1-15-15
So apparently Mileena tried to turn me into a… what were the words? “Dumpster wrapped in sadness” tonight. I’m not sure exactly what that means, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to involve me dropping her with the Hook Echo and pinning her. It was as I figured- she was out to drag me down, not build herself up, and she pretty much doomed herself to fail. At least it’s over with now, although I feel sorry for whatever next opponent she tries to make miserable.
Mr. Kincaid gave a speech tonight, and it gave me goosebumps and brought tears to my eyes. But more importantly, it put my mind at rest about his reasons for standing up to Isabella, and ultimately, he’s dead on correct. If women want to go out and have their bodies torn to shreds by the time they’re thirty, then there’s plenty of venues where they can do that. Why should we have to endorse it? Why should the idea of women being crippled and maimed be on our collective conscience, when we could have done something to stop it?
And if that’s what Mr. Kincaid is willing to risk his job for- an FFW that is once again free from matches like Metal Mayhem and Hardcore War, where our fans can watch every match without a fear that someone’s going to be paralyzed or bleed themselves nearly out in the name of “sport”, then I’ll stand behind him unflinchingly. We’re not out to destroy the Ultraviolence Division, after all, we’re out to save it from being turned from sport into gory sideshow.
And when that time comes, I’ll be ready to give everything I have in support of Cody. But now… now things turn personal for me. This side of the last Velocity, that four-way match at the next one is looming a lot closer. Everythings on the line down there in New Orleans and I know it’s a match I can’t lose. Not if I want to ensure that I get what I want for Chaos Theory.
It feels weird, because this will only be the third time I’ve competed in New Orleans since unretiring in 2010. Just the third time back in the ring there, since the BWA shut down. And I’m hesitant to say it, because I don’t want to sound Hilton-esque, and I know I’ll ALWAYS be #2 at the most there, after Scarlett Kincaid…
But in a way, Velocity almost feels like a homecoming to me. A trip back to the days of 2004-5, to the company that first let me show the world that I could be more than just a cruiserweight, more than just a tag team partner, more than just the Twister’s girlfriend. A place where I won my first top belt…
FFW is the place that’s come to define me the most, has been my home for the longest, and will always be the company I’m most associated with. But the Bayou… that was where I truly began my journey to where I am, where I truly began to break out of the mold that had been set for me in Boston and Canada.
It’s going to be a busy trip down there for sure. I’ll have my usual bevy of promotional events scheduled of course, plus time for training and getting read for what might be the most difficult match I’ve yet been in for FFW. And I know that with Terrence coming down with me, he’ll want to take some time to see the sights, and visit some old haunts, maybe even take a trip out to see the old house.
And if he does that… God help me… because I know where lunch is going to be, and I’m dreading dealing with that so close to such a huge match.
But the food there is so good…
I have to be strong.
-Wendy
===============
Monday January 26, 2015
1:45 PM Central Standard Time
Louisiana State Highway 70
4 miles north of Morgan City, Louisiana
“Terry, will you slow down? Morgan City is NOT going to catch on fire and burn down in the next ten minutes!”
If anything, her husband pressed down the accelerator even more as the RV whipped down the two lane road that somehow had managed to wedge itself between rows of cypress trees and brackish swamps.
“We’re all hungry,” was all the terse explanation her husband offered.
Wendy sighed, and looked out the window. After driving down from Moline on Sunday, following the Breaking Point show, their first day in New Orleans had been somewhat of a depressing one. They had elected to go see their old house- an old antebellum mansion that had sat on a sidearm of the Atchafalaya River known as Sixmile Lake. Wendy had never liked the place- it was always so dark and brooding, and she was positive the place was haunted. But Terrence had bought it after their RV had been destroyed by a tornado, and as it was equidistant from Lafayette and New Orleans- the two main venues of their old company- it had its merits.
Unfortunately, Hurricane Katrina had done a number on the house, and with them having retired from wrestling just a month before the storm hit, the two had elected to sell the land to state and move back to Indianapolis, where they would summarily get married and move into The Nest. The last she had heard, the manse was being renovated into some sort of Civil War museum. But that had evidently failed, and now the house was once again abandoned, as eerie and gloomy as it had been the day she first saw it.
At least the next phase of their journey would be a more lively one. Perhaps too lively, Wendy thought with a shudder.
“Terry are you sure this is smart? I mean… Theresa…”
“Hey, they have a kids menu.” Terrence pointed out. “It’s a family restaurant, Wendy.”
“You said I didn’t have to order from the kids menu anymore!” came an indignant voice from the back. Theresa and their manager were on the couch, taking turns playing against each other in Hot Shot’s Golf on Pollaski’s PS Vita.
“You don’t. I’m just making a point to your mom, Theresa,” Terrence intoned.
“Still, Terry, it always just seems so… rowdy there.”
“So’s our local Applebee’s on half-priced aps night, hon. People are serious about their food. Anyways… we’re here!” Terrence announced.
“Excellent… haven’t had some Cajun Catfish in ages” Pollaski said, putting the Vita to sleep and stretching as Terrence motored the RV to a stop. “We’ll finish after lunch,” he said to Theresa’s look of protest.
“We can play in the restaurant while we wait…” the eight year old insisted.
Pollaski took one look at the redhead sitting in the front seat of the RV, then back to her daughter. “No we can’t,” Theresa didn’t bother to argue.
Sighing, Wendy unbuckled herself, and swung down out of the RV’s door, stretching as she stepped out into the humid bayou air. With some trepidation, she looked up at the sign hanging over the entrance- much newer than the one she remembered
SAM & ELLA’S FAMILY RESTAURANT
“See? Family restaurant.” Terrence said, pointing at the sign. Wendy remained unconvinced.
Inside, however, was just how she remembered it, the entire venue looking every much a wooden shack as it did on the outside. Still, the walls seemed like they’d been painted in the past couple of years, and many of the neon signs that hovered over the walls seemed updated. But one thing never changed- the smell- a potpourri of alcohol, sweat, steam, grease, cooking meat, and spices that made Wendy both nauseous and ravenous at the same time.
“Four of ya today?” asked the hostess, a petite brunette with a ponytail who’s idea of clothing was a pair of overalls covering a bikini top. Terrence nodded, and pointed up at something on the wall. “That’s new.” He commented.
The hostess turned around and looked up at a large “NO FIGHTING” sign. “Yeah. ‘Had to put tha-at up for li-a-bil-i-tee purposes.” She recited.
“Does it work?” Terrence asked. For a response the hostess giggled, and waved at the party to follow her. The apprehension in Wendy’s stomach intensified exponentially as she followed her family and manager into the half-filled restaurant, sat down, and opened her menu.
“Wow, they’ve really moderned the place up,” Terrence marveled. “Look, they have calorie counts on the menu. They even have a weight watchers section!”
It probably would have helped if every single entrée’s calories weren’t in the quadruple digits, and the Weight Watcher’s section didn’t simply say “LMAO”, Wendy groaned inwardly. Maybe SHE should be ordering from the children’s menu…
Still, after the dreary visit to their old house, it was nice being back in a setting that felt more familiar and comfortable, Wendy figured. They had eaten at Sam & Ella’s a lot when they lived here, it being on the way to and from the house and the gym they had trained at in Morgan City. Wendy had always feared the food would put them out of shape, but oddly, it never had.
Still, she almost dreaded hearing the reaction from Cody Kincaid and Samantha Star if they found out she was eating any of this just before one of the biggest free-TV matches in company history. At least she had three days to work it off afterwards, she sighed as she turned to look at the salads, all of which seemed to feature as much grease as they did lettuce.
“THERE YOU ARE, YOU LITTLE BASTARD!”
Wendy jumped at the bellow, and looked up at the door, where a man, dressed in a dirty shirt and slacks, had just walked in. He was pointing at another man at the bar, about twenty feet away from their table, who seemed completely unsurprised. The newcomer stormed past the hostess up to the man, and thrust his phone out. “What the HELL is this?”
“Wayl…” the other man drawled, looking at the phone’s screen appraisingly. “I’d say that’s a picture of ME fuckin’ YOUR wife in the back of YOUR truck!
“OW!” Theresa yelped as both of Wendy’s hands slapped into her ears, hastily covering them. “It’s nothing I haven’t heard before!” the eight year old protested.
“SHE’S YOUR COUSIN, YOU SON OF A BITCH!” screamed the first man, and he threw the phone at the other man- who fortunately ducked, the device sailing harmlessly overhead to smash into a pair of glasses, shattering them. The man didn’t even bother responding, lunging off his barstool, taking the other man down with a tackle. And with that, it was on, with both men rolling on the floor, exchanging blows, the rest of the patrons in the restaurant shouted encouragement.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” Wendy said, removing her hands from her daughters ears and rubbing her forehead. “EVERY time we come in here…”
“I know, isn’t it great?” Terrence exclaimed.
“KNEE HIM IN THE NUTS!” Theresa screamed. “What?” she asked at the outraged look her mother gave her. “What? It’s not a wrestling match, so they really don’t have to play by the rules.”
Wendy opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off by the shrilling voice of the hostess.
“ELLLLLLLLLLL-LAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
The room went deathly quiet all of a sudden, save for the sound of the two men still scuffling on the floor. Wendy felt goosebumps rising on her arms, and a shiver going down her back. A cloud of doom was descending over the restaurant, and all but the two combatants saw it.
And then, out of the kitchen, stepped a woman who was nearly as large as Pollaski. Her once strawberry blonde hair was graying, and plastered to her face with sweat from working in the hot kitchen. Her girthy frame was covered with an apron, and at the end of one beefy arm, in an equally beefy hand, was a rolling pin that she’d raise and lower tapping it against her free hand.
This was Ella, Wendy knew, the namesake (or at least the living one, since her husband Sam had passed long ago- heart attack, go figure) of the restaurant. Wendy had been in wrestling matches with some of the most vicious, sadistic, and imposing figured the sport had ever seen, and not one of them ever terrified her as much as this woman. Even now, she slunk back in her chair as the woman lumbered across the restaurant, bearing down on the two competitors.
With a snarl, she lifted the man on top up. Still in fighting mode, he swung at her, catching Ella in her shoulder- a big mistake.
*POW!*
The rolling pin smashed full on into his face, sending the man flying ten feet backwards. Wendy shrieked as a tooth pinwheeled through the air and landed in her glass of water. Disgusted, she looked back up, as Ella picked the other man up- the one who had barged in to start the scene- dragging him over to the hostess’ station, and hoisted him up in the air by his neck.
“WA’S THE SIGN SAY?!” she bellowed
“No-no fighting!” The man wheezed.
“WAT IT SAY?”
“No fighting!”
“AND YET YE FOUGHT!” and with that, Ella slammed him face first into the sign once, twice, three times before throwing the man to the ground, where he coughed and sputtered, clutching his throat. Ella walked over and grabbed the first man, holding him up by his belt loop as she carried his deadweight towards the door of the restaurant. She paused only to pick up the other man in the same fashion. The hostess held the door open as Ella rumbled through, taking out the trash, so to speak.
*CRASH!*
“Don’t worry, not our windshield.” Terrence observed calmly, and Wendy looked out the window, where both men were sticking out the front of a pickup truck, legs kicking helplessly in the air.
“THAT WAS COOL!” Theresa exclaimed.
“Every time we come in here,” Pollaski chuckled, “You’d think those idiots would have learned after so many years what happens when you fight in here, and yet…” he jerked his finger over his shoulder, towards Ella, who had just reentered, dusting off her hands. All around, conversation was resuming in the restaurant, with no one seemingly in a hurry to extract the men from the pickup truck windshield they were still helplessly kicking in.
Wendy, however had another problem. “Ma’am!” she called, holding up her tooth-filled water, trying to get the attention of the hostess. “Could I have a new glass, please?”
But it was Ella herself who answered her call, lumbering over, that rolling pin still in her hand. “No prob’, dear.” She rumbled, a lot friendlier than she had been mere minutes ago. “Sor’, ‘bout that. Can’t control where they land.” She roared as if she made a great joke.
Wendy merely smiled meekly, and held out the glass for the proprietor to take. Ella did, but stopped, and looked down at Wendy, her eyes narrowing. “I know you? You look f’miliar…”
“Well, we used to live down here a decade ago… stopped in to eat a lot… between going back and forth to Morgan City…” Wendy offered helpfully.
It dawned on Ella suddenly. “Ah, right… the ‘rasslers.”
Wendy nodded, smiling. “Yes, we were in the B-“
*WHAM!*
The rolling pin smashed into her back with such force that Wendy thought her entire ribcage had exploded. Her eyes streaming, she gasped for breath. With a cry of outrage, Terrence sprang from his feet- and came face to face with the end of the rolling pin, ready to jab him in the face.
“Ta HELL with you ‘rasslers and yer ‘rassling!” Ella bellowed furiously. “Waste of time, waste of energy. Good fer NOTHIN’!”
“What….the… heck…” Wendy panted, finally getting her wind back. Through blurry vision, she saw her daughter looking on in amazement, Pollaski rooted to his seat in astonishment.
“Look, we didn’t do anything-“ Terrence protested.
“I don’ care!” Ella snarled. “All, ya’lls can go to HELL! Especially you redhead hussies, like Scarlett Kincaid!”
“I thought… Scarlett… was popular… in these parts.” Wendy’s oxygen supply was slowly returning, but at a rather leisurely pace.
“Oh yeh, she is.” Ella grumbled. “So damn popular that every damn Cajun waitress in the state now wants to be a wrestler too!”
At this pronouncement, Wendy noticed the hostess looking rather uncomfortable, as if this was the last direction she wanted the conversation to be going. Terrence seemed to have noticed it too. “You’re a wrestler?” he asked.
“April May?” Ella snorted. “Nah, she’s a good girl. Knows to help her mama run the restaurant, don’t she? My other daughter though. Daisy June? Got it in her head that she gonna be ‘just like Sca-lett’ and started getting into fights… getting’ all roughed up and rowdy and beat up. Shirkin’ her waitress duties, makin’ poor April here work double.”
“Ma, I really don’t mind-“ April began.
“IT DON’T MATTER! SHE’S MY GIRL! She belongs here! Not out in seedy bar getting her butt whupped!” Ella’s voice sounded to the point of breaking.
“Look,” Wendy said, her oxygen had returned. “I’m really really sorry that your daughter… I know it’s not easy for families sometimes in this sport sometimes. And if there’s anything I could do to help, I would, but…”
Her voice trailed off as Ella’s head snapped towards her. “Ye mean that? Ye’d help?”
“Uh, well…” Wendy stammered. She hadn’t actually expected to be taken up on it. “I…” she glanced over at Terrence who was giving her a look that clearly said ‘you made your bed…’ “Yeah…?”
“Maybe you could talk to her. Make her see sense. That she’s just setting herself up for trouble.”
Wendy wanted to point out that as a successful wrestler who managed to have a family and a life and everything… maybe she wouldn’t be the best choice for dissuasion in the matter… but then again, she REALLY didn’t want to feel that rolling pin again... “I could try…” she offered. “Is she here?”
Ella snorted. “Nah, she ain’t here. She off somewhere trainin’. Got some title match in New Iberia tomorrow night.”
“Title?” Wendy exclaimed, surprised. “That’s good…”
“Nah, it ain’t.” April May said. “She’s up ‘gainst one of the Gator Boyz.” When Wendy gave her a blank look, she continued. “Four or five of them… real mean… real vicious. They dang near beat a man into a coma last year, and Ma’s terrified Daisy’s gonna get hurt by them.”
It was on the tip of Wendy’s tongue that if Ella went herself, she’d probably take out all the Gator Boyz on her own. But she kept the thoughts to herself, her back still hurting from the rolling pin.
“You wanna help?” Ella demanded. “Go tomorrow night and make sure my little girl doesn’t git herself killed, okay?”
“I’d… love to.” Wendy stammered, looking over at Terrence and Pollaski for help. “But, you see… my company…”
“Would love you to do it.” Pollaski cut her off, drawing a look of aghast horror. “What? It’s not like you’re going to be competing, and an appearance out there would be a great way to promote Velocity. Besides… both Cody and Samantha talk all the time about how it’s great to support the local indy companies, right?”
“I… I guess…” Wendy stammered, feeling betrayed. She looked to Terrence, who simply shrugged. “All… alright. We’ll do it.”
“Thank ye…” Ella rumbled, and put a big beefy hand on Wendy’s shoulder. “Preciate it, I really do. April! They eat for free today, aight?”
And with that, she walked away back towards the kitchen. As soon as she was gone, Wendy turned towards her manager, hissing. “Thanks a lot!”
“What? It’d be a great way to endear yourself to the fans. Besides, we have nothing planned for tomorrow night. It’d be interesting.”
“And be honest, hon, not so long ago, YOU were in Daisy’s shoes, remember? Wrestling down here, taking on guys like that… getting into some pretty pickled situations. Wouldn’t you have loved some world-class wrestler watching your back? Oh wait…” he grinned. “You did.”
“I suppose you’re right, but…” Wendy sighed. “I don’t know. Something just… is giving me a bad feeling about all of this.”
“All the more reason to go,” Terrence reasoned. “If you didn’t, and that girl got hurt… you’d never forgive yourself.”
That hit home, and Wendy nodded. Out of arguments.
“Awesome, we’re going to a wrestling show tomorrow!” Theresa exclaimed.
“You’re not.” Both parents said in unison, giving each other an understanding look.
“What? Why not?”
“Because, it’s not going to be a place for an eight year old,” Terrence said.
“So you’ll just leave me alone in the RV?” Theresa demanded, outraged.
“No, we’ll find someone to watch you,” Wendy said simply. “Pollaski if we have to. But you’re DEFINITELY not coming tomorrow night,” she declared with finality.
Theresa turned her face into a pout, and picked up her menu again. Pollaski was perusing his as well, but stopped with a chuckle.
“Heh, Gator Boyz. What kind of losers spell their names with a z?”
He looked up as both WhirlyBirdz shot him an incredulous glare.
“That was 2001! It was okay back then!”
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