From the private Journal of Wendy Briese-
8 July, AD 2011
To say yesterday didn’t go quite according to plan would be an understatement. I don’t want to use the word ‘disaster’, because that’s hardly what it was. But an all-around disappointment would definitely be a fair assessment of the situation.
Finding out that my promo had upset my boss (well, at least the boss I like), had been mortifying. I can get where Mr. Kincaid could interpret what I said as being unappreciative, but I really didn’t mean it that way. I simply wanted to indicate just how desperate I was to prove myself as a legitimate threat around here.
Obviously, an attempt at eloquence probably wasn’t the best way to go there. And it’s not eloquent when no one understands it... then it becomes pretentious.
I hate being pretentious.
Luckily, when I finally got a chance to talk to Mr. Kincaid on Twitter after the show, he apparently had realized my actual intent, and actually apologized to me for misunderstanding. That was really something I hadn’t expected. Either way, it’s good to be back in Mr. Kincaid’s good graces again. He’s one of the best people I’ve ever had the privilege of working under- he’s got a great head for business, but he has a compassionate understanding side as well. No wonder so many of the girls on the roster seem to have some sort of a romantic interest in him. Of course, my affection hardly goes anywhere near that level, but it’s nice to be able to consider a man like that a friend.
And, I have to be honest, from a more pragmatic standpoint, it’s tough to get anywhere in this business if the management isn’t on your side, and while I’m not exactly on Ms. Star’s enemy list, I doubt she’s ever going to fully appreciate me. Our philosophies in life are just too different. That’s actually dangerous in professional wrestling. At least when your boss hates you, they throw everything they have at you, and if you can weather the storm, it actually ends up getting you quite a lot of respect from your fans and colleagues. Indifference is death in this business. And while I’m not sure Samantha is entirely indifferent towards me, it’s little in comparison to how much Cody seems to respect me. So being back in his good graces is good on this front too.
But the low-point of the night was my match itself, against Kaitlynn Stryfe. For the first time in my FFW career, I ended the night on my back, getting pinned for a three count, and taking a loss.
Luckily, I wasn’t hurt too badly, just a sore neck from that Vixen Driver. The blow to my pride, on the other hand, well, that one’s a bit more painful.
I’ve never really kept win/loss records for myself. Unless you’ve gotten yourself into a round robin tournament, your win-loss record effectively has no meaning. I’ve gone on a twenty-two match winning streak before, and yet never gotten so much of a whiff of a singles title shot during that. On the flip-side, I’ve lost several matches in a row before, some embarassingly, only to suddenly find myself looking at the opportunity of a lifetime. Wrestling’s strange that way.
But even if you don’t keep tabs on your W/L record, you know when your first loss is, and it is always a hard one. You arrive, hoping to make an impact, to move up the ladder as quickly as possible, and get as much credibility as you can. It’s the first initial climb of a roller coaster. You wonder how high you can climb, and what you can do once you get there.
But like a rollercoaster, the first drop is often a really, really, big one. The plummet is gut-wrenching, and even though deep down you know that there’s very little danger in it, you can’t help but scream. What if that’s the best you’ve done? What if that’s your ceiling? What if you reached your limit so quickly?
But as bad as I wanted to beat Kaitlynn and prove myself able to compete with the main eventers, the fact is, last night, I failed. But ultimately (and I have to keep reminding myself this), I’m hardly in a bad situation. I didn’t embarrass myself, and I proved that I could at least be competitive with her. I missed one opportunity, I have PLENTY more on the table. I just can’t take any of them for granted. Focus on the next match, and do what needs to be done, and I’ll be okay.
And honestly, this next match, the Chase for the Crown finale against Crystal Hilton, is what I’ve been working towards the past two months anyways. Losing to Kaitlynn Stryfe was disappointing. Losing to Crystal Hilton will be a lot more than that.
But enough of the angst and negativity. Today’s Pollaski’s 29th Birthday, and I don’t want last nights misfortunes to ruin a special day for my manager. Unfortunately, it’s also a travel day for us. Still, it should be fun- we’re flying to Chicago to pick up our RV, and we’ll spend some time there to celebrate Dan’s birthday. I’m looking forward to it, Chicago is ‘My Kinda Town’ after all, (and it’s the Wendy City, as my daughter pointed out!). We’ll probably have dinner at the Cheesecake Factory under the Hancock, and then it’s a four hour drive up to Marne, which is just outside of Grand Rapids.
Why do they call it Berlin Raceway if its in Marne, Michigan?
Anyways, maybe its the worries I have of my own loss, combined with the incident from a couple of weeks ago, but I’m a bit nervous about this race. Terrence is a short track specialist, and at four-tenths of a mile, you don’t get much shorter than Berlin. But still, the wife of an automobile racer can do aught but worry, right? I’m sure it’s the same for Terrence whenever I wrestle.
Either way, Saturday Night should be an interesting evening!
-WCT
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Saturday July 9, 2011
Berlin Speedway- Main Grandstand
Marne, Michigan
11:53 AM Local Time
“I suppose I have some explaining to do.”
[And thus, we open to a beautiful Michigan summer morning. Already, the heat is up in the eighties, and as such, we’re rewarded with Wendy Briese once again dressing skimpy. (At least by her standards). Decked out in a sleveless t-shirt and a pair of jean shorts, Wendy sits in what appears to be a racetrack grandstand, looking at the camera, although her eyes occasionally dart to what must undoubtedly be the offscreen racetrack.]
[Hey, she’s stuck here for the whole day, might as well get a good interview in while she’s waiting!]
“There seemed to be some misconceptions over the past couple of days over a few comments I made in an interview that I made on Thursday. And while the boasts I made have been rendered irrelevant, thanks to my unfortunate defeat at the hands of Kitty Stryfe, I still find myself bothered that such things were taken out of context. So, if you all wouldn’t mind, I’d like to take a minute to set the record straight.”
[Wendy’s grimacing. Like anyone, she’s not entirely thrilled with having to face the music. But hey, she’ll take her licks]
“I never thought for a second that I would ever take Stryfe’s position in the cage match. I even said immediately after that I knew that both Kaitlynn’s and my own paths to Unstoppable were secured. But somehow that part got overlooked, and whether the fault lies with me, or it lies elsewhere, it’s something that hasn’t sat well with me. So here’s me saying it, as blunt as I possibly can- I am, and always was, going to wrestle at Unstoppable in the appropriate match dicated by my finish in the Chase for the Crown. And I’m fine with that.”
[Wendy chuckles, and breaks out into a smile. As opposed to the strained ones she demonstrated last week, this one is genuine, and she grins at the camera]
“Actually, I’m more than fine- I’m excited at the opportunities I’m getting in the next couple of weeks. So to anyone who thinks that I was callously dismissing the Evolution Championship, I apologize, but that’s hardly the case. With the exception of my match at Velocity, everything I’ve done in this company over the past two months has been working towards the Chase for the Crown, and I have every intention of seeing this goal through to the end. And I have just as much intention of capitalizing, and walking out of Unstoppable with the Evolution Championship.”
[The smile fades a little, and Wendy looks pensive.]
“But while the Evolution Championship is my current destination, it’s by no means my final one. Nor, for the matter, is the FFW Championship. I don’t think there is an end to the road- no matter what you do in this business, there’s always something more to accomplish. It’s impossible to reach the end- you just keep going until you can’t walk anymore. But I want to go as far as I can in the years I have remaining. I don’t just want to win the Chase for the Crown, I want to dominate it. I don’t just want to be the Evolution Champion- I want to be the greatest Evolution Champion ever. I want to have the longest reign, the most defenses. And the same will prove for the FFW Championship as well, should I move on to that level. I want to be the best. I want to be unbeatable. I want to be...”
[As she talks, Wendy’s tone gets more and more wistful, before she trails off, and chuckles helplessly, shaking her head]
“I want to be perfect.”
“It’s a very, VERY arrogant goal to set for yourself. And probably a foolish one, as well, given that it’s quite simply unattainable. But you can bet that I’m darn sure going to try, and get as close to that unreachable milestone as I possibly can.”
[Small sigh, and a self-deprecating shrug]
“Obviously, I’m pretty far from that point. Just like everybody else, I have flaws, some of which are painfully obvious. I make mistakes. I come up short. Thursday proved that pretty well, didn’t it? I’m not ashamed I lost to Stryfe, although I am certainly disappointed. But I’d also like to think that I’m wiser from the experience. If my loss to Kaitlynn taught me anything, it was about looking too far ahead. With Kaitlynn, I looked way too far down the road, and didn’t see the open manhole lying in front of me.”
“Well, I’ve climbed myself out, dusted myself off, and now I’m ready to make the next step, and tackle the next obstacle. And I’ll admit, it’s a big step, and a huge obstacle. But it’s also one that I’ve seen coming for several months, and, quite honestly, I’ve been looking forward to it.”
[Wendy grins again, and one can see excitement in her eyes, although she does have to squint a little against the glare of the sun.]
“I find it interesting the contrast between Crystal Hilton and I. I want to be perfect, but know I never will be. Crystal wants to be perfect, and thinks she already is. Scratch that- she KNOWS she is. I don’t think what she’s doing is putting on an act. Which kind of worries me, because that means I’m going to be stepping into the ring with a completely delusional woman. A completely delusional woman who has a really, really hard kick.”
[Wendy cricks her neck, as if remembering the pop she took against Hilton]
“I just hope she doesn’t go into a complete meltdown after I prove that her perfection is little more than an illusion. We here in FFW already seem to be dealing with one of those. Although thankfully, Crystal doesn’t seem to have Twitter.”
[Wendy flashes a quick grin, and raises her eyebrows at the jab. As she does, a loud roaring sound is heard, and Wendy looks to her side, frowning, and mouthing the words “Now?”. Grimacing, she turns back to the camera, trying to race her voice over the sudden roaring of a score of stock car engines.]
“So here I stand, one week away from what is definitely the biggest match I’ve yet had in FFW. I’ll admit, I got a LOT of preparation to do before I can get to Minneapolis, but I can promise you this. There isn’t going to be anyone in the Twin Cities working harder than yours truly come next Saturday Night. And when it’s all said and done, there will be no doubt in anyone’s mind that Crystal Hilton is just like every single one of the rest of us.”
[A final smirk.]
“Flawed.”
[Fade]
=======================================
Saturday July 9, 2011
Berlin Speedway- Main Grandstand
Marne, Michigan
9:54 PM Local Time
It had not been a good night so far.
To be fair, the racing at Berlin Speedway, as well as the eight-thousand spectators, had been nothing short of spectacular on the tiny, 7/16ths of a mile track located in southeastern Michigan. Thirty-two cars had started the race, and although ten had already bowed out with mechanical problems, the remaining twenty-one had put on a heck of a show, producing nearly a hundred and twenty consecutive caution free laps- a miracle anywhere, but especially on a track this small.
THe problem with such long, sustained green flag runs was that if your car had any sort of issue whatsoever, you had little choice but to continue to lose ground, and hope that sooner or later you’d get a chance to pull into the pits to rectify the situation. And even from my vantage point in the grandstands (Berlin’s infield was way too small to allow anyone but dedicated pit crew in), I could tell that my husband’s car had been handling more along the lines of a Sherman tank than that of a finely tuned speed machine. And he had lost ground- three whole laps of it- before the first caution on lap 120 had finally enabled him to pull into the pits, and make adjustments.
The adjustments had worked somewhat- forty laps later, Terrence still remained in eighteenth, three laps down. But at this point, with only twenty-one cars left (and those behind him even more laps down with worse problems), Terrence was pretty much running just for the sake of running.
“You’re tweeting?” I looked up at the sound of my manager’s voice, and saw him gazing at me with disapproval.
I shrugged in response. “Sorry. It’s kind of a boring race.”
Pollaski snorted, and flipped his hand out, gesturing to two cars coming out of the fourth turn. “You kidding me? King and Hamilton have been dueling it out for the last twenty laps!”
I grimaced at the view. Leading the race was Chucky King, a proud Ohioan who painted his #7 car in the Scarlet and Gray of the Buckeyes. I had never met the man before in my life, but I knew that he’d been having a rough year. It was nice to see someone like him get his way to the front- although I’d much rathered it had been my husband.
The second place car, the green and gold John Deere #47, was sickeningly familiar to me at this point. I had hoped to go the entire weekend without running into Wesley or his wife Andrea, but it was tough not to when you belonged on the same race team, and had adjoining pits. They had been rather cold towards me the past day or so- not a shock considering I practically accused Wesley of dirty driving a couple weeks ago- in front of the entire team no less.
Still, I wasn’t exactly sorry I had done it- I spoke the truth- anyone with any sense at all knew I spoke the truth. But it had been an uncomfortable day. And the fact that Wesley had pretty much ran circles (three of them, to be exact) around my husband was making me even more irritated.
I felt a tug on my arm, and looked over to my left. Theresa was looking at me, her face all pouty, as if somehow I was to blame. “Daddy’s sucking!”
I shot her a stern glare. “What have I said about using that word? And he’s having car problems, hon. I’m sure he’s driving as hard as he can. Anyways, there’s only thirty-five laps left. If daddy’s not too tired, maybe we can go out for Ice Cream after. You okay with that?”
My daughter nodded vigorously, but my question had actually been asked of Cassie. My babysitter sat on the other side of me, using her race program to fan herself from the still sweltering Michigan heat. Terrence’s contractual ban on entering any fast food restaurant other than his sponsor was still well in effect- so any time we wanted Dairy Queen, or McDonalds, or Arby’s we had to ask either Pollaski or Cassie to make the take-out run for us.
“Yeah, fine,” she responded, grimacing at me. “I could use something to cool me off myself.”
I smiled, and turned my attention back to the track. Terrence’s handling problems seemed to be returning- he had fallen off the pace again, and was in danger of going another lap down. Terrence was obviously pushing his combative car the hardest he could, but King was gaining on him, with Hamilton in tow.
As Terrence’s car crossed the start/finish line, the flagman draped a blue and orange flag over him, pointing to his car with the black flag- a demand that he move aside for the leaders. Surprisingly, Terrence went into the first turn low, but then drifted up just a bit, giving King’s #7 enough room to slip underneath.
But at the exact same moment, Hamilton went into the turn hot, trying to swing around King on the outside. And Terrence’s yield pushed him right up into Wesley’s path. Wesley couldn’t- or didn’t- slow up in time, and he plowed right into Terrence’s rear bumper, shunting him to the side.
My breath caught in my throat as Terrence went sideways out of the turn, turning to the outside. Most raceways, he’d have smacked the wall, but Berlin had no wall on its backstretch. The track gave way into a small patch of grass, followed by a large sand pit designed to slow errant cars down. Smoke, then mud flew from the tires as he slid across the grass.
Then he hit the sandpit- in the worst way possible.
The car violently flipped to the left hand side, rolling once, twice, a third time, sand and shrapnel flying everywhere as it bounced aross the trap. Each roll took it more and more away from the track’s lights, so that it became a tumbling silhouette in the distance Sparks flew as it collided with the metal guardrail on the far side, and I could see the silhoutte tumbling end over end as it rolled over the guard rail. It had happened in seconds- quicker than I could honestly comprehend it all.
“-an absolute MASSIVE wreck down the back stretch! I’m not entirely sure who it was, but they were right with the leaders! King and Hamilton both got by, but... I think it may have been the thirty-eight!”
I was vaguely aware of the track’s announcer chattering on, now more audible with the car’s engine’s slowing down. In fact- they were shutting off- red lights were glowing on each of the turns, and a red flag was hanging from the flagman’s tower. The accident had immediately put a stop to the race. In the infield, the track’s safety vehicles were starting, their yellow warning lights spinning around as they left their waiting areas.
I barely paid attention to any of it, so transfixed I was on the dark area at the edge of the track, where I had last seen Terrence’s car before it hid the guard rail. Shrapnel littered the sandpit- as it was made to do, Terrence’s car had crumpled and disintigrated as it rolled, the pieces of the chassis absorbing the impact instead of the driver. But it was such a violent crash- was all that protection enough?
The announcer was continuing to prattle. “... red flag here on lap one sixty-seven, I’m still trying to figure out who it is. Okay, I’m getting word.. it *is* the thirty-eight car, that’s Terrence Thompson, of Indianapolis! We don’t have any word on his condition yet...”
“Mommy? What’s going on?”
I barely heard my daughter’s voice off to my left hand side, but a tugging of my dress made me looked down. Theresa kneeling on her seat, looking up at me with her big green eyes- the same color as mine. “They’re talking about daddy. What happened?”
I could barely find the air to speak- I hadn’t realized I was breathing so hard. I swallowed hard, trying to find my voice. “Daddy... daddy had an accident, hon.”
Theresa nodded- she had seen my husband crash before, albeit never as bad as this. “He’s okay, right? He always is.”
I tried to keep the tears from filling my eyes at my daughter’s optimism. “I... I don’t know hon. They haven’t said anything yet.”
I looked over at my nanny. Her mouth was open, and she was staring at the security vehicles at the far end of the track. She sensed I was looking at her, and she turned to face me.
“Take Theresa back to the RV. I don’t... I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t want her around all this until I know if... that Terrence is okay.” I kept my voice low, just audible enough for Cassie to hear. “Just please.. just... get her out of here.”
Cassie nodded, swallowing hard. I turned, kneeling next to my daughter, trying to keep my voice even. “Theresa, it’s your bedtime. Cassie’s going to take you back to the RV, now. Be good for her, okay? I’ll be along soon wi- to tuck you in.”
“But, Daddy? What about Daddy?” Theresa was a bright girl- she knew something was very, very wrong. We always let her stay up to the end of the race, regardless of the time, and we had promised her ice cream, only to now immediately send her to bed without dessert. I didn’t want to panic her- but it was tough- I was on the verge of panic myself.
I tried to put on a brave smile. “I promise you, when I come back, I’ll know how Daddy is. But go with Cassie for now, and get your bath and your teeth brushed, okay?”
Theresa nodded, her jaw set. I could tell she was concerned, but I don’t think the implications of the crash had hit her as hard as they had hit me. Still, the less of this she experienced firsthand, the better it would be I thought. She waved at me as she took Cassie’s hand, and together the two walked down the stairs towards the exit.
As soon as I knew she was gone, I let the dam I had been struggling to hold burst, and tears welled in my eyes, spilling out to trickle down my cheeks. They blurred my vision, causing the flashing yellow lights in the distance to be distorted, but I didn’t care. The track announcer had gone silent, and had put on some country music just for the purpose of diverting attention from the scene, but I couldn’t do anything but stare at the lights of the rescue vehicles.
And pray with every fiber of my being that my husband was okay.
==================================================
Saturday July 9, 2011
Butterworth Hospital- Room 211
Grand Rapids, Michigan
11:38 PM Local Time
“Well, they sure make those cars pretty damn good, don’t they?” My husband grinned at me as he raised his pudding cup in a toast, then spooned a glob and swallowed it.
It had been five more excruciating minutes before they had finally announced Terrence’s fate over the loudspeaker- that my husband was awake and alert, and communicating with the rescuers. Since Terrence’s car had ended up pinned between a tree and a guardrail, it had taken a while longer to get it so he could safely climb out. But he had done so, under his own power, and had actually managed to walk to the ambulance on his ownr, giving a small wave to the crowd that had given him a standing ovation.
From there, it was a whirlwind of activity. I returned to the RV to tell Cassie and Theresa the news, and nearly broke down in relief. Pollaski returned soon after, with news of where Terrence was being taken, and we took the ten mile journey to Grand Rapids, arriving just as Terrence was being taken in for some tests. I only got to spend a minute with him before he was whisked away again, for X-rays and CATSCANS, while the rest of us could do aught but wait.
Finally, he had returned, with word that his tests had so far come back negative, but that he was to be kept overnight for observations. Terrence was given a bed, and we all piled into the room, just happy that to be able to talk to my husband again.
For surviving a triple-barrel roll into a guardrail and a tree, Terrence was in remarkably good spirits. He was certainly in a better mood than I was- I had spent the vast majority of the past two hours shellshocked, and now that it was finally starting to wear off, I felt drained.
“Were you scared?” Cassie was sitting in a chair on the other side of the bed from me, looking almost as worn out as I did. Pollaski was leaning against the wall, by the window, playing with his mobile phone while listening in on the conversation. Theresa was the most drained of all of us- she had snuggled against me on my lap, and fallen asleep.
Terrence paused for a second, then shook his head. “Didn’t really have time to be. One minute I’m driving, the next I’m sliding, the next I’m rolling, and then I’m stopped. The worst part was when I realized I was trapped in the car, and wondering how long it was going to take for people to come help me get out.”
“The wait was pretty bad for all of us, I think,” I said quietly.
Terrence reached out, and squeezed my knee with his hand, smiling reassuringly at me. He then chuckled. “You know what the worst thing was? I’m sitting there, they’re trying to figure out how to get me out, and all I can hear is this twangy crap playing over the track’s loudspeakers. They coulda done me a favor, and played something I LIKED, like some classic rock. I was the one stuck in the car, after all.”
Terrence shot a grin at me, but I didn’t return it. He squeezed my leg again, and went back to attacking his pudding cup. Pollaski pushed himself from the wall, and nodded. “It was a helluva crash. They got the video uploaded on YouTube if you ever wanna see it. Might even make SportsCenter.”
Terrence chuckled, and broke into a huge smile. “That’d be awesome. And I thought I’d have to be a few more levels up to get on that.”
“It was Hamilton who hit you,” I blurted, finally letting out the words I’d been trying not to say ever since I arrived at the hospital.
“Don’t start,” Terrence immediately said harshly, then softened his voice. “I know who it was, Wendy. But I pulled in front of him, just as he made his move. If anything, it’s mine, I’m the car a lap down. And, I hate to shove some dirt off, but when my freaking spotter says ‘clear high’, and I move up and get put into a tree, I get annoyed by it. He’s a good kid, but I hope Jimbo read him a riot-act after that screw-up.”
“Damn righ’ I did. Idiot shoulda kept you low to block King, while Wes ran on the high side.”
I looked up at the new voice so quickly my neck nearly cricked. Jimbo McNulty, Terrence’s crew chief, had entered the room. The potbellied Tennessean looked at Terrence for a second, sizing his driver up. I blinked in surprise as another man entered the room- Wesley Hamilton, Terrence’s teammate and the exact same man who had shunted him back at the track. Wesley looked at me, and I glared back at him, my mind racing. Had he heard me accuse him again of taking Terrence out? Would he try and pick an argument with me right here in the hospital room?
Before I could even decide what I would do if he did, Wes turned towards Terrence, looking, for the first time I’d ever seen him, slightly chagrined. He shrugged, almost a nervous tic, looked down at the floor. “You alright, man?”
“Yeah, they just wanna look at me overnight,” Terrence replied amiably, shrugging. “I’ll probably be clear for Iowa.”
The thought of Terrence getting back into a car just a week from now- at a bigger, faster track no less- was not a pleasant thought. But as I opened my mouth to protest, Wesley cut me off, with another shrug and a speech directed at his shoes.
“Didn’t mean for that to happen. Not like that,”
The apology wasn’t exactly heartfelt, and it was more mumbled than spoken, but I was surprised the arrogant driver had even offered it in the first place. Terrence accepted it with another shrug, but then he turned to me.
“Wendy, why don’t you guys go back to the RV? I’ll just talk to these guys for a couple of minutes, then sleep. You should do the same.”
I scoffed at the thought. “I’m not leaving you...”
Terrence leaned towards me, lowering his voice. “Wendy, I’m fine. I don’t need a damned bedside vigil tonight. And you don’t need to be sleeping in a chair. We all need a good night’s sleep, and you won’t get that here. Just take Theresa, and camp out in the RV, where you can actually be comfortable. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I grimaced, knowing my husband was right. But still, I didn’t want to leave Terrence so quickly. I nodded once, then leaned forward, kissing Terrence on the forehead. I then turned my attentions to rousing Theresa from her slumber, something my stubborn daughter did not want to do.
Pollaski and Cassie were taking it as their cue as well. “I’ll go pull the RV around,” he volunteered. “And take us back to the campground.”
I nodded, and Pollaski quickly left the room. Although I couldn’t be sure, he seemed to shoot a nasty glare behind Wesley’s back, and I fought to keep a satisfied smile from growing on my face. Finally, with some coaxing, I had finally awakened my daughter up enough for her to walk. I lifted her up so she could kiss Terrence goodnight, then, holding her hand, headed out the door, Cassie trailing, and leaving Terrence alone to talk with his two guests about the race.
“What a night,” Cassie groused as we waited for the elevator. “I’m going to sleep for a month.”
A slight chuckle escaped my lips. “At least we go home tomorrow, if Terrence gets released. Then we’ll have a few days to relax until we go again.”
We were silent the trip down the elevator, and we shuffled to the main entrance of the hospital. Pollaski hand’t arrived with the RV yet, so we waited just inside the glass doors. But looking out, I saw a familiar blonde haired woman, standing a ways away from the doors, casually smoking a cigarette.
Andrea Hamilton. Wesley’s wife.
On an impulse, I pushed through the entry doors, and approached the woman, trying my best to put on an air of a woman just out enjoying the night air while waiting for a ride. “Evening, Andrea,” I muttered.
Andrea stared at me much like a gardener would a garter snake, and merely offered a curt nod.
I looked up at the sky, where several pinpricks of light shone through, despite the lights of Grand Rapids surrounding us. “Nice night,” I commented.
“Was,” Andrea said, flicking her cigarette so the ashes fell on the sidewalk.
I bristled slightly at the barb. Was the woman incapable of even showing common courtesy? Nontheless, I kept my temper. I hadn’t come out to fight. “How’d Wes do? I saw him, but didn’t get a chance to ask-”
“Won,” I was cut off curtly again.
“Oh,” I was stunned by the news, considering Wes had taken some damage himself when he hit Terrence. “Well, congratulations to him! That’s what, his third this-”
“You have a big mouth, Thompson.” Andrea interrupted me.
For just a second, I was at a loss for words. “Excuse me?”
“I’m sorry, Briese,” Andrea replied sarcastically. “I forgot, you won’t take your own husband’s name. Then again, considering how well he drives, I can’t blame-”
“I’ll answer to either,” I replied stiffly. “And have a care what you say about Terrence, especially tonight...”
Andrea chuckled coldly, and shook her head. “It’s amazing how it all comes around, isn’t it Wendy? You run your mouth off about not getting the right opportunities, and you piss your boss off. You run your mouth off about Kaitlynn Stryfe, and she kicks your ass. And you run your mouth off about Wesley, and he puts your talentless husband into a tree.”
The words hit me so hard, I couldn’t find my voice for a few seconds, and when I did, I was sputtering. “Are you... are you trying to tell me that what Wesley did-”
I was cut off again. “I’m asking you if you believe in karma, Wendy,” Andrea said, with a smirk. I’d seen that smirk before from countless wrestlers- the smirk of a predator who knew they had their prey pinned. “It’s a valid quesion, considering that what happened to Terrence tonight was just such horrible, awful luck...”
“It was a spotter’s mistake,” I replied, my voice trembling. “And I don’t appreciate-”
“Just do everyone a favor Wendy. Keep your opinions about my husband’s driving to yourself, okay? Try not to have so much negative energy. Because the next thing you send your husband crashing into might not be so forgiving.”
She flipped the cigarette onto the ground at my feet, and turned away, sauntering into the lobby. I didn’t turn to watch her go. I didn’t even dare to speak, dare to move, dare to breathe.
I simply stood staring at the final embers of the cigarette, my hands at my side curled into talons.
8 July, AD 2011
To say yesterday didn’t go quite according to plan would be an understatement. I don’t want to use the word ‘disaster’, because that’s hardly what it was. But an all-around disappointment would definitely be a fair assessment of the situation.
Finding out that my promo had upset my boss (well, at least the boss I like), had been mortifying. I can get where Mr. Kincaid could interpret what I said as being unappreciative, but I really didn’t mean it that way. I simply wanted to indicate just how desperate I was to prove myself as a legitimate threat around here.
Obviously, an attempt at eloquence probably wasn’t the best way to go there. And it’s not eloquent when no one understands it... then it becomes pretentious.
I hate being pretentious.
Luckily, when I finally got a chance to talk to Mr. Kincaid on Twitter after the show, he apparently had realized my actual intent, and actually apologized to me for misunderstanding. That was really something I hadn’t expected. Either way, it’s good to be back in Mr. Kincaid’s good graces again. He’s one of the best people I’ve ever had the privilege of working under- he’s got a great head for business, but he has a compassionate understanding side as well. No wonder so many of the girls on the roster seem to have some sort of a romantic interest in him. Of course, my affection hardly goes anywhere near that level, but it’s nice to be able to consider a man like that a friend.
And, I have to be honest, from a more pragmatic standpoint, it’s tough to get anywhere in this business if the management isn’t on your side, and while I’m not exactly on Ms. Star’s enemy list, I doubt she’s ever going to fully appreciate me. Our philosophies in life are just too different. That’s actually dangerous in professional wrestling. At least when your boss hates you, they throw everything they have at you, and if you can weather the storm, it actually ends up getting you quite a lot of respect from your fans and colleagues. Indifference is death in this business. And while I’m not sure Samantha is entirely indifferent towards me, it’s little in comparison to how much Cody seems to respect me. So being back in his good graces is good on this front too.
But the low-point of the night was my match itself, against Kaitlynn Stryfe. For the first time in my FFW career, I ended the night on my back, getting pinned for a three count, and taking a loss.
Luckily, I wasn’t hurt too badly, just a sore neck from that Vixen Driver. The blow to my pride, on the other hand, well, that one’s a bit more painful.
I’ve never really kept win/loss records for myself. Unless you’ve gotten yourself into a round robin tournament, your win-loss record effectively has no meaning. I’ve gone on a twenty-two match winning streak before, and yet never gotten so much of a whiff of a singles title shot during that. On the flip-side, I’ve lost several matches in a row before, some embarassingly, only to suddenly find myself looking at the opportunity of a lifetime. Wrestling’s strange that way.
But even if you don’t keep tabs on your W/L record, you know when your first loss is, and it is always a hard one. You arrive, hoping to make an impact, to move up the ladder as quickly as possible, and get as much credibility as you can. It’s the first initial climb of a roller coaster. You wonder how high you can climb, and what you can do once you get there.
But like a rollercoaster, the first drop is often a really, really, big one. The plummet is gut-wrenching, and even though deep down you know that there’s very little danger in it, you can’t help but scream. What if that’s the best you’ve done? What if that’s your ceiling? What if you reached your limit so quickly?
But as bad as I wanted to beat Kaitlynn and prove myself able to compete with the main eventers, the fact is, last night, I failed. But ultimately (and I have to keep reminding myself this), I’m hardly in a bad situation. I didn’t embarrass myself, and I proved that I could at least be competitive with her. I missed one opportunity, I have PLENTY more on the table. I just can’t take any of them for granted. Focus on the next match, and do what needs to be done, and I’ll be okay.
And honestly, this next match, the Chase for the Crown finale against Crystal Hilton, is what I’ve been working towards the past two months anyways. Losing to Kaitlynn Stryfe was disappointing. Losing to Crystal Hilton will be a lot more than that.
But enough of the angst and negativity. Today’s Pollaski’s 29th Birthday, and I don’t want last nights misfortunes to ruin a special day for my manager. Unfortunately, it’s also a travel day for us. Still, it should be fun- we’re flying to Chicago to pick up our RV, and we’ll spend some time there to celebrate Dan’s birthday. I’m looking forward to it, Chicago is ‘My Kinda Town’ after all, (and it’s the Wendy City, as my daughter pointed out!). We’ll probably have dinner at the Cheesecake Factory under the Hancock, and then it’s a four hour drive up to Marne, which is just outside of Grand Rapids.
Why do they call it Berlin Raceway if its in Marne, Michigan?
Anyways, maybe its the worries I have of my own loss, combined with the incident from a couple of weeks ago, but I’m a bit nervous about this race. Terrence is a short track specialist, and at four-tenths of a mile, you don’t get much shorter than Berlin. But still, the wife of an automobile racer can do aught but worry, right? I’m sure it’s the same for Terrence whenever I wrestle.
Either way, Saturday Night should be an interesting evening!
-WCT
=====================================================
Saturday July 9, 2011
Berlin Speedway- Main Grandstand
Marne, Michigan
11:53 AM Local Time
“I suppose I have some explaining to do.”
[And thus, we open to a beautiful Michigan summer morning. Already, the heat is up in the eighties, and as such, we’re rewarded with Wendy Briese once again dressing skimpy. (At least by her standards). Decked out in a sleveless t-shirt and a pair of jean shorts, Wendy sits in what appears to be a racetrack grandstand, looking at the camera, although her eyes occasionally dart to what must undoubtedly be the offscreen racetrack.]
[Hey, she’s stuck here for the whole day, might as well get a good interview in while she’s waiting!]
“There seemed to be some misconceptions over the past couple of days over a few comments I made in an interview that I made on Thursday. And while the boasts I made have been rendered irrelevant, thanks to my unfortunate defeat at the hands of Kitty Stryfe, I still find myself bothered that such things were taken out of context. So, if you all wouldn’t mind, I’d like to take a minute to set the record straight.”
[Wendy’s grimacing. Like anyone, she’s not entirely thrilled with having to face the music. But hey, she’ll take her licks]
“I never thought for a second that I would ever take Stryfe’s position in the cage match. I even said immediately after that I knew that both Kaitlynn’s and my own paths to Unstoppable were secured. But somehow that part got overlooked, and whether the fault lies with me, or it lies elsewhere, it’s something that hasn’t sat well with me. So here’s me saying it, as blunt as I possibly can- I am, and always was, going to wrestle at Unstoppable in the appropriate match dicated by my finish in the Chase for the Crown. And I’m fine with that.”
[Wendy chuckles, and breaks out into a smile. As opposed to the strained ones she demonstrated last week, this one is genuine, and she grins at the camera]
“Actually, I’m more than fine- I’m excited at the opportunities I’m getting in the next couple of weeks. So to anyone who thinks that I was callously dismissing the Evolution Championship, I apologize, but that’s hardly the case. With the exception of my match at Velocity, everything I’ve done in this company over the past two months has been working towards the Chase for the Crown, and I have every intention of seeing this goal through to the end. And I have just as much intention of capitalizing, and walking out of Unstoppable with the Evolution Championship.”
[The smile fades a little, and Wendy looks pensive.]
“But while the Evolution Championship is my current destination, it’s by no means my final one. Nor, for the matter, is the FFW Championship. I don’t think there is an end to the road- no matter what you do in this business, there’s always something more to accomplish. It’s impossible to reach the end- you just keep going until you can’t walk anymore. But I want to go as far as I can in the years I have remaining. I don’t just want to win the Chase for the Crown, I want to dominate it. I don’t just want to be the Evolution Champion- I want to be the greatest Evolution Champion ever. I want to have the longest reign, the most defenses. And the same will prove for the FFW Championship as well, should I move on to that level. I want to be the best. I want to be unbeatable. I want to be...”
[As she talks, Wendy’s tone gets more and more wistful, before she trails off, and chuckles helplessly, shaking her head]
“I want to be perfect.”
“It’s a very, VERY arrogant goal to set for yourself. And probably a foolish one, as well, given that it’s quite simply unattainable. But you can bet that I’m darn sure going to try, and get as close to that unreachable milestone as I possibly can.”
[Small sigh, and a self-deprecating shrug]
“Obviously, I’m pretty far from that point. Just like everybody else, I have flaws, some of which are painfully obvious. I make mistakes. I come up short. Thursday proved that pretty well, didn’t it? I’m not ashamed I lost to Stryfe, although I am certainly disappointed. But I’d also like to think that I’m wiser from the experience. If my loss to Kaitlynn taught me anything, it was about looking too far ahead. With Kaitlynn, I looked way too far down the road, and didn’t see the open manhole lying in front of me.”
“Well, I’ve climbed myself out, dusted myself off, and now I’m ready to make the next step, and tackle the next obstacle. And I’ll admit, it’s a big step, and a huge obstacle. But it’s also one that I’ve seen coming for several months, and, quite honestly, I’ve been looking forward to it.”
[Wendy grins again, and one can see excitement in her eyes, although she does have to squint a little against the glare of the sun.]
“I find it interesting the contrast between Crystal Hilton and I. I want to be perfect, but know I never will be. Crystal wants to be perfect, and thinks she already is. Scratch that- she KNOWS she is. I don’t think what she’s doing is putting on an act. Which kind of worries me, because that means I’m going to be stepping into the ring with a completely delusional woman. A completely delusional woman who has a really, really hard kick.”
[Wendy cricks her neck, as if remembering the pop she took against Hilton]
“I just hope she doesn’t go into a complete meltdown after I prove that her perfection is little more than an illusion. We here in FFW already seem to be dealing with one of those. Although thankfully, Crystal doesn’t seem to have Twitter.”
[Wendy flashes a quick grin, and raises her eyebrows at the jab. As she does, a loud roaring sound is heard, and Wendy looks to her side, frowning, and mouthing the words “Now?”. Grimacing, she turns back to the camera, trying to race her voice over the sudden roaring of a score of stock car engines.]
“So here I stand, one week away from what is definitely the biggest match I’ve yet had in FFW. I’ll admit, I got a LOT of preparation to do before I can get to Minneapolis, but I can promise you this. There isn’t going to be anyone in the Twin Cities working harder than yours truly come next Saturday Night. And when it’s all said and done, there will be no doubt in anyone’s mind that Crystal Hilton is just like every single one of the rest of us.”
[A final smirk.]
“Flawed.”
[Fade]
=======================================
Saturday July 9, 2011
Berlin Speedway- Main Grandstand
Marne, Michigan
9:54 PM Local Time
It had not been a good night so far.
To be fair, the racing at Berlin Speedway, as well as the eight-thousand spectators, had been nothing short of spectacular on the tiny, 7/16ths of a mile track located in southeastern Michigan. Thirty-two cars had started the race, and although ten had already bowed out with mechanical problems, the remaining twenty-one had put on a heck of a show, producing nearly a hundred and twenty consecutive caution free laps- a miracle anywhere, but especially on a track this small.
THe problem with such long, sustained green flag runs was that if your car had any sort of issue whatsoever, you had little choice but to continue to lose ground, and hope that sooner or later you’d get a chance to pull into the pits to rectify the situation. And even from my vantage point in the grandstands (Berlin’s infield was way too small to allow anyone but dedicated pit crew in), I could tell that my husband’s car had been handling more along the lines of a Sherman tank than that of a finely tuned speed machine. And he had lost ground- three whole laps of it- before the first caution on lap 120 had finally enabled him to pull into the pits, and make adjustments.
The adjustments had worked somewhat- forty laps later, Terrence still remained in eighteenth, three laps down. But at this point, with only twenty-one cars left (and those behind him even more laps down with worse problems), Terrence was pretty much running just for the sake of running.
“You’re tweeting?” I looked up at the sound of my manager’s voice, and saw him gazing at me with disapproval.
I shrugged in response. “Sorry. It’s kind of a boring race.”
Pollaski snorted, and flipped his hand out, gesturing to two cars coming out of the fourth turn. “You kidding me? King and Hamilton have been dueling it out for the last twenty laps!”
I grimaced at the view. Leading the race was Chucky King, a proud Ohioan who painted his #7 car in the Scarlet and Gray of the Buckeyes. I had never met the man before in my life, but I knew that he’d been having a rough year. It was nice to see someone like him get his way to the front- although I’d much rathered it had been my husband.
The second place car, the green and gold John Deere #47, was sickeningly familiar to me at this point. I had hoped to go the entire weekend without running into Wesley or his wife Andrea, but it was tough not to when you belonged on the same race team, and had adjoining pits. They had been rather cold towards me the past day or so- not a shock considering I practically accused Wesley of dirty driving a couple weeks ago- in front of the entire team no less.
Still, I wasn’t exactly sorry I had done it- I spoke the truth- anyone with any sense at all knew I spoke the truth. But it had been an uncomfortable day. And the fact that Wesley had pretty much ran circles (three of them, to be exact) around my husband was making me even more irritated.
I felt a tug on my arm, and looked over to my left. Theresa was looking at me, her face all pouty, as if somehow I was to blame. “Daddy’s sucking!”
I shot her a stern glare. “What have I said about using that word? And he’s having car problems, hon. I’m sure he’s driving as hard as he can. Anyways, there’s only thirty-five laps left. If daddy’s not too tired, maybe we can go out for Ice Cream after. You okay with that?”
My daughter nodded vigorously, but my question had actually been asked of Cassie. My babysitter sat on the other side of me, using her race program to fan herself from the still sweltering Michigan heat. Terrence’s contractual ban on entering any fast food restaurant other than his sponsor was still well in effect- so any time we wanted Dairy Queen, or McDonalds, or Arby’s we had to ask either Pollaski or Cassie to make the take-out run for us.
“Yeah, fine,” she responded, grimacing at me. “I could use something to cool me off myself.”
I smiled, and turned my attention back to the track. Terrence’s handling problems seemed to be returning- he had fallen off the pace again, and was in danger of going another lap down. Terrence was obviously pushing his combative car the hardest he could, but King was gaining on him, with Hamilton in tow.
As Terrence’s car crossed the start/finish line, the flagman draped a blue and orange flag over him, pointing to his car with the black flag- a demand that he move aside for the leaders. Surprisingly, Terrence went into the first turn low, but then drifted up just a bit, giving King’s #7 enough room to slip underneath.
But at the exact same moment, Hamilton went into the turn hot, trying to swing around King on the outside. And Terrence’s yield pushed him right up into Wesley’s path. Wesley couldn’t- or didn’t- slow up in time, and he plowed right into Terrence’s rear bumper, shunting him to the side.
My breath caught in my throat as Terrence went sideways out of the turn, turning to the outside. Most raceways, he’d have smacked the wall, but Berlin had no wall on its backstretch. The track gave way into a small patch of grass, followed by a large sand pit designed to slow errant cars down. Smoke, then mud flew from the tires as he slid across the grass.
Then he hit the sandpit- in the worst way possible.
The car violently flipped to the left hand side, rolling once, twice, a third time, sand and shrapnel flying everywhere as it bounced aross the trap. Each roll took it more and more away from the track’s lights, so that it became a tumbling silhouette in the distance Sparks flew as it collided with the metal guardrail on the far side, and I could see the silhoutte tumbling end over end as it rolled over the guard rail. It had happened in seconds- quicker than I could honestly comprehend it all.
“-an absolute MASSIVE wreck down the back stretch! I’m not entirely sure who it was, but they were right with the leaders! King and Hamilton both got by, but... I think it may have been the thirty-eight!”
I was vaguely aware of the track’s announcer chattering on, now more audible with the car’s engine’s slowing down. In fact- they were shutting off- red lights were glowing on each of the turns, and a red flag was hanging from the flagman’s tower. The accident had immediately put a stop to the race. In the infield, the track’s safety vehicles were starting, their yellow warning lights spinning around as they left their waiting areas.
I barely paid attention to any of it, so transfixed I was on the dark area at the edge of the track, where I had last seen Terrence’s car before it hid the guard rail. Shrapnel littered the sandpit- as it was made to do, Terrence’s car had crumpled and disintigrated as it rolled, the pieces of the chassis absorbing the impact instead of the driver. But it was such a violent crash- was all that protection enough?
The announcer was continuing to prattle. “... red flag here on lap one sixty-seven, I’m still trying to figure out who it is. Okay, I’m getting word.. it *is* the thirty-eight car, that’s Terrence Thompson, of Indianapolis! We don’t have any word on his condition yet...”
“Mommy? What’s going on?”
I barely heard my daughter’s voice off to my left hand side, but a tugging of my dress made me looked down. Theresa kneeling on her seat, looking up at me with her big green eyes- the same color as mine. “They’re talking about daddy. What happened?”
I could barely find the air to speak- I hadn’t realized I was breathing so hard. I swallowed hard, trying to find my voice. “Daddy... daddy had an accident, hon.”
Theresa nodded- she had seen my husband crash before, albeit never as bad as this. “He’s okay, right? He always is.”
I tried to keep the tears from filling my eyes at my daughter’s optimism. “I... I don’t know hon. They haven’t said anything yet.”
I looked over at my nanny. Her mouth was open, and she was staring at the security vehicles at the far end of the track. She sensed I was looking at her, and she turned to face me.
“Take Theresa back to the RV. I don’t... I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t want her around all this until I know if... that Terrence is okay.” I kept my voice low, just audible enough for Cassie to hear. “Just please.. just... get her out of here.”
Cassie nodded, swallowing hard. I turned, kneeling next to my daughter, trying to keep my voice even. “Theresa, it’s your bedtime. Cassie’s going to take you back to the RV, now. Be good for her, okay? I’ll be along soon wi- to tuck you in.”
“But, Daddy? What about Daddy?” Theresa was a bright girl- she knew something was very, very wrong. We always let her stay up to the end of the race, regardless of the time, and we had promised her ice cream, only to now immediately send her to bed without dessert. I didn’t want to panic her- but it was tough- I was on the verge of panic myself.
I tried to put on a brave smile. “I promise you, when I come back, I’ll know how Daddy is. But go with Cassie for now, and get your bath and your teeth brushed, okay?”
Theresa nodded, her jaw set. I could tell she was concerned, but I don’t think the implications of the crash had hit her as hard as they had hit me. Still, the less of this she experienced firsthand, the better it would be I thought. She waved at me as she took Cassie’s hand, and together the two walked down the stairs towards the exit.
As soon as I knew she was gone, I let the dam I had been struggling to hold burst, and tears welled in my eyes, spilling out to trickle down my cheeks. They blurred my vision, causing the flashing yellow lights in the distance to be distorted, but I didn’t care. The track announcer had gone silent, and had put on some country music just for the purpose of diverting attention from the scene, but I couldn’t do anything but stare at the lights of the rescue vehicles.
And pray with every fiber of my being that my husband was okay.
==================================================
Saturday July 9, 2011
Butterworth Hospital- Room 211
Grand Rapids, Michigan
11:38 PM Local Time
“Well, they sure make those cars pretty damn good, don’t they?” My husband grinned at me as he raised his pudding cup in a toast, then spooned a glob and swallowed it.
It had been five more excruciating minutes before they had finally announced Terrence’s fate over the loudspeaker- that my husband was awake and alert, and communicating with the rescuers. Since Terrence’s car had ended up pinned between a tree and a guardrail, it had taken a while longer to get it so he could safely climb out. But he had done so, under his own power, and had actually managed to walk to the ambulance on his ownr, giving a small wave to the crowd that had given him a standing ovation.
From there, it was a whirlwind of activity. I returned to the RV to tell Cassie and Theresa the news, and nearly broke down in relief. Pollaski returned soon after, with news of where Terrence was being taken, and we took the ten mile journey to Grand Rapids, arriving just as Terrence was being taken in for some tests. I only got to spend a minute with him before he was whisked away again, for X-rays and CATSCANS, while the rest of us could do aught but wait.
Finally, he had returned, with word that his tests had so far come back negative, but that he was to be kept overnight for observations. Terrence was given a bed, and we all piled into the room, just happy that to be able to talk to my husband again.
For surviving a triple-barrel roll into a guardrail and a tree, Terrence was in remarkably good spirits. He was certainly in a better mood than I was- I had spent the vast majority of the past two hours shellshocked, and now that it was finally starting to wear off, I felt drained.
“Were you scared?” Cassie was sitting in a chair on the other side of the bed from me, looking almost as worn out as I did. Pollaski was leaning against the wall, by the window, playing with his mobile phone while listening in on the conversation. Theresa was the most drained of all of us- she had snuggled against me on my lap, and fallen asleep.
Terrence paused for a second, then shook his head. “Didn’t really have time to be. One minute I’m driving, the next I’m sliding, the next I’m rolling, and then I’m stopped. The worst part was when I realized I was trapped in the car, and wondering how long it was going to take for people to come help me get out.”
“The wait was pretty bad for all of us, I think,” I said quietly.
Terrence reached out, and squeezed my knee with his hand, smiling reassuringly at me. He then chuckled. “You know what the worst thing was? I’m sitting there, they’re trying to figure out how to get me out, and all I can hear is this twangy crap playing over the track’s loudspeakers. They coulda done me a favor, and played something I LIKED, like some classic rock. I was the one stuck in the car, after all.”
Terrence shot a grin at me, but I didn’t return it. He squeezed my leg again, and went back to attacking his pudding cup. Pollaski pushed himself from the wall, and nodded. “It was a helluva crash. They got the video uploaded on YouTube if you ever wanna see it. Might even make SportsCenter.”
Terrence chuckled, and broke into a huge smile. “That’d be awesome. And I thought I’d have to be a few more levels up to get on that.”
“It was Hamilton who hit you,” I blurted, finally letting out the words I’d been trying not to say ever since I arrived at the hospital.
“Don’t start,” Terrence immediately said harshly, then softened his voice. “I know who it was, Wendy. But I pulled in front of him, just as he made his move. If anything, it’s mine, I’m the car a lap down. And, I hate to shove some dirt off, but when my freaking spotter says ‘clear high’, and I move up and get put into a tree, I get annoyed by it. He’s a good kid, but I hope Jimbo read him a riot-act after that screw-up.”
“Damn righ’ I did. Idiot shoulda kept you low to block King, while Wes ran on the high side.”
I looked up at the new voice so quickly my neck nearly cricked. Jimbo McNulty, Terrence’s crew chief, had entered the room. The potbellied Tennessean looked at Terrence for a second, sizing his driver up. I blinked in surprise as another man entered the room- Wesley Hamilton, Terrence’s teammate and the exact same man who had shunted him back at the track. Wesley looked at me, and I glared back at him, my mind racing. Had he heard me accuse him again of taking Terrence out? Would he try and pick an argument with me right here in the hospital room?
Before I could even decide what I would do if he did, Wes turned towards Terrence, looking, for the first time I’d ever seen him, slightly chagrined. He shrugged, almost a nervous tic, looked down at the floor. “You alright, man?”
“Yeah, they just wanna look at me overnight,” Terrence replied amiably, shrugging. “I’ll probably be clear for Iowa.”
The thought of Terrence getting back into a car just a week from now- at a bigger, faster track no less- was not a pleasant thought. But as I opened my mouth to protest, Wesley cut me off, with another shrug and a speech directed at his shoes.
“Didn’t mean for that to happen. Not like that,”
The apology wasn’t exactly heartfelt, and it was more mumbled than spoken, but I was surprised the arrogant driver had even offered it in the first place. Terrence accepted it with another shrug, but then he turned to me.
“Wendy, why don’t you guys go back to the RV? I’ll just talk to these guys for a couple of minutes, then sleep. You should do the same.”
I scoffed at the thought. “I’m not leaving you...”
Terrence leaned towards me, lowering his voice. “Wendy, I’m fine. I don’t need a damned bedside vigil tonight. And you don’t need to be sleeping in a chair. We all need a good night’s sleep, and you won’t get that here. Just take Theresa, and camp out in the RV, where you can actually be comfortable. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I grimaced, knowing my husband was right. But still, I didn’t want to leave Terrence so quickly. I nodded once, then leaned forward, kissing Terrence on the forehead. I then turned my attentions to rousing Theresa from her slumber, something my stubborn daughter did not want to do.
Pollaski and Cassie were taking it as their cue as well. “I’ll go pull the RV around,” he volunteered. “And take us back to the campground.”
I nodded, and Pollaski quickly left the room. Although I couldn’t be sure, he seemed to shoot a nasty glare behind Wesley’s back, and I fought to keep a satisfied smile from growing on my face. Finally, with some coaxing, I had finally awakened my daughter up enough for her to walk. I lifted her up so she could kiss Terrence goodnight, then, holding her hand, headed out the door, Cassie trailing, and leaving Terrence alone to talk with his two guests about the race.
“What a night,” Cassie groused as we waited for the elevator. “I’m going to sleep for a month.”
A slight chuckle escaped my lips. “At least we go home tomorrow, if Terrence gets released. Then we’ll have a few days to relax until we go again.”
We were silent the trip down the elevator, and we shuffled to the main entrance of the hospital. Pollaski hand’t arrived with the RV yet, so we waited just inside the glass doors. But looking out, I saw a familiar blonde haired woman, standing a ways away from the doors, casually smoking a cigarette.
Andrea Hamilton. Wesley’s wife.
On an impulse, I pushed through the entry doors, and approached the woman, trying my best to put on an air of a woman just out enjoying the night air while waiting for a ride. “Evening, Andrea,” I muttered.
Andrea stared at me much like a gardener would a garter snake, and merely offered a curt nod.
I looked up at the sky, where several pinpricks of light shone through, despite the lights of Grand Rapids surrounding us. “Nice night,” I commented.
“Was,” Andrea said, flicking her cigarette so the ashes fell on the sidewalk.
I bristled slightly at the barb. Was the woman incapable of even showing common courtesy? Nontheless, I kept my temper. I hadn’t come out to fight. “How’d Wes do? I saw him, but didn’t get a chance to ask-”
“Won,” I was cut off curtly again.
“Oh,” I was stunned by the news, considering Wes had taken some damage himself when he hit Terrence. “Well, congratulations to him! That’s what, his third this-”
“You have a big mouth, Thompson.” Andrea interrupted me.
For just a second, I was at a loss for words. “Excuse me?”
“I’m sorry, Briese,” Andrea replied sarcastically. “I forgot, you won’t take your own husband’s name. Then again, considering how well he drives, I can’t blame-”
“I’ll answer to either,” I replied stiffly. “And have a care what you say about Terrence, especially tonight...”
Andrea chuckled coldly, and shook her head. “It’s amazing how it all comes around, isn’t it Wendy? You run your mouth off about not getting the right opportunities, and you piss your boss off. You run your mouth off about Kaitlynn Stryfe, and she kicks your ass. And you run your mouth off about Wesley, and he puts your talentless husband into a tree.”
The words hit me so hard, I couldn’t find my voice for a few seconds, and when I did, I was sputtering. “Are you... are you trying to tell me that what Wesley did-”
I was cut off again. “I’m asking you if you believe in karma, Wendy,” Andrea said, with a smirk. I’d seen that smirk before from countless wrestlers- the smirk of a predator who knew they had their prey pinned. “It’s a valid quesion, considering that what happened to Terrence tonight was just such horrible, awful luck...”
“It was a spotter’s mistake,” I replied, my voice trembling. “And I don’t appreciate-”
“Just do everyone a favor Wendy. Keep your opinions about my husband’s driving to yourself, okay? Try not to have so much negative energy. Because the next thing you send your husband crashing into might not be so forgiving.”
She flipped the cigarette onto the ground at my feet, and turned away, sauntering into the lobby. I didn’t turn to watch her go. I didn’t even dare to speak, dare to move, dare to breathe.
I simply stood staring at the final embers of the cigarette, my hands at my side curled into talons.
