From the private journal of Wendy Briese
April 29, 2013
I was so nervous last Monday that I thought I was going to be sick. Pollaski’s stupid shenanigans with “Naughta Belmont” didn’t make anything better. But once I got in that ring, and heard the people of Central Park cheering me... all that went away. It was like I had spent the last five months under water, and had finally emerged into a pocket of the coolest, driest, most refreshing air in the world. And of course I was disappointed that my win over Trinity was by disqualification, instead of a simple fall, but still, I thought everything went alright.
Then came Saturday night.
Returning to television in a main event in my own hometown was pressure enough, to be sure, but getting in that ring, hearing the fans cheering for me... that blew any emotions I felt in Central Park right out of the water. And then the match started... and I SHONE. From a pure technical standpoint, that was one of the best matches I’d ever wrestled. I started slow, but then took control, and managed to put it away in the end. And all that uncertainty, doubt, and anxiety went away.
And I’m back. Better than ever, I think.
Of course, I feel the pressure for Relentless now... whenever you make an open challenge like that, you’re pretty much compelled to beat the person who steps forward or risk losing face. But I also feel confidence. If I can beat Katherine Stryfe in the middle of the ring, and force Trinity into disqualifying herself in desperation, of course I can beat Jodie Gray. Now it’s just a matter of actually doing it.
Of course... here still is the matter of The Beautiful People. I don’t know why I keep going- Lord knows the limits Muffy puts on people makes it impossible to get any training done. I’d be better served just driving to Anderson, or going to a 24 Hour Fitness.
But I’m still paying $900 a month for this stupid club, and everyone I’ve talked to said there’s no way for me to get out of that contract. I could just pay my dues, and not go, of course... but that feels like such a waste. Some people have to pay rent and feed themselves on $900 a month, and to go around splurging it on a health club I never use... in addition to paying for another one that I WOULD... that just seems arrogant.
And those exfoliating showers feel SO good...
Well, its worked so far, for the last month at least. I’m still getting ringtime down at Crossroads. And while the workouts I’m getting at TBP are pedestrian at best, I still can do supplemental things, like going for a run in the park, or even just doing some things at home. It sure hasn’t affected my performance any.
It’s a precarious balance to be sure, spreading out your training over so many different fields... but so far I’m juggling it, and I’m doing quite well.
But what happens if one of those balls drop?
- Wendy
==============================================
Monday May 20, 2013
The Beautiful People- Women’s Locker Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
2:31 PM Local Time
As good as a singer as Wendy was, she never was much of a whistler, although it never stopped her from trying, even though she knew her adaptation of the Irish Washerwoman was a choppy, garbled mess that was probably indecipherable to anyone but herself. It hardly mattered though- she was the only one in the locker room to ‘enjoy’ her music, and she was in one of those moods where it was impossible NOT to whistle.
Muffy was on vacation for the week, and Wendy was free.
Ever since she had pulled the plug on Wendy’s treadmill for going too fast, Muffy had taken on an almost unbearable air of superiority with Wendy, smirking every single time she looked at her, and speaking to her as if she were a five year old. Wendy hated it, and dreamed almost every day about challenging Muffy to a match, putting her in the Banshee, and laughing as the woman screamed as every muscle and joint in her body tore in half- but of course she knew that Muffy would never accept, and probably use it as even more of an excuse to treat her like a Neanderthal. So she merely bit her tongue, and suffered the woman’s abuse, although every day she asked her why she did it.
Those four months until her membership here was up couldn’t come fast enough.
But at least for this week- she didn’t have to worry about her. Muffy’s hiatus was timely too- this was the week that she needed to be at her peak performance, the week before Relentless and her match with Jodie, and none of Muffy’s lackeys were anywhere near as strict as she was when it came to that stupid “five mile an hour” rule. In fact, other than Muffy and Bambi- the receptionist who had kicked Pollaski out when they had first visited- most of the workers at the club were quite friendly when not carrying out her orders, and Wendy got the sense that a lot of them resented the way Muffy treated them even more than Wendy did.
She checked over her bag one more time, making sure she had everything- especially her ring practice clothes, since she was heading to Crossroads for some in-ring work next. She rather liked the Crossroads center, even though it lacked the cardio and weight facilities of a full gym, the ring they possessed was actually pretty good for an Indy fed. And it seemed like there was no shortage of local talent willing to be her sparring partner.
Other than her constant desire to punch Muffy in the face, it was almost a miracle how well this arrangement was working out.
Wendy’s whistling had faded as she exited the locker room, heading for the front door. As could be expected, Bambi was sitting there, Muffy’s right hand woman, texting on her phone. She looked up as she saw Wendy approaching, and smiled sarcastically.
“All done for the day Mrs. Thompson?”
“I am here,” Wendy said, smiling politely, although it was certainly strained. “I’ve got an hour and a half of ringtime at Crossroads though. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” Bambi muttered, as if she’d prefer getting SARS, the Asian Bird Flu, and ebola all rolled up into one nice little death cocktail. “Oh, Ms. Thompson! I almost forgot! Congratulations!”
“Oh? For what?” Despite her dislike of the young brunette, Wendy was curious.
“It’s been over a month since you’ve had your picture on the Wall of Shame. Muffy wanted me to tell you that she’s SO happy that you’ve learned to stop being a barbarian here, and work out like a lady.”
“I’m... touched.” Wendy said coldly, although she could feel her face starting to burn. “You have a good afternoon...” her voice trailed off as she was distracted by a flash of light flickering out of the corner of her eye. Her head turned towards the glass entry doors, and her face fell...
*BOOOOOOOOOM-rumblerumblerumblerumble*
“Oh, great...” Wendy sighed as she looked out the doors. Another flash of lighting brightened the early afternoon sky, and already there was standing water around the drains in the parking lot, with plenty more liquid falling from the heavens. Despairingly, she looked over at leftmost row of cars at her Vespa. There was absolutely no way she could safely go riding in this deluge.
“Wow.” Bambi said dispassionately. “It’s really coming down.”
Wendy sighed, casting a sidelong glance at the receptionist. “If you see Lyn St. Carmichael today, be sure to thank her for her prediction of ‘sunny all through the 500.” The Channel Eight weather girl was a member of the club as well.
“I’ll be sure to say you said so,” Bambi said smugly, as Wendy walked through the glass doors.
At least the club had a small overhang she could stand under without getting wet as she made arrangements, Wendy thought as she pulled out her phone, dialing Pollaski. She didn’t really want to be begging for a ride in front of Bambi. “Pick up pick up pick up pick up...” she pleaded
“Hey-o!”
“Dan, its Wendy!” she said, raising her voice to a yell to be heard over another rumble of thunder.
“Oh, hey!” Pollaski suddenly sounded nervous for some reason. “I was JUST about to call you!”
“Yeah, look. I need you to pick me up on your way to Crossroads. It’s raining cats and dogs, and there’s no way I can ride my bike in this!”
There was a nervous laugh. “Sorry. Can’t do that. My car’s...ah... broken.”
“BROKEN?! What do you mean broken?” Between Bambi, the storm, and now this, any semblance of Wendy’s earlier good mood had now completely vanished.
“As in it won’t work. Think it’s something to do with the transmission. Terrence was supposed to come and look at it, but the asshole hasn’t gotten here yet. So ah, yeah. I’m not going anywhere. Sorry.”
“Great!” Wendy snapped sarcastically, her words drowned out over the phone by another clap of thunder. “Well how are EITHER of us going to get to Crossroads then?!”
“Oh, well, the good news is... you don’t need to go to there now. Um... cause you can’t use the ring.” The words came out in a nervous jumble that Wendy could barely hear over the rain.”
“ARE YOU SERIOUS?! I told you to get me scheduled for three o’clock!”
“Well, nobody’s scheduled now. Didn’t you watch the Five Hundred Miles of Pain yesterday?” he asked, referring to the independent promotions annual week-before-the-500 supershow.
“No. I was in Toledo with Terrence,” Wendy replied. “We didn’t get back til late. What’s this have to do-”
Pollaski interrupted her. “Well, it was a good show... at least the first two matches were. Then... well... um...”
“What happened?”
Pollaski’s answer was three simple words. “Sumo ladder match.”
There was a long pause.
“You’re joking.”
“I so wish I was. Anyways, there’s a pretty sizeable crater in that ring now, and nobody’s gonna be using it for a while until they can figure out how to fix it. So.. yeah. You don’t need to go there. For a good while now.”
The disappearance of her easy, Muffy-free week of training before her eyes and Pollaski’s easygoing attitude about it was stretching her patience to a breaking point. Wendy took a deep breath, closing her eyes, gritting her teeth as another roll of thunder washed over her. “So. What. Am I going. To DO. About. A Ring?”
“Well, uh...”
“What about Anderson?” Wendy demanded. Anderson was an hour’s drive one-way, but it was just for this week, and she abolutely positively NEEDED a ring.
“Nope. They’re using that one for a Golden Gloves tournament. Should be pretty good too... shame we’re so busy this week, otherwise we could-”
“I DONT CARE!” Wendy exclaimed, the last vestiges of her patience snapping. “I don’t care about a stupid boxing tournament. I don’t care about a crater in a ring. All I care about is that I’m facing Jodie Gray in FIVE DAYS, and YOU are telling me that I DONT HAVE A RING TO TRAIN IN! WELL FIND ONE!”
“Okay..” Pollaski sounded exasperated. “You know that the nearest one I know of after Anderson is in South B-”
“I. Don’t. Care.” Wendy snarled again. “I don’t care if it’s in Indianapolis, or Anderson, or South Bend, or Louisville, or Tampa, or Timbuktu, or ON THE DAMN MOON! I want a ring, Daniel, and you WILL find me one, or I WILL FIND SOMEONE WHO CAN!”
“Okay...” Pollaski said, his voice almost sounding on the verge of tears after being yelled at. “I’m looking. I’ve BEEN looking. I’ll find one, I’m tryi-”
“WELL TRY HARDER!” Wendy snapped, and smashed her thumb into the end call button. For a second, she felt guilty about her outburst, but one look out into the rain brought her irritation back again. If Pollaski wasn’t capable of doing something as simple as finding a wrestling ring for her to train in, what good was he? Already his attitude and constant sniping with various other people on Twitter was getting on her nerves, and she didn’t relish having yet another one of *those* talks.
Maybe it was time for her to move on.
“Well, nothing to do about it now,” she sighed. Even if she couldn’t go to Crossroads now, she still needed to go home. And if Pollaski couldn’t drive, that left her husband.
“Pick up pick up up pick up pick up...” Wendy pleaded again after she dialed, listening to the phone as it rang. She groaned inwardly when her husband’s voice came over the phone telling her that he couldn’t take her call right now, but if she left her name and number, he’d love to get back to her.
“Terry, its Wendy! I’m at the health club, and its raining hard, and I don’t really want to drive home in this weather! Could you come get me, please?” She hung up, and sighed again. Terrence was probably busy at the shop, or fixing Pollaski’s car. It could be a while before he got the message.
There was naught else to do but try and drive home in this... and hope to God that FFW wouldn’t be cancelling her match tomorrow due to a ‘tragic motorcycle accident’... or a lightning strike.
Tucking her phone in her gym bag, and praying it didn’t get wet, Wendy set out from under the overhang, trudging across the oversaturated parking lot. Within seconds, everything about her was sopping, from her hair right on down to her socks. She didn’t mind the rain normally- at least when it was forecast, but this was just ridiculous.
She had foolishly left her helmet sitting on her Vespa’s seat, and it was filling up with water, spilling out of the visor. It didn’t really matter though.. she was wet enough already, and would be even wetter by the time she got home- it was a fifteen minute drive in good weather.
The next flash of lightning was too close, and she flinched as she set her gym bag in her bike’s carry rack, pulling the sopping wet gloves out of her helmet, and struggling to put them on. She began to put on her helmet too, but froze at a sound. Not the thunder...
Someone was sneaking up behind her. And they were close. Briefly her mind flashed to the last time someone had ambushed her from behind, and she shuddered.
A strong, masculine hand grabbed Wendy’s shoulder , and she burst into action, kicking behind her, feeling her foot smash into his instep. The man grunted in pain, but Wendy took no chances, dropping the helmet as she flashed her elbow back, catching him in the nose. The man howled as bones cracked, and WEndy spun around, driving her knee into his abdomen. The attacker weakly stepped back, once, twice, then collapsed on the ground in the fetal position, blood streaming out of his busted nose to mingle with the rain water, and a crimson creek began a trek towards the nearest storm drain.
And it was only then that she realized who it was who had attacked her.
Through the falling rain, she heard a gasp, and looked over. A little girl, about seven, had just gotten out of a running, yet parked, cherry red 1971 Dodge Charger. Even with the hood up on her pink rain coat, she could see the beautiful dark brown hair of her daughter’s.
Theresa’s eyes was filling up with tears, and she began to wail at the sight of the bloody man still lying on the ground. Wendy felt like throwing up as she took a step forward, nearly slipping on the wet ground.
“Theresa... I-”
“YOU KILLED DADDY!”
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