Friday April 14, 1978
The Lyric Theater- Female Lead Dressing Room
Belfast, Northern Ireland
10:56 PM Local Time
There was no possible way that Margaret Blaine could have been in a better mood.
Tonight had been, in no uncertain terms, the biggest night of her life. She had been in the theatrical arts since she was a little girl, but tonight had been the first time she had performed as the lead in a major production. The opening night of ‘My Fair Lady’ had been looming ahead of her ever since she had gotten the lead. She had been terrified, thrown up her lunch in the bathroom about a half-hour before showtime, and had looked so pale to the point the director told off the makeup lady for applying too much powder. But despite the nerves, she had done it. She had NAILED it.
Already she was envisioning the Entertainment section in the next morning’s edition of the Belfast Telegraph. She knew the review would be good- there was no possible way it couldn’t have been. She wondered what words would be used to describe her performance of Eliza Doolittle. Sublime? Flawless? Julie Andrews, Eat Your Heart Out?
Margaret laughed out loud at the thought. A girl could dream, after all.
Humming “Wouldn’t it be Loverly” to herself, the twenty-five year old Englishwoman picked up a case of lipstick, and quickly applied it to her lips, blotting them on a piece of tissue, and admiring herself in the mirror. Her job may have been finished for the night, but there was no way her evening was done.
“You’re off-key,” came a sour, Irish accented voice from the open doorway to her dressing room. Margaret started at first, but quickly calmed herself, turning to acknowledge the uninvited guest. There was no denying that Gayle O’Reilly was a pretty woman, with the small dash of freckles on her nose and cheeks complimenting her long chestnut hair. And there was no denying that the woman could act and sing, possibly, although she hated to admit it, even better than Margaret herself..
But there was also no denying that her understudy was a damnably unpleasant woman. She wondered how much prettier that face of Gayle’s would be if it wasn’t scowling all the time. She wondered how much prettier her voice would be if it wasn’t constantly giving imperious commands to everyone within hearing distance.
Still, she tried to force a smile. “Well, it’s a good thing I wasn’t on-stage, then!” Margaret laughed, not unkindly, but unable to keep the excitement from her voice. “Did you see them, Gayle? They loved it! SIX curtain calls! On opening night! I can’t believe it!”
Gayle’s face took on a hard edge, and Margaret almost winced at the almost predatory smile that was forced towards her. “Neither can I,” the brunette seethed.
An awkward silence reigned over the dressing room. Margaret hadn’t meant to offend Gayle with her exuberance, but it was obvious that she had. She supposed she couldn’t blame Gayle, the rivalry the two had developed as they had fought for the role of Eliza had been intense, and Margaret still counted herself lucky that she had beaten out the native Belfastian. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that there were hard feelings here, especially considering Gayle’s nature.
“I should be going,” Margaret said, trying to sound apologetic as she did. “Gareth is going to be waiting for me.”
“Oh right,” Gayle replied, her tone acidic. “Your... boyfriend.”
Margaret bristled at the latent ridicule behind Gayle’s statement, but merely bit her lip. It was true that Lord Kensington was fifteen years older than her, but there was no denying that the two of them were made for each other. Whatever his reputation as a member of the House of Lords was, around her, it didn’t matter. He was kind, caring, intelligent, witty, handsome- everything she could ever want in a man.
“Yes,” Margaret replied stiffly. “My boyfriend. He came up from London just to see me tonight, and he’s flying back tomorrow. So I’d better get going...”
“Ah yes, rushing back to introduce ANOTHER law that will treat the Irish like dirt, right? Can’t leave well enough alone?”
Margaret closed her eyes, and sighed. She hated politics. “Look, I know the curfew, and the restricted areas are unpopular,” she tried explaining. “But he’s just trying to keep the peace here.”
“You want peace in Belfast? Easy,” Gayle explained. “Go to London, and tell that bitch on the throne that she and her church can go fuck themselves, and leave us to our own.”
“I’m not arguing this, Gayle. Not tonight,” Margaret said softly, yet firmly. “We should be celebrating, not fighting. Where’s Augustus? Aren’t you two going out tonight as well?”
For the first time, Gayle’s anger seemed to melt away, and the blonde sensed something else in her understudy. She didn’t know what it was, but it certainly wasn’t happiness. Dismay? Resignation?
“Gussie’s working late at the dinner theater,” Gayle finally replied. “But yeah, we’re going out after that.”
Margaret snatched up her coat, and smiled at her rival. “Well, have fun. I’ll see you tomorrow, Gayle.”
She left the dressing room, to a half-hearted farewell from Gayle, and stepped into the hallway. It took another few minutes to reach the exit- other cast and crew kept coming up and congratulating her on her performance. But finally, she was out the door, into the cool spring evening.
For once, it wasn’t raining, Margaret thought as she walked towards her car, a 1976 Jaguar that Lord Kensington had bought for her several months ago. Maybe tonight, after dinner, they could go up to Black Mountain, which overlooked the city, and...
Margaret was so in tune with her thoughts and plans, that she never noticed the lone figure atop the building across the street, looking down on her in the darkness. She never saw the flash of light coming from the roof, and never heard the loud crack that echoed through the night air. She only barely registered something hitting the side of her head, and then she knew no more.
Margaret Blaine, twenty-five years old, stood upright for just a fraction of a second longer, before her knees buckled, and she pitched forward onto the ground. Her car keys slipped from her hands, and skittered on the asphalt a couple feet away.
And Margaret Blaine lay there, motionless, face-down in a puddle of the blood that was pouring from the bullet hole in her temple.
====================
Wednesday November 16, 2011
The Nest- Front Lawn
Indianapolis, Indiana
7:43 AM Local Time
“WAIT!”
The sound of a little girl’s voice filled the crisp autumn morning as Theresa Thompson sprinted across her front lawn, waving her arms frantically. The five year old yelled again, a pleading that the yellow school bus two hundred yards away would wait for her. Her breathing labored, she pounded after the large transport, letting out a final, desperate scream as the bus pulled away from the stop, slowly accelerating.
And then stopped. Whether the driver had heard her, he had seen the frantically running child in his rear mirror, or another student had alerted him, he had taken notice. Theresa didn’t slow down, continuing to sprint until she had reached the yellow vehicle.
From the front porch of the Nest, Wendy Briese-Thompson sighed with relief as she watched her daughter climb up the steps inside. A couple seconds pause, and the bus rolled away again, this time for good. Wendy turned around to go inside, exhaling another misty cloud of morning air, before tugging the front door shut behind her.
That had been too close, and this was becoming too frequent, she thought to herself. Once the novelty of being in school had worn off, Theresa had turned sluggish in the morning, to the point that every day seemed to be a battle to get her out the door on time. She wasn’t going through one more year of that- much less thirteen. If Theresa was having problems getting ready in the morning, she’d simply have to get up earlier. And that would mean going to bed earlier. If anything, maybe the threat of an eight-thirty bedtime might get the girl to stop dragging her heels in the morning.
“One can only hope,” Wendy muttered to no one in particular. The house was empty- Terrence had gone down to Thompson Auto to help out Steve, and so she was alone, at least until Pollaski came over in a couple of hours to pick her up for their daily training session.
Wandering into the kitchen, Wendy plucked a box of Life Cereal from the shelf, and poured a bowl, adding a liberal helping of skim milk. Grabbing a spoon, she carried her breakfast to the kitchen table, grabbing her laptop on the way and powering it up.
Wendy munched on her cereal as she read the news from various websites, including a preview of her now twenty-fourth ranked Irish’s upcoming game against Boston College, as well as numerous news and rumors concerning the upcoming Violent Night pay-per-view. She had just finished her cereal, and was starting to read the debut edition of the Cat’s Eye column, when the phone rang.
A cordless set was on the counter, and Wendy grabbed it, pressing the talk button. “Hello?”
“Yes, ma’am. May I please speak to a Ms. Gwendolyn Briese, please?” To Wendy’s surprise, the official-sounding voice carried an Irish accent.
“Um... this is her,” she replied, not even bothering to ask that her true first name not be used.
“Ma’am, my name is David O’Leary, and I’m a Sergeant with the Belfast City Police Department. Do you know a woman by the name of Constance O’Reilly?”
Wendy suddenly had a sinking feeling that she knew what this call was about. “I.. I do. She’s my grandmother. Why... is she okay?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. She was found dead in her flat this morning.”
Wendy sucked in a sharp intake of breath, and exhaled slowly, closing her eyes. “Oh, Nana,” she breathed. It was something she had been expecting- the woman had been well into her eighties and had certainly looked more frail when she had come to visit the prior year, but still, it was news that the young redhead was hardly looking forward to.
It took another couple seconds to remember that she was on an international line, and her manners. “I’m sorry,” she said, more for lack of anything else. “Thank... thank you for letting me know.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am.” In truth, the voice sounded like it had made this call too many times for genuine sympathy to show through anymore. “You’re in the United States, correct?”
“Yes, um... Indiana,” Wendy clarified, although it likely didn’t matter.
“Well, you were the only person who’s contact information we could find. And, well, city policy says that we have to notify any next of kin if possible before we, um, assume control of the remains. Do we have your permission to dispose of the body? She’ll be cremated, and buried in a small cemetery. We’ll send you information on the site, if you’d like.”
For a second, Wendy almost said yes, but something stopped her. It wasn’t right she realized. The woman had lived eighty-plus years, had two daughters, a son, and at least eight grandchildren, and she was going to be ‘disposed of’ by a couple of city bureaucrats?
“No, I’ll come out and take care of it,” Wendy said, trying to sound forceful. “She should.. be buried by someone she knew. I’ll be on a plane tomorrow, and in on Friday.”
“Very well, ma’am. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“Yes, um. If it’s not too much trouble. Do you have a number for any cemeteries? Preferably a Catholic one.”
“Sure thing ma’am. Just hang on while I pull this up...”
The officer actually provided her with several, and Wendy thanked him before hanging up. She leaned against the counter staring at the phone, as if still wondering if what she had just heard was a dream. She supposed she should cry- after all, isn’t that what you were supposed to do when someone you loved died?
But no tears came, just a sense of resignation that this had to happen sooner or later. And, strangely, a feeling of relief. Wendy couldn’t deny it- her grandmother had hardly been the most likeable woman. Her whole life had been filled with anger, and bitterness, and something inside Wendy was at least grateful that the woman was finally at peace. Everyone needed to find peace in the end.
Everyone...
Suddenly, she knew EXACTLY what she was going to have to do. She grabbed the phone, and quickly dialed Pollaski’s number.
“Wha....?” obviously her call had just woken her manager up. “Igotanhour...”
“Dan, I need your help here,” Wendy insisted, trying to cut through Pollaski’s sleepiness. “I just got a call... Nana’s dead.”
“Wait, what?” Apparently that woke him up a bit. “Your grandmother’s dead?”
“Yeah. Belfast police found her this morning.”
There was a pause, although Wendy was almost certain that she could hear her manager humming a few bars of Kool & The Gang’s “Celebrate”. “I’m sorry for your loss,” Pollaski finally said, suddenly chipper.
Wendy sighed. This morning was going more downhill by the second. “Listen, Dan. I’m going to Belfast. I’ve got to take care of this.”
“What? Why? The city’ll take care of it. Let them.”
“I... can’t. I can’t explain why, I just know I have to go over, okay?”
Pollaski was taking on a tone that was suggesting she was being unreasonable. “Wendy, you have a match in ten days. In front of a live crowd of a hundred thousand people. Against a girl who would LOVE to humiliate you. And you’re going to fly halfway around the world?”
“I didn’t plan this Dan, okay?” Wendy was starting to feel irritated. “That’s why I’m calling you. You’re my manager. I need your help here.”
There was a long pause. “Fine, what all do you want me to set up?”
“I’ll leave tomorrow, and come back Sunday, so get me a hotel for Friday and Saturday nights. And see if you can find a gym that I can train at.”
“Isn’t the School of Hard Knocks in Belfast?” Pollaski asked, a teasing note entering his voice.
“Dublin, I think. And *NOT* them, given that they’re a little more affiliated with my opponent.”
“Alright, alright. So a hotel, a place to workout. And a flight, I assume.”
“Hold off on the flight, I’m getting to that,” Wendy said. Her mind was racing now, and she was struggling to keep the words from pouring out at once, lest she not be understood. “I’m going to email you some numbers for Belfast cemeteries. Call around, and see if you can get me two burial plots. Price is not an issue.”
“Okay... wait.. TWO burial plots?”
“Yeah, Dan. Two. And I’m not going to Belfast straight away. I need to go to Carthage, New York. I think the closest airport’s Syracuse, but if you can get me nearer, so much the better. I don’t want to spend much time there.”
“Carthage, New... where the FUCK is that?” Pollaski exclaimed, as Wendy heard him typing, evidently on google maps. “Yeah... closest is Syracuse, but it’s still a two fucking hour drive. Wait... I remember this place. That’s where they buried your...”
Wendy nodded, even though she knew Pollaski couldn’t see her. For the first time, the emotion was starting to overwhelm her. “Yeah. It is. It’s not where she belongs, Dan. It never was, and it’s time to fix it. I’m going to get her, and I’m going to bring her home.”
She sniffled as the tears began to leak out,
“I’m taking mama back to Ireland.”
Saturday, December 10, 2011
EPISODE 142: Stinkylaski
The following was posted on whirlybirdz.com. The opinions expressed are solely that of the author, and do not reflect the opinions of Terrence Thompson, Wendy Briese, SVW, or anyone else. You’ve been warned.
Hey kids!
Daniel Pollaski here, coming to you from the city of Brotherly Love! Now, I know that it’s been a while since you guys last saw the Pollaskinator in action, losing a tough fight to Crazy Millar and his kitchen sink, but I’m back, and ready to kick some ass!
Tonight, I’m up against GAry Gillray, a bonafide sick motherfucker. Now, I’m sure everyone saw what Gary tried doing to Erica Horton a couple weeks ago, and I gotta say, even I can’t condone that kinda shit. Even the Troll that Feeds Himself has his limits on the bounty of good taste. After all, its kinda tough to do a wrestling company when you’re fucking banned from every media outlet.
Besides, what Gary did was just so damned overdone anyways. Trust me, I’ve managed a female prude for the better part of the last decade. You honestly think Gary Gillray is the first person to try using sex as a method to get under a female rival’s skin? Granted, Gary’s doing it a bit on the creepy side so I suppose points for delivery. But still, not original, been there, done that. Blah.
And the blood licking thing? Yeah, it sure looked fucked up, and it didn’t help that Erica was lying unconscious in the middle of the ring while he did it. But gimme a break dude. Her fucking SISTER supposedly does that to sustain herself, and you’re gonna tell me this is scary. The only way that could be any worse if if creepy pervy Gary Gillray saliva feels worse than vampire lunatic Valerie Belmont saliva (okay, I know which one I’d prefer, but...)
And I know there’s this talk going around that I’m afraid of Gillray. That I’m going through this not showering thing because I’m afraid that Gary will, in his terms “plunder my asshole” (obviously Gary’s never seen a fat person trying to wipe), and I’d prefer to keep my orifices slightly more on the pure side. Now, granted, the sweat stained bodycheese might be a bit on the insurance side, but afraid of Gilray? I think not. There’s only two things in life I’ve ever been afraid of, and that’s the prospect of Kansas missing the NCAA tournament, and Wendy watching Notre Dame lose.
I’m not afraid of Gary because I think Gary is all image, no substance. There is nothing that is going to stop me from pounding his stupid ugly face all over Philadelphia, and that includes him. He might have done it against Frigid Bitchcakes, but he ain’t doing it to me. The only ass-plundering’s he’s doing is in his own, when he kindly retrieves the New Balance sneaker I’ll have lodged up there.
Nah, on second thought, he can keep it. I probably won’t want it back.
Polla Out.
Hey kids!
Daniel Pollaski here, coming to you from the city of Brotherly Love! Now, I know that it’s been a while since you guys last saw the Pollaskinator in action, losing a tough fight to Crazy Millar and his kitchen sink, but I’m back, and ready to kick some ass!
Tonight, I’m up against GAry Gillray, a bonafide sick motherfucker. Now, I’m sure everyone saw what Gary tried doing to Erica Horton a couple weeks ago, and I gotta say, even I can’t condone that kinda shit. Even the Troll that Feeds Himself has his limits on the bounty of good taste. After all, its kinda tough to do a wrestling company when you’re fucking banned from every media outlet.
Besides, what Gary did was just so damned overdone anyways. Trust me, I’ve managed a female prude for the better part of the last decade. You honestly think Gary Gillray is the first person to try using sex as a method to get under a female rival’s skin? Granted, Gary’s doing it a bit on the creepy side so I suppose points for delivery. But still, not original, been there, done that. Blah.
And the blood licking thing? Yeah, it sure looked fucked up, and it didn’t help that Erica was lying unconscious in the middle of the ring while he did it. But gimme a break dude. Her fucking SISTER supposedly does that to sustain herself, and you’re gonna tell me this is scary. The only way that could be any worse if if creepy pervy Gary Gillray saliva feels worse than vampire lunatic Valerie Belmont saliva (okay, I know which one I’d prefer, but...)
And I know there’s this talk going around that I’m afraid of Gillray. That I’m going through this not showering thing because I’m afraid that Gary will, in his terms “plunder my asshole” (obviously Gary’s never seen a fat person trying to wipe), and I’d prefer to keep my orifices slightly more on the pure side. Now, granted, the sweat stained bodycheese might be a bit on the insurance side, but afraid of Gilray? I think not. There’s only two things in life I’ve ever been afraid of, and that’s the prospect of Kansas missing the NCAA tournament, and Wendy watching Notre Dame lose.
I’m not afraid of Gary because I think Gary is all image, no substance. There is nothing that is going to stop me from pounding his stupid ugly face all over Philadelphia, and that includes him. He might have done it against Frigid Bitchcakes, but he ain’t doing it to me. The only ass-plundering’s he’s doing is in his own, when he kindly retrieves the New Balance sneaker I’ll have lodged up there.
Nah, on second thought, he can keep it. I probably won’t want it back.
Polla Out.
EPISODE 141: Boston Flashback
Sunday November 11, 2001
Logan International Airport- Baggage Claim
Boston, Massachusetts
3:34 PM Local Time
“Ugh, he’s late,” Wendy Briese huffed as she looked at the Logan International Airport clock. She supposed she oughtn’t have been surprised, given the nature of her boyfriend, but considering that she had told him SIX times over the phone, not to mention three e-mails to his Prodigy account, that her flight was arriving at 3:15. They were supposed to meet here at the baggage claim. Yet, here it was, twenty minutes beyond, and she was standing alone.
It was hardly an auspicious omen for the way this new chapter in her life was starting out, and the twenty year old was already nervous enough about this move. Lord knows her parent’s had tried to talk her out of it, reminding her that with the Briese name, she could waltz into New York and get signed on some Broadway theater immediately. At least take Terrence’s departure as a sign that the two of them weren’t meant to be together. But she hadn’t wanted that. Not yet, at least. For now, she just wanted to study art at Boston University.
And be with her boyfriend, of course.
Terrence had left for Boston the first day air travel had resumed after the attacks, and Wendy had missed him dearly every day that they had been separated. Six months of him in a mental institution had been hard enough, but at least there she could have visited him as he recovered from the mental breakdown that had forced him out of auto racing. For him to announce within a fortnight of his release that he was leaving for Beantown had been heartbreaking. And for what? To become a professional wrestler?
Professional wrestling. Wendy snorted with derision as she thought about the pseudo-sport Terrence had taken up, because “it’s a great thing for adrenaline junkies like me”. It was a stupid, pointless, exercise in brutality that no one in their right mind would EVER want to do.
Maybe Terrence wasn’t quite healed yet. Maybe he needed another couple months of therapy if THIS was the best thing he could think of to do with his life.
Maybe she needed therapy herself, coming out here and joining him as he embarked on this stupid quest for self-fulfillment. Well, she wouldn’t be starting class until January. Until that time, she needed to find herself a job, and perhaps she could persuade Terry to find a more sensible profession as well.
Ultimately though, all she wanted to do was see Terrence, and hold him in her arms, and know that he was alright. Even if she was going to kill him for keeping her waiting like this.
And then she saw him, sprinting through the crowd, making his way towards the security gates to meet her. Predictable, Wendy sighed, as she pushed away from the column she was leaning against. To her consternation, she realized that Terrence wasn’t wearing the t-shirt and jeans that he normally wore, but a... racing firesuit?
Oh well, deal with that later.
“Terrence!” Wendy called, waving her hands. When he didn’t slow down, she yelled louder “TERRENCE!”
The second yell finally caught his attention, and he turned around, grinning as he saw her. He pushed through the bustling crowd, making his way towards her, and she fought down the impulse to sprint at him as well. But soon he was upon her, and she was leaping into his arms, the two laughing, hugging, and kissing.
“Oh, I’ve missed you,” Terrence said, as he squeezed her into him.
“I missed you too,” she replied, wincing slightly. There was no doubt about it- Terrence was definitely stronger than he was when he left Indianapolis in September.
Finally, they broke apart, and Wendy looked up at her love, wiping some moisture from her eyes. For a second, they were quiet, before Wendy gestured. “Why are you wearing a racesuit?”
Terrence shrugged, and grinned at her in a lopsided fashion. “It’s comfy. And, I don’t know. Wearing it reminds me of what I used to be. And what I want to be again,” he couldn’t quite keep the bitterness out of his voice.
Still, Wendy wasn’t exactly convinced. “That... really can’t be healthy, Terrence,” she said,
Her boyfriend shrugged. “I’m fine, hon.” he said, then leaned over and picked up her bags. “Oh, I got a new apartment!”
Wendy looked surprised. “You got a new place? Already?!”
“Yeah,” Terrence replied, grinning. “Uncle Steve wired me some money to help me out. It’s a lot nicer than my first place, and it’s two bedroom.” He paused, and grinned at her. “Unless you WANT the one-bedroom.”
Wendy rolled her eyes, and slapped him on the arm. “Not until we’re married!”
Terrence winced, but remained grinning. “I know, I know. But still... worth a shot, right? But jeez Wendy, you have some power there. Maybe you should try this wrestling thing.”
Wendy narrowed her eyes, and glared at her boyfriend. “Never in a million years. I’m an actress, not a barbarian.”
Terrence chuckled, and squeezed her shoulder with his free hand. “Suit yourself, hon. Now, come on, I bet you’re starving from that flight. Let’s go get something to eat.”
Wendy nodded, and took one more nervous look around the baggage claim area, before following her boyfriend towards the exit to the terminal, to begin her new life.
=======================
Friday November 11, 2011
Logan International Airport- Baggage Claim
Boston, Massachusetts
2:12 PM Local Time
“Right here, Terrence!” Wendy Briese-Thompson exclaimed as she pointed excitedly at a column in the middle of the baggage claim area. “Right here!”
“Hunh?” Terrence stopped walking to turn around and look at his wife, hanging on to his daughter’s legs to help her keep her balance on her shoulders. “No, hon. That’s carousel 3. Our baggage is coming out on carousel six.”
“No, Terry!” Wendy exclaimed in exasperation. “This is where you and I met when I first arrived in Boston, ten years ago today!”
Terrence paused, and scratched his head. “Hunh? You sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure” Wendy shook her head, and looked crossly at her husband. “You don’t remember?”
“Yeah, of course I do. We were supposed to meet at baggage claim, but you were at security, so I had trouble finding you.. And we ate at Subway afterwards.” Terrence set the suddenly restless Theresa down, “Ugh, you’re getting heavy, Terr.” He then looked up at his wife. “So... how’d I do?”
“Close.” Wendy said flatly. “Kind of like how you were *close* to beating Omnipotent in that stretcher match.”
Terrence winced at the cruel jab, and looked away, muttering something about being fatigued from triptophane. Theresa bounded over to Wendy, who knelt down to give her daughter a hug.
“You used to live in Boston?” the five-year old asked, looking up at her mother.
“We did,” Wendy said. “For a couple years, actually. Daddy got signed to a really small independent wrestling company out here, and moved out here to begin his wrestling career.”
“And you soon came out to join him?” Theresa asked. “To wrestle, too?” she pressed after Wendy nodded her head.
This time, Wendy shook her head, and smiled. “No. I came out just to be with Terrence, and take classes at Boston U. I honestly never imagined that I would become involved in it. I thought it was a stupid sport, a bunch of thick idiots beating each other with chairs and stuff. But it’s what Terry wanted to do, so I was determined to try and be supportive... at least until I could find a way to talk him out of it.”
“So why did you change your mind?” Theresa asked.
Wendy paused, biting her lip, and leaning back against the column. In all honesty, she had never been sure of the answer to that question herself, even after a decade. Still, she at least owed it to her daughter to try to find an explanation. “Most of the wrestlers in Terrence’s company were either power-brawlers or hardcore style. But there were a few technical wrestlers, and I remember becoming really enthralled watching them perform. It wasn’t like they were fighting... it was almost as if they were dancing with each other, the way they attacked and counter-attacked. And a couple of them were women, and they were actually able to beat guys twice their weight, so I actually started to find myself wondering if I could do that.”
Wendy looked up at Terrence, who grimaced. He knew what was coming next in the story, and it was hardly his favorite part.
“Well, right after Thanksgiving, your dad got beat in a stretcher match by a big, mean man named Omnipotent. Omnipotent had his buddies ambush Terrence during the match, and they really took liberties with him, so he was hospitalized with injuries. I actually was considering using that to talk Terry out of ever wrestling again... but the more and more I thought about it, the angrier I got that this man did these things to Terrence. So when the owner of the company came to me about finding Terrence’s replacement for his next match... I chose myself.”
There was a fairly decent pause, as Theresa let the information sink in. She looked over at her mother. “But.. you didn’t know how to wrestle.”
Wendy smiled, but couldn’t help but sigh. “No, I didn’t. I don’t know what came over me, but I certainly didn’t think things through. It was a six-person tag team match, and my partners would have been the tag team champions. I figured they’d help me through it, and I’d teach Omnipotent and his overweight bullies a lesson. The only problem is, they jumped my partners backstage, and took them out, and I... kind of had to face them alone.”
Theresa gasped, and turned white. “How did you do?”
Wendy smiled, and shook her head. “Well, technically, the match was cancelled. But I lost. Very, very badly. And Terrence didn’t even know about it until I came in to see him the next morning all battered up. He wasn’t happy.”
“Of course I wasn’t happy.” Terrence interjected. “You had no training, no idea what the hell you were doing. You were a sitting duck.”
“Oh, that you remember,” Wendy smiled, looking up at Terrence. “Terrence didn’t want me wrestling. But I told him that I really didn’t want HIM wrestling either. And both of us refused to acquiesce. So, we figured that if we were going to do this, we might as well do it together. So we formed a tag team.”
“The WhirlyBirdz!”
“Yup,” Wendy said, laughing. “And it was rough at first, learning as we went. We lost... a LOT. But we worked really hard at it, and we got better, and better. There’s always room to get better. Even now.”
“And Pollaski helped too, right?” Theresa asked.
Wendy’s smile became more strained, considering she wasn’t exactly on the best of terms with her manager at the moment, due to his sudden strategy of not showering. “Yes. Pollaski did help too. Sometimes. A little.”
Terrence laughed. “Don’t let the attitude and appearance and... smell fool you, Terr-Bear. Daniel Pollaski is a hell of a researcher, and match strategist.”
“And it’s a good seven hours before his plane lands, and our nostrils are offended again,” Wendy remarked, standing up. “So come on, Theresa. Let’s get our bags, and we’ll show you around Boston. This is a beautiful city, and it’s rich in history.”
“But first, let’s go remember what our first meal together in Boston was like, and hit up Subway,” Terrence said, rubbing his stomach. “I’m hungry.”
Wendy rolled her eyes, and shot an exasperated look at her husband. “Is all you can think about food?”
“When I’m hungry, yes.” Terrence responded, turning to walk away. “Come on, Theresa. Let’s go get our bags.” He tousled his daughter’s hair as she ran and caught up with him,
Wendy leaned back against the column, and watched her husband and daughter retreat into the crowd, a smile on her face. It felt odd, that ten years ago she stood in the exact same spot, making a decision that ultimately would change her life for the better. Had she not come to Boston then, what would have happened? She certainly wouldn’t have been in wrestling, would she still be with Terrence? Would her parents still be together, would her mother even be alive? What would have happened?
She didn’t know... but she doubted that it could possibly be any better than what did.
Saturday November 12, 2011
Embassy Suites- Room 421
Boston Massachusetts
1:31 PM Local Time
Fade in with... Khan? From Star Trek II? Yup. Khan, AKA Ricardo Montelbon, isn’t looking so hot here, leaning up against a chair, breathing fairly labored. Finally, he begins to speak.
Khan: I've done far worse than kill you. I've hurt you. And I wish to go on hurting you. I shall leave you as you left me, as you left her; marooned for all eternity in the center of a dead planet... buried alive! Buried alive...!
Cut to a still frame of Arabella, taken from a promo, her mouth open in rage, while her closing line from the last promo is played over the still.
Arabella: CUUUUUUUNTS!
And so we cut to a hotel room, where Wendy Briese is standing in front of a television, having just watched the exact same scene we just did. Her mouth is open, in that now-trademark WTF look we’ve come to love from her. A few feet away (although not nearly as far as Wendy would want, given by her nose-wrinkling), stands Pollaski, who’s grinning at the television like a proud parent. Finally, Wendy looks up, and over at her manager.
Wendy: “...Really?”
Pollaski shrugs, and grins.
Pollaski: “I thought it was funny. And 315 likes on YouTube already!!”
He probably isn’t going to mention the 21 dislikes.
Wendy: “Well... I suppose it IS a prevailing aspect of her vocabulary... such as it is. But it can’t be easy going through life that insane...
Pollaski nods.
Pollaski: “Although the person here I feel really sorry for is Colleen. She’s got a busted shoulder, and she still has to carry this team through our match. I mean, Arabella’s descent, but she’s already proven herself inferior to Desirae... and like you said, she’s batshit insane. Chances are she’ll be disembowling a popcorn vendor five minutes into the match because he yelled too loud. And Jo... well, is Jo.”
Wendy: “As contradictory and senseless as usual? Like how Desirae Kain couldn’t do anything right in Future Shock en route to her victory... coming from someone who didn’t even make it past the first cut?”
Pollaski nods.
Pollaski: “Yeah, no one really knows what Jo is, other than the possibility that she’s a space alien sent to Earth to destroy all semblance of rational thought. So, yeah. Poor Colleen. Poor, poor Colleen.
Wendy smiles, although she’s hardly sympathetic here.
Wendy: “It’s just the latest problem the A-List seems to be having, problems that are only going to compound for them. And that’s why we’re here this afternoon, just before we head to the arena for Breaking Point. Because I have an important message to give to our opponents tonight.”
A big smile, and Wendy’s not quite able to keep the gloating from her voice.
Wendy: “You guys blew it.”
Small chuckle.
Wendy: “You had your chances to teach us a lesson, and to prove your dominance here. You had your chance to destroy Isabella... you failed. You had your chance to destroy me in that battle royal, and not only did you fail, I managed to rise above you and win it. And in that lumberjack, you had SIX people out there against me. And despite your microphones, and Kendo sticks, and advantage in numbers, you still couldn’t get it done. I’m still standing, and I’m still standing against you. And now...”
Wendy quickly claps her hands together.
Wendy: “...that window of opportunity has slammed shut on you. I’ve weathered your storm, and I’ve taken the best you’ve had to throw at me. And now... I start fighting back.”
Small smirk.
Wendy: “Even better, I won’t be by myself this time. I didn’t choose Pink, Inc. as my partners, I’d never talked to either Desirae or Arianna until two weeks ago, but I’m certainly glad that someone upstairs saw fit to put me in a match with them. Because after the last Breaking Point, and our time in Seattle, I’m confident that I’ve got two of the best partners someone could ask for. And you know what the hillarious thing is?”
Hillarious, although Wendy’s hardly laughing.
Wendy: This all came about because of you guys. You came out, and attacked Pink, Inc at a moment of vulnerability. Had that not happened, I never would have come out to join them. I wouldn’t have found a couple of allies. So I suppose I should thank you guys.
Slight pause.
Wendy: “But it’s just another example of you guys not getting it. You strut around, acting like royalty with only numbers to back it up, and you think that’s enough. It’s not, and if you haven’t figured that out by now, the lot of you are in trouble. I don’t need to ask people to help me, the fact is that every attack you make, every person you blindside, makes another woman in FFW realize just how much you need to be stopped.
Wendy’s expression darkens slightly, and she glares at the camera.
Wendy: “I was likened to the leaders of the 1916 Revolution in Ireland. An interesting idea, but a flawed one. You see, I’m not rallying anyone. There’s no banner I’m waving. I don’t have to. Your own hubris and intent to subjugate those not in your little clique are doing that enough. The women of FFW aren’t rolling over and letting you run the place, and it’s almost laughable to even assume they would. I just happened to be one of the first to get sick of it.”
Wendy pauses, and sniffs the air, coming to the realization that she’s standing too close to Pollaski (even though the distance is about six feet) She takes a few steps to her left, increasing the distance.
Wendy: “But I know this isn’t a futile gesture, we can win. Because whatever image people want to paint of me as some naive white knight crusader, I’m far more self-aware than most people think. I know what I believe, and I’m steadfast in it. But I also know that very few people see the world the way I do, for right or wrong. And I discovered long ago that I’d be very lonely if I only befriended people who agreed with me on every single little thing.
Shrug
Wendy: “Such as Arianna. Do I agree with what she’s done in SVW? For the most part, I don’t, and I’m sure she’s aware of that. But you talk to Arianna, and you know that she’s a decent person. And this isn’t about SVW... she’s here in FFW, and she’s here to WRESTLE. She’s here to move beyond the limiting constraints of the T&A division, and going by her first two matches, she’s doing that rather darn well. I don’t care who you are, you have to respect that.”
Pollaski doesn’t quite look convinced by this, although even he’s admitted Arianna’s had a heck of a breakout performance.
Wendy: “I can agree to disagree with someone, and remain civil. Lord knows I do it enough, with my colleagues, with my manager, heck, even with my husband. So I find it pretty ironic that, for all the garbage they spew at me, those on the A-List are FAR more closed-minded than I could ever possibly be.”
Wendy nods, and promotes her newly revealed open-mindedness by taking another step away from her manager (although you can’t blame her here!)
Wendy: “Disagree with me, and you might get a stern look and an argument. Disagree with Colleen, and you get a barrage of four letter words and a microphone to your skull. Disagree with Arabella, and you get a shrieking barrage of four-letter words and an eviscration attempt. Disagree with Jo, and you get a petulant tantrum and... um...”
Wendy apparently can’t think of a second thing, so Pollaski helpfully chimes in.
Pollaski: “More nonsensical bullshit? Like, how women like you are the reason she wants to bury you... whatever that means?”
Wendy can’t help but smile at that.
Wendy: “I suppose it’s good that I’m like... people who are like me. Otherwise, we could have a paradox on our hands.”
Small grin.
Wendy: “But back to the subject at hand. I think I’m a fairly tolerant person. I can tolerate things I disagree with, and I can tolerate it when other’s disagree with me. About the only things I can’t tolerate, when it comes to wrestling, are blindside attacks, and blatant attempts to injure someone. In short...
Wendy shrugs.
Wendy: “About the only thing I can’t tolerate right now... is the A-List.”
Wendy turns away, and the scene fades.
Logan International Airport- Baggage Claim
Boston, Massachusetts
3:34 PM Local Time
“Ugh, he’s late,” Wendy Briese huffed as she looked at the Logan International Airport clock. She supposed she oughtn’t have been surprised, given the nature of her boyfriend, but considering that she had told him SIX times over the phone, not to mention three e-mails to his Prodigy account, that her flight was arriving at 3:15. They were supposed to meet here at the baggage claim. Yet, here it was, twenty minutes beyond, and she was standing alone.
It was hardly an auspicious omen for the way this new chapter in her life was starting out, and the twenty year old was already nervous enough about this move. Lord knows her parent’s had tried to talk her out of it, reminding her that with the Briese name, she could waltz into New York and get signed on some Broadway theater immediately. At least take Terrence’s departure as a sign that the two of them weren’t meant to be together. But she hadn’t wanted that. Not yet, at least. For now, she just wanted to study art at Boston University.
And be with her boyfriend, of course.
Terrence had left for Boston the first day air travel had resumed after the attacks, and Wendy had missed him dearly every day that they had been separated. Six months of him in a mental institution had been hard enough, but at least there she could have visited him as he recovered from the mental breakdown that had forced him out of auto racing. For him to announce within a fortnight of his release that he was leaving for Beantown had been heartbreaking. And for what? To become a professional wrestler?
Professional wrestling. Wendy snorted with derision as she thought about the pseudo-sport Terrence had taken up, because “it’s a great thing for adrenaline junkies like me”. It was a stupid, pointless, exercise in brutality that no one in their right mind would EVER want to do.
Maybe Terrence wasn’t quite healed yet. Maybe he needed another couple months of therapy if THIS was the best thing he could think of to do with his life.
Maybe she needed therapy herself, coming out here and joining him as he embarked on this stupid quest for self-fulfillment. Well, she wouldn’t be starting class until January. Until that time, she needed to find herself a job, and perhaps she could persuade Terry to find a more sensible profession as well.
Ultimately though, all she wanted to do was see Terrence, and hold him in her arms, and know that he was alright. Even if she was going to kill him for keeping her waiting like this.
And then she saw him, sprinting through the crowd, making his way towards the security gates to meet her. Predictable, Wendy sighed, as she pushed away from the column she was leaning against. To her consternation, she realized that Terrence wasn’t wearing the t-shirt and jeans that he normally wore, but a... racing firesuit?
Oh well, deal with that later.
“Terrence!” Wendy called, waving her hands. When he didn’t slow down, she yelled louder “TERRENCE!”
The second yell finally caught his attention, and he turned around, grinning as he saw her. He pushed through the bustling crowd, making his way towards her, and she fought down the impulse to sprint at him as well. But soon he was upon her, and she was leaping into his arms, the two laughing, hugging, and kissing.
“Oh, I’ve missed you,” Terrence said, as he squeezed her into him.
“I missed you too,” she replied, wincing slightly. There was no doubt about it- Terrence was definitely stronger than he was when he left Indianapolis in September.
Finally, they broke apart, and Wendy looked up at her love, wiping some moisture from her eyes. For a second, they were quiet, before Wendy gestured. “Why are you wearing a racesuit?”
Terrence shrugged, and grinned at her in a lopsided fashion. “It’s comfy. And, I don’t know. Wearing it reminds me of what I used to be. And what I want to be again,” he couldn’t quite keep the bitterness out of his voice.
Still, Wendy wasn’t exactly convinced. “That... really can’t be healthy, Terrence,” she said,
Her boyfriend shrugged. “I’m fine, hon.” he said, then leaned over and picked up her bags. “Oh, I got a new apartment!”
Wendy looked surprised. “You got a new place? Already?!”
“Yeah,” Terrence replied, grinning. “Uncle Steve wired me some money to help me out. It’s a lot nicer than my first place, and it’s two bedroom.” He paused, and grinned at her. “Unless you WANT the one-bedroom.”
Wendy rolled her eyes, and slapped him on the arm. “Not until we’re married!”
Terrence winced, but remained grinning. “I know, I know. But still... worth a shot, right? But jeez Wendy, you have some power there. Maybe you should try this wrestling thing.”
Wendy narrowed her eyes, and glared at her boyfriend. “Never in a million years. I’m an actress, not a barbarian.”
Terrence chuckled, and squeezed her shoulder with his free hand. “Suit yourself, hon. Now, come on, I bet you’re starving from that flight. Let’s go get something to eat.”
Wendy nodded, and took one more nervous look around the baggage claim area, before following her boyfriend towards the exit to the terminal, to begin her new life.
=======================
Friday November 11, 2011
Logan International Airport- Baggage Claim
Boston, Massachusetts
2:12 PM Local Time
“Right here, Terrence!” Wendy Briese-Thompson exclaimed as she pointed excitedly at a column in the middle of the baggage claim area. “Right here!”
“Hunh?” Terrence stopped walking to turn around and look at his wife, hanging on to his daughter’s legs to help her keep her balance on her shoulders. “No, hon. That’s carousel 3. Our baggage is coming out on carousel six.”
“No, Terry!” Wendy exclaimed in exasperation. “This is where you and I met when I first arrived in Boston, ten years ago today!”
Terrence paused, and scratched his head. “Hunh? You sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure” Wendy shook her head, and looked crossly at her husband. “You don’t remember?”
“Yeah, of course I do. We were supposed to meet at baggage claim, but you were at security, so I had trouble finding you.. And we ate at Subway afterwards.” Terrence set the suddenly restless Theresa down, “Ugh, you’re getting heavy, Terr.” He then looked up at his wife. “So... how’d I do?”
“Close.” Wendy said flatly. “Kind of like how you were *close* to beating Omnipotent in that stretcher match.”
Terrence winced at the cruel jab, and looked away, muttering something about being fatigued from triptophane. Theresa bounded over to Wendy, who knelt down to give her daughter a hug.
“You used to live in Boston?” the five-year old asked, looking up at her mother.
“We did,” Wendy said. “For a couple years, actually. Daddy got signed to a really small independent wrestling company out here, and moved out here to begin his wrestling career.”
“And you soon came out to join him?” Theresa asked. “To wrestle, too?” she pressed after Wendy nodded her head.
This time, Wendy shook her head, and smiled. “No. I came out just to be with Terrence, and take classes at Boston U. I honestly never imagined that I would become involved in it. I thought it was a stupid sport, a bunch of thick idiots beating each other with chairs and stuff. But it’s what Terry wanted to do, so I was determined to try and be supportive... at least until I could find a way to talk him out of it.”
“So why did you change your mind?” Theresa asked.
Wendy paused, biting her lip, and leaning back against the column. In all honesty, she had never been sure of the answer to that question herself, even after a decade. Still, she at least owed it to her daughter to try to find an explanation. “Most of the wrestlers in Terrence’s company were either power-brawlers or hardcore style. But there were a few technical wrestlers, and I remember becoming really enthralled watching them perform. It wasn’t like they were fighting... it was almost as if they were dancing with each other, the way they attacked and counter-attacked. And a couple of them were women, and they were actually able to beat guys twice their weight, so I actually started to find myself wondering if I could do that.”
Wendy looked up at Terrence, who grimaced. He knew what was coming next in the story, and it was hardly his favorite part.
“Well, right after Thanksgiving, your dad got beat in a stretcher match by a big, mean man named Omnipotent. Omnipotent had his buddies ambush Terrence during the match, and they really took liberties with him, so he was hospitalized with injuries. I actually was considering using that to talk Terry out of ever wrestling again... but the more and more I thought about it, the angrier I got that this man did these things to Terrence. So when the owner of the company came to me about finding Terrence’s replacement for his next match... I chose myself.”
There was a fairly decent pause, as Theresa let the information sink in. She looked over at her mother. “But.. you didn’t know how to wrestle.”
Wendy smiled, but couldn’t help but sigh. “No, I didn’t. I don’t know what came over me, but I certainly didn’t think things through. It was a six-person tag team match, and my partners would have been the tag team champions. I figured they’d help me through it, and I’d teach Omnipotent and his overweight bullies a lesson. The only problem is, they jumped my partners backstage, and took them out, and I... kind of had to face them alone.”
Theresa gasped, and turned white. “How did you do?”
Wendy smiled, and shook her head. “Well, technically, the match was cancelled. But I lost. Very, very badly. And Terrence didn’t even know about it until I came in to see him the next morning all battered up. He wasn’t happy.”
“Of course I wasn’t happy.” Terrence interjected. “You had no training, no idea what the hell you were doing. You were a sitting duck.”
“Oh, that you remember,” Wendy smiled, looking up at Terrence. “Terrence didn’t want me wrestling. But I told him that I really didn’t want HIM wrestling either. And both of us refused to acquiesce. So, we figured that if we were going to do this, we might as well do it together. So we formed a tag team.”
“The WhirlyBirdz!”
“Yup,” Wendy said, laughing. “And it was rough at first, learning as we went. We lost... a LOT. But we worked really hard at it, and we got better, and better. There’s always room to get better. Even now.”
“And Pollaski helped too, right?” Theresa asked.
Wendy’s smile became more strained, considering she wasn’t exactly on the best of terms with her manager at the moment, due to his sudden strategy of not showering. “Yes. Pollaski did help too. Sometimes. A little.”
Terrence laughed. “Don’t let the attitude and appearance and... smell fool you, Terr-Bear. Daniel Pollaski is a hell of a researcher, and match strategist.”
“And it’s a good seven hours before his plane lands, and our nostrils are offended again,” Wendy remarked, standing up. “So come on, Theresa. Let’s get our bags, and we’ll show you around Boston. This is a beautiful city, and it’s rich in history.”
“But first, let’s go remember what our first meal together in Boston was like, and hit up Subway,” Terrence said, rubbing his stomach. “I’m hungry.”
Wendy rolled her eyes, and shot an exasperated look at her husband. “Is all you can think about food?”
“When I’m hungry, yes.” Terrence responded, turning to walk away. “Come on, Theresa. Let’s go get our bags.” He tousled his daughter’s hair as she ran and caught up with him,
Wendy leaned back against the column, and watched her husband and daughter retreat into the crowd, a smile on her face. It felt odd, that ten years ago she stood in the exact same spot, making a decision that ultimately would change her life for the better. Had she not come to Boston then, what would have happened? She certainly wouldn’t have been in wrestling, would she still be with Terrence? Would her parents still be together, would her mother even be alive? What would have happened?
She didn’t know... but she doubted that it could possibly be any better than what did.
Saturday November 12, 2011
Embassy Suites- Room 421
Boston Massachusetts
1:31 PM Local Time
Fade in with... Khan? From Star Trek II? Yup. Khan, AKA Ricardo Montelbon, isn’t looking so hot here, leaning up against a chair, breathing fairly labored. Finally, he begins to speak.
Khan: I've done far worse than kill you. I've hurt you. And I wish to go on hurting you. I shall leave you as you left me, as you left her; marooned for all eternity in the center of a dead planet... buried alive! Buried alive...!
Cut to a still frame of Arabella, taken from a promo, her mouth open in rage, while her closing line from the last promo is played over the still.
Arabella: CUUUUUUUNTS!
And so we cut to a hotel room, where Wendy Briese is standing in front of a television, having just watched the exact same scene we just did. Her mouth is open, in that now-trademark WTF look we’ve come to love from her. A few feet away (although not nearly as far as Wendy would want, given by her nose-wrinkling), stands Pollaski, who’s grinning at the television like a proud parent. Finally, Wendy looks up, and over at her manager.
Wendy: “...Really?”
Pollaski shrugs, and grins.
Pollaski: “I thought it was funny. And 315 likes on YouTube already!!”
He probably isn’t going to mention the 21 dislikes.
Wendy: “Well... I suppose it IS a prevailing aspect of her vocabulary... such as it is. But it can’t be easy going through life that insane...
Pollaski nods.
Pollaski: “Although the person here I feel really sorry for is Colleen. She’s got a busted shoulder, and she still has to carry this team through our match. I mean, Arabella’s descent, but she’s already proven herself inferior to Desirae... and like you said, she’s batshit insane. Chances are she’ll be disembowling a popcorn vendor five minutes into the match because he yelled too loud. And Jo... well, is Jo.”
Wendy: “As contradictory and senseless as usual? Like how Desirae Kain couldn’t do anything right in Future Shock en route to her victory... coming from someone who didn’t even make it past the first cut?”
Pollaski nods.
Pollaski: “Yeah, no one really knows what Jo is, other than the possibility that she’s a space alien sent to Earth to destroy all semblance of rational thought. So, yeah. Poor Colleen. Poor, poor Colleen.
Wendy smiles, although she’s hardly sympathetic here.
Wendy: “It’s just the latest problem the A-List seems to be having, problems that are only going to compound for them. And that’s why we’re here this afternoon, just before we head to the arena for Breaking Point. Because I have an important message to give to our opponents tonight.”
A big smile, and Wendy’s not quite able to keep the gloating from her voice.
Wendy: “You guys blew it.”
Small chuckle.
Wendy: “You had your chances to teach us a lesson, and to prove your dominance here. You had your chance to destroy Isabella... you failed. You had your chance to destroy me in that battle royal, and not only did you fail, I managed to rise above you and win it. And in that lumberjack, you had SIX people out there against me. And despite your microphones, and Kendo sticks, and advantage in numbers, you still couldn’t get it done. I’m still standing, and I’m still standing against you. And now...”
Wendy quickly claps her hands together.
Wendy: “...that window of opportunity has slammed shut on you. I’ve weathered your storm, and I’ve taken the best you’ve had to throw at me. And now... I start fighting back.”
Small smirk.
Wendy: “Even better, I won’t be by myself this time. I didn’t choose Pink, Inc. as my partners, I’d never talked to either Desirae or Arianna until two weeks ago, but I’m certainly glad that someone upstairs saw fit to put me in a match with them. Because after the last Breaking Point, and our time in Seattle, I’m confident that I’ve got two of the best partners someone could ask for. And you know what the hillarious thing is?”
Hillarious, although Wendy’s hardly laughing.
Wendy: This all came about because of you guys. You came out, and attacked Pink, Inc at a moment of vulnerability. Had that not happened, I never would have come out to join them. I wouldn’t have found a couple of allies. So I suppose I should thank you guys.
Slight pause.
Wendy: “But it’s just another example of you guys not getting it. You strut around, acting like royalty with only numbers to back it up, and you think that’s enough. It’s not, and if you haven’t figured that out by now, the lot of you are in trouble. I don’t need to ask people to help me, the fact is that every attack you make, every person you blindside, makes another woman in FFW realize just how much you need to be stopped.
Wendy’s expression darkens slightly, and she glares at the camera.
Wendy: “I was likened to the leaders of the 1916 Revolution in Ireland. An interesting idea, but a flawed one. You see, I’m not rallying anyone. There’s no banner I’m waving. I don’t have to. Your own hubris and intent to subjugate those not in your little clique are doing that enough. The women of FFW aren’t rolling over and letting you run the place, and it’s almost laughable to even assume they would. I just happened to be one of the first to get sick of it.”
Wendy pauses, and sniffs the air, coming to the realization that she’s standing too close to Pollaski (even though the distance is about six feet) She takes a few steps to her left, increasing the distance.
Wendy: “But I know this isn’t a futile gesture, we can win. Because whatever image people want to paint of me as some naive white knight crusader, I’m far more self-aware than most people think. I know what I believe, and I’m steadfast in it. But I also know that very few people see the world the way I do, for right or wrong. And I discovered long ago that I’d be very lonely if I only befriended people who agreed with me on every single little thing.
Shrug
Wendy: “Such as Arianna. Do I agree with what she’s done in SVW? For the most part, I don’t, and I’m sure she’s aware of that. But you talk to Arianna, and you know that she’s a decent person. And this isn’t about SVW... she’s here in FFW, and she’s here to WRESTLE. She’s here to move beyond the limiting constraints of the T&A division, and going by her first two matches, she’s doing that rather darn well. I don’t care who you are, you have to respect that.”
Pollaski doesn’t quite look convinced by this, although even he’s admitted Arianna’s had a heck of a breakout performance.
Wendy: “I can agree to disagree with someone, and remain civil. Lord knows I do it enough, with my colleagues, with my manager, heck, even with my husband. So I find it pretty ironic that, for all the garbage they spew at me, those on the A-List are FAR more closed-minded than I could ever possibly be.”
Wendy nods, and promotes her newly revealed open-mindedness by taking another step away from her manager (although you can’t blame her here!)
Wendy: “Disagree with me, and you might get a stern look and an argument. Disagree with Colleen, and you get a barrage of four letter words and a microphone to your skull. Disagree with Arabella, and you get a shrieking barrage of four-letter words and an eviscration attempt. Disagree with Jo, and you get a petulant tantrum and... um...”
Wendy apparently can’t think of a second thing, so Pollaski helpfully chimes in.
Pollaski: “More nonsensical bullshit? Like, how women like you are the reason she wants to bury you... whatever that means?”
Wendy can’t help but smile at that.
Wendy: “I suppose it’s good that I’m like... people who are like me. Otherwise, we could have a paradox on our hands.”
Small grin.
Wendy: “But back to the subject at hand. I think I’m a fairly tolerant person. I can tolerate things I disagree with, and I can tolerate it when other’s disagree with me. About the only things I can’t tolerate, when it comes to wrestling, are blindside attacks, and blatant attempts to injure someone. In short...
Wendy shrugs.
Wendy: “About the only thing I can’t tolerate right now... is the A-List.”
Wendy turns away, and the scene fades.
EPISODE 140: Flying Fish
Friday November 3
Pike Place Market- Fish Area
Seattle, Washington
3:11 PM Local Time
It’s not often that a wrestling promo fades in on two grown men playing catch with a twenty-five pound salmon, that that indeed does appear to be the case here today. We’re in the world famous Pike Place Market, a large shopping center just north of downtown Seattle. The most famous attraction of the center, the Fish Market, is abuzz with tourist activity, eager to watch the famous “flying fish of Seattle” as the salesmen on the floor lob their purchases back to the wrappers in the back to be prepared and packaged. The camera watches as another salmon goes arcing through the air, over the counter, into the hands of a worker, before rotating almost a hundred eighty degrees.
There, it catches three lovely young women walking in- the newly crowned Unity Tag Team Champions Arianna Millar and Desirae Kain, as well as their friend and upcoming third-woman partner, Wendy Briese. All three women are watching the spectacle with a sense of wonder.
Pollaski [from obviously behind the camera]: So... a South Carolinian, a Hoosier, and a Frog all walk into a bar...
Pollaski trails off as all three women simultaneously give him dirty looks.
Pollaski: What? There’s gotta be a joke in there somewhere...
Desirae: Wendy.............
Desirae turns her attention slowly toward the woman that would be her and Arianna’s partner at the upcoming edition of Breaking Point.
Desirae: Why did you bring him along?
Wendy wilts just a bit under Desirae’s glare, stepping back, and grinning sheepishly, shrugging her shoulders.
Wendy: Well, we needed a cameraman. And I’ve got to do something to justify what I’m paying him...
Arianna: You pay him? Really? I’d have thought living with you guys was payment enough. Maybe he should take a paycut... or a shower. Preferably the latter.
Arianna wrinkles her nose, as Pollaski is apparently still a little stinky.
Pollaski: Hey! Would you rather I go the same way as stupid Erica Horton on the next Aggression? I don’t think so. Besides, it’s only a week and a half til the show. It’ll fly by!
Wendy rolls her eyes, and looks over at Arianna and Desirae
Wendy: I just feel sorry for whoever has to sit with him on the plane. Because I KNOW for a fact it’s not going to be me...
Desirae shakes her head.
Desirae: It won’t be me.......good grief, I can’t even imagine being on a plane, in a small, cramped area with him while he’s like that. It’s not right. I think it’s inhumane, really.
Arianna: I agree. And that’s when he HAS showered...
Pollaski snorts, and begins to rebut scathingly, but Wendy cuts him off by clearing her throat, and looking over at her partners.
Wendy: Just ignore him. This isn’t about him, he’s just here to film it. This is about us, and the fact that on the next Breaking Point, I’ve been given the tremendous honor of teaming with the brand new Unity Tag Champs... only because of Kat Stryfe’s leg injury, of course.
Wendy finishes this with a teasing wink at her companions.
Desirae: Of course, something had to take the blame...........right?
She nudges Arianna with a wide grin on her face.
Arianna: Of course! But anyway, shall we get on point?
Pollaski: I have a point... if anyone wants to-
Wendy: ANYWAYS... I’m looking forward to this contest.. not just because it’s another chance to prove to the A-List that they’re not any better than the rest of us, but that I don’t have to stand alone this time,either. I have two highly capable, and trustworthy allies standing next to me going into this match.
Desirae nods.
Desirae: Yeah, you helped Ari and I out at the last Breaking Point when Arabella and Colleen decided to blind side us after our match with the Flame and I think it’s only fitting that Ari and I kind of return the favor and help the odds get even around here for once. I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m tired of seeing people being thrown into two on on, three on one, four on one situations. It’s not right, it’s not fair and it’s going to come to an end at Breaking Point. All of this numbers game stuff is out the window and there’ll be no sneak attacks either. It’s just going to be them and us, nose to nose and face to face and really.....is there any doubt that they’re going to get their keisters handed to them? There IS a reason that the A-List usually don’t fight fair, after all........
Arianna: Yeah, I mean, it’s not as though our opponents are exactly flying high at the moment. Arabella’s still sore about you kicking her butt, and is apparently insane because I hugged her boyfriend... which is about six shades of crazy right there. Then you have Jo, who can’t beat anyone that isn’t a complete no-talent loser, and Colleen, who is definitely the strongest member of the team, but has what we call “big match choking syndrome”.
Wendy grimaces just a bit- given that Colleen’s beaten her before, and she’d like to think it was a big match... at least for her.
Wendy: It’s not even that this about their talent, or in-ring performance. All three women.. even Jo... have shown flashes of brilliance inside that ring. That’s not the issue... the issue is that they may be talented, but they are NOT the best, and the fact that they’ve banded into this clique doesn’t change a thing. You get them into that ring, away from the numbers advantage, and every single one of them is extremely beatable. We’ve seen it time and again, and we’ll see it even more on Saturday night.
Desirae smirks as she looks at both of her partners for Saturday night.
Desirae: Yeppers peppers! Each and every member of the A-List seems to be losing steam at an alarming rate from Rose Jenkins to Colleen. I don’t know about either of you, but I’ll be more than happy to keep their downward spiral going at Breaking Point! Especially after some of the things that Arabella and Colleen have said about me over the last few months. Both of them are rather mean and pretty cocky on top of that. But there’s nothing I love more than knocking high and mighty people down a few notches. Heck, I’ve done it with Arabella before! Remember how I won Future Shock? I beat Arabella by outsmarting her in a bullrope match. Yeah, throwing Colleen by her side certainly seems to have brought out an even more aggressive side to her but I’m sure I can deal with it. I’m definitely looking forward to this match, I know that much.
Arianna: Aggressive side... pah. When people talk about Arabella, that’s all they talk about. Aggression. Sure, she can win matches... at least, ones where she can hit opponents with weapons. But when have you ever seen her outwrestle someone convincingly? I mean, Mindy Smith had her on the ropes for a time, and she couldn’t win a match to save her life, bless her. The truth is, Arabella is too aggressive, and simply not smart enough to get ahead in this business. Not to mention completely mental!
Wendy nods, giving a small smile
Wendy: Honestly, I don’t think you can succeed in this business without being at least a little bit nuts. But you definitely can’t accuse the A-List of thinking things through, that’s for sure. I don’t think they realize just how counter-productive these little sneak attacks are. They’re not hurting anyone, they’re not sending any messages. All they’re doing is getting people fed up with them, and banding together to stop them. You two. Me. Isabella. And how many more will be added to that list the less people like Arabella use their brains, and more use their fists?
With a snicker, Desirae nods in agreement.
Desirae: They’re not making many friends and making a whole lot of enemies, that’s for sure. And I don’t know how anyone in their right mind could think that doing such a thing could end up working to their advantage or in their favor. Pretty much, the only thing that they have going for them is that they’re all in the boss’ pocket and each one of them seems to be the definition of the term “yes woman”. Which in itself is a shame. I mean, I don’t like Colleen at all no matter how good anyone says she is but it’s sad to see someone like Jo McFarlane in that kind of a role. I actually liked her when I first saw her and thought that she was a nice girl with a lot of potential, most of which is being wasted now that she’s running around with a kendo stick and swinging away at anything and everything.
Arianna: What kind of sick individual do you have to be to do that, anyway? Last I checked, we were WRESTLERS. What have kendo sticks got to do with wrestling? By using one, you’re only trying to injure people, and that’s simply unacceptable. You remember when Triple-X Rex took that nasty shot from Alexander Stryfe a few months ago? It hit him nastily, and he still hasn’t recovered. It’s a dangerous weapon. See, for me, Jo isn’t a wrestler... as proved by the fact that she can’t beat anyone... she’s just a nasty little bully, who needs to sit on the naughty step.
Wendy sighs, then nods, a mixture of sadness and anger on her features.
Wendy: I used to like and respect Jo too, before she... changed. But you know what? She’s chosen her path, and by the time Breaking Point is over, she’s going to realize just how bleak that path she’s about to walk is. Come Violent Night, Arabella gets to kick back and enjoy the night off, and Colleen gets to tangle with Shane Sanders. But Jo... she HAS to face me, and the next time, she won’t have Arabella and Colleen to hide behind. And then she’s going face the consequences for her actions... and it won’t be a time-out on the naughty step. Mainly because she’s not going to be able to sit...
Wendy smirks, and looks over at the girls of Pink, Inc.
Desirae: Poor Jo, I don’t envy her one bit. She deserves what you give her, Wendy. Heck, every single one of those A-Listers deserve to get their backsides kicked around like that and I have no doubt that on Saturday night, the three of them that we step into the ring with will us will get the beatings that the FFW faithful wants to see them get. I don’t know about the two of you, but it don’t matter to me if it’s Jo, Arabella or Colleen in that ring. I just want to get at them.
She shrugs a shoulder.
Desirae: Though I do suppose that I kind of look forward to locking up with Colleen the most. I mean, she is the most successful of that entire group and as I’m sure the two of you have heard, has proclaimed herself “the franchise”. She’s good, I admit that but she’s not good enough to carry Jo and Arabella, especially not against the three of us, right?
Arianna: Absoluuuuutely right! Colleen has a pretty crappy record in these kinds of matches. You remember the last time you faced her in this kind of match, Wendy?
Wendy pauses, before bursting out in a chuckle.
Wendy: I had almost forgotten about that six-woman tag match back in June. Odd, because it was a huge win for me, Kassi, and Crystal. But I also remember that’s really where the animosity between Colleen and I started. I pointed out in a promo that she, Robbyn, and Undine might not be entirely on the same page due to their rivalry, and she got paranoid and thought I was trying to manufacture a schism... that was already there.
Wendy snorts, and shakes her head.
Wendy: Well, I turned out to be wrong, because the ability to function as a team played little factor in that match on either side. And yet, we still won. And ability to funciton as a team won’t play a factor here. I trust you guys to have my back, and I”m sure that Colleen trusts her cronies to follow her lead as well.
Desirae rolls her eyes.
Desirae: Yeah, I’m sure that Jo and Arabella will be following Colleen’s lead. God forbid they have minds of their own, you know? Heaven forbid they try and be leaders instead of followers, hmmm?
She ends up sighing and shakes her head as she beams a smirk in Wendy’s direction.
Desirae: But yeah, Ari and I know that you’ve got our backs given what happened on the last Breaking Point and you know we got yours. You saved us from one of their craptastic beat downs and the least we can do to say “thanks” is stand by your side here and take them on. That and plus......evening up the odds and foiling their plans are pretty fun!
Arianna nods.
Arianna: We’ll totally kick their tails! It’ll be great fun! I mean, they totally have it coming. Besides, I think they’ve forgotten how to fight fair... at least successfully anyway!
Wendy smiles, and beckons towards the fish counter.
Wendy: Well, to be honest here, I still feel like the odd-woman-out. A guest at a party. And, well, I thought, kind of an icebreaker present, it’d be cool if I got you each a fish. You know, in hopes that our time together goes... swimmingly.
Wendy grins at her horrible joke.
Arianna: Um... sure, okay? I noticed some fish!
Desirae wrinkles her nose.
Desirae: I’ve been smelling it the whole time we’ve been here.......of course I thought it may have been Dan, too....
Pollaski: Maybe you forgot to freshen up after Cars-
Wendy: SOOOO... I’ve had these salmon before, and they’re REALLY good... you’ll love ‘em! And they pack it real good so you can fly them home without worrying about them spoiling.
She leads Arianna and Desirae through the crowd, before they’re right in front of the fish counter. SHe quickly talks to the salesman, pointing out, three huge salmon. The man picks up the first fish, and heaves a perfect toss, about twenty feet over the counter, to the cheers of the crowd. A second fish goes flying, and then a third. Wendy turns, grinning to her companions.
Wendy: It just takes a couple of seconds, and we’ll have dinner all ready for us!
Sure enough, its not long before there’s a shout, and the fish, now tightly wrapped and packaged in ice packs, comes flying back over. The salesman catches it, and hands the first one to Arianna, who nearly drops it. The second one is ready to be tossed, and the camera moves in to get a better view.
This turns out to be a very, VERY bad idea
Salesman: OH MY GOD... Is that... we caught these this morning!
He stumbles away, choking, and gasping for breath, at the same moment the second fish is tossed... right at Pollaski and the camera.
Pollaski: Uh oh...
Flying fish fills the viewscreen, and suddenly, the camera (and presumably Pollaski) is on the ground, giving a very nice view of Arianna’s pink sneakers. There’s a long silence, save for the gasping and tittering of the crowd.
Wendy: Um... is there anyway we can get another one?
Fin
Pike Place Market- Fish Area
Seattle, Washington
3:11 PM Local Time
It’s not often that a wrestling promo fades in on two grown men playing catch with a twenty-five pound salmon, that that indeed does appear to be the case here today. We’re in the world famous Pike Place Market, a large shopping center just north of downtown Seattle. The most famous attraction of the center, the Fish Market, is abuzz with tourist activity, eager to watch the famous “flying fish of Seattle” as the salesmen on the floor lob their purchases back to the wrappers in the back to be prepared and packaged. The camera watches as another salmon goes arcing through the air, over the counter, into the hands of a worker, before rotating almost a hundred eighty degrees.
There, it catches three lovely young women walking in- the newly crowned Unity Tag Team Champions Arianna Millar and Desirae Kain, as well as their friend and upcoming third-woman partner, Wendy Briese. All three women are watching the spectacle with a sense of wonder.
Pollaski [from obviously behind the camera]: So... a South Carolinian, a Hoosier, and a Frog all walk into a bar...
Pollaski trails off as all three women simultaneously give him dirty looks.
Pollaski: What? There’s gotta be a joke in there somewhere...
Desirae: Wendy.............
Desirae turns her attention slowly toward the woman that would be her and Arianna’s partner at the upcoming edition of Breaking Point.
Desirae: Why did you bring him along?
Wendy wilts just a bit under Desirae’s glare, stepping back, and grinning sheepishly, shrugging her shoulders.
Wendy: Well, we needed a cameraman. And I’ve got to do something to justify what I’m paying him...
Arianna: You pay him? Really? I’d have thought living with you guys was payment enough. Maybe he should take a paycut... or a shower. Preferably the latter.
Arianna wrinkles her nose, as Pollaski is apparently still a little stinky.
Pollaski: Hey! Would you rather I go the same way as stupid Erica Horton on the next Aggression? I don’t think so. Besides, it’s only a week and a half til the show. It’ll fly by!
Wendy rolls her eyes, and looks over at Arianna and Desirae
Wendy: I just feel sorry for whoever has to sit with him on the plane. Because I KNOW for a fact it’s not going to be me...
Desirae shakes her head.
Desirae: It won’t be me.......good grief, I can’t even imagine being on a plane, in a small, cramped area with him while he’s like that. It’s not right. I think it’s inhumane, really.
Arianna: I agree. And that’s when he HAS showered...
Pollaski snorts, and begins to rebut scathingly, but Wendy cuts him off by clearing her throat, and looking over at her partners.
Wendy: Just ignore him. This isn’t about him, he’s just here to film it. This is about us, and the fact that on the next Breaking Point, I’ve been given the tremendous honor of teaming with the brand new Unity Tag Champs... only because of Kat Stryfe’s leg injury, of course.
Wendy finishes this with a teasing wink at her companions.
Desirae: Of course, something had to take the blame...........right?
She nudges Arianna with a wide grin on her face.
Arianna: Of course! But anyway, shall we get on point?
Pollaski: I have a point... if anyone wants to-
Wendy: ANYWAYS... I’m looking forward to this contest.. not just because it’s another chance to prove to the A-List that they’re not any better than the rest of us, but that I don’t have to stand alone this time,either. I have two highly capable, and trustworthy allies standing next to me going into this match.
Desirae nods.
Desirae: Yeah, you helped Ari and I out at the last Breaking Point when Arabella and Colleen decided to blind side us after our match with the Flame and I think it’s only fitting that Ari and I kind of return the favor and help the odds get even around here for once. I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m tired of seeing people being thrown into two on on, three on one, four on one situations. It’s not right, it’s not fair and it’s going to come to an end at Breaking Point. All of this numbers game stuff is out the window and there’ll be no sneak attacks either. It’s just going to be them and us, nose to nose and face to face and really.....is there any doubt that they’re going to get their keisters handed to them? There IS a reason that the A-List usually don’t fight fair, after all........
Arianna: Yeah, I mean, it’s not as though our opponents are exactly flying high at the moment. Arabella’s still sore about you kicking her butt, and is apparently insane because I hugged her boyfriend... which is about six shades of crazy right there. Then you have Jo, who can’t beat anyone that isn’t a complete no-talent loser, and Colleen, who is definitely the strongest member of the team, but has what we call “big match choking syndrome”.
Wendy grimaces just a bit- given that Colleen’s beaten her before, and she’d like to think it was a big match... at least for her.
Wendy: It’s not even that this about their talent, or in-ring performance. All three women.. even Jo... have shown flashes of brilliance inside that ring. That’s not the issue... the issue is that they may be talented, but they are NOT the best, and the fact that they’ve banded into this clique doesn’t change a thing. You get them into that ring, away from the numbers advantage, and every single one of them is extremely beatable. We’ve seen it time and again, and we’ll see it even more on Saturday night.
Desirae smirks as she looks at both of her partners for Saturday night.
Desirae: Yeppers peppers! Each and every member of the A-List seems to be losing steam at an alarming rate from Rose Jenkins to Colleen. I don’t know about either of you, but I’ll be more than happy to keep their downward spiral going at Breaking Point! Especially after some of the things that Arabella and Colleen have said about me over the last few months. Both of them are rather mean and pretty cocky on top of that. But there’s nothing I love more than knocking high and mighty people down a few notches. Heck, I’ve done it with Arabella before! Remember how I won Future Shock? I beat Arabella by outsmarting her in a bullrope match. Yeah, throwing Colleen by her side certainly seems to have brought out an even more aggressive side to her but I’m sure I can deal with it. I’m definitely looking forward to this match, I know that much.
Arianna: Aggressive side... pah. When people talk about Arabella, that’s all they talk about. Aggression. Sure, she can win matches... at least, ones where she can hit opponents with weapons. But when have you ever seen her outwrestle someone convincingly? I mean, Mindy Smith had her on the ropes for a time, and she couldn’t win a match to save her life, bless her. The truth is, Arabella is too aggressive, and simply not smart enough to get ahead in this business. Not to mention completely mental!
Wendy nods, giving a small smile
Wendy: Honestly, I don’t think you can succeed in this business without being at least a little bit nuts. But you definitely can’t accuse the A-List of thinking things through, that’s for sure. I don’t think they realize just how counter-productive these little sneak attacks are. They’re not hurting anyone, they’re not sending any messages. All they’re doing is getting people fed up with them, and banding together to stop them. You two. Me. Isabella. And how many more will be added to that list the less people like Arabella use their brains, and more use their fists?
With a snicker, Desirae nods in agreement.
Desirae: They’re not making many friends and making a whole lot of enemies, that’s for sure. And I don’t know how anyone in their right mind could think that doing such a thing could end up working to their advantage or in their favor. Pretty much, the only thing that they have going for them is that they’re all in the boss’ pocket and each one of them seems to be the definition of the term “yes woman”. Which in itself is a shame. I mean, I don’t like Colleen at all no matter how good anyone says she is but it’s sad to see someone like Jo McFarlane in that kind of a role. I actually liked her when I first saw her and thought that she was a nice girl with a lot of potential, most of which is being wasted now that she’s running around with a kendo stick and swinging away at anything and everything.
Arianna: What kind of sick individual do you have to be to do that, anyway? Last I checked, we were WRESTLERS. What have kendo sticks got to do with wrestling? By using one, you’re only trying to injure people, and that’s simply unacceptable. You remember when Triple-X Rex took that nasty shot from Alexander Stryfe a few months ago? It hit him nastily, and he still hasn’t recovered. It’s a dangerous weapon. See, for me, Jo isn’t a wrestler... as proved by the fact that she can’t beat anyone... she’s just a nasty little bully, who needs to sit on the naughty step.
Wendy sighs, then nods, a mixture of sadness and anger on her features.
Wendy: I used to like and respect Jo too, before she... changed. But you know what? She’s chosen her path, and by the time Breaking Point is over, she’s going to realize just how bleak that path she’s about to walk is. Come Violent Night, Arabella gets to kick back and enjoy the night off, and Colleen gets to tangle with Shane Sanders. But Jo... she HAS to face me, and the next time, she won’t have Arabella and Colleen to hide behind. And then she’s going face the consequences for her actions... and it won’t be a time-out on the naughty step. Mainly because she’s not going to be able to sit...
Wendy smirks, and looks over at the girls of Pink, Inc.
Desirae: Poor Jo, I don’t envy her one bit. She deserves what you give her, Wendy. Heck, every single one of those A-Listers deserve to get their backsides kicked around like that and I have no doubt that on Saturday night, the three of them that we step into the ring with will us will get the beatings that the FFW faithful wants to see them get. I don’t know about the two of you, but it don’t matter to me if it’s Jo, Arabella or Colleen in that ring. I just want to get at them.
She shrugs a shoulder.
Desirae: Though I do suppose that I kind of look forward to locking up with Colleen the most. I mean, she is the most successful of that entire group and as I’m sure the two of you have heard, has proclaimed herself “the franchise”. She’s good, I admit that but she’s not good enough to carry Jo and Arabella, especially not against the three of us, right?
Arianna: Absoluuuuutely right! Colleen has a pretty crappy record in these kinds of matches. You remember the last time you faced her in this kind of match, Wendy?
Wendy pauses, before bursting out in a chuckle.
Wendy: I had almost forgotten about that six-woman tag match back in June. Odd, because it was a huge win for me, Kassi, and Crystal. But I also remember that’s really where the animosity between Colleen and I started. I pointed out in a promo that she, Robbyn, and Undine might not be entirely on the same page due to their rivalry, and she got paranoid and thought I was trying to manufacture a schism... that was already there.
Wendy snorts, and shakes her head.
Wendy: Well, I turned out to be wrong, because the ability to function as a team played little factor in that match on either side. And yet, we still won. And ability to funciton as a team won’t play a factor here. I trust you guys to have my back, and I”m sure that Colleen trusts her cronies to follow her lead as well.
Desirae rolls her eyes.
Desirae: Yeah, I’m sure that Jo and Arabella will be following Colleen’s lead. God forbid they have minds of their own, you know? Heaven forbid they try and be leaders instead of followers, hmmm?
She ends up sighing and shakes her head as she beams a smirk in Wendy’s direction.
Desirae: But yeah, Ari and I know that you’ve got our backs given what happened on the last Breaking Point and you know we got yours. You saved us from one of their craptastic beat downs and the least we can do to say “thanks” is stand by your side here and take them on. That and plus......evening up the odds and foiling their plans are pretty fun!
Arianna nods.
Arianna: We’ll totally kick their tails! It’ll be great fun! I mean, they totally have it coming. Besides, I think they’ve forgotten how to fight fair... at least successfully anyway!
Wendy smiles, and beckons towards the fish counter.
Wendy: Well, to be honest here, I still feel like the odd-woman-out. A guest at a party. And, well, I thought, kind of an icebreaker present, it’d be cool if I got you each a fish. You know, in hopes that our time together goes... swimmingly.
Wendy grins at her horrible joke.
Arianna: Um... sure, okay? I noticed some fish!
Desirae wrinkles her nose.
Desirae: I’ve been smelling it the whole time we’ve been here.......of course I thought it may have been Dan, too....
Pollaski: Maybe you forgot to freshen up after Cars-
Wendy: SOOOO... I’ve had these salmon before, and they’re REALLY good... you’ll love ‘em! And they pack it real good so you can fly them home without worrying about them spoiling.
She leads Arianna and Desirae through the crowd, before they’re right in front of the fish counter. SHe quickly talks to the salesman, pointing out, three huge salmon. The man picks up the first fish, and heaves a perfect toss, about twenty feet over the counter, to the cheers of the crowd. A second fish goes flying, and then a third. Wendy turns, grinning to her companions.
Wendy: It just takes a couple of seconds, and we’ll have dinner all ready for us!
Sure enough, its not long before there’s a shout, and the fish, now tightly wrapped and packaged in ice packs, comes flying back over. The salesman catches it, and hands the first one to Arianna, who nearly drops it. The second one is ready to be tossed, and the camera moves in to get a better view.
This turns out to be a very, VERY bad idea
Salesman: OH MY GOD... Is that... we caught these this morning!
He stumbles away, choking, and gasping for breath, at the same moment the second fish is tossed... right at Pollaski and the camera.
Pollaski: Uh oh...
Flying fish fills the viewscreen, and suddenly, the camera (and presumably Pollaski) is on the ground, giving a very nice view of Arianna’s pink sneakers. There’s a long silence, save for the gasping and tittering of the crowd.
Wendy: Um... is there anyway we can get another one?
Fin
EPISODE 139: Terminus, Part III
The following is from the private journal of Wendy Briese
16 October 2011
Terrence won today!
The final race of the season, and Terrence picks up his second victory of the year. And this win was even more satisfying and entertaining than his win back at LucasOil in July. Because not only did he win the race, and clinch the ARCA rookie of the year award, but Wesley Hamilton, through his own foolishness, knocked himself out of the championship.
I know, Schadenfreude is bad, but I honestly can’t help but feel it at this point. After all that Wesley and his insipid little wife did this year, from bullying Terrence on the track, to destroying my Evolution Title, it only felt right that trying to shove Terrence aside one last time cost Wesley the one thing he’d been chasing for the past six months. I met the champion, Matt Bronson in the victory lane celebrations after the race, and he seemed like such a nice, humble young man, with a brilliant career ahead of him.
But the tragic news coming from Las Vegas has cast a huge pall over what was supposed to be a day of celebration at the conclusion of another racing season. It was supposed to be a day of celebration at Vegas as well, the conclusion of IndyCar’s own season, but a horrific crash that claimed the life of driver Dan Wheldon turned it into a day of tragedy- one that will rock the racing world, no matter the series or the kind of car driven.
Even though Wheldon lived nearby in Carmel for a few years, and had an affinity for racing in Indianapolis, I had never met the man, although most I’d talked to who have said that he was a wonderful person. His loss is a loss for all of us, but what hit me the hardest was that he was thirty-three... just a year older than Terrence. And he’s leaving behind a wife and two children.
It’s the greatest nightmare I’ve ever had, being played out on someone elses stage, broadcast via the national sports media. Already the blame game has begun- there were too many cars on the track, Las Vegas is too fast for IndyCar, they wanted a spectacle, and they got one. Or was it just some freak accident? Replays of the crash are being shown time and again, as if showing a vehicle cartwheeling through the air and bursting into flames is going to make things any better.
But all I can think about is the woman who lost her husband, and the children who will grow up never knowing their father. That- god forbid- could be me one day. It could be any of the other thousands of women who watch their husbands put on a helmet and strap themselves into a small, fiberglass and metal casing, simply because it’s what they love to do.
Or maybe it will one day be Terrence, receiving Twitter messages and blogposts from people he’d never met before in his life, an outpouring of public support in his moment of grief. After all, wrestling is a dangerous sport as well, and we’ve have had no shortage of our own tragedies. But unlike auto-racing, there is no push in pro wrestling to make things more safe. If anything its the opposite. Fan’s want more blood, they want more risks. The matches become more and more violent, with us more and more at risk. We saw it at Sin & Sacrifice- the fans were going nuts, encouraging Scarlett to leap from the cage. They cheered, and took pictures, and chanted “FFW” as she fell from the sky, and only after they realized that something had gone wrong, that their favorite high flyer had taken one too many risks, that they fell silent.
And even now, too many won’t even offer that common courtesy. I’ve seen disgusting videos on YouTube, showing Scarlett’s dive as a moment of amusement, with no reguard for the woman who nearly lost everything. Rude and insensitive comments left by heartless people add to the travesty. And I’m sure in a matter of days, the same will apply for today’s crash. Are we becoming that desensitized, that we can’t even look at sporting tragedies in a light that there was a human being, someone who was a father, a mother, a wife, a brother involved?
And yet, we go on, simply because its what we’re supposed to do. I’ll walk to that ring on Thurdsay, and face a woman two and a half times my weight, in a match seemingly designed to hurt and humiliate me. And yet, I’ll be out there. And next spring, Terrence, along with hundreds of other racers, will climb back into their cars again, whether at Daytona, St. Petersburg, or Melbourne, and begin the danger anew, today’s events being a memory, but not a deterrent.
Life goes on. At least until the danger catches up with us as well.
Sometimes I wonder if it’s all truly worth the risks.
-WCBT
=====================
Monday October 17, 2011
The Chicken Coop Bar & Grill- Outside
Toledo, Ohio
2:10 AM Local Time
“How are you doing, Theresa?” I asked as I helped my groggy daughter put on her coat. “You okay?”
My little girl nodded, although I could tell that, given the moment, she’d had gladly climbed back into our booth, curled up with her head in my lap, and gone back to sleep. But the restaurant was finally closing, the patrons paying off their final bills and heading outside. I almost couldn’t believe myself- two nights in a row I had stayed up until the wee hours of the morning for a party.
“You want me to carry you?” I asked, taking a quick look back at our table to make sure we hadn’t forgotten anything.
But Theresa merely shook her head, stifling a yawn as she did. “I can walk,” she declared. Together we walked to the exit, out into the chilly morning air, waiting for Terrence to finish settling our bill, and call us a cab to take us to the airport.
I felt bad about keeping Theresa up so late, but the invitation to attend Matt Bronson’s victory celebration just wasn’t possible to refuse, especially because Bronson was giving no small amount of credit to my husband for his championship. Many of the other ARCA drivers had attended, and more than a few of them were happy with the way the season had ended.
It had been a fun party, even if I had spent most of the time sitting at our table with Theresa, while the others played darts, shot pool, or sat around trading stories as eagerly as they traded paint on the race track. I had met several other racing wives, a few, I was surprised to learn, who were FFW fans as well. We had a fun time talking about our own experiences of our crazy, travel-ridden lives.
I had even had a glass of champagne- with the toasts being offered, to Matt, to Terrence, in rememberance of those who were no longer with us, it only seemed appropriate that I participated as well. And I couldn’t quite keep the tears from my eyes as we all sang “Oh Danny Boy,” in remembrance of the racing brother who, a thousand miles away, had lost his life.
But now, as the bar reaching its last call, the entire restaurant was closing down, and we were being ushered out by the owner, tired, but likely more than happy with the upkick of business he had gotten, especially on the usually slow Sunday Night.
I was surprised to see quite a few people outside. Several other establishments were on the block, and they were all expelling their patrons as well. Some were heading to their cars, others walking off to their nearby homes. Some were even crossing the street, towards the dark baseball stadium that sat across the street. Fifth-Third Field, home of the Toledo Mud Hens (which gave the Chicken Coop its name).
Theresa yawned again, and I smiled down at her, a bit of guilt on my face. Our flight home left in just a couple of hours, and provided we were on time, we’d planned for her to still attend her Kindergarten class in the morning. It seemed awful to make her go to school on inevitably little sleep, and had it been longer than three hours, I’d probably had kept her home for the day. Maybe she’d get some sleep on the trip home.
I glanced to my side as another figure stepped tipsily to the curb, holding a quarter-full bottle of scotch in her hands. At first, I paid the drunk woman little, heed, but something about her made me take a second glance, and that resulted in a full double-take.
“Andrea?”
The woman was a wreck- she smelled as if she’d been imbibing all night, and judging by the vacant expression on her face as she turned to regard me, she had been. She blinked a couple of times, before a blatantly disgusted expression appeared on her face.
“Oh...God. Not you... AGAIN” she slurred.
I gently swung Theresa behind me- it never hurt to be safe, as I regarded Andrea. She was miserable, there was no doubt about that. But then again, there was no denying that she and her husband had had a really, REALLY bad day.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t even see you at the party,” I said politely, although I figured the reason for that was because Andrea had spent the entire night in the bar, while, since I had Theresa, I stayed exclusively in the restaurant section. “Where’s Wes. Did he come to?”
Andrea shook her head, nearly falling over as she did. “He... he went to the... um...one-night apartment thingie.”
“Hotel?”
“Whatever!” she snarled, waving aside my correction. “We had... a fight.”
“Oh,” I said simply. I hadn’t seen much of Wesley since Terrence had punched him, but what little I had, he had looked sullen, save for one time I had saw him in a heated discussion with Andrea. “Well, I hope you two can work it out,” I continued, for lack of anything better to say.
Andrea laughed bitterly, then took another swig of scotch. I grabbed Theresa’s hand, and led her away from the blonde wretch, as she moaned to herself about how unfair none of this was. It wasn’t long after that Terrence came out, walking over to me, giving me a kiss, then picking up Theresa, planting one on her cheek as well.
“Cab should be here any minute,” he announced. “They said it’d be a black SUV with Empire Taxi on the side, so we’d know.”
It was good there was some clarity- nearly every other car seemed to be a taxi as the drivers patrolled the bar areas, looking for patrons in need of a ride. Terrence looked up and down the street, then glowered at the baseball stadium- the Mud Hens were vicious rivals of our own Indianapolis Indians, so Terrence carried little love for them.
We both looked over at the sound of shattering glass, and saw that Andrea had dropped her Scotch, the bottle shattering on the ground, what little liquid remaining spreading out on the sidewalk. Andrea stood over it, whimpering.
“Andrea?” Terrence’s voice was filled with concern as he realized who it was. “Are you okay?”
“I should have set fire to your RV, instead of breaking your title!” Andrea replied, her voice screeching into the night. She seemed to come out of her stupor, and realized what she said, along with the events of this morning, and she looked at me, beginning to cry. “Please don’t hurt me. I didn’t mean to do it,” she whimpered.
At this point, it didn’t even seem worth it. I just shook my head in disgust, and was relieved when a black SUV pulled to the curb less than a minute later.
“We’re heading to the airport, but you want a ride?” Terrence offered amiably. I grimaced at the offer, but didn’t protest. After all, Terry didn’t like the Hamiltons any more than I did, but it still seemed wrong to leave his teammate’s drunk wife standing on a curb in downtown Toledo.
Thankfully, Andrea politely declined. “I don’t need your charity!” she shrieked, glaring at me. “If I never see either of you gain, it will still be too soon!”
I grimaced- we’d cross paths at least once more at the awards banquet. But like reacting to her confession, it didn’t seem worth it to correct her. Terrence, on the other hand, turned towards her.
“Well, ARCA and Nationwide share weekends at least four times next year, including the season opener at Daytona,” he said, trying to inject some sympathy into his otherwise amused voice. “We’ll probably see you then!”
“No!” Andrea protested, shaking her head, and nearly falling over again. “Stay away from me! I’ll call and have the schedule changed if I have to!”
“Um, right. Good luck with that.” I replied uneasily, climbing into the cab. In truth, I’d LOVE to listen in on that conversation, hearing the reactions of the NASCAR officials as Andrea, in my mind her voice filled with hysteria, demands they change their plans. “Take care Andrea,” I said, shutting the door before I could hear her reply.
As the SUV pulled away, Andrea plopped down miserably, sitting in the puddle of the spilled scotch, her head in her hands. “That is a very unhappy woman, ” I remarked, sighing.
“Yup,” Terrence agreed, nodding sympathetically. Then he broke into a grin. “They generally are after the WhirlyBirdz are done with them!”
He raised his arm, pointing his fist at me, hoping for a fistbump. I didn’t oblige, just shook my head, and leaned in, snuggling against my husband and closing my eyes. After a couple of seconds, Terrence put his arm around me, and we rode the rest of the way to the airport in silence, save for the occasional sound of my daughter murmuring in her sleep from the backseat.
Thursday October 20, 2011
Indianapolis Children’s Museum- 2nd Floor balcony
Indianapolis, Indiana
12:51 PM Local Time
The scene opens in another great Indianapolis landmark- the Children’s museum- one of the largest in the world. Wendy is standing just off the main entrance, up on the second floor, leaning against the balcony. Next to her, looking slightly nervous, stands her manager, while Theresa is off to the side even further, watching the goings on in the main area, oblivous that she’s on camera, while Pollaski and Wendy seem to be involved in a small argument.
Pollaski: “I’m just not certain I’m allowed to be here.”
Wendy: “Why? You haven’t been here in years, you said... you haven’t gotten banned, right?”
Pollaski: “Well, no. But, I’m pretty sure that legally...
Pollaski thinks hard for a second, before its hits him, and he shakes his head, laughing in embarassment.
Pollaski: “Wait... that only applies to the state of West Virginia. I’m good!”
A long pause, as Wendy’s mouth is dropped open.
Wendy: “Dare I even ask?”
Pollaski: “Let’s just say she looked a LOT older than fifteen, and leave it at that...”
Wendy looks completely revolted, and a bit on the horrified side, but once again, she manages to avoid the temptation of throwing her perverted associate off the balcony. Pollaski leans back, and whistles casually, looking behind him.
Pollaski: “But why are we here, anyways?”
Wendy: “Because I hadn’t taken Theresa in a while, and since we’re going to be downtown anyways, today, before the show, seemed like a good time to do it. But for the sake of promotional purposes, because of that.”
Wendy points off the balcony, to one of the main features in the entrance area of the museum. A water clock, standing about forty feet high, interlaced with tubes and baubles, all the while a lime-green pendulum swings back and forth behind it. There’s two main columns, one on either side of the clock. The leftmost being a column of sixty bulbs, stacked atop of the other, with every fifth one bearing a large corresponding number- the second bulb above the fifty mark has just been filled with water, dyed to an even deeper blue, and water is still cascading down at a measured pace, filling the next one. On the other side, are twelve much bigger globes, also stacked vertically. This column is almost filled completely, with just a little room remaining in the top bulb.
Wendy: “Because Rose Jenkins seems to love to talk about the concept of time, and, well, there’s really no better representation of that concept that I can think of than the water clock. It seemed fitting.”
Pollaski: “Ah... if we were going to do a location based shoot because of Rose, I’d figure it’d be an all-you-can-eat bufet or something.”
Wendy’s eyes narrow, and she shoots her manager a warning glare.
Wendy: “You know, its funny, becuase that’s ANOTHER constantly recurring theme whenever Rose talks- her insatiable need for respect, and the idea of being taken seriously. While that’s most people’s goal, especially in a sport like ours, Rose’s emphasis on it practially borderlines on the obsessive.”
A small shrug
Wendy: “I can’t speak for everyone, but as for me, I take Rose, and the prospect of facing her, VERY seriously. Then again, I tend to take all my opponents serioulsy, no matter who they are.
Pollaski: “Right on down to Charity Deas.. which is why your match with her was a bonafide asskicking that lasted about three minutes.”
Even Wendy can’t help but smile about that.
Wendy: “And maybe she’s a bit oversensitive about some stuff. I mean, I’m the butt of a lot of jokes too around here.. no thanks to you sometimes. It’s goes with the territory.. wrestlers tend to be a bit on the cynical side, and insults and verbal barbs seems to be the language of our sport more often than not. And, its human nature to make fun of the things people are afraid of, in an attempt to ease the burden, and perhaps lessen the anxiety. And just by watching the way Rose wrestles, there’s a lot about her to fear.”
A grimace, and Wendy sighs.
Wendy: “But if Rose thinks she’s being viewed as a sideshow attraction... maybe she should take a step back, and realize that’s what she’s allowed herself to become. Her actions haven’t done her any favors.”
Wendy glances at Pollaski, who looks slightly surprised by this comment, but Wendy continues.
Wendy: “It starts with the Ultraviolence title, which Rose so desperately craves. That belt is little more than a sideshow attraction in and of itself, designed to quench the bloodthirst of a small number of our fans. Most people don’t tune in to watch people hitting themselves over the head with god-knows-what.. they tune in for wrestling. And it’s a shame too- people like Rose, and Camilla, have proven themselves awesome wrestlers, more than capable of holding their own without resorting to unnecessary carnival smash acts.”
Pollaski- a ‘garbage wrestler’ himself, looks fairly dispassionate at Wendy’s critique of the Ultraviolence title, but mercifully, she keeps it to just a couple scentences.
Wendy: “But what’s the most damaging thing for Rose is that, for all the pride she has, for all the destruction she wreaks, she’s willingly indentured herself as little more than a servant to Samantha Star. Rose is strong, and Rose is powerful, and Rose can destroy any woman on this roster.. but she’s become a pet. Samantha points her finger, and Rose simply says ‘Yes, master’, and its off to do her bidding. And for what?”
Pollaski shrugs.
Pollaski: “Well, it does get her people to beat up...”
Wendy scoffs.
Wendy: “Who? Every single one of her assigned targets so far has struggled in FFW. What Rose gets is that she can escape the need to think for herself, and make her own career decisions, and get some illusionary status enhancement of being one of the boss’s chosen ones.”
A derisive snort, and Wendy shakes her head.
Wendy: “Temporary status enhancement at that. Look at history... Samantha’s had oodles of allies, she always seems to at least a couple of lackeys hovering around to do her bidding. But hasn’t anyone ever noticed that they tend to not stick around all that long?”
A lopsided shrug.
Wendy: “Amy. Shane Sanders. Isabela Pazzini. How many more that were even before my time? All of them, at one point, Samantha’s favorite, and all of them cast aside like rubbish when their usefulness expired. The longest tenured member of Miss Star’s Sycophant Squad is Starla McCloud, and after that? There’s an alarming turnover rate in that group...”
A grimace, and a pointed look at Pollaski.
Wendy: “So I hope Rose enjoys it while it lasts. But in the meantime, the next time she’s out, trying to beat on Isabella Pazzini, she might want to take a closer look. Because that’s going to very well be her, once Samantha Star grows tired. And I doubt that there’s only going to be one member of the A-List who’s eventually going to face that fate.”
A deep sigh, and Wendy shakes her head sadly.
Wendy: “And THAT’S why I’m opposing the A-List. It’s not for publicity... there’s other, FAR less painful stunts I could pull if I was about that. It’s not even about sticking it to the man... throughout my career, I’ve had generally positive interactions with my bosses.”
Well, there was that one promoter in Louisiana who routinely called her “Kitten”, but let’s not get into that...
Wendy: “Heck, I even respect Samantha Star as an owner, and a visionary. She’s gone and, in just the span of over a year, built one of the largest, most successful wrestling companies the world has ever seen. There aren’t any all-female promotions that come even close. And she did that through smart decisions, and even smarter hires, such as Cody Kincaid and Mark Horton into administrative positions to help her run the company.”
A slight pause, as Wendy realizes that she’s treading on dangerous ground here. But what the hell... she’s already in trouble with the boss, right?
Wendy: “But the fact is, it seems that sometimes those people have to protect Samantha from herself- whether it be her temper, or her tendency to show favoritism. What’s made this company so great is the opportunity that it presents to female wrestlers. Anyone who wants to challenge themselves has a home here, and the companie’s grown because of things like the Chase for the Crown,and the upcoming No Surrender Championship, and the opportunities it offers to anyone on the roster. Not just a cadre of a select few who enjoy ‘elite status’ because they happen to be in the owner’s good graces. This company needs the other forty wrestlers on its roster just as much as it needs the six A-Listers.”
Pollaski: “Even Charity Deas?”
Wendy paused, and looks over at her manager, clearly annoyed at being interrupted.
Wendy: “I was making a generalized statement there. Obviously there’s going to be a few... people who fall below the line.
Poor Charity.
Wendy: “As for why I truly ‘stuck my nose’ in the A-Lists business, well, two reasons. The first, is because Isabella asked me for help, and I promised her. And I’m not the type who goes back on my word. People may not agree with me on everything, but I will NEVER abandon a friend.”
Wendy finishes that statement on a note of defiant pride.
Wendy: “Second? Ask yourself this... had I not stopped it, who would have? Jo could have seriously hurt Isabella, and that wouldn’t have been the first. The first few victims of Rose, and the beginnings of the A-List, were left out to dry by the roster because they were even more maligned than the A-List is. People like Nina Astral, and Lumina Ferrari, and Michelle Taylor. And neither me or Isabella are the most popular backstage as well... but there comes a point where you have to start noticing trends.”
Wendy looks directly in the camera, a bit of pleading, but mostly determination in her features.
Wendy: “It wasn’t going to stop with Isabella, and it’s not going to stop with me. How many women on the FFW roster are on the bad side of Samantha Star, or at least one member of the A-List? You don’t think they’ll be next, one after another?”
Wendy snorts, and shakes her head
Wendy: “The great Irish statesman Edmund Burke once said ‘When bad men combine, the good must associate, else they will fall one by one; an unpitied sacrifice in a contemptible struggle’. And maybe I’m not the best person to do it, but by God, someone needs to take a stand. And I’m going to tonight, in my own backyard. And even though I’ll be alone, I’ve already said that I know I can win. And I’m going to go in ring, and I’m going to lay everything I’ve got into Rose Jenkins, and I’m going to beat her. And by the time Velocity ends tonight, EVERYONE is going to understand just how ultimately fragile, and vulnerable these thugs are.”
Wendy looks down quickly at her watch, and a smile crosses her face.
Wendy: “Because I think the A-List is full of it. They’re full of talent, and full of brutality. But they’re also full of arrogance, and bluster, and hubris, and contempt for anyone not in their clique. But like Rose said, the clocks ticking, and when time’s up?”
One O’ Clock hits, and the water clock begins to empty, the water level in both columns quickly lowering, emptying into the large reservoir located at the bottom of the structure. Wendy smirks.
Wendy: “All that is just going to drain away.”
Fade
16 October 2011
Terrence won today!
The final race of the season, and Terrence picks up his second victory of the year. And this win was even more satisfying and entertaining than his win back at LucasOil in July. Because not only did he win the race, and clinch the ARCA rookie of the year award, but Wesley Hamilton, through his own foolishness, knocked himself out of the championship.
I know, Schadenfreude is bad, but I honestly can’t help but feel it at this point. After all that Wesley and his insipid little wife did this year, from bullying Terrence on the track, to destroying my Evolution Title, it only felt right that trying to shove Terrence aside one last time cost Wesley the one thing he’d been chasing for the past six months. I met the champion, Matt Bronson in the victory lane celebrations after the race, and he seemed like such a nice, humble young man, with a brilliant career ahead of him.
But the tragic news coming from Las Vegas has cast a huge pall over what was supposed to be a day of celebration at the conclusion of another racing season. It was supposed to be a day of celebration at Vegas as well, the conclusion of IndyCar’s own season, but a horrific crash that claimed the life of driver Dan Wheldon turned it into a day of tragedy- one that will rock the racing world, no matter the series or the kind of car driven.
Even though Wheldon lived nearby in Carmel for a few years, and had an affinity for racing in Indianapolis, I had never met the man, although most I’d talked to who have said that he was a wonderful person. His loss is a loss for all of us, but what hit me the hardest was that he was thirty-three... just a year older than Terrence. And he’s leaving behind a wife and two children.
It’s the greatest nightmare I’ve ever had, being played out on someone elses stage, broadcast via the national sports media. Already the blame game has begun- there were too many cars on the track, Las Vegas is too fast for IndyCar, they wanted a spectacle, and they got one. Or was it just some freak accident? Replays of the crash are being shown time and again, as if showing a vehicle cartwheeling through the air and bursting into flames is going to make things any better.
But all I can think about is the woman who lost her husband, and the children who will grow up never knowing their father. That- god forbid- could be me one day. It could be any of the other thousands of women who watch their husbands put on a helmet and strap themselves into a small, fiberglass and metal casing, simply because it’s what they love to do.
Or maybe it will one day be Terrence, receiving Twitter messages and blogposts from people he’d never met before in his life, an outpouring of public support in his moment of grief. After all, wrestling is a dangerous sport as well, and we’ve have had no shortage of our own tragedies. But unlike auto-racing, there is no push in pro wrestling to make things more safe. If anything its the opposite. Fan’s want more blood, they want more risks. The matches become more and more violent, with us more and more at risk. We saw it at Sin & Sacrifice- the fans were going nuts, encouraging Scarlett to leap from the cage. They cheered, and took pictures, and chanted “FFW” as she fell from the sky, and only after they realized that something had gone wrong, that their favorite high flyer had taken one too many risks, that they fell silent.
And even now, too many won’t even offer that common courtesy. I’ve seen disgusting videos on YouTube, showing Scarlett’s dive as a moment of amusement, with no reguard for the woman who nearly lost everything. Rude and insensitive comments left by heartless people add to the travesty. And I’m sure in a matter of days, the same will apply for today’s crash. Are we becoming that desensitized, that we can’t even look at sporting tragedies in a light that there was a human being, someone who was a father, a mother, a wife, a brother involved?
And yet, we go on, simply because its what we’re supposed to do. I’ll walk to that ring on Thurdsay, and face a woman two and a half times my weight, in a match seemingly designed to hurt and humiliate me. And yet, I’ll be out there. And next spring, Terrence, along with hundreds of other racers, will climb back into their cars again, whether at Daytona, St. Petersburg, or Melbourne, and begin the danger anew, today’s events being a memory, but not a deterrent.
Life goes on. At least until the danger catches up with us as well.
Sometimes I wonder if it’s all truly worth the risks.
-WCBT
=====================
Monday October 17, 2011
The Chicken Coop Bar & Grill- Outside
Toledo, Ohio
2:10 AM Local Time
“How are you doing, Theresa?” I asked as I helped my groggy daughter put on her coat. “You okay?”
My little girl nodded, although I could tell that, given the moment, she’d had gladly climbed back into our booth, curled up with her head in my lap, and gone back to sleep. But the restaurant was finally closing, the patrons paying off their final bills and heading outside. I almost couldn’t believe myself- two nights in a row I had stayed up until the wee hours of the morning for a party.
“You want me to carry you?” I asked, taking a quick look back at our table to make sure we hadn’t forgotten anything.
But Theresa merely shook her head, stifling a yawn as she did. “I can walk,” she declared. Together we walked to the exit, out into the chilly morning air, waiting for Terrence to finish settling our bill, and call us a cab to take us to the airport.
I felt bad about keeping Theresa up so late, but the invitation to attend Matt Bronson’s victory celebration just wasn’t possible to refuse, especially because Bronson was giving no small amount of credit to my husband for his championship. Many of the other ARCA drivers had attended, and more than a few of them were happy with the way the season had ended.
It had been a fun party, even if I had spent most of the time sitting at our table with Theresa, while the others played darts, shot pool, or sat around trading stories as eagerly as they traded paint on the race track. I had met several other racing wives, a few, I was surprised to learn, who were FFW fans as well. We had a fun time talking about our own experiences of our crazy, travel-ridden lives.
I had even had a glass of champagne- with the toasts being offered, to Matt, to Terrence, in rememberance of those who were no longer with us, it only seemed appropriate that I participated as well. And I couldn’t quite keep the tears from my eyes as we all sang “Oh Danny Boy,” in remembrance of the racing brother who, a thousand miles away, had lost his life.
But now, as the bar reaching its last call, the entire restaurant was closing down, and we were being ushered out by the owner, tired, but likely more than happy with the upkick of business he had gotten, especially on the usually slow Sunday Night.
I was surprised to see quite a few people outside. Several other establishments were on the block, and they were all expelling their patrons as well. Some were heading to their cars, others walking off to their nearby homes. Some were even crossing the street, towards the dark baseball stadium that sat across the street. Fifth-Third Field, home of the Toledo Mud Hens (which gave the Chicken Coop its name).
Theresa yawned again, and I smiled down at her, a bit of guilt on my face. Our flight home left in just a couple of hours, and provided we were on time, we’d planned for her to still attend her Kindergarten class in the morning. It seemed awful to make her go to school on inevitably little sleep, and had it been longer than three hours, I’d probably had kept her home for the day. Maybe she’d get some sleep on the trip home.
I glanced to my side as another figure stepped tipsily to the curb, holding a quarter-full bottle of scotch in her hands. At first, I paid the drunk woman little, heed, but something about her made me take a second glance, and that resulted in a full double-take.
“Andrea?”
The woman was a wreck- she smelled as if she’d been imbibing all night, and judging by the vacant expression on her face as she turned to regard me, she had been. She blinked a couple of times, before a blatantly disgusted expression appeared on her face.
“Oh...God. Not you... AGAIN” she slurred.
I gently swung Theresa behind me- it never hurt to be safe, as I regarded Andrea. She was miserable, there was no doubt about that. But then again, there was no denying that she and her husband had had a really, REALLY bad day.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t even see you at the party,” I said politely, although I figured the reason for that was because Andrea had spent the entire night in the bar, while, since I had Theresa, I stayed exclusively in the restaurant section. “Where’s Wes. Did he come to?”
Andrea shook her head, nearly falling over as she did. “He... he went to the... um...one-night apartment thingie.”
“Hotel?”
“Whatever!” she snarled, waving aside my correction. “We had... a fight.”
“Oh,” I said simply. I hadn’t seen much of Wesley since Terrence had punched him, but what little I had, he had looked sullen, save for one time I had saw him in a heated discussion with Andrea. “Well, I hope you two can work it out,” I continued, for lack of anything better to say.
Andrea laughed bitterly, then took another swig of scotch. I grabbed Theresa’s hand, and led her away from the blonde wretch, as she moaned to herself about how unfair none of this was. It wasn’t long after that Terrence came out, walking over to me, giving me a kiss, then picking up Theresa, planting one on her cheek as well.
“Cab should be here any minute,” he announced. “They said it’d be a black SUV with Empire Taxi on the side, so we’d know.”
It was good there was some clarity- nearly every other car seemed to be a taxi as the drivers patrolled the bar areas, looking for patrons in need of a ride. Terrence looked up and down the street, then glowered at the baseball stadium- the Mud Hens were vicious rivals of our own Indianapolis Indians, so Terrence carried little love for them.
We both looked over at the sound of shattering glass, and saw that Andrea had dropped her Scotch, the bottle shattering on the ground, what little liquid remaining spreading out on the sidewalk. Andrea stood over it, whimpering.
“Andrea?” Terrence’s voice was filled with concern as he realized who it was. “Are you okay?”
“I should have set fire to your RV, instead of breaking your title!” Andrea replied, her voice screeching into the night. She seemed to come out of her stupor, and realized what she said, along with the events of this morning, and she looked at me, beginning to cry. “Please don’t hurt me. I didn’t mean to do it,” she whimpered.
At this point, it didn’t even seem worth it. I just shook my head in disgust, and was relieved when a black SUV pulled to the curb less than a minute later.
“We’re heading to the airport, but you want a ride?” Terrence offered amiably. I grimaced at the offer, but didn’t protest. After all, Terry didn’t like the Hamiltons any more than I did, but it still seemed wrong to leave his teammate’s drunk wife standing on a curb in downtown Toledo.
Thankfully, Andrea politely declined. “I don’t need your charity!” she shrieked, glaring at me. “If I never see either of you gain, it will still be too soon!”
I grimaced- we’d cross paths at least once more at the awards banquet. But like reacting to her confession, it didn’t seem worth it to correct her. Terrence, on the other hand, turned towards her.
“Well, ARCA and Nationwide share weekends at least four times next year, including the season opener at Daytona,” he said, trying to inject some sympathy into his otherwise amused voice. “We’ll probably see you then!”
“No!” Andrea protested, shaking her head, and nearly falling over again. “Stay away from me! I’ll call and have the schedule changed if I have to!”
“Um, right. Good luck with that.” I replied uneasily, climbing into the cab. In truth, I’d LOVE to listen in on that conversation, hearing the reactions of the NASCAR officials as Andrea, in my mind her voice filled with hysteria, demands they change their plans. “Take care Andrea,” I said, shutting the door before I could hear her reply.
As the SUV pulled away, Andrea plopped down miserably, sitting in the puddle of the spilled scotch, her head in her hands. “That is a very unhappy woman, ” I remarked, sighing.
“Yup,” Terrence agreed, nodding sympathetically. Then he broke into a grin. “They generally are after the WhirlyBirdz are done with them!”
He raised his arm, pointing his fist at me, hoping for a fistbump. I didn’t oblige, just shook my head, and leaned in, snuggling against my husband and closing my eyes. After a couple of seconds, Terrence put his arm around me, and we rode the rest of the way to the airport in silence, save for the occasional sound of my daughter murmuring in her sleep from the backseat.
Thursday October 20, 2011
Indianapolis Children’s Museum- 2nd Floor balcony
Indianapolis, Indiana
12:51 PM Local Time
The scene opens in another great Indianapolis landmark- the Children’s museum- one of the largest in the world. Wendy is standing just off the main entrance, up on the second floor, leaning against the balcony. Next to her, looking slightly nervous, stands her manager, while Theresa is off to the side even further, watching the goings on in the main area, oblivous that she’s on camera, while Pollaski and Wendy seem to be involved in a small argument.
Pollaski: “I’m just not certain I’m allowed to be here.”
Wendy: “Why? You haven’t been here in years, you said... you haven’t gotten banned, right?”
Pollaski: “Well, no. But, I’m pretty sure that legally...
Pollaski thinks hard for a second, before its hits him, and he shakes his head, laughing in embarassment.
Pollaski: “Wait... that only applies to the state of West Virginia. I’m good!”
A long pause, as Wendy’s mouth is dropped open.
Wendy: “Dare I even ask?”
Pollaski: “Let’s just say she looked a LOT older than fifteen, and leave it at that...”
Wendy looks completely revolted, and a bit on the horrified side, but once again, she manages to avoid the temptation of throwing her perverted associate off the balcony. Pollaski leans back, and whistles casually, looking behind him.
Pollaski: “But why are we here, anyways?”
Wendy: “Because I hadn’t taken Theresa in a while, and since we’re going to be downtown anyways, today, before the show, seemed like a good time to do it. But for the sake of promotional purposes, because of that.”
Wendy points off the balcony, to one of the main features in the entrance area of the museum. A water clock, standing about forty feet high, interlaced with tubes and baubles, all the while a lime-green pendulum swings back and forth behind it. There’s two main columns, one on either side of the clock. The leftmost being a column of sixty bulbs, stacked atop of the other, with every fifth one bearing a large corresponding number- the second bulb above the fifty mark has just been filled with water, dyed to an even deeper blue, and water is still cascading down at a measured pace, filling the next one. On the other side, are twelve much bigger globes, also stacked vertically. This column is almost filled completely, with just a little room remaining in the top bulb.
Wendy: “Because Rose Jenkins seems to love to talk about the concept of time, and, well, there’s really no better representation of that concept that I can think of than the water clock. It seemed fitting.”
Pollaski: “Ah... if we were going to do a location based shoot because of Rose, I’d figure it’d be an all-you-can-eat bufet or something.”
Wendy’s eyes narrow, and she shoots her manager a warning glare.
Wendy: “You know, its funny, becuase that’s ANOTHER constantly recurring theme whenever Rose talks- her insatiable need for respect, and the idea of being taken seriously. While that’s most people’s goal, especially in a sport like ours, Rose’s emphasis on it practially borderlines on the obsessive.”
A small shrug
Wendy: “I can’t speak for everyone, but as for me, I take Rose, and the prospect of facing her, VERY seriously. Then again, I tend to take all my opponents serioulsy, no matter who they are.
Pollaski: “Right on down to Charity Deas.. which is why your match with her was a bonafide asskicking that lasted about three minutes.”
Even Wendy can’t help but smile about that.
Wendy: “And maybe she’s a bit oversensitive about some stuff. I mean, I’m the butt of a lot of jokes too around here.. no thanks to you sometimes. It’s goes with the territory.. wrestlers tend to be a bit on the cynical side, and insults and verbal barbs seems to be the language of our sport more often than not. And, its human nature to make fun of the things people are afraid of, in an attempt to ease the burden, and perhaps lessen the anxiety. And just by watching the way Rose wrestles, there’s a lot about her to fear.”
A grimace, and Wendy sighs.
Wendy: “But if Rose thinks she’s being viewed as a sideshow attraction... maybe she should take a step back, and realize that’s what she’s allowed herself to become. Her actions haven’t done her any favors.”
Wendy glances at Pollaski, who looks slightly surprised by this comment, but Wendy continues.
Wendy: “It starts with the Ultraviolence title, which Rose so desperately craves. That belt is little more than a sideshow attraction in and of itself, designed to quench the bloodthirst of a small number of our fans. Most people don’t tune in to watch people hitting themselves over the head with god-knows-what.. they tune in for wrestling. And it’s a shame too- people like Rose, and Camilla, have proven themselves awesome wrestlers, more than capable of holding their own without resorting to unnecessary carnival smash acts.”
Pollaski- a ‘garbage wrestler’ himself, looks fairly dispassionate at Wendy’s critique of the Ultraviolence title, but mercifully, she keeps it to just a couple scentences.
Wendy: “But what’s the most damaging thing for Rose is that, for all the pride she has, for all the destruction she wreaks, she’s willingly indentured herself as little more than a servant to Samantha Star. Rose is strong, and Rose is powerful, and Rose can destroy any woman on this roster.. but she’s become a pet. Samantha points her finger, and Rose simply says ‘Yes, master’, and its off to do her bidding. And for what?”
Pollaski shrugs.
Pollaski: “Well, it does get her people to beat up...”
Wendy scoffs.
Wendy: “Who? Every single one of her assigned targets so far has struggled in FFW. What Rose gets is that she can escape the need to think for herself, and make her own career decisions, and get some illusionary status enhancement of being one of the boss’s chosen ones.”
A derisive snort, and Wendy shakes her head.
Wendy: “Temporary status enhancement at that. Look at history... Samantha’s had oodles of allies, she always seems to at least a couple of lackeys hovering around to do her bidding. But hasn’t anyone ever noticed that they tend to not stick around all that long?”
A lopsided shrug.
Wendy: “Amy. Shane Sanders. Isabela Pazzini. How many more that were even before my time? All of them, at one point, Samantha’s favorite, and all of them cast aside like rubbish when their usefulness expired. The longest tenured member of Miss Star’s Sycophant Squad is Starla McCloud, and after that? There’s an alarming turnover rate in that group...”
A grimace, and a pointed look at Pollaski.
Wendy: “So I hope Rose enjoys it while it lasts. But in the meantime, the next time she’s out, trying to beat on Isabella Pazzini, she might want to take a closer look. Because that’s going to very well be her, once Samantha Star grows tired. And I doubt that there’s only going to be one member of the A-List who’s eventually going to face that fate.”
A deep sigh, and Wendy shakes her head sadly.
Wendy: “And THAT’S why I’m opposing the A-List. It’s not for publicity... there’s other, FAR less painful stunts I could pull if I was about that. It’s not even about sticking it to the man... throughout my career, I’ve had generally positive interactions with my bosses.”
Well, there was that one promoter in Louisiana who routinely called her “Kitten”, but let’s not get into that...
Wendy: “Heck, I even respect Samantha Star as an owner, and a visionary. She’s gone and, in just the span of over a year, built one of the largest, most successful wrestling companies the world has ever seen. There aren’t any all-female promotions that come even close. And she did that through smart decisions, and even smarter hires, such as Cody Kincaid and Mark Horton into administrative positions to help her run the company.”
A slight pause, as Wendy realizes that she’s treading on dangerous ground here. But what the hell... she’s already in trouble with the boss, right?
Wendy: “But the fact is, it seems that sometimes those people have to protect Samantha from herself- whether it be her temper, or her tendency to show favoritism. What’s made this company so great is the opportunity that it presents to female wrestlers. Anyone who wants to challenge themselves has a home here, and the companie’s grown because of things like the Chase for the Crown,and the upcoming No Surrender Championship, and the opportunities it offers to anyone on the roster. Not just a cadre of a select few who enjoy ‘elite status’ because they happen to be in the owner’s good graces. This company needs the other forty wrestlers on its roster just as much as it needs the six A-Listers.”
Pollaski: “Even Charity Deas?”
Wendy paused, and looks over at her manager, clearly annoyed at being interrupted.
Wendy: “I was making a generalized statement there. Obviously there’s going to be a few... people who fall below the line.
Poor Charity.
Wendy: “As for why I truly ‘stuck my nose’ in the A-Lists business, well, two reasons. The first, is because Isabella asked me for help, and I promised her. And I’m not the type who goes back on my word. People may not agree with me on everything, but I will NEVER abandon a friend.”
Wendy finishes that statement on a note of defiant pride.
Wendy: “Second? Ask yourself this... had I not stopped it, who would have? Jo could have seriously hurt Isabella, and that wouldn’t have been the first. The first few victims of Rose, and the beginnings of the A-List, were left out to dry by the roster because they were even more maligned than the A-List is. People like Nina Astral, and Lumina Ferrari, and Michelle Taylor. And neither me or Isabella are the most popular backstage as well... but there comes a point where you have to start noticing trends.”
Wendy looks directly in the camera, a bit of pleading, but mostly determination in her features.
Wendy: “It wasn’t going to stop with Isabella, and it’s not going to stop with me. How many women on the FFW roster are on the bad side of Samantha Star, or at least one member of the A-List? You don’t think they’ll be next, one after another?”
Wendy snorts, and shakes her head
Wendy: “The great Irish statesman Edmund Burke once said ‘When bad men combine, the good must associate, else they will fall one by one; an unpitied sacrifice in a contemptible struggle’. And maybe I’m not the best person to do it, but by God, someone needs to take a stand. And I’m going to tonight, in my own backyard. And even though I’ll be alone, I’ve already said that I know I can win. And I’m going to go in ring, and I’m going to lay everything I’ve got into Rose Jenkins, and I’m going to beat her. And by the time Velocity ends tonight, EVERYONE is going to understand just how ultimately fragile, and vulnerable these thugs are.”
Wendy looks down quickly at her watch, and a smile crosses her face.
Wendy: “Because I think the A-List is full of it. They’re full of talent, and full of brutality. But they’re also full of arrogance, and bluster, and hubris, and contempt for anyone not in their clique. But like Rose said, the clocks ticking, and when time’s up?”
One O’ Clock hits, and the water clock begins to empty, the water level in both columns quickly lowering, emptying into the large reservoir located at the bottom of the structure. Wendy smirks.
Wendy: “All that is just going to drain away.”
Fade
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