Monday December 2, 2002
Terrence Thompson’s RV- Bedroom
Carthage, New York
9:00 PM Local Time
Daniel Pollaski smirked, clutching his PlayStation 2 controller tightly in anticipation for what was about to come. Up on the screen, Alucard had just entered a large room, with piles of skulls rising nearly as high as the ceiling in the background. As the portly manager watched impassively, a mound of corpses began to rise from the ground, becoming a mountain, and then finally, an enormous floating ball of dead bodies that filled the entire screen.
He smirked. Granfaloon time.
Even as he began the grisly boss battle, he could hear the bedroom door of the RV opening, and then shutting, as quietly as could be possible. He didn’t even bother to look as he heard footsteps shuffling across the floor, stopping in the kitchen to grab a soda of some sort, then finally plopping down on the hide-a-bed sofa next to him.
“Symphony of the Night? Again?” Terrence Thompson asked.
“It’s a fuggin classic.” Pollaski muttered, smirking again as a chunk of the enormous boss fell away, bodies burning and screaming as it did, revealing an enormous tentacle underneath. “So... she’s asleep?”
“Yeah,” Terrence sighed, leaning back on the couch, taking a sip of his Dr. Pepper. “Poor girl went right out. She must have been exhausted.”
Pollaski nodded, listening intently despite his obvious distraction. They had buried Gayle this afternoon. Pollaski hadn’t been sure exactly why they had come all the way up here to the very ends of upstate New York to do it, but something had told him that it was Gus’ idea. Something about Carthage being Gayle’s favorite vacationing spot or something. Either way, it was far more into the middle of nowhere that he wanted it to be.
The ceremony had been more or less a dull affair, albeit surprisingly well-attended. Apparently enough New Yorkers remembered Gayle fondly enough to make the six hour drive to the small town just forty miles from the Canadian border to pay their respects. Or, rather, drink wine and gossip with each other, as Pollaski seemed to notice was far more prevalent during the whole affair than any true sense of grieving.
Wendy had managed to get through it though, her black dress and veil contrasting powerfully with her flame-colored hair. She had been miserable throughout, he could tell, but she had done well enough socializing with the other ‘mourners’ thanking them for coming, and their condolences, no matter how little truth was behind them.
“So, back to Boston tomorrow then,” Terrence said, stretching idly in his seat.
“Yup,” Pollaski mumbled. “Then we’re flying off. You have a match in California on Friday, and Wendy wrestles in Missouri on Saturday. And then up to Hartford to defend your tag titles on Monday.”
“She shouldn’t be competing, not like this.” Terrence replied. “You know that. You should call them and have the match re-”
“Already offered to do that, dude,” Pollaski muttered. “She told me not to. Was pretty insistent on it. Said the best thing for her was to get back into the ring.”
“Damn her,” Terrence sighed. He loved his fiancee, but the girl she could be just as stubborn as her father sometimes. “She’s facing Keiler too. If that bastard tries anything...”
Terrence didn’t finish his thought, but they both knew what Terrence was thinking. James Keiler wasn’t the most horrible person wrestling had known, but he had a definite eye for the ladies, Wendy being included in that. The admittedly suave Englishman had made several passes at her already, although all had been rebuffed by Wendy in increasingly annoyed fashion.
“If James Keiler tries anything, she’ll kill him.” Pollaski replied calmly, his eyes never leaving the televison.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Terrence responded.
With a final sword slash, Pollaski finished the Granfaloon, the monstrous tentacled creature bursting into flames, the remnants of its corpse carapace dissolving in the fire. The battle complete, he turned to Terrence. “If you wanna talk her out of competing, go right the fuck ahead, dude. But she was pretty damn insistent, to the point that I’m not jeopardizing my health bringing it up again.”
“And of course, if she doesn’t compete, you don’t get paid.”
Pollaski turned to Terrence his mouth open. “Are you REALLY gonna fucking play that card?” he demanded. “You think I don’t give a shit what happens to her? Or you, for that matter?”
Terrence at least had the decency to look embarassed at Pollaski’s glare, and look away. Dan wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily. “As both her manager and her friend, it’s obvious she shouldn’t be competing. But I’m not HER boss, she’s MINE. And if she says ‘don’t you dare cancel the match’, well, not much I can do. If you don’t want her to compete- talk to her. Cancel her flight. Tie her up for all I fucking care. But don’t blame me.”
There was a long pause. “Sorry,” Terrence finally admitted. “I guess all this shit’s worn me out too.”
“And me as well, Jesus. No one thought her mom would get drunk and stumble in front of a semi-truck. That’s just.. shit.” Pollaski shook his head, although his attention was back on the game.
“Yeah. At the very least, it’s got Wendy talking to her dad again. I may hate Gus, but he IS her father. It’s good that they made up... Gus is grieving just as much as she is.”
Pollaski snorted, drawing a puzzled look from Terrence. Pollaski glanced over at his client, and shook his head. “Dude..”
“What?”
Pollaski quickly craned his head, glancing at the bedroom door to make sure it was still closed, then leaned back, lowering his voice. “So, remember how I left for a couple to put my sportcoat back here in the RV because it was hot as hell in the church?” He paused just enough to let Terrence nod. “Well, I was walking back, and I was passing the hearse that had taken Gayle out to the cemetery. And well... “ He trailed off.
“What?” Terrence insisted.
Pollaski paused, snorting in derision again. “Guess who was playing tonsil hockey in the back.”
There was a long pause. “You’re shitting me.”
“I wish I was.”
“With who?”
“Hell if I know. Some older woman. Probably that mistress Wendy told us about.” Pollaski chuckled. “I’ll give Gus this- he’s got chutzpah. It takes a lot to make out with your mistress at your own wife’s funeral in the hearse that carried her to her final resting place.”
Terrence growled, glaring at his manager, slightly annoyed with Pollaski’s half-amusement at the situation. “That goddamned son of a bitch. I swear to God, if I ever see him again...”
“Wendy buries her other parent?”
Terrence shot Pollsaki another annoyed look, then sighed. “You’re not telling Wendy about this, are you?”
“Fuck no!” Pollaski nearly burst out laughing at the suggestion. “Could you imagine what would happen if I did?”
“Exactly,” Terrence sighed. “She’s dealing with enough. She can’t know. At least not now.”
“Yeah,” Pollaski responded, then looked over at Terrence. “I’m at a save point. You wanna go?”
Terrence paused for just a second, and nodded, Pollaski passing him the controller, before getting up to go reset the PlayStation so Terrence could begin the game anew.
Meanwhile, at the back of the RV, Wendy Briese pulled her head away from the door, breathing heavily. Tears streaming down her face, she staggered into her bed, collapsing on top of the mattress, burying her face in the pillow, the cushion muffling the scream of rage, agony, and sorrow that emitted from her throat, and the uncontrolled sobs that followed it.
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