Hot Chocolate in Wonderland: When you're going crazy, you are always the last one to know.

By Liza Michelle Brock

On her 40th birthday Louise May appears to have it all, a loving husband, three beautiful children, caring friends and ample finances. So why is she alone in a faraway room drinking Vodka, overdosing on sleeping pills and reflecting on the contents of a pictorial biography compiled for her birthday by those dearest to her?

She recalls the

• Language: English
• Publisher: Liza Brock Creative
• Release date: Jul 3, 2018
• ISBN: 9780994381927

Liza Michelle Brock

Liza Brock is best known as a member of the chart topping 90's girl group Teen Queens and more recently as a writer for the internationally acclaimed BP Hope Magazine, awarded Best Bipolar Online Publication by Healthline.com. Her blogs resonate deeply with her 190,000 + monthly readers and Liza is lauded for her stigma busting insightfulness and humour. She has successfully published her own online Bipolar survivor's workbook and has contributed to James Withey's prestigious, The Recovery Letters published in the UK and USA. HOT CHOCOLATE IN WONDERLAND is Liza's first novel. She is currently working on the film adaptation for a US producer.

Book preview

HOT CHOCOLATE IN WONDERLAND

Written by Liza Brock

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For ANYONE WHO’S EVER WONDERED!

Louise turns the wheel of her VW Beetle 10 degrees as she quickly swerves to miss last night’s road kill. Did it suffer, she ponders. Did it lie there, on the road in pain, suffering until it finally died? As she watched it recede in her rear view, Louise can’t help but wonder, if it had thought it was a pleasant enough day to die like she did.

Contents

Chapter 1: This Is Your Life Mummy

Chapter 2: The Bingles

Chapter 3: Mr Waterwood & Records

Chapter 4: Pop Stars On Speed

Chapter 5: Marriage, Bondi And…

Chapter 6: India And The Frog

Chapter 7: Delusions Of Grandeur!

Chapter 8: The Manor The Doc And Sex

Chapter 9: Glitter Box & Magic

Chapter 10: Motherhood

Chapter 11: Vodka Lime And Soda?

Chapter 12: What The Doc Say?

Chapter 13: Bath Oils And Spoilers

Chapter 14: Sweet Charity

Chapter 15: Am I Dead?

Chapter 16: Pec—Psychiatric Emergency Centre

Chapter 17: Still At Pec

Chapter 18: Checking In

Chapter 19: The Room

Chapter 20: Celebrity Rehab

Chapter 21: Blonde Ravin

Chapter 22: Panic Attack

Chapter 23: Manic Monday

Chapter 24: Lockdown, Biatch!

Chapter 25: For The Last Time

Acknowledgments

About the author

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Chapter 1

This Is Your Life Mummy

Today’s my 40th birthday. And yes, I’ve freaked out. I’m feeling overwhelmed with emotions. Do I now dress 40? I don’t know. ‘Doesn’t she look like, ‘Mutton dressed up as Lamb,’ my Ma-Moose would say to me. ‘I don’t know, does she? I thought you had to fall into the geriatric age bracket before you could look like Mutton dressed up as Lamb.’

I slap on my faithful pair of jeans and converse shoes, however, my trick, I spritz myself with Channel N*5 and layer myself with jewels. Not pearls. Everyone looks old in pearls. That should do it. Mature yet young and funky. Mutton-Lamb? Never. Walking contradiction—for sure. I’ve decided I’m going to celebrate the 40-year milestone in style with me, myself and I, at The Manor, a glorious sandstone building built in 1890’s, a 60-minute drive West of where I currently live. The last time I was here, I spent the day with my beautiful Adam and my adorable babies. Adam bought us a lovely bottle of Merlot. We sat in front of the crackling open fire sipping the wine whilst the kids drank Hot Chocolate. It was a beautiful family lunch, just the five of us. I have never loved a man so deeply as I love my Adam.

I feel relieved and at peace—finally.

I turn my music up and listen to my favourite artist, Sting.

Free, free, set them free. Free, free, set them free.

My 1950’s convertible beetle rocks. It’s the first car I bought. I can’t bear to ever sell it. I enjoy long drives in the country with the lid off, allowing the wind to blow on my face. I find driving really therapeutic. Do you? It’s a terrific way to clear the head. I put my foot down and floor it. My beetle hesitates for a sec then I’m off. I drive faster—and faster—and—oops I think that’s, yep, slam on the breaks, drop the gear down to one, the beetle squeals as I turn hard right, hit the driveway get airborne just a smidge and slam on the brakes. I’ve arrived.

I better drive like a respectable law abiding citizen, now shouldn’t I? Be Posh darl.

I slowly drive up the long winding driveway. Oh, it’s just magic. The massive purple Jacaranda trees are bursting with colour today. Im-press-ive. Really magical. Wow! Besides the open fire and the Jacaranda trees, this place has a spooky past. The Manor is indeed haunted. Yep no joke. The original owner died in his bedroom and his spirit remains on the property to this day. It’s even been captured in photographs. I’m into mystical magical, spiritual stuff. Cool. The car parks not busy. There’s a park right out the front.

Don’t forget the hand brake.

Buckle, press. Done. Open glove box. Done.

Wad I forget? Handbag, phone, pills tick.

Of course, silly billy, the reason I’m here. ‘The Album.’ My special gift.

Mum, This Is Your Life. A pictorial biography of my life.

I woke to what felt like Octopus tentacles suctioned-cupped all over my face. I mean, come on! I received the best gift ever. A face full of kisses. Adam trots in with my morning cup of hot coffee. No. Not George Clooney Nespresso style. The Mays do Aldi. Cheap Aldi style. Gotta love Aldi. I mean truly, hear me out— why pay so much money when you can get the same thing for less? It does the same thing, look—we even have a milk frother. Aldi should pay me. I’m their best form of marketing. That was, until, I tried the real Nespresso deal. I’ll never knock the Clooney again.

This album is truly amazing. Black leather bound with 8x10 glossy pictures. Would’ve cost a bomb. What a thoughtful and very special handmade gift. I can’t help but tear up. Wow, I smile, I can so see them giggling and probably fighting over pics to pop in it. I’ve been so lucky, so, bloody lucky to have my babies and Adam in my life. Do I really deserve them; I wonder? I only had a sec this morning to flick through it. But now, now, I can really savour every tiny detail. The babies went to so much trouble creating this photo album. They’re so proud of it. I will treasure it forever.

The sun is shining; the sky is crystal blue. I have an unusual spring in my step today. I close the driver’s side door and walk to the front door sucking in the fresh clean crisp air. As much as I dislike the isolation the country offers, the fresh crisp air is always a welcomed relief. I’m greeted and ushered to my seat by a middle aged well-dressed hostess. I made my reservation over a month ago—nibbles and wine, then room service in their country manor executive suite, whilst soaking in the hot tub surrounded with candles. I brought along my essential oil. Mind Power. It’s called—Mind Power. Pfft! If that’d help!

‘Are you waiting for anyone else madam?’

‘No. It’s just—a me, and those other two I mumble under my breath. It’s my birthday. I’m 40 today. Yes. I know. 4.0. Ha! Pause. (waiting for the compliment, waiting.) Humph, May I sit in the lounge room, please, in front of the fire?’ I ask politely.

‘The grand old fireplace is not on.’ She tells me.

Pooh bum I think to myself.

I guess it’s unreasonable to ask for them to put it on. It’s pushing 38 degrees outside with 70% humidity. The humidity is the killer in Queensland. Well… It looks the part. The fireplace. Which is all that counts. It has big comfy leather reading chairs with dimmed intelligent lighting. I imagine Stephen King sitting and writing in those kinda chairs. It’s cosy yet artistic. This is where Adam and I sat on that beautiful day. It’s perfect. I want to order the same bottle of Merlot we had.

‘Hello,’ I wave from behind my big chair. ‘Can I grab a bottle of Merlot please.’

My God, you’re such a boozer Louise.

The hostess brings over the bottle and looks at me with a curious, are you really going to drink the whole bottle by yourself look? whilst pouring me my glass. She doesn’t really take her eyes off me. I give her my, I’m turning-40-and-why-the-fuck-not look. Question mark— shrug.

Yeah, go on, give it to that bitch.

Shoosh darling, she’s just doing her job.

Oh, yeah, those two. Sorry, please excuse them. They’re very inappropriate.

I bet she’s intrigued as to why I’m celebrating my birthday by myself.

Ha, if only she knew.

Saskia, please help.

Foxy! Enough.

Now don’t get on to thinking I have a borderline personality disorder here. Believe me (although you have no real reason to), we’ve been down that track and BPD isn’t in the ballpark. No, these two are just a couple of thinking extremes I like to put names to. These two say what we sometimes think when we shouldn’t. They are definitely very un-PC. OK, call it denial and see if I care. And, whether I like it or not, you’re going to hear from them. Over and over again.

Where was I? Oh yes.

There’s only two other businessmen in the den drinking. Won’t have to wait long for service. Tick, tick! I take a long sip and feel the warmth of the wine drip down my throat and warm my belly. I close my eyes. Hmm, I lick my lips. Bad habit. But damn it’s so decadent. I look up as the hostie places a platter down on the table in front of me. It consists of lightly fried olives with a crunchy almond batter, those really expensive looking crackers (don’t know their name) avocado dip, pickles, eggplant, sun dried tomatoes and crusty white bread to dip into balsamic and olive oil. Yummy, yum, yum.

I take another sip of the Merlot, grab an olive and place it in my mouth, oh wow, it’s warm and crunchy. Loving the texture babe. I nod and smile at hostie. Thumbs up! Yumo. I wipe my hand on the supplied serviette, lift the photo album from the table and place it on my lap. I don’t want distraction today, I turn off my cell, place it in my bag and push my bag under my chair.

Righto, time to begin.

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Chapter 2

The Bingles

Excitedly, I open the cover of my birthday album. I wonder what’s inside? Staring at me on the left and right-hand side of the first page are two 8/10 coloured pictures from a photoshoot I did for Inside Sport Magazine with, The Bingles. Fuck me! my boobs look like melons, I don’t recall my boobs ever being that big, not even after having three kids. Oh, wait, that’s right. They used chicken breast fillets to enhance my tiny weeny boobs. Seems like a lifetime ago. I shake my head. I look so young. So pretty—so stupidly innocent. To think I thought I was fat way back then. Huh, pathetic. I worry so much about my Skyler. She has to grow up in this new age of Instagram and body perfection. And what’s with the makeup and porn pout the young girls seem to do?

Damn those Kardashians.

I believe the pressure is more so now than when I was young, and it was terrible back then. At least the body expectations these days are a little more attainable. Curvaceous, big boobs with an extra oversized butt. Gawd! It was heroin chic—Kate Moss style for my generation. Spent my entire life on a diet drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. We didn’t even know about Photoshop or filters back then either. How messed up is that? I was never enough. Never skinny enough. Never pretty enough. Never ever enough. I know you understand.

I met Saskia and Foxy at school. We went to an all-girls private school and met one day in the music hall. Saskia was older than Foxy and I. She was in her last year of school. We still had another two years to go. She was very stuck up and spoke with a big fat plum in her mouth and frankly, thought herself better than everyone else. Her father was a prominent Sydney Lawyer and her mother, a socialite. They lived in the Eastern Suburbs and drove around in a Porsche. She had a nanny I recall. She was picked up by her nanny most days in a Range Rover. Don’t know why on earth I remember the car. Not sure what her mother was doing, but it wasn’t looking out for Saskia.

Foxy was a hoot. She was rough as guts. Both her parents worked two jobs to put her through a, Private Girls School. We never saw them as they worked so bloody much. They only wanted the best for their daughter and believed that education was the key. My parents wanted only the best for me. Both my parents worked. We were well off, but far from stuck up. You wouldn’t think my parents had a dime. Really down to earth.

How are you mate? Wanna beer? The quintessential Aussie type family. Upper Middle-Class Bogan.

Oh-harsh darling, lol.

That was us. On the occasional day I’d be picked up from school, my old man would get his, rough as guts, tattooed, front teeth missing, Winnie blue smoking foreman, to pick me up in the battered old truck.

Ah! What a shocking site at the ring road love.

Porsches, BMWs, Mercedes, Range Rovers, heads swivelling 180 degrees, ‘posh’ mothers gasping for air, finger pointing while sniggering at MY rough as guts tattooed Winnie blue smoking, toothless fine looking male specimen waiting for me.

Lou, over here mate. He’d scream.

O-mee-gawd!

Em-barr-a-ssing.

Now look, honestly, I didn’t care. I felt special. Louise May had a chauffeur.

My parents weren’t even that fussed when I told them I wanted to be in a girl group and became a ‘Pop Star.’

‘Sure, whatever floats your boat.’ I recall my father saying. Mum and Dad always told me to go for my dreams. Whatever makes you happy. ‘This is the only life we have, so go for it,’ Mum would say. Plus, I wasn’t an A grade student or B grade either. I excelled in, well I’m not exactly sure. My parents didn’t go to University, so Uni was never on our radar at home. Just do what makes you happy I was told. My father came back from Vietnam and went straight into the business of logistics. Miserable he is. Miserable. Great provider but fucking miserable. I guess that’s why they keep pushing the happiness agenda.

Who would’ve thought, that, that one chance meeting in the music hall would change my life forever? I take another sip of vino.

Saskia could sing. She was belting out a Whitney Houston song. I’d wandered into the hall to take a look. I was a bit shy and was in awe of her confidence. Next thing I know, the double doors at the back of the hall swing open and smash into the wall. In struts Foxy. She’d arrived. And didn’t we know it. We’d met and spoke from time-to-time. We weren’t friends, I had nothing against her. Nor she me. We just hung in different circles. Everyone knew of Foxy. She had a reputation of being loud, a bit slutty and in your face.

‘Hey, you, you wanna be in a band girlfriend?’ emphasis the girlfriend bit. I look over to Foxy.

‘Louise,’ she says. ‘You,’ pointing at me.

‘Me?’

‘Yeah you. I know you can sing and dance, I’ve seen you in action. Not that sexy though, bit generic, we can work on that. Me on the other hand, I’m not the best singer, but, I have sex appeal and can dance. That’s all we need girl-friends. I need you Saskia to make it all come together. What do you think. Shall we give it a bash?’

Saskia, stood still for a moment. ‘Excuse me,’ she said in her toffee voice. ‘You would like me to be in a band with you and her?’ pointing over at me. A girl group? With you and her? Pointing at me again.

‘Yeah, why the fuck not?’ Foxy shouted back. Saskia shuddered at the word Fuck. But knowing what I know now, I think she felt like bit of a rebel and wanted to be one. A rebel that is. Probably just to piss her parents off, or to get some form of attention. I don’t know. Just speculating here.

‘I may be willing to try it out?’ Saskia says as though she gets asked this question all the time.

O-mee-god! Are you kidding me? Try it out? This has been my dream since birth. I’d always wanted to be a singer. Ever since I could remember. I’d stay up on a Saturday night, late just to watch, ‘RAGE’, a wicked TV Music show. I would spend hours’ downstairs with the music on, dancing and singing away to pop rock music. Good old hair brush as a mic. Gawd! My mirror got one hell of a work out. Hmm I laugh. My Skyler does that now. I see her in her room play acting all the time. Part of growing up. I guess. I’m not a natural performer. Yeah, I get it, I am generic like what Foxy said. I’d never ever have the confidence to be a pop star by myself. But, to be in a girl group. Sign me up.

‘Yes, as a matter of fact, I would want to be in a girl group. Under a few conditions however.’ States Saskia in an even posher voice.’

‘Ok. Hit me. What are they?’ says Foxy.

‘One. I am the lead singer.

Two. I’m always in the middle of every routine.’

What? I look to Foxy who looks at me and gives me (must be centre of attention). look.

…

‘Three.’

Christ there’s more.

‘I speak at all press engagements as I am the eldest and most well-spoken.’

I speak just fine. I thought.

‘Let me get this straight.’ Foxy says. ‘You want to be the STAR! End of story’.

‘Well putting it that way. Yes. I bring more to the table. You said so yourself Foxy.

Foxy thinks about it for all of a second. Looks at me. ‘Yep fine by us. We agree.’

Um—hello, over here!

Foxy didn’t ask me.

Lol, I wouldn’t have said no. No way. I’m bubbling with excitement. I honestly don’t want to be the lead, but I really, really want to be in the group.

And that is how it all began.

Saskia pulled some strings and we got to rehearse most days after school in the music hall. It was an added bonus as it had only the best equipment money could buy. You’d hope so. The School fees were ridiculous. So, we’re already ahead of the game. Her parents paid for a top dance teacher to come to the music hall three times a week to choreograph our routines. Plus, a vocal coach on the other days. They never hesitated when Saskia asked them for money or stuff.

We decide we need an edge, so, why not look different and take on a pseudo character.

Foxy became the sexy one. Wasn’t hard. She was drop dead gorgeous. Long dark wavy hair, smoking curvaceous body about 5 foot 6. She knew how to work her body, let me tell you. She had a dancing background and wow it showed. Her skin was always tanned and Foxy had magnificent breasts, best in the business. I mean. OMGollygosh! She oozed sex appeal and knew she was hot. You know that all knowing air of confidence? The confidence a really hot chick has when she knows that she could have whomever pleased her. And it worked. The men went ga ga for her. Adam reckons if he was introduced to Gisele Bunchen he wouldn’t be able to speak.