Trace. He’s just sitting there with a smirk on his face. I should punch him, too while I’m at it. “Why don’t you get your little assistant over there to help you, isn’t that his job? Make him go be your gopher.”

“He was just being polite.” I hear him call across the room. I move my eyes from Justin over to Trace. “What he was trying to say was, get the fuck out and stop spoiling our fun.”

I smile and glance at Meredith. She’s just staring at me and chewing on a fry. “No problem. Have a great time.”

I swallow my pride and my anger for a minute and turn on my heels and march out the door. Of course I reach behind me and slam it as hard as I can. I kind of want to do it again. It felt good. I could also scream, but I really doubt the Ritz would appreciate that. I can wait to get back to my room and do into the pillow. A bath, a nice hot bath, that would also do me good.

Then I’m calling Angie. Definitely, calling Angie.

I get to the elevator and press the down button. As soon as I do I hear, “Hey, wait up.”

I don’t want to turn around. And I’m not quite sure why I do. But there he is, beer bottle still in his hand, smirk still on his face.

Fucking little shit.

“Leave me alone.”

“Look, I understand you’re new and all, but I need to talk to you about how you’re acting.”

The nerve he has coming out here and wanting to lecture me. I clench my fist and control the urge to just go off on him. “Oh…How I’m acting? What about how Meredith is acting? Or how you guys are acting? Ya know what? I don’t care. You’re both just dicks. But she has a huge couple of days ahead of her and all she can think about is her social life? That would be just fine if the industry was sure she was going to flop. But she’s not going to, she’s probably going to do really well, and if something fucks up, it’s going to be on me. So go fuck off.”

His voice remains calm. It makes me sick. How can he just stand there and be so laid back about everything? “Yeah, ok. So she has a huge couple days ahead of her and maybe, just maybe so she doesn’t go completely crazy, she needs to be around a friend for just a little bit. Stop mothering her, that’s not what you were hired to do.”

“What the fuck do you know about what I’m supposed to do? Did you hire me?”

He laughs and gives me a look. Oh, how cute you little fucker. “I know because I’ve been doing this for more than five years.”

“Right.” I laugh and cross my arms before stepping up to him. I laugh again. I don’t have to use my tip toes with him. “I’ve heard about you. You’re the golden PA, Justin’s Timberlake’s PA is almost God himself. But that’s ‘cause you’ve known him your whole life. You know what to say to get him to do things. I’ve know this little girl a week. She’s immature and disorganized and going to ruin her career and mine in the process if she's not careful.”

“Ya know what? Yeah, maybe I have known Justin my whole life, but it doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m doing. Hell, my ass is on the line too if something goes wrong. They can ship me right back to bumfuck Tennessee if they want to.”

I roll my eyes, turn around and thank God the doors are opening. “If you have anything else you better say it now because I’m leaving.”

“Just butt out. That’s all I’m trying to say. You do your job and let her do her thing. Let her still be herself. That’s all you can do.”

I step into the elevator and lean over and press the door open button. “Let her do her thing? Her thing is to lay in bed all day, watch TV and go party.”

“And you’ve known her how long?”

I shrug. “A week…”

“I’d say give it just a tad bit longer before you start judging her. She’s probably more stressed than you can imagine right now. And I’m sure she’s exhausted. And I know, I know that you are, too. So don’t start. But think about it. You don’t have to look pretty for cameras and thousands of people. And you don’t have to make sure you say the exact perfect thing every time someone asks you a question. So just back the fuck off.”

“Whatever…go back to your little party.” I take my hand off the button and he turns to walk back down to their little orgy or whatever the fuck they’re going to do. I don’t understand why he’s sticking up for her. He must want to bang her or something. That’s all guys ever want. I hope she has fun when her career is going down the toilet. “Oh and Trace?” He turns and the doors start to close. “If she’s not back down in the room in 45 minutes, you better tell your client that he won’t be seeing any more of my client.”

The doors shut and I ignore the look that the little elevator guy is giving me and press the “10” button myself. I’m thankful for the escape and the solitude and not some old man in a cheesy suit is gonna ruin that for me. I think this is going to be much more than I can handle. I can’t deal with all this, an uncooperative co-worker, her friends being utterly rude and disrespectful, and an attitude that seems not to give a shit what happens. I just can’t handle her and her lifestyle. I wanted to really get into this part of the business, get out of the stuffy world of the office and into the dirt where things are unexpected. But not this unexpected.

When the doors open again and he says “10th floor, miss” to me and I nod at him. I step out and make my way down to the end of the hall where our room is. It’s nice with a lovely view, but I’ve barely been able to look out the window during the day light. I walk in and realize how much of a mess it is. It’s not trashed and there aren’t beer bottles and dirty thongs hanging out like this Motley Crue or something, but suitcases are all around, there’s even a clothing rack with her clothes on that Shanda brought over. Some of my lap top gear is still sprawled out on the table by the window and I see that Teddy didn’t close up that bag of ChipAhoy he was munching on this morning. Cookies for breakfast, I guess when you’re a bodyguard you do pretty much whatever the hell you want. And I’m coming to find out if you are a semi-sensational singer you get to do the same.

I haven’t even really heard her first album. She had this one hit on the radio. I think it was called “Take it On” or something. It was catchy but nothing more than every other mediocre pop song out there. Her new song I can’t get away from. It’s all over and it should be if it’s a number one single. It’s much harder than the other one I guess, more contemporary I assume. It’s hard not to hear “Tie Me Down” when flipping on the radio. But I don’t know. I’m not much into the pop or R&B scene. Definitely not into this clubby dance type music. It’s amazing too, because all this promotion stuff seems to drain her like nothing else. But the first morning I had with her, the day after I met her, we got up early like we have all week and she went to a dance studio and rehearsed, just her and this guy. I think his name was Derrek. Teddy nodded off listening to his ipod and I sat down and did some work on my laptop. But I watched her, too and she really worked hard that morning. I would look up and she was dancing her ass off. And she’s good. I wish I could get that kind of dedication and enthusiasm with all the crap I have to send her to.

I sit down and look out over Central Park. It’s amazing how I’ve worked in this city for years, been here countless of times before that, but I’ve never really spent time at the park. I’ve never really been able to enjoy myself, to take in the sights, to experience New York. Maybe that’s my problem. Maybe that little Trace guy was right. Maybe I needed to let her do her thing and do my own and relax. But I can’t afford to do that. I took this job not as an easy out or something that would just be crazy and fun all the time. When they called me and told me about this job, I was excited and looking forward to the intensity and the hectic lifestyle. I wanted to work hard and be busy. I like that. I like being on the go.

But this is like running on an inclined treadmill. I’m only getting more tired and more sweaty. I’m so pissed off right now that maybe I should take her lead, go downstairs to the bar and have me a beer or two. How would she like it if I got drunk? One of these days she’s going to be sorry, she’s going to fuck up and I’m not gonna be there to clean up her mess.

I’m not a quitter, though. I never have been. People have tried to label that on me in the past, but no. I never ever quit. I have to try harder, and I have to give this another chance, but I’m almost certain it’s not going to work out. She’s not feeling me either and while I don’t blame her it’s not my fault that her old PA did shit to her. It’s not my fault, yet I still feel sorry for her. It’s one thing to sell a story, a fabricated one, to the tabloids. It’s another to claim to be someone’s close friend and personal assistant and then to get pictures to solidify your claim. Clearly, Meredith isn’t a lesbian. But when you have photographs of her and her best friend in their underwear, blatantly drunk and cuddling in bed and kissing each other on the mouth, it makes for a really juicy story.

I guess if Justin returns this crush she has it’ll make for a bigger story, a story that will take over the other one and mask it. Or just make it more interesting. But I could care less about silly pop star politics and tabloid stories. I’m really debating whether I should call up room service and tell them to bring up a bottle of wine. I could just go sit on the little balcony and drink the bottle and smoke some cigarettes and forget about my day.

This is bad news. I shouldn’t want to get drunk on the job. I shouldn’t feel like I need that to relax. Maybe I’ve taken on more than I can handle. Or maybe I just don’t want to have to handle this. I’ve never been a quitter, but it’s only been a week and I’m already sure that it’s been a week too long.