EPISODE 67: Shipping out to Boston

Saturday December 11, 2010
The RV- Main Cabin
Eastbound Interstate 70 near Richmond, Indiana
11:41 AM Local Time

“Mommy, can I have a cookie?”

“I’m sorry Theresa, but no,” I replied, looking up from the papers I was reading, and giving my daughter the best sympathetic smile I could, even while I shook my head. “We’re going to be stopping for lunch soon, and I don’t want you to spoil your appetite.”

I watched, half-amused, as my daughter’s lip turned down, into the usual pout four-year olds get when they’re not getting her way, and she folded her hands across her chest. “But I’m hungry NOW!” she protested.

“Well, we have some grapes in the fridge if you want. Would that be okay?”

Theresa paused for just a second, and I could almost see the gears turning in her head beneath the lovely long light brown hair that covered her scalp. Finally, realizing that there was no way that she was going to get her cookie, Theresa reluctantly nodded.

“Okay, I’ll get them,” I said, unbuckling my seat belt, and standing up, nearly losing my balance as I did. The couch was so comfortable that sometimes it was easy to forget that you weren’t sitting in an actual house, but a moving vehicle. Nevertheless, I regained my balance, and cautiously worked with the swaying of the RV as I moved across the cabin- a short trip, but a difficult one under the circumstances.

“I’m up, Terrry!” I called forward to my husband, up in the driver’s seat. We had long ago found out that it was a good idea to let the driver know when someone was out of their seats- otherwise even merely tapping the brakes without warning could lead to unexpected (and often painful) consequences.

I suppose it could be considered ostentatious that we travelled to our shows in a recreational vehicle, especially one as nice as a Newmar King Aire. But long ago, during our first run as wrestlers, Terry and I had realized that it was so much nicer to travel from show to show amidst familiar surroundings, instead of sleeping in a different hotel room every single night.

Terrence had wasted no time in buying the King Aire upon our return to wrestling, taking advantage of a great deal in both the price of the RV and the financing to cover it. The extravagance had been unsettling at first- economic times seemed too hard to be throwing around a half-million dollars for a vehicle. But the RV had turned what I was afraid would be a hard transition for Theresa into an enjoyable one for her- every week she couldn’t wait to see where our adventures would take us next.

As it turned out, with five people crammed into the motor home week in and week out, we ended up needing every inch of the forty-five foot vehicle that we could get.

As I grabbed the small tupperware container that held our supply of red seedless grapes, I looked over at the small blond woman sleeping on the RV’s other, smaller couch. Other than Terrence, there was no one more in the world that I would trust my daughter to than Cassandra DeSlair. We had hired Cassie as a full-time babysitter for Theresa back when I ran the Marion County Community Theater, and had kept her on after I lost my job there, and returned to wrestling. She had solved the logistical problem of who would watch my daughter while Terrence and I were training or competing, but even more than that, Cassie had become a true friend to me, a feminine voice of reason in this crazy, testosterone filled business.

The fifth member of our little entourage currently sat shotgun up front, no doubt in deep philosophical discussion with my husband over tomorrow’s slate of NFL games. From pretty much near the beginning of our careers, Daniel Pollaski had been our manager. While at times he could be the rudest, most insensitive imbecile I had ever met, Pollaski had also grown into a true friend over the years, even more-so now that he had matured from the juvenile antics that had plagued our first run. With his obesity, and horribly clashing Hawaiian shirts, Pollaski seemed like an unassuming buffoon, but there was no one better to have in your corner- or at the negotiating table- than him.

It was a strange quintet, I mused, as I cautiously worked my way back to the couch, the tupperware container in my hand. But it worked well. I was able to travel, train for my matches, compete, and still find time to spend with my husband and daughter. Being a professional-wrestler was always a hard life, but for us, at least, we had been able to soften it up somewhat.

I sat back down on the couch, and quickly buckled my seat belt, opening the tupperware and holding it out to Theresa. “Now, what do we say, hon?”

“Thank you!” Theresa said in a sing-song voice, then grabbed a handful of grapes, popping one into her mouth, and turning back to the television that hung on the back wall of the main cabin, where a DVD of The Mr. Men Show (a new favorite of hers) was playing.

I helped myself to a few of the grapes as well, then turned back to the papers I had been perusing. It was a mishmash of information about the upcoming Shatterpoint show- a map of the arena showing the location of my locker room, a brief synopsis of the rules and regulations of X3 wrestling, and several scouting reports that Pollaski and I had managed to create on various participants in the tournament. I found one page in particular- a printout showing the full tournament bracket, and I looked at it closely. There was something about looking at a set of brackets that made everything seem so clear.

Fourteen wrestlers.

One winner.

The X3 Championship.

Well, eleven, now, as I looked at the scratched-out names of Graham Clausen, Alex Rettop, and Yvonne Knight. I had known “Ivy” from her brief stay in PWX, and had been surprised to see someone of her caliber go down in the first round. That immediately marked Joey Jenova as a potential opponent to face in the finals. In fact, with the names on this list, there was no telling who would be the ones to advance through the rounds.

And that included me. I had faced only one of these wrestlers in a previous match, and Tweeder had defeated me just a month ago, on a night where it had seemed I couldn’t do anything right. If someone like him was a typical participant in this tournament, I most certainly had my work cut out for me!

Still, there were others that I knew by reputation. William Just had spent limited time in the PWX over the summer, but unfortunately had never really managed to find success. Katherine Stryfe was yet another member of the infamous Belmont clan- Terrence and I had faced Valerie and Jeremiah far too many times, and knew better than to take any member of that family for granted. Thatcher Rex was the CWC North American champion, a distinction he had earned by beating former PWX star Darin Zion (and a small part of me had to admit that I was jealous of anyone who got to beat the living stuffing out of Darin as thoroughly as Thatcher did).

And then, of course, there was Kris Keebler, who had a reputation of being the most egotistical jerks in pro-wrestling today, a reputation that was well-deserved, if last week was any indication. And finally, Madman Szalinsky, the ‘Most Hated Man in America.’ I doubted the truthfulness of his claim, although I had to admit it wasn’t due to any lack of trying on his part.

Unfortunately, my opponent for the first round, Kenneth X. Rockwell, was one of the few I had trouble finding any information on, although I had found some things. I shuffled through the papers I held until I saw Rockwell’s face smirking back at me. I had never met this man in person before in my life, but already I wanted to slap that smirk off his face. If scientists ever found a way to harness arrogance as an energy source, Kenneth Rockwell could power a small city all by himself.

In a way, Rockwell was almost the perfect opponent for me to face in the first round. Like most wrestlers, I loved winning matches, but I always felt that there was no victory that was sweeter than when I got to put some smug, grinning, egoist in his place. Just the expression on their faces, as if they couldn’t even comprehend that anyone- let alone a one hundred thirty pound girl- could best them in the ring, was priceless.

And Rockwell was a cruiserweight, to boot. I’d love to think that I can hold my own in the ring against anyone, regardless of size, style, or gender, but people of Rockwell’s size had somewhat become my specialty. I was arguably the greatest cruiserweight wrestler in the ten-year history of the World Wrestling Alliance, being the only three time champion in that organization’s history. Speed, agility, and technical prowess counted more than raw power, and I had all three of those in abundance.

I couldn’t afford to get overconfident, but the more I thought about it, the more I felt I matched up well against Rockwell. If I went out, wrestled to my game plan, and kept up the pressure, especially by attacking his legs to slow him down, I should be walking out the winner. Unless...

“Who’s that, mommy?” Theresa’s voice broke me from my thoughts. Theresa’s show had ended, and she was now sitting next to me, pointing at the picture I was holding in my hand.

“That’s my opponent for the week,” I replied, smiling at her.

“His hair is silly!” she replied, and I burst out laughing. Whatever resources the Rockwell wrestling family had, a good stylist was certainly not among them.

Theresa grinned with pride that her joke had made mommy laugh, but then she turned serious. “Are you gonna win?” she asked, almost in a whisper.

“I hope so.” I replied, looking at her. “I’ve beaten a lot of men like Rockwell before, so I think I can beat him too. But I am worried about her.” I flicked the picture, where an attractive blond woman was standing next to Rockwell, wearing some skimpy outfit I wouldn’t be caught dead in. She was doing her best to strike a seductive pose, but the puckering of her lips made her look more as if she had just eaten a piece of moldy cheese than anything else.

“She’s pretty!” Theresa said, almost in awe.

“Her name is Veronika,” I continued, sliding the picture behind an image of Thatcher Rex. Such images were unsuitable for my daughter’s eyes. “She’s Rockwell’s manager, and I’m worried that she might try and cost me the match.”

“How would she do that?” Theresa asked, looking up at me with curiosity.

“She could interfere. Either attack me, or try and distract me, anything to get my momentum off, and help her man win.”

“Isn’t that against the rules?” Theresa asked

I nodded, “Yes, but the referee always seems to manage to miss it when it happens,” I sighed, not without a bit of bitterness in my voice.

I could see the panic that entered Theresa’s eyes. The thought of me losing a match not because I was out-wrestled, but because someone interfered against me, was clearly reprehensible in her eyes. Inwardly, I felt a wave of satisfaction- I wanted Theresa to grow up with the same sense of honor and fair play that Terrence and I felt.

Well, at least that I felt.

Still though, I wasn’t exactly liking the idea of Viktoria costing me the match myself. Luckily, I did have a card of my own to play.

While Pollaski was forbidden from interfering in our matches, he was certainly allowed (and in fact encouraged), to prevent interference from happening, regardless of on who’s behalf. Pollaski had ultimately proven himself a master at this- more than once a potential interferer was sent scurrying to the back, trying to rub pepper spray out of their eyes, or still shaking from taking a cattle prod.

But there was nothing in the world Pollaski was better at than screwing with an opponent’s valet. Just the sight of the three-hundred pound man (who had more than his share of libido, to boot), strutting on the other side of the ring tended to give even the most devoted valet second thoughts about getting involved.

I didn’t like having to resort to this, but I wasn’t about to let this half-dressed sourpuss knock me out of the biggest opportunity I had in years. If Kenneth Rockwell was going to advance, it was going to be on his own merit, and not Veronika’s.

I was pretty certain that wasn’t going to be enough for him.

=======================================

Sunday December 12, 2010
The Prudential Tower- 50th Floor
Boston, Massachusetts
8:46 PM Local Time

“Just as beautiful as I remember it.”

[The observation deck of the Prudential Building is where we open our scene, a three hundred sixty-degree panorama of Bostonian skyline. Its fairly late in the evening, and the deck is by and large empty, with only a few last stragglers, mostly couples, remaining.]

[However, the focus is on one, single young woman, leaning against the glass, looking out over the city. Wendy Briese is certainly dressed for the elements, in a pair of black jeans, a heavy black coat, gloves, and a headband, her long red hair spilling over the top, to cascade down her back. Even so, the deck is inside, surrounded on all sides by thick glass, and heated, so she’s not exactly freezing to death up here.]

[Anyone else find it ironic that Wendy, well-known for her conservative style of dress and mannerisms, would be on top of the PRUDEntial building?]

“My wrestling career actually began in Boston, nine years ago, almost to the day. It started down there, in one of those warehouses. A small, now long forgotten company, called the RWF. After that, Terrence and I toured for just a little while, before returning to compete in the old NGWA. For over a year, he and I toured New England, performing in shows for fans from Maine to Connecticut, but there was no denying it- Boston was the flagship town of our company.”

[Wendy’s face is wistful in remembrance, as she continues to stare out the window. Her voice fills with slight emotion]

“I’ll never forget my last match here. A man named Jacob Harrowsmith saw fit to snap my ankle in two, even though I had already conceded the match against him. For a while, it was doubtful I’d ever wrestle again. Even though I battled back from that injury, by the time I was cleared to compete in the ring, the NGWA had dissolved, and Terrence and I had been forced to take our careers elsewhere.”

[A sad smile crosses Wendy’s face, as she turns away from the windows, and faces the camera.]

“Despite my ties to the Bostonian wrestling scene, I’m sure there are many who are going to disparage me as an outsider. Especially now that my home company, Pro-Wrestling X, has shut it’s doors for good, leaving Terrence and I, essentially, homeless.”

[Wendy’s face hardens just a bit, and she steps towards the camera just a bit, turning her back fully on the skyline now.]

“I’m not a carpet-bagger. I did not come to X3 Wrestling because I see an easy title for the taking. In fact, just the opposite. I’m here because I know the challenge that awaits me. I’m here, because if I can be the one to win this tournament, and become the X3 Champion, I’ll know that I’ve done something special. I’ll have earned every bit of the accolade that awaits me at the end.”

[She steps forward again, a bit of anger glinting in her emerald green eyes.]

“Eight months, I was in PWX. Each week, I gave everything I had in that ring. I won my matches, I entertained the fans. Terrence and I dominated the tag team division- we were never defeated, and we never lost our belts, right up until JPO shut the company’s doors. And yet, when the time came for individual title shots to be handed out, somehow, each and every time, I managed to get lost in the shuffle.”

[A small sigh, Wendy glances back out the windows for just a second, then turns back to the camera.]

“Maybe I sound like I’m whining, but when you have as much frustration built up as I do, if you don’t vent and let a little out, its going to overwhelm you. And I am frustrated. Frustrated that a company that I fought, bled, and even risked my career for wouldn’t even do the courtesy of giving me a fair chance to prove myself.”

[Wendy pauses for just a second, as if trying to collect and organize her thoughts. Finally, she breaks into a small, soft smile.]

“But here in X3, that chance awaits me. That’s what I love about tournaments- its so simple. To become the X3 champion, all anyone needs to do is win four consecutive matches. That’s it. Its something every single one of us has done over the course of our career. But only one can do it here. Only one can get that fourth victory, and step to the top of the mountain, and proclaim themselves the first-ever X3 champion.

[The smile gets just a bit wider]

“I fully intend that person to be me.”

[As she continues to talk, Wendy begins to pace, as if the mere thought of the upcoming tournament has filled her with energy.]

“While I never wrestled for Evolution Pro Wrestling, I’m well aware of that esteemed company’s legacy. It would be my honor to represent the spiritual successor of such an esteemed company as its champion. And at the same time, I think I’m someone the X3 would be proud to have representing them. Someone who values hard work and fair play. Someone who won’t back down from the challenges that would await them.”

[A small smile, and a shrug]

“I’m not sure if me being in the main event of the second Shatterpoint was by design, or by chance, but either way, its definitely a chance that I’ve been waiting for. In PWX, I was in several main events as a member of a team, but only once was I ever in the star attraction as a singles wrestler. But my very first Shatterpoint, my very first match in X3W, and I’m given the chance to be the one to send the fans home happy.”

[Short pause]

“I’m starting to like this place already!”

[Grin]

“Of course, I’m sure each of the ten remaining wrestlers in this tournament would take exception to my boasts. Especially my opponent in the first round, Kenneth Rockwell.”

[Wendy pauses in her pacing, and turns directly back towards the camera. For just a second, she pauses, biting her lower lip in contemplation. Finally she shrugs, whatever internal debate she had concluding.]

“Rockwell, talk may have been cheap before, but you’ve just depreciated its value to a new low.”

[A small dismissive shrug]

“I’m almost disappointed. I had thought that someone as revolutionary, as cutting-edge as the great Kenneth Rockwell would have brought something interesting to the table. But alas, you decided to stick to the manual on this one, didn’t you? I’m second-rate, weak, hiding behind Terrence. Throw in a few piggish chauvinistic remarks, add some crude sexual innuendo to heighten my indignation, and voila, you have the prototypical anti-Wendy Briese promo.”

[Wendy turns away, another glance out the window.]

“I’ve heard it all before, Ken, and it stopped bothering me years ago. I’ve learned that such remarks are generally made out of fear. And deep down, underneath your smug, superior attitude, there is fear there, isn’t there? Fear that a mere woman is about to bring your entire self-effacing facade crashing down around you.”

[Another small shrug. There’s a slight hint of sarcasm in Wendy’s voice as she continues to talk.]

“Luckily for you, there really isn’t any shame in losing to me. Like any loss, it may be a bit humbling, but a little humility might do you some good. It can’t be healthy walking around with that inflated of a head all of the time.”

[Wendy resumes her pacing, again buoyed by some sort of restleessness]

“See, you may be the scion of the Rockwells. You may have all the natural god-given talent in the world. But none of it, ultimately means anything. In professional wrestling, talent and natural ability, while important, can only get you so far. Grit, hard work, and determination are just as important, if not more. You might be the embodiment of excellence, but I’m the embodiment of heart and willpower. Every time you knock me down, I will get back up. Because now that I’ve finally gotten the opportunity I’ve been craving for so long, I’m not going to allow myself to lose. Especially to the likes of you.”

[A disdainful snort]

“But that’s a concept I doubt you’ll ever grasp. I’ve faced your type numerous times before, and I know the moment the opportunity presents itself, you’re going to try and take the easy way out of this match. But I feel obligated to warn you, if Veronika tries in anyway to interfere in this match, she’s going to be in for a rude shock. A VERY big, VERY nasty rude shock.”

[Like, say, Daniel Pollaski. That could get ugly.]

[Wendy slowly turns away, and begins walking with determination across the deck, towards teh elevator, the camera turning and following alongside her as she moves.]

“Rockwell, you’re acting like you’re coming to Shatterpoint for a coronation. Well, I’m coming for a fight, and I’m going to give you one. And when the dust clears, I’m going to be the one advancing to the second round, to face Psycho Soldier. And as for you?”

[Wendy pauses for just a second, then steps into the elevator, turning around, flashing a small, grim smile.]

“You better break out the thesaurus, because you’re going to need an entirely new set of adjectives to describe yourself.”

[The elevator doors close, and a few seconds later, the scene fades]

EPISODE 66: Fight For Your Light

Sunday December 5, 2010
The Nest- Master Bedroom
Indianapolis, Indiana
5:46 AM Local Time

“Wendy, wake up! We need to go!”

I desperately tried shaking my wife from her slumber, but wasn’t having much luck. For being such a self-proclaimed ‘morning person’, she sure had a hard time getting up when it really mattered.

Finally, my wife stirred, and she smacked my prodding hands away, rubbing her eyes as she struggled to sit up. Her normally well-maintained red hair hung loosely all over her shoulders, with more than a few strands in her face. She brushed them aside as she looked up at me.

“Terry- what... what time is it?”

“Quarter to six,” I responded quickly. “Come on now, get dressed. I’ll wake Theresa up. Up and at ‘em, hon.”

As I had hoped, the urgency in my voice seemed to rouse her quicker, and she stumbled to her feet, smoothing out her nightgown as she did. After a quick stretch, she looked at me, her eyes widening with concern. “Okay, Terry. I’m up. What’s going on?”

“Get dressed, I’ll explain in the car!” I said impatiently. “I’ll get Theresa up. But hurry, Home Depot opens in ten minutes!”

Wendy stopped dead in her tracks, suddenly rooted to the carpet, and I inwardly groaned. We did NOT have time to dawdle. “Wendy, please we don’t-”

“You woke me up at five forty-five in the morning to go to Home Depot?” she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“We don’t have time to argue about this, hon!”

Wendy slowly turned around “Why in the HELL did you wake me up at five forty-five in the morning to go to a HARDWARE STORE?” she was still whispering, but it was more of a stage whisper now. An incredulous, furious stage whisper.

I could vaguely hear alarm bells going off in the back of my mind, the kind that security guards probably get when they have stumbled across a package that looks like a bomb. A very volitaile, red-haired bomb.

“The Sickles bought an inflatable snow-globe. I need to find something to beat it.”

Wendy stared at me for just a second, her arms clenched at her side. “I’m going back to bed,” she finally said, her voice flat.

“But...”

“Terrence, the way you woke me up, I thought the neighborhood was on fire,” she replied, giving me a positively dirty look. “Now, I’m sorry that you think we’re losing to the arrogant jerk down the street, and its killing your ego, but I’m not getting up in the wee hours just so we can win a stupid lighting contest!”

She marched to the bed, and threw the covers back, preparing to climb into them again. I stood watching her, feeling absolutely foolish. I mean, yeah, winning the neighborhood Christmas decorating contest would be great, but at the same time... probably dragging your wife and kid out of bad at 5:45 was probably not the best way to go about things.

“Okay, you’re right, I’m sorry I woke you up,” I said in all honesty. “I got carried away.”

Wendy nodded and sighed. “Just remember, its all for fun, Terrence. We can’t take it so seriously. We don’t even get anything for winning.”

“I know.” I managed to mumble. “I just hate those bastards. I mean, that fat bastard is always strutting around, pretending that he’s God’s gift to the world. Just because he can yell at a bunch of teenagers and make them move a football...”

Wendy nodded, “I feel the same way, hon. And I’m certain Clint’s bullied Theresa a couple times. I even think he’s stolen some of her toys, but I can never seem to catch him...”

“And I remember all to well when Kelly called your potato salad ‘inedible’ at the neighborhood block party.”

For the second time this morning, Wendy froze, this time right in the middle of climbing into bed, so that one of her knees was on the matress, while her other foot was still on the bedroom floor. Ever so slowly, she turned to face me. When she spoke, again, her voice had been reduced to a whisper. “She said WHAT?”

I gulped, taking a step back at the sudden ferocity that had appeared on my wife’s face. “I... I thought you knew about that.” I managed to stammer out.

“When... when was this?”

“Memorial Day,” I replied.

For a few seconds, Wendy stood there, staring at a spot on the wall somewhere behind me. Then she removed her knee from the matress, and put both her feet on the ground. “Go wake up Theresa,” she snarled.

“What?”

“We’ll have her take a nap later. I’ll go get dressed.”

I was stunned by this turn of events, but Wendy was already walking towards our closet, a grim look of determination on her face. “But...”

“You want my help or not, Terry?”

“Of course, I do,” I said quickly, then backed out of our bedroom as Wendy began to slip off her nightgown. Quickly, I crossed the hallway, heading for my daughters room to wake my little angel up. I had wanted Wendy to be as determined to win the lighting contest as I was, but I sure as hell hadn’t been expecting THAT.

It was going to be an interesting day.

==================================
Sir, I want to buy these shoes for my Mama, please
It's Christmas Eve and these shoes are just her size
Could you hurry, sir, Daddy says there's not much time
You see she's been sick for quite a while
And I know these shoes would make her smile
And I want her to look beautiful if Mama meets Jesus tonight
“The Christmas Shoes” NewSong

December 5, 2010
The Nest- Living Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
8:51 PM Local Time

[You know, if the Thompsons could just manage to get the Sickles family in the ring for a one-fall match, their lives were probably be a lot easier.]

[Never gonna happen, but hey, at least they have the Belmonts to beat up in the meantime!]

[Anyways, long story short, by the time the Birdz left for their all-afternoon training session, another thousand lights were stapled to the house, and a full-size twenty piece Nativity set was on the lawn. Throw in an angelic chorus and the Christmas star, and the first couple chapters of the Gospel According to Luke could be very well playing out right in the Thompson family front yard.]

[Rest assured, they’re working on the missing elements.]

[In the meantime, the scene opens in the Nest’s living room. Unlike the exterior of the house, the interior has retained some level of sanity, with the only decor being a tastefully decorated all-white light Christmas tree. And coasters on the end table depicting various kitties in Christmas-related situations. You know, wearing a Santa hat, riding in a sleigh, getting electrocuted after gnawing on one of the wires...]

[... Okay, just kidding about that last one.]

[About the only thing amiss in the living room right now is the young lady sitting on the couch. Wendy Briese can definitely be considered one of the more emotional wrestlers in PWX, but its rare to to actually see her crying.]

[No, not full on wailing, but her eyes are definitely red and puffy, tears are running down her cheeks, which she dabs at with a handkerchief, and she’s sniffling. That’s crying. In a wrestling promo. That will be seen by millions]

[Or at least thousands]

[Hundreds? Dozens?]

[SOMEONE FUCKING CLICK THE GODDAMN WATCH BUTTON!]

[Or maybe not. This is probably kind of embarrassing]

[Noticing a movement out of the corner of her eye, Wendy, with another sniffle, turns towards the camera, and she freezes, a queer expression on her tear-streaked face as if she realizes that somethings not quite right, but she can’t really figure out what it is.]

[Suddenly, it hits her, and her eyes go wide in horror]

Wendy: “WHY is the camera on?”

Terrence: “Uh, we need to cut a promo.”

[As he says those words, Terrence comes walking in from the right hand side of the scene, opposite of Wendy. He plops down on the couch with a grunt, kicking back into his normally relaxed pose. Wendy, on the other hand, is in full fledged panic mode, as she turns towards her husband.]

Wendy: “NOW?”

Terrence: “Why not? You’re here, I’m here... have you been crying?”

[Probably an observation that was best made before hitting the power button on the camcorder, but good job, Terrence! Wendy can do aught but glare back at her husband.]

Terrence: “Is it because of what Moxie said in his promo? Because that was just a bunch of hot-”

[If it’s possible, Wendy’s eyes go even wider in alarm and indignation.]

Wendy: “No!”

Terrence: “Oh. Then what’s with the waterworks?”

[For a response, Wendy points to a spot behind and to the left of the camera. For those not well versed in the layout of The Nest, it’s where their 42’ HD Flatscreen TV hangs on the wall.]

Wendy: “I was watching ‘The Christmas Shoes.’ It just ended.”

[A brief pause, as Terrence furrows his brow, trying to recall something]

Terrence: “Wait, is that the movie about the kid who’s mom’s about to die of some rare disease on Christmas Eve, and the kid wants to get her new shoes so she looks pretty when she meets Jesus, but doesn’t have enough money?”

[Wendy nods, wiping her eyes in the process. Terrence, sensitive soul that he is bursts out laughing]

Terrence: “That actually made you cry?”

[He’s really a loving husband and father, honest. He just can be.. an idiot sometimes]

Wendy: “It was touching!”

Terrence: “Well yeah. So’s ‘The Michael Jackson Story...’”

[Ba-dum-CHING!]

[Probably the wrong audience though]

Wendy: “It’s a reminder of the true values of the Christmas Season, Terrence, something we all occasionally forget. If I was on my deathbed, and Theresa wanted to bestow one final kindness on me, you wouldn’t support her in that?”

[Terrence shrugs]

Terrence: “Well, its really not the same, is it? I mean you already own a nice pair of shoes. Several of them, actually.”

[And there’s the ever infamous Wendy-death-glare!]

Wendy: “I think you’re missing the point.”

Terrence: “What is the point? That Jesus won’t let you into heaven unless you meet the dress code?”

[The glare only intensifies. Terrence starts to look a tad uneasy from the stare his wife’s giving him.]

Terrence: “Just sayin’”

[Still glaring. Terrence decide’s it might be best if he changed the subject, and quickly]

Terrence: “So, did you hear Johnny Moxie said some really mean things about us?”

[That’s probably not gonna get her in a better mood]

Terrence: “I mean... REALLY mean things.”

[Wendy hasn’t even blinked yet, and Terrence is definitely starting to wilt. He has to do something before lasers come out of her eyes. Or her retinas dry up.]

Terrence: “I mean, he said that you were a-”

Wendy: [clenched teeth] “I know what he said. Unoriginal inaccurate idiot.”

[Wait... did she just...?]

Terrence: “Wait... did you just...?”

Wendy: “Call Johnny Moxie an idiot? Yeah. I did.”

[Win?]

Wendy: “Its really the same thing from people like him, isn’t it? Call me ugly, say I can never make it on my own. Even insult my child, which, by the way, I only have ONE of. All in, what, some attempt to get a rise out of me?”

Terrence: “Well, it looks like he’s got you pretty pissed off-”

Wendy: “I’m not angry because Moxie opened is mouth, Terrence. I’m angry because I haven’t had the chance to prove people like him wrong.”

[Wendy tosses her handkerchief on the nearest end table, and sits up a little straighter, her eyes blazing]

Wendy: “If Johnny Moxie wishes to downplay my singles credentials, then why not step into the ring with me one on one, and give me a chance to better my resume.”

Terrence: “He could even put the Hybrid title on the line.”

[Wendy snorts]

Wendy: “He can’t put on the line what he’s not going to win, hon.”

Terrence: “You don’t think he’s gonna beat Val?”

[Wendy looks at Terrence with a quizzical smile that all but says ‘are you kidding me?’]

Wendy: “You do?”

Terrence: “Well yeah. He might be an ass, but I’ve wrestled Val, and she’s nothing special. He could take her.”

[Wendy shakes her head]

Wendy: “Just trust me on this, Terry. Valerie Belmont’s walking out of End Game the Hybrid Champion. But that’s not really the point here. The point is, Johnny Moxie’s yet another person to jump on the catch-twenty-two that my singles career has become. Personally, I think I could win any of the three singles titles in this company, if I could just get a chance at them.”

Terrence: “And this hogwash about you being the ‘lesser’ of the two Whirly-”

Wendy: “Actually, that’s probably the only thing Moxie’s right about.”

[For the prideful Wendy, its a tough thing for her to say, and it’s obvious she hates saying it. Terrence’s jaw drops, and he turns to Wendy utterly speechless. For her part, Wendy merely shrugs]

Wendy: “Look Terry. Winning and losing are important in wrestling, but in this business, what matters most of anything is perception. And save for Valerie Belmont, bless her, most people perceive you as my better. You’re the one who’s gotten the opportunities that I haven’t. Heck, when you and I faced head to head, you were the victor, despite interference on my behalf.”

Terrence: “You didn’t exactly solicit that.”

Wendy: “Of course not. And maybe if we ever faced again, it’d work out differently. But for now, in the minds of the people who matter the most, I’m the lesser of the two of us. I don’t like it, but I sure don’t begrudge you for it.”

[For a second, Wendy looks over in the direction of the Christmas tree, her eyes tracing the strands of garland, as she gathers her thoughts.]

Wendy: “But the funny thing is, Terrence, while its frustrating, it’s not something I’m all that ashamed of. I know Ojeda beat you at Never Say Die, but on a week to week basis, you’re probably the best, most consistent wrestler in this whole company. I know you’re proud of what you’ve accomplished in PWX, and me being jealous would take away from that. But just because I’m considered to be in your shadow now, that doesn’t mean I can’t walk down to that ring and beat anyone that’s put across from me, whether its Johnny Moxie, John Ojeda, or even you.”

[Wendy shoots her husband a small, soft smile, and Terrence gives her a bigger one in return.]

Terrence: “Though actually hon, you’re wrong. I’m not the greatest wrestler in PWX. Josh Graves is. In his own words too.”

[Wendy snorts, just once]

Wendy: “I think Josh Graves is going to be in for one massive reality check.”

Terrence: “Yeah well, I mean, I WISH I was awesome enough to where limo drivers would risk their own jobs and take the fall if I were to do something wrong, like, say, smoke, inside a hundred thousand dollar car.”

[Wendy gives a short laugh]

Wendy: “You want to do a montage?”

[For a second, Terrence grins, but he quickly sobers, looking pensive]

Terrence: “You know, I don’t even know what song we’d use.”

Wendy: “Eye of the Tiger?”

[Brief pause, Terrence looks tempted, despite Wendy suggesting the most overused montage song in the history of combat sports. Thanks for nothing, Rocky III]

Terrence: “Its kinda late. In fact, we should wrap this one up.”

[Wendy nods, and glances back at the Christmas Tree]

Wendy: “We never even mentioned the Belmonts.”

[Other than in narration. Which doesn’t count.]

[Holy shit, I think I just found a loophole!]

Terrence: “Yeah, I was thinking about that. But you know what, hon? It’s Christmas. We’ve been giving poor Jeremiah and Valerie such a hard time over the past eight months, I think they could use a night’s reprieve. And besides, I know everyone hates the Belmonts, and rags on them, and cracks vampire jokes and shit. But after facing them like a dozen times over the course of this year, I can safely say they’re not all that bad of wrestlers. Or people, for that matter. Of course, that’s not going to stop you and I from getting one last victory over them before the year’s up, and another victory over them in January when they go for our titles, but when it comes to the main event at End Game, you can squarely count me on Team Jeremiah.”

[Sorry guys, couldn’t resist!]

[Wendy looks at Terrence, surprised that the ever-cocky Mechanical Mayhem was at least somewhat complimentary to an opponent. Especially the Belmonts]

Wendy: “Are you feeling okay?”

Terrence: “Actually, yeah, I am. Maybe there’s something to this Christmas Spirit thing after all! Wanna watch a Christmas movie before we turn in?”

[Wendy looks pleased at Terrence’s suggestion.]

Wendy: “What did you have in mind?”

[Terrence breaks into a grin]

Terrence: “Die Hard.”

[Wendy’s face falls]

Wendy: “That’s not a Christmas-”

Terrence: “Oh, yes it is!”

[Yippie-ki-yay, Motherfuckers!]

[Fade]