The message was short, even for Stephanie’s style. She was tired of Stacy’s attitude, tired of being accused of sleeping around with the person Stacy thought was her guy. Now it was spilling over into work on the set: It turned out Stacy, as production assistant and some-of-the-time makeup girl for Stephanie, didn’t think it was important to make her look good for the cameras. Leave me out of this, the message concluded, and don’t call me until this is in the rear view mirror. I took out the stylus at the side of my Treo phone and typed as a reply, Okay Carrie, a mutual joke we shared poking fun at the incorrect birth name listed for her on a popular web site.

“Important email?” Doug asked. He took a corner hard trying to maneuver around the half-drunken homeless man in the road who decided no red light could contain him.

“Yes, but no,” I replied as I deleted the mail from my inbox. “Same problems…more women, more problems.” I paused for a moment. “These two have excellent racks, that might be the only difference this time around.”

Doug shook his head in disapproval. “You are like that song - ‘Might as well face it, you’re addicted to love.’ That song is you.”

I smirked. “Well, that is a better option than Dancing Queen.”

Another turn, this time onto Flower. “Shut up you homo,” Doug scoffed in as prissy a Just Jack alto as he could muster. […]

“No, it’s like this,” I managed to say while maneuvering myself into a chair with both hands full and my right shoulder straining to hold my Treo firmly to my ear, “I told the guy some time ago to call on me if he ever needed my help. Now he needs my help.” I dropped into the chair and dropped the bags I’d been holding. Once they were down I relaxed my shoulder and let the phone slip into a free hand.

“And you can’t reschedule for another time?”

“No,” I replied. “I’m on his clock.”

There was a rattling of noise nearby; Michelle quickly escaped from its direction, walking briskly towards me with an oh my god look on her face.

“Geez, you think the guy would need to travel with an entourage or something,” she remarked as she plopped down in the seat beside me.

“I hear a woman’s voice. Who is that with you?” […]