Saturday January 4, 2014
The Nest- Master Bedroom
Indianapolis, Indiana
11:54 AM Local Time
“Thank you so much,” Wendy Briese said into the phone. “Just please make sure it’s for Velocity ONLY, okay? Alright. Great, thanks. Bye now.”
Wendy hung up her mobile with a sigh, and tossed the device down on her bed. That hadn’t been a very easy call. Somehow her employee validation code had gotten messed up, and the FFW agent on the phone hadn’t been completely convinced she was actually Wendy Briese. Luckily things had gotten straightened out.
Had it really just been five days since her meeting with Eileen? It must have been, although it felt longer, for how crazy the week had been. Her conversation with the Tsunami had turned away from the subject of Aimee after the drinks had arrived, to far more agreeable topics (save for the utterly painful one of their mutually favorite baseball team- the Cub's- chances). But even though Eileen had been pleasant enough, Wendy could sense that overall underlying melancholy, and even more scary sense of rage in her friend. She sincerely hoped that she wouldn't do anything rash.
Well, nothing she could do about it now, three weeks away from One Night Stand. She'd have time to try and talk Eily's rage into a simmering anger later. Now to break the news to Terrence.
He was outside, playing with Theresa… at least that’s where he had been the last she’d seen him a couple hours ago. Quickly ducking into her closet, she grabbed a sweater, throwing it over her head. She’d probably have to put a coat on, too. It was COLD outside.
To her surprise, as she neared the bottom of the stairs, Theresa came into view, still dressed in her snowsuit and boots. The seven year old was, with considerable effort, lugging a large blue Rubbermaid barrel across the floor towards the front door.
“What are you doing, Theresa?”
At the sound of her mother’s voice the girl jumped a mile, wheeling around, and instinctively placing herself between her mother and the barrel, as if to hide it. “M...mom! What a surprise to see you!”
“In my own house?” Wendy asked, looking down at her daughter skeptically. “What’s in the barrel?”
“Oh, um… nothing. We’re going to use it to make a snow fort! Lots of snow out there! Regina even thinks they’ll cancel school Monday!”
“You’re homeschooled, Theresa. You don’t get snow days.” Wendy reminded her, smiling at the crestfallen look on her daughter’s face. “Although I’m sure we can make it so you can spend SOME of the day playing with your friends. Now, mind if I have a look in that barrel?”
It was clear by the expression on Theresa’s face that the answer was ‘yes’, but she wasn’t about to protest, not with her already suspicious mother standing over her (and especially not with the prospect of getting Monday off from school looming over her). Meekly, she stepped aside, and Wendy took off the lid.
Inside, coiled up like sleeping snakes, lay the family’s collection of garden hoses, placed into storage for the winter. “What on earth we’re you planning to do with these?” Wendy asked, looking over at her daughter.
“Um…” the little girl began, biting her lip, and looking up at her mom guiltily.
Wendy slammed the lid down on the barrel. “Where’s your father?”
Theresa’s eyes went wide, and she buttoned her lip into a pout, slightly shaking her head as if refusing to tell her. Wendy sighed, turning to the front closet and pulling out her heaviest coat. “Alright, let’s go see him.”
Outside, to her surprise, she found almost a dozen children in the yard with snow shovels, scooping snow and placing them into wheelbarrows. They weren’t shovelling the driveway- Wendy had done that herself for a bit of snowed-in cardio, but were rather attacking the plow drifts lining the street. As she strolled out into the yard, one of the children- a girl about Theresa’s age in a pink coat, looked up in alarm, and began screaming at the top of her lungs.
“The wildebeast is out of the pasture! THE WILDEBEAST IS OUT OF THE PASTURE!”
“Jeez, I KNOW, Lily. I’m standing right here.” Theresa snapped, rolling her eyes. “It was the warning phrase,” she informed her mom, who was turning a confused look to her.
“So where’s Terrence?” Wendy asked, looking around the yard. Her husband was nowhere to be seen. SHe looked back over at Theresa. “Where’s your father?”
As if on cue, a large pickup truck came up the icy street, passing the driveway. Wendy shrieked as the car suddenly spun, tires squealing on the ice as the car rotated one hundred eighty degrees. It pulled back in front of the yard, coming to rest against the plow drift. Wendy watched her husband getting out of the car, stretching in a very self-satisfied manner.
“Alright!” He announced to the kids working around him. “Let’s load her back up again! If we hurry, we can get three more runs in before the Colts game starts!
A cheer went up from the workers, who went back to hacking and digging away at the plow drifts. Terrence grinned, and went to grab a shovel of his own, stopping when he noticed his wife. For a second, he paled slightly, then waved, sticking the shovel back in the snow.
“Hey, hon! How you doing?” He called, his frozen breath hanging in the air.
“Great,” Wendy said vacantly, not quite remembering what she had even wanted to talk to her husband about in the first place. Instead, she gestured to the pickup truck. “What… what’s this for?”
“Oh, Porky McFadden lent it to me,” Terrence said, pointing to a house up the street. “He was going to help out too, but he had to drive his mom to dialysis.”
“Help with what?” Wendy asked, not entirely sure she wanted to know the answer.
Terrence chuckled evilly. “The Sickles are still on holiday in Aruba. So I figured to give them a little homecoming present.”
Wendy bristled at even the mention of the Sickles name. She’d never forget for the rest of her life the smug look on their faces right before she went into the College Park principal’s office and found out her daughter had been expelled. “What kind of present?” she said.
“Well, so far, five truckloads worth of snow on their driveway. Hopefully eight by the time we’re done.”
He pointed towards the house on the corner, maybe two hundred yards away. Wendy could see a mound of snow, probably eight feet high, in the middle of the drive. More, smaller mounds were surrounding it, and going up the sidewalk towards the front door, where a final pile was placed. Wendy turned back to her husband, her mouth open. “I’m not sure whether I should be impressed or appalled.”
“Well, it’s actually pretty hard work. Although you’d be amazed at how many kids in this neighborhood are willing to stick it to Clint Sickles,” Terrence said, stepping aside as the girl Theresa had called Lily trudged a wheelbarrow by them. “Well, that and the promise of fifty bucks, apiece” he finished with a grin.
“I see,” Wendy said, not sure exactly how to respond. Remembering her original reason for wanting to talk to her husband, she decided to change the subject. “Hey, I just want you to know. I cancelled yours and Theresa’s backstage passes for Velocity.”
“Wait… what?” Terrence looked surprised. “Because of this?”
“No, not because of this.” Wendy said. “I didn’t even know about this.”
“Then why?” Terrence asked, clearly confused.
Wendy took a deep breath and sighed. “If Aimee Easter is willing to actually PLANT a boyfriend with Eileen so that she could play mind games with her, then it only serves to reason that she might try and do something similar to me. You and Theresa are the closest things in my life… the only things she can use to hurt me. So… better safe than sorry, right?
Terrence grimaced, and for a second, Wendy thought he looked offended. “You know I can take care of myself, right? And Theresa too. Are you that worried about her?”
“Not worried. Just… wary.” Wendy said. “And I know that you can take care of yourself, Terry. But I don’t WANT to be worried about this. I don’t want to be distracted by this. I want to be focused on Aimee in that ring. Not what stunt she’s going to try pulling outside it.”
“Alright,” Terrence said in a resigned tone, gesturing over at Theresa. “She’ll be disappointed to miss out on a good Hawaii trip.”
“Oh GOD, Terry,” Wendy said, surprised, although finally realizing the true source of Terrence’s disappointment. “You honestly think that I’m going to leave you and Theresa here in THIS frozen wasteland? You can come to Hawaii, for crying out loud. I just don’t want you in the arena.”
“Oh.” Terrence said flatly, then shrugged, with a grin. “Good. Because I kind of figured we’d be gone by the time THEY came home,” he finished, nodding towards the Sickles house. “Alibi, you know?”
“That’s… so not how an alibi works,” Wendy muttered. “And thank you for being so understanding about this. This woman’s sick in the head, and I don’t want to give her any opportunities or excuses. I just want to beat her, feed her to Eileen, and be done with her miserable butt.”
“No problem, hon,” Terrence said, squeezing her back. “And don’t worry. You’ll be fine. No one’s ever going to fuck with your family.”
Wendy smiled, nestling in against her husband’s embrace. Suddenly though, she jerked back, looking up at the auto racer. “What’s the garden hoses for?”
“Oh! Yeah…” Terrence said, grimacing. “After we dumped all that snow, I figured we’d hook up the hose and water it down. It’s supposed to be like fifteen below tonight, so that’s going to freeze up like a rock.” He paused, before remembering something. “Don’t worry, I’ll shut the water back off when we’re done so the pipes don’t freeze.”
“Yeah…” Wendy said, looking back over at the Sickle’s house for. “You know, this is pretty twisted, Terry,” she said, although she was struggling to keep a smile from her face. “Although it’s strangely fitting.”
“Yeah. Like I said, no one’s gonna fuck with our family. Get my kid kicked out of school, get frozen out of your house until July.” Terrence finished with a grin. “Fair trade.”
Wendy wasn’t entirely sure she could agree with that, but she smiled broader anyways. Even the White Knight was capable of a little schadenfreude once in a while.
“Well… it does serve them right.”
===================
Thursday January 9, 2014
Waikiki Joe’s Bar & Grill
Honolulu, Hawaii
1:37 PM Local Time
“Hawai’i!”
It’s pretty clear what caused Wendy to choose her promo spot for this week’s match, considering the dazzling azure ocean sprawling behind her, with the world-famous Waikiki Beach nestled in a foreground. Wendy’s sitting under a covered awning, grinning at the camera in a sleveless yellow shirt with floral patterns, and a pair of capri pants. Astute observers would also notice the economy sized jug of SPF 100 sitting nearby.
“I really wish that I had the logistical ability to fly the entire eastern half of North America out here this week. I know what you all are going through back home and I hope you can all find a way to stay safe and warm thanks to this… ‘Polar Vortex’ that’s plunging temperatures across the nation.”
Wendy smiles apologetically.
“But… it really does feel kind of nice to get on a plane surrounded by subzero temperatures and a foot of snow and get off surrounded by palm trees and sunshine and eighty degree weather. It was certainly wonderful timing by Ms. Star and Mr. Kincaid to get a show here this week, in the dead of winter. And I hope that when you all tune in to watch tonight, that some of this at least can warm you all up a little bit too.”
“Of course, I’m not really out here for a vacation. I’m here to wrestle, to ply my craft in front of eleven thousand cheering fans at the Stan Sheriff Center tonight, in the first FFW Main Event of 2014. And it’s all gotten around Twitter, Facebook, the webpages and blogs, on texts and voicemails, and by word of mouth. Set your DVR, break out the Hulu, or otherwise have you butt on the couch Thursday night, because Aimee Easter’s FINALLY cashing in her Pick Your Poison briefcase on Wendy Briese.”
“It’s not something that exactly caught me off guard. Okay, the method she chose to reveal her pick caught me a LITTLE off guard, otherwise I wouldn’t have ended up lying on the stage with her standing over me. But on an overall level, no, I’m not surprised she picked me. Whenever there’s an open contract briefcase like that floating around, and you have the top title in the company, they’re going to take a long hard look at you, whether or not they ultimately pick you. Its the basic nature of the sport to at least THINK about making a run at the top level when you get the chance.”
A small shrug, and a deep breath.
“And so it’s come to pass. I can respect Aimee’s strategy for the case… even if I deplore her methods. Aimee built her base camp on the back of winning her first seven matches. She climbed up that slope with Lightning and the Unity Titles. And then she pushed herself even higher by taking the Evolution Championship. So now that she’s up there… now that there’s only one spot higher up on the mountain for her to climb… now it’s time to use it.”
“Because I don’t need to remind you all the rules of FFW. I’m the FFW Champion, and if Aimee wins, then she gets a title shot, whether or not its me who’s holding that belt coming out of One Night Stand. In one fell swoop, she jumps from the Evolution Division to the FFW Title itself. The plan’s all come together.”
Wendy pauses, her brow furrowing, changing tack for just a second.
“That’s one of the things that just drives everyone nuts about Aimee, isn’t it? The way she acts so smug all the time,and you just KNOW there’s little gears turning over and over up in her brain as she plans to manipulate situation after situation to her advantage. Her whole career has been scheme after scheme, to this point that she’s now only two steps away from having it all.”
“Or maybe this is the point where it all starts to unravel.”
“Because it’s all been just a little TOO easy, hasn’t it? This isn’t a knock on who’s she faced- she’s been up against great wrestlers, like Kate Steele, Jenny Williams, Bounce & Pounce… and of course Eileen herself. But every time she goes up against them, she manages to scheme, or trick, or bamboozle her way to the win, and keep going. Even her one true setback, when Witches Brew took the Unity Championships from her and Lighting, couldn’t faze her. After all,who needs the Unity title when you have a clear path to the Evolution Belt? Especially when you had another scheme, one so brilliantly devious, waiting for the champion there?”
Wendy scoffs.
“Of course I have a problem with it. I have a lot of problems with it, starting with the fact that the road to the FFW Championship isn’t supposed to go that smoothly. It’s to be dangerous, it’s supposed to be rugged, and you’re SUPPOSED to fall at least once on the way up, because that is where you learn to TRULY appreciate this belt. Think on that, and then think about Stacey, who rode an undefeated streak to this title, never stumbling once. She appreciated this title so little that within months of being royally screwed out of it, she happily joined up with the same people who cost her, and never even sniffed it again, and God willing, never will. Compare that to people like Val, Scarlett, me, and yes, even Isabella and Kat, who have TREASURED the FFW Championship, because of the blood, sweat, and tears it took them to get here.”
“And here’s the ironic thing. That easy path… that glide up the mountain was possible due to the very same thing that Aimee claims she didn’t do- she got lucky with a briefcase. Over and over she got lucky with that briefcase, or does anyone care to explain to me how putting dents in it from smashing it into your opponent’s heads without the ref seeing is somehow more valid than opening it up and shoving the contract into someone’s face?”
A disdainful shake of her head.
“No, she's rode that briefcase to the top, just like Jenny Williams tried. The difference is it just took longer. I’m sure there will be SOME sort of justification coming. That’s the one thing Aimee’s REALLY good at, coming up with these justifications for her actions. I suppose she has to… I don’t even see how I could get out of bed in the morning if I was anything like her, so she has to tell herself SOMETHING when she faces herself in the mirror every morning.”
A slight pause.
“That’s kind of sad, when you think about it. Considering this woman is on some violent REVOLUTION! kick about truth and honesty… it makes you wonder just how self-loathing she is deep down inside.”
“Because Aimee’s existence is full of lies. Whenever she gets the ref to look the other way and crack someone with that briefcase, it’s a deception, a lie. Nearly every other word out of her mouth is slandering one person or another on this roster… namely me as far as today is concerned, I’m sure. I’m not sure what all was going on with Amanda Saint when she faced Cody… but I’m pretty sure she was lying to somebody. And this so-called systematic destruction of Eileen Amaro? Professionally, Personally, Physically, as she put it? All stemming from a lie. A giant, disgusting, lowbrow lie.”
For the first time, Wendy’s features begin to show a flicker of anger.
“But, you see, it’s okay if SHE lies, because it’s all for the sake of the REVOLUTION! The Greater Good! The REVOLUTION! that will suck all that problematic entertainment and enjoyment out of pro-wrestling and leave it with nothing but COLD HARD TRUTH… or whatever passes for it in Aimee Easter’s mind.”
“I mean… what’s the end game even supposed to be here? She doesn’t get really specific on that front, does she? Pretty much spewing generic platitudes about ‘no heroes’ and ‘truth’, and yada yada yada, kill Wendy Briese. I mean are we going to have wrestling shows where everyone just sits there quietly because we can’t have heroes? I mean, does anyone else get some vision of a 1984-ish dystopian wrestling arena? How much do you think THAT is going to work?”
Another scoff. Wendy’s almost mocking the idea of this with her tone.
“And that’s the fun thing about Revolutions that no one ever bothers to bring up- the vast majority of them don’t help a whit. I’m not talking about secession movements like what we had in America and Ireland. I’m talking about what Aimee wants, a complete overthrow of the status quo and an insertion of a new order. They. Don’t. Work.
"Think about it. The Russian Revolution. The French Revolution. China and the Cultural Revolution. Iran. Egypt. Korea. Vietnam. Each of those overthrew a ruler- who was admittedly terrible- and replaced them with a new order that was more fanatical and despotic. Things didn’t get better- in most cases they got WORSE. You basically go through a lot of violence and bloodshed to exchange one ruler for an even worse one.”
“So let’s bring something like that to wrestling. A sport people watch voluntarily to enjoy themselves. THAT’S a smart idea.”
Wendy bursts out laughing, shaking her head at the ridiculousness of it all. She takes a deep breath, and sighs, composing herself.
“So congratulations, Aimee. Congratulations on your great vision that’s would GUT this sport at the height of its popularity. And congratulations on the year you just had. You lied, cheated, and stole your way up that ladder over the past year. You made Jenny, and Kate, and April, and Eileen, and Hayley, Sunny and so many others miserable and smugly rubbed it in their face and I’m sure you’ve felt SO proud of yourself. You got away with it, we can’t undo it, so bravo.”
“But now you’re to the point where things get really tough. Where plans and schemes and strategies unravel in the blink of an eye. Where one little mistake sidelines you for six months with broken vertebrae. And Aimee? You made a huge mistake already.”
A small, yet surprisingly vicious smile.
“You cashed in that briefcase on ME.”
“I said earlier that I was kind of expecting you to cash in this briefcase on me, Aimee, for all the obvious reasons. Well, the truth is, I was also kind of HOPING you would. Because if there’s one woman in this company who can stop you, who can derail you, and start pulling the thread out on your tapestry of lies and deceit… it’s me.”
“And I’ve been doing my homework, Aimee. I’ve been training hard, of course. But that’s not enough where you’re concerned, is it? Because you don’t want to make the match about holds and reversals. That’s not the Aimee Easter style. No, this has to be PSYCHOLOGICAL. We need to have mind games. We need to have multilayered plots. We need to have the evil genius having some poor sucker right where she wants her.”
“I’ve been asking around, Aimee. I’ve been doing some reading, watching some video, trying to get a feel for just how exactly you operate. And through it all, one thing has been more and more clear to me with each additional bit of data that my mind processes-”
Wendy leans forward, the intensity burning in her eyes, and a small, disdainful smile across her face.
“You can’t hurt me.”
“No, Aimee. You. Can’t. Hurt. Me. Because there is NOTHING you can hurt me with. I’m sure by your twisted mind, you see two GLARING vulnerabilities of mine that you can target… but they’re inaccessable to you. I’ve already made sure of that. Outside of that… what can you do to me, Easter, that hasn’t already been attempted? I’ve had people try to break me, both physically and mentally, since my first match twelve years ago, and while a few have come closer than others, none have truly succeeded. I’m still here, and I’m stronger and better than I ever been. So where do you think you will succeed where so many others have failed?”
A slight roll of the eyes.
“And please don’t say that it’s because you’re better than all those previous attempts. Because you’re not. You’re really not. There’s a nice bit of truth for you, Ms. Revolution of Lies. You’re not anywhere NEAR as good, nor as smart, as you think you are. Because you’ve already created your own undoing.”
“Oh no, it’s not me. I’m going to stop you tonight, Aimee. I’m going to make sure your twisted methods don’t get any higher in this company, for certain, but I’m not going to be the one to truly show you how un-bulletproof your position actually is. That’ll be Eileen. That’s the funny thing about conspiring to steal a title off of someone- no one ever accounts for the rematch. And just like I did with Starla, Eily’s going to do with you.”
“Because you can’t hurt her anymore either, Easter. You pushed her into that pit of despair, you DESTROYED her. Mind, body, spirit, career, everything… you deconstructed her into smithereens, so that there’s nothing left but a shell.”
Another scoff, and Wendy grins broadly.
“Except not. You know, before you start thumping your chest and shrieking ‘WENDY BRIESE WILL BE THE NEXT HERO TO DIE!’... maybe you should have made sure you finished the job on the first one?”
A small chuckle.
“You’ve blown your wad, as they say in Vegas. You did the worst possible thing you could possibly do to Eileen, and she is STILL here. Except now she’s angrier than I ever seen her, and it’s pretty much all focused on you. And what can you do now to stop her? You can’t even get yourself disqualified to save your precious ill-gotten gains!”
“See, Aimee? This is where the breakdown happens. This is where the villianous plots start to run out of steam. Because I’m going to beat you tonight. And Eileen is going to beat you at One Night Stand, and then what? What will you be then? An above average wrestler who’s most brilliant plan, her magnum opus terrible, netted her a two month reign with the Evolution Championship. And that’s when all the people you screwed, everyone who you whacked with that briefcase to get up the mountain, they’ll start to catch up with you.”
“Oh yes, Aimee Easter. Things are about to get VERY difficult for you, indeed.”
Another vicious smile, although a small measure of pity in Wendy’s eyes.
“And what are you going to do to stop it? Tommy? Oh, by all means, please, let him try, because I’ll have someone in my corner too, and I’m sure he would love any excuse at ALL to get his hands on your little puppet. So please, give him one. Who else you got? Lightning? No, I’ll be ready for her myself. Another member of this so called REVOLUTION!? Please. I’m curious to see who it’ll be.”
“No, Aimee. You want to avoid the fate that everyone but you knows is looming? Clean. It. Up. You’re going to have to start playing MY game, because I’m not going to let you play yours. You can act as smug and arrogant and ‘intellectual’ as you want, and make all the grandoise speeches about REVOLUTION! to your heart’s content. Get some followers to kneel and cross their heart and say a pledge that doesn’t really mean anything. Pretend to be the generalissimo. Knock yourself out. But the days of you screwing over people to advance in this company are finished. Anything you get from here on out, you’re going to have to earn. The hard way.”
“Because as long as there are villains like you walking around, there will ALWAYS be heroes in wrestling, no matter HOW hard you try to remove them. Women like Sunny Kyoun and Stephanie Dallins, who forged the blueprint on how to get through your smoke and mirrors. Women like Misty Whitmore, who rose above the odds to take the Television Championship away from your partner. And women like Eileen Amaro, who despite everything you’ve thrown at her just Keeps. On. Going."
Wendy leans back, interlocking her fingers and stretching her arms, as if she was preparing to go to a match just that instant.
“And that is the one thing beyond all else you’ve failed to take into account. That your methods, as horrible as they are, can only be temporary. Eventually, sooner or later, they all wear off. But heroes are eternall. They live on forever, because they themselves are connected to the very foundations of idealism that lie within the human soul. You can’t scour that. You can’t remove it. It’s not something staining the human psyche, it’s something ingrained. And that’s why your little REVOLUTION! is doomed to fail. Because there, there’s a place for heroes, no matter how fervently you deny the opposite.”
One final small smile, and the White Knight stands up.
“After all, what would you call someone who puts a stop to it?”
Fade.
No comments:
Post a Comment