Cheap & Classy (Hide Your Crazy)

by Hardenbrook, T. A.

“Have you seen Megan?”

  “No Chance. I’m going to squash that thought right there. There will be no playing naked Twister with my assistant.”

  “Really Molly, do you think that low of me?” Chance whined, letting a stupid smile stretch across his face.

  “Don’t do it, Chance. I’m warning you,” I threatened, tightly gripping the box to my chest.

  “Oh Molly, challenge accepted.” He snorted, raising one eyebrow in a thought-provoking way.

  “I will cut your dick off and have it mounted if you as much as touch that girl.”

  “Well, I guess you wouldn’t need to make a copy of my dick then.” Chance chuckled, reaching over and patting me on the shoulder.

  Rolling my eyes, I pushed around the baboon and yanked open the dressing room door. There was no way I was letting good ol’ Megan get wrapped up in PD hell. These men were nothing but trouble. Sure, they might not be as bad as Black Laden was, but still horny men nonetheless.

  “Oh Megan!” Chance called out in the open room.

  “Out!” I screamed, pointing back out the door.

  “Good lord, Molly. Who lit your tampon string on fire?”

  Using my free hand, I shoved Chance back out of the room and pushed the door closed.

  “Am I missing something?” Megan’s head poked around a large black curtain panel with a questioning glance.

  “Nope, just Chance thinking with his penis again.” Shaking my head, I placed the box down on a chair and rubbed my eyes.

  “Is there any other way for that man to think?” Megan snickered.

  Shrugging my shoulders, I simply smiled and got down to work. Maybe I should have gone to college. I could have been a preschool teacher; same concept as now, just smaller bodies who actually used their brains and not their lower appendages.

  Chapter 4

  No, this is not a “dick in a box”. Okay, well, technically it is.

  I really needed to stash this box away on the bus. I was bound to forget it somewhere or drop the bastard, letting the contents spill out for everyone’s viewing pleasure. The last thing I needed was everyone on this tour to know what sick and twisted gift Danielle had graced me with. Come to think of it, I bet this isn’t the first time one of these would have been found backstage. The women that frequented the boys after their concerts probably had one of those bad boys tucked into their purses, considering I doubted they thought round two would ever happen. These guys were a hump em’ and dump them crew, with the exception of Brantley. He apparently decided to put a ring on one of his groupies, and then fuck around with the other half of the population while on the road. Grimacing for the nasty mental thought, I mentally scolded myself for being mean. I knew nothing about their relationship, other than the fact that he decided to play me like a two sided fiddle and I obviously didn’t see past the bullshit covered lies he threw at me. That stupid fucker, making me feel all special and……………………

  “Molly?” Megan’s voice broke my train of thoughts.

  “Sorry, I got lost in my own head.” I laughed, turning my attention to Megan walking over with the boys from Pleasure Revenge.

  “No worries. I was just going to show these guys to their room. This is Jaxon, Zain, and Michael.”

  “Hi, I’m Molly,” I greeted, shifting the cock in box carefully under my arm and extending my hand outward to them.

  “Thanks for having us on the tour. We are really excited to be going out with you all,” Zain exclaimed, flashing his pearly whites at us.

  “Well, I’m glad you all could join us. It should be a great tour.” I smiled, shifting the box awkwardly to my other side. With all my southern grace and charm one would think I could keep hold of the damn box. But no. Right as I was about to turn and say something to Megan, the stupid thing went crashing to the floor, spilling the contents on the cement. Megan let out a little gasp while my eyes grew about five times the size of normal.

  “Um…………..I think you dropped this?” One of the band members bent down, smirking as he held it out for me.

  “Ha ha, yep,” was all I managed to say while grabbing the stupid kit from his hands. A collective chuckle came from the other band mates as I stuffed the thing back into the box and awkwardly smiled, stepping around the group.

  “Hush,” Megan threatened as I walked away.

  Shaking my hand over my shoulder in a half ditched effort of a goodbye, my lips pursed and my heart continued to spasm. That dirty little secret was now out in the open. Manager Molly was walking around with a dick mold in a box. Absolutely wonderful.

  I quickly scampered out of the venue and back on to the bus. Brantley, Eric, and Jeremy were still glued to the damn Xbox while my eyes darted around the room to find a safe stashing place for the unmentionable item. Stepping over sprawled out body limbs, I opened the oven and tossed the culprit in, slamming the door a little harder than I realized.

  “Shit, Molly, what did the stove ever do to you?” Jeremy piped up, his eyes still glued to the screen.

  “Oh stuff it, Jer. Meet and greet is in an hour, boys.”

  “Okay,” they mumbled, still completely entranced by that damn shooter game.

  “So, I’m guessing you all should clean up and get ready. I doubt any of the girls would service you if you smell the way you do now,” I called out. Shuddering, I made my retreat back over the body parts and headed for the stairs. I knew damn well those boys could smell like a rotten garbage can and girls would still drop their panties for the rats. Nasty smelly boys and dirty no self-respect hookers.

  “Hey Molly?” Brantley called out as I was just about to step off the bus.

  Hopping up the steps, I poked my head around the door. “What’s up?”

  “Was that the dick mold you tossed in the oven?”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about,” I stammered, instantly cursing Chance out in my mind. I bounded down the steps as laughter filled the bus. I was going to kill Chance when I found the little gremlin. Apparently everyone thought it was absolutely hilarious that I had a clone-a-dick mold. After I reamed Chance, Danielle was the next to get my wrath. I work with a bunch of idiots.

  The first night of the tour went off without a hitch. Sure, the lighting set didn’t go according to plan, we ran out of t-shirts before the guys even took the stage, and I did lose a member of the opening act before taking off for Portland, but overall I would call it a successful night. No crazy groupies, wives, or even ex-wives were thrown in the mix and that led to a rather peaceful evening. Now if only all the shows could be that simple, I might just survive the tour without going stark raving mad. Not that I’m not mad already, just more along the lines of Alice in Wonderland tea party kind of crazy. Anyone in this industry had to be a little off their rocker to make it, considering at least seventy percent of people medicated themselves to just put up with the men we cater to.

  Snickering to myself, I reached over and switched on the coffee pot. We were bound to arrive in Portland soon, and the guys had a meet and greet at a radio station scheduled for eleven. Knowing it was going to take at least three pots of coffee to remove the children from their slumbers, I decided to start a pot now. This way I had the chance to enjoy a cup or two before waking the masses.

  My cell phone pinged on the counter, signaling I had an email. Grabbing the phone, I swiped the lock button over and dreaded what could possibly be in the inbox. I’m betting it’s something from NP, thus whatever I read was sure to make my morning suck. Normally when I received any correspondence from them, I either didn’t do something right or there was a change to the schedule. Groaning, I clicked on the mail app and my jaw hit the floor.

  “From the Law Office of Teller and McGlenister,” I groaned. What’s worse than work on a Saturday morning? Well, that would be my mother.

  I haven’t spoken to that wretched woman or my evil sister since I bolted before the funeral. If the words spoken between the two of us that day had any inclination on how long we would go w
ithout talking to each other, then getting that damn email this morning really shouldn’t be happening. My mother was a cruel, hateful, spiteful woman, and I really couldn’t give a shit about how her life was panning out. Flopping down on the couch with a rather large cup of Joe, I continue to glare at the dreaded email taunting me.

  “So, you seem pissy. What did your cell phone do to you this morning?” Brantley spoke, reaching for the pot and pouring himself a cup.

  “I take it you didn’t like the wake up yesterday?” I threw back, still scowling at the phone. Between my mother’s email and a grouchy Brantley in the morning, I was pretty sure my day was officially screwed. Maybe the bus would just self-combust and save me the trouble of dealing with any more shit today.

  “Spill it,” Brantley huffed, taking a seat in one of the captain’s chairs across from me.

  “My mother.”

  “Oohhh………..that’s rough this morning.”

  “No shit Sherlock,” I whined, dropping my head on the back of the couch. Why didn’t I have the balls to open this stupid email? I am a stronger person than the girl who stood toe to toe with the evil bitch a couple weeks ago. I have no doubt that the shit in this email is only going to sour my mood even further, hence my apprehension to open the fucker.

  “Toss it here,” Brantley stated, holding his hand out to catch the phone.

  “Huh?” I questioned, giving him a puzzled look.

  “Let me read it. If there is anything you really need to know, then I’ll tell you.”

  My options were either let Brantley read the probable hate mail, sparing me the unneeded details of my selfish upbringing and such, or read the damn email myself and suffer the consequences. Sure, I was a stronger person, but this instance made me feel like a twelve-year old preteen getting rejected by her lifelong crush. Tossing the phone over, I cringed when Brantley caught it, immediately opening the dreaded file. I watched his face as he silently read, searching for any clues on the tone of the message. My only guess was it started out with ‘Dear my failure of a Daughter’, or maybe ‘You unforgiving little brat,” was maybe the more general tone of the email.

  “So?” I pried. Brantley held up a finger, signaling me to wait as he finished reading. Seriously, this must be some wretched shit if it’s taking this long.

  “Well, actually it wasn’t bad,” he commented, tossing the phone back over to me.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Nope. But you do have a meeting with your dad’s law firm on Monday to discuss the division of his assets.” Brantley offered a half smile, knowing damn well that was never going to happen.

  Racking my brain, I tried to think what we could possibly have to go over. My father had left certain things to my sister and me in the unfortunate event of his demise, but the rest would automatically go to Mother. So why in the hell do we need to gather together in the same room to scowl at each other for an undisclosed amount of time?

  “Well too bad; we will be heading down to Sacramento Monday morning.” I laughed awkwardly.

  “Yeah, it mentioned something about a video conference if you were not able to attend.” Brantley shrugged, tossing back the remaining liquid in his cup.

  “Fuck me,” I groaned, sinking further down on the couch.

  “Oh come on, Molls. Forgiveness is crucial for future success, right?”

  “Well, it was in our case. Since, I’m betting you still want to have more children in the future, right? Saving the relationship with my mother and sister is scarce as hen’s teeth. I do declare failure for any future reconciliation.”

  “Whatever makes you sleep at night.” Brantley laughed, standing up and heading back to his bunk.

  “You have an hour before we need to leave,” I managed to spit out, still debating the moral dilemma in my head on forgiving the enemy.

  “I think it’s a perfect time to wake Chance up then.” An evil laugh emerged from Brantley as he disappeared behind the black curtain. I really didn’t want to know what revenge he had planned for that man. However, he did share my birthday present with everyone yesterday. The bastard had it coming.

  I stewed over the damn email for most of the morning, letting myself fall further into a slump of doom. Pretty sure my day was just on auto pilot, and by midafternoon I realized that people were actually avoiding me. I’ve been known to fly off the handle a time or two, so when people actually stopped and turned around when I was heading in their direction it didn’t really surprise me. Storming down the hallway, I was on a mission to find Megan and make sure everything was ready for tonight before I hit craft services. I had yet to eat anything since breakfast, and my bitch meter was already going off left and right.

  “Hey Allen,” I called out, glancing down at my clipboard to check what time they were letting the crowd in the building tonight. “Oomph,” I let out while the top of my body folded over the table I was apparently not watching for. The clipboard flew from my hands and skidded across the floor.

  “Son of a bitch,” I grumbled, still sprawled out on the table.

  “You’re a hot mess today, Molly.”’ Danielle poked her head out of wardrobe, giving me a smile.

  Molly: 0

  World: 765325

  “Why me?”

  Chapter 5:

  Skype sex? Should I be worried about my USB port?

  That stupid meeting weighed heavily on my mind the rest of the weekend. One could only imagine what needed to be said, and why in the world they couldn’t just send me an email stating what was my share of dad’s fortune. The only thing I wanted from the family was my car, considering I still had no fucking clue on where my family was keeping her. It really was my fault, though, since I refused to call Mother and ask her about my beloved baby. It’s a good thing I never wanted children because I would definitely suck at being a mom. I had no role models growing up, and I lost my “only child”. Some mother I would turn out to be; maybe I should get my tubes tied and save the world from another one of me……………or better yet, my sister. Yep, I’m never ever having children.

  Sitting down at the small table on the bus, I pulled out my laptop and started going over the next week’s schedule. Our tour was so condensed that one wrong move on my part and everything would go up in flames. Well, I doubt burning it to the ground in a literal sense is a little dramatic, but close enough to make me want to stay on my toes. I was starting to feel like a circus act; juggling dangerous things like a chainsaw, fire batons, and maybe some knives. Everyone was always looking at me to screw up, or perhaps those were just my insecurities coming into play. Most people would think I was pretty put together, minus a few meltdowns here and there. But, I swore once I got all my ducks in a row, one of the little bastards would run off. Leaving me in complete panic mode. Dealing with my old boss was one thing, being in charge of a band and tour people was a completely different kind of crazy train.

  “So, I’ve been thinking,” Brantley stated, immediately grabbing my attention.

  “What a novel thought. I really wondered when you would start using that brain of yours again.”

  “Real funny, Molly. Anyway, how about you help me write some songs for the next album? I’m sure the label would give you writing credits, and it will be nice to work with someone that I already know,” Brantley pointed out, sliding into the seat across from me.

  “I’m not a writer, Brantley,” I replied dryly. Apparently, I was too quick to think that he was using his brain again.

  “That’s a load of crap, Molly, and you know it.”

  “Brantley, I write music for me, just me. I don’t plan on making it big or playing for sold out crowds. My songs tell the stories of my life, and I hardly think your rock lifestyle would make any sense with my lyrics.”

  “That’s the point. You write from the heart, and not some made up bullshit trying to sell a million copies,” Brantley stated firmly, his eyes boring holes right through my soul.

  “I don’t know what to tell you, other
than no.”

  “Think about it. I could really use the help, and you know what I’m working with when it comes to my bandmates. Stripper poles and motocross are not exactly chart toppers.”

  “Speaking of, did you guys still want to hit up the track Wednesday after your gig in San Francisco?” I questioned, trying to redirect the conversation anywhere else but writing music.

  “Fuck yeah,” Chance commented, flopping himself down next to me and stretching his arm over my shoulders.

  “Personal space, Chance,” I grumbled, rolling my eyes.

  “You know you love it when I touch you.” Chance laughed, pulling me tighter into his side.

  “Only when you have been medically checked out there, buddy, and I’m sure that hasn’t been lately. Wouldn’t want you spreading crabs around again, now would we?”

  “Dude, we should stop for seafood tonight.”

  Brantley and I both groaned at the same time. That was not something we ever wanted to hear in the same conversation ever again. Chance having crabs and wanting to stop and get seafood. We really needed some kind of filter between us when dealing with that baboon.

  “So, do you want me to setup your laptop with Skype for the meeting tomorrow morning?” Megan asked casually.

  Glancing up from my chair in Danielle’s wardrobe room, I tossed my assistant a nasty look. How in the hell did she catch wind of that debacle?

  “You realize I read your emails, too.”

  “Well, I don’t really care about that meeting,” I replied harshly, flipping the page of my magazine a little harder than I realized and tearing the rather hot and delicious Mr. December in half.

  “Gosh, I love Skype. I totally had the best online sex last week with the drummer from Cravin. The things that man did to me,” Danielle rambled while pulling things from the racks.

  “You what?” I gasped in shock. How in the hell did she have mind blowing sex over the internet?