Tuesday July 13, 1993
Crowne Embassy Hotel- Dining Room
Chicago, Illinois
7:17 PM Local Time
“Gus, are you okay?”
Augustus Briese almost jumped as the voice of his wife permeated through his thoughts. He settled himself, and turned towards Gayle, trying to fake a smile, as he did. “Of course, dear,” he replied, forcing a smile. “Was just thinking of what we were going to do tomorrow.”
In actuality, everything wasn’t okay. Gus had known all along that taking this vacation would be a bad idea, but Gayle had insisted. After all, it wasn’t often that they were able to manage to get time off from their roles on Broadway, but Gus had managed to gain permission to leave the role of Mister Mistofolees to his understudy for two weeks, and take some much needed time away from the theater. It was well deserved time off- he had played the role nearly nonstop for over a decade now, and had become a staple. And with Gayle’s last play having closed after a successful run of over a year, and her next lead role already lined up on her return, it was a perfect time.
But even though he had relented in the end, he had his reservations about flying to Chicago for a week. It wasn’t that he hated Chicago- next to Dublin, Belfast, and New York, it was his favorite city. But some nagging feeling had told him this was a bad idea, and this morning, he had been proved right.
Lewis Rosenberg, his attorney, had called their top-floor suite this morning just as he was waking up. It had been an unpleasant conversation- apparently two ‘gentlemen’ from Scotland Yard had been to visit, asking about certain money wire transfers to Belfast Gus had made. Of course, the money had gone to Delaney- even though the man had exiled him from Ireland, Gus still thought of him as a friend and a true patriot. But who in the hell gave those English cocksuckers the jurisdiction to come to America, and start poking into his business? Rosenberg didn’t know, but the man had promised him that he would find out, and quickly, and put a stop to this nonsense.
Rosenberg had been a competent attorney so far, and Gus believed that he would manage to make this problem go away. But until he got the word that these two Investigators were back in England sucking on the Queen’s cunt, he wasn’t going to rest easy.
Even less easy was the phone call he had received several hours later. Pierre LeBettique was hardly a man Gus could consider a best friend, but they had known each other for several years, being part of the same social circle. Pierre had let Gus know in no uncertain terms that his understudy had performed marvelously the previous two nights as his replacement, even receiving a standing ovation at the end of his song one night. It had been three years since that had happened to Gus.
That was not good news to Gus. He had held the role for years, and had done well, but he knew he was getting older. He was turning forty-seven soon, and he wasn’t nearly as spry as he used to be. Nonetheless, he still was fit enough to handle the demands of the role. But if this younger understudy was outperforming him...
He’d be damned if he was going to let that son of a bitch replace him!
“Gus?”
Again Gus’ head snapped over to his wife. Gayle’s eyes were even more filled with concern now, and he grimaced. Gayle didn’t know about the investigators, nor his concerns about being replaced. He would talk to her about the latter tonight. The former would never be discussed, ever.
He shrugged, and forced another smile. “So, what did you want to do tomorrow? I heard there is an aquarium..”
He was interrupted by a scoff, and he glanced at his daughter as the twelve-year old shot him a baleful look. “Ugh, no. Daddy, it smells like fish in there! Mother was going to take me shopping on State Street!”
“But you already went shopping today. There’s more to Chicago than the stores, you know.” Gus smiled at his daughter amiably, although he was annoyed. Wendy seemed to not want to do anything lately, other than going shopping, practicing with her summer tutor, or reading in her room.
But then again, if Wendy and Gayle were out shopping again, it would free Gus up to take care of some other business. Try and get ahold of Delaney, and let him know about the investigators. And perhaps see if there was something he could do about this understudy who was showing him up back home.
“Alright,” Gus said, in a resigned tone to make it look as if he was giving in. “You ladies have fun then.”
“Thanks, daddy.” Wendy said, grinning as she brushed a strand of her flame-colored hair from her face. “I saw this dress today that I think would make everyone at school so jealous of me. I can’t wait to try it on.”
Gus smiled, but it wavered as he caught Gayle’s eye. He knew what she was thinking- they had several recent discussions over the concern that Wendy was becoming too spoiled. Gus especially never said no to her. He never saw the reason to. When Wendy grew up, she was going to be the most beautiful, gifted actress in history, and give prestige to both him and his name. What was the price of a few small trinkets or afternoons shopping, so long as she was always working towards that end?
Their silent debate was ended by the distraction of the waiter.. He was a young man, Italian descent if Gus could guess, with dark hair that was neatly slicked back. He set a bowl of piping hot soup in front of Wendy, and placed beautifully garnished salads in front of Gus and Gayle. Gus smirked at the food. The Crowne’s food was famously good, and if the taste did the appearance even the slightest bit of justice...
“Would sir like some cheese?” The waiter asked.
“I would.”
“Say when, please,” the waiter requested, then began to grate the cheese onto the salad. Gus watched the cheese sprinkle onto the salad, but then looked up as he saw a dark haired woman enter the room, and his blood ran cold.
“Ivana?!” he whispered, gripping the edge of the table. It was impossible. She was in Kiev, or Moscow, or wherever the hell they were ramming hormones into his bastard child to keep him alive. What would that slut be doing here? In Chicago? At one of its finest hotels?
He exhaled as she walked towards another table, and he got a better view of her. It wasn’t Ivana... although they were certainly similar in appearance. She wasn’t here, she was back wherever the hell..
“Gus!”
Gus again snapped back to attention at his wife’s calling, and looked over at her, then snapped his head back down to his salad, which was buried underneath a growing pile of grated Parmesan cheese. “Whoah! What are you doing!” he barked, batting the waiter’s hand away from the plate.
It was something that the waiter hadn’t been prepared for. The cheese grater flew from his hand, and for just a second, the world seemed to go into slow motion. Gus watched in horror as it flew right into the side of Wendy’s soup boul, the momentum sliding the dish off the edge of the table.
Right into his daughter’s lap.
Wendy shrieked as the scalding hot liquid cascaded over her, and leaped from her chair, alternating between tugging at her soaked dress, and clutching her left arm in pain. Tears were leaking from the girls eyes, and Gus couldn’t blame her.
“Oh my God,” he heard Gayle say as she rose from her seat. Dimly, Gus was aware that every single other conversation in the restaurant had stopped, and all eyes were staring at them. He himself felt rooted to the spot.
For a second, all was still, and then a horrid, piercing shriek came from his daughter, one of anger, of pain, and humiliation.
The waiter was stammering. “Ma’am. I’m sorry. Are you hurt!” He rushed forward, waving his hands frantically, unsure of what to do. “Come with me, we’ll get your arm looked”
“GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU IDIOT!” Wendy howled, shoving the man away, then clutching her arm again. Gus could see the maitre d’, the chef, and several other members of the staff running towards the commotion.
The waiter didn’t take the hint. “Ma’am, please, your arm... I think you burned it..”
“YOU RUINED MY DRESS!” The shriek was more piercing than the other two, more shrill than Gus could have ever imagined a human could make, let alone his own daughter. Wendy was beyond control though, and with her good arm, she grabbed a glass water pitcher from the table. Gus could only stare in open mouthed horror as his daughter flung the pitcher with everything she had at the waiter’s head.
There was an explosion of glass, water, and ice, and Gus instinctively turned away to avoid the flying debris. When he had turned back around, the waiter was on the ground, motionless, blood pouring from several deep gashes in his head. The rest of the restaurant was gasping in horror, and even Wendy was slack-jawed, stunned at what she had done.
“Oh my God!” The maitre d’ had finally arrived on the scene, and he knelt next to his waiter. “Someone call 911!”
Several people claiming to be doctors rushed forward, and Gus quickly rose to his feet and moved away to give them more room. “My daughter is burned! Someone see to her!” He tried bellowing over the commotion, but everyone was attending to the waiter. Gus began to get annoyed. The man was in bad shape, but they ALL didn’t need to be helping him! “I SAID...”
“Gus, come on!” He heard Gayle. She was guiding the shocked Wendy away from the table, towards the exit to the restaurant. Wendy was still clutching her arm, but her eyes were wide and filled with tears as she stared at the multitude of people attending to her victim. “Gus!”
Gus swore under his breath, then turned away, heading towards his family, not even bothering to look behind him. Putting his arm around Wendy, he began to guide his poor traumatized daughter out of the restaurant. The police and paramedics were already showing up, hurrying into the restaurant.
“Shut up and let me do the talking,” he ordered Wendy and Gayle. “I’ll handle this.”
Gayle nodded, but Wendy, hurt and afraid, was beginning to sob as she realized that now she was going to be in big trouble. “Am I going to jail?”
“No. You’re not. Just... let me deal with this, okay?”
Wendy nodded, tears streaming down her face. Gus patted her on her shoulder, and turned to face the officer who was approaching him. He sighed.
This was the last thing he needed. More negative attention.
=========================
Wednesday July 14, 1993
University of Chicago Medical Center- Elevator Lobby
Chicago, Illinois
11:05 AM Local Time
“I can’t believe I have to do this,” Wendy Briese muttered as the elevator doors closed, the mechanical lift beginning its upward movement towards the fourth floor. Nervously, she tugged at the bandage that covered the second-degree burn on her arm.
It had been a long, terrifying night for Wendy, who had sat and watched as they wheeled the waiter out of the hotel on a stretcher to a waiting ambulance, taking him away. Gus had spent several hours talking to the police, and though Wendy couldn’t hear any of the exchanges, she could tell from her father’s body language that the conversations hadn’t gone well. Still, the police had eventually left without arresting her, so at least that was a good sign.
She hoped.
Wendy had wanted to go shopping today, to get the entire ugly incident out of her mind. No girl her age should ever be subjected to seeing such a horrible thing as that man lying on the ground bleeding (even if it was, technically, her fault). But her mother, showing a force of will that she had never seen before, put her foot down, telling her that before she did ANYTHING else, she was going to go straight to the hospital and apologize for what she had done.
Obviously, that hadn’t sat well with the twelve-year old, and she had nearly thrown another fit in protest. But Gus had finally ended any debate by siding with Gayle. He made a point to Wendy that despite her not being arrested, that didn’t mean that charges couldn’t be fired later, and maybe showing a bit of remorse would go a long way to making the whole ordeal go away quicker.
Besides, Gus had reasoned, word of this was likely going to get around, even back to New York. It would do well for the family’s reputation to try and make nice with the waiter.
So here she was, in an elevator by herself. Gayle had insisted Wendy do it alone, telling her that she had to “handle it like an adult”. That grated on Wendy- she was further along and more developed than almost all the girls in her class, including Gina the ugly stick riffraff who had been her roommate for the past four years at Blakely’s. Compared to everyone else her age, she WAS an adult.
But her Mother, damn her, had been insistent. It felt odd, normally Wendy could get out of doing things she didn’t want, either by complaining, or simply just ignoring them, but not this time.
Wendy sighed as the door opened, and stepped off the lift. This was going to suck.
She had to ask a nurse for help finding the room, but it took just a couple of minutes to arrive after that. The door was open, and Wendy took several more minutes to steady her nerves to walk into the room.
The waiter was sitting in the bed, his face covered in bandages. He hadn’t even noticed her entering, so intent was he on talking with his visitor, a kindly looking priest who was maybe a year or two older than the waiter. The priest patted his hand, offering comforting words, only to jump a mile at Wendy’s horrified shriek.
“OH MY GOD… HE’S DYING?!”
Both men glared at her, shocked by the outburst. Wendy took a step back as the waiter’s eye (one was covered by a bandage) narrowed as he saw her. The priest blinked at her, not quite sure of what to make of this newcomer, although he certainly could sense the patient’s sudden displeasure.
“No… he’s not dying. Why would you think he is?”
“I thought you were administering Last Rites,” Wendy exclaimed, her face turning beet red. Now that she was over the initial shock of seeing a priest comforting the man, and had gotten a good view of his face, she quickly realized just exactly why the priest was there.
“No, I’m not administering Last Rites. I just came to see Geraldo. He’s my brother.” The priest replied, confirming her suspicions. His eyes narrowed, and Wendy took another step back. She had a feeling that the priest had his own ideas of just who this girl who walked in was. “Who are you, by the way?”
“This is the girl who attacked me, Lorenzo.” The waiter said, his voice quiet, but Wendy could sense the anger behind it.
“I see,” Lorenzo replied, his voice quiet. “Well, then, young lady. What brings you here?”
For an answer, Wendy pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket, and opened it, beginning to read. “Mr. DiNardo, it is with the greatest of remorse that I...”
“Whoah whoah whoah whoah whoah,” the waiter had finally deigned to speak directly to Wendy, and it was in an annoyed tone. “If that’s what you’re going to do, then get out of here.”
“What?” Wendy was stunned at being cut off. “I’m trying to apologize!”
“By reading a prepared statement? That’s not an apology, that’s an insult to my intelligence!”
This wasn’t exactly how Wendy was expecting things to go. She was wearing her cutest dress, her hair done perfectly. She looked adorable. So why was she being rejected?
“I’m not trying to insult anything!” she exclaimed, growing panicky as the situation had gotten away from her. “I just wanted it to sound really good.”
The waiter was about to angrily respond again, but his brother patted him on the arm. “Peace, Geraldo. Yelling at her isn’t going to make this better.” He turned to Wendy, and smiled patiently. Wendy bristled- there was a condescending element to the expression, something about it that made her feel like a five year old. But, she reminded herself, they probably thought she was acting like a five year old when she threw the pitcher.
“Apology doesn’t need a grandoise, eloquent speech,” the priest told her. “It needs a genuine feeling of remorse and empathy.” He paused. “Do you feel bad about what you did?”
Wendy nodded, biting her lip. “I do.”
“Then why did you do it?”
“I... I don’t know.” Wendy replied quietly. “The soup was hot, and it burned. And my dress was wet and burning. And I thought everyone was staring at me, and I was mad. And... I don’t know. I just did it.” She paused, and looked down. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’ve never hurt anyone before.”
“Well, you did,” Geraldo replied. There was anger in his voice still, but it was colder than before. He looked at Wendy with his one uncovered eye. “Did you know that you came within half an inch of damaging my eye? Half an inch of making me half-blind for the rest of my life?”
Wendy shook her head, although her stomach had begun to churn. “No...”
“And they’ve stitched me up best they could, but I will probably have a scar on my cheek for the rest of my life from being cut there,” Geraldo paused, and Wendy could tell that was something that really affected him. Then again, she couldn’t blame him- he was good looking. “How would you like to walk around the rest of your life with a scar on your face?”
“No...” Wendy shook her head frantically, almost ashamed at the terror the thought struck into her. “I... I can’t have that. I’d lose my career.”
“Your career?” Lorenzo the priest spoke this time, suddenly curious. “But... how old are you?”
“Twelve.” Wendy replied, shrugging. “But Daddy says I’m destined to be the greatest actress the world has ever known. But I can’t be that if my face isn’t pretty.”
There was a long pause, and Lorenzo and Geraldo looked at each other, before both men burst out laughing. Wendy’s face flushed red, humiliated again as the two men shared mirth at her expense. She felt tears welling up in her eyes, and her hands balled into fists.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Lorenzo finally said, calming down. “It’s a private joke between my brother and I. You see, I was ‘destined’ to be a shortstop for the Cubs until I blew out my knee sliding into home plate playing for the Illini. And Gerry was ‘destined’ to be a doctor, until he ran out of money to pay for school.”
“Destiny is a load of bull,” Geraldo replied, although his voice was anywhere near friendly towards Wendy for the first time since she had walked into the room. “Nobody’s guaranteed anything. In the blink of an eye, everything can change.”
Wendy sensed a note of pain in his voice, of some old experience that lent weight to his words, but one that they would never share with her. But overiding that was a wave of fear. No one had ever even suggested to her that she would never be a great actress.
“I’ll be an actress. I have to be.” Wendy said quietly. “I would be nothing otherwise.”
“Only if you allow yourself to be.” the priest replied. “We’re not judged on our occupations and accomplishments. We’re judged on who we are and what we did.”
“But that’s the same thing,” Wendy replied.
“No, they’re not.” Lorenzo argued. “Think about this. Take away the acting, and the destiny, and what do you have left? The answer is more important than anything.”
Wendy stood there, mulling the words over inside of herself.
“We’re getting off subject,” Geraldo interjected, drawing Wendy away from her thoughts. “I’m not stupid, girl. I know why you came, and it wasn’t because you felt rotten. Maybe you did, but either your mom or your dad sent you here because they’re fearing that I’m either going to sue, or press charges, or both.”
Wendy gulped, and began to shake her head in denial, but stopped herself. Finally she nodded. “Yeah. I wanted to go shopping this morning, and just forget about it. But Mother wouldn’t let me. She said I had to come here first. I didn’t want to... but I’m kind of glad I did.”
It took her several seconds to be able to look at the brothers, and she was surprised to see that both were wearing decisively neutral expressions, instead of the anger she had expected. It gave her the courage to continue.
“Look, Mr. DiNardo. If I could do it all over again, I wouldn’t have done it. But I can’t, and I’m know that I can’t take it back. Whatever you and your brother decide to do.... I’ll probably have deserved it.”
Both brothers looked almost amused now, and for a second, Wendy was afraid they were gleefully going to take her up on the offer, and have her arrested on the spot. But finally, Geraldo spoke. “That was more heartfelt than anything you wrote on that paper. So tell your parents this- if they pay for my medical bills and lost wages... I won’t press charges or sue.”
Wendy nodded, surprised she wasn’t as joyful at hearing the words as she had expected to be. “Thank you. They’ll be... happy to hear that.”
“I’m sure they will,” the waiter replied, stifling a yawn. “Now, I’m sorry, but these pain meds they keep giving me are making me tired again. I think I’m going to rest. And I’m sure you need to run back to your family.”
“I do.” Wendy replied, surprised at just how long she had been up here. “Rest well, and I hope you heal quickly. And I’m sorry.”
“I hope I heal quickly too,” the waiter said, leaning back and closing his eyes. Wendy nodded to the priest, then slunk out the door, quickly walking to the elevator, and getting inside. She could barely breathe the whole trip down. When the door finally opened on the ground floor, she stepped off. But instead of walking to the entrance, and her mother’s car, she sat down on a chair in the hallway, pulling out the apology she had prepared. With both hands, she ripped up the paper, over and over again, until all she was holding were tiny bits of confetti. These, she dropped in an adjacent wastebucket.
And then she sat there, thinking.
She had lied when she had said she had never hurted anyone before. Not physically, at least she’d never winged a water pitcher at anyone’s head previously. But she remembered the anguish on Gina’s face everytime Wendy had called her ‘riffraff’. She remembered Natalie crying because she couldn’t find her favorite stuffed animal, which Wendy had stolen and thrown in a garbage can because Natalie had laughed at her for missing an answer in class. She remembered the tears that came to Chris’ face when she had loudly informed the entire lunchroom he couldn’t sit with her because he smelled funny.
She’d hurt a lot of people in her short life. She supposed everyone did, whether they meant to or not, but not many had done it with a joyful abandon. But she had seen how much damage five seconds of her wrath had done to Geraldo. She had been hurting some people for four years.
She remembered the words Lorenzo had asked her. “Take away the answer, and the destiny, and what do you have left?” At first she thought she had no answer, but the more and more she thought about it, it was even worse than that.
She had an answer.
It was just one she hated.
Thursday March 15, 2012
The Nest- Living Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
5:17 PM Local Time
The screen begins black, although the audio does kick in. And the audio is instantly recognizable to anyone who’s ever heard the song “One More Time” by Daft Punk, because it is, in fact, the instrumental introduction to that song. Congratulations, you’ve now got that song stuck in your head. Mwa-ha-ha.
#One more time...#
And with the opening lyric, we are treated to the living room of Terrence Thompson and his wife Wendy Briese. Apparently, they left the lighting in place from the surreal Gemini Man promo Pollaski shot a few days prior, and although the tadpole and penguin costumes are gone, once again we’re treated to Wendy’s entourage- this time rocking out on rock band instruments. Theresa’s enthusiastically beating on the drums (a little too fast for the rhythm of the song, but ITS STILL ADORABLE!), her nanny Cassie’s playing one guitar (wondering how the hell she keeps getting talked into these), and Terrence (wearing sunglasses) has the other. Pollaski’s on keyboards, but he’s got the microphone too.
#One more time... we’re gonna celebrate. Oh yeah, alright don’t stop the dancing...#
Oh yeah. He’s lip-syncing
#One more time, we’re gonna celebrate. Oh yeah...#
There’s a long pause in the song, longer than the natural pause, as everyone looks over, and sees Wendy standing there, her arms folded over her chest, wondering, as usual, what the hell she just walked in on. Considering her daughter’s not in a tadpole costume, today might be considered an improvement.
Wendy: “What...”
#ONE MORE TIME!#
The music starts again, and everybody begins rocking out, including Terrence doing the Icky Shuffle (what has been seen cannot be unseen). Wendy stands there for a few more second, holding her head in her hands, before she finally shakes her head, and walks over to a nearby endtable, picking up a remote. One button press later, music over.
Everyone (but Wendy): “Aww...”
Wendy: “What are you guys doing? I called the camera crew over to shoot a promo, not so you guys could play...”
Pollaski: “Um, yeah. Wendy, this IS your promo. We’re rolling.”
Wendy glances at the camera, then at her clothes, which certainly seems more suited for cleaning a bathroom than cutting a promo. Unless your promo is about cleaning bathrooms. This one isn’t. She quickly tries to straighten her flame-colored hair, but as for her outfit, she can only stare at her manager in resignation.
Wendy: “I’d really wish you’d warn me once in a while..."
Pollaski: “Yeah, but this is like gritty and realistic. We don’t sugarcoat things here.”
As unsugarcoated as four people dancing to Daft Punk in the middle of an upscale suburban living room can get!
Wendy: “Okay... so what’s with the music and all?”
Pollaski: “We figured it was appropriate, because one more time... Wendy Briese is going to be wrestling in her hometown.”
Terrence: (singing off key) “Oh yeah... alright don’t-”
Pollaski: “Dude. No.”
Terrence bows his head.
Terrence: “Sorry.”
Pollaski and Wendy both sigh. Pollaski’s is more directed at the FFW Sponsored racecar driver, while Wendy... well, she just looks nervous. This isn’t lost on Dan at all.
Pollaski: “So what’s up? I figured you’d be more excited about this. You are technically undefeated in your hometown.”
Wendy: “Well, that’s the operative word there, isn’t it? ‘Technically’. I might not have officially lost a match in Indianapolis, but it’s not like I’ve won anything here either. The first time I wrestled here, I was embarassed by Crystal Hilton, as she stole a pinfall right out from under my nose. The second time I wrestled here, I did everything I could, but in a six on one situation, and it took Camilla Pazzini driving a chair into my skull to get me a disqualification win. I love Indianapolis, and I’ll be honored every time I step out to compete here, but... fate’s yet to smile upon me in the Circle City.”
Another sigh.
“It goes deeper than that though. Since that ill-fated match against Rose Jenkins, I’ve lost four of seven. Now... I know there were some extenuating circumstances for some of it. Jo plastered Arianna with a Singapore cane, and I beat Moxie from pillar to post, but when Starla decided to be an idiot, I didn’t stand a chance of actually winning that.”
Terrence: “Not to mention that Anders Stark cheated and...”
Terrence’s voice fades after he realizes that everyone has turned towards him.
Theresa: “Get over it, daddy!”
Terrence’s jaw drops, and both Cassie and Pollaski fall over laughing. Even Wendy is chuckling at her husband’s expense. Theresa grins at the reaction, although Terrence isn’t as amused.
Terrence: “You just lost a birthday present...”
Wendy gives her daughter a grin that pretty much promises that this year’s birthday haul isn’t going to be any less come mid-July, before sobering, and turning back to the camera.
Wendy: “And of course, there was my last match, when I lost to Jenny. And when it comes down to it, I really don’t have an excuse there either. There was of chaos in that match, sure, thanks in no small part to the women who will serve as my next two opponents. But in the end, we both had a chance to win, and Jenny did what only two women before her had managed to do. She beat me, and my proverbial hat is off to her."
Wendy: “But it doesn’t change the fact that I’ve lost two in a row, and I’m now just a little over two weeks from a match that has been so set up against me, I still don’t know how I’m going to walk out of Milwaukee with my belt. Walking into that Pay-per-view with three losses in a row, my belt on the line with my opponent’s husband as the referee... that’s hardly a position I want to be in.
Another deep breath, and Wendy grimaces.
Wendy: “And there’s very little of that I can change. It’s really easy to get discouraged at this point. Samantha made me a target the moment I made Lumina Ferrari tap, and she wanted to drag me down, and in a lot of ways, she has. I don’t like being frustrated, and I don’t like watching matches I could have won slip away from me, no matter what the reason. It’s been a rough couple of months, that’s for sure.”
Wendy: “But this match... this is everything I need. Not only am I in my hometown, but Mr. Kincaid has PROMISED me that there won’t be any shenanigans here. No Starla to mess things up. No Moxie to pull whatever stunt he can think of. Just me... and the very woman who handed me my first loss in FFW.”
Wendy smiles at the camera, and behind her, Terrence, Cassie, and Theresa take that as their cue to leave, and they silently shuffle off to the left, Terrence still grumbling about his traitor of a daughter.
Wendy: “You don’t get do-overs in life, and wrestling is no exception. But, God, looking back at that match against Kitty, and I would LOVE to have one. Everytime I watch the replay, I cringe, because I can see point after point I could have turned that match in my favor, and emerged victorious, but I didn’t take advantage. I know all about woulda-coulda-shouldas, and July 7, 2011 was filled with them for me. So a chance to avenge this loss in my own hometown, with a promise that the woman who’s been interfering in my matches for the past two months will have her hands off? Yeah, I think that’s both an exciting and a nervewracking standpoint.”
Wendy: “This is risk/reward at its highest, which is something that we in the No Surrender Division are no strangers to. Every time you’re in a no surrender match, you stand the risk every time of being forced to swallow your pride, and lose in the most humbling way imagineable. This isn’t any different. At least for me. On one hand, avenge a loss, and beat a former FFW Champion, something I’ve yet to do. On the other hand, once again humiliated in my hometown, and right before a Pay-Per-View where my back is against the wall to boot.”
Pollaski’s taken a step back, finding himself completely unneeded at this point, as Wendy pushes on. The anxiety has faded away, and has been replaced by that grit and determination she’s famous for.
Wendy: “Except my back’s not waiting for Chaos Theory to be up against the wall. It is now. I said months ago that there isn’t a person in FFW that I’m incapable of beating, and Kaitlynn Stryfe is no exception. Being good enough is not, and should not be a question for me. I just have to get it done. And I’ll never guarantee a win, but I can promise the people of Indianapolis that when they see me Saturday Night, they’re going to see Wendy Briese at her absolute best.”
Wendy: “Because I know what this city means to me, and I’ll be honest, I know what this means for the city. Sports wise, it hasn’t been the best of years for us. We just lost a man who defined our city more than I could ever hope to. And I know I’ll never be to Indianapolis what Peyton Manning was. But you know what? We need something to cheer for, and I’ll be that, if my fellow Hoosiers will allow me.”
Wendy: “This is FFW’s third trip to Indianapolis in a year, so that should say something about how great of fans have here. So let’s do it one more time. Saturday Night, Bankers Life Fieldhouse, nineteen thousand people showing FFW that we ARE the best stop on their tour.”
Wendy: “Just as I’ll show all of you that I’m worthy of representing my home, and giving you all one more thing to be proud of about us.”
Wendy nods, and stands there smiling as we cut out.
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