Here’s a sample from my book, Hethal

 

Chapter 01

Marissa

 

“I know, baby, I hear you,” I said into my phone.  I looked over to Wendy and she was rolling her eyes. I stuck my tongue out at her in response.

“No, no. Yeah. I’m looking forward to it too. We have to….yes. That’s right. We can’t let everyone know about…right. Yes. Thanks for your understanding.”

Wendy sighed and pointed at her watch. I held up my hand in response.

“Ok Mike. Honey? Yes. I have to go. Yes. No. Well Wendy is here, I told you we’re having…just some sandwiches. Hahah, what does that matter? Ok. Thanks. I will see you soon,” I said.

Then I found myself rolling my own eyes.

“Yes. Praise the lord. See you soon. Bye.” I hung up the phone and immediately Wendy threw a crouton from her salad at me.

“What is that?” she said. I shrugged my shoulders. 

“You know, Mike is into the whole thing. God and the heartland, right? It’s part of his image.”

Wendy shook her head at that.

“I mean, I get that he’s a country music star, but does he have to live it twenty-four hours a day?”

“I gotta tell you, I’m not so sure it’s an act with Mike,” I said. “He seems pretty devoted.”

Wendy took another sip from her cocktail. Her third of the afternoon.

“Oh yeah,” she said, a little red-eyed. “How can you tell?”

I hesitated for a moment, then took a swallow of my own martini.

“Well,” I said, re-adjusting all the silverware in front of me, “we still haven’t had sex yet.”

“WHAT?” Wendy said, loudly enough for other patrons of the restaurant to turn around. I sighed.

“Could you maybe find a different range to broadcast that in? I don’t need everyone to know the happenings of my personal life.”

“Or, the non-happenings, as the case may be,” Wendy said, choking back a laugh as she took a forkful of her food.

“Oh stop it,” I said. “He’s saving himself. He’s waiting for the right time. You know, I actually find it pretty sweet in a way.” Wendy put her fork down with a clang.

“Saving himself? Wait a minute…you’re telling me that Mike Wellbrook, platinum-selling recording star, handsome and charming, tours the world constantly, is a goddamned virgin??”

This was a conversation that I didn’t want to be having.

“I’m not saying anything about anything, Wendy, ok? Could we drop it please? Besides the fact that I don’t want my private life public, it wouldn’t exactly help my career if it got out that a journalist from Thunder Alley Music Press was dating the musician that they give a lot of coverage to, ok?”

Wendy shook her head.

“Yeah, but—”

“No ‘yeah, buts’ Wendy,” I said firmly. “Don’t screw this up for me, ok? It could seriously get me into trouble. Maybe lose my job, all right? My editors would be fucking furious if they learned about this.” Wendy waved her white napkin in front of me.

“All right, Marissa,” she said.  “I will drop it. For now. But let me tell you: when we’re alone, at your place or mine or wherever, we are getting into this again. You can bet your ass on that.”

“Joy of joys,” I said. “Can’t wait.” I pulled out my wallet to pay the bill. “C’mon, we gotta get out of here if I’m going to make it to Heath Longstreet’s press conference in time.” I threw money on the table and Wendy took another big swallow of her drink, grabbed her purse, and followed me out the door. Settling into the car, she turned to me.

“Is it weird?”

“Is what weird?” I responded.

“Covering your boyfriend’s biggest rival? I mean Heath Longstreet and Mike seem to just be trading number one singles, knocking each other off of the charts, sniping at each other. All that. It must be hard to be unbiased, when you’re not-fucking one of them,” she said with a smirk.

“Funny. You’re funny,” I said.

“I know. It’s a gift.”

“No, it’s not that hard. I mean, honestly, I wish I liked Longstreet’s music a little better. He’s just not a favorite of mine. But don’t get me wrong. There are times when it gets…complicated. Do remember that riot that broke out last year? When both of their tours ended playing in Denver on the same night?”

Wendy started bouncing up and down in her seat, she was so excited.

“Do I remember? It was all over the news! How their fans got into a brawl before the shows, like they were the Jets and the Sharks in West Side Story. Beating the shit out of each other. All because the shows happened to be scheduled the same night in the same town. It was crazy! All I could do was watch the news when that was going down,” she said.

“Yeah, well. Imagine being the reporter in the midst of all that,” I said.

“Wait, you were there? You never told me that!”

I shrugged my shoulders.

“It’s not something I felt great about. Plus, it was kinda scary. People were acting like…I don’t know…zombies or something. It was very strange. Luckily, Mike’s security came through the mob and pulled me out. I don’t know what could’ve happened otherwise. Some music fans…they’re just insane. I don’t get it.” I said. Wendy nodded and reached over to turn on the car stereo.

“People get weird about all kinds of shit. I had a cousin who collected baseball cards and he once…”

She stopped suddenly as one of Mike’s songs came on the radio. It was one of his more popular hits. A bit of a rocker called “Love in the Dark in the Trailer Park.” I though the lyrics weren’t his finest, but folks went nuts for them.

“What were you saying, Wendy?” I asked her but she didn’t respond to me.

I glanced over from the driver’s seat and Wendy was just…staring out the window, mouth hanging open and some drool sliding out of her mouth.

“Wendy? Are you all right?” The song was playing on, the chorus where Mike sings:

“Love in the Dark in the Trailer Park/

When the chickens come home to roost/

All your spices give me the spark/

To give my rooster a boost.”

Like I said, not his finest effort.  

But Wendy was utterly mesmerized by it. She was mouthing the words along with the song, just barely whispering them.

“Wendy, what’s going on?”

She turned to look at me and her eyes were wide and vacant.

“Gotta get that Samantha, Marissa. Samantha is the source of so much. So much power.”

What the fuck was this? Who the hell is Samantha? 

“Wendy, what are you talking about? Who’s Samantha? Are you going to be sick? Do you need me to pull over?”

She kept babbling about how important ‘Samantha’ was. I’ve known Wendy for years, but I’ve never heard her mention anything about a Samantha before. Was it her cousin? A niece maybe? Wendy’s mother was named Alice. So that wasn’t it.

Shit. A thought just occurred to me. Could Samantha be her long-lost daughter or something like that? Some scandal from her past?

That would be awful. And also, kind of amazing.

“Gimme that love in the dark/

All the way down in my trailer park/

Where I keep scratchin/

At your henhouse door”

Mike had really captured…something…in that song. They can’t all be classics, I said to myself.

“If we can find Samantha, then everything will be all right,” Wendy said. I wasn’t sure she was even still blinking.

We were about to pull up to the venue where Longstreet’s press conference was happening. It looked like it was about to get going. It was set up on a small outdoor stage with speakers and monitors on either end. 

Supposedly, Longstreet was going to be announcing a new album and a tour. Coincidentally just as Mike was doing the same thing.

The two guys just couldn’t stop picking at each other. If they weren’t careful, one day it would all end in tears.

Wendy was still rambling about Samantha, but I didn’t have time for it anymore. I needed to get over there before the presser started. My editor would kill me if I missed anything.

I pulled over the car and parked it, turning off the radio as I did. When the song cut out, Wendy instantly snapped back to herself.

“Oh, we’re here already?” She said. “That was fast. I thought it would take a little longer.” I looked at her closely and she caught me staring.

“What?” Wendy said.

“You ok?” I asked.

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, for one thing, there’s drool all over your face,” I told her.

“Shit, really?”  She pulled on the visor mirror and pulled out a handkerchief and wiped her face. “Why didn’t you tell me that, Marissa? Jeez!”

“I tried to, but you were…I don’t know…really out of it.”

“What are you talking about?” she said, focusing on her face in the mirror.

“Who’s Samantha?” I asked.

“What?”

“You kept talking about someone named Samantha, about how important she was. And that we had to find her,” I told her. Wendy looked at me like I had three heads.

“Marissa, I have zero idea what you’re talking about. Look, we should get out there! Here’s comes Heath!” There was a flash of cameras and a bunch of reporters shouting questions as Longstreet took the stage, waving to everyone while his new single blasted out over the speakers.

Wendy bounded out of the car and headed over to the conference. I sat for one second more, trying to understand what the hell had just happened. But the press conference was starting and I soon joined my friend.

The mystery of Samantha could wait another day.

 

Chapter 02

Hethal

 

The music was blasting as I took the stage for the press conference. I nodded and smiled and waved and did all the things that I am supposed to do in these situations.  But I have to say, I found it all exhausting.

It wasn’t easy being a star. Everyone wanted your time, everyone wanted your signature on something, a contract, an autograph. There were meetings to take, bands to assemble, rehearsal to conduct, tours to schedule, albums to record, and on and on and on. I don’t know how humans did this. Or why they’d want to do it.

I’d rather be out there hunting down Zanthi scum, but no. Not for ol’ Hethal. Just cause I won the annual karaoke contest, they decide to stick me with this assignment. What bullshit. I only won cause everyone else was drunk and was warbling off-key!

I mean, “Achy-Breaky Heart” just happened to be in my range. I don’t even like Billy Ray Cyrus! But it was luck of the draw and that’s the song I got. 

I mean, honestly? I like Miley Cyrus a whole lot more. She’s got some shit to say, that human. Although I do think she broke Liam Hemsworth’s heart. But whatever. Nobody’s perfect.

So I, Hethal of the Kaleth, was given the identity and disguise of “Heath Longstreet, country star.” And why was that? To combat Slurik, one of the most devious Zanthi agents that had yet been encountered.

Slurik, the bastard, had also disguised himself here on Earth, getting a hold of something like our holo-disguises to help keep the populace unawares. He was calling himself “Mike Wellbrook,” and had established a career as, you guessed it, a country music star. 

I had to hand it to him, he clearly had a sense of making a hit. He rolled out number one after number one. Which would be annoying in and of itself, but the Zanthi weren’t here just to make a little money and score with groupies.

Every one of Slurik’s songs had subliminal messages embedded within them, that affected humans, particularly human women, in odd ways. It rendered them slightly mindless and open to suggestion. And every time one of his hits played on the radio, thousands of people were affected.

The Federation higher-ups had figured out that the best way to combat this was to produce our own songs with counter-messaging in them, effectively rendering the Zanthi tunes inert. They acted like an anecdote, sort of. And so far, it had worked.

But in truth, it was all just a bit of stalemate, because Slurik was producing new songs at such a fast rate that it was everything I could do to keep up with him. So all we were doing was maintaining a balance. 

But sooner or later, that balance would tip over. 

We had a whole team of songwriters working to help craft my songs and I wasn’t too bad of a writer myself. But Slurik had a gift for it. I have to give it to him for that.

We needed to figure something else out and soon.

But for now, this little dance between us continued. Competing songs, competing tours, the whole works. And for now, I was stuck in this press conference, answering questions I had already answered a thousand times before. 

Where did my ideas come from? Who are my influences? Were there any prospects for a romantic partner anytime soon? Blah blah blah.

I was tired of it.

Sitting behind the conference table, while cameras flashed, my new song “Aiming for a Sundown” blasted out over the speakers.

“I know the lay of the land looks rough/

But if you take my hand and gimme a chance/

I’ll lead you to where love is enough/

We’re aiming for a sundown/

Where hearts bleed out dreamstuff.”

Eh. I thought it was ok.

The song ended and reporters were yelling out their questions to me. I raised my hand to get a little quiet.

“Listen y’all, first I’d like to thank everyone for coming out for this presser. I’m excited to announce my new tour in support of the latest album. We think that we’re going to be able to bring a lot of joy to folks who are looking for something to uplift them.”

I saw a good-looking blond raise her hand and I called on her.

“Yes?” I said.

“Marissa St. Cloud, from Thunder Alley. Mr. Longstreet, I wonder if you could speak to the rivalry that has emerged between you and Mike Wellbrook. It seems to have intensified as of late. Do you feel like his artistry to be threatening to your own and vice-versa?”

I looked at her a moment and she kept my gaze, steady and strong. I was curious about this one.

“Well, Ms. St. Cloud, to begin with, I don’t feel anything even remotely like a threat from Mike Wellbrook. And I wouldn’t call what he does ‘artistry.’ More like the work of a talentless hack and his committee of swill-merchants.”

There was a ripple of murmurs that ran through the crowd of reporters. They loved shit like this.

“Swill-merchants? That’s a pretty bold statement to make, Mr. Longstreet. One might even call it arrogant,” St. Cloud said. I shrugged and laughed a little.

“I don’t consider telling the truth to be bold, Ms. St. Cloud. Just the easiest thing to remember,” I said. “Thank ya’ll for coming everybody. See you out there on the road!”

She and I locked eyes a moment longer and I had to admit, she was very, very attractive. More so than I thought at first glance.

I waved and stood, moving from the stage to the waiting area they had set up for me. I walked past my two “bodyguards,” two Federation agents that I’ve known for a while.  Walker and Wilkinson. 

They were here to make sure that I looked like how I was supposed to look. And acted how I was supposed to act. For example, answering questions from these reporters rather than wading out into the middle of them and punching their heads off. Stuff like that.

“Excuse me, Heath?” Walker said pointedly as I walked past. I rolled my eyes. Here we go. Something else I was going to need to do.

“What is it, Walker?”

“We’ve scheduled a one-on-one interview for you,” he said.

“Oh man, really? Now? I don’t want to do that.”

“It’s with the reporter from Thunder Alley. St. Cloud. The one you were just jousting with.”

I stopped and looked at him.

“Really?”

“Uh-huh,” he said.

“Well. Uh. That’s a horse of different color, I gotta say.”

He clapped me on the shoulder.

“I appreciate you sticking with a horse metaphor here. It’s good for the image. Just talk to her for a few minutes. Thunder Alley has a lot of readers and this could get you some good exposure. Lead you to some new audiences. Help curb Slurik’s inroads, you know?”

“Yeah, ok,” I said, nodding. “I’m tired though, so not all day with this, all right?” Walker nodded. 

“Not too long, I promise you.”

I sat down and Wilkinson went off to get her. Walker was giving me a look.

“What?” I said.

“Nothing! Nothing. She’s just…ah…she’s pretty attractive, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yeah, well, she’s…you know…yeah,” I said, sputtering. At that moment, she came in with Wilkinson.

“Marissa St. Cloud, meet Heath Longstreet,” Wilkinson said with some pomp and circumstance. I could feel myself drawn to her like a damn magnet. It was immediate. I stood up and offered my hand to her. She gripped it, and a bolt of lightning shot through me.

I saw a look cross her face, momentarily and I couldn’t help thinking she felt it too. What the fuck was happening here?

“Ms. St. Cloud, it’s a pleasure.”

“Marissa, please. Marissa. My friends call me Marissa,” she said, her hand lingering in mine.

“Hethal,” I said without thinking.

“I’m sorry?”

Walker cleared his throat loudly.

“HEATH! Sorry, haha, Heath is my name. Call me Heath.”

“Can we offer you a drink? Some water?” Wilkinson said quickly, offering her a bottle.

Marissa took it and nodded.

“Thank you,” she said, cracking it open and drinking it down. She set the bottle on a table and as I watched, Wilkinson snatched it up and moved over to a corner with it.

“I just wanted to ask about the possibility of violence between you and Mike Wellbrook. Rather, your two camps. There’s been some trouble in the past and there’s been some concerns in the press that it could be getting worse.”

She held me in her gaze like a cobra with a little desert mouse. And I was ready to be swallowed whole.

“Uh, well, Marissa, of course I condone violence of any kind. You know that.”

“Excuse me?” she said, eyes growing wide.

“Pardon me,” Walker said smoothly. “Mr. Longstreet meant he doesn’t condone violence of any kind. Right, Heath?”

“Right! That’s right. That’s absolutely correct. No violence for me! I do NOT condone it and will be doing everything in my power to make sure that’s not something that happens between my fans and Wellbrook’s.” I crossed my fingers behind my back as I said it.

Marissa nodded and looked at me carefully.

“Well, all right then. I won’t take up anymore of your time, Mr. Longstreet.”

“Heath,” I said. “Please call me Heath.’

“Heath,” she repeated. “I’m sure we will be talking again. Stay safe on the road.”

“I’m sure we will too, Marissa. Thanks so much for being so…uh…for being so concerned for me.” I stood there with a stupid grin on my face and staring at her.

“Thanks again,” she said and turned to leave. She gave me one last look before she walked out, and then she was gone. 

Wilkinson walked back over to where Walker and I were standing. 

“Well?” Walker said.

“Yup. Genetic match. She’s your mate, Hethal,” Wilkinson said.

I looked at them both like they were idiots.

“No shit, guys. I coulda told you that.”