Thursday October 2, 1980
Streetside Sidewalk- West 72nd Street
New York City, New York
4:17 PM Local Time
“Seventy-Second and broadway. Six seventy-five, please.”
Augustus Briese looked up at the voice of his driver, a young man with a Hatian accent who smelled as if he hadn’t stopped smoking from the day he left his mother’s womb. Trying to avoid wrinkling his nose in disgust, Gus pulled out a ten dollar bill, and threw it to the cabbie, swinging the door open and slamming it behind him. As the green and white taxi pulled away behind him, Gus looked up at the ten-story sandstone building that loomed over him.
His home.
His incarceration in Crumlin Road had only lasted three more days before he had found himself being released, all charges dropped, himself a victim of a case of mistaken identity and the rampant anti-Catholic bigotry that ruled the Belfast police force. At least that was what he had told his new bride upon returning home, immediately followed by the news that their life in Ireland was over.
Of course, Gus hadn’t told her about Delaney’s demands, that he leave Belfast before his brash actions did any more damage to the CLF’s cause. The less of what Gayle knew about anything, the better it would be for her. Instead, he had impressed upon Gayle the idea of Broadway, of acting in the biggest stage with the brightest lights in all the world. Gayle, of course, had been reluctant to leave her family, and the city and country she had spent her whole life in. But Gus was nothing if not persistant, and it wasn’t long before they were en route to New York, ready to begin a new life.
Despite Broadway, it hadn’t been a move that Gus had been looking forward to. He had heard stories about New York City, and they never cast the metropolis in a flattering light. Gangs and crime families ruled the streets of an overcrowded, filthy wasteland of humanity nestled on the outlet of a disgusting puddle of sludge the locals jokingly referred to as a river.
The truth may have been little better to some locals, but for one with enough money to buy a condominium on the Upper West Side, above the reeking streets and rats that crawled in the gutter, the Big Apple wasn’t a half-bad place. It wasn’t long before Gus and Gayle had moved in and decorated a lovely condo just a few blocks to the west of Central Park, and found their way into the social circles of the upscale neighborhood.
Even better, Broadway had come quickly too. Auditions had been tiring, but many of the directors had heard of his, and especially Gayle’s work back in Belfast. The “Angel of the Lyric” had been sought after, several roles offered to her before she had decided upon the revival of Fiddler on the Roof, playing the role of Tzeitel. And he had garnered the lead male role in an upcoming production of called High Spirits, set to begin rehearsals the very next week.
The lobby of the condominium complex was empty, save for the doorman, who nodded respectfully to Gus as he entered. Gus quickly walked past him, heading for the row of mailboxes at the end of the lobby. A quick turn of the key, and he retreived the mail, stopping in surprise as he realized he had a package slip.
Odd... he hadn’t placed any orders recently. Neither had Gayle- to the best of his knowledge. He quickly walked back over to the doorman, and thrust the slip at him.
“Package for 713”
“Ah, yes sir, just a second,” the doorman said, looking down at the slip for just a second, verifying that everything on it was in order.
“I haven’t got all day!”
“Pardon me,” the doorman was taken aback by the sudden outburst, and he stepped back. “I was just checking... ah, I’ll be right back.”
“Idiot” Gus muttered under his breath as the man quickly walked towards the small mail room, ducking inside. The man knew who he was on sight, yet had to waste his precious time looking at a damned slip? He grated even more when it took nearly a full minute for the man to reappear, holding a small envelope. The man quickly handed him the package, then waited patiently, expecting the customary tip.
Gus turned away, ignoring the ignoramus and heading towards the elevator. He paid no attention to the doorman scowling, then quickly flashing a rude gesture at his back before returning to his post. The elevator door opened upon the button being pressed, and Gus stepped into the lift, still looking at the package.
He was shocked to see that the postmark was from Dublin. Dublin? He didn’t know anyone from Dublin... at least not anyone who would send him a package in the mail.
He tore the envelope open, and pulled out another, sealed Manilla envelope, with a note attached to hit. He unfolded the note, and quickly read it, surprised to find the script had been written in Gaelic.
Gus-
The Queen’s hounds have been sniffing a little bit too close, so until the situation settles, I think it’d be a good idea to have this as far away from me as possible. I managed to smuggle this into the Republic, and I’m entrusting into your hands the plans for Operation Wildeshaw, something I think will be a decisive blow to the invaders that soil our streets. Keep this safe for me, and don’t let me down, friend.
- Derrick
A brief stab of irritation washed over Gus. Delaney kicks him out of Ireland, under the threat of death, and now he wanted him to be his fucking watchdog? For a second, Gus was tempted to toss the envelope into the nearest trashcan and forget about it, but two things stopped him. First, it was the fear of Delaney. The man was connected, ruthless, and unforgiving. If there ever was a time Derrick asked for this Project: Wildeshaw back, and Gus failed to produce it, he had no doubt there would be a bullet in his brain before the week was up.
The second was that Gus was genuinely curious. Something about this suggested to Gus that this was a grand scheme, a mangum opus of Delaney’s, designed to finally set Ireland on the path to true freedom once and for all. He was tempted to open the inner envelope on the spot, but better judgement restrained him, and he settled for tucking it into his jacket as the elevator doors reopened.
The door opened on the seventh floor, and Gus quickly got out, tapping his coat again just to make sure the package was securely hidden. Satisfied that it was, he inserted his key into the lock of 713, turned, and opened.
“Gus? Is that you?” came the voice of his wife from the other room.
“Aye, its me,” Gus said, removing his coat, and carefully hanging it nearby, leaving the package in for the time being. “How was your day?”
There was a pause, and Gayle walked into the room. Gus arched his eyebrow- there was something about his wife that was different. A twinkle in her eye, and a bounce in her step that he hadn’t really noticed before. She was also smiling, ear to ear. “It was fine,” the brunette beauty said, giving him a hug and a kiss. “In fact, it was more than fine. It was wonderful.”
“What... what happened?” Gus was curious. Rehearsals hadn’t even started yet for Fiddler on the Roof, so whatever it was likely wasn’t going to be associated with the production. But... he had NEVER seen Gayle this happy before...
Gayle finally turned around again, her voice trembling with excitement. “I went to the doctor today, Gus. I... I haven’t been feeling very well in the mornings, And... I had a suspicion, but I didn’t want to say until I was sure...”
There was a long pause, and Gus was startled to see a tear leak from the corner of his wife’s eye. She took a long shuddering breath, and grinned ear to ear. “I’m... I’m going to have a baby.”
There was a long pause as Gus stared at his wife. It felt like a boxer had just driven a closed fist into his sternum, and all the air was being forced out of him. He blinked back at his wife, the words taking several more seconds to form, before he could breathe them back out. “You... what did you say?”
Gayle’s grin never diminished. “I’m pregnant, Gus! The doctor said maybe four weeks along...”
Gus ran his hand through his hair, and looked to the side. His mind was racing, his heart was pounding. He exhaled again, trying to collect his thoughts. “H...how? I mean.. we use...”
“They’re never 100% effective, Gus, you know that.” Gayle wiped away a tear. “But can you believe it? I’m going to be a mother!”
She threw herself forward, and hugged her husband, wrapping her arms around him as tight as possible. Gus only half-heartedly returned the embrace. “Did you tell your theater? Or anyone else?”
“No. I can do that tomorrow. I wanted you to be the first to know!”
Gus nodded in satisfaction. “Good. I’ll call the clinic tomorrow, and we can have this over by the end of the week.”
Gayle released her embrace and stepped back, staring at Gus with the confusion of his words, and a slight tinge of dread over the suspicion of what they meant. “What... what are you talking about?”
“You can’t afford a pregnancy right now, Gayle. You’ve just gotten your first Broadway role, a nineteen year old Jewish girl who’s not married. You cannot play that part with a bulging belly. Do you have any idea what this is going to do to your reputation? Your career? It will be over before it’s even begun!”
“Don’t be silly, Gus,” Gayle replied, shaking her head. “Many actresses, on Broadway, in Hollywood, everywhere, have given birth.”
“And how many of them quit their first major role before fucking REHEARSALS began to do it?”
Tears were again forming at the corners of Gayle’s eyes, but this time they weren’t of happiness. “Gus, no. I can’t. The Pope forbids it.”
“TO HELL WITH THE POPE!” Gus bellowed, so hard Gayle took a step back with a whimper. “Gayle, I don’t give a DAMN what some old fart living in Italy says about this. This doesn’t concern him. This is about you throwing away everything we’ve worked so GODDAMN hard for!”
Gayle was looking at him like she had never seen him before, which only served to further his irritation. “Gus this isn’t... this is our CHILD...”
“And there will be time later, after you’ve established yourself. There will be someone to carry on the legacy that we’ll build, to make our name even greater in future generations. But this isn’t the time, Gayle. Not now.”
Tears were streaming down Gayle’s face, and she shook her head again. “Gus... maybe... maybe this is a sign that things just weren’t meant to be the way you planned it.”
The sharp intake of breath and snarl that emerged from Gus surprised even himself, and he felt his hands balling into fists. He had never laid a hand on his wife before, and it was taking every ounce of his self-control to keep from doing it now. “I... WE left Ireland for this,” he growled, trying to force himself to unclench his fists. “We sacrificed EVERYTHING we had there for a shot at the grandest stage in the land. And you dare... you dare throw this away because of a fucking BABY? How dare...”
“Shut up, Gus!” Gayle had been backed up far enough, and something about his tone had inflamed her own temper. “How dare YOU treat something so magnificent, so WONDERFUL like it’s a CURSE! We are having this baby, and my career be DAMNED!”
Gus again had to restrain himself from striking the insolent woman, and instead forced himself to take deep breaths, calm himself down. “Gayle, think about...”
“I have Gus. And I want this... everything else can wait. I want a baby... and I want you to be happy for me.”
Gayle paused and wiped her eyes, struggling and failing to hold back a fresh flow of tears. Gus closed his eyes and bit his lip. Every option he could think of passed in front of his eyes- some more horrible than he could have thought to have imagined before today- yet all of them, he knew, would bring consequences far more damaging than what surely lay before him. He finally opened his eyes, and did his best to fake a smile.
“Well, maybe your career can be revived after... this is over. I’m... I’m sorry for losing my temper.”
It wasn’t exactly the words of encouragement Gayle had been hoping for, but as Gus spread his arms to welcome her into his embrace, she stumbled forward anyways, letting emotion give way and sobbing into his shoulder. Gus wrapped his arms around her, and tried his best to pat her head reassuringly. But as he stared down at his wife’s dark hair, a thought, a single word kept playing over and over in his head.
Idiot.
=========================================
Saturday December 31, 2011
Verizon Center- WhirlyBirdz Locker Room
Washington, D.C.
10:22 PM Local Time
“BULLSHIT!”
The door to the locker room practically flew off its hinges as Terrence Thompson flung it open, storming into the locker room. One wrestling boot went flying across the room as he kicked it off, followed by another.
“Terry, would you calm DOWN?” Wendy Briese’s voice was tinged with weariness and exasperation as she trudged into the room after her husband, rolling her eyes as the second boot crashed into the wall, falling to the floor atop the first.
“Would you be angry?” Terrence retorted. “My ONE match out of retirement, and it gets fucked up by Anders Stark cheating and a stupid officiating call. I thought those two were better than that!”
“He didn’t cheat, Terry. He made a blind tag. I talked to the referee after the match about it.”
“The referee, hunh?” Terrence scoffed. “Because, you know, a wrestling referee has NEVER screwed up a call in a match before!”
“Marcus is a good official, Terry. He sounded pretty sure of himself too. We’ll watch the replay if you’re really that unsure about it.” Wendy finished reasonably.
“Fine,” Terrence said, immediately whipping out his droid, and going to mobile YouTube. Wendy wasn’t terribly surprised to see someone had already uploaded the match- although she had no doubt that Mr. Horton’s lawyers would have the video removed fairly quickly. Nevertheless, Terrence hit play, and fast-forwarded to the end, watching the final seconds of the match play out.
“HE MISSED BY A MILE!”
“Oh, for God’s sakes, Terry.” Wendy groaned as she turned away, kicking off her boots and beginning to remove her own ring gear, starting by untying the black sash she wore around her waist. “You know, we should be happy for Anders and Cara. They did great out there, and maybe that victory will give them the momentum they need to challenge the Abusement Park, and finally get Christian Kincaid’s goat.”
Terrence grunted irritably and muttered something under his breath that Wendy couldn’t quite catch. He looked back at her, and finally sighed. “Well, for what it’s worth, it was fun going out with you one more time. It just sucks we didn’t win.”
“I know,” Wendy replied, offering her husband a consoling smile. “But I knew it was going to be an uphill battle all the way. You barely had three weeks of training to get ready for this, and Anders and Cara would have given us fits even when we were at our best.”
Wendy dropped her tunic atop the growing pile of clothing lying next to her on the floor, and quickly slid off her tights, wasting no time in grabbing her street clothes- a dark blue sweater and a pair of jeans. She began putting them on, even as Terrence finished getting out of the modified race-suit he wore as his own gear. She felt the emotion in her voice as she turned back to her husband. “But Terry, I hope this isn’t the last time we ever do this. But if it is... I couldn’t be prouder of the way it ended.”
Terrence smiled, and reached out, pulling her close to him. “I know, hon. Who knows what the future is going to bring? I never thought I’d come back to wrestling once before, and I did. But right now, I’m just happy driving in circles... and watching you run circles around your opponents.”
“Well, you won’t get to watch for a while then,” Wendy replied, sighing. “I looked at the first show lineups of 2012... they’re keeping me out until Cold Blooded.”
In truth, she didn’t know how she felt about that. Coming out of such a big, emotional night, especially one that ended in disappointment, she felt eager to get back in the ring. But she remembered the big matches she had fought through just before Unstoppable and Sin & Sacrifice. She had won both, only to be disappointed at the actual pay-per-views themselves. Pollaski had gone on and on about the dangers of emotional burnout and letdown, and while she didn’t want to make excuses for coming up short both times, some nagging feeling in the back of her mind wondered if he might have been right after all. Considering what was on the line later in the month, maybe having an extra two weeks would be for the best.
Terrence knew exactly what she was thinking, and he gave her a quick kiss. “Hurry up, hon. Pollaski’s on next, and considering who he’s going up against, it could be over pretty quickly.”
“He’s your best friend,” Wendy reprimanded, threading her belt through her jeans and clasping it, then bending down to pick up her ring-gear. “Have a little faith in him.”
“I do! I’m having faith he’ll last long enough for me to get into a position to watch Camilla kick his ass!”
“I’m sure he appreciates your support,” Wendy sighed with sarcasm. Cradling her clothes in her arms, she carried them over to her duffel bag, stuffing them in. As she did so, a piece of paper fell out, landing on the floor next to the bag. Wendy’s heart stopped as she saw it- it was the map of her old backyard she had found while sorting through her basement.
“You still have that thing?” Terrence had seen the paper too. “Why don’t you just throw it away?”
“I don’t know.” Wendy replied softly. “I... can’t explain it. I don’t want to act on it, see what’s buried there... if anything. But at the same time... I can’t get rid of it. I feel like... doing either would be a tremendous mistake.”
“That... makes absolutely no sense whatsoever.” Terrence said, his voice muffled by the t-shirt he was throwing on over his head.
“It does to me... if that helps any,” Wendy replied with a half-smile. She placed the paper back into the duffel, shutting the zipper, and standing up. “Okay, I’m ready. Shall we go watch Pollaski make...”
Her voice trailed off as AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell” began to blare out through the locker room, and she looked at her husband curiously. Terrence was staring at his phone will the ring tone continued to play, he looked up at Wendy. “It’s Kevin Anderson...”
The owner and president of Diamond Motorsports. Wendy forced herself into a poker face. “Answer it.”
Terrence smiled grimly, and flipped the phone on. “Hey Kev, what’s. Oh.. you did? Yeah, well... HEY! THERE WAS NO FUCKING TAG! HE MISSED HER! Right... sorry.” The expression on his face shifted from indignation to confusion to one of incredulty. “Wait.. what? When? TONIGHT? Yeah.. I... no this is the first I’m hearing... wow... that’s... holy shit that’s awesome! So... yeah. I’ll talk to you Wednesday then... yeah! Bye!”
Terrence hung up, and silence reigned over the locker room. He looked at Wendy, who blankly looked back, trying to keep the grin from her face. Finally, Terrence spoke. “Wendy, where the hell were you right before we went out?”
“I was wishing Cody and Scarlett a Happy New Year. Why?”
“Because Kev told me he just got a phone call from one Cody Kincaid, offering FFW’s sponsorship of a certain #38 race car...” Terrence responded, giving his wife a suspicious glare.
Wendy’s neutral facade broke. “Happy New Year, Terrence.”
Terrence chuckled, and shook his head. “You didn’t have to do that, Wendy.”
“Yeah, I did.” she replied. “You always talk about your world and my world? Why can’t they intersect at all? And honestly, I fully expected Cody to say no. But I figured, with your deadline drawing near, why not give it a- ACK!”
Wendy could only squeak as she was crushed by her husband as he enveloped her in a bearhug, giving her a kiss so hard her lips began to hurt. “Thank you, Wendy. I owe you so much for this...”
“No... problem” Wendy gasped. She was already sore from the match against Stark & Stone, and this wasn’t doing her any more favors.
“Just...” Terrence paused. “Please don’t let them give me a pink car. I’ll be the laughingstock of the circuit if I drive a pink car.”
Wendy didn’t say anything in response. Cody had just done her a tremendous favor, and she didn’t want to seem ungrateful by trying to dictate any terms, no matter how trival they may be. “I’m sure they’ll give you a great car worth looking at,” she finally wheezed. “Terry, this kind of hurts...”
“Oh... sorry,” Terence replied, letting her go. “Still... thank you.”
“No worries.” Wendy smiled, and leaned forward, kissing Terrence on the cheek. “Now, we should hurry before-”
She was interrupted by a shriek from the hallway, just outside the door.
“WHITLEY MERCER, YOU DIRTY LOW-DOWN COCK-SUCKING TWO-FACED TALENTLESS WITLESS SHIT-EATING CUNT-LICKING RAMMED-IN-THE-ASS-FIFTEEN-TIMES-A-DAY HERPES INFECTED BIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITCH!”
Silence reigned, and Terrence and Wendy stared at each other, both expressions bordering on the realms of fear. Terrence was the first to break the silence, whispering “What the hell just happened?”
Wendy couldn’t respond. Obviously, they had missed Pollaski’s match, and judging by the scream they had just heard... things hadn’t gone well at all. But...where did Whitley Mercer come from?
She had this sudden feeling that for all that had happened in 2011, 2012 was going to make the previous year look completely and utterly boring!
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