The Hysterics

by Kristen Hope Mazzola

  “So, Fallon, you pulled the wool over all of our eyes. Why did you assume a new identity and let everyone believe that you had overdosed?”

  Straight to the point with this one, no pleasantries or beating around the bush.

  “Because I needed to break free from a lifestyle that was killing me.”

  “Yes, but so many musicians just quit and move on with their lives. Why didn’t you think that was a viable option?”

  “Do they ever truly live normal lives though? I wanted to be able to walk around without someone trying to take my picture. I wanted to live a normal life.”

  “I guess none of us can really blame you for that. What made you take the stage that night at the Underground Music Festival?”

  “My fiancé Dane, the drummer for The Hysterics, couldn’t play, and I didn’t want to see all their hard work fly out the window.”

  “It’s rumored that Dane and Kenneth Rhodes got into a fight over you that night. Is that true? Did your fiancé fight your ex because of you that night?”

  I took a slow breath in. “Yes, but Rhodes tried to attack me. Dane was just defending me.”

  “Why would Kenneth Rhodes want to hurt you?”

  “Because he was in no shape to even know which way was up. He was clearly not thinking straight that night.”

  “I see. Well, thankfully he wasn’t hurt too badly, just some bruising and a bad cut on his lip. Did you know he was unable to take the stage that night as well?”

  I nodded, fighting back tears of frustration. “He wouldn’t have been able to sing that night even if he and Dane hadn’t fought.”

  “So, Fallon, let’s move on. I hear you’re the assistant editor of Raging Underground. How has that been going?”

  “It’s amazing. The staff is wonderful and I am mostly working from home these days.”

  “Oh the beauty of technology, right?”

  I nodded, smiling shyly. I couldn’t tell if she was being nice or condescending.

  “I see that beautiful ring on your finger; have you set the date for the wedding?”

  Finally, a truly excited smile spread wide on my face. “Actually, we’re getting married next week.”

  “That’s soon, isn’t it? How exciting.”

  “The Hysterics start a tour in a few weeks and we wanted to make sure we got married before we leave.”

  “Well, it has been a pleasure talking with you tonight, Fallon. I am sure everyone will slowly start to come around. Especially with how famous The Hysterics have become these last few weeks.”

  “It’s definitely been an amazing ride. Rough, but amazing.”

  The Tour

  DANE

  “How’re you feeling, baby?”

  Fallon shifted in my arms, half-asleep, her sleepy eyes fluttering in the glow from the TV. “Tired,” she muttered, nuzzling my neck and kissing me gently before falling back asleep.

  I hadn’t been sleeping well since our tour started a little over a month back. I felt terrible that Fallon was being dragged along while still having to work remotely for Raging Underground. She was handling it all like a champ, I was just a worrier. The last time she was on tour was her own and she almost didn’t live through it. This time was different though; there was so much more to live for.

  Channel surfing led me to the Atlanta eleven o’clock news.

  “Breaking news!” a young, overly tanned blonde said in her monotone anchor voice. “An Orlando therapist was gunned down in her office this afternoon by one of her patients. Witnesses said they heard a gunshot and then a woman screaming. Candice Davenport was found dead by a patient who had been waiting for her appointment.”

  The water to the shower turned off and a few minutes later, Rodney came out of the bathroom followed by bellowing steam.

  “Hey, Rodney?”

  “Yeah, man?” He put on a pair of boxers and crawled into the other queen bed in our room.

  “Didn’t you date a chick named Candice Davenport?”

  He nodded, fluffing his pillows. “Why?”

  “She was murdered today by one of her patients. How crazy is that?”

  “What? She was planning on going to our show in Tampa in a few weeks. That’s insane.”

  His face showed it all: Rodney wasn’t going to talk about it anymore, but it was plain as day. That shit tore him up right on the spot; Rodney was a bleeding heart like that.

  “Sorry, man.”

  He sighed. “I guess that’s life. It comes crashing down around you every once in a while.”

  Fallon rolled back over into me and grabbed my hand. “Feel.” She pressed my hand onto her belly. “Leilani is restless tonight.”

  I stared down at the most beautiful woman in the world as I felt our baby kick inside her. It was so true: life did have a way of crashing down around you, but that isn’t always a bad thing.

  I kissed the top of Fallon’s head. “I love you,” I whispered, pulling her closer to me.

  She kissed my cheek. “Love you more.”

  the end.

  Bonus:

  A Deleted Scene

  FALLON

  “Fallon?”

  I rolled over to see Dane sitting up, gripping my open journal. “What’s that?” I muttered, trying to play dumb. Why? I had no idea.

  Pulling up the sheet to cover my bare chest, my eyes darted from his to the leather bound pages that bore my soul.

  He swallowed hard. “It was open on the floor. I’m sorry but I read the page it was open to. You’re an amazing writer.”

  I took the book from his hands, running my fingers over the pressed paisley pattern. “I used to write all the lyrics for the band. It’s part of the reason they broke up; the words ran dry.”

  “What the fuck do you mean you’re done?” Starr barked at me while she paced in my parents’ kitchen.

  I could barely even sit up straight I was so weak from my weekend of puking and withdrawals. “I mean, this is my one chance to get clean, but to do that I have to be done with the band, Starr. I’m sorry.”

  Letting my head fall to the table, I stared up at my raging best friend while tears started to pour from her honey eyes. “I just don’t get it. Go to rehab, sure. That makes sense. But don’t give up on everything we’ve worked so fucking hard for. How much more selfish can you be?”

  “It is selfish, but it’s do this and save my life, or let the underground swallow me whole and risk not making it out alive next time. I should be fucking dead, is that what you want?”

  “You might as well be dead, you fucking bitch! I wish you were!”

  “Fallon?” Dane’s voice broke into my flashback. “You ok?”

  I shook my head rapidly and opened my journal to a page I knew Dane hadn’t read, the last words I had scribbled before my writer’s block hit a few days before. “Can I read you something?”

  He nodded and I cleared my throat while my eyes scanned the page, swallowing the nagging nerves that were starting to thump in my chest. Eventually I read, with a shaking voice and an exposed heart.

  Let the world know you're a spark

  A catalyst in one hand and detonation the other

  Bring them together and you can light up this place

  Let yourself go and you could destroy this space

  Be the change your makeup has run for

  Be the one thing that hasn't been done before

  Walk in the shoes you've been destined to fill

  Don't let this just rest on others' will

  There is an explosion bottled up inside

  Let the fuse sizzle and just enjoy the ride

  I paused and waited, taking deep breaths, hoping that Dane would speak soon.

  “I have to say that’s not something that I was expecting.” He pulled the book from my hand, pressing his lips softly to mine.

  “Why?” I pushed away from him and leaned against my padded gray headboard.

  “It’s not as dark as I thought it would be. It’s so…” While he paus
ed to find the words, my heart pounded. I had never worried that someone would dislike my writing; usually my mentality was to just say ‘fuck it’ and not even care if someone thought it was pitiful dribble.

  “It’s ok, you can say it sucked.” I nudged his shoulder and he grabbed my arm, pulling me to him. His bare muscles flexed under my weight as he shifted me on top of him.

  “Don’t put words in my mouth. I was trying to find a better word for hopeful. The writing screams hope. It’s brilliant.”

  sNEAK pEAK:

  Stupid Hearts

  An Erotic Novella

  Kristen Hope Mazzola

  Chapter 1.

  Well, crap.

  Got home from a long ass shoot in Virginia Beach at the ass crack of dawn after a terrible flight full of turbulence and a screaming baby. Made sure Dozer was all settled in, filled up his food and water bowls, fluffed his oversized bed in the living room, and made sure that he was happily gnawing on a gigantic rawhide. Finally took a deep breath as I slipped off my favorite dark brown and black ostrich boots.

  I slunk into my closet-sized bathroom and started running the water. It looked like Pepto-Bismol had puked all over the damn thing. From the tiles to the bathtub and even the toilet, it was saturated in the awful pink color. The old pipes complained loudly until steaming hot water bellowed from the faucet.

  I stripped off my typical black loose fitting V-neck and skintight black skinny jeans, then stood staring at my tired eyes in the mirror. The curls had fallen out of my hair a while ago and the makeup I’d applied at four in the morning was smudged and faded. I looked like a freaking train wreck standing like a Looney Tune in my underwear. I peeled off my black lace bra and matching thong and sank into a much needed scalding hot bath to relax.

  After toweling off, throwing my long dark brown locks into a messy dripping bun, and slipping into my pajamas at eleven o’clock in the morning, the only thing left to do was unpack my carryon bag.

  By far my least favorite part of the whole traveling for work thing was living out of a suitcase. Oh, and the never ending laundry once I finally got home.

  It continued to be a typical Monday morning until I started to go through the zipped pocket of my suitcase where I normally stowed all of my intimates, including my pink bullet vibrator. What the hell did I find?

  Nothing.

  All of my favorite thongs were gone. All of my beautiful lace bras that matched those thongs were gone. Devastation set in fast when I realized my favorite vibrator—the one that had been on the road with me for the past three years—was gone.

  Well crap!

  After three hours of no luck with complaining about the travesty of my stolen intimates to anyone that picked up the phone, I slumped onto the couch to stew in a pissed off channel surfing escapade and mourn the loss of my battery powered o-maker.

  My phone buzzed on the light wooden coffee table, next to where my socked feet were resting. The screen displayed an unknown eight-hundred number.

  I answered, “This is Jolene.”

  An automated voice came on the line. “Hello. It has come to our attention that you were dissatisfied with our customer service regarding luggage handling. Please hold for a customer service operator.”

  Fester.

  Fester.

  Fester.

  At that point my blood was boiling and I was ready to bite the head off of this customer service operator.

  “Hello. This is Maureen. It appears that you placed a complaint call earlier today. Please confirm your name for me?”

  “Jolene Abbott.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Abbott. How are you doing today?”

  She seemed so sweet. Her vanilla-coated voice cooed into the phone, but I didn’t give a rat’s ass. I seethed, “You want to know how the hell I am doing? I get home from my business trip to find that some pervert that works for y’all in baggage handling gets off on stealing women’s intimates. Now I am left with none of my nice underwear or my favorite vibrator! Yes, I did just say vibrator! And y’all won’t do a damn thing because there isn’t a record of anyone searching my bag. Of course the perv didn’t leave a damn record of his sick little game and of course y’all won’t help me. So I’m sorry, Maureen. I know you’re just doing your job, but I am freaking pissed and y’all either need to reimburse me for the personal property that was stolen from me or just leave me the heck alone.”

  There was a brief pause.

  Maybe I’d been too harsh?

  Finally her sweet voice came back on the line, a little softer this time. “I’m very sorry to hear that ma’am. I can transfer you to my supervisor. He might be able to help you.”

  “Fuck this.” Click.

  I threw on a Lynyrd Skynyrd shirt and a pair of faded gray skinny jeans, slid my socked feet back into my boots, and applied a light layer of eyeliner and mascara to avoid looking completely dead.

  Tossing my phone into my purse, I gave Dozer a few kisses on his egg-shaped head. “Be back in a bit, bud.” His whip-like tail thumped against the plush bed as I walked to the door. Right as I pulled my bag’s strap over my shoulder and opened the front door, he closed his eyes.

  Typical.

  I shrugged and started to make my way down the ten flights of stairs.

  Time to go shopping.

  A successful Victoria’s Secret trip was not all that I had planned for this shopping excursion. I hailed a cab, hopped in, and without giving it a second thought, instructed the cabby to take me to “Seventh Avenue South and Charles Street, please.”

  “Alright.” He grinned at me through the rearview mirror, eying my pink striped bag and showing off his lack of teeth along with the ones he did have left, which were stained piss-yellow and looked to be hanging on by a thread.

  Gross.

  I slid out of the cab at the end of the block and made my way to The Pleasure Chest. The faded red brick exterior and the light gray awning did not do the sexual wonderland justice.

  A bell chimed overhead as I was greeted by a rather large middle-aged woman. She was covered in tattoos and leaning on the front counter, looking bored out of her skull.

  “How can I help please you today?”

  The greeting made me giggle. “I have come because of a travesty.”

  She gasped and came around the counter to help comfort me in my devastated state. “What happened?” She softly put her pudgy hand that was decorated with a brightly colored cupcake tattoo onto my shoulder.

  “My Iconic Bullet was stolen!”

  The woman gasped again, louder this time, and threw her cupcake-hand to her chest. “Well let’s find you a new pocket-sized boyfriend.”

  I grinned and followed her to the back wall, past the sexy roleplaying costumes, anal plugs, and strap-ons.

  “Now, you might like something like this?” She held up a white ball that looked like it was wearing a weird pink crown.

  Nope!

  “That is interesting,” I faked, not wanting to hurt her feelings. “What’s it called?”

  “This one is the Vibratex Girls Princessa. My girlfriend loves to roll it around on my clit while I’m climaxing.”

  Way too much information.

  I grabbed a LoveLife Discover from the wall and read its specs: Discover the pleasure of this versatile mini vibe! Made of silicone and USB rechargeable, this sweet little vibrator has seven delicious settings and is perfect for travel or for a not-so-quiet night in.

  Pink. Simple. My kind of thing.

  “I think this is the one.”

  She nodded and within a few minutes I was curbside, trying to hail another taxi to take me home. A cab finally pulled up and right as I was going for the handle, another hand got there first.

  “Excuse me, this is my cab,” I barked, turning to the owner of the rude hand.

  I was greeted by stunning ice blue eyes, a strong stubble-covered jawline, and a huge toothy grin.

  “Sorry.” His voice was deep and velvety, matching his five thousand dollar su
it well. He started to back away from the cab and I panicked. I needed to see more of those eyes so I blurted out, “We could share? I’m heading to the Upper East Side.”

  He nodded. “So am I.”

  We hopped in and I gave the directions to my overpriced apartment at Fifth and Seventy-sixth, where my one room apartment overlooked Central Park.

  My cabmate chuckled.

  “Was something I said funny to you, sir?” I drawled at him in the most southern belle voice I could muster.

  “It’s not every day that a bohemian looking southerner lives in an area of town like that.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Forgive me, but you don’t look like you’d live there.” His finger twirled around my outfit. I saw red.

  Who the heck does he think he is?

  The cab stopped in front of my building and I got out, slamming the door shut without so much as a backwards glance at the asshat I’d had the misfortune of sharing a cab with. Beautiful or not, an asshat is an asshat, and I was not going to take shit from someone like that.

  “Miss?”

  I heard his velvet coated voice call from the parked cab and the door shut behind him.

  “What?” An exasperated tone escaped me as I turned to meet his stunning eyes and a cruel smile raking across his lips.

  “You left this in the cab.”

  To my horror, he was holding my new toy in his hand.

  All kinds of red danced prickled across my face as I took my vibrator from him. “Thanks,” I choked, gulping the last bit of saliva out of my drying mouth.

  “Want to have drinks later?”

  I was rather taken aback by his question. “What?”

  “I’m only in town a few nights a month and I leave in the morning. I’m free after my next meeting and would love to have some company at the hotel lounge instead of drinking by myself.”

  He handed me a business card that read “Seth Roberts, CFO” with an address scribbled on the back. “That’s where I am staying. I’ll be in the lobby around eight. See you there if you’d like.”

  He got back in the cab while I stood like an idiot, grasping his card in one hand, my vibrator and lingerie bag in the other.