EPISODE 91: Crunch Time

Saturday April 16, 2011
Talladega Superspeedway- Diamond Motorsports Taco Bell Team Pit Box
Talladega, Alabama
9:13 AM Local Time

“Come on, Terry!” I cheered as the massive mass of cars roared down the front stretch through the tri-oval.

I doubted anyone heard me, but it did little to abate the excitement I was feeling. Fifty-eight laps into the 3 Amigos 250, and Terrence Thompson’s return to racing had been a great one.

My husband was currently running fifth, although with a lead pack that still contained thirty-seven cars, that could change in a heartbeat. He could move forward, up to the lead (he had already, leading the thirty-fourth lap before falling back again), or he could fall back out of the top twenty, only to rise again. Such was the racing at Talladega, whose wide lanes and large, sweeping, high banked turns permitted cars to run three across at full throttle all the way around the 2.88 mile triangular-shaped circuit.

Still though, the fact that Terrence, in his first race in well over a year (and he had NEVER raced on a track like ‘Dega before), was keeping up with the lead pack, and not making any major mistakes, was amazing. Even more amazing was the huge throng of spectators that had gathered in the grandstands across the way. When the race had been postponed due to inclement weather the day before, I had feared that most people would have stayed away. Instead, it was the exact opposite- with NASCAR’s Nationwide series running their own race later that day, the postponement had turned Saturday into a doubleheader, and fans were more than eager to get their fill of racing for the weekend.

The pack roared by again, and I grimaced slightly as the numbers on the scoring tower shuffled, and I saw the number 38 drop to seventh place. Still, so long as he could keep pace...

I had a good view of the front stretch from my vantage point, atop the pit box for the Diamond Motorsports Taco Bell racing team. I had planned on watching in the infield grandstands with Pollaski, Cassie, and Theresa, but the SPEED Channel executives had insisted that my I take a more conspicuous perch. After all, the telecast needed to meet its quota of shots of racer’s wives nervously watching their husbands!

And I was nervous. It was impossible not to be when your husband was strapped in a car travelling 200 miles per hour. But I was also excited, and for the first time since that day over two weeks ago, I actually began to feel easy with the future of myself and my husband. Not only was Terry proving himself out there on the track, but I was starting to look forward to proving myself in the FFW ring.

When I had watched the replay of Full Frontal, from the moment Gretchen Donimari and Whitley Mercer had walked down the entrance ramp for the first match, I had been drawn in. With each passing match, I more and more began to realize that my insufferable manager had been right- this was a place that I could see myself in. By the time Scarlett Kincaid beat Isabella Pazzini (albeit controversially) in the main event, I was almost ready to jump into that ring myself and see just how I could match up with any of the women in the company.

Within twenty-four hours, I had filled out my application, and it was faxed over to the FFW offices. I was accepted almost immediately, and told to expect a match at the next Velocity. Even after seeing some unfortunate incidents (Isabella’s uncalled for attack on Rori Snyder first and foremost), I was absolutely thrilled over the challenges and opportunities I soon would be facing. The twenty-first and Velocity could NOT come soon enough!

The pack was coming out of turn four again, and I broke away from my thoughts to watch as the mass of cars again roared onto the front stretch. Terrence was riding a few cars back, in the outside lane. He was slowly dropping back, but again, it was all part of the ebb and flow of...

A plume of tire smoke ahead caught my attention, and I watched as the two of the lead cars bumped into each other. The outside most car drifted slightly up the track, where it caught the front bumper of the car behind it. The plume became a billow as the car went into a spin.

Right into the path of Terrence’s Ford.

Terrence had no chance at all to evade, and my stomach lurched into my throat as he smashed into the rear quarterpanel at just under two hundred miles per hour. The force of the impact caused his car to veer to the inside, where it smashed into the side of another car. That car spun out of the way, and Terrence’s car continued to move to the inside, where it was smashed in the rear and side by two more cars. Terrence’s car began spinning wildly, travelling into the infield, causing pieces of grass and dirt to fly around in spectacular fashion.

Behind him, chaos was erupting, smoke billowing from tires and engines as the rest of the pack struggled to avoid the accident. Several cars, with nowhere else to go, drove across the infield, more grass and dirt flying, one car losing control and spinning, just missing Terrence’s machine. Another car looked like it was going to clear, only for the car behind it to smash into its rear, sending both spinning.

And suddenly, all was still. The surviving cars had passed the accident, and were slowing down on the backstretch, leaving twelve twisted, mangled, smoking cars on the front stretch. Already the caution was out, and dozens of lights from safety cars and medical staff were flowing out into the track to assist the afflicted drivers.

Terrence’s car sat a little over a hundred yards from where I was sitting, in the infield, splattered with mud and grass. The hood was crumpled, white smoke drifting from a blown radiator, while mangled strips of the car’s fiberglass body dangled freely.

“Is he okay?” I asked, looking around wildly for someone to answer me. With all the safety features of stock cars these days, it was almost easy to take the safety of drivers for granted. ARCA itself hadn’t had an on track fatality in almost a decade, despite the seemingly horrific crashes that often made the news clips. But when your husband was in that car, there was no “I’m sure he’s okay, they’re built to crumple like that..” You had to know!

“Is he okay?” I asked again, looking over at Terrence’s crew chief. The man gave no indication that he heard me, just continued to talk on his radio. I watched him carefully. Was he conversing with Terrence? Trying to rouse an unconscious driver? Talking to the spotter? What?

Desperately, I looked back at the car, and relief washed over me as I saw the driver climbing out under his own power. Several track workers ran to Terrence to help him, but he waved them away, and finished climbing out of the vehicle. He moved stiffly at first, but seemed to be okay as the attendants began talking to him. The cars still in the race, now moving slowly under caution, were passing by the accident scene, and I watched as my husband turned towards them forlornly, an outcast forced to watch the in-crowd from a distance.

Around me, a cheer came up from the grandstands as the PA announcer declared that all drivers had been accounted for and were uninjured, but I didn’t join in. I just sat quietly, a single tear trickling down my cheek, as I watched the track workers direct Terrence towards a waiting ambulance- a standard post-crash procedure. Terrence began to walk away, then stopped, and took off his helmet, turning around and chucking it through the window of his mangled car. Then his anger played out, he stalked off towards the emergency vehicle.

His day was over.

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

Saturday April 16, 2011
Talladega Superspeedway- SPEED Channel Dome Banquet Hall
Talladega, Alabama
12:02 PM Local Time

[As part of the spring Talladega race weekend, the Alabama School for the Deaf and Blind puts on a charity banquet called Race Fever, which is exactly where we are as the scene fades in. Several hundred people are seen eating in the banquet hall, while a fairly large line serves themselves at a buffet, where barbacue seems to be the order of the day. As the camera moves through the crowd, a keen eye would be able to spot several of NASCAR’s most visible drivers eating and talking, including Kyle Petty, Jimmy Johnson, and Kasey Kahne.]

[The camera slowly moves towards a corner of the dining hall, where a red haired woman in her mid twenties sits at a table, cutting up a piece of barbecued chicken, a small girl of about four sitting next to her. The girl notices the camera first, and tugs on the woman’s arm. The woman looks up, and, seemingly thinking its a person recording the event, waves briefly at the camera, the little girl eagerly joining in, before going back to her lunch. Those who had seen the previous weeks Velocity would recognize the woman as Wendy Briese, one of the newest signees to Femme Fatale Wrestling. The camera doesn’t move, however, and the woman notices that she’s still being watched. This time, miffed, she looks up, frowning.]

Wendy Briese: “Can I help you?”

[A man steps in front of the camera- Herbie- and he approaches the table]

Herbie Richmond: “Ms. Briese, Herbie Richmond, from Femme Fatale Wrestling. I was wondering if you had a moment.”

[Finally realizing who it is, Wendy breaks into a small smile, and nods.]

WB: “Um, yeah. We’re just finishing lunch here...”

[Something suddenly strikes Wendy as odd.]

WB: “Wait, they just let you in here so you could talk to me?”

[Short pause, Herbie suddenly looks uncomfortable]

HR: “Well, we kinda pretended to be with the SPEED channel. And we might have stolen a few credentials...”

[Wendy’s jaw drops in horror, her eyes going wide. Herbie waves his hands frantically.]

HR: “It was eighty bucks a ticket!”

WB: “Yeah, it’s a charity dinner. It’s going to help fund the Alabama Institute for the Deaf-”

HR: “Look, I couldn’t wait for this to end. I’m on a tight schedule here! So could we please just do this before someone catches on that we’re not supposed to be here?”

[Wendy looks torn between agreeing, and screaming for security at the top of her lungs. Finally, sympathy for the interviewer wins out, and with a resigned sigh, she gestures for herbie to sit down.]

HR: “Thank you. I thought it would be a great idea to interview you before Velocity next week, considering-”

WB: “-my manager kind of hijacked my introductory segment?”

[Herbie nods in agreement, Wendy smiles in exasperation and rolls her eyes]

HR: “Anyways, how are you doing today?”

[Wendy cracks a rueful smile]

WB: “Well, today, not so great. We had to get up really early this morning, and Terrence unfortunately only finished twenty-ninth in his race today after his accident-”

HR: “Wait, was he in that huge 12-car crash on lap sixty-one? That was AWESOME!”

[Wendy’s mouth is hung slightly open in disbelief as she stares at Herbie, who, after a few painfully silent seconds, realizes his error.]

HR: “Of course, probably not so awesome if you’re the wife of one of the drivers.

WB: [her voice completely flat] “Very much so.”

[Awkward silence for a good ten seconds]

HR: “So, um... how’s-”

WB: “He’s fine. He’s actually here- I think he’s meeting some of the kids from the school, and giving them autographs. But he’s pretty bummed over today. Still, the next race is at one of his favorite tracks, so there’s that to look forward to.”

HR: “Well, that’s good to hear. So, anyways, Wendy, I’m sure the FFW fans are eager to know just exactly who you are, so why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself?”

[Even though she’s evidently annoyed, Wendy smiles graciously]

WB: “Well, I was born in Manhattan, New York. My parents we’re Broadway performers, and I grew up surrounded by musical theater. I’m no longer a part of it, of course, but I still love it. I’ve been married five and a half years to my wonderful husband, Terrence, and we have a beautiful four year old daughter, Theresa.”

[Wendy beckons at the little girl next to her, and Theresa grins and waves to the camera. It’s adorable.]

WB: “In my spare time, I enjoy reading, drawing, and taking rides on my motorbike. As far as wrestling goes, I debuted in late 2001, and I competed for four years before retiring. I came out of retirement just over a year ago, and with Terrence stepping away to become an auto racer, I’m kind of going through some transitions in my career right now.”

HR: “Well, you come to Femme Fatale Wrestling a fairly well-regarded veteran of the sport. Do you think that’s going to help or hurt you as you try and get established here?”

WB: “I think ultimately it helps. Experience is such a valuable asset in this sport, and I do bring a fair amount of that to the ring. So many unique situations can arise in this sport, so knowing how to deal with at least a few of them is a huge asset. I think the only drawback is that its going to be harder for me to be underestimated, and surprise anyone. And that’s actually fine- it always feels kinda cheap when you win because your opponent didn’t take you seriously enough.”

[Wendy takes another bite of her chicken while Herbie asks the next question]

HR: “Well, now that you’re here, what are your goals for FFW?”

[Wendy smiles softly]

WB: “Well, long-term, I’d of course love a chance to wrap the FFW Championship around my waist, but I have a long way to go until that moment. I think in the immediate future, I need to do what every new wrestler in a company has to do. I have to establish myself as a credible threat to anyone I step in the ring with, and prove that I can thrive against all-female competition.”

HR: “Interesting that you would say that. What makes you think an all-female fed would be more challenging than the intergender companies you’ve competed in prior?”

[Wendy chuckles]

WB: “Ninety to ninety-five percent of the matches I’ve ever been in, I’ve been the smaller competitor, sometimes to the tune of fifty to a hundred pounds. But I’ve also been by far the faster and more agile wrestler, and I’ve learned to exploit those qualities to my advantage. In FFW, I’m middle of the field as far as size goes, so I while I don’t have the disadvantage I’ve so often had, I also won’t enjoy the speed advantage I’m used to.”

HR: “Do you think that could end up costing you?”

[Wendy shrugs]

WB: “It’s hard to say, really. It’s not like I’ve never faced a member of my own gender before, I have many times, and I’ve been just as successful at it, so far. I’m just not sure how the women I’ve faced in wrestling before would stack up to the women in FFW- I think talent wise, FFW will be slightly tougher, but I won’t really know until I get into that ring. I do know that I have other assets besides speed though. I think I’m pretty good at coming up with a game plan, and I’m also versatile enough to change my strategy as conditions in the match change.”

[Wendy pauses, and breaks into a grin]

WB: “At least here I’ll actually be able to suplex someone. I know a fair few of them, but I never actually get to use them!”

[Wendy giggles, and Herbie chuckles just a bit, before sobering and continuing]

HR: “Well, you haven’t even set foot in an FFW arena yet, and already you and your manager have stirred up a bit of controversy...

[Wendy, suddenly looking extremely uncomfortable, laughs nervously]

WB: “Oh God, please don’t lump me and my manager together...”

HR: “So you don’t approve of some of the comments Pollaski has made, particularily regarding Robbyn-”

[Wendy cuts him off fiercely]

WB: “Of course I don’t!”

[Realizing she just snapped at her interviewer, Wendy smiles apologetically, and takes a deep breath.]

WB: “Daniel Pollaski is going to say and do what Daniel Pollaski wants to say and do, whether its on Twitter, or camera, or...”

HR: “And you’re not concerned about all that reflecting badly on you?”

[Wendy pauses for a very long time, and its obvious she’s thinking]

WB: “You know, I used to be. And I do get annoyed by it sometimes, but ultimately if I got angry every time Pollaski said something off-color, I’d have a hundred ulcers right now. The fact is, that throughout the decade I’ve known him, Pollaski’s been more than a manager to me and Terrence, he’s been a friend. And he respects me enough to not interfere in my matches, and he has more than a couple times prevented interference from another party. I’m not going to throw all that away because he likes to run his mouth on the occasion.”

[Wendy smiles softly as she finishes, but her words are strong and committed, leaving no room for argument.]

HR: “Well, what about your own incident with Isabella Pazzini, when you called her a disgrace to professional wrestling? Don’t you think its a bit brazen for a newcomer such as yourself to calling a former world champion like that out?”

[Wendy pauses for another few seconds, then finally shrugs]

WB: “Some might think so. But I don’t think I need to have a dozen FFW matches under my belt to know what’s right in this sport, and what’s not. And Isabella’s attack on Rori Snyder was obviously not right. I thought it was cowardly and reprehensible, and I’ll say that about anyone who does that, regardless of their reputation. If that’s being ‘brazen’, then go ahead and stick that label on me.”

HR: “Some people would say that you’d be better served minding your own business and focusing on what’s in front of you.”

[Another shrug from Wendy]

WB: “And I’d say I’m entitled to my opinion just like everyone else is. Things like backstage attacks, and using weapons, especially ones like that bladed staff, those are things that I feel strongly about, and I think they cheapen this great sport. I was disturbed watching that, to say the least.”

HR: “Well tonight, Miss Pazzini is teaming with a woman you’ve shown considerably more respect, if not admiration, for, Scarlett Kincaid, at Breaking Point.”

[Wendy nods, almost sympathetically]

WB: “It has to be tough for Scarlett to team with a woman who attacked her friend like that. But at the same time, you’re a professsional, and you have to do your job, whether your fond of your partner or not. Either way, its a huge match, and a tremendous opportunity for all four women involved. I’m expecting a great contest tonight.”

HR: “So you’ll be watching?”

[Wendy pauses, and smiles ruefully, shaking her head]

WB: “Unfortunately, not live. Gretchen Wilson’s playing here tonight, and I’ve made arrangements to attend the concert- its not often I get to go to one. But our DVR is set, and I’ll be watching as soon as I get back to the RV tonight. I’m actually pretty excited to see it... not only will that main event be a thrill a minute, but the semifinals of the tag team tournament. I couldn’t even begin to guess who’s going to win that one.

[Herbie chuckles again]

HR: “You almost sound like a fan.”

[Wendy smiles again]

WB: “In a way, you know, I am. I love this sport, and I love watching the different styles and personalities collide in that ring. Even when I’m not competing, its fun to watch and see what others are capable of. I just hope they’re hard-fought, clean matches.”

HR: “Well, one person you WILL be able to see tonight is Charity Deas, who you face in just five days in your own debut at the next Velocity.”

[Wendy nods, her emerald eys dancing with excitement]

WB: “I know Charity was one of the rookies on the last Future Shock, which unfortunately I didn’t get to see much of. I think its great, though, that FFW has such a great avenue for up and coming wrestlers like her to showcase their talents and prove that they belong in such a tough company like Femme Fatale Wrestling. I did, however, see Charity at Full Frontal against Hope Matthews.”

HR: “What did you think of her?”

WB: “Well, going from that one match, I thought she was fantastic! That was a really well-executed victory, and what a nasty submission to end the contest. That’s something I’ll definitely be looking out for when we face.”

[Herbie nods]

HR: “Well, from what I’ve heard, you’re a fairly decent submissionist yourself. Do you think this match will turn into a technical mat-wrestling clinic with a lot of holds?”

[Wendy shrugs]

WB: “I think it could, although both of us seem versatile enough to where it might not have to be. If it goes to the mat, and turns into us seeing who can get the other to tap out first, I’m more than okay with that. But I’m just as okay with us standing up and striking, or even going to the air. With all respect to Hope Matthews, she didnt’ really offer anything at Charity for me to really gauge her on. I’m a little bit more familiar with Crystal Hilton, and what she’s capable of, so I’m sure tonight will be a much better scouting opportunity, as far as determining Charity’s strengths and weaknesses.”

HR: “But you’ll be ready at Velocity?”

[Wendy shrugs]

WB: “I hope so. I’ll find a way to bring her down. I usually do.”

[Herbie begins to stand up, looking at Wendy]

HR: “Well, thank you for your time, Wendy. Unfortunately, I better get going if I’m going to make my flight to Baton Rogue. Any final words?”

[Wendy smiles one more time]

WB: “Just that I’m excited to be here, and I can’t wait until Velocity!”

HR: “Alright, for FFW, I’m Herbie Richmond, signing out!”

[The scene fades as Herbie and the cameraman begin to walk towards the door]

EPISODE 90: The Windup, and The Pitch

Saturday April 2, 2011
Saturn LS3000 owned by Daniel Pollaski
Streets of Indianapolis, Indiana
11:13 AM Local Time

My possible retirement from wrestling lasted about seven hours.

After my husband had announced that he was retiring from wrestling (again) to return to auto racing (also, again), I had been completely indecisive about my own future in the sport. However, after a long conversation that evening with Terrence, after I had time to cool down and we both were able to get our emotions into check, I had made the decision to remain a wrestler.

Logically, it was the only route available to me, other than simply walking away from an occupation altogether, and relegating myself to being a housewife. The only two things in my life I had ever been accomplished at were the theater and wrestling, and I knew that between my parents and I, way too many bridges had been burned for me to ever be seriously considered as an actress ever again.

Pollaski, of course, had been pleased with my decision, and the very next day, I was back in the ring training. It felt awkward without my husband though- despite what he had claimed, it wasn’t the same, and it never would be. I felt like a massive support beam had been knocked out from under me, and the structure of my self-confidence was wobbling.

That didn’t make any sense either. Despite the flippant claims of just about every single critic I ever had, I was a far cry from being a mere tag team specialist. I had many singles accomplishments that I was proud of, and there was little doubt in my head that I would garner many more during the remaining years of my career. So what if my husband no longer wrestled? All it meant was that I could now focus exclusively on my singles career, something I had begun to do anyways.

I just needed time. Time to adapt, to get acclimated to my situation. Sooner or later, everything would start to seem normal again, at least as normal as it is for a female pro-wrestler who has a husband in stock car racing. But it was slow going, and frustrating at that. Mental errors abounded my first couple of days of training, and I took several bruises when my sparring partner had caught me off-guard.

And all that made the curveball Pollaski had thrown at me while driving me back to the Nest all the more irritating.

“You’re joking, right?” I couldn’t quite keep the derision and incredulity out of my voice as I looked over at him, immediately folding my arms across my chest defensively. “Join an all-women’s wrestling company?”

We were in my manager’s car, a 2002 Saturn LS3000 that almost always smelled of Taco Bell. Owning only a motorbike, the deluge that had soaked the Indianapolis area for the last couple of days had forced me to request a ride from him, as Terrence had taken his Charger to Tennessee for a couple days to meet with his new bosses

Pollaski drummed his hands impatiently on the steering wheel, waiting for the light to turn green. “Actually, I’m not. I think joining would be just the thing you need.”

“I’m already IN a fed,” I replied irritably. “The world champion, in fact. Why on Earth would I ever want to leave?”

“I’m not suggesting you leave,” Pollaski said. “You look at the schedule between the two companies, and it is actually quite favorable. You’re not required to be exclusive to either, just so long as you fufill your promotional and competitive obligations.”

I said nothing, just looked down at the piece of paper that Pollaski had handed me. The application for admission into Femme Fatale Wrestling looked pretty much just like any other wrestling company app, but I looked at it with the utmost loathing.

I hated women’s wrestling companies.

Obviously, I didn’t hate the thought of women wrestling- considering that I was one. Heck, some of my greatest and fiercest opponents through the years had been females. But too many times ‘women’s wrestling’ became degenerate, reduced to barely-trained, well endowed models rolling around in pudding, clawing at each others ‘clothes’. Carnival sideshows such as that were an insult to those of us who trained hard, and worked our rears off.

Besides, it was all obsolete anyways. Over the past decade or so, women had been proving that pro-wrestling was just one of many fields where they could effectively compete against- and even beat- the men. Thus an all women’s company no longer had any purpose- why be the best female wrestler when you could be the best wrestler PERIOD?

I crinkled the application up in my hands, until it was little more than a tennis-ball sized wad of paper. Without a second thought, I tossed it over my shoulder, normally a tremendous breach of etiquette, but considering the debris already littering Pollaski’s back seat, it was hardly an infraction.

Nonetheless, Pollaski grimaced, as he turned the car onto Meridian Street. “You know, this isn’t the NGWA we’re talking about here.”

I scowled at the memory. For all that I loved the NGWA- the now-defunct New England based company had really been the place Terrence and I had begun to establish ourselves- it was also the chief reason I hated the thought of a dedicated women’s division.

Before I had arrived, the division had been dominated by two women who spent more time making out with each other in their trailer park than they did training for their matches. Naturally, I had been placed in the division myself upon my arrival, and even though I was still a rookie, I dominated the division from the moment I set foot in it. I had been thrilled at first, but I soon came to realize that I was the champion of women who absolutely refused to take this sport seriously, or with any kind of dedication. They were there to be eye-candy, I was there to wrestle.

It didn’t help that I was forced to abdicate my title because I refused to defend it in a bikini contest. Not a bikini wrestling match mind you (that would have been bad enough), but a straight up beauty competition to determine the women’s champion. How could anyone take ‘women’s wrestling’ seriously after THAT debacle?

Luckily, after my abdication, I was given more and more opportunities to show what I could do against the males of the company, and I met with just as much success as I had in the women’s division.

But after all that, I had promised myself that no longer would I ever subject myself to being relegated to a lesser division based solely on my gender. It wasn’t a vow I was planning on breaking over this.

Pollaski, however, was undeterred. “I’m serious, Wendy. These aren’t Jenna Blaze’s and Kandy’s we’re talking about here. I’m talking talented, like you and Valerie Belmont. Hell, Val’s here, and I know how much you respect her. These girls are here to compete, and they will pose a challenge to you. I wouldn’t have suggested it if I had felt otherwise.”

I cast a sidelong glance at Pollaski, and sighed inwardly. Despite his eccentric (some might say perverted) nature, Pollaski was about as good a manager- and friend- as anyone could ask for. He’d handled our careers well up to this point, and he was generally pretty good at helping us find venues to showcase our talents. But still...

“Tell you what,” Pollaski broke into my thoughts yet again. “I have the last FFW Pay Per View on DVR. So let’s get home, cook up some lunch, and then you and I will watch Full Frontal-”

“Full Frontal?” I burst out, my voice dripping with disdain.

Pollaski grimaced, an indication that he had let something slip he shouldn’t have. Nonetheless, he took a deep breath, and looked over at me, shooting me a lopsided grin. “Well, I’m not going to pretend there’s nothing risque about FFW. But there isn’t a wrestling company in the world that isn’t at least a little edgy. Sex sells, and a good promoter knows that. But the emphasis is on the athleticism, you’ll see that when we watch this.”

“It’s no use, I already threw away the application,” I said quietly, without the slightest tinge of regret.

In response, Pollaski burst out laughing. “You don’t think I got copies? Five, to be exact. I’ve known you for nine years, kid. I’ve kinda figured out you’re a bit on the stubborn side.”

As usual, I bristled a bit at ‘kid’- a ludicrious thing to call me considering I was approaching thirty years, not to mention being fourteen months Pollaski’s senior. But he’d been calling me that for my entire career. Finally, I shook my head helplessly, and sighed. “Okay, fine. We’ll watch ‘Full Frontal.’ But I’m not making any promises after that.”

Pollaski chuckled, as he turned off Meridian onto Payne. “Great! Hell, we hurry, we might even get a introductory video off in time for their next show.”

“I didn’t-”

“-say you were joining.” Pollaski cut me off, with another harsh laugh. “But I know you, Wendy. You’re not one to turn down an opportunity, especially if there’s a challenge behind it. And I guarantee that after you see what women like Scarlett Kincaid, Isabella Pazzini, and Colleen are capable of, you won’t be able to wait for the chance to get in the ring with one of them.”

I shot another glare at Pollaski, one filled with exasperation. I didn’t know what was more annoying- how presumptuous my manager was, or the fact that more often than not, he ended up being right. That smug self-assurance he had grated on me, but something in the back of my mind said that before tomorrow was over, I would be signing an FFW contract. Nonetheless, all I could do was fold my arms over my chest, and look away out the window, speaking one of the most noncommittal phrases one could make.

“We’ll see.”