EPISODE 155: Eat Shit(ley) and Die

The following was posted on WhirlyBirdz.com on Friday January 27 2012. The contents are solely the opinon of the author, and do not reflect the opinions of Terrence Thompson or Wendy Briese.

Hey kids!

Goddamn, it’s been a while since I’ve written one of these.  Hell, it’s been a while since I’ve even had a match in SVW.  Holy shit.   

Anyways, the last you saw of me, I was pinning Nick Sanders in some triple threat match, and the next thing I know, I’m in some triple threat match AGAINST THE SAME DAMN PEOPLE at Criminal Intent, only this time, it actually was for a Defiance title shot.  Long story short, something about that (and I can’t even remember what the fuck it was) rubbed me the wrong way, I made a couple of posts on Twitter that I probably shouldn’t have, Anthony Goomba got butthurt about it and removed me from the match.

And now I’m in the main event of the EXACT SAME PAY-PER-VIEW, representing a show that I’ve yet to compete on (well, until Sunday, anyways), with a chance to drive Gambini and his parade of cocksucking acolytes out of SVW once and for all. 

Yeah, I’m not exactly sure how the fuck that all worked out either.

Not that I’m complaining of course.  I mean, I’M GONNA TEAM WITH MOTHERFUCKING STARK AND STONE!   Which, try as I might, I can’t bring myself to hate them, even if they did beat my Bro from another Mo Terrence and my Gravy Train Wendy (I’m not ashamed to say it.  I make WAY more off her royalties than what the chaeapasses here in SVW are paying me.).  I can’t even hate Cara for jumping me and beating me up at her bowling party.  Considering what I’m about to do to someone else who jumped me recently, that should just say how awesome Cara is. 

And of course, I get to be the good guy again.  It’s one of those conundrum’s that I have.  I love being a jackass and destroying people who annoy me.  But I kinda also like being the hero and saving the day.  If there was a universe where every supervillian hailed from Deadhorse, Alaska, I’d be the fucking KING of that place.

Luckily, instead of the evil Helmsley-Tron 3000, I get someone who’s just as idiotic, and not nearly as talented inside the ring.  By that, I mean WHITLEY MERCER.  Now, I’m sure most of you know what happened here, but for those of you that didn’t, at New Years Retribution, I faced Camilla Pazzini in a match.  And I actually lasted longer than three minutes, which means a big payday for those of you who took the over in Vegas.  But towards the end of the match, just as things were starting to turn in my favor, who but Little Miss Mercer comes jumping into the ring, planting me flat on my face, and celebrating while Chunks gets the win.

Now, being jumped from behind in the middle of a wrestling match is shitty enough, but come on.  WHITLEY MERCER?  The little dyejob from Pwn3d!? THe idiot whos highlight of her WHOLE FUCKING CAREER is that she stood underneath Jo McFarlane and watched her pull down the briefcase at Unstoppable 2?  The genius who came out so flat against Wendy in her VERY OWN CARPE DIEM MATCH my client was practically pulling her hair out in frustration?  The very same Whitley Mercer who disappeared from FFW for months, and NO ONE MISSED HER?

Would YOU want THAT screwing you over in a PPV match against one of the best wrestlers on the fucking planet?

Didn’t think so.

So yeah, Whitley already was on my bad side after that.  So I demanded a match, and got it (thanks whichever Mackenzie is running the place!  I get you all so goddamn confused).  And Whitley’s coming over to SVW to face me.  Whoo hoo!  I’ll show her.

Then Whitley Mercer did the unthinkable.  She attacked Dani Mason.  Now I know that Dani and Whitley were friends, but if there’s ever anyone who both (1) didn’t deserve to be punched and (2) would probably be killed by a punch, its Dani.  She’s one of the sweetest girls on the planet, and from all accounts, she’s damn good in her job as Cody Kincaid’s personal assistant.  In short, beating her up is like 100x worse than jumping me in a match.

Which meant a simple asswhupping in the ring just wasn’t gonna cut it anymore.

You see, I’m like Eric Cartman from South Park.   I’m fat.  I’m funny.  I’m easy to make fun of.  And if you EVER try to screw me over I WILL KILL YOUR FUCKING PARENTS, GRIND THEM INTO CHILI MEAT, FEED THEM TO YOU, AND LICK THE FUCKING TEARS OFF YOUR FACE WHILE RADIOHEAD MOCKS YOU!

Or maybe I’ll just ruin your career.  For Whitley, mission the fuck accomplished, not that she had much of a career to begin with.  You think anyone’s going to take her seriously after that?  You think there’s going to be a promo by any of her opponents in the next SIX MONTHS that doesn’t mention what I did to her, or call her Shitley?  No, that’s who she’s going to be from now on.  The girl who pissed off Daniel Pollaski and got shit dumped on her.

But it ain’t over.  Oh no.  She’s still got that match.  And I hope she brings the idiot she calls a boyfriend out too.  I mean seriously, it’s bad enough to talk like it, but the MAN TWEETS LIKE HE’S FUCKING BEAVIS AND BUTTHEAD!  And this is somehow an IMPROVEMENT?

I want the old Whitley back.  The Whitley who just royally sucked, and wasn’t an annoying twat. 

Well, she’s dead, apparently.  And the new one is going to be too.   Because remember how much Michelle Taylor annoyed me?

That.  Times a bajillion.

Polla Out.

Bitch.

EPISODE 154: Steep Prices

Wednesday July 29, 1981
Hudson View Condominiums- Suite 713- Study
Manhattan Borough, New York City
4:31 PM Local Time

“Many a day I travelled a hundred miles or more!  But laces on a flower pot I’ve never seen before...”

Augustus Briese’ smiled as his baritone voice echoed around the room, and he chuckled to himself, before turning back to his ledger.  It wasn’t often that he was in a singing mood while paying bills, but things were going so well, he could hardly contain himself. 

It was hard to believe that merely six months ago, he was on the verge of hitting rock bottom.  He was out of work.  His wife was voluntarily out of work due to her her pregnancy, and that bitch Ivana was coercing him for money.  Well, Ivana was gone, back to some shitty little town next to a power plant on the Belarussian border, and she had taken a little bastard with her.  The only memory to her legacy now was the secret bank account Gus had established, which he put a thousand dollars into every Wednesday.  Fifty-two thousand dollars was a fine price to pay to make sure that one problem stayed in the Ukraine, never to return again.

Funnily enough, Gus found himself not being bothered so much by the other problem that had come.  Gayle had given birth just after Memorial Day weekend, to a fussy baby girl with the most startling green eyes Gus had ever seen.  Gayle had wanted to name her Wendy, after Wendy Darling, the heroine of her favorite childhood story, Peter Pan. Gus had balked- naming his daughter after an English brat wasn’t exactly something that sat well with him.

They had settled on Gwendolyn, after his maternal grandmother, which suited Gayle fine, since Wendy was an easy derivation of the name anyways.  Gus hadn’t expected to feel pride at seeing the little girl, but everytime he looked at little Wendy sleeping in her crib, he couldn’t help but smile.

With his and Gayle’s genetics combined, and the best training and education they could afford, he knew this girl would become the greatest actress to ever grace a stage.  Already, Gus had sought out experts, wondering if there was any way he could groom his child for her future stardom, even in infancy.  He had been told that such development really couldn’t start until the child was old enough to walk and talk, and the best thing to do for now was to ensure she would grow up healthy and strong.

If it was patience that was required, then so be it.  Until then, Gus had other things- his career and Gayle’s, mainly- to focus on.

His break had come in only the last month.  A friend of a friend had hinted that Andrew Lloyd Weber had been planning on bringing his newest creation, a musical based on a book of poems by TS Elliot, to the Broadway stage, and after pulling in several favors and connections, Gus had landed himself a role.  Not just any role, one of the main, most challenging roles that had ever been required on the stage.  It wasn’t often that Gus had the opportunity to use the exhaustive dancing training he had spent years on, but the role of Mr. Mistoffelees would certainly require that.  Him, in a Weber production!  It was something beyond his wildest dreams.

And now that Wendy was approaching two months, the time had come for his wife to return to work as well, something he planned to discuss with her this evening.

“I’m home!”

Gus grinned.  Show-time.  No pun intended.

Gayle had immediately gone to the bedroom to set Wendy in her crib, and Gus joined her in there, watching as she gave the girl a pacifier, and sang her a quick Irish lullaby.  Turning on the baby monitor next to the infant, and grabbing the receiver set, she bent over, gave the little girl one last kiss, and turned, seeing her husband in the doorway.  “Hey, Gus,” she said, smiling.

Gus smiled back.  “How were the immunizations?”

“Tiring.  Both for me and her, I think,” Gayle responded, sighing deeply.  “It hurt to watch them stick those needles into her, and hear her cry.  But I know she needs them.  Especially in a city this big, you have to be vaccinated against diseases.”

“We all have to do painful things to help the ones we love,” Gus replied, somewhat enigmatically.  “Come on, let’s have a drink.  I have something to talk to you about.”

Gayle nodded, and took her receiver with her to the condo’s living room, while Gus headed back to his study, pulling out his favorite Glenfiddich whiskey, and pouring two glasses.  Carefully, he carried the liquor into their living room, where Gayle had sat down on the couch, the baby monitor still in her hand.  She set the monitor down on the end table as Gus passed her one of the glasses.   He sat down on the other end of the couch, and looked over at her, smiling.

“I’ve gotten you a role.”

Gayle was so surprised by this, she nearly dropped her glass.  “I’m sorry?”

“They’re going to be reviving the play “Medea”, and I got wind of it and talked to the director.  Do you know him?  Larry Barrett?   No?  Well, anyways, I told him about you, and how you saved the Lyric back in Belfast, and he’s interested.  Very interested.”

Gayle looked surprised, then broke into a smile.  “How... how did you do that?  I thought you were convinced that my career was over.”

“Well, sometimes doors can open when you least expect them.  But you’ve lost your baby weight.  Wendy’s old enough to where we can hire a nanny to watch her while we’re working.  It’s time to go back, Gayle.”

“I know.” Gayle replied, taking a deep breath.  “And I have been missing it.  Do you really think that I’m ready?”

“You are, Gayle.  You’re the Angel of the Lyric, and you’re ready for anything.”

“Well, that’s great Gus.  And thank you.  So, when do rehearsals start?”

“Soon,” Gus replied, grimacing slightly as he realized the ifficulty and delicacy of where this conversation was about to go.  “Mr. Barrett is interested in you, Gayle.  VERY interested.  But.. he did present me with a... minor concern.”

“What concern is that, Gus?”

“Well, we know it was to have our baby, but word has gotten around that you did leave Fiddler on the Roof right after being cast in it, and, well, like I told you, it hasn’t exactly done your reputation any favors.  There is a certain question of your... dedication to this.”

“Dedication?” Gayle eye’s narrowed in indignation.  “I’m plenty dedicated, and you know it!  It’s just that family comes first.  Family should ALWAYS come first!”

“I know that, Gayle.  You’re right.  But, unfortunately, this is show-business, dear.  Things can get a little... warped.  But we play the game.  We have no other choice.”

“So what do we do?” Gayle asked, finishing the last of her whiskey and setting it down on the end table next to the monitor. 

Gus shrugged.  “We convince Mr. Barrett of your dedication, in a way that leaves absolutely no room for dispute.”

Gayle looked puzzled.  “And exactly how do you expect me to do that?”

Gus closed his eyes, gathering his thoughts.  This was the difficult part, and he didn’t want to panic his wife into fleeing from the best opportunity she was ever going to get.

“I’ve arranged a... meeting for you.   A personal audition, if you will.  Tomorrow night, you’re going to his house.  You’re going to convince him of your dedication... the best way a woman knows how.”

Gayle paused for several seconds as the implications of what Gus was saying rattled around in her head.  Finally, her jaw dropped.  “Gus, surely you don’t mean-”

“Do you remember that green dress you wore to the gala at the Guggenheim last September?  I think you should wear that.  It was very... fitting on you.”  Gus interrupted, paying his wife’s outburst no mind.

Gayle’s face was a mask of disbelief.  “Gus, listen to what you’re saying!  I can’t do this!  I can’t just go over to another man’s house and... and...”

Gus nodded, an expression of sadness on his face.  “I know that, Gayle.  And no, I’m not happy about this either.  But it is the price, and it’s one we have to be willing to pay.”

“No we don’t!  I’m your wife, for crying out loud!”

“And thus obligated by your vows to remain faithful to me until our deaths,” Gus replied, nodding.  “I know that.  But for this... for YOU, Gayle, and your future, your faithfulness to me is a price I’m willing to pay.”

“And what if I’m not willing to pay it?  To go to some strange man’s house and...”

“We all must make sacrifices, Gayle!” Gus replied sharply.  He had known this was going to be a difficult conversation, but still it was trying his patience.  “I’ve told you before, Gayle.  Everything has a price, and very seldom it’s a stack of paper with some world leader printed on it.  When you told me you wanted to keep our baby, I told you there would be consequences.  This is the price you’re paying now, for your inguldences then.  Don’t you understand?”

“Then I won’t pay it.  It’s too high.  I’m not going to.”

Gus closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, trying to remain calm, even though his blood was starting to boil at his wife’s reluctance.  “This is ultimately your call, Gayle, but if you choose to walk away now, I’m going to be very disappointed.  After all, when you think about your dreams, and your lifetime, is one night of misery really such a high price?”

Gayle only stared blankly at him in response, and Gus stood up, giving another sigh.  “Think about it Gayle.  Think about it, and realize its for the best.  I trust that you’ll do the right thing.”

Gayle still didn’t move, remaining staring blankly in front of her.  Gus turned and walked away, heading back to his study.   He knew what his wife would choose, and it would be the correct decision.  Tomorrow she would be at Larry Barrett’s house in SoHo, and she would prove to him just how dedicated she was about restarting her career. 

The thought pained Gus, and he sighed, sitting down in his chair, and pouring himself another glass of Glenfiddich.

“The sacrifices I make for us...” he grumbled, before turning back to his work.

====================================
Friday January 27, 2012
Indianapolis International Airport- Concourse A
Indianapolis, Indiana
8:03 AM Local Time

It had been a long time since Wendy Briese had felt this awful.

She had barely been able to sleep the night before, wracked with sorrow and worry as the news came down that her father had escaped from the Indiana State Prison.  And even though Michigan City was nearly three hours away from her home, she had spent half the night expecting to hear a knock on the door, or a car pulling into the driveway, or the sound of a breaking window.  It had never come, and Wendy’s worry had finally wore itself out, and she had fallen asleep, only to be woken up two hours later by Terrence, who was sympathetic, but absolutely insistant that she get to the airport.

So here she sat, waiting for the direct Delta Airlines flight to Los Angeles with her entourage.  Terrence sat next to her, idly playing around on his Droid, but she could tell at least every other minute he was darting a concerned look in her direction.  Pollaski sat a ways away, his headphones on, tapping his foot to some song that only he could hear. And nearby her ever gracious nanny, Cassie, sat, playing a game of go fish with Theresa. 

They shouldn’t be here.  They shouldn’t be boarding a plane to Los Angeles.  She wanted to stand up, gather up her family and belongings, and take them to some remote vista in the middle of the wilderness where no one could possibly find them.  Or at least be home, spending time with each other as they awaited word on this difficult situation.

“This is a mistake.” she finally muttered aloud.

“Pardon?” Terrence looked up from his phone, looking both alarmed at her words, and relieved that his wife had finally said something.

“I can’t do this, Terry.  I can’t go to LA.  Not now.  I should have pulled out of the match.  Lumina and Starla can fight it out, and I’ll just...”

Terrence clicked his tongue a couple of times, and put his arm around her.  “You don’t want to do that, hon.  You don’t want to give this up.”

“But how can I even focus?  How can I walk down to that ring tomorrow night, knowing that monster is on the loose?”

“Because it’s what you do, hon.  The moment that music hits, the moment you get out to that ring, and the match starts, it’ll all take over, and you’ll be fine.  You’re the one who always says that we can’t spend our time fretting about the things we can’t control, but focus on what we can.  This is one of those times.”

Wendy shook her head.  “What if he comes to the house, Terry?”

“Would you rather we be there if he did?” Terrence asked, scoffing at the logic.  “Wendy, we’ve talked to the police.  They’re going to keep an eye on the house.  And you heard what the detective said.  They think he’s gone north, to get into Canada and try to return to Ireland.  He knows there’s a manhunt going on for him here.”

Wendy still wasn’t convinced.  “What if they’re wrong?”

Terrence shrugged, and hugged Wendy tighter.  “Then we’ll worry about it then.  Look, hon, this is your call.  If you want to turn in our tickets and go home, and spend tomorrow holed up in our house instead of competing for a title you’ve spent the last four months dreaming about, then let’s go.  But you know, and I know that you’re going to wake up tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that, and you’re going to be wracked with regret.  I don’t want that for you.”

Wendy didn’t respond, so Terrence continued.  “And what after that?  The Super Bowl’s in a week hon, and we’ve got great tickets, and we have so many friends joining us for that game.  Do you want to hide from that too?  And do you want to keep Theresa home because there’s a chance he might find her school?”

“Don’t even say that!”  Wendy protested, looking at her husband in alarm.

“I’m sorry, hon.  But that’s... one that I keep thinking about myself.  But Wendy, the only way your dad is going to beat you here is if you let him drive you underground.  If you let your fear of him control your life for even a SECOND, he wins.  You don’t want him to win, do you?”

“Of course not, Terry.  But...”

“That’s why you’ve got to go to Los Angeles and win this title, hon.” Terrence cut her off.  “Because if there’s anyone who deserves a belt dedicated to not giving up, it’s you.  YOU were the one who insisted we keep trying even after our career started off rocky.  YOU were the one who returned to the ring after you were humiliated by the Lincoln Park Mafia.  YOU were the one who kept going, even though you were grieving the loss of your mom.  YOU were the one who stayed on her feet, even after discovering that your dad was the reason behind Gayle’s death.  YOU were the one who walked to that ring to face that asshole Ronin, despite him showing a tape of your dad giving him full-fledged permission to kill you.  YOU were the one who survived two weeks being tortured in Victor Mandrake’s dungeon, only to emerge stronger and more determined than ever.  All that you’ve gone through, Wendy... an escaped convict should be nothing!”

Wendy scoffed, half in amusement, half in irritation at her husband’s flippancy.  But she had to admit, she was right.  She’d been in rocky patches before... rockier patches in fact.  “I guess I’m getting soft if I’m wavering now...” she sighed.

“Nah, we’ve been through this before, hon.” Terrence said.  “That’s why I love you.  You’ll buckle, you’ll waver, you’ll sway.  But you’ll NEVER collapse completely, even if you need a bit of support from the outside sometimes.  You’re strong, Wendy.  Stronger than most people give you credit for.  You’re too stubborn and too caring to break down when you’re needed most.”

Wendy took a deep breath, and nodded, smiling at Terrence.  “Thank you, Terry.”

“No problem,” Terrence said, giving her another squeeze before releasing her.  “Just remember, I have faith in you.  We all have faith in you.  Just will yourself on each moment until that match starts, and once you’re there, your instinct will take over.  Don’t let this keep you from your dreams.”

“I won’t.” Wendy said, before sighing.  “How’s Theresa holding up?  Have you told her?”

“Nah,” Terrence said, looking over at his daughter, who was laughing gaily,  having just beaten Cassie at Go-Fish.  “I don’t want to frighten her over nothing.  They could have the bastard in custody by the time we get off the plane, for all we know.”

Wendy nodded, but suddenly blinked, as if something had just occurred to her.  Terrence didn’t miss that strange look on her face.

“What is it?”

“I.. just thought of something.  Remember, focus on the things in our lives we CAN control?”

“Yeah, well?”

“Well, maybe I can’t catch him.  But I have an idea that might help...”

Terrence looked at his wife curiously, but Wendy only smiled back grimly, refusing to say any more for the time being.  With a sigh, he leaned back in his chair, and turned his attention back to his droid.

Wendy looked up at a nearby clock.  The plane should be boarding in five to ten minutes, and then it was on to LA.  On to Cold-Blooded.  On to her destiny.

For better or for worse.



Saturday January 28, 2012
Staples Center- Briese Locker Room
Los Angeles, California
3:39 PM Local time

The scene opens in Wendy Briese’s locker room.  The redhead Femme Fatale is sitting on a chair in the room.  Unlike her pervious promo, where Wendy looks excited and bouncy, here she looks... stressed.   She’s not smiling, more of a grimace, and although her eyes burn with the same determination they normally do, they look weary.  Noticing the camera’s on, Wendy leans forward, and takes a deep breath.

“Good afternoon, everyone.  I know you probably tuned in here to hear my final thoughts before Cold Blooded tonight, and I promise you, you’ll get them. But first... I know that this video is going to be watched by thousands, if not millions of people across the United States, and I feel it’s my duty to make an announcement first.”

Wendy swallows hard, then takes a deep breath.

“Thursday night, there was an incident at the State Prison in Michigan City, Indiana, and in the chaos, three prisoners managed to escape.  Authorities are still on the lookout for these men.  They are Marcellus Carlock, a gang-leader from Gary convicted of shooting four people in a McDonalds drive-thru in 1998, Raynaldo Esparza, convicted on numerous drug charges, and Augustus Briese, convicted for... for mudering his wife in 2002.

Wendy stumbles just a bit, and the mug shots of the three men are interposed on the screen for several seconds, along with a 1-800 telephone number.

“All three men were serving life sentences, and are considered extremely dangerous.  Police suspect that all three men are likely hiding in either Northern Indiana, Southern Michigan, or the Chicagoland, and may or may not be together.  If you have any knowledge of their whereabouts, please... PLEASE do not approach them.  Call the number listed on the screen, or 911, as soon as you can, so that these men may be returned to justice.”

Her voice is almost robotic as she recites this, although it sounds more to keep her emotion from breaking than from any lack of motivation.  The screen disappears, showing Wendy again.  She pauses, and takes another deep breath.

“And yes... just in case anyone’s wondering.  That last man... Augustus... Briese.  Is... is my father.”

Another deep breath, and now Wendy’s really struggling to keep it together.

“Also, two guards at this prison were killed in the line of duty during the escape.  I would like to personally extend my thoughts, prayers and condolences to the families of Armando Montgomery and Timothy Eddy.  If there is anything I can do... please.. I’m sorry.”

Wendy breaks off again, and rubs her eyes for several long seconds, breathing deeply before continuing.

“Obviously... this is something that has weighed heavily on me for the past couple of days.  I can’t tell you how many times Thursday night and Friday morning I had the phone in my hands, ready to call Mr. Kincaid and tell him to scratch me from tonight’s lineup.  I didn’t think I could possibly come here and compete after all that had happened.  My husband... God bless him, convinced me to go through with it, and come here, ready to compete.  He reminded me what it is that I’m fighting for tonight.  He convinced me that the best thing I could do was come here to Los Angeles and lace up the boots.”

“Because, in truth, I’ve dealt with hardship through much of my life, and my career.  Most of us have, and all of us will go through a difficult time at least at some point in our lives.  The world doesn’t stop spinning, and we can’t afford to sit on the sidelines feeling sorry for ourselves.  We have to get brushed off, and back into the game as quickly as we can.  The only time we’re really, truly vanquished is the time we don’t get back up.”

Now that Wendy’s done talking about the break-out, and is getting more and more into her wrestling match, she seems to calm down just a bit, gaining more confidence and surety. 

“Thrusday... God that seems so long ago... I told all of you that I had made a couple of resolutions for 2012.  Well, it’s never to late to add another one.  So here it is.  In 2012... I promise to never surrender.”

Wendy cringes, as apparently only now she’s realizing how close that is to the title she’s about to fight for.

“Listen, I’m not talking about refusing to tap out in a match, no matter the cost.  I’ve already given my opinions on that, and I’m not changing them.  But no matter what the odds, or the circumstances, or whatever, I’m NOT going to back down, and I’m not going to stop fighting for what I believe in.  And I don’t care where it is.  In the ring, outside of the ring.  Wherever, I don’t care.”

“And that means standing up to bullies.  My father was one, to be sure.  The weird thing is... he was never physically abusive, at least to me.  But he had this way... this awful way of manipulating your emotions, to get what he wanted.  He made you think that any disagreement with him made you the most horrible person in the world, and you would cave to him, just to keep that from happening.  It was effective... REALLY effective.  At least it enabled him to keep me under his thumb for twenty years.”

“And maybe it was for the best that I was prone to his manipulations.  Obviously, his... incarceration proved to me that should his... primary modus operandi fail, he wasn’t adverse to using more... direct methods.”

Wendy sighs sadly and shakes her head.

“And you know what?  I was a bully too, when I was younger.  I was part of the in-crowd, hung out with the popular girls.  We... did and said some pretty horrible things to some of the other students.  It took me a long while to wake up and realize how badly I was hurting some people.  Some of those girls... they never did.  They still spend their entire lives trying to feel better by making others miserable.”

“And all through my wrestling career, I’ve dealt with bullies.  There were times when I couldn’t go a week without being jumped by someone backstage.  And I’m sure those who have followed me a long time can remember all the horrible things that have been done to me over the years.  Victor Mandrake imprisonment of me, and subsequent harassment.  Team Danger and their stupid “Faygo Shower”.  Jacob Harrowsmith breaking my ankle, and continuing to grind away on it as I lay helpless on the mat.  Red Dragon trying to strip me naked in the ring.  Szalinski beating my husband up backstage with a video game controller.  I could probably spend hours making a list of those who have tried to humiliate or destroy me.”

A grim smile.

“I guess it’s a testament to my strength that somehow, after all that, I’m still here, and I’m still wrestling.  But it also saddens me.  I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised given that the objective of our sport is to punch, kick, slam, and twist someone else into incapacitation, but I’ve always been bothered by just how many mean-spirited people there are in this business.”

“Professional wrestling, like many other things out there, have its highs and lows.  There are moments when I couldn’t be prouder of our sport, such as when we all get to bear witness to an absolute classic match, like Sophie and Desirae gave us at the last Breaking Point, or Colleen and Chris Striike did at New Year’s Retribution.  And then there are moments where I watch, and can only shake my head, wondering how we can justify ourselves with what we allow to go on here.”

Wendy sighs, and gives a lopsided smile.

“Too often recently, those moments in the latter category are involving members of the A-List.  What the A-List has tried to do to people like Isabella, and Eileen and Shane is deplorable.  The A-List remind me every bit of the crowd I used to belong to back in acting school.  Those who think they’re the queens of the scene, and that the only way to prove it is to squash anyone who might pose a threat.  The A-List are, in essence, the quintessential group of bullies.”

“And Starla McCloud poses as the perfect prototype.  Has there even been a time here in FFW when she hasn’t been running with whatever incarnation of the “in-crowd” Samantha’s tried to form?  Is there a match Starla’s been in where she didn’t try to use strength in numbers to her advantage?  I remember Starla from my first week here in FFW. Terry’s first race in ARCA, at Talladega, was sponsored by a tequila company, and they gave all the participants a few cases of their product.  Neither Terry nor I are a fan, so we thought it’d be a great idea to hand the bottles out to of-age Femme Fatales as an icebreaker.”

“Well, Starla and some of her friends, Camilla, Payton.. and Isabella before she realized how fruitless running with that lot was... decided to take it all for themselves.  They snuck into my locker room while I was out wrestling Charity Deas, and when I came back in after my match, I caught them in the act.  And instead of fighting them over it, I let them carry it out.”

“I really regret doing that now...”

Wendy sighs, and grimaces forlornly.

“It wasn’t about the tequila.  We wanted to be rid of it, after all.  But to be pushed around like that, on your first day IN no less, it’s pretty humiliating.  But Starla saw a newcomer, an easy mark, and she and her friends decided to show me who ‘runs things’ around here.  And like most people faced with a four-on-one situation, I acquiesced, and in doing so empowered them.”

“Well, I’m not going to be empowering Ms. McCloud tonight, that’s for sure!  The most ironic thing about the “A-List” is that since its formation, not a single one of them has actually managed to WIN a title, although Colleen did have the Evolution Championship when they formed.  Heck, we’ve seen it time and again- in fair fights, the A-List continually comes up short.  I’m not about to let them get their first major taste of success on MY watch!”

Wendy, for the first time chuckles, although its more of irony than humor, and shakes her head.

“But the saddest thing of all about Starla for all she throws her weight around, for all she tries to impose, Starla doesn’t even stand up for herself when it counts the most.  I fail to see how anyone... ANYONE can stand idly by, and watch another woman kiss her husband.  It baffles me... And the thing is, I KNOW Starla dislikes it.  You can see it in her face!  And yet... all she does is make mean faces and catty remarks, and somehow that’s going to solve the problem?  It hasn’t, and now it’s gotten to the point where Casey herself is walking around claiming to be married?”

Wendy laughs incredulously, shaking her head.

“Let me put it this way... if anyone is EVER interested in seeing how Wendy Briese is in a backstage brawl, try taking a pass at my husband.”

“There’s a reason why, despite my obvious differences in opinions with Kaitlynn Stryfe, am hoping she wins tonight.   When we get married, we don’t make suggestions, or even promises.  We make VOWS, binding our words, and our wills, together in a single entity based on love.”

“So what the HELL happened to ‘forsaking all others’?”

Wendy snorts again, and rolls her eyes.

“I know.  People will say it’s none of my business.  But it sure says something about Starla McCloud when she is more than eager to stomp out anyone not in her precious A-List, but isn’t even able to stand by as someone else steals her husband away right in front of her eyes.  It says something that Starla’s so eager to win a No Surrender Championship, but is more than willing to stand around and make angry faces while she surrenders something FAR more important.”

“And then there’s Lumina Ferrari, and I can’t understand her either.  She entered this company alongside one of the biggest bullies professional wrestling has ever known- Johnny Moxie.  And it was obvious to anyone that Lumina was used from the get-go by Moxie, who was simply here to try and poke the establishment in the eye and tweak a few noses.  Lumina was his pawn, and she paid for that, time and again.”

Wendy grimaces, almost sympathetically.

“So finally, she separates herself from him.  Breaks away, looks to reinvent herself, and break out as her own woman.  That’s not something easy to do, especially considering how badly Johnny Moxie drove her down during her first month’s here.  So how does she accomplish this whole reinvention?”

“She joins Club CK, an harem of women dedicated to the worship of another self-effacing bully.  And if you don’t think Christian Kincaid is a bully, take a nice good look at the horrible things he’s doing over in SVW, alongside yet another of his harem members, Angel.  Maybe it’s because Lumina can’t figure it out.  Maybe she’s a nice girl who’s just gotten stuck in a rut, and can’t figure out how to be anything but the Grover Dill to her Scott Farkuses”

Yes, a Christmas Story reference. 

“I saw Lumina’s promo.  She seemed to go the same route I did, didn’t she?  She deserves this title, because she’s gotten up from all her failures.  She got into this match on her second try, and while so many people would probably deride that, I applaud it.  She got back up, and got another opportunity.  Second chances aren’t common in this business, so when one comes around, you’d best take advantage of it, and she did.”

“But ultimately, this isn’t going to be determined by who’s had a rougher road, or a tougher life, or who’s bounced back, or who’s had second chances.  Storybook endings don’t just happen, you have to earn them, and I’m confident that when the dust settles tonight, I’ll have done everything in my power to earn that titanium belt around my waist.”

Wendy smiles, more broadly than she has yet in this video, and throws her arms out wide.

“As for me?  I’m here.  I won’t lie, I’ve got distractions, I’ve got worries outside this ring.  And they’ve cost me focus these past couple of days.  But that’s not going to be an excuse tonight, because when my music hits, and that bell rings, I’m going to do what I’ve done every single match I’ve been in for the last ten years.  And that’s clear my mind, put the rest of my life on hold for twenty minutes, and dedicate every muscle and fiber of my being into performing my absolute best.”

“Because, at the end of the day, I’m a PROFESSIONAL wrestler... and that’s what we do.”

Wendy exhales, and closes her eyes, obviously trying to focus for tonight, as the scene fades.


============================
Saturday January 28, 2012
Lincoln Continental on Wacker Drive
Chicago, Illinois
7:41 PM Local Time

Augustus Briese sighed as he watched the tall skyscrapers of Chicago drift by through the car window.  Despite the chilly weather, he longed to roll the window down, and breathe the sweet air of freedom.  Prudence kept him from it- after all, with a region wide manhunt in effect, one should probably take advantage of any cover- tinted windows included.

It had been less than two days since his escape, and Gus was still puzzled by what had happened.  There had been a fight in the cellblock, and the next thing he knew, shots were being fired, people were dying, and he was being ushered into a van.  He had spent the night in an abandoned barn, his liberators telling him nothing, just giving him food, clean clothes, blankets, and demanding that he sit and wait for ‘the fog to clear.’

Then this morning, after a phone conversation, they had stuck him into this sedan,, and begun the long drive towards Chicago.  Gus had waited nervously the entire time, especially whenever they passed a patrol car, but the result was the same each time- no reaction whatsoever from the cops.  It was incredibly good fortune as he made his way to the city.  But now he could sense that he was nearing his destination, and he was getting apprehensive.  Who had organized this escape, and even more importantly... why?

THe car turned onto an alley, proceeding about halfway down before taking a left into a small garage at the base of an older, worn-down building.  Gus turned to open his door, but the driver quickly grabbed his arm, waiting until the door was fully lowered before releasing him.  Brushing himself off, Gus climbed out of the car, looking around the empty carport.

“Hello, Gus.  Long time.”

Gus wheeled, and saw a door leading into the building that had just opened.  His jaw dropped as he saw the elderly man, leaning on a cane, looking at him with a smirk on his face.

“D...Derrick?”

Delaney grinned, chuckling slowly.  “Didn’t expect to see me again?  Come in, Gus.  Come in.  Lord knows its fucking freezing out there.  I thought the awful weather was an Irish thing...”

Gus looked to his driver, then nodded.  He slowly walked towards the door, Delaney stepping aside to allow him passage.  Obviously he had been taken to some sort of safehouse, but he couldnt quite imagine what for.

Delaney was continuing to talk behind him.  “And I apologize for the … unsatisfactory conditions you were subjected to for the past day or so, but I’m sure you understand precautions had to have been taken.”

Gus found himself being ushered into a room with a table, several chairs, and a small television sitting at the end.  “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, Derrick.  But why are you here?  And why did you-”

“In time, in time,” Derrick replied.  “Tonight, we celebrate your newfound freedom.  Food, drink, and entertainment.  All on me, of course.”

“Entertainment?  What kind of entertainment?”

Delaney smiled.  “The female kind.”

Gus licked his lips.  It had certainly been a while since that...

But Delaney only laughed, giving him a clap on the shoulder.  “I took the liberty of ordering Femme Fatale Wrestling’s Cold-Blooded Pay Per View tonight.  Did you know your daughter’s competing in it?  A title match too, from what I understand.”

“Really?” Gus said flatly.  He couldn’t stand wrestling, and the fact that his daughter, such as she was, was back degrading the family name in this sorry excuse for a sport only grated on him more. 

Derrick grinned, and Gus knew he was being mocked.  “Met her in Belfast a few months ago after her grandmother died.  Charming lass.  Although I would say she’s been a bit... outspoken today surrounding the circumstances of your liberation.”

“I can imagine,” Gus replied stiffly.

Delaney could see his old friend was getting irritated, and that only seemed to add to his mirth.  “Come,” he finally said.  “There’s an excellent Celtic restaurant just down the street, and I took the liberty of ordering some carry-out.  And of course, I got you a bottle of Glenfidditch.  I trust you’d love to clean yourself up first before the show starts.”

“It’d be nice,” Gus replied, still short in his response.   Delaney turned to one of his henchman, and bid him to show Gus the shower, as well as fetching him another fresh change of clothes.  Gus followed silently, surprised by the warm reception, but grating as it seriously felt like, some way, somehow, the joke was on him.

Oh well, what did it matter?  He was free.  And, for the time being, in apparent friendly company.  Now to just clean himself up before this damned wrestling show started.  If he was lucky, there’d be an accident, and his daughter would end up with a broken neck.

It’d save him the trouble of having to do it himself.

EPISODE 153: Bastard

Monday January 26, 1981
Corner of Beech & 1st Street
Hackensack, New Jersey
1:31 PM Local Time

It had been a trying four months.

Gus had sat quietly the morning after thier argument as Gayle called her theater, her friends, her mother, eager to share the news of the incoming addition to the Briese family.  But with every single press of a button on the touchtone’s pad, Gus resisted the impulse to run at her, rip the phone away from her hands, and march her down to the clinic, what she wanted be damned.

Gayle had always gone along with his demands before, albeit occasionally reluctantly.  To defy him, so openly and angrily, only indicated how strongly she had felt about the matter, and Gus knew that anything he could try to prevent this child from being born would only backfire upon him.  Hell, at this point, he figured any accident that would befall the baby would immediately fall on his head as well.  Gayle had been pleasant enough to him since the fight, but he could tell that she hadn’t forgotten it, and somewhere, deep in the recesses of her mind, she was wondering what kind of man she had married.  That irritated him.  After all, this was her goddamned career he was thinking about.  For her to be so stupid, so ungrateful... what the hell was she thinking?

But as irritated with Gayle as he was, he didn’t want to lose her.  And there was still a chance that, after the brat was born, there could still be a career for her on Broadway.  If there was a path, he would clear it, with a goddamned bulldozer if he had to.  But until that happy time could arrive, he could aught but watch as his wife spent her mornings throwing up, becoming more swollen and unattractive by the day as the thing gestating her bulged her features to grotesque proportions.  And focus on his own career, of course.

At least what little of THAT was left.

It had been just two weeks before Christmas when the news had come- a fight between the sponsor and the producer had resulted in a collapse of the productions funding, and High Spirits, his first Broadway role- a LEAD no less!- was ‘postponed in production until further notice.’  Gus knew what that bullshit meant, though.  High Spirits was dead, both the play itself and his own.

Fate was laughing at him, he felt.  First he’s kicked out of his beloved Ireland home by a man he thought was his friend.  Then his wife, on the cusp of achieving a role that would have brought her career to new heights, has one single fucking sperm of his enter her egg, and decides that she’d rather not do anything about it.  And now his own play, his own road was closed to.

What the fuck had he done to deserve this?

There was another role out there somewhere for him.  There had to be.  He hadn’t toiled in the drudgery of a dinner theater for three years, all the while knowing he could have BOUGHT the damn shithole had he wanted to, to be turned aside now.  He and Gayle would be on Broadway again, and their names would be in lights.

But that time wasn’t today.   And now he had another unpleasant bit of business to deal with.

For all that Gus loved New York, he hated New Jersey, the deteriorating urban wasteland that lay just across the Hudson river from his condominium.  And while Hackensack was hardly the most disgusting city the state had to offer, it was only with great distaste that Gus would ever cross the George Washington Bridge to come here.  But as unpleasant as New Jersey was, it only ranked second to the reason he was here, a folded up letter that the doorman of his condo had discreetly passed to him as he had entered the previous Friday.

What the fuck did Ivana want to meet with him for?

The last he had seen of the Ukranian, he was shoving a thousand pounds into her hands, and telling her to get out of Ireland before Delaney’s men hunted her down.  It had been the day after his release from prison, just two weeks before he and Gayle had left Ireland themselves.  He had figured that she had returned home, so to find that she had moved to New Jersey, of all places...

The cab stopped, at the address he had given, and Gus stepped out after telling the driver to keep the engine running.  With luck, this wouldn’t take long at all, and he’d be back to the city within an hour. 

The building wasn’t exactly a slum, but it sure felt decrepit by his standards.  It was three floors, all brick, the bottom one a hardware store, the two atop seemingly residential dwellings.  Gus found the door to the stairs, and climbed them, bypassing the second floor and heading straight to the top.  The interior wasn’t quite as inviting as the exterior had been- paint was peeling from the walls, and bits of litter dotted the hallways, along with an unpleasant odor that Gus couldn’t quite identify.  Using the directions that had been scrawled on Ivana’s note, he found the appropriate door, hesitated just a second, and knocked.

The woman who answered the door was just as beautiful as Gus had remembered her, although her face had been lined a little more over the past few months by stress and worry.  She didn’t smile when she saw him, simply opened the door wider to allow him in. 

“Thank you for coming, Gus,” Ivana said, her Ukranian accent still heavy.

Gus merely grunted and nodded, as he looked around the small apartment.  It was only a one bedroom, run-down yet clean, although he suspected that may have been more to the diligence of the occupant than the starting condition of the rooms.  Nonetheless, he wasn’t here to admire Ivana’s housekeeping.  He turned to her, suspicion in his eyes.

“I got your note.  We agreed we wouldn’t see each other again.”

Ivana nodded.  “Things have changed.”

“What?” Gus was confused, “What has?”

For an answer, Ivana put her hands to her lips, shushing him.  She beckoned to him to follow, then turned and walked towards the bedroom.  Gus, curious, followed her, stopping dead in his tracks as he saw where she was taking him.

The crib nestled against the wall at the far end of the room.

“Oh, you have got to be SHITTING me,” Gus muttered under his breath.  He suddenly had a very bad feeling where this was going.

“He’s sleeping.” Ivana whispered, smiling at him.  “Gus, this is Yuri.”

Gus closed his eyes, and sighed deeply.  “You’re going to say he’s mine, aren’t you?”

“He is, Gus.”

“And how do I know that?  You could be sleeping with half of New Jersey for all I goddamn know.”

Ivana didn’t look happy at his denial, nor was she surprised.  “Think of the timeline, Gus.  Yuri’s a month old.  Ten months ago was March, we were both still in Belfast, and you were about to marry...”

“And I was the only one?   Is that it?”  Gus hissed.  “Do you really expect me to believe that, you fucking slut?  I have a goddamned kid of my own on the way!”

“I can’t raise him by myself, Gus!  I have no job, no money.  I live in a dump!  Please, for the sake of...”

“Prove it.  Prove that he’s mine, because he looks NOTHING like me!”

“Fine, I will!” Ivana shot back, color creeping into her face.  “I’ll shout my claim from the rooftops of Manhattan if I have to, and I’ll make sure every single person you wine and dine with in those five-star restaurants knows about your little bastard, and I’ll show him to your WIFE if-”

“DON’T YOU DARE EXTORT ME, YOU LITTLE WHORE!”

For just a second, Gus’ vision clouded red, and the next thing he knew his hands were wrapped around Ivana’s neck.  He threw her down on the bed, and squeezed with everything he had as the brunette below kicked feebly, pried at his hands, pathetic wheezing sounds emanating from her gaping mouth.  The baby had woken up in the fray, and was screaming at the top of its lungs, adding to the chaos. 

Ivana’s struggles began to weaken, tears leaking out of her eyes.  Gus looked down, and shook his head, reason coming into him.  If Belfast had taught him anything, it’s that things could always be connected back to you, even if you thought you had covered everything.  He wasn’t going to have his life ruined because he strangled some whore to death in New Jersey.

Gus released his grip, and Ivana rolled over, gasping and wheezing and sobbing all at once.  Adrenaline was fueling him... he had never felt more powerful in his life as he had at that moment- to hold someone else’s fate in your grip.  And he knew he had made the right choice in letting the bitch live.  But the anger and the rage and the adrenaline weren’t subsiding.  With a growl, he smashed his fist into a mirror hanging on the wall, the glass shattering mixing in with the sounds of both Yuri and Ivana’s crying.

“You bastard,” Ivana was sobbing over and over again as she sat up, still panting heavily.

“Shut that brat up,” Gus ordered, pointing to the crib.  Ivana stared at him, then turned to the crib.  She picked the boy up, and shushed him, giving him a pacifier in an attempt to calm the wailing.  It was a mercifully short process, and soon, the infant was at peace again.  Ivana laid him back down, and interposed himself between the child and the irate Irishman.

“I should have left you in Belfast to see what Delaney would have done to you!  You want my money, Ivana?  Is that it?” Gus demanded.  “After all I gave you, you still want more, you greedy slut?”  He looked around, and sighed, unable to fully believe just what rotten luck he was having.  “You have it.  I’m not going to let you ruin my reputation, and my marriage, so if it’s a pound of gold you want, fucking take it!”0

Ivana remained silent, staring at him with hatred.  And Gus continued.  “But there is a price, Ivana.  You always know that.”

“Your price is already there.  You help me raise our child, and I leave you alone.”

“It’s not enough,” Gus replied, beginning to pace back and forth.  “I can’t have you nearby, just in case you have any more ideas on how to ruin my life.  I will give you your gold- enough to make sure that brat doesn’t want for anything, but you won’t be here.  You won’t be within a thousand miles of me.  I’ll set up an account, make it accessable to you, and you get the fuck away from me.  Is that understood?”

“Fine,” Ivana hissed.  “I’ll return to my hometown of Prypiat, and raise Yuri there.  And you can stay here, lie to your wife, play with your REAL child, and pretend I’m just another bill you have to pay.  If that’s what you want Gus, then fine, and fuck you!”

Gus seethed at the hate-filled response, and the reminder that there was a second brat coming, one he couldn’t expel to the ends of the earth..  Obviously, he hadn’t put as much fear into her as he thought he had.  He grimaced, then put on the cruellest smile he could possibly muster.  “One more thing.  The original terms of our deal still stand.”

Ivana looked at him confused, then went wide eyed as she realized what he meant.  “Go to hell, you bastard!  If you so much as TOUCH me again, I’ll... I’ll...”

“Ivana, think for just a second here.  I just want this to go away, and I’m choosing the method that is going to be easiest for the both of us.  But I see no reason why there can’t be... something in it for me as well.  Now, are you going to agree... or should I start considering... other alternatives?”

Ivana shut her mouth, and looked from Gus over to Yuri, still silent in the crib.  Then with a sob, and a wiping away of the tears that were streaming from her eyes, she slowly reached up, and began to take off her shirt. 

Gus smiled.  It was good to know that there were still some things in this world he could control.



Thursday January 26, 2012
The Nest- Living Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
3:17 PM Local Time

Well, it’s been a while since we’ve been in the living room of the Thompson family household, hasn’t it?  52 days to be exact.  Not much has changed in those fifty-two days, really.  The new television (remember, Pollaski took a shotgun to the old one), still hangs on the wall.  That crappy looking picture of an autumn landscape still hangs above the sofa upon which Wendy sits alone, dressed in a pale yellow cardigan and a black pair of pants.  Terrence’s recliner, the bay window, the end tables, they’re all still there.  The Christmas decorations aren’t anymore.  Which means no tacky Santa coasters.  Please try and curb your disappointment.  As she realizes the camera’s on, Wendy’s emerald eyes shine with excitement, and she takes a deep breath.

“So... here we are! My first match in the year 2012.  It feels odd that it’s coming this late, considering that FFW’s held two amazing shows already.  Heck, it feels odd that I haven’t competed in FFW for well over a month and a half now, thanks to the Holiday season.  But I had a great holiday.  We went to visit my aunt in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, and I got to see my cousins.  And I did get to wrestle at New Year’s Retribution.”

Wendy grimaces, as she remembers the events of that night, namely Terrence’s little post-match outburst in the locker room, but she merely sighs, and smiles good-naturedly.

“Normally I get fairly upset about losing... but the more and more I watch that match we had against Stark & Stone, the more I realize that there’s nothing to be upset about.  Anders and Cara are two of the most wonderful, talented wrestlers you’re going to face anywhere, and it was an honor that Terry and I were able to make the return of the WhrilyBirdz against them.  I hope everyone who follows wrestling keeps an eye on those two.  Stark & Stone are going to go places.”

“But like everyone else with the New Year, I’ve made some resolutions for myself.  There’s something about the New Year that makes you look at yourself introspectively, and decide where in your life you could be doing better.  And I’m not resolving to win any titles or anything... that’s silly.  Resolutions should be about self-improvement, not personal gain.  And I do hope that I have a very rewarding 2012 in that department, but I think for me to have the 2012 I WANT to have... that I’m capable of having, I needed to make a couple minor changes.”

Wendy pauses and takes a deep breath.

“The first... well, I’ve been trying to do this since October, and that’s take each match one at a time.  To not focus on the implications, to not worry about what is going to happen to my standing in the company, or my reception with the fans.  To just get out there and wrestle.  And I think I’ve done that fairly well.  I won the Byte This battle royal.  I held off Jo at Violent Night.  And I’m here, in the finals of the No Surrender Championship.”

Wendy laughs quietly, and shakes her head.

“And I’ll tell you what.  It’s been HARD to take it one step at a time with this No Surrender thing looming over my head.  Ever since the announcement came out, and they showed us that gleaming, huge, heavy No Surrender Championship, I’ve wanted it.  I waited three tense months since the introduction of the title for my name to be called for a qualifying match.  And now I’ve waited another month and a half since qualifying to actually get in the ring.  I’m sure Starla can sympathize with me... she’s been in this match for nearly three months now, waiting just as long as I have.”

“I want this belt.  I mean... I really really REALLY want this belt.  And I think it’s pretty obvious why.  But I have to admit that I’m proud of myself.  For all I’ve been anxious to finally get to this point.  For all that I’ve thought of the No Surrender Championship, I never allowed it to cause me to lose focus.  At least not since Sin & Sacrifice.  And now that it’s here.  Now that the match I’ve been trying to keep from thinking about since September is just two days away... I can’t tell you what I feel, because I don’t even know.  It’s anxiety, relief, hope, dread, clarity, and uncertainty all rolled up into one tiny little pulsating ball that’s currently nestled in the pit of my stomach.”

Wendy forces herself to take another deep breath, and she looks up at the ceiling.  Her voice drops several decibals, and she smiles shakily at the camera.

“But in some strange way, I find comfort in it.  My goal on Saturday night is simple... make either Starla McCloud or Lumina Ferrari submit to me.  That’s all I need to focus on, that’s all I need to do.  It won’t be easy... God knows I’m in for the fight of my life here.  But I know what has to be done, and I know that I have everything I need to do it.  I just have to get into that ring and make it happen.”

“There’s a second resolution I’ve made as well.  I need to be more honest about myself and others.”

Wendy snorts, and shakes her head.

“You know, it sometimes seems as if there’s a contest running around FFW, to see which among us can be the most vicious and cattiest you-know-what in the company.  Twitter especially seems to be just full of people who are trying to prove that they’re the biggest bey-ouchie on the playground, and that’s not what I’m talking about.   I’m not out here to be rude, but at the same time, maybe it’s time I stopped mincing so many words.”

“Because in all honesty, I’m tired of saying cute little sugarcoated things simply for the sake of being diplomatic while other’s decide to drag my name, my family, my accomplishments, everything they can think of through the mud.  So since everyone feels so inclined to give their opinions on ME, maybe I should start being a little pro-active in honestly telling certain members of this company EXACTLY what I think of them.  I consider myself a nice person, but you know what?  I’m done being nice simply for the sake of being nice.  I’m done forsaking honesty for diplomacy.”

“And maybe that should extend to me too... even more so.  Because before I go around telling everyone what I think of them, maybe you should hear from me exactly what I think of myself.”

Wendy takes a deep breath, and looks again at the ceiling. 

“Ever since Sin & Sacrifice, and my loss to Crystal Hilton, I’ve been defiant.  All along I’ve listened to the phrases ‘paper-champion’, ‘interim holder’, ‘failure’, ‘choke artist’, being tossed around concerning me.  And my only reply was, ‘well, at least I held the belt.’  As if that settles everything.  As if two weeks with the Evolution Championship was enough for me, and I haven’t been bothered by it.”

“Well, you know what?  It wasn’t, and I have been bothered, and I strongly doubt anyone’s actually surprised by that.  I barely had enough time to get my name engraved on that belt before I was forced to watch Crystal HIlton parade around with it instead.  I hadn’t even gotten my promotional photos with the belt back from the studio before it all went away!  And you think it’s easy to hear your name and ‘Michelle Taylor’ REPEATEDLY spoken in the same sentence, knowing there’s hardly a darn thing you can say in response?”

Wendy shakes her head, obviously frustrated, although she again forces herself to take a deep breath.

“Yeah, it’s bothered me.  No matter how many ways you can try to spin it, two weeks with a title belt isn’t enough.  It’s like being at a buffet and putting a single egg roll on your plate before they shut the entire thing down.  Yay, you got an egg roll, when you could have... SHOULD have gotten so much more.  Well you know what?  I ate that egg roll, and for the paltry sum of food it amounted to... it tasted GOOD.  And I want MORE.”

Obviously Wendy’s been hanging around Pollaski a bit TOO long...

“But ultimately, it absolutely drives me NUTS that it’s been nine months since my debut.  I’ve competed in eighteen matches under the FFW banner, and I’ve won thirteen of them.  I’ve only been pinned three times, and two of those were in the same match..  I won a tournament, a battle royal, and the Evolution Championship.  I’ve been in the main event four times.  I’ve faced some of the best this company has to offer.  I’m the Breakout Star of 2011, according to the votes of the FFW Faithful themselves.”

“And yet... all that, and people somehow manage to condense my entire career here into two simple moments.  Colleen walked out and I lost the belt two weeks later.  Never mind that I still had to beat another woman to win that title... a woman that just so happens to be the CURRENT Evolution Champion.   Never mind that countless other Femme Fatales have lost their belts on their first defenses as well, they just had the luxury of sitting on them a bit longer.  I got Colleen’s hand-me-down title and choked it away fourteen days later.  2011 in a nutshell for Wendy Briese!”

Wendy laughs bitterly and shakes her head.

“Yeah, it got to me.  Surprise, surprise, the White Knight’s armor isn’t as thick as it probably should be, and Pollyanna isn’t all rainbows and unicorns after all.. But you know what?  At least I’m in a position to DO something about it.  Everyone wants to boil my career here down to a couple simple moments?  Fine.  Then I’ll simply have to make a new one.  Saturday night, I have that chance.  A chance to make a moment for myself that NO ONE can dispute or gloss over.  I have a chance to be the first to put my name on the placard of a belt.”

“And you know what?  There isn’t a person in this company who deserves to do that more than I do.”

Wendy laughs softly, and shrugs.

“I know, I know.  Everyone thinks they deserve something in this world.  We live in the age of self-entitlement, after all.  And championships are hardly about who deserves them.  It’s about who can shine at the biggest moment, the best possible time, when it counts the most.  If things were based on the most deserving, the landscape of this company... heck, of this WORLD, would be a much different one.  I know that.”

“But I’ve worked my butt off week in and week out to get here.  I may not win every time out, but there isn’t a match I’ve been where I haven’t left everything I possibly could out in that ring.  And that includes my wins over Charity Deas, as well as my losses to Kitty and Crystal.  I don’t back down from anyone, and I don’t take anyone lightly.  If nothing else, at least I’m consistent.  At least I walk away from that ring knowing that I’ve done all I could each and every time.  Can my opponents say the same?”

Wendy pauses for a second, suddenly hesitant, and a very perceptive lip reader can see her say “honesty before diplomacy”, before she takes a deep breath and continues.

“Like I said, eighteen matches in nine months.  In that time, have Lumina and Starla been in that many matches COMBINED?  And yet, here we are, in the exact same situation.  At least this time it’s not a person who’s had a grand total of one match.  But still.  You think I’m going to let those two keep this from me?  You think that after working so hard to get here, I’m going to be turned aside, just like that?”

Wendy shakes her head, a grim smile forming on her features.

“Of course I’m not.  Because here’s a little secret about me, and you can take this as bragging if you want, but for me, this is simply the truth.  I might not be considered the best, most impressive single wrestler in this company, but I see absolutely no reason why I can’t be.  There isn’t a title in FFW that I couldn’t compete for without a realistic chance of winning.  There isn’t a Femme Fatale on the roster I can’t beat in a match, regardless of the match type.  Being ‘good enough’ may be a question for some wrestlers, but for me, it isn’t.  I know I’m good enough.  I just have to do it.”

Wendy leans forward, her emerald eyes dancing with intensity as she stares into the camera.

“And that starts... no, it continues on Saturday.  I’ve wanted this title, because I’ve wanted to prove that I’m the best submissionist in FFW... if not the whole world.  My last two FFW matches have ended in the Banshee, with my opponent tapping the mat, and there’s absolutely no reason that I can’t do it a third time in a row.  I expect myself too.  Because I believe in myself, and my abilities, and I believe that I AM the best submissionist in FFW.”

“It’s just time that I made everyone else believe it too.”

Wendy leans back, exhaling slowly, and the scene fades.

====================================
Thursday January 26, 2012
The Nest- Master Bathroom
Indianapolis, Indiana
10:55 PM Local Time

Wendy Briese leaned as far over the sink as she could, and spit out her mouthwash, turning on the faucet, and watching the green liquid swirl down the drain.  Quickly wiping up any splashes of water off the bathroom counter, she took one last look at herself in the bathroom mirror, adjusting her nightgown, and shutting off the light as she left.

“Are you ready to go?”  She asked as she reentered the bedroom, glancing at Terrence.  The auto racer was sitting on the bed watching television, already dressed in his customary plain white t-shirt and Indiana Hoosier basketball shorts.  He glanced up at his wife.

“Yup.  All packed, Theresa’s packed too.  All we gotta do tomorrow is load up the car, drive to the airport, and fly to Los Angeles.”

“Great!”  Wendy exclaimed, leaning over and kissing her husband, then moving around the foot of the bed to her side.  “Pollaski’s picking up Cassie, and they’ll meet us at the airport.  What time do we need to be up?”

“Plane’s at 9... so we’ll need to be there at 7... I’d say be up at 5:30.” Terrence said, quickly counting the hours backwards on his fingers.  “Yeah... that should give us some time in case anything goes wrong.”

“Fine by me!” Wendy said, quickly setting her bedside alarm clock for 5:30, then setting her phone’s alarm five minutes later as a safety precaution.  “I can’t believe it’s already time to leave.”

“Yup.  You’re ready for this?”

Wendy nodded, giving her husband a shaky smile.  “I have to be, don’t I?  But yeah, I think I’ll be okay.  I shot my promotional video this afternoon, Pollaski should have it up tomorrow.  I honestly think I’ll be coming home with the...”

“Your twenty-four hour news source, WISH-TV! THIS is WISH 8 News at 11”

Wendy was cutoff by the television, and she glanced over to see that the late-night news on the local CBS affiliate was beginning.  Stifling a yawn, she glanced at her husband.  “Good night, Terry.”

“In our top story tonight, two guards and one prisoner are dead after an attempted prison escape at the Indiana State Prison in Michigan City.  Six men attempted to escape using weapons that had somehow been smuggled into the facility.”

Wendy was in the process of lying down, but bolted up, her head snapping to the TV.  That was where...

“One of the prisoners was shot and killed by prison security, while two more were apprehended in the escape.  But three men have been confirmed to have successfully gotten away from the facility.  Prison officials have confirmed the identites of the escaped as Marcellus Carlock, Raynaldo Esparza, and Augustus Briese.”

A tiny little shriek echoed through the room, as Wendy put her hands to her mouth, staring at the television screen in horror, where the pictures of the escaped men were being displayed, including that of her father.

“All three men are considered EXTREMELY dangerous, and citizens are advised to avoid contact if at all possible, but to call 911 at the absolute earliest and safest opportunity.  For more on this story, let’s go to Michigan City, where our reporter...”

“Holy shit...”  Terrence whispered, staring at the television screen.  “How the fuck did they...”

He looked over at his wife.  Her hands were still over her mouth, and tears were leaking from her eyes.  She was breathing rapidly, and Terrence soon realized that she was trembling, as if cold.  Otherwise she wasn’t moving, save for a questioning squeak from her mouth, that sounded like a poorly formed ‘how?’.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Terrence said, repeating himself a few more times as he grabbed his wife in an hug.  “They’ll catch him.  They’ll have to...”

Wendy still didn’t move, didn’t react at all to her husband’s embrace.  She remained silent, staring at the television.  Terrence waited until the news had moved on, then quickly grabbed the remote, shutting the television off.  He turned Wendy to face him, and held her close.  “It’s going to be alright hon.  It’s going to be alright.”

Wendy never responded, said anything, or moved.  She didn’t need to, and Terrence simply held her too him as the tears leaking through her eyes began to soak through his T-shirt.  He looked up at the ceiling, sighing heavily.

After nine years of incarceration, Augustus Briese was a free man.  And while Terrence wanted to tell Wendy that everything was going to be alright, as much as he wanted to believe it himself, something told him his family was about to be in for a very, very difficult time.

EPISODE 152: All That She Wants...

Thursday October 2, 1980
Streetside Sidewalk- West 72nd Street
New York City, New York
4:17 PM Local Time

“Seventy-Second and broadway.  Six seventy-five, please.” 

Augustus Briese looked up at the voice of his driver, a young man with a Hatian accent who smelled as if he hadn’t stopped smoking from the day he left his mother’s womb.  Trying to avoid wrinkling his nose in disgust, Gus pulled out a ten dollar bill, and threw it to the cabbie, swinging the door open and slamming it behind him.  As the green and white taxi pulled away behind him, Gus looked up at the ten-story sandstone building that loomed over him.

His home.  

His incarceration in Crumlin Road had only lasted three more days before he had found himself being released, all charges dropped, himself a victim of a case of mistaken identity and the rampant anti-Catholic bigotry that ruled the Belfast police force.  At least that was what he had told his new bride upon returning home, immediately followed by the news that their life in Ireland was over.

Of course, Gus hadn’t told her about Delaney’s demands, that he leave Belfast before his brash actions did any more damage to the CLF’s cause.  The less of what Gayle knew about anything, the better it would be for her.  Instead, he had impressed upon Gayle the idea of Broadway, of acting in the biggest stage with the brightest lights in all the world.  Gayle, of course, had been reluctant to leave her family, and the city and country she had spent her whole life in.   But Gus was nothing if not persistant, and it wasn’t long before they were en route to New York, ready to begin a new life.

Despite Broadway, it hadn’t been a move that Gus had been looking forward to.  He had heard stories about New York City, and they never cast the metropolis in a flattering light.  Gangs and crime families ruled the streets of an overcrowded, filthy wasteland of humanity nestled on the outlet of a disgusting puddle of sludge the locals jokingly referred to as a river. 

The truth may have been little better to some locals, but for one with enough money to buy a condominium on the Upper West Side, above the reeking streets and rats that crawled in the gutter, the Big Apple wasn’t a half-bad place.   It wasn’t long before Gus and Gayle had moved in and decorated a lovely condo just a few blocks to the west of Central Park, and found their way into the social circles of the upscale neighborhood.

Even better, Broadway had come quickly too.  Auditions had been tiring, but many of the directors had heard of his, and especially Gayle’s work back in Belfast.  The “Angel of the Lyric” had been sought after, several roles offered to her before she had decided upon the revival of Fiddler on the Roof, playing the role of Tzeitel.  And he had garnered the lead male role in an upcoming production of called High Spirits, set to begin rehearsals the very next week.

The lobby of the condominium complex was empty, save for the doorman, who nodded respectfully to Gus as he entered.  Gus quickly walked past him, heading for the row of mailboxes at the end of the lobby.  A quick turn of the key, and he retreived the mail, stopping in surprise as he realized he had a package slip.  

Odd... he hadn’t placed any orders recently.  Neither had Gayle- to the best of his knowledge.  He quickly walked back over to the doorman, and thrust the slip at him. 

“Package for 713”

“Ah, yes sir, just a second,” the doorman said, looking down at the slip for just a second, verifying that everything on it was in order.

“I haven’t got all day!” 

“Pardon me,” the doorman was taken aback by the sudden outburst, and he stepped back.  “I was just checking... ah, I’ll be right back.”

“Idiot” Gus muttered under his breath as the man quickly walked towards the small mail room, ducking inside.  The man knew who he was on sight, yet had to waste his precious time looking at a damned slip?  He grated even more when it took nearly a full minute for the man to reappear, holding a small envelope.  The man quickly handed him the package, then waited patiently, expecting the customary tip.

Gus turned away, ignoring the ignoramus and heading towards the elevator.  He paid no attention to the doorman scowling, then quickly flashing a rude gesture at his back before returning to his post.  The elevator door opened upon the button being pressed, and Gus stepped into the lift, still looking at the package.

He was shocked to see that the postmark was from Dublin.  Dublin?  He didn’t know anyone from Dublin... at least not anyone who would send him a package in the mail.

He tore the envelope open, and pulled out another, sealed Manilla envelope, with a note attached to hit.  He unfolded the note, and quickly read it, surprised to find the script had been written in Gaelic.

Gus-

The Queen’s hounds have been sniffing a little bit too close, so until the situation settles, I think it’d be a good idea to have this as far away from me as possible.  I managed to smuggle this into the Republic, and I’m entrusting into your hands the plans for Operation Wildeshaw, something I think will be a decisive blow to the invaders that soil our streets.  Keep this safe for me, and don’t let me down, friend.

- Derrick

A brief stab of irritation washed over Gus.  Delaney kicks him out of Ireland, under the threat of death, and now he wanted him to be his fucking watchdog?  For a second, Gus was tempted to toss the envelope into the nearest trashcan and forget about it, but two things stopped him.  First, it was the fear of Delaney.  The man was connected, ruthless, and unforgiving.  If there ever was a time Derrick asked for this Project: Wildeshaw back, and Gus failed to produce it, he had no doubt there would be a bullet in his brain before the week was up.

The second was that Gus was genuinely curious.  Something about this suggested to Gus that this was a grand scheme, a mangum opus of Delaney’s, designed to finally set Ireland on the path to true freedom once and for all.  He was tempted to open the inner envelope on the spot, but better judgement restrained him, and he settled for tucking it into his jacket as the elevator doors reopened.

The door opened on the seventh floor, and Gus quickly got out, tapping his coat again just to make sure the package was securely hidden.  Satisfied that it was, he inserted his key into the lock of 713, turned, and opened.  

“Gus?  Is that you?” came the voice of his wife from the other room.  

“Aye, its me,” Gus said, removing his coat, and carefully hanging it nearby, leaving the package in for the time being.  “How was your day?”

There was a pause, and Gayle walked into the room.  Gus arched his eyebrow- there was something about his wife that was different.  A twinkle in her eye, and a bounce in her step that he hadn’t really noticed before.  She was also smiling, ear to ear.  “It was fine,” the brunette beauty said, giving him a hug and a kiss.  “In fact, it was more than fine.  It was wonderful.”

“What... what happened?” Gus was curious.  Rehearsals hadn’t even started yet for Fiddler on the Roof, so whatever it was likely wasn’t going to be associated with the production.  But... he had NEVER seen Gayle this happy before...

Gayle finally turned around again, her voice trembling with excitement.  “I went to the doctor today, Gus.  I... I haven’t been feeling very well in the mornings, And... I had a suspicion, but I didn’t want to say until I was sure...”

There was a long pause, and Gus was startled to see a tear leak from the corner of his wife’s eye.  She took a long shuddering breath, and grinned ear to ear.  “I’m... I’m going to have a baby.”

There was a long pause as Gus stared at his wife.  It felt like a boxer had just driven a closed fist into his sternum, and all the air was being forced out of him.  He blinked back at his wife, the words taking several more seconds to form, before he could breathe them back out.  “You... what did you say?”

Gayle’s grin never diminished.  “I’m pregnant, Gus!  The doctor said maybe four weeks along...”

Gus ran his hand through his hair, and looked to the side.  His mind was racing, his heart was pounding.  He exhaled again, trying to collect his thoughts.  “H...how?  I mean.. we use...”

“They’re never 100% effective, Gus, you know that.”  Gayle wiped away a tear.  “But can you believe it?  I’m going to be a mother!”  

She threw herself forward, and hugged her husband, wrapping her arms around him as tight as possible.  Gus only half-heartedly returned the embrace.  “Did you tell your theater?  Or anyone else?”

“No.  I can do that tomorrow.  I wanted you to be the first to know!”

Gus nodded in satisfaction.  “Good.  I’ll call the clinic tomorrow, and we can have this over by the end of the week.”

Gayle released her embrace and stepped back, staring at Gus with the confusion of his words, and a slight tinge of dread over the suspicion of what they meant.  “What... what are you talking about?”

“You can’t afford a pregnancy right now, Gayle.  You’ve just gotten your first Broadway role, a nineteen year old Jewish girl who’s not married.  You cannot play that part with a bulging belly.  Do you have any idea what this is going to do to your reputation?  Your career?  It will be over before it’s even begun!”

“Don’t be silly, Gus,” Gayle replied, shaking her head.  “Many actresses, on Broadway, in Hollywood, everywhere, have given birth.”

“And how many of them quit their first major role before fucking REHEARSALS began to do it?”

Tears were again forming at the corners of Gayle’s eyes, but this time they weren’t of happiness.  “Gus, no.  I can’t.  The Pope forbids it.”

“TO HELL WITH THE POPE!”  Gus bellowed, so hard Gayle took a step back with a whimper.  “Gayle, I don’t give a DAMN what some old fart living in Italy says about this.  This doesn’t concern him.  This is about you throwing away everything we’ve worked so GODDAMN hard for!”

Gayle was looking at him like she had never seen him before, which only served to further his irritation.  “Gus this isn’t... this is our CHILD...”

“And there will be time later, after you’ve established yourself.  There will be someone to carry on the legacy that we’ll build, to make our name even greater in future generations.  But this isn’t the time, Gayle.  Not now.”

Tears were streaming down Gayle’s face, and she shook her head again.  “Gus... maybe... maybe this is a sign that things just weren’t meant to be the way you planned it.”

The sharp intake of breath and snarl that emerged from Gus surprised even himself, and he felt his hands balling into fists.  He had never laid a hand on his wife before, and it was taking every ounce of his self-control to keep from doing it now.  “I... WE left Ireland for this,” he growled, trying to force himself to unclench his fists.  “We sacrificed EVERYTHING we had there for a shot at the grandest stage in the land.  And you dare... you dare throw this away because of a fucking BABY?  How dare...”

“Shut up, Gus!” Gayle had been backed up far enough, and something about his tone had inflamed her own temper.  “How dare YOU treat something so magnificent, so WONDERFUL like it’s a CURSE!  We are having this baby, and my career be DAMNED!”

Gus again had to restrain himself from striking the insolent woman, and instead forced himself to take deep breaths, calm himself down.  “Gayle, think about...”

“I have Gus.  And I want this... everything else can wait.  I want a baby... and I want you to be happy for me.”

Gayle paused and wiped her eyes, struggling and failing to hold back a fresh flow of tears.  Gus closed his eyes and bit his lip.  Every option he could think of passed in front of his eyes- some more horrible than he could have thought to have imagined before today- yet all of them, he knew, would bring consequences far more damaging than what surely lay before him.  He finally opened his eyes, and did his best to fake a smile.

“Well, maybe your career can be revived after... this is over.  I’m... I’m sorry for losing my temper.”

It wasn’t exactly the words of encouragement Gayle had been hoping for, but as Gus spread his arms to welcome her into his embrace, she stumbled forward anyways, letting emotion give way and sobbing into his shoulder.  Gus wrapped his arms around her, and tried his best to pat her head reassuringly.  But as he stared down at his wife’s dark hair, a thought, a single word kept playing over and over in his head.

Idiot.

=========================================
Saturday December 31, 2011
Verizon Center- WhirlyBirdz Locker Room
Washington, D.C.
10:22 PM Local Time

“BULLSHIT!” 

The door to the locker room practically flew off its hinges as Terrence Thompson flung it open, storming into the locker room.  One wrestling boot went flying across the room as he kicked it off, followed by another.

“Terry, would you calm DOWN?”  Wendy Briese’s voice was tinged with weariness and exasperation as she trudged into the room after her husband, rolling her eyes as the second boot crashed into the wall, falling to the floor atop the first. 

“Would you be angry?” Terrence retorted.  “My ONE match out of retirement, and it gets fucked up by Anders Stark cheating and a stupid officiating call.  I thought those two were better than that!”

“He didn’t cheat, Terry.  He made a blind tag.  I talked to the referee after the match about it.”

“The referee, hunh?” Terrence scoffed.  “Because, you know, a wrestling referee has NEVER screwed up a call in a match before!” 

“Marcus is a good official, Terry.  He sounded pretty sure of himself too.  We’ll watch the replay if you’re really that unsure about it.” Wendy finished reasonably.

“Fine,” Terrence said, immediately whipping out his droid, and going to mobile YouTube.  Wendy wasn’t terribly surprised to see someone had already uploaded the match- although she had no doubt that Mr. Horton’s lawyers would have the video removed fairly quickly.  Nevertheless, Terrence hit play, and fast-forwarded to the end, watching the final seconds of the match play out.

“HE MISSED BY A MILE!” 

“Oh, for God’s sakes, Terry.” Wendy groaned as she turned away, kicking off her boots and beginning to remove her own ring gear, starting by untying the black sash she wore around her waist.  “You know, we should be happy for Anders and Cara.  They did great out there, and maybe that victory will give them the momentum they need to challenge the Abusement Park, and finally get Christian Kincaid’s goat.”

Terrence grunted irritably and muttered something under his breath that Wendy couldn’t quite catch.  He looked back at her, and finally sighed.  “Well, for what it’s worth, it was fun going out with you one more time.  It just sucks we didn’t win.”

“I know,” Wendy replied, offering her husband a consoling smile.  “But I knew it was going to be an uphill battle all the way.  You barely had three weeks of training to get ready for this, and Anders and Cara would have given us fits even when we were at our best.”  

Wendy dropped her tunic atop the growing pile of clothing lying next to her on the floor, and quickly slid off her tights, wasting no time in grabbing her street clothes- a dark blue sweater and a pair of jeans.  She began putting them on, even as Terrence finished getting out of the modified race-suit he wore as his own gear.  She felt the emotion in her voice as she turned back to her husband.  “But Terry, I hope this isn’t the last time we ever do this.  But if it is... I couldn’t be prouder of the way it ended.”

Terrence smiled, and reached out, pulling her close to him.  “I know, hon.  Who knows what the future is going to bring?  I never thought I’d come back to wrestling once before, and I did.  But right now, I’m just happy driving in circles... and watching you run circles around your opponents.”

“Well, you won’t get to watch for a while then,” Wendy replied, sighing.  “I looked at the first show lineups of 2012... they’re keeping me out until Cold Blooded.”

In truth, she didn’t know how she felt about that.  Coming out of such a big, emotional night, especially one that ended in disappointment, she felt eager to get back in the ring.  But she remembered the big matches she had fought through just before Unstoppable and Sin & Sacrifice.  She had won both, only to be disappointed at the actual pay-per-views themselves.  Pollaski had gone on and on about the dangers of emotional burnout and letdown, and while she didn’t want to make excuses for coming up short both times, some nagging feeling in the back of her mind wondered if he might have been right after all.  Considering what was on the line later in the month, maybe having an extra two weeks would be for the best.

Terrence knew exactly what she was thinking, and he gave her a quick kiss.  “Hurry up, hon.  Pollaski’s on next, and considering who he’s going up against, it could be over pretty quickly.”

“He’s your best friend,” Wendy reprimanded, threading her belt through her jeans and clasping it, then bending down to pick up her ring-gear.  “Have a little faith in him.”

“I do!  I’m having faith he’ll last long enough for me to get into a position to watch Camilla kick his ass!”

“I’m sure he appreciates your support,” Wendy sighed with sarcasm.  Cradling her clothes in her arms, she carried them over to her duffel bag, stuffing them in.  As she did so, a piece of paper fell out, landing on the floor next to the bag.  Wendy’s heart stopped as she saw it- it was the map of her old backyard she had found while sorting through her basement.

“You still have that thing?” Terrence had seen the paper too.  “Why don’t you just throw it away?”

“I don’t know.” Wendy replied softly.  “I... can’t explain it.  I don’t want to act on it, see what’s buried there... if anything.  But at the same time... I can’t get rid of it.  I feel like... doing either would be a tremendous mistake.”

“That... makes absolutely no sense whatsoever.” Terrence said, his voice muffled by the t-shirt he was throwing on over his head.

“It does to me... if that helps any,” Wendy replied with a half-smile.  She  placed the paper back into the duffel, shutting the zipper, and standing up.  “Okay, I’m ready.  Shall we go watch Pollaski make...”

Her voice trailed off as AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell” began to blare out through the locker room, and she looked at her husband curiously.  Terrence was staring at his phone will the ring tone continued to play, he looked up at Wendy.  “It’s Kevin Anderson...”

The owner and president of Diamond Motorsports.  Wendy forced herself into a poker face.  “Answer it.”

Terrence smiled grimly, and flipped the phone on.  “Hey Kev, what’s.  Oh.. you did?  Yeah, well... HEY!  THERE WAS NO FUCKING TAG!   HE MISSED HER!  Right... sorry.”  The expression on his face shifted from indignation to confusion to one of incredulty.  “Wait.. what?  When?  TONIGHT?  Yeah.. I... no this is the first I’m hearing... wow... that’s... holy shit that’s awesome!  So... yeah.   I’ll talk to you Wednesday then... yeah!  Bye!”

Terrence hung up, and silence reigned over the locker room.  He looked at Wendy, who blankly looked back, trying to keep the grin from her face.  Finally, Terrence spoke.  “Wendy, where the hell were you right before we went out?”

“I was wishing Cody and Scarlett a Happy New Year.  Why?”

“Because Kev told me he just got a phone call from one Cody Kincaid, offering FFW’s sponsorship of a certain #38 race car...”  Terrence responded, giving his wife a suspicious glare. 

Wendy’s neutral facade  broke.  “Happy New Year, Terrence.”

Terrence chuckled, and shook his head.  “You didn’t have to do that, Wendy.”

“Yeah, I did.” she replied.  “You always talk about your world and my world?  Why can’t they intersect at all?  And honestly, I fully expected Cody to say no.  But I figured, with your deadline drawing near, why not give it a- ACK!”

Wendy could only squeak as she was crushed by her husband as he enveloped her in a bearhug, giving her a kiss so hard her lips began to hurt.  “Thank you, Wendy.  I owe you so much for this...”

“No... problem” Wendy gasped.  She was already sore from the match against Stark & Stone, and this wasn’t doing her any more favors. 

“Just...”  Terrence paused.  “Please don’t let them give me a pink car.  I’ll be the laughingstock of the circuit if I drive a pink car.”

Wendy didn’t say anything in response.  Cody had just done her a tremendous favor, and she didn’t want to seem ungrateful by trying to dictate any terms, no matter how trival they may be.  “I’m sure they’ll give you a great car worth looking at,” she finally wheezed.  “Terry, this kind of hurts...”

“Oh... sorry,” Terence replied, letting her go.  “Still... thank you.”

“No worries.” Wendy smiled, and leaned forward, kissing Terrence on the cheek.  “Now, we should hurry before-”

She was interrupted by a shriek from the hallway, just outside the door.

“WHITLEY MERCER, YOU DIRTY LOW-DOWN COCK-SUCKING TWO-FACED TALENTLESS WITLESS SHIT-EATING CUNT-LICKING RAMMED-IN-THE-ASS-FIFTEEN-TIMES-A-DAY HERPES INFECTED BIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITCH!”

Silence reigned, and Terrence and Wendy stared at each other, both expressions bordering on the realms of fear.  Terrence was the first to break the silence, whispering “What the hell just happened?”

Wendy couldn’t respond.  Obviously, they had missed Pollaski’s match, and judging by the scream they had just heard... things hadn’t gone well at all.  But...where did Whitley Mercer come from?

She had this sudden feeling that for all that had happened in 2011, 2012 was going to make the previous year look completely and utterly boring!