Thursday April 27, 1995
Blakely’s Academy- Dining Hall
Near Northville, New York
12:21 PM Local Time
“Hey, Riffraff.” Wendy Briese scowled as she glanced up and saw her roomate walking towards her, sitting down in the chair across from her at the small table. The smell of veal parmesean wafted into her nostrils, and Wendy’s mouth watered, although her own plate sat to the side well within reach. However, her lunch thus far had been largely ignored, thanks to the Algebra homework that sat in front of her.
“Hey, zitface,” Came the reply, as Gina unfolded her napkin, and placed it into her lap, eyeing her plate with no small amount of anticipation.
“They’re freckles,” Wendy corrected, although she couldn’t help but smile. The two girls had shared the exact same exchange pretty much every time they saw each other over the past year or so.
Two years ago, after her disastrous vacation in Chicago, Wendy had arrived back at Blakely’s with the intention of being better to the people she had been so horrible to in the past. She wanted to be a better person...but she had no idea how to do it. She tried to be more polite, but for the better part, she had tried to avoid people, especially Gina. Although the dark-haired girl still remained her roomate, Wendy felt that she had damaged things between them beyond any hope of repair, and dealing with Gina’s hostility would only rekindle her own actions.
Then one day in November, Gina had come into their room crying, She had just failed a literature exam, and her grades had dipped to the point where she stood at risk of losing her scholarship at the end of the term. Her parent’s financial situation had hardly improved over the last six years, so that scholarship was the only thing keeping her at Blakely, and she was terrified of being forced out.
Wendy, who had been staring at her math homework for the better part of an hour without accomplishing anything, had hit upon a great idea. Gina’s scholarship had been given due to her tremendous ability in mathematics, and Wendy had the top grade in her own Lit class. If Gina would help her with math... Wendy would return the favor.
They both had been good for their word, and it wasn’t long before their arrangement began to show the beginnings of a true friendship. Wendy loved it... it showed the promise that whatever she’d done in the past... there was a way to make it right. Redemption wasn’t impossible.
But even more than that, she realized, was that Gina was simply the first true friend Wendy ever had. Gina was as fiercely loyal a friend as anyone could ask for, even if she occasionally managed to drag Wendy into doing some things she would never have dreamed of doing. Some, she had enjoyed, like going fishing on the lake. Other’s such as her disastrous one-day membership in the Blakely’s fencing club, were best never brought up again.
“You’re not eating?” Gina asked, her mouth full of the tender veal. She looked around nervously... Blakely’s was big on manners, and talking with one’s mouth full often earned a sharp reprimand if overheard by a teacher.
“I’ve got to finish this,” Wendy replied, not even looking up. She sighed heavily. “But I”m not going to. I still don’t get this.”
“What’s that?” Gina asked, craning her neck. “Oh, quadratic equations? We went over these a couple days ago!
“I know, I know. But... it still doesn’t make any sense!”
“Come on, here, I’ll help you with this one,” Gina said, pointing to the first problem on the homework assignment. “Remember, FOIL.”
“You promised you wouldn’t bring up fencing again,” Wendy remarked, looking up for the first time and glaring at her roomate.
Gina couldn’t help but facepalm. “Not THAT kind of foil! Although I could certainly use one right now. I’d love to give Alexandra a few pokes with it.”
“Ugh,” Wendy scoffed, instinctively glancing to her left to a few tables away, where the blonde girl in question sat, laughing with her friends. Alexandra LeBettique was in their grade, and was, like Wendy, heavily involved in the Theatrical Arts program that Blakely’s offered. In fact, her parents knew Wendy’s well, being actors on Broadway themselves, and in largely the same social circle. That didn’t make the two girls friends. Wendy considered her a rival, considering that the two of them often contested for the lead role in the school’s productions.
But it went deeper than that. Even at her absolute worst, Wendy wasn’t considered the meanest girl in the school. That title went to Alexandra, who had an uncanny ability to be a bitch in the worst way to just about anyone she met. Gina had long been a target of Alexandra’s wrath, something Wendy felt immensely guilty about, since most of Alexandra’s insults were just copies of what Wendy had come up with.
It was one of the reasons she still called her roomate “Riffraff” as a joke. By adding an ironic twist, and turning it into a simple nickname, she had hoped to show that Gina wasn’t affected by it anymore. It had worked to an extent, although Alexandra’s vocabulary had no shortage of other nasty things to call her.
“Please, PLEASE tell me you’re going to be Juliet and not her,” Gina said, referring to the upcoming production of Romeo and Juliet the school was putting on.
“I don’t know,” Wendy muttered, turning her attention away from Alexandra, and back to her homework. “They’re posting casting later today.”
“You don’t sound all that excited,” Gina remarked.
“Yeah... I don’t know.” Wendy replied, sighing. “I mean, i love to be on stage, and act, and sing. But... it’s just all wearing thin on me. I can’t go to a rehearsal without Alexandra or someone else trying to be as catty and vicious as they can. Yesterday... just yesterday Alexandra told everyone that my mom slept with a director for a part, and insinuated that I’d done the same! I don’t know if I really want to spend the rest of my life dealing with this.”
“Maybe the real world isn’t so bad,” Gina commented, drawing a derisive snort from Wendy. She knew that backstage politics existed on Broadway, and they were vicious games that put anything that could be encountered at Blakely’s to shame. It all just seemed so stupid to her. The best actress suited for the part should get it. At least that’s what she thought.
“I don’t know. It just seems so... pointless,” Wendy sighed. “But this is what I’m supposed to do. This is why I was born. I can’t quit.”
Gina grimaced. She and Wendy had had this argument before, several times. She had tried to tell her friend that no one controlled her life but her, but Wendy was insistent that she owed it to her parents to be a Broadway Star, and there was little that Gina could do to dissaude her.
“Well, on the bright side,” Wendy remarked, forcing a smile. “At least once I get to Broadway, I won’t have to do these.”
Gina laughed, and leaned over the table. “Seriously, its not hard. FOIL, and no sword jokes. First... Outer...Inner... Last. Big problem, little parts. Come on and try it...
Wendy obeyed, going through the steps to solve the problem.
“Now add them up,” Gina coaxed.
Wendy did, looking at it “4x squared, plus 7x, plus 6? Is that right?”
Gina grinned. “Bingo, zitface. Now, do the next one.”
Wendy giggled, too pleased with herself to even give the proper rebuttal. With Gina watching her, she did the second problem, and then the third, and within minutes, all ten problems were finished, Gina having to help her out only once.
“See? Its simple. Well, this part is. Wait til they add another variable.”
“Great,” Wendy groaned, then reached over, clasping her friend’s hand. “Now all I have to do is graph them... but that won’t take too long. I’m good at drawing.” She looked up, and grinned. “Thanks Gina, for helping me out with my little... parabolem.”
Now it was Gina’s turn to groan, shaking her head. “Leave the bad jokes out of math.” She sobered up, and looked back at Wendy. “I know we don’t have much time left, but tonight, can you help me with my essay?”
“Sure, but I’ll probably have rehearsal til 7, once the casting list goes up. What’s your essay on?”
“To Kill a Mockin-” Gina was cut off by a sudden commotion from outside the dining hall, the sound of dozens of voices clamoring. Wendy looked around, and saw most of the students were curiously heading towards the scene. She glanced at Gina, who shrugged, and the two began to walk outside, leaving their half-eaten lunches behind.
The two thirteen year olds fell in just a couple of steps behind Alexandra and her cronies, as all around them rumors began to swirl about what was happening.
Finally, one of the elder boys turned and yelled back to the crowd. “They’re arresting Mr. Harper!”
“What?!” Wendy gasped. The music teacher was her favorite teacher at Blakely’s. He was kind, and always quick to help out with a problem. He had helped her numerous times in private lessons whenever she had trouble with a song, and, from what she had heard, was instrumental in getting her the role of Eliza for the winter production of “My Fair Lady,” by constantly telling the drama instructor that her voice was more suited to the role than anyone else’s.
Wendy was swept along with the crowd, the tide taking them outside. Wendy stood on her tiptoes to see over the crowd and she could just barely see two police men, holding the music teacher between them in handcuffs, as they guided him to the car. “Oh my God!” she exclaimed. She wanted to break through the crowd, run up to the police, and demand what they were doing, but the throng of students and faculty were too tightly packed for her to hope to get through. She felt a hand slip into hers, giving a reassuring squeeze, and glanced at Gina, who looked just as shocked as she did.
Again, rumors were beginning to swirl through the crowd, too many spreading too fast for the teachers to even hope to quell them. Wendy listened, trying to find any reason why her favorite teacher had just been taken away. She could begin to catch bits and pieces of whispered conversations, and her blood began to run cold.
“...sleeping with students!”
“Guess those private lessons were pretty involved, eh?”
“One of the cleaning lady’s walked in on him naked with Monica Cavilieri!”
“He’s confessed!”
“Really? I wonder who else!”
“Kimberly? Really? Lucky bastard... I’ve been trying for months!”
“Hey Wendy!” Wendy’s head snapped around, and she saw Alexandra just a few feet away. The blonde had raised her voice for all to hear. “Didn’t you spend a lot of time with him? How WERE those private lessons?”
Wendy felt her face flush immediately, and several other students began to look at her. “Don’t be an idiot, Alex! I’m thirteen!” she snapped back.
“So was Monica at first, from what I’m hearing!” Alexandra grinned savagely. “I always wondered how he helped you with your soprano!”
Wendy’s fists curled into balls, and she began envisioning herself lunging at Alexandra, knocking her down, and pounding away until the blonde screamed that she was lying. But a small hand grabbed her arm, trying to pull her away.
“Wendy, don’t, come on...” Gina was tugging at her, trying to pull her away. Wendy reluctantly let Gina drag her back into the building.
“She’s lying. I never...” Wendy repeated over and over, tears of anger and humilation burning in her eyes. “Mr. Harper would never...”
“I know, I know.” Gina said softly. “Alexandra’s just being a bitch, Wendy.”
“He didn’t do that. He couldnt’ have done that. Could he?” Wendy ran a hand through her hair, tears were now leaking out. “Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know.” Came the reply.
Wendy couldn’t talk anymore. She turned away from the throng of students watching the police cars drive away, and walked back to the cafeteria. She tried to block out what she had heard, what everyone had just said about her favorite teacher. But the words of everyone, particualily Alexandra haunted her ears. They were all lies, right?
But the feeling began to sink in that they weren’t lies. That it was true, and Mr. Harper had is way with several of the students in the school. That sickened Wendy. Horrified her. Scared her. After all, if it was true, and he hadn’t been caught... how long until Wendy would have suffered the same fate?
She looked over at Gina, tears forming in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, before running away, leaving her best friend and roomate confused behind her.
That night, she wrote an impassioned letter home, begging for her parents to pull her out of the Academy.
To her surprise... they agreed.
====================================
Friday March 9, 2012
Grant Park Condominiums- Unit 311
Chicago, Illinois
4:41 PM Local Time
“I need more medicine.”
Augustus Briese couldn’t remember ever being in as pathetic a state as the one he was currently in, and that included his time in prison. His broken arm throbbed, strapped to his side with a sling as he sat in his chair. It was humiliating. Under house arrest, no contact from the outside world, and forced to rely on the men who watched over him at all times for anything. Even more degrading was that one of these men, a hulk of a redhead lad named Mahoney, was the exact same man who had broken his arm six days ago. Mahoney hadn’t exactly shown remorse for his actions either, constantly taunting Gus, and wondering if Delaney would be so kind as to allow him to break more of Gus’ bones before executing him.
It was a poignant reminder- when you fell from Grace in Derrick Delaney’s eyes, you fell very far and very fast.
“Derrick says that’s all you need,” Mahoney growled in his brogue. “Although if you want me to up the dosage, I’m sure I can give you another thing to need medicine for.”
Briese didn’t reply, just looked back at the television. “Then get me some whiskey, dammit.”
Mahoney grunted, but stayed put, and Gus rolled his eyes. At least he could be fortunate. Many men didn’t survive pissing Derrick off the first time. He’d done it twice now over the years, and survived. At least for now.
But his heart was racing. Delaney had ordered the envolope containing Project Wildeshaw into his hands by tomorrow, or Gus would indeed be a dead man. Ivana was supposed to arrive today. But if her flight was delayed, or she had a change of heart, or she was bluffing all along...
He tried to push those thoughts from his mind. She would be here. She had to be.
As if on cue, there was a knock on the door. Mahoney picked up his M16 assault rifle, and glanced at the other brute hireling of Delaney’s, O’Brien. O’Brien was smaller and more wirey than his partner, and he had been one of the men involved with Gus’ escape from prison. Still, Gus knew he was as loyal to Delaney as Mahoney was. Neither man whould show him any compassion as long as Derrick told them not to.
O’Brien checked the peephole, then quickly opened the door, stepping aside to warily watch as the two visitors entered. The first was woman in her fifties, with jet black hair, still beautiful after all these years. Both Mahoney and O’Brien tensed at her accompaniment. The man was huge, just over seven foot, and weighed almost as much as the guards combined. He glowered at both men, then Gus, his short red hair identical to the shade that Gus himself had.
“Ivana. Yuri,” Gus said in welcome, although he didn’t get up. It hurt too much to move at the moment. He smiled as the guards kept their distance from his enormous son, warily keeping their trigger on their guns.
“Gus.” Ivana said in her Ukranian accent, smiling at him, and walking over, and giving him a kiss on the lips. “I didn’t even know you were out of prison.”
Gus smiled at the affection his mistress showed, although he glanced a wary eye at Yuri, who didn’t seem too happy by it. “I’ve been trying to lay low.” He replied. “How are you?”
“Well.” Ivana said, plopping down next to him on the couch, as Yuri elected to remain standing. “We’ve been in London for the past few years, ever since we were released.”
Gus nodded. Ivana and Yuri had been incarcerated on lesser charges at the same time he was for their own involvement in Gayle’s death. He had never expected to see either of them again, and he wasn’t so sure he wanted to. But here they were.
“First things first, because I’d like to live through tomorrow.” Gus said quickly. “Do you have it?”
Ivana nodded, and reached into her purse, pulling out a manilla envelope. Gus exhaled in relief, and she slid it back into her bag. “Thank God.” He closed his eyes, and then looked over at his monstrous son. He blinked in surprise. “Yuri... your face...”
“Plastic surgery,” the giant mumbled, his voice sounding like gravel in a dump truck. For much of his life, Yuri’s face had been scarred and disfigured, side-effects of the treatments he had been given for the radiation he had incurred. Now, save for a couple of scars, it was almost normal looking.
“We felt that it would be for the best,” Ivana replied. “Once we got out... I just wanted to live a normal life. Be happy.”
“I am happy, mama.” Yuri said quietly. But he didn’t sound it. In fact, he sounded angry as he glared at the television. They were running an ad for Femme Fatale Wrestling, and their upcoming live show in Indianapolis.
Featuring Wendy Briese.
“She’s still wrestling” Yuri commented, his voice tight. “I thought she retired.”
“She came back a couple years ago, I guess.” Gus replied. “But she won’t be for long. Not when I’m done.”
“You still hate her?” Ivana asked.
“She betrayed me, Ivana. If it weren’t for her, I would have never been in jail. If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t be here, at Delaney’s mercy. And remember, if it weren’t for her, you and Yuri wouldn’t have been in Pripyat twenty-six years ago.”
“You sent us there, Gus. Not an infant girl.”
“I did that to avoid a scandal, Ivana. You know that,” Gus growled. “I had to choose between one of my loves, and one of my children. I chose the wrong ones. We’ve been over this.” Gus took a deep breath, calming his irritation. “I tried to make it right ten years ago, and I ended up in jail because of it. I’m not making that mistake again.”
Yuri was silent, before he turned away. “I don’t see the point. Let her live her life. And we’ll live ours.”
“How can you say that?” Gus spat. “You wanted her dead more than anyone else a decade ago!”
Yuri nodded. “I did. But I’m happy now... Father. I don’t want to risk going back to jail over my sister.”
“Yuri’s been going to therapy in London, Gus.” Ivana explained. “He’s trying to subvert his rage and anger into more positive mediums. He paints.”
“You paint.” Gus growled, shaking his head. “Yuri... what’s wrong with you? You used to be strong. Why did you become so weak?”
“I’m still strong, Father,” Yuri replied in a dangerous tone. “I just don’t see the point..”
“Well, I DO, dammit!” Gus snapped, his voice softening. “Yuri, please. You’re the child who hasn’t betrayed me. Don’t betray me now.”
“Can we not talk about revenge now?” Ivana interceeded. “Gus, we havent’ seen you in years. Now’s not the time to argue over the future. I’m just... glad to see you again. My love.” She leaned forward, kissing him again on the lips.
“I’m glad to see you, too... Father” Yuri sounded a lot more hesitant.
Gus nodded, willing to table the issue of his daughter for the moment. “And I’m glad to see you both as well. I’d say we should go out to eat in celebration, but... at least we could ask my friends here if they’d like to get us something. They’ll probably be more inclined now that Delaney has what he wants.”
“I’ve looked through the envelope,” Ivana confessed. “I don’t see how any of this is such a big deal to Derrick.”
“I don’t either. But it is.” Gus replied. “We’ll find out soon enough.”
All in all, though, he wasn’t terrifically sure he really wanted his curiosity sated. Delaney was up to some bad shit, he could tell. He wanted no part of it.
But he hardly had a say in the matter now, did he?
========================================
Saturday March 17, 2012
Monument Circle
Indianapolis, Indiana
11:28 PM Local Time
It’s a beautful, sunshiney day in downtown Indianapolis as we open up in the de facto heart of the city, Monument Circle. While normally a large traffic circle around a towering memorial dedicated to the men who died in the First World War, today, the circle has been closed to cars, replaced by a sprawling St. Patrick’s Day Festival. As could be expected, it’s a fairly crowded festival, with a signifcantly green motif.
Of course, one person fully dressed in green is no other than the subject of our video, the always proud Irish-American Wendy Briese, wearing a long green skirt and a matching sleveless vest, doing her best to keep cool in the warm day. Complimenting the outfit is her flame-colored hair, which has been tied back in a ponytail. Wendy’s smiling ear to ear, although she is squinting somewhat, due to the bright sunlight.
“Hey everybody! Happy St. Patrick’s Day!”
The grin widens, it at all possible.
“I know this video is going to be cutting it a bit close on the time here, but if you’re in the area, you really should come down here to Monument Circle for the first ever Rockin’ the Circle festival! There’s great food, and merchant booths, and some fun activities for kids to do. And some amazing music! Right now, we’ve got Elevation, a U2 Tribute band on stage, something I certainly can’t complain about.”
She grins. Elevation, after all, IS her entrance music.
“And in just a couple hours, local Celtic band Second Fiddle is going to be hitting the stage. And they’ve dyed the White River Canal green, and the St. Patrick’s Day Fun Run is just about to wrap up. And..”
Wendy’s cut off as a young man who obviously got off to a wonderfully early start on the spirit of St. Patrick’s day runs into the picture in front of her, letting out a loud whoop and downing a mug of colored beer. Wendy laughs as she steps around him, too caught up in the moment to be annoyed at the interrupton.
“And of course, Green beer, for those of you interested! And best of all, we’re less than a half-mile from Banker’s Life Fieldhouse, where tonight, yours truly participates in the main event of FFW’s Breaking Point show! So if you’ve got tickets, swing by before heading on down! I’ll look forward to seeing you! Just as I’m looking forward to tonight!”
“After all, what self-respecting Irish girl wouldn’t love getting into a good fight on Saint Paddy’s day?”
Wendy giggles, and shrugs.
“I’m sorry if I seemed a little tense and angsty a couple of days ago. I’ve been a bit nervous about the coming contest. I think I still am, but there’s something about being out here in the sun, and in such a great atmosphere, that really makes you feel at ease.”
“I’ve made no secret about how much this match means to me. From a name perspective, Kaitlynn Stryfe would be the biggest win of my FFW career. From a momentum respective, it’ll give me some as I head into my title defense at Chaos Theory. From a hometown perspective... well, who doesn’t want to win in their own hometown? And from a personal perspective..."
Wendy pauses, as somewhat of a sheepish grin comes over her face.
“I really just don’t like Kaitlynn Stryfe.”
“I’m sure someone out there has just gasped and cupped their hand over their mouth in absolute shock. It might have even been Kitty, given that the last time we faced, me saying she was a good wrestler somehow made her think we were BFF’s or something, to the point where me criticizing her in a promo made her think I stabbed her in the back.”
Wendy shrugs. Eight months later, and she still hasn’t figured that out.
“Yeah, I know. I’m Wendy Briese! The White Knight! I’m not supposed to dislike anyone. I’m supposed to be this dazzling little ray of sunshine who speaks only of rainbows and leprechauns and lollipops and Notre Dame football. Except... no. That’s not me... that hasn’t been me, in, like... ever. Maybe I’m a little more polite than most, maybe I might hold it in a little more than most. But in this business, it’s pretty impossible to like everyone. There’s just too many different personalities.”
This is all said fairly matter-of-factly.
“I don’t like Crystal Hilton, mainly because I have a problem with someone trying to throw me down a flight of stairs. I don’t like Starla McCloud, because I have a problem with someone costing me a match with blatantly screwy officiating. I don’t like Colleen, because I have a problem with her attitude. And I don’t like Kaitlynn Stryfe, because I have a problem with pretentious, hollow, mean-spirited little Jezebels who think the world revolves around them.”
“Kitty fancies herself a lot like her namesake. She tries to act so cool and aloof most the time. Maybe she’ll lounge in a chair, or soak in a bubble bath, or just lean against the wall and smoke a cigarette as she purrs her words out for all the world to hear. She reminds my of my cat Chanticleer, who sits on my bed and looks at me with this snarky little gaze, reminding me that this is HIS kingdom, I just pay for it.”
“And those words she purrs... wow. A black mamba would be jealous of the amount of venom Kitty can spew in the matter of just a few minutes. Kitty fancies herself the queen you-know-what of our company, and she certainly is out to prove it every time she opens her mouth. But at least she’s sleek about it. Poetic sometimes even. That’s good. If you’re going to be an awful person, you might as well at least do it in style, right?”
Wendy scoffs, and shakes her head, stepping out of the street, onto the curb, between a pretzel stand and a bangers & mash booth.
“But just like any cat... the moment a bit of water comes splashing down... it all goes to hell.”
“We’ve seen that side of Kaitlynn a little more often than I think she intends us to. She’s so wrapped up in herself, thinking that she’s the cat’s meow, that the moment anything goes wrong, here comes the claws and fangs. I make a point about Kitty’s backbreaking schedule of one match per month, and MWAR! I’m a two-faced usurping whore! The referee calls a close two count against Scarlett, and HISS! Let’s threaten the referee for doing her job... cause you know, THAT’S productive! A long awaited match is ruined because Alexander Stryfe was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and RAAAAAAAAAAAGE! EFF YOU I WIN!”
Wendy can’t help but laugh, and she shakes her head.
“They say it takes one to know one, and well, I have to hand it to Kitty. She’s a heck of an actress, especially when it comes to melodrama. Or maybe she’s not acting, and she’s just that unbalanced. Either way, I fear for any glass object in the vicinity when she watches this. I can just hear the screech now... ‘WENDY BRIESE SAID WHAT?!’”
Wendy coughs. Kitty screeches are hard on the throat.
“So let’s talk about the elephant in the room these days whenever Kaitlynn Stryfe’s name comes up. I’ve already addressed it. You all know what I said about it. I believe Kitty and Alex should remain together, no matter what Jenny wants. This isn’t about liking her, and it certainly isn’t about liking Alexander Stryfe. It’s becuase despite the efforts of some people to push ambiguity into every single aspects of our lives, there remains a few fundamental universal truths out there, and the sanctity of marriage is one of them. It’s a cut and dry thing, regardless of my feelings about this, or anyone else’s.”
“But the fact of the matter is that Kitty is just as much to blame for this whole spectacle as anyone else. It seems to me that something this sensitive in nature would be handled privately, behind closed doors, instead of being dragged around in front of all of our faces like some six month long episode of the Maury Povich show. I commented a couple of weeks that Alexander Stryfe is being used like a title belt, and that’s true. But just as much as Jenny is trying to reach for him, Kitty, whether she wants to admit it or not, is dangling him out there for all the world to see.”
All things considered, that last sentence was probably a really poor choice of words.
“I genuinely believe Jenny thinks that by fighting Kitty, she can win over Alexander, but for Kaitlynn, this whole thing doesn’t have anything to do with her husband. The outcome of that quandry isn’t due to anything that happens in a wrestling ring, unless she knees him in the face a couple more times. No, Kitty wants to make Jenny suffer because she had the audacity to come to FFW at her lowest possible moment. She knocked Kitty’s pride when it was already damaged, and God knows, that’s an unforgiveable offense. So if Kaitlynn has to use her marriage as a prop to drive Jenny into the ground, then so be it. Kind of sad that she’s willing to do that, just for the sake of vengeance.”
Wendy sighs, and shakes her head.
“At least one thing’s changed from the last time I faced Kaitlynn. Eight months ago, I said I would have given anything to be in Kitty’s place. To be the one heading to Unstoppable to get a World Title match in the Elimination Chamber. It’s a simple truth, one that I think holds true to every single woman on the FFW roster, and yet somehow, it was blown out of proportion.”
“But now, I can safely say that there is NOTHING about Kaitlynn Stryfe that I would ever want to trade places with.”
A small smile.
“Maybe I don’t like Kaitlynn because we’re polar opposites. Or maybe I don’t like her... because at one point that used to be me. I used to think the world revolved around me. I used to be someone who wanted to be the queen brat. Someone who would torture people I felt were beneath me, just to prove that they were.”
“Well, that’s not me anymore. Colleen’s always told me that people can’t change. Well, they can. I can. I DID. And when I see people like Kaitlyn, strutting around and shoveling dirt on anyone to appease her self-centered fantasies, well, it gets to me.”
“Maybe that’s why I’ve come to identify myself so much with Indianapolis, rather than the city of my birth. We’re called the Crossroads of America, but the main focus of America is hardly ever on us. We’re not the center of the universe. Especially compared to places like New York, or Los Angeles, or Miami. In a way, I’m like that. I’m not the brightest lit name on the FFW marquee. I’m not the focal point of the company. I’m not the name everyone drops when it comes time to fill a big show. Maybe one day I will be, but that hasn’t come yet.”
There’s no bitterness in Wendy’s voice over this, but again, rather spoken matter-of-factly.
“But every once in a while, the spotlight does shine upon us. Every now and then, we ARE the main event, of only for a night. And even more rare, it all comes together perfectly. Wendy Briese. Indianapolis. Final Breaking Point. Main Event. Saint Patrick’s Day. That’s a once in a lifetime alignment if I’ve ever seen one. So you can bet that I’m going to be wrestling like it’s a once-in-a-lifetime match.”
“So Kitty can bring her hate, her venom, her sarcasm, her husband, and anything else she can think of. It won’t matter. I’m not being humiliated tonight. I’m not being disappointed. I’m going to be holding my hand up proudly at the end, and twenty thousand screaming Hoosiers, my friends and neighbors, are going to be proud of me.”
Wendy smiles, and winks at the camera, a small joking glint in her eye, as we fade out
“After all, who out there can argue with destiny?”
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