The Hysterics: The Meeting, From his POV

Posted on May 15, 2013


Sitting back in my chair in the meeting room, I smile as all my fellow writers slowly trickle in, tired with coffee in hand, I can see the confusion and frustration on their faces. Every once in a while we have a meeting but never at six in the morning.  Most of us are musicians or insane music fans, keeping vampire-like schedules and hating the term morning; it is part of the reason why the online chronicle idea was an awesome job choice, the hours were appealing.

Ever since Fallon Dunbar came to our online chronicle as our assistant editor, structure has been slowly creeping in, denying our resistances with a devil’s laugh.  She called this meeting knowing how unpopular it would make her with everyone; but me, I was smitten.  Fallon was hot in every way possible in my opinion. She was strong, an amazingly talented writer and covered in the hottest tattoos I had ever seen on a chick.  But, the best part was how much she was a mystery to me. She was one of the most talented underground drummers I have ever heard of, rumored to be dead from an overdose, but here she was, showing up in my life like an arch angel, with her wings still a little singed from the wreckage of her past.  I don’t think anyone else has put the connection together about our new editor’s true identity and I know that’s what Fallon wants.  I haven’t even gotten the nerve up to tell her that I figured it all out the first night she came to my show.

Once most of the staff trickled into the room, Fallon strode in, closing the door behind. Even in her sleepy, disheveled appearance, she’s stunning in her tight black skinny jeans, with a flowing teal tank, hair thrown up with thick framed glasses, I can’t help but stare.  She glided over to me, half smiling as she glances at her watch, “We have like fifteen minutes before we have to start,” she pulled a chair close to mine and straddled it backwards, “How’re you doing, Dane?” Her lips were a succulent red that my body ached to taste again, I stuttered for words but I kept them at a level whisper, playing off my lustful attraction, “I’ll be better once we have that date you made promise to take you on,” I tried my best to have my lips curl into a smile without blushing, forcing my eyes to not divert to her perfect tits playing peekaboo with her almost see through tank.

She ran her fingers through her hair, tucking in a few stragglers into her messy bun and biting her lip into a half smile, “I can’t meet you and the guys for drinks tonight, I’ve been feeling like shit all morning, rain check for Saturday?”  She slowly started to rise, probably noticing that the last two members of our writing staff scrambled through the door.  I looked at her, pretending to sulk a little and then nodded, telling her that only one rain check was allowed.

I leaned back into my chair, eyes fixating on the dark blue quill etched beautifully around her collar bone and shoulder.  I tried to pay attention while Fallon strolled through how well our fans are responding to our articles, and how much more emotion we could bleed from out passions for the music we are writing about.  All of it was interesting, but nothing could pull my mind from cracking her mystery.  Why was she so secretive, why didn’t she want anyone to know who she was, how talented she is?

From the look of the bags under her eyes and the paleness of her skin, I could see she wasn’t lying about being sick.  It made me feel better about her bailing on our plans.  I knew that later at the bar and practice the guys would give me grief for her not showing up.  But, it was probably for the better, none of my bandmates could keep their mouths shut and the discovery of a rock-goddess would be hard to make them shut up about.

Once the meeting was over, Fallon waved me over to her.  Even with feeling under the weather her eyes sparkled through her glasses, it was stunning.  “What’s up?” I questioned, getting close enough to smell her perfume.

“Your article you submitted this morning,” She trailed off, waiting for my nod of acknowledgement to continue, “When did you write it?”

I paused for a moment and then quickly blurting out a lie, “A few days ago, why?”

She shrugged it off quickly excepting my answer, “I was just curious, it was fantastic, it will be featured tomorrow,” She put her hand on my shoulder, her face twisted, looking like she was fighting back tears, but forcing a smile, “Great writing!”

With that I watched her walk away, a little too nervous to be close to her at the moment.


If you want more from The Hysterics story and from these characters be sure to check out my other installments: The Hysterics: A Short Story, Her Mistake, His POV