Sunday November 21, 2010
The RV- Master Bedroom
St. Louis, Missouri
9:35 AM Local Time
I smiled in contentment as I lazily stretched in my bed, looking up at the RV’s ceiling. I knew I should have been getting up to start my day, but the bed felt so warm and comfortable. I felt like a big cat- lazy, languid, and utterly unashamed to spend the day lying away in comfort.
I yawned and stretched again, my body contorting as long-dormant muscles began to come back alive. Still smiling, I rolled onto my side, and leaned forward, ready to kiss my husband good morning.
But at that moment, I discovered that I was alone in the bed.
Now that was curious- it was rare indeed when Terrence ever woke up before I did. I’d always been somewhat of an early riser- going on early morning runs had always been one of my favorite parts of my training regime. I loved watching the sun rise, I loved the air keeping me cool as I worked out, but most of all, I just loved the feeling of a clean slate, a fresh day, untainted by the rigors of reality.
Unfortunately, the reality was I had missed my chance this morning. What time was it, anyways?
I rolled back over to my side of the bed (the left, if anyone ever wondered), and reached out to the small end table standing beside my bed. I felt around for my Android, and flipped it on, looking at the time.
9:38 AM? When did I become so decadant?
To be fair, I had been up late last night. In fact, I’d been up late every night since Friday, when Terrence and I had our talk on the way back from the airport. I had been doing a lot of thinking since then. About a lot of things.
My parents were not good people. They were talented actors, no doubt, and they, like everyone else, had some redeeming qualities about them, but for the most part, my parent’s were self-centered narcissists, their moral-code generally summed up as “whatever you could get away with.”
It’s why my mother had slept with Broadway show producers in an attempt to get a role she might not have gotten on the merit of her auditions alone. It’s why my father sent much of the money he made to the Irish Republican Army, so that they could spread violence across Belfast in the name of a ‘united Ireland’. Its why they treated everyone they viewed as inferior to them (which was just about everybody), with condescension, if not outright disdain.
I will always love my mother, God rest her soul, but I knew from an early age that I didn’t want to grow up to be like her. Everything about my parents lives seemed so empty, and pointless. Of course, like all good Irish Catholics, they at least put on a show of going to church. They threw paper in the offering plate, they drank the communion wine and ate the bread, and they sat with glazed eyes as the priest read the Scriptures.
Even when I was a kid, I had always been fascinated by the stories in the Bible, from the epic adventures of the Old Testament to the parables of Jesus. Most of them were excting, and even better- they gave a purpose to life. So while my parents checked their watches and yawned, I was listening with rapt attention. Somewhere around my thirteenth birthday, I even considered becoming a nun (okay, the aspiration lasted two weeks, but it was there!).
I will never subscribe to the doctrine of papal infallibility, and I think there are many ways in which the Church needs to improve, but I’ve always found comfort in my religion. Even now with my busy schedule, I try and take my daughter to mass at least once a week.
When I decided to follow my boyfriend into professional wrestling, it was really the first time I had set out on my own. In fact, it was the first time I’d really experienced anything beyond the ivory tower life my parents had set up for me. Going from a world of acting classes and cocktail parties to one where throwing another human being through a burning table was encouraged was quite a shock for me.
My first match of my career, I had volunteered to replace Terrence, who had been injured in a stretcher match the week before. Each of my opponents in a six-person tag match weighed over three hundred pounds. I weighed one-sixteen. And my partners never showed up.
After that disaster, its a miracle that I didn’t run as far away from this business as I could. I stuck it out, but those first months were brutal. Very brutal. The company we had signed with didn’t care that we were rookies, and we didn’t know what we were doing. They offered us minimal training, and threw us to the wolves. I still have a scar on my left arm from when two men held me down, and tried to slash my face with a shard of glass. I was secretly taped undressing in my locker room, and then the footage aired on the video screen. I was left lying in a pool of my own blood more times than I could count.
About the only two things that got me through those months were Terrence, and my faith in God. But Terrence was having just as difficult a time with things as I was. So I clung to my religion, praying to God every night that he would keep me alive through the next show. It was my security blanket
But at some point, once I stopped wondering if this was finally going to be the night my neck got broken, the blanket I clung to transformed. It wasn’t so much my faith in God that I now clung to, but my own sense of righteousness. I began to justify every shortcoming I had, no matter how devastating it was to me, with ‘at least I’m morally better.’ I’ve cared more about what people think of me, than what I actually am.
Like most security blankets, its a hard thing to let go of. My old friend Rick Logan was the first to truly try to get me to let go, but every time he managed to pry my hands lose, I would clutch the blankets harder. Victor Mandrake had tried, and I had gone completely the other way, turning against my husband, my friends, and nearly killing a training partner. After realizing what I had done, I grabbed that blanket again, and I clung to it tighter than ever.
Well, I was twenty-nine years old. That’s too old to be clinging to a blankie. I need to let go. Not become an amoral ‘ends justify the means’ type Mandrake had tried to make me, but someone who cared more about doing what was right, than what looked right.
I had told Terrence this during our talks, and he had agreed with me. But we both knew that this could be a painful transformation, one that wasn’t going to happen overnight. But I knew Terrence would always be there for me, no matter how many times I stumbled.
Well, I wasn’t going to do much of anything lying here in this bed, not with everyone else up. Stretching again, I rose from my bed, and quickly changed out of my nightgown to a black t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants.
To my surprise, the RV cabin was empty when entered, save for my daughter, who sat watching Nickelodeon on the television, a child-size nerf football in her hands. A small pile of dishes sitting on one of the counters told me that everyone else had already eaten.
“Where’s everyone?” I asked Theresa.
“They went to the store,” she replied, her eyes never leaving the television.
I nodded absent-mindedly, and wandered to the galley, pulling a bowl down from the cupboard, and grabbing a box of Frosted Flakes. Luckily, the coffee was still hot, as well, and I poured myself a cup.
“That’s enough television for now, hon,” I said as I stirred two scoops of sugar into my coffee cup.
“But...” Theresa started to protest, but stopped when I turned, and looked directly at her. Without another word, she grabbed the remote, and shut the television off. Considering that she’d probably end up watching about ten straight hours of football today with Terrence and Pollaski, missing a couple morning cartoons wasn’t going to kill her.
“Why don’t you go outside and play?” I asked, smiling at her. Theresa cast one more forelorn look at the television, then nodded, and ran to the chair her jacket was lying on.
“Stay where I can see you!’ I called after her as she left the RV. We generally stayed in fairly well-maintained RV lots, so it was unlikely that Theresa would ever get herself into any trouble. Even so, I couldn’t help but worry just a little everytime my daughter went outside.
I continued to eat my cereal, reading a copy of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch that Terrence had left on the table. Of course, I made routine checks out the nearest window on Theresa, who was standing beside the RV, tossing the football in the air as high as she could, then running under it and catching it as if she were Marvin Harrison.
I giggled just a little as the ball went through her hands. Frustrated, she kicked at the ball, which went flying away, and Theresa, realizing that wasn’t the best move in the world, yelped and ran after the ball in pursuit.
I smiled, and took a couple more bites of my cereal, reading an interesting article about the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday. When I looked back up, Theresa still hadn’t returned in front of the window. I scowled. She KNEW that I hated it when she ran off-
The sudden angry bellowing of a man interrupted my thoughts, and I stood up so quickly my chair tipped over. I didn’t even bother looking for my coat- I was quickly running to the front of the RV, and down the steps.
It was almost surreal when I came outside to watch a man, middle-aged, balding, and wearing a St. Louis Rams t-shirt, screaming at my daughter, who looked absolutely terrified. Even more alarming, Theresa’s football was in his hands, which he waved menacingly at her.
“-supposed to sleep with you making a racket like this, you little brat!”
Suddenly, to my horror the man, beside himself as he continued to rage, chucked the football at Theresa. She got her hands up, to deflect, but the ball still bounced off her head, and Theresa fell rump-first on the ground, immediately bursting into tears.
“HEY!” I screamed, as I broke into a run.
The man looked at me, and snarled, “Control your fucking kid!” Then he retreated into his own Winnebago, slamming the door shut.
I was furious at what I had just seen, but my priority told me I had to see to my daughter first. She continued to wail, and I picked her up, making comforting shushing noises as I carried her back to our own RV.
There was a small red mark on her forehead, where the ball had hit her, but other than that, Theresa seemed to be okay. Still though, it took several minutes (and two double-stuffed oreos and a glass of milk) to get her to stop crying. Finally, she had calmed down.
“My ball...” she sniffled.
“I’ll get it...” I said quickly. “Stay inside, okay?”
Theresa nodded, and I quickly left the RV. It didn’t take long to retrieve the Nerf- it was right next to where I had grabbed Theresa, but I stood for several minutes, staring at the Winnebago.
My first reaction was to phone the police as soon as I got back inside. Throwing a football at anybody would be construed as assault, but a grown man at a four year old girl? I’d make sure the courts through every single letter of the book at that buffoon.
I turned to walk back to the RV, but something caught my eye. It was one of those chainsaw woodcarved bears that had become a staple at pretty much every RV park in America. As I looked at the statue, I saw another smaller bear standing next to it. A mother bear and her cub.
Suddenly, I knew what I had to do, and a part of me was ashamed that it took me this long to figure it out.
I tossed the football towards our own RV, it thudding on the ground a couple feet short of the door. Then I turned around, marched right back to the Winnebago, and banged on the door.
The middle-aged man opened the door, and immediately, I wrinkled my nose. I couldn’t tell which was worse- the stench of alcohol on his breath, or the unwashed body odor emanating from the rest of his body.
“What do you want?” the man asked rudely, finishing with a belch.
I put on the most disingenuous smile I could muster. “Hello. My name is Wendy, and I’m the mother of the little girl you just hit with a football.”
The man blinked, and shrugged. “So?”
“So, you have three seconds to figure out how you’re going to defend yourself.”
Let it never be said I’m not a fair person. I actually counted to four before my right hand smashed into his jaw. He rocked backwards, and I grabbed him by the shirt, pulling him out of the door. Finally, something registered in his booze addled brain that he was under attack, and he swung wildly at me. I ducked the blow, and grabbed his arm. Pivoting on my heel, I spun the lout around, releasing, the momentum carrying him head first into the side of his RV.
As he stumbled back again, rubbing his head and groaning, I grabbed him, and elbowed him in the back of the head. I then fired several knees to his belly, and he doubled over, retching. One more knee, and he fell to the ground, and I looked away in disgust as he crawled a couple feet, then promptly vomited into the grass.
I recovered from my disgust well before he did, and a couple stomps later, the pig was lying face down on the ground, on top of his regurgitation, groaning in pain. I knelt on top of him, digging my knee into the small of his back, as I held his right arm in a chickenwing, illiciting more grunts of pain. Grimacing, I tightened the hold until the point that his shoulder was about to be separated. Now he was yelping. With my free hand, I grabbed him by what little hair he had, and forced him to look at my RV.
“Now you know what my motorhome looks like. You know what I look like, and you know what my daughter looks like. And I swear to God, that if you ever see any of those three again, and don’t run away as far and fast as you can, I will make sure you’re never able to so much as pick up a ball, or a can of beer for that matter, ever again. Do I make myself clear?”
The man was trying to nod, but considering I still had him firmly by the hair, he had a hard time moving his head. “I said- Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear?”
“Yes...” he wheezed. I roughly released him, and got to my feet. Five minutes ago, he had been such a big man, yelling at a four-year old girl like that. Now, he was nothing more than a pathetic, fat, vomit encrusted bully, mewling on the ground for mercy. I walked away, and headed back to my RV, not even bothering to look backwards.
Part of me said I shouldn’t have felt pride for what I had just done. After all, the man was little more than a drunken sod, with absolutely no idea on proper martial combat skills. But I was beaming as I retrieved Theresa’s football, and climbed back into my own RV. I suppose I could have made the connection to what Terrence had been telling me- how I needed to be more assertive, but at that moment, I didn’t care about that. I just felt like a mama bear.
And no one messes with a mama bears cubs.
=============================================
Sunday November 21, 2010
The RV- Main Cabin
Kansas City, Kansas
3:10 PM Local Time
[Well, Wendy wanted to cut her promo from inside Kemper Arena, the site of the WhirlyBirdz title win several months ago. But the bastards in security wouldn’t let her in. So instead, we cut back to the boring old WhirlyBirdz RV, where Wendy sits on the couch. Interestingly enough, she’s by herself.]
“Three days. Just a bit over seventy-two hours and we will finally come to grips with Global Revolution for the second time.”
“Jacob, Antonio- have you figured out exactly what it’s going to take for you to take these titles from us? Do you know what it took the last time we lost a tag belt?”
[Small pause]
“Self-destruction.”
[Wendy smiles grimly, but continues]
“It took Terrence and I completely turning on each other. It took us being unable to be in the same room together leading up to the match. It took us unable to cooperate, or even so much as look at each other during the match. It took Terrence walking out on me in the middle of the match.”
[Wendy looks away for just a second, as if the memories of that night still continue to haunt her.]
“That won’t be happening, gentlemen. Not now, not ever.”
[Grim smile]
“The only bonds that held us together that night were two straps of gold. Two straps of gold, and words of promise that both of us had shattered like glass upon the sidewalk.”
[Hey, at least they made up!]
“This time, the bonds of leather and gold, they are the weakest in the entire structure. But they’re reinforced by every other bond we have between us. Bonds made of iron. Bonds made of love. Bonds forged by God himself.”
[Another soft smile]
“What everyone has seemed to fail to understand is that- when you step into the ring with the WhirlyBirdz, you’re not stepping into the ring with two entitities. You’re stepping into the ring with one. Terrence and I might have differing beliefs, and we might even have our squabbles. But five years ago, the two of us became one, and one we shall continue to be, both in the ring,and out.”
[Wendy’s expression becomes a bit more severe]
“‘What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder.’ The gospel of Mark, Chapter 10, Verse nine. And how many have tried? Victor Mandrake couldn’t do it. The Kings Among Men couldn’t do it. And, Jacob, you yourself couldn’t do it.”
[The fire dances just a bit in Wendy’s eyes.]
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten the lies you spread about Terrence’s treatment of me right before Full Throttle, Jacob. I’ve been wanting a chance to pay you back for that for a while now. And I don’t care if you were just trying to build up the match, and I don’t care how great a person you’ve been since then. On Tuesday, at Adrenaline Fifty-Four, I’m going to blow the lies you spread about me right back down your throat.”
[Wendy pauses for just a second, then breaks into a small, confident smile]
“Jacob, Antonio, I do wish you both the best of luck. I think we’re going to have a phenomenal match. But the Global Revolution will not be walking out of Oklahoma City the tag team champions. Because the WhirlyBirdz are not going to be overthrown.”
[And fade]
Sunday, November 21, 2010
EPISODE 61: Congestion
Friday November 19, 2010
Indianapolis International Airport- Roof of Parking Garage
Indianapolis, Indiana
3:17 PM Local Time
“There’s grandma’s plane,” I commented idly, pointing at a small United Express CRJ that had just taken off. In truth, I didn’t know for sure whether that was the exact plane that was taking Constance O’Reilly away from Indianapolis after spending a month with us, but it was definitely her departure time. Either way, it didn’t really matter. The old hag was gone, back to Belfast, not to be heard from ever again (or at least, please God, a very very long time!)
I couldn’t help but smile as my daughter turned and started waving fervently at the plane. Of course, even if Constance had been sitting on the proper side, there was no way in hell she’d be able to see a four-year old girl on top of the airport parking garage, but that was obviously something I wasn’t going to tell Theresa. I couldn’t help but smile, however, as she continued to wave, her gaze following the CRJ as it climbed higher and higher into the sky.
Wendy hadn’t bothered to wave, but she too had stopped to watch the plane take off, a wistful smile on her face as her flame-red hair blew loosely behind her in the slight breeze. As the plane banked northward, and disappeared into the clouds she sighed, and softly muttered a series of unintelligble words.
“Pardon?” I asked, narrowing my eyes in confusion.
Wendy giggled softly, and turned back towards me. “I said ‘Go n-éiri an bothar leat’.”
“Oh, good.” I couldn’t help but be sarcastic. “Now that you’ve said the same gibberish a second time, it makes perfect sense.”
As I could have very well predicted, my comment earned me an eyeroll from my wife, combined with a light backhanded smack on my upper arm. “It’s not gibberish, Terrence. It’s Gaelic. It’s a traditional blessing for a safe journey, although it’s often been mistranslated as ‘may the road rise up to meet you.’”
I snorted in laughter. “The road rise up to meet... THAT’S a blessing?”
“It’s a mistranslation,” Wendy repeated, looking at me with just a smidge of exasperation.
“I was gonna say.” I continued to laugh. “The last time the ‘road rose up to meet me’ was when I flipped my car racing in Odessa.”
Wendy gave me one of her famous nasty glares, although she shuddered as she did so. “Don’t even joke about that, Terry,” she said, her voice breaking just slightly. “I nearly had a heart attack when that happened.”
“Oh YOU?” I responded, arching an eyebrow. “How do you think I felt?” I laughed again, and hooked my arm around her waist, pulling her close to me and kissing her on the cheek. “It’s a good thing I quit racing and moved to a safer profession, eh?”
Wendy tried to give me another one of her stern gazes, but even she couldn’t help but smile at that. I stole another kiss, this time on her lips, and released her. It was certainly chilly out, and we had a trip to Oklahoma City to get ready for. “Come on Theresa!” I called, and my daughter turned and skipped after us as we turned and headed for the car.
“So, how are you doing with all this?” I asked once we were in the car, and I was slowly maneuvering my 1971 Charger down the circular parking ramps.
“I’m okay,” my wife replied, glancing over her shoulder into the back seat to check on Theresa. “It’ll be nice for things to quiet down around here again.” She broke into a small smile. “At least relatively.”
I returned the smile, then broke my attention away from Wendy as we neared the pay-station for the parking garage. I tossed a twenty to the attendant, and received a couple singles back, and zipped out under the rising gate.
“It’s been a rough month for you,” I said once we were on the road, heading back across Indianapolis towards our house.
Wendy sighed, and looked out her window, and for a while, the car was silent. Traffic was a bit heavy as we neared the Interstate, but nevertheless I risked a glance over at her. What little I could see of her face was expressionless. I hoped she wasn’t avoiding the comment- I needed to talk to her.
Finally, she turned away from the window, and looked at me. “It has,” she admitted, and for just a second, I was afraid that was all she was going to say. “But it’s hardly the roughest patch I’ve ever been in.”
I nodded silently, biting my lower lip as I checked my blind spots, trying to get into the proper lane to get on I-465. Discussing sensitive matters with your tag team partner was always a tough, delicate subject. When said tag partner happened to be your wife, even more so.
As she tends to do, Wendy seemed to figure out what I was thinking, and she turned directly towards me. “If you’re worried about me being distracted by what’s been going on, don’t be, Terry. None of that was the reason I lost to Ashley Graves and Tweeder.”
Of course, that’s what she would say. Wendy wasn’t the type to point fingers, or make excuses, but anyone with a brain could see that ever since Wendy had visited her father in prison, and had the fight with her grandmother, she had suffered, and not just inside the ring. I’m not saying that she had become withdrawn and aloof over the past couple of weeks, but after being around my wife for the better part of a decade, I knew when she was having a tough time.
“Even if it was,” Wendy continued, breaking into my thoughts, “Father was denied parole, and Nana and I mended our differences. Everythings looking better. Heck, even Notre Dame won last week!”
I grimaced as I saw the sea of brake lights ahead of me. The last thing I wanted was to be stuck on 465 in a sea of fucking gridlock. But it looked unavoidable- already my lane had slowed below 40, and I was actually passing cars in the lane next to me. Within a couple miles, I’d be in stop-and-go. “Dammit,” I whispered, as I pumped the brake as to not run into the back of the Audi in front of me.
Wendy looked over at me. “Maybe you should get off at Washington and take Lynhurst.”
It was tempting- normally the twenty mile drive from the airport to our house took just about half an hour. But who knew how long this jam was? It could be an hour, maybe even more, before we got home. Nevertheless, I shook my head. “It’s just a little congestion.”
Wendy pointed out the window at the sea of red lights. “It looks like more than a little, Terry. We have a lot to do before we leave for Oklahoma City tomorrow.’
For just a second, I considered acquiescing, just for the sake of being diplomatic. But I was in the leftmost lane, and I needed to get across three lanes of solid traffic in less than a quarter mile to get on Washington Street. On a racetrack, I could make the move. By myself, I could make the move. In a car with my wife and child? Not a chance in hell. Instead, I just tapped lightly on the steering wheel, and, concentrated again on not running into the Audi. “I know what I’m doing,” I said, a bit more abruptly than I had meant to.
“And so do I, Terrence!” Wendy snapped, glaring at me.
I was lucky that the car was stopped at that moment, because had we been moving, I’d have been placing a call to Geico about the deductable on replacing a rear bumper on an Audi. Even as it was, I stared open-mouthed at my fuming wife for so long, that only a chorus of angry horn blasts from cars behind me reminded me where I was. I hit the gas, trying to close the 200 foot gap my momentary lapse in concentration had caused.
“I don’t think I can get over there in time,” I told her.
“This isn’t about getting off the freeway, Terrence, and you know it,” she replied. She glanced over her shoulder, at our daughter, and sighed. “We shouldn’t argue like this. Not in front of Theresa.”
“So don’t argue.” I replied mildly. “But there’s no laws in parenting that say we can’t have a nice civil discussion about the family business while being stuck in traffic on a freeway.”
Wendy nodded, and again she looked out the passenger side window, gathering her thoughts, as I inched the car further along the lane. Finally, she turned back towards me. “So now that I lost to Ashley Graves and Tweeder, you don’t have faith in me?”
This would probably be the worst situation in the world in which one could burst out laughing, but I was so taken aback by the blatantly loaded question, there was little else I could do. I stopped myself quickly, but as I glanced over at my wife, the anger and hurt in her eyes was unmistakable. I sighed, and shot Wendy an apologetic look.
“I’m sorry hon. But that might just be the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said.”
Wendy was hardly placated on the matter, and she crossed her arms, continuing to glare at me. For a couple seconds, my attention became more involved on navigating the traffic, but soon we had stopped again, and I glanced back over at her. “There isn’t a wrestler in the world that I have more faith in than you, hon, and that includes myself. But Wendy, I’ve been your husband for five years, and I was your boyfriend and fiancee for another seven before that. And I know you very very well.”
Wendy’s glare hardly softened, but she remained quiet, so I continued. “You realize that you take everything personally, right? And I mean, everything.”
Wendy shook her head in denial, but I could tell that she didn’t even believe that. “That’s not true-”
“It is” I interrupted. “Everything you’ve ever undertook in your life, from acting to wrestling, you’ve attached your sense of self-worth to. Probably because you were so desperate to make your parents proud of you when you were a kid, and it just kinda became a habit. I don’t know, I’m not a psychologist. But I do know this- losing has ALWAYS affected you worse than anyone else I’ve ever seen in this business. It doesn’t matter what’s on the line in a match... you’re pretty much devastated every single time. That’s not good for you.”
As I pretty much figured she would, Wendy scoffed, and shook her head. “Losing is failure, Terrence. You expect me to be complacent with failure?”
“Except its NOT failure,” I retorted. “Losing doesn’t make you any worse of a mother, or a wife, or even a human being, for that matter. Isn’t that what’s REALLY important?”
“Of course, but...”
“But what?” I interrupted again, glancing over at her.
Wendy opened her mouth for just a second, then shut it, looking at me sulkily. I smiled.
“You’re an emotional girl, hon. And that’s one of the reasons I love you- you care so much about everything. But.. like I said, when you let your emotions control you- it hurts you so badly. And then it hurts me to, because I have to watch the woman I love be in pain.”
“I don’t let my emotions control me. At least not during a match.” Wendy retorted.
“You don’t even let your emotions out during matches!” I responded. “Which is a shame, because its scary to think how good you’d be if you didn’t keep trying to bottle it all up and be the Righteous Robot all the time.”
I suppose I felt a twinge of regret at the shock and outrage that had registered on my wife’s face, but the fact was, this is something she needed to hear. Nonetheless, her emotions were definitely starting to show NOW... and I suddenly had the hindsight that having this conversation while operating a moving vehicle might not have been the best idea.
Nevertheless, I raised my hands in a placating gesture. “Riddle me this, hon. Every single big win you’ve ever pulled off in your career- they’ve all had one thing in common. You know what that is?”
Wendy stiffly shook her head, but said nothing.
“You got angry. You got in a fighting mood, and you beat the hell out of someone because you were sick of something. You were angry because the Dark Angels had practically tried to kill the both of us. You were angry because Misty Xiao had spent three months embarrassing you. You were angry because everyone said you didn’t deserve a shot at Mike Bell. You were angry because Hollywood kept slipping through your fingers. You were angry because the Kings Among Men disgraced the tag team titles. You were angry because the Cartel was trying to destroy a company you loved and had come to call home. You were angry because the Belmonts wouldn’t quit whining. Should I go on?”
“No, I get it,” Wendy said, sighing. “I need to be angry.”
I shook my head. When the hell did I ever become a philosopher? “Look at yourself, hon. You ARE angry. About a lot of things. And you’ve kind of had a right to be. But instead of being assertive, you’ve turned it all on yourself, because you’re afraid that if you conk someone over the head, people are going to think you’re a bad person.”
Wendy didn’t say anything, but I could tell the arrows were hitting pretty close to the targets. “Well, you’re wrong hon. Look at it this way. When Brian Hollywood returned to PWX, who did he go after?”
“Ojeda,” my wife replied softly.
“Right. You cracked him in the face with a sledgehammer, and wrecked the entire power grab he had spent months building up to, and it’s John Ojeda that he takes revenge on. Do you know why that is?”
Wendy paused for just a second, and looked down at the floor of the car. Finally, she looked back at me. “Because he knows I regretted doing it?”
“Did you?” I asked, arching my eyebrow as I risked another glance at her.
Again, Wendy was quiet, so I continued. “Hon, think about what was on the line that night. You were fighting for control of the PWX, yeah. But you were also fighting for our jobs. You were fighting for your career. Hell, you were fighting for your life. With all that on the line, do you honestly regret doing what you had to do?”
Traffic was starting to roll again, but even so, I managed to glance out of the corner of my eye as the thoughts bounced around in my wife’s brain. Suddenly, she straightened, a shocked expression on her face. “No... I don’t.” she said.
“Of course you don’t. And belive me, Brian Hollywood knows that. He also knows that if he were to ever try screwing with you again, you’d do the exact same thing to him. That’s why he’s gone after Ojeda- there’s nothing you did to him that’s needs avenging- and I daresay he probably has a bit of respect for you now..”
Well, on the bright side, Wendy no longer looked like she wanted to kill me, nor did she look completely deflated. Still, she sat quietly, looking back out the window at the passing scenery. I glanced over my shoulder at Theresa, who had picked up one of her picture books, and was reading through it. Traffic was finally starting to clear up for us.
“So how do you feel, now?” I asked.
Wendy shot me a small smile, and shrugged. “I don’t know. A lot of what you said hurt... but I think part of it might be because you’re probably right about a few things. I guess I have some thinking to do.”
“Well, I didn’t say it to hurt you,” I commented, switching lanes to finally overtake that goddamned Audi. Now that traffic had cleared up substantially, I took my right hand off the wheel, and took Wendy’s left hand in mine. “Wendy, we returned to the tag ranks because we felt that by working together we would repair the cracks that had formed between us. Now, we have something, really, truly special going on here with these tag titles. I don’t want this to end- not against Global Revolution, not against the Belmonts, not against anyone. I want to see just how far, and how long, we can go.”
Wendy squeezed my hand back, and looked over at me, a smile of contentment splashing across her face for the first time all day- hell, all month. “I don’t want it to end either,” she said. “And I’ll think about what you told me. I promise.”
Reluctantly, I removed my hand from her grasp, the better to grip the steering wheel with. “Hang on,” I said, shooting Wendy a grin, and stepping on the gas pedal. We had some time to make up.
We had a lot to do before leaving for Oklahoma.
===========================================
Saturday November 20, 2010
The RV- Main Cabin
St. Louis, Missouri
9:10 PM Local Time]
[Okay, just a reminder, this is a WhirlyBirdz promo]
[We’re just throwing that out there, because the first thing anyone sees as we fade in is a picture of Valerie Belmont, standing in the middle of the ring, triumphantly holding up her newly won hybrid title.]
Terrence: “Hybrid Champion; Valerie Belmont. Defeated Ben Stevens for the title on November Sixteenth, Twenty-Ten. Legnth of reign- Four days. Number of successful defenses? Zero.”
[As Terrence talks, the camera pulls away from the picture of Valerie, and we can see that the picture has been set up on an easel in the middle of the main cabin of the Birdz RV. As the camera continues to pull away, we see both members of the Birdz sitting on the couch. Terrence sits to the left of the easel, looking fairly relaxed, as usual, wearing a t-shirt and jeans. To the right of the easel, on the other end of the couch, sits Wendy. She’s doesn’t look nearly as stuck-up as she normally appears when she interviews, but part of that may be in part because she’s holding several more of the sizeable pictures. In fact, Terrence nods at her, and that’s her cue, as she slides the next picture on the easel, over the picture of Valerie. This is, not surprisingly, a picture of Ashley Graves, holding up her Evolution title.]
Terrence: “ Evolution Champion; Ashley Graves. Defeated Johnny Moxie for the title on November Ninth, Twenty-Ten. Length of reign- Eleven Days. Number of successful defenses? Zero.”
[It should be noted that Terrence does have a sheet of paper on his lap that he’s occasionally glancing at. Not too surprising- there’s no way in hell he’d actually remember all these factoids off the top of his head. Wendy grimly slides another picture onto the easel, and Terrence grimaces as well. This is of course- John Ojeda. Nonetheless, Terrence gamely continues]
Terrence: “Grand Prix Champion; John Ojeda. Defeated Terrence Thompson for the title on November Second, Twenty-Ten. Legnth of reign- Eighteen Days. Number of successful defenses? Zero.”
[Although its about to be one. Unless, god forbid, Jenna Himmler wins. Wendy slides the final picture onto the easel, smiling softly as she does so. This picture is, of course, Terrence and Wendy themselves, as they appeared back at Do Or Die, embracing each other with their tag titles in hand.]
Terrence: “Tag Team Champions; WhirlyBirdz Vehicular Hit Squad. Defeated the Kings Among Men for the titles on July Fifth, Twenty-ten. Legnth of reign- One Hundred Thirty Eight days. Successful defenses? Five.
[As Wendy quietly lowers the easel ot the ground, to get it out of the picture, Terrence breaks into a grin]
Terrence: “And counting”
[Well five defenses if you count the Birdz no contest against Global Revolution the first time around, which Pollaski (who, as the unofficial PWX statistician, did all the work for this, and passed the info along to Terrence.) obviously does.]
Terrence: “I don’t think you can paint a clearer picture than that of what Wendy and I have accomplished with these belts. Our legnth of reign is four times longer than the combined reigns of all three current singles champions. In fact, since Wendy and I won the tag belts, the other belts in this company have changed hands a combined fifteen times.”
[And their damned names STILL aren’t spelled right on the Wordpress main page.]
Terrence: “So once again, Global Revolution will try to be the ones that finally bring the WhirlyBirdz down. Now, I’ll admit, the first time we faced them, it didn’t exactly end well for any of us. John Ojeda, attention-whore that he is, decided to get involved against me, and wrecked the match.”
[Terrence doesn’t quite look angry, but its obvious he’s definitely more than a little irritable about the way Adrenaline 51 ended. Next to him, even Wendy looks a bit miffed, as memories of that evening come back to the both of them.]
Terrence; “Honestly, I hope you boys put John Ojeda on your Christmas Card lists, because with that one run-in, he did you the biggest favor in the world. He saved you from the inevitable fate of every team that faces Wendy and I.”
[Small shrug.]
Terrence: “A fate that you won’t be avoiding this Tuesday, at Adrenaline Fifty-Four.”
[Cold smile]
Terrence: “See, I’m glad it was you who won that Shoots and Ladders match to earn a second shot against us. The Belmonts can cry all they want, but at the end of the day, Valerie was lying on her back, looking up helplessly at my wife. So to hell with them- Val can go and strut around with the Hybrid title she swore she wouldn’t pursue, and Jeremiah can go take the title shot at End Game I generously turned down.”
[Terrence scoots over on the couch, until he’s sitting directly next to his wife, and puts his arm around her, as she smiles softly]
Terrence: “But I still have a bone to pick with you boys, specifically, Jacob Wright. Jacob, I’m a prideful man, and the fact that I’ve now had two matches against you, and nothing to show for it, well, that definitely isn’t something I’m happy about. You’re a slippery little bastard, that’s for sure. Everytime I’m about to catch you, you suddenly manage to slip through my fingers.”
[Terrence shakes his head in irritation, but then shrugs]
Terrence: “But despite it all, Jake, I’ve managed a bit of respect for you. Beneath your occasional juvenile antics lies the heart of a warrior, and it’s not a fluke that you’ve managed to win the Grand Prix championship twice. Hell, I’d probably take you at even odds against ninety percent of the PWX roster. And you actually seem like a hell of a nice guy to boot.”
[Terrence takes a quick glance at his wife, and shoots her a smile before looking back at the camera again.]
Terrence: “Maybe just a bit too nice for your own good.”
[Wendy looks over at Terrence, confusion on her face. With his arm still around her, Terrence squeezes her once, but otherwise continues.]
Terrence: “Its admirable how badly you want to help your friend make it in PWX, Jake, but be honest with yourself. Do you honestly think you can win the tag championships with a scrub like Antonio Lopez standing in your corner?”
[Wendy’s eyes suddenly go wide, as what her husband just said sinks in. She opens her mouth to protest, but no words manage to come out. At this point, Terrence is determined not to look at his wife, just continues to look directly into the camera.]
Terrence: “I know, he’s your friend, Jake, but come on. There’s no place for charity in professional wrestling, especially when championships are involved. There’s just no way that you can beat a team like Wendy and I while carrying dead weight.”
[Finally, Wendy’s able to find her voice]
Wendy: “Um... what are you talking about?”
[Terrence doesn’t look overly surprised by the interruption, but he’s not exactly happy about it either. Nonetheless, he looks over at Wendy, giving her another small smile.]
Terrence: “Look back at this guys history, hon. What has Antonio Lopez done over the course of PWX that’s worth noting? Who of note has he managed to defefat? Nothing. And no one. At all.”
[Wendy shakes her head in denial.]
Wendy: “That’s not true... he held the Total Destiny Briefcase...”
[Terrence bursts out laughing]
Terrence: “Yeah. Winning that one off of Sah’ta Thor. Quite the accomplishment there. And he couldn’t even hold that case long enough to capitalize on it.”
Wendy: “Because he got injured.”
[Terrence gives his wife a knowing smile, and shakes his head.]
Terrence: “Yeah, that’s his story. But the fact is, he wasn’t too hurt to run as far away as he possibly could from the PWX, that’s for sure.”
Wendy: “But he came back... in the Civil War no less, and helped us defeat the Cartel!”
[Terrence smiles again.]
Terrence: “Right. And have you ever really thought about it, Wendy? How convenient that turned out to be? Jacob Wright, who kept fighting against Jeremiah Belmont with a dislocated shoulder, who walked down to face Ojeda and Willett the week after, a man who’s refused to quit on so many occasions, suddenly can’t make it to the ring for the biggest match in PWX history? And who just so happens to show up and save the day, but his best friend?”
[Wendy again shakes her head in denial, although she looks disconcerted over the fact that the PWX tag team champions are suddenly arguing with themselves on camera.]
Terrence: “Hon, Jacob Wright said it himself, the first time they faced us. It’s Antonio’s turn to shine. He’s practically given up his career trying to get some form of a belt around Antonio’s waist.”
[Wendy merely shrugs, obviously still not convinced.]
Wendy: “Then Jacob Wright is a very noble, selfless person.”
Terrence: “He is. Like I said, its admirable what he’s doing, but ultimately foolish. It doesn’t matter how many times you polish a turd, hon. It’s still shit.”
[Wendy cringes a bit at the crude imagery, but otherwise says nothing.]
Terrence: “Hell, is he even going to let Antonio stand in front of the camera and talk this time? Last time we faced them, Jacob did all the talking, and we just watched Antonio root around in some basement somewhere.”
[Wendy again shakes her head in agreement, and sighs, before putting on her attempt at a diplomatic smile]
Wendy: “I still think you have it wrong, hon. But we agreed that this was your talk. Go on.”
[By now, Terrence probably has figured out that his comments have upset Wendy somewhat, and he leans over to her, and whispers in her ear. She pauses slightly, and nods. Terrence quickly kisses her on the cheek, drawing a blush and a small smile, then turns back to the camera.]
Terrence: “Jacob, if you had a partner anywhere near the talent level you possess, you’d have a decent shot at dethroning Wendy and I. But the climb to these titles is long, and its steep. I didn’t carry Wendy up the mountain, and she didn’t carry me. We worked together. And you put out a noble effort, Jacob. You managed to carry Antonio past Pride and Honor, and the Belmonts. But you’re going to run out of gas just short of the summit. It’s a tough break, Jacob, but this is professional wrestling, not the feel good story of the year.”
[Terrence smirks one final time, as he looks into the camera]
Terrence: “There’s two types of relationships in nature. And on Tuesday night, everyone is going to learn the difference between those that are parasitic...
[Terrence reaches out, and again hooks his arm around Wendy’s shoulder, drawing her close to him. Both Birdz smile at the camera, but while Terrence’s is one of cockiness, Wendy’s seems almost apologetic.]
Terrence: “... and those that are symbiotic.”
[The scene fades to black]
Indianapolis International Airport- Roof of Parking Garage
Indianapolis, Indiana
3:17 PM Local Time
“There’s grandma’s plane,” I commented idly, pointing at a small United Express CRJ that had just taken off. In truth, I didn’t know for sure whether that was the exact plane that was taking Constance O’Reilly away from Indianapolis after spending a month with us, but it was definitely her departure time. Either way, it didn’t really matter. The old hag was gone, back to Belfast, not to be heard from ever again (or at least, please God, a very very long time!)
I couldn’t help but smile as my daughter turned and started waving fervently at the plane. Of course, even if Constance had been sitting on the proper side, there was no way in hell she’d be able to see a four-year old girl on top of the airport parking garage, but that was obviously something I wasn’t going to tell Theresa. I couldn’t help but smile, however, as she continued to wave, her gaze following the CRJ as it climbed higher and higher into the sky.
Wendy hadn’t bothered to wave, but she too had stopped to watch the plane take off, a wistful smile on her face as her flame-red hair blew loosely behind her in the slight breeze. As the plane banked northward, and disappeared into the clouds she sighed, and softly muttered a series of unintelligble words.
“Pardon?” I asked, narrowing my eyes in confusion.
Wendy giggled softly, and turned back towards me. “I said ‘Go n-éiri an bothar leat’.”
“Oh, good.” I couldn’t help but be sarcastic. “Now that you’ve said the same gibberish a second time, it makes perfect sense.”
As I could have very well predicted, my comment earned me an eyeroll from my wife, combined with a light backhanded smack on my upper arm. “It’s not gibberish, Terrence. It’s Gaelic. It’s a traditional blessing for a safe journey, although it’s often been mistranslated as ‘may the road rise up to meet you.’”
I snorted in laughter. “The road rise up to meet... THAT’S a blessing?”
“It’s a mistranslation,” Wendy repeated, looking at me with just a smidge of exasperation.
“I was gonna say.” I continued to laugh. “The last time the ‘road rose up to meet me’ was when I flipped my car racing in Odessa.”
Wendy gave me one of her famous nasty glares, although she shuddered as she did so. “Don’t even joke about that, Terry,” she said, her voice breaking just slightly. “I nearly had a heart attack when that happened.”
“Oh YOU?” I responded, arching an eyebrow. “How do you think I felt?” I laughed again, and hooked my arm around her waist, pulling her close to me and kissing her on the cheek. “It’s a good thing I quit racing and moved to a safer profession, eh?”
Wendy tried to give me another one of her stern gazes, but even she couldn’t help but smile at that. I stole another kiss, this time on her lips, and released her. It was certainly chilly out, and we had a trip to Oklahoma City to get ready for. “Come on Theresa!” I called, and my daughter turned and skipped after us as we turned and headed for the car.
“So, how are you doing with all this?” I asked once we were in the car, and I was slowly maneuvering my 1971 Charger down the circular parking ramps.
“I’m okay,” my wife replied, glancing over her shoulder into the back seat to check on Theresa. “It’ll be nice for things to quiet down around here again.” She broke into a small smile. “At least relatively.”
I returned the smile, then broke my attention away from Wendy as we neared the pay-station for the parking garage. I tossed a twenty to the attendant, and received a couple singles back, and zipped out under the rising gate.
“It’s been a rough month for you,” I said once we were on the road, heading back across Indianapolis towards our house.
Wendy sighed, and looked out her window, and for a while, the car was silent. Traffic was a bit heavy as we neared the Interstate, but nevertheless I risked a glance over at her. What little I could see of her face was expressionless. I hoped she wasn’t avoiding the comment- I needed to talk to her.
Finally, she turned away from the window, and looked at me. “It has,” she admitted, and for just a second, I was afraid that was all she was going to say. “But it’s hardly the roughest patch I’ve ever been in.”
I nodded silently, biting my lower lip as I checked my blind spots, trying to get into the proper lane to get on I-465. Discussing sensitive matters with your tag team partner was always a tough, delicate subject. When said tag partner happened to be your wife, even more so.
As she tends to do, Wendy seemed to figure out what I was thinking, and she turned directly towards me. “If you’re worried about me being distracted by what’s been going on, don’t be, Terry. None of that was the reason I lost to Ashley Graves and Tweeder.”
Of course, that’s what she would say. Wendy wasn’t the type to point fingers, or make excuses, but anyone with a brain could see that ever since Wendy had visited her father in prison, and had the fight with her grandmother, she had suffered, and not just inside the ring. I’m not saying that she had become withdrawn and aloof over the past couple of weeks, but after being around my wife for the better part of a decade, I knew when she was having a tough time.
“Even if it was,” Wendy continued, breaking into my thoughts, “Father was denied parole, and Nana and I mended our differences. Everythings looking better. Heck, even Notre Dame won last week!”
I grimaced as I saw the sea of brake lights ahead of me. The last thing I wanted was to be stuck on 465 in a sea of fucking gridlock. But it looked unavoidable- already my lane had slowed below 40, and I was actually passing cars in the lane next to me. Within a couple miles, I’d be in stop-and-go. “Dammit,” I whispered, as I pumped the brake as to not run into the back of the Audi in front of me.
Wendy looked over at me. “Maybe you should get off at Washington and take Lynhurst.”
It was tempting- normally the twenty mile drive from the airport to our house took just about half an hour. But who knew how long this jam was? It could be an hour, maybe even more, before we got home. Nevertheless, I shook my head. “It’s just a little congestion.”
Wendy pointed out the window at the sea of red lights. “It looks like more than a little, Terry. We have a lot to do before we leave for Oklahoma City tomorrow.’
For just a second, I considered acquiescing, just for the sake of being diplomatic. But I was in the leftmost lane, and I needed to get across three lanes of solid traffic in less than a quarter mile to get on Washington Street. On a racetrack, I could make the move. By myself, I could make the move. In a car with my wife and child? Not a chance in hell. Instead, I just tapped lightly on the steering wheel, and, concentrated again on not running into the Audi. “I know what I’m doing,” I said, a bit more abruptly than I had meant to.
“And so do I, Terrence!” Wendy snapped, glaring at me.
I was lucky that the car was stopped at that moment, because had we been moving, I’d have been placing a call to Geico about the deductable on replacing a rear bumper on an Audi. Even as it was, I stared open-mouthed at my fuming wife for so long, that only a chorus of angry horn blasts from cars behind me reminded me where I was. I hit the gas, trying to close the 200 foot gap my momentary lapse in concentration had caused.
“I don’t think I can get over there in time,” I told her.
“This isn’t about getting off the freeway, Terrence, and you know it,” she replied. She glanced over her shoulder, at our daughter, and sighed. “We shouldn’t argue like this. Not in front of Theresa.”
“So don’t argue.” I replied mildly. “But there’s no laws in parenting that say we can’t have a nice civil discussion about the family business while being stuck in traffic on a freeway.”
Wendy nodded, and again she looked out the passenger side window, gathering her thoughts, as I inched the car further along the lane. Finally, she turned back towards me. “So now that I lost to Ashley Graves and Tweeder, you don’t have faith in me?”
This would probably be the worst situation in the world in which one could burst out laughing, but I was so taken aback by the blatantly loaded question, there was little else I could do. I stopped myself quickly, but as I glanced over at my wife, the anger and hurt in her eyes was unmistakable. I sighed, and shot Wendy an apologetic look.
“I’m sorry hon. But that might just be the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said.”
Wendy was hardly placated on the matter, and she crossed her arms, continuing to glare at me. For a couple seconds, my attention became more involved on navigating the traffic, but soon we had stopped again, and I glanced back over at her. “There isn’t a wrestler in the world that I have more faith in than you, hon, and that includes myself. But Wendy, I’ve been your husband for five years, and I was your boyfriend and fiancee for another seven before that. And I know you very very well.”
Wendy’s glare hardly softened, but she remained quiet, so I continued. “You realize that you take everything personally, right? And I mean, everything.”
Wendy shook her head in denial, but I could tell that she didn’t even believe that. “That’s not true-”
“It is” I interrupted. “Everything you’ve ever undertook in your life, from acting to wrestling, you’ve attached your sense of self-worth to. Probably because you were so desperate to make your parents proud of you when you were a kid, and it just kinda became a habit. I don’t know, I’m not a psychologist. But I do know this- losing has ALWAYS affected you worse than anyone else I’ve ever seen in this business. It doesn’t matter what’s on the line in a match... you’re pretty much devastated every single time. That’s not good for you.”
As I pretty much figured she would, Wendy scoffed, and shook her head. “Losing is failure, Terrence. You expect me to be complacent with failure?”
“Except its NOT failure,” I retorted. “Losing doesn’t make you any worse of a mother, or a wife, or even a human being, for that matter. Isn’t that what’s REALLY important?”
“Of course, but...”
“But what?” I interrupted again, glancing over at her.
Wendy opened her mouth for just a second, then shut it, looking at me sulkily. I smiled.
“You’re an emotional girl, hon. And that’s one of the reasons I love you- you care so much about everything. But.. like I said, when you let your emotions control you- it hurts you so badly. And then it hurts me to, because I have to watch the woman I love be in pain.”
“I don’t let my emotions control me. At least not during a match.” Wendy retorted.
“You don’t even let your emotions out during matches!” I responded. “Which is a shame, because its scary to think how good you’d be if you didn’t keep trying to bottle it all up and be the Righteous Robot all the time.”
I suppose I felt a twinge of regret at the shock and outrage that had registered on my wife’s face, but the fact was, this is something she needed to hear. Nonetheless, her emotions were definitely starting to show NOW... and I suddenly had the hindsight that having this conversation while operating a moving vehicle might not have been the best idea.
Nevertheless, I raised my hands in a placating gesture. “Riddle me this, hon. Every single big win you’ve ever pulled off in your career- they’ve all had one thing in common. You know what that is?”
Wendy stiffly shook her head, but said nothing.
“You got angry. You got in a fighting mood, and you beat the hell out of someone because you were sick of something. You were angry because the Dark Angels had practically tried to kill the both of us. You were angry because Misty Xiao had spent three months embarrassing you. You were angry because everyone said you didn’t deserve a shot at Mike Bell. You were angry because Hollywood kept slipping through your fingers. You were angry because the Kings Among Men disgraced the tag team titles. You were angry because the Cartel was trying to destroy a company you loved and had come to call home. You were angry because the Belmonts wouldn’t quit whining. Should I go on?”
“No, I get it,” Wendy said, sighing. “I need to be angry.”
I shook my head. When the hell did I ever become a philosopher? “Look at yourself, hon. You ARE angry. About a lot of things. And you’ve kind of had a right to be. But instead of being assertive, you’ve turned it all on yourself, because you’re afraid that if you conk someone over the head, people are going to think you’re a bad person.”
Wendy didn’t say anything, but I could tell the arrows were hitting pretty close to the targets. “Well, you’re wrong hon. Look at it this way. When Brian Hollywood returned to PWX, who did he go after?”
“Ojeda,” my wife replied softly.
“Right. You cracked him in the face with a sledgehammer, and wrecked the entire power grab he had spent months building up to, and it’s John Ojeda that he takes revenge on. Do you know why that is?”
Wendy paused for just a second, and looked down at the floor of the car. Finally, she looked back at me. “Because he knows I regretted doing it?”
“Did you?” I asked, arching my eyebrow as I risked another glance at her.
Again, Wendy was quiet, so I continued. “Hon, think about what was on the line that night. You were fighting for control of the PWX, yeah. But you were also fighting for our jobs. You were fighting for your career. Hell, you were fighting for your life. With all that on the line, do you honestly regret doing what you had to do?”
Traffic was starting to roll again, but even so, I managed to glance out of the corner of my eye as the thoughts bounced around in my wife’s brain. Suddenly, she straightened, a shocked expression on her face. “No... I don’t.” she said.
“Of course you don’t. And belive me, Brian Hollywood knows that. He also knows that if he were to ever try screwing with you again, you’d do the exact same thing to him. That’s why he’s gone after Ojeda- there’s nothing you did to him that’s needs avenging- and I daresay he probably has a bit of respect for you now..”
Well, on the bright side, Wendy no longer looked like she wanted to kill me, nor did she look completely deflated. Still, she sat quietly, looking back out the window at the passing scenery. I glanced over my shoulder at Theresa, who had picked up one of her picture books, and was reading through it. Traffic was finally starting to clear up for us.
“So how do you feel, now?” I asked.
Wendy shot me a small smile, and shrugged. “I don’t know. A lot of what you said hurt... but I think part of it might be because you’re probably right about a few things. I guess I have some thinking to do.”
“Well, I didn’t say it to hurt you,” I commented, switching lanes to finally overtake that goddamned Audi. Now that traffic had cleared up substantially, I took my right hand off the wheel, and took Wendy’s left hand in mine. “Wendy, we returned to the tag ranks because we felt that by working together we would repair the cracks that had formed between us. Now, we have something, really, truly special going on here with these tag titles. I don’t want this to end- not against Global Revolution, not against the Belmonts, not against anyone. I want to see just how far, and how long, we can go.”
Wendy squeezed my hand back, and looked over at me, a smile of contentment splashing across her face for the first time all day- hell, all month. “I don’t want it to end either,” she said. “And I’ll think about what you told me. I promise.”
Reluctantly, I removed my hand from her grasp, the better to grip the steering wheel with. “Hang on,” I said, shooting Wendy a grin, and stepping on the gas pedal. We had some time to make up.
We had a lot to do before leaving for Oklahoma.
===========================================
Saturday November 20, 2010
The RV- Main Cabin
St. Louis, Missouri
9:10 PM Local Time]
[Okay, just a reminder, this is a WhirlyBirdz promo]
[We’re just throwing that out there, because the first thing anyone sees as we fade in is a picture of Valerie Belmont, standing in the middle of the ring, triumphantly holding up her newly won hybrid title.]
Terrence: “Hybrid Champion; Valerie Belmont. Defeated Ben Stevens for the title on November Sixteenth, Twenty-Ten. Legnth of reign- Four days. Number of successful defenses? Zero.”
[As Terrence talks, the camera pulls away from the picture of Valerie, and we can see that the picture has been set up on an easel in the middle of the main cabin of the Birdz RV. As the camera continues to pull away, we see both members of the Birdz sitting on the couch. Terrence sits to the left of the easel, looking fairly relaxed, as usual, wearing a t-shirt and jeans. To the right of the easel, on the other end of the couch, sits Wendy. She’s doesn’t look nearly as stuck-up as she normally appears when she interviews, but part of that may be in part because she’s holding several more of the sizeable pictures. In fact, Terrence nods at her, and that’s her cue, as she slides the next picture on the easel, over the picture of Valerie. This is, not surprisingly, a picture of Ashley Graves, holding up her Evolution title.]
Terrence: “ Evolution Champion; Ashley Graves. Defeated Johnny Moxie for the title on November Ninth, Twenty-Ten. Length of reign- Eleven Days. Number of successful defenses? Zero.”
[It should be noted that Terrence does have a sheet of paper on his lap that he’s occasionally glancing at. Not too surprising- there’s no way in hell he’d actually remember all these factoids off the top of his head. Wendy grimly slides another picture onto the easel, and Terrence grimaces as well. This is of course- John Ojeda. Nonetheless, Terrence gamely continues]
Terrence: “Grand Prix Champion; John Ojeda. Defeated Terrence Thompson for the title on November Second, Twenty-Ten. Legnth of reign- Eighteen Days. Number of successful defenses? Zero.”
[Although its about to be one. Unless, god forbid, Jenna Himmler wins. Wendy slides the final picture onto the easel, smiling softly as she does so. This picture is, of course, Terrence and Wendy themselves, as they appeared back at Do Or Die, embracing each other with their tag titles in hand.]
Terrence: “Tag Team Champions; WhirlyBirdz Vehicular Hit Squad. Defeated the Kings Among Men for the titles on July Fifth, Twenty-ten. Legnth of reign- One Hundred Thirty Eight days. Successful defenses? Five.
[As Wendy quietly lowers the easel ot the ground, to get it out of the picture, Terrence breaks into a grin]
Terrence: “And counting”
[Well five defenses if you count the Birdz no contest against Global Revolution the first time around, which Pollaski (who, as the unofficial PWX statistician, did all the work for this, and passed the info along to Terrence.) obviously does.]
Terrence: “I don’t think you can paint a clearer picture than that of what Wendy and I have accomplished with these belts. Our legnth of reign is four times longer than the combined reigns of all three current singles champions. In fact, since Wendy and I won the tag belts, the other belts in this company have changed hands a combined fifteen times.”
[And their damned names STILL aren’t spelled right on the Wordpress main page.]
Terrence: “So once again, Global Revolution will try to be the ones that finally bring the WhirlyBirdz down. Now, I’ll admit, the first time we faced them, it didn’t exactly end well for any of us. John Ojeda, attention-whore that he is, decided to get involved against me, and wrecked the match.”
[Terrence doesn’t quite look angry, but its obvious he’s definitely more than a little irritable about the way Adrenaline 51 ended. Next to him, even Wendy looks a bit miffed, as memories of that evening come back to the both of them.]
Terrence; “Honestly, I hope you boys put John Ojeda on your Christmas Card lists, because with that one run-in, he did you the biggest favor in the world. He saved you from the inevitable fate of every team that faces Wendy and I.”
[Small shrug.]
Terrence: “A fate that you won’t be avoiding this Tuesday, at Adrenaline Fifty-Four.”
[Cold smile]
Terrence: “See, I’m glad it was you who won that Shoots and Ladders match to earn a second shot against us. The Belmonts can cry all they want, but at the end of the day, Valerie was lying on her back, looking up helplessly at my wife. So to hell with them- Val can go and strut around with the Hybrid title she swore she wouldn’t pursue, and Jeremiah can go take the title shot at End Game I generously turned down.”
[Terrence scoots over on the couch, until he’s sitting directly next to his wife, and puts his arm around her, as she smiles softly]
Terrence: “But I still have a bone to pick with you boys, specifically, Jacob Wright. Jacob, I’m a prideful man, and the fact that I’ve now had two matches against you, and nothing to show for it, well, that definitely isn’t something I’m happy about. You’re a slippery little bastard, that’s for sure. Everytime I’m about to catch you, you suddenly manage to slip through my fingers.”
[Terrence shakes his head in irritation, but then shrugs]
Terrence: “But despite it all, Jake, I’ve managed a bit of respect for you. Beneath your occasional juvenile antics lies the heart of a warrior, and it’s not a fluke that you’ve managed to win the Grand Prix championship twice. Hell, I’d probably take you at even odds against ninety percent of the PWX roster. And you actually seem like a hell of a nice guy to boot.”
[Terrence takes a quick glance at his wife, and shoots her a smile before looking back at the camera again.]
Terrence: “Maybe just a bit too nice for your own good.”
[Wendy looks over at Terrence, confusion on her face. With his arm still around her, Terrence squeezes her once, but otherwise continues.]
Terrence: “Its admirable how badly you want to help your friend make it in PWX, Jake, but be honest with yourself. Do you honestly think you can win the tag championships with a scrub like Antonio Lopez standing in your corner?”
[Wendy’s eyes suddenly go wide, as what her husband just said sinks in. She opens her mouth to protest, but no words manage to come out. At this point, Terrence is determined not to look at his wife, just continues to look directly into the camera.]
Terrence: “I know, he’s your friend, Jake, but come on. There’s no place for charity in professional wrestling, especially when championships are involved. There’s just no way that you can beat a team like Wendy and I while carrying dead weight.”
[Finally, Wendy’s able to find her voice]
Wendy: “Um... what are you talking about?”
[Terrence doesn’t look overly surprised by the interruption, but he’s not exactly happy about it either. Nonetheless, he looks over at Wendy, giving her another small smile.]
Terrence: “Look back at this guys history, hon. What has Antonio Lopez done over the course of PWX that’s worth noting? Who of note has he managed to defefat? Nothing. And no one. At all.”
[Wendy shakes her head in denial.]
Wendy: “That’s not true... he held the Total Destiny Briefcase...”
[Terrence bursts out laughing]
Terrence: “Yeah. Winning that one off of Sah’ta Thor. Quite the accomplishment there. And he couldn’t even hold that case long enough to capitalize on it.”
Wendy: “Because he got injured.”
[Terrence gives his wife a knowing smile, and shakes his head.]
Terrence: “Yeah, that’s his story. But the fact is, he wasn’t too hurt to run as far away as he possibly could from the PWX, that’s for sure.”
Wendy: “But he came back... in the Civil War no less, and helped us defeat the Cartel!”
[Terrence smiles again.]
Terrence: “Right. And have you ever really thought about it, Wendy? How convenient that turned out to be? Jacob Wright, who kept fighting against Jeremiah Belmont with a dislocated shoulder, who walked down to face Ojeda and Willett the week after, a man who’s refused to quit on so many occasions, suddenly can’t make it to the ring for the biggest match in PWX history? And who just so happens to show up and save the day, but his best friend?”
[Wendy again shakes her head in denial, although she looks disconcerted over the fact that the PWX tag team champions are suddenly arguing with themselves on camera.]
Terrence: “Hon, Jacob Wright said it himself, the first time they faced us. It’s Antonio’s turn to shine. He’s practically given up his career trying to get some form of a belt around Antonio’s waist.”
[Wendy merely shrugs, obviously still not convinced.]
Wendy: “Then Jacob Wright is a very noble, selfless person.”
Terrence: “He is. Like I said, its admirable what he’s doing, but ultimately foolish. It doesn’t matter how many times you polish a turd, hon. It’s still shit.”
[Wendy cringes a bit at the crude imagery, but otherwise says nothing.]
Terrence: “Hell, is he even going to let Antonio stand in front of the camera and talk this time? Last time we faced them, Jacob did all the talking, and we just watched Antonio root around in some basement somewhere.”
[Wendy again shakes her head in agreement, and sighs, before putting on her attempt at a diplomatic smile]
Wendy: “I still think you have it wrong, hon. But we agreed that this was your talk. Go on.”
[By now, Terrence probably has figured out that his comments have upset Wendy somewhat, and he leans over to her, and whispers in her ear. She pauses slightly, and nods. Terrence quickly kisses her on the cheek, drawing a blush and a small smile, then turns back to the camera.]
Terrence: “Jacob, if you had a partner anywhere near the talent level you possess, you’d have a decent shot at dethroning Wendy and I. But the climb to these titles is long, and its steep. I didn’t carry Wendy up the mountain, and she didn’t carry me. We worked together. And you put out a noble effort, Jacob. You managed to carry Antonio past Pride and Honor, and the Belmonts. But you’re going to run out of gas just short of the summit. It’s a tough break, Jacob, but this is professional wrestling, not the feel good story of the year.”
[Terrence smirks one final time, as he looks into the camera]
Terrence: “There’s two types of relationships in nature. And on Tuesday night, everyone is going to learn the difference between those that are parasitic...
[Terrence reaches out, and again hooks his arm around Wendy’s shoulder, drawing her close to him. Both Birdz smile at the camera, but while Terrence’s is one of cockiness, Wendy’s seems almost apologetic.]
Terrence: “... and those that are symbiotic.”
[The scene fades to black]
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