Wednesday September 25, 2013
Hoosier National Forest- U.S. Highway 150
Near Prospect, Indiana
8:25 AM Local Time
“Okay, take a right up here onto Highway 56.”
“Here? Are you sure? Highway 56 goes straight ahead.”
“Yes, I’m sure, Terrence! I can read a stinking map! Highway 56 splits off here, and heads south!”
“Alright, but…”
“Just turn the stupid car, Terrence!”
“Alright, I’m turning, I’m turning. Jeez.”
Wendy folded her arms, looking crossly out the window as Terrrence slowed the Charger, taking a right onto the two-laned Highway 56, heading south. She felt slightly guilty about snapping at her husband like that. Her nerves were frayed, and so were his.
It had been a rough couple of days. And it was likely only going to get rougher.
Theresa had cried for hours after Terrence and Wendy had explained to her that she’d never be going back to College Park again, that her friends there were no longer her classmates. And now, just forty eight hours later, what belongings she was allowed were packed in the back of the car, headed south into the Southern Indiana foothills.
“Do we really have to do this?” came a whining voice from the back seat. “I said I’m sorry.”
“Yes, Theresa. We really… really… have to do this.” Wendy said through gritted teeth, with the exasperated air of someone who had answered the same question for the hundredth time. “I called every single school I could find, and there is NOTHING. This is honest to God the closest place willing to take you.”
It was true enough. Wendy had spent all of Tuesday trying to find a new school for her daughter. St. Michaels and St. Anthony’s both would be happy to take her next year, they said, but were overfull this year. The Washington and Wayne public districts had shot her down point blank. And on it went. Public, private, everything refused, either citing fullness, or budget, or a flat refusal to take anyone who had been expelled for ‘behavioral problems’. Finally, after nearly six hours of phone calls, web searches, and a ton of exasperation, she had found a place willing to take Theresa in. The Coldstone Academy.
An all-girls school located two hours south of Indianapolis.
Theresa had cried even more when Wendy had explained to her a concept of a boarding school. Furious, she had stormed upstairs the last night, screaming that she hated them and would never forgive them for this. That had driven Wendy to tears as well, and she had only gotten three hours of sleep from the time she went to bed at two to when she woke up at five to get ready leave. The morning had been no better, with Theresa refusing to leave bed until Terrence physically dragged her out and dressed her.
And now here they sat. In the middle of the most miserable car ride she had ever been a part of. Therea had spent pretty much the entire trip crying, or begging, or apologizing, or swearing she’d never love them any more. It had been as heartbreaking as it was annoying, and it took all her willpower to not force Terrence to stop the car and turn around and go back to Indianapolis.
She turned around, and forced a smile at her now pouting daughter. “Come on, Terr-Bear. Don’t look so glum. I went to a boarding school for several years too, you know. You’ll have a lot of fun, and meet new friends, and learn all kinds of great things. You won’t even miss us before too long.” She knew she was lying- she was miserable for most of her time at Blakely’s, and missed her parents, as neglectful as they were, costantly.
Neglectful. Is that what she herself was being to her daughter by sending her away like this?
No, another voice rang in her head. She’s being responsible. She loved her daughter so much that she was willing to send her away to get a good education. Besides, it was only for a year, and then she could start third grade in St. Anthony’s…
“And look where we are!” Wendy said, gesturing out the window. “You always loved coming down to the southern foothills and looking at the leaves. Now you’ll LIVE here, and you can watch as everything turns into brilliant colors by the day!”
Her sales pitches were falling flat, she could tell. Her daughter had folded her arms across her front and stared squarely at the back of Terrence’s seat. She never reacted at all, and Wendy wondered if she was tuning her out. Sighing, she turned back around.
“One mile to French Lick!” Terrence announced, his own attempt at false jovialty falling flat. “You know, Larry Bird’s from here,” he called back to Theresa. “Just think, you could be walking the halls and playing on the same playground he used to play!”
“I don’t think Larry Bird went to an all girl’s academy,” Wendy said quietly.
“Oh, right…” Terrence bit his lip, then tried again. “But, you know… Coldstone… like Coldstone Creamery! Maybe that’s who sponsors them, and you can get all the ice cream you can ea-” his voice faded as his wife shot a sidelong glare at him. Turning slightly red, he focused on staring straight ahead at the road and driving.
Wendy glanced back out the window and sighed again. Tomorrow, she’d be leaving for Las Vegas and Sin & Sacrifice and the biggest match of her life. She should be training for that now, should have been training for the past few days, but… circumstances.
She suddenly felt sick, and not for the first time. How could she be thinking about wrestling when she was about to drop her daughter off at some strange school? Theresa had fought because she had emulated her mom, and now she was being dumped off in the middle of nowhere.
No, she did not emulate you, the other voice countered. She lost her temper, and got expelled on a stupid beauacratic rule that shouldn’t exist. You got handed lemons, and you’re doing your best to make lemonade, even if you can’t find any sugar to sweeten it.
“Turn right up here,” she said again, pointing to a small road off the highway. This time Terrence didn’t argue. Just turned and headed up the winding road that took them into the hills to the rest of French Lick. The leaves were just starting to turn, splotches of yellow mixed in with the deep late-summer green. That was one thing she wasn’t lying about: in just a few months, the region would explode with color, and Theresa would have a front row seat.
“Coldstone Academy,” Terrence announced as he pulled into a small lot at the end of the road. As it was a weekday, only the teachers parking spots were occupied, along with a large, gray bus with “COLDSTONE ACADEMY” printed on the side. Wendy smiled slightly. At least her daughter would get to go on field trips.
Then she looked at the building in front of her and that smile faded.
Her minds eye flashed back to Blakeley’s academy, with its perfectly manicured lawns, the Victorian style buildings, nestled nicely into the Catskill mountains of upstate New York. Despite her misery there, she had always found her old school a very beautiful place.
Coldstone, on the other hand…
There was no other way to put it. Coldstone Girls Academy looked like a haunted house dropped into the middle of a maximum security prison. The main building was massive and well maintained, but hardly welcoming in appearance, with dark ivy crawling up the walls. Behind and to the side, she could se smaller satellite buildings, although whether outer classrooms or dormitories, she couldn’t tell. Somehow, despite it still being late September, nearly every tree inside the compound had lost its leaves, which lay in neatly raked piles on the browning grass. To top it off, the entire compound was surrounded by a black cast iron fence, the tops coiled with…
“Barbed wire?” Terrence said, glancing at Wendy.
“Probably to keep intruders or animals out,” Wendy reasoned, although she found the sight nervewracking as well.
“Or the girls in,” Terrence said darkly, showing reservations about this- and not for the first time. Behind them, Theresa whimpered.
“Well, that’d be good too.” Wendy replied, trying to keep her voice light. “We don’t want our daughter wandering around Hoosier National Forest, after all.” Then, forcing herself to proceed, she unbuckled her belt, and climbed out of the car, tilting her seat forward so Theresa could climb out. She half-expected another scene, where they’d have to drag her daughter kicking and screaming from the car. But Theresa climbed out voluntarily, although she looked at her mom with pleading eyes.
“Please don’t make me stay here,” she begged.
“Come on, Theresa, it’s not that bad.” Wendy lied. “I mean, it looks a little old, but look at that yard you get to play in!”
“Then why isn’t anyone playing in it?” Theresa countered.
“Probably because they’re all in class,” Wendy responded. “Now come on. And don’t slouch.”
Together, the three of them walked towards the gate in the fence that led to the school. Terrence paused, looking up at the archway and the black lettering written across it.
“Nulla Tolerantia Defectus” he said, looking over at his wife. “What’s that mean?”
Wendy shook her head. “I was never that good with Latin.” She knew a few phrases, including the motto of Blakely’s (Ubi Ars Vitae Est- Where there is art, there is life). But the overall grasp on the langauge eluded her. “We can ask when we get inside.”
She expected the gate to creak as she opened it, but it was quite well-oiled, and made no sound except a loud clang as Terrence shut it. Inside the compound, the school looked even more menacing, the shadow darkening the yard, despite the sunny day. She heard Theresa whimper again, and took her hand, leading her inside the door.
The interior of the school was clean, but somewhat dimmed in light, as only a small chandelier hung over the entrance and marble staircase. Looking up, Wendy saw the stairs wind upwards for four floors. There wasn’t a soul in sight.
“Hello?” Terrence called, his voice echoing around the hall. He cringed as Wendy wheeled towards him, a furious glare in her emerald eyes. “What I do?”
Before Wendy could snap out a response, a door opened, and a woman, maybe ten years older than Wendy was, stepped out, looking cross. That quickly faded into a smile when she saw the guests in the hallway, and she strode forward. “Welcome! Welcome. You must be the Thompsons, I presume? I’m Julia Frouch, the headmistress of Coldstone Academy.”
The woman was beautiful in a classic sense, with high cheekbones, a soft face, and a gentle bob of blonde hair falling behind her. Behind her walked another woman, smaller, shorter, and more frail. This one wasn’t as pretty, but had a sullen, drab look about her.
“Uh, yeah,” Terrence was saying, shaking the beautiful woman’s hand, and Wendy found herself doing the same. “Um, this is Theresa… your new student.” He pointed unnecessarily down at the terrified girl.
“Welcome, welcome.” Ms. Frouch said in a flourished voice, bending over and shaking her hand. “Such pretty eyes. Just like your mother’s, I see.”
“Thank you…” Theresa said softly, blushing shyly at the compliment.
“We… uh.. have her stuff still in the car,” Terrence said. “Wasn’t sure where we’re supposed to unload it”
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that,” Ms. Frouch said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Students aren’t allowed to bring personal effects. Everything they need is provided for them here at Coldstone!”
Panic crept into Theresa’s face. “But… but my dolls…” she began.
Ms. Frouch bent in front of her, smiling. Wendy was under the impression she was trying to be friendly, but the impression was ultimately more condescending. “You’re here to learn, Theresa. Dolls and toys will only distract you from that, and lead to failure. And we here at Coldstone do NOT tolerate failure.”
Theresa’s face paled, and she looked over at her parents, panicked. Ms. Frouch looked up as well, that smile still on her face. “I’m sure you’ll agree that minimizing distractions is the best way. We don’t allow jewelery or cosmetics, and their wardrobe will consist entirely of our uniforms. This way, petty things such as vanity and jealousy don’t get in the way of a good education. In fact,” she clapped her hands twice, “Gertrude, why don’t you take Theresa up for sizing now? If we hurry, we can have her ready to start in the afternoon classes.”
Before either Terrence or Wendy could react, Gertrude had whisked their daughter away, and they could only exchange dumbfounded glances. Ms. Frouch smiled that same smile again. “Don’t worry, you’ll still get to say your goodbyes before you go. But while Theresa’s being fitted, I’m sure you would love a tour of our fine school.”
Terrence won the race to regain his voice first. “Uh.. yeah, sure.” he said. Wendy nodded, and they set off down the hall, listening to Ms. Frouch as she extolled the virtues of Coldstone Academy.
“Our average salary for teachers is ranked among the top 1% of all private schools in the United States,” she explained. “We pay top dollar to receive the services of some of the finest teachers available. 80% of our staff has at least a Master’s degree, and a full half of our staff are professors with doctorates.”
For the first time since entering the school, Wendy found herself impressed. The finest education was what she was hoping for, after all. She began to feel at ease as she glanced through the windows of classrooms, watching students intently listening to lecturing teachers.
“While at Coldstone, your daughter will receive the finest instruction in English, History, Geography, Biology, Astronomy, and Chemstry,” Ms. Frouch continued as she walked- no… strutted- down her hallway. “We strive to create an enviroment cultured to learning with minimal distractions. Of course, she’ll be required to perform chores to assist with the upkeep of our school, but she’ll also receive three full meals per day, plus a small, healthy snack in the afternoon and evenings, should she meet certain requirements.”
“What kind of requirements?” Wendy asked, curious.
“Showing academic excellence,” Ms. Frouch responded. “Perfect scores on tests, excellently written reports, etcetera. We believe that superiority is best rewarded, to inspire it’s duplication.”
“Like giving a dog a biscuit,” Terrence muttered under his breath, grunting silently when WEndy, without missing a step, managed to land a kick to his shin.
“What about your arts programs?” Wendy asked. “You know, visual arts, drama, choir…” her voice trailed off as Ms. Frouch pursed her lips, shaking her head. “No?”
That damned smile returned. “We believe here that such things as singing and acting are… unproductive. Things such as music and drawing only stirs the imagination, which leads to daydreaming and sidetracking. For that same reason we are very careful about which literary books we introduce, lest they entice our student’s minds to wander.”
Wendy was incredulous. “You curtail the imagination? Isn’t imagination what fuels inventions and discoveries and the overall betterment of our life?”
“Of course, of course,” Ms. Frouch replied. “But the imagination is like a tree. For it to reach its full potential when grown, you must prune it as much as you can when it’s young, do you not? By trimming it now, we allow the imagination to expand properly. Productively.”
Wendy blinked. She’d never thought of it that way before.
“Ah, and here we have our physical education room. After all, being fit is part of being successful, right?”
Wendy was surprised to walk through the door into a full sized gymnasium. The school certainly didn’t look capable of holding such a room on the outside. She looked around, and saw a PE class of perhaps twelve year olds- half wearing red bibs, half wearing blue- playing basketball. The game was as serious as any game she had ever seen in the NCAA tournament, the girls playing with intensity she’d never imagine for a simple P.E. class. She watched as a girl in red heaved up a three point shot, that fell just short, and clanged off the rim. As it did, a whistle blew, and the girls wearing red groaned.
“Time!” the PE instructor yelled. “Blue team wins, 41-39! Go get cleaned up for your next class. Red team, I expect you back here at six o’clock for your punishment!” The girls walked off, the blue team cheers filled more with relief, while the red team was busy squabbling amongst themselves, the girl who had missed the shot receving the brunt of her team’s wrath.
“Punishment?” she heard Terrence ask Ms. Frouch behind her.
“Nulla Tolerantia Defectus” the woman said proudly, echoing the words that had been above the iron gate. “Zero tolerance for failure. Those are the losers. They have failed, they must be punished. Tonight, during dinner, they will be assigned to clean a section of the school until it’s sparkling. Their drudgery will remind them to work harder to succeed next time. By this way, we instill a desire for success.” She reached forward to usher them back out of the gymnasium.
“You force children to miss dinner for losing a game of basketball?” now it was Terrence’s turn to be incredulous.
“Of course not. Once they are finished cleaning, they are more than welcome to eat.” Ms. Frouch replied. “Of course, by then, the food will be cold, but that will serve as a reminder to them about the consequences of failing. Ah, look! Gertrude returns with your daughter!”
Wendy tried to not think about how dull her daughter looked. Theresa was wearing a drab gray blouse buttoned high, and a equally drab skirt, with black stockings and a pair of black shoes. Her heart stopped beating as she realized that her daughter was refusing to meet her eyes, instead looking intently at the polished floor. Next to her, she saw Terrence, trying hard to keep an expression of distaste off his face.
“Yes, that is quite acceptable.” Ms. Frouch announced. “Now, if you follow me to my office, we can do the paperwork to complete her enrollment, and then she can get started learning immediately.”
Terrence looked at Wendy, his jaw set. For a second, she thought she saw him shaking his head, but she wasn’t sure. Ms. Frouch was staring at her, waiting for her to respond. For a second, Wendy was tempted to pick up her daughter, cradle her in her arms, and flee. She knew Theresa was going to be miserable here. Anyone with a soul would be miserable here.
But what other choice did she have? She had spent all of yesterday looking for a school, and this was her only option. It was here, or nothing, right? And it was only for eight months, then summer break would hit.
How much harm could that possibly do?
“Right,” Wendy sighed. “Let’s go.”
But as the rest trudged behind Ms. Frouch, Wendy lagged behind, tears clouding her eyes as she watched her daughter sulk behind her husband in that ugly gray dress. She thought about her own misery at beautiful Blakely, and how she had vowed never to raise her daughter the way her parents had raised her.
She had succeeded on that front, at least. She wasn’t anything like her parents.
She was worse.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
EPISODE 224: Zero Tolerance, Part 2
Monday September 23, 2013
North Marion Speedway- Maintenance Lot
Indianapolis, Indiana
3:13 PM Local Time
“Is she okay?!” Wendy Briese called to her husband as she sprinted across the gravel lot towards her husband’s car, “was she hurt?”
“I dunno. I didn’t ask.” Terrence called back, with a grimace. “I’d assume she’s fine.”
“You’d ASSUME?!” Wendy asked, panic and outrage entering her voice. “Why didn’t you ask!?”
“Look, they told us to come to the school,” Terrence replied calmly as he opened the door on his 1971 crimson Dodge Charger, quickly climbing inside and starting the car. Wendy reached the car seconds later, throwing open the passenger’s side door, and practically diving inside. “If she was seriously hurt, they’d have told us to go to the hospital.”
Wendy didn’t speak for a second, catching her breath as she buckled herself, Terrence peeling out and driving as quick as he dared down the bumpy access road. She couldn’t believe that just ten minutes ago, she had been standing in her training ring, attempting to spar with her hired partner, being interrupted every few minutes to deal with one thing or another concerning the renovation of her gym. It was almost done, thank God. The exercise equipment would be installed over the weekend, while she was in Vegas for Sin & Sacrifice. But still, she was getting impatient with the frequent interruptions. She did have the biggest match of her life just five days away, after all.
And then Terrence came in, saying he had just gotten the phone call that no parent would ever want to receive from their child’s school. The one that requested them to come down immediately, because there was an emergency. In this case, Theresa had been…
“Fighting…” Wendy said out loud, looking out the window as they pulled out of the Parking lot onto 177th Street. “Why the HELL would she be getting into fights at school? She knows better than that!”
“Who knows?” Terrence said, shrugging, and Wendy’s irritation flared at his relative nonchalance. “I got into fights all the time at school. Sometimes you’re provoked, or you have to defend yourself, or you’re just screwing around and things go out of control. It happens to kids.”
“But she KNOWS better!” Wendy said, groaning. She paused for a second, taking a deep breath, and finally let loose her true fears. “It’s me. It’s because I wrestle. I’ve known it all along. I’m a bad influence. I taught her it’s okay to fight, and now she’s-”
“Wendy, shut up.” Terrence snapped, gritting his teeth in irritation. His wife did, but she threw a hurt expression his way. He spared her a quick glance, and gestued apologetically with his right hand, keeping the wheel firmly held with the left. His voice softened. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions, okay? Let’s just get there, and find out what happened. She may have just been defending herself. It might be a misunderstanding. We. Don’t. Know. So until we do…”
Wendy nodded, although she gulped down the waves of angst that was rising in her throat. She had always feared something like this happening. She had always thought Theresa had reacted well to her mother’s occupation, but now she saw otherwise. Her career was wrecking her daughter’s life, making her lash out in school.
But this was the first she’d even heard of any outburst from her, another voice echoed in her mind. In fact, her teacher the previous year, Ms. Savage, had always praised Theresa’s attitude and work ethic, although she warned that her tendency for sarcastic backtalk would be best toned down. And she had received great grades… with all A’s except for B’s in Science and Math…
The rest of the ride was silent, with only Wendy’s doubts and reassurances waging an ongoing debate in her head. Terrence was similarly thinking, given the grim expression on his face, and the way he clenched the steering wheel. Every turn of the wheels seemed like both a blessing and a curse, she was dying to make sure her daughter was okay and find out what had truly happened, and was also dreading the answers.
School had just let out as the Charger approached College Park elementary, and Terrence gritted his teeth as he waited for the crossing guard in front of the school to wave them into the parking lot. Luckily, there was a spot open near the building, that Terrence pulled into, and they were soon quickly walking towards the entrance, fighting against the tide of exiting students. Several- to her horror- recognized her, and she heard excited whispering amongst some students, catching her daughters name, along with such statements as “beat up” and “kicked his ass”. She exchanged an uncertain glance with her husband. He had evidently heard the whispering too.
After quickly checking with the school’s secretary, they were directed to the adjacent nurse’s office, and there they saw Theresa, sitting on a small bench, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders bobbing up and down with the sobs that wer wracking her body. “Theresa!” She exclaimed, rushing forward, Terrence following fast behind. “Oh, Theresa, are you okay?”
“I’m sorry, mommy!!” Theresa wailed as she embraced her mother. Wendy held her daughter tight for several long seconds, then forced herself to release, and push her daughter back, so she could get a good look at her.
To her surprise, save for the tracks of tears running down her face, Theresa’s visage was unblemished, although her hair was rather dirty and unkempt, with bits of gravel and dirt nestled in with the brown strands. Her hands, however, were a different story, both were heavily bruised, with some of the knuckles turning purple. Even as she reached out to feel one of her daughter’s hands, the small girl flinched.
Injured hands, and nowhere else, she realized, as her combat sport knowledge swept over her with relief and, in some bizarre sense, pride. Whatever the fight was about, and whoever it was with, Theresa had clearly won.
“She’s fine, for the most part,” the school nurse said behind them, forcing Wendy to turn around. Evidently she’d been watching the whole thing, albeit quite taken aback by the two adults bursting into her room. Still, her eyes were kindly and sympathetic as she held her clipboard. “Her hands are bruised badly, but they’re not broken. I had her put some ice on them for a bit. She’s just been very distraught.”
Wendy could imagine. She knew all too well the feeling of adrenaline wearing off, and it being replaced by weariness, pain, and in some cases, the overwhelming knowledge that she had just done something that was going to have very unpleasant consequences. She wanted to wrap her arms around her daughter again, to assure her that it would all be okay, that it’d be forgotten about tomorrow.
“What happened, Theresa?” Terrence asked, his voice firm, yet gentle. .
Theresa took a shuddering breath, trying to steady herself. “I was playing four-square with my friends, and I looked over, and I saw that some boys had taken Brianna Snitchen’s ball. I tried to make them give them back, but they wouldn’t listen to me, and then Clint threw the ball at my face and…” her eyes welled up with tears, and she sniffled. “The next thing I knew, I was on top of him, and Ms. Dillon was trying to pull me off, and…” her voice failed, and Wendy reached out to embrace her again, nestling her hair.
Terrence stared down at her and snorted. “Wait… Clint? As in Clint Sickles? The kid who lives across the street? You beat him up?”
“Terrence!” Wendy snarled, looking up at him, angry at both the pride in his voice and the same feeling she had earlier. “It’s not funny!”
“It kind of is…” Terrence replied, his voice low. “That little shit’s been having this coming to him for a couple years now. Remember when he stuck a potato in my tail pipe, and his mom was all ‘He was just curious to see what would happen’” He chuckled, which withered quickly under Wendy’s glare.
“I’m sorry!” Theresa moaned again, miserably, and Wendy embraced her again.
Behind her, she heard the phone ring, and the nurse answer. “Yes? Yes. They arrived ten minutes ago. Okay, I’ll let them know. Bye.” She hung up the phone, then turned to the Thompsons. “Ms. Guntherson is ready to meet with you, so you can head next door whenever you’re ready.”
“Thank you,” Wendy said quietly, then looking down at Theresa. She wanted to scoop her daughter up and carry her from the school, to shield her from any repercussions of what happened. But you couldn’t run from consequences, she knew that all too well. It was time to face the music. “Come on, Theresa. Let’s go see the principal.”
Theresa sniffled, and the tears threatened to come again. “What’s going to happen?”
Wendy shook her head, unable to provide an answer, but Terrence just shrugged. “I dunno what they do now, but whenever I got in trouble like this, I had to skip recess for a week. Stay in study hall.” Theresa’s face fell at that prospect, although Terrence smiled reassuringly. “Just get your homework done there, then you’ll have more time for playing at home.”
Theresa didn’t look all too reassured, but she attempted a smile, and the three began to leave the room, Theresa pausing to turn around and throw a small wave at the nurse. “Thank you, Ms. Harper!” she said.
“Good luck, dear,” the nurse, replied, waving back. And then the three were gone, back to the school office. The secretary led them to a row of seats right outside the principal’s office door still slightly shut. Wendy could hear the murmur of angry voices through the door, and she took one simple, pained guess as to who was on the other side.
Her fears were confirmed mere minutes later, when the door opened, and out stepped Clinton Sickles and his parents. If there had been any doubt over whether or not Theresa had won before (not that it mattered, a voice inside her head kept screaming), there was none now. His face had been cleaned up, but Clinton’s eyes were swollen and black, and he had a large dob of cotton had been wedged into both of his nostrils. His lower hip was cut too, and it trembled as he looked sullenly over at Theresa, who stared coldly back at him.
Behind Clint came his parents, Kelly and Erik, two adults who Wendy liked about as much as the average Power Trip member. Kelly’s pinched, blonde-hair framed face, narrowed even further, into a look of savage triumph as she looked at the Thompsons. The expression on Erik’s beefy face was almost identical, and Wendy felt a cold chill crawling up her spine. Suddenly, her memories jolted her- Erik was the coach of the local High School football team, the Pike Red Devils, and Kelly was the treasurer of the College Park PTA. Both held considerable clout in the School District.
The Sickles never said a word as they walked by, although Wendy was left with the distinct impression that they were resisting the temptation. No sooner had they left the office than a fourth person emerged from the doorway.
Wendy had seen Olive Guntherson plenty of times before, but never up close before. She was stern looking, probably in her early sixties, with straw colored hair that was now turning gray hanging like a curtain on either side of her bespectacled face. Wendy was oddly reminded of a cross between the scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz and a librarian.
"Mr. and Mrs. Thompson?". Her voice was low, melodious. "Please come in. Theresa too."
She stood aside to allow them entry into an office that was positively Spartan, then shut the door, and sat down in her chair behind a dark wooden desk, while Terrence, Wendy, and Theresa sat on the visitors chairs.
"Let us cut to the chase," the principal said, offering no other introduction. "Your daughter physically assaulted another student today. She attacked without provocation-"
"Whoah, hang on here," Terrence interrupted, indignation in his voice. Wendy slowly closed her mouth- she had opened up to object as well, but had been beaten to the punch. "Clinton Sickles hit her in the face with a playground ball."
"So he told me already.". The principal looked annoyed at the interruption. "He was tossing the ball back to her, and she got accidentally hit in the face."
"THAT'S A LIE!" Theresa had sprung out of her chair, standing up, her fists balled at her side. "I was turned around when he threw it! He meant to me and the whole playground saw it! Ask Brianna! Or Angela! Or Rose! Or Heather! Or..."
"Theresa, enough..." Wendy said softly, reaching out and gently grabbing her shoulder, trying to pull her back into her chair.
"But..." Theresa protested.
"Enough,". Wendy said again, more firmly this time. She knew her daughter was telling the truth, but she could tell that the outburst was not sitting well with the principal. On the contrary, it was only reinforcing whatever the Sickles had likely said. A horrible sinking came into the pit of her stomach.
Terrence was calmer than his daughter, but hardly willing to accept the point. “Did you talk to the witnesses who saw what happened? Call them in here and let them say what they saw.”
“The children have gone home for the day,” Ms. Guntherson said firmly. “And we do not take the word of children into account. We’ve found that their perception of the events tends to be… rather biased and unreliable.”
“And the playground monitor? I assume you think she’s reliable?” Wendy asked, trying to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.
“She did not see the ball being thrown. She did however, witness your daughter, straddling atop Mr. Sickles, landing at least half a dozen blows to his face before she could pry her off.” the principal said.
“Of course,” Wendy muttered. That sinking feeling in her stomach was growing.
“Alright,” Terrence said, trying to press the issue forward. “Look, Theresa’s a good girl. You look at her file from last year, her grades, you can see that. She shouldn’t have lost control the way she did, and there’s going to be consequences for that, from us as well as from the school, that she will have to deal with, and hopefully learn from. But she’s SEVEN. Seven year olds do foolish things all the time. Getting into fights is one of them.”
“This wasn’t a fight, Mr. Thompson,” the principal replied, looking at the auto racer cooly. “A fight involves two people hitting each other. Ms. Dillon, the playground monitor, never saw Clinton strike her. He never did anything but lie on his back and try to cover himself from her blows. The only one doing the striking was your daughter. That’s assault, Mr. Thompson. And as you no doubt read in the student handbook we sent home at the first of the year, the Pike Township School District has a zero tolerance policy on students assaulting each other.”
Wendy looked down at Theresa, who eyes were wide in fear and confusion. Most of what had just been said had gone right over her head, but she could tell that her parents’ mood had become all the more grim. Swallowing hard, she looked back at the principal. “Alright, we… understand that, and we wouldn’t expect you to have anything different. Schools should be a place where students can learn and interact with their friends in safety. We don’t dispute that, and we don’t dispute that Theresa broke the rules. What we want to know is what needs to be done so that we can move forward from here.”
“Ah,” the principal said, adjusting her glasses, and picking up a folder that Wendy guessed was Theresa’s and opening it. “Well, as to that, due to your daughters youth and no prior history of deliquency, the Sickles have agreed not to press criminal charges against her. However, they ask that you do pay for Clinton’s medical bills, and have expressed that they will file a civil suit if necessary.”
Wendy’s mouth was too dry, but Terrence answered with an accepting nod. “That’s fine,” he said, his voice quieter than Wendy had ever heard it.
“As far as school discipline goes, the District’s policy is quite cut and dry on this. We have a zero tolerance policy on children intentionally harming other children.” For the first time, Ms. Guntherson’s voice wavered. “I am sorry. My hands are tied on this, Mr. and Mrs. Thompson. Effective immediately, your daughter Theresa is expelled from all institutions within the Metropolitan School District of Pike Township. We wish you the best of luck in the future.”
Wendy suddenly found it extremely difficult to breathe, and she looked over at her husband, tears blurring her eyes. Terrence was equally stunned, his mouth open, his expression vacant, as if the words he had just heard were still being processed through the gears in his brain. Finally, he was able to choke out “That’s impos… you.. you… can’t..”
“I have to.” The principal replied grimly, stamping something onto the folder, and closing it. “I am sorry,” and although she looked like she meant it, it sure didn’t make Wendy feel any better.
Nor did it when Theresa, her voice nearly on the verge of tears again, spoke up from beside her.
“Wh-what does expelled mean?”
North Marion Speedway- Maintenance Lot
Indianapolis, Indiana
3:13 PM Local Time
“Is she okay?!” Wendy Briese called to her husband as she sprinted across the gravel lot towards her husband’s car, “was she hurt?”
“I dunno. I didn’t ask.” Terrence called back, with a grimace. “I’d assume she’s fine.”
“You’d ASSUME?!” Wendy asked, panic and outrage entering her voice. “Why didn’t you ask!?”
“Look, they told us to come to the school,” Terrence replied calmly as he opened the door on his 1971 crimson Dodge Charger, quickly climbing inside and starting the car. Wendy reached the car seconds later, throwing open the passenger’s side door, and practically diving inside. “If she was seriously hurt, they’d have told us to go to the hospital.”
Wendy didn’t speak for a second, catching her breath as she buckled herself, Terrence peeling out and driving as quick as he dared down the bumpy access road. She couldn’t believe that just ten minutes ago, she had been standing in her training ring, attempting to spar with her hired partner, being interrupted every few minutes to deal with one thing or another concerning the renovation of her gym. It was almost done, thank God. The exercise equipment would be installed over the weekend, while she was in Vegas for Sin & Sacrifice. But still, she was getting impatient with the frequent interruptions. She did have the biggest match of her life just five days away, after all.
And then Terrence came in, saying he had just gotten the phone call that no parent would ever want to receive from their child’s school. The one that requested them to come down immediately, because there was an emergency. In this case, Theresa had been…
“Fighting…” Wendy said out loud, looking out the window as they pulled out of the Parking lot onto 177th Street. “Why the HELL would she be getting into fights at school? She knows better than that!”
“Who knows?” Terrence said, shrugging, and Wendy’s irritation flared at his relative nonchalance. “I got into fights all the time at school. Sometimes you’re provoked, or you have to defend yourself, or you’re just screwing around and things go out of control. It happens to kids.”
“But she KNOWS better!” Wendy said, groaning. She paused for a second, taking a deep breath, and finally let loose her true fears. “It’s me. It’s because I wrestle. I’ve known it all along. I’m a bad influence. I taught her it’s okay to fight, and now she’s-”
“Wendy, shut up.” Terrence snapped, gritting his teeth in irritation. His wife did, but she threw a hurt expression his way. He spared her a quick glance, and gestued apologetically with his right hand, keeping the wheel firmly held with the left. His voice softened. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions, okay? Let’s just get there, and find out what happened. She may have just been defending herself. It might be a misunderstanding. We. Don’t. Know. So until we do…”
Wendy nodded, although she gulped down the waves of angst that was rising in her throat. She had always feared something like this happening. She had always thought Theresa had reacted well to her mother’s occupation, but now she saw otherwise. Her career was wrecking her daughter’s life, making her lash out in school.
But this was the first she’d even heard of any outburst from her, another voice echoed in her mind. In fact, her teacher the previous year, Ms. Savage, had always praised Theresa’s attitude and work ethic, although she warned that her tendency for sarcastic backtalk would be best toned down. And she had received great grades… with all A’s except for B’s in Science and Math…
The rest of the ride was silent, with only Wendy’s doubts and reassurances waging an ongoing debate in her head. Terrence was similarly thinking, given the grim expression on his face, and the way he clenched the steering wheel. Every turn of the wheels seemed like both a blessing and a curse, she was dying to make sure her daughter was okay and find out what had truly happened, and was also dreading the answers.
School had just let out as the Charger approached College Park elementary, and Terrence gritted his teeth as he waited for the crossing guard in front of the school to wave them into the parking lot. Luckily, there was a spot open near the building, that Terrence pulled into, and they were soon quickly walking towards the entrance, fighting against the tide of exiting students. Several- to her horror- recognized her, and she heard excited whispering amongst some students, catching her daughters name, along with such statements as “beat up” and “kicked his ass”. She exchanged an uncertain glance with her husband. He had evidently heard the whispering too.
After quickly checking with the school’s secretary, they were directed to the adjacent nurse’s office, and there they saw Theresa, sitting on a small bench, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders bobbing up and down with the sobs that wer wracking her body. “Theresa!” She exclaimed, rushing forward, Terrence following fast behind. “Oh, Theresa, are you okay?”
“I’m sorry, mommy!!” Theresa wailed as she embraced her mother. Wendy held her daughter tight for several long seconds, then forced herself to release, and push her daughter back, so she could get a good look at her.
To her surprise, save for the tracks of tears running down her face, Theresa’s visage was unblemished, although her hair was rather dirty and unkempt, with bits of gravel and dirt nestled in with the brown strands. Her hands, however, were a different story, both were heavily bruised, with some of the knuckles turning purple. Even as she reached out to feel one of her daughter’s hands, the small girl flinched.
Injured hands, and nowhere else, she realized, as her combat sport knowledge swept over her with relief and, in some bizarre sense, pride. Whatever the fight was about, and whoever it was with, Theresa had clearly won.
“She’s fine, for the most part,” the school nurse said behind them, forcing Wendy to turn around. Evidently she’d been watching the whole thing, albeit quite taken aback by the two adults bursting into her room. Still, her eyes were kindly and sympathetic as she held her clipboard. “Her hands are bruised badly, but they’re not broken. I had her put some ice on them for a bit. She’s just been very distraught.”
Wendy could imagine. She knew all too well the feeling of adrenaline wearing off, and it being replaced by weariness, pain, and in some cases, the overwhelming knowledge that she had just done something that was going to have very unpleasant consequences. She wanted to wrap her arms around her daughter again, to assure her that it would all be okay, that it’d be forgotten about tomorrow.
“What happened, Theresa?” Terrence asked, his voice firm, yet gentle. .
Theresa took a shuddering breath, trying to steady herself. “I was playing four-square with my friends, and I looked over, and I saw that some boys had taken Brianna Snitchen’s ball. I tried to make them give them back, but they wouldn’t listen to me, and then Clint threw the ball at my face and…” her eyes welled up with tears, and she sniffled. “The next thing I knew, I was on top of him, and Ms. Dillon was trying to pull me off, and…” her voice failed, and Wendy reached out to embrace her again, nestling her hair.
Terrence stared down at her and snorted. “Wait… Clint? As in Clint Sickles? The kid who lives across the street? You beat him up?”
“Terrence!” Wendy snarled, looking up at him, angry at both the pride in his voice and the same feeling she had earlier. “It’s not funny!”
“It kind of is…” Terrence replied, his voice low. “That little shit’s been having this coming to him for a couple years now. Remember when he stuck a potato in my tail pipe, and his mom was all ‘He was just curious to see what would happen’” He chuckled, which withered quickly under Wendy’s glare.
“I’m sorry!” Theresa moaned again, miserably, and Wendy embraced her again.
Behind her, she heard the phone ring, and the nurse answer. “Yes? Yes. They arrived ten minutes ago. Okay, I’ll let them know. Bye.” She hung up the phone, then turned to the Thompsons. “Ms. Guntherson is ready to meet with you, so you can head next door whenever you’re ready.”
“Thank you,” Wendy said quietly, then looking down at Theresa. She wanted to scoop her daughter up and carry her from the school, to shield her from any repercussions of what happened. But you couldn’t run from consequences, she knew that all too well. It was time to face the music. “Come on, Theresa. Let’s go see the principal.”
Theresa sniffled, and the tears threatened to come again. “What’s going to happen?”
Wendy shook her head, unable to provide an answer, but Terrence just shrugged. “I dunno what they do now, but whenever I got in trouble like this, I had to skip recess for a week. Stay in study hall.” Theresa’s face fell at that prospect, although Terrence smiled reassuringly. “Just get your homework done there, then you’ll have more time for playing at home.”
Theresa didn’t look all too reassured, but she attempted a smile, and the three began to leave the room, Theresa pausing to turn around and throw a small wave at the nurse. “Thank you, Ms. Harper!” she said.
“Good luck, dear,” the nurse, replied, waving back. And then the three were gone, back to the school office. The secretary led them to a row of seats right outside the principal’s office door still slightly shut. Wendy could hear the murmur of angry voices through the door, and she took one simple, pained guess as to who was on the other side.
Her fears were confirmed mere minutes later, when the door opened, and out stepped Clinton Sickles and his parents. If there had been any doubt over whether or not Theresa had won before (not that it mattered, a voice inside her head kept screaming), there was none now. His face had been cleaned up, but Clinton’s eyes were swollen and black, and he had a large dob of cotton had been wedged into both of his nostrils. His lower hip was cut too, and it trembled as he looked sullenly over at Theresa, who stared coldly back at him.
Behind Clint came his parents, Kelly and Erik, two adults who Wendy liked about as much as the average Power Trip member. Kelly’s pinched, blonde-hair framed face, narrowed even further, into a look of savage triumph as she looked at the Thompsons. The expression on Erik’s beefy face was almost identical, and Wendy felt a cold chill crawling up her spine. Suddenly, her memories jolted her- Erik was the coach of the local High School football team, the Pike Red Devils, and Kelly was the treasurer of the College Park PTA. Both held considerable clout in the School District.
The Sickles never said a word as they walked by, although Wendy was left with the distinct impression that they were resisting the temptation. No sooner had they left the office than a fourth person emerged from the doorway.
Wendy had seen Olive Guntherson plenty of times before, but never up close before. She was stern looking, probably in her early sixties, with straw colored hair that was now turning gray hanging like a curtain on either side of her bespectacled face. Wendy was oddly reminded of a cross between the scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz and a librarian.
"Mr. and Mrs. Thompson?". Her voice was low, melodious. "Please come in. Theresa too."
She stood aside to allow them entry into an office that was positively Spartan, then shut the door, and sat down in her chair behind a dark wooden desk, while Terrence, Wendy, and Theresa sat on the visitors chairs.
"Let us cut to the chase," the principal said, offering no other introduction. "Your daughter physically assaulted another student today. She attacked without provocation-"
"Whoah, hang on here," Terrence interrupted, indignation in his voice. Wendy slowly closed her mouth- she had opened up to object as well, but had been beaten to the punch. "Clinton Sickles hit her in the face with a playground ball."
"So he told me already.". The principal looked annoyed at the interruption. "He was tossing the ball back to her, and she got accidentally hit in the face."
"THAT'S A LIE!" Theresa had sprung out of her chair, standing up, her fists balled at her side. "I was turned around when he threw it! He meant to me and the whole playground saw it! Ask Brianna! Or Angela! Or Rose! Or Heather! Or..."
"Theresa, enough..." Wendy said softly, reaching out and gently grabbing her shoulder, trying to pull her back into her chair.
"But..." Theresa protested.
"Enough,". Wendy said again, more firmly this time. She knew her daughter was telling the truth, but she could tell that the outburst was not sitting well with the principal. On the contrary, it was only reinforcing whatever the Sickles had likely said. A horrible sinking came into the pit of her stomach.
Terrence was calmer than his daughter, but hardly willing to accept the point. “Did you talk to the witnesses who saw what happened? Call them in here and let them say what they saw.”
“The children have gone home for the day,” Ms. Guntherson said firmly. “And we do not take the word of children into account. We’ve found that their perception of the events tends to be… rather biased and unreliable.”
“And the playground monitor? I assume you think she’s reliable?” Wendy asked, trying to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.
“She did not see the ball being thrown. She did however, witness your daughter, straddling atop Mr. Sickles, landing at least half a dozen blows to his face before she could pry her off.” the principal said.
“Of course,” Wendy muttered. That sinking feeling in her stomach was growing.
“Alright,” Terrence said, trying to press the issue forward. “Look, Theresa’s a good girl. You look at her file from last year, her grades, you can see that. She shouldn’t have lost control the way she did, and there’s going to be consequences for that, from us as well as from the school, that she will have to deal with, and hopefully learn from. But she’s SEVEN. Seven year olds do foolish things all the time. Getting into fights is one of them.”
“This wasn’t a fight, Mr. Thompson,” the principal replied, looking at the auto racer cooly. “A fight involves two people hitting each other. Ms. Dillon, the playground monitor, never saw Clinton strike her. He never did anything but lie on his back and try to cover himself from her blows. The only one doing the striking was your daughter. That’s assault, Mr. Thompson. And as you no doubt read in the student handbook we sent home at the first of the year, the Pike Township School District has a zero tolerance policy on students assaulting each other.”
Wendy looked down at Theresa, who eyes were wide in fear and confusion. Most of what had just been said had gone right over her head, but she could tell that her parents’ mood had become all the more grim. Swallowing hard, she looked back at the principal. “Alright, we… understand that, and we wouldn’t expect you to have anything different. Schools should be a place where students can learn and interact with their friends in safety. We don’t dispute that, and we don’t dispute that Theresa broke the rules. What we want to know is what needs to be done so that we can move forward from here.”
“Ah,” the principal said, adjusting her glasses, and picking up a folder that Wendy guessed was Theresa’s and opening it. “Well, as to that, due to your daughters youth and no prior history of deliquency, the Sickles have agreed not to press criminal charges against her. However, they ask that you do pay for Clinton’s medical bills, and have expressed that they will file a civil suit if necessary.”
Wendy’s mouth was too dry, but Terrence answered with an accepting nod. “That’s fine,” he said, his voice quieter than Wendy had ever heard it.
“As far as school discipline goes, the District’s policy is quite cut and dry on this. We have a zero tolerance policy on children intentionally harming other children.” For the first time, Ms. Guntherson’s voice wavered. “I am sorry. My hands are tied on this, Mr. and Mrs. Thompson. Effective immediately, your daughter Theresa is expelled from all institutions within the Metropolitan School District of Pike Township. We wish you the best of luck in the future.”
Wendy suddenly found it extremely difficult to breathe, and she looked over at her husband, tears blurring her eyes. Terrence was equally stunned, his mouth open, his expression vacant, as if the words he had just heard were still being processed through the gears in his brain. Finally, he was able to choke out “That’s impos… you.. you… can’t..”
“I have to.” The principal replied grimly, stamping something onto the folder, and closing it. “I am sorry,” and although she looked like she meant it, it sure didn’t make Wendy feel any better.
Nor did it when Theresa, her voice nearly on the verge of tears again, spoke up from beside her.
“Wh-what does expelled mean?”
EPISODE 223: Zero Tolerance, Part 1
From the private journal of Wendy Briese
9-12-13
It felt so weird watching Velocity from home tonight. I couldn’t even remember the last time I took a show off. And I probably shouldn’t have either. It is, after all, the last show before Sin & Sacrifice. Before my first ever FFW title shot. I should be doing everything I can to promote it. After all, I’m the one who wanted this match. I’m the one who has to deliver, both in the ring and at the box office. The pressure’s on, and it started the moment I was named number one contender.
But I just couldn’t bring myself to go to China, and give myself, if even for one night, to a country that treats its citizens so horribly. I know the people of China are just like us, and certainly deserve to see some professional wrestling they’re no doubt starved for. But the problem is, no matter how noble our intentions are, we’d just end up being pawns to the government’s needs. I just didn’t want to be a part of any of it.
Thankfully, Mr. Kincaid was a very understanding boss, and gave me the show off. It wasn’t a horrible business decision either- plenty of Americans will be buying Sin & Sacrifice, and it’s here I’d be be served promoting the event. The amount of radio and TV interviews I’ve given in the past few days alone… it’s nearly as exhausting as travelling.
But anyways, the show. Velocity was both elating and horrifying. Horrifying because of the ending, when that vile witch Hexstar somehow managed to injure Kinsey’s husband like that. It’s one thing to attack and torture a wrestler, but when you go after someone’s family…
Perhaps it’s because it hits too close to home for me. I remember two years ago, back in X3, the week before my ladder match against Madman Szalinski. He put Terrence in the hospital by blindsiding him in the locker room, in front of our daughter, no less! The feeling of helplessness you get when someone you loved is injured like that while you’re out in the ring doing your job… it’s a sickening feeling. I hope Kinsey thrashes Hexstar from pillar to post, and then the woman is promptly released from FFW, because there’s no place for that in this company.
But on the flipside, there’s Misty. She has become at nineteen everything I should have been at twenty-two, when I had the same experience she did. Someone who refuses to play the victim, who will stand up for herself and others. My fears about Maddy and Holly running roughshod over this company are unfounded, because they don’t stand a chance against one irate Whitmore, let alone two. And that’s what we need to happen in two weeks. For good people like Misty, and Nicole, and Kinsey, and Sunny, and Steph to rise through the walls of inequity in front of them and claim triumph over the bullies that are tormenting them.
Bullies are everywhere. At school, at work, on the street, even in restaurants. And the definition is vague. Too many times people think a bully is any adversary who gets the better of them, because too often we live in a culture of victimization. But sometimes you don’t need a clear cut definition to recognize a bully when you see one. The Blondetourage. Hexstar. The Rudos. There’s a lot in wrestling.
Which is ironic, because wrestling is one of the few things in the world that allows you to deal with bullies in the most direct and simple means necessary- by fighting them on an even ground, beating the tar out of them, and forcing them to respect you- or at least instill enough fear in them to leave you alone. You don’t the get to do that to the obnoxious customer treating the waitress like dirt, or the kid on the playground who builds himself up by tearing others down. There’s consequences out there, but in the ring, so long as you play by the rules of the match, it’s fair game.
But that still doesn’t mean you can’t stand up to them. But while being able to stand up for yourself is great (and a MUST in wrestling, because you can’t afford to look weak by having someone else fight your battles for you), you have to be prepared to stand up for others as well. After all, not everyone is made of the same material, and courage and virtue are too rare of traits in today’s world. Those of us who have them need to spread them around. It’s something I try to do, and it’s something I tell my daughter to do as well. There will always be strife and friction, that’s the way of the world. But we need to have ZERO TOLERANCE for injustice, sadism, and self-absorbtion.
Because for every bully that gets put down, the world shines just a little brighter. And for every Holly Adams that gets whipped by a Misty Whitmore in FFW, the company becomes that much better, and we all sparkle just a little bit brighter. And that includes the FFW Championship.
I’m proud of FFW as is, and I know that when I put my hands around the FFW Championship at Sin & Sacrifice, that will be the most proud I’ve ever been of any accomplishment I’ve ever had in my career. To be the champion of the greatest company the world today… that’s an honor. But that doesn’t mean we can’t shine even brighter.
Because how much more brightly will it shine when we’re the company when little former gymnast Misty Whitmore, along with her recently-injured sister, walk down to the ring and smack two loudmouth blondes who only for shallow aesthetics? How much better of a company will we be when a bartender and former valet overcome the odds and win gold off of a pretentious, mean-spirited poet and her sidekick, along with two masked cheaters who’ve never wrestled a clean match in their lives? And God, how much nicer would we be if Kinsey Robinson finally shut Jessika Hexstar up?
I almost feel envious that they have such a righteous cause to fight for. My clash with Val is no less important, but it is for personal, selfish reasons- my own glory, my own prestige. And there’s nothing wrong with that, of course- the FFW Championship is the ultimate goal of everyone in the company. But it’s not because of me that belt is the most prestigious prize in all of women’s wrestling, if not wrestling period. Nor is it because of Val, nor Isabella, nor Scarlett, nor anyone else who came before them. It’s all of us, from Val to me to Eileen to Tara all the way on down to women like Jo and Alysson and Kinsey. Anyone who’s walked out there every night and wrestled the best match they could, and didn’t focus on compensating for their shortcoming with sneak attacks or interference or distraction or any other kinds of cheating. They’re the reason the FFW Belt means what it does.
Do me proud at Sin & Sacrifice, girls. I know you will. And after your turns have come and gone, it’ll be mine. And then I’ll do everything I can to return the favor!
===================
Monday September 23, 2013
College Park Elementary School- Playground
Indianapolis, Indiana
2:41 PM Local Time
Theresa Thompson leaned forward on the balls of her feet, toeing the line that bordered the number two square. Just feet away, Heather was serving the ball to Lily, who had just taken her place in the fourth ranked square. The ball bounced once, and the dark-haired girl hit it towards Theresa, who batted it diagnoally across to Rose. Rose hit it weakly to Heather, who hit it harder to Lily, who then tapped it to Rose. To Theresa’s surprise, Rose sent the ball flying straight at her, and she had to spring back to let it bounce, winding up to hit it at Lily. But suddenly she spun on her heel, backhanding the ball at an unsuspecting Heather, who had no time to react as the ball bounced at her feet, then through her legs out of the square.
Theresa grinned as all the other children groaned For the fifth straight recess, she got into the number one square!
And just like the other four, she planned on holding it all the way until the end of recess.
Heather had a pout on the face as she retrieved the ball, and threw it at Theresa, who caught it, still grinning. Heather sulked to the back of the line of kids waiting to play, as Theresa’s best friend Angela stepped into the fourth box. Lily stepped up to the third, and Rose moved across into the second. Theresa took her place in the first square, smirking as she looked over the kingdom she now ruled.
Was there any doubt that she was the queen of four-square at College Park?
She served the ball to Angela, a little too gently, who hit it over to Rose. Rose smashed it at Lily, who dove to hit it before it went out of her reach. The ball arced high in the air, right at Theresa, who stepped back, her teeth chlenched in triumphant determination. The gentle lob was going to give Theresa the easiest knockout spike in the world- and Theresa never missed.
The ball hit the ground, bouncing to a perfect height, just above her head, and the other three girls braced themselves, hoping their square wasn’t the target, and if it was, by some stroke of luck, they could save themselves.
The hit never came. Instead, the ball bounced harmlessly a second time, a collective gasp rising from the other girls. Theresa was out… and on the easiest shot in the world too!
Theresa, however, was no longer paying attention.
She had turned away from the game, and the ball, stepping out of her square, looking across the playground, her emerald green eyes narrowed. Behind her, Rose idly picked up the ball, but everyone else was watching the brown-haired second grader striding across the playground.
“You leave her alone!”
Clinton Sickles was large for a third grader (rumors had it that he’d been held back… twice, although Theresa knew they were false). He also was one of Theresa’s least favorite people in the whole world, an arrogant bully of a jerk who took special delight in torturing the helpless and weak. Growing up across the street from him, she’d fallen prey to his ‘pranks’ a few too many times herself.
Right now, Clint was playing keep away with his friends, tossing a playground ball back and forth, with Brianna, a small frail, shy second grade girl who always sat alone at lunch, in between. Brianna was running back and forth, tears running down her face, trying to get her ball back, as the boys laughed and tried to get the ball as close as they could to her without her reaching it. The tantalizing and taunting only seemed to make the small girl even more distraught. Theresa bit her lip, it was sickening.
“Hey, look! It’s Terr-Rat!” Clint chuckled, and Theresa felt her face flush. Clint had come up with the unflattering nickname after overhearing her mom call her ‘Terr-Bear’ one day, and decided she was more of a rat than a bear. Theresa did her best to shrug off the insult- she didn’t want to give Clint the satisfaction.
Instead, she simply folded her arms across her chest, staring directly at Billy. “Give the ball back.”
“If you want it back, take it!” Clint said, holding it out. Theresa stepped forward, but wasn’t surprised when just before she grabbed it, Clint pulled back and tossed it to a weasely looking kid named Billy. Brianna ran at Billy, trying to get the ball, only for him to lob it across to a kid who’s name Wendy didn’t know. He held the ball up, everyone laughing as Brianna jumped up fruitlessly, trying in vain to knock it out of his hand.
Theresa didn’t even turn around, her eyes never leaving Clint’s. “I said give it back.”
“Or what?” Clint sneered. “You gonna run and tell? Gonna have your mommy come and beat me up?”
The other boys hooted and chuckled. Theresa spared a glance over her shoulder, where her own group of friends still stood watching. Rose must have at some point dropped the ball, as it had rolled away over by the tetherball courts. Beyond that, she could see Mrs. Dillon, the playground monitor, talking with another group of girls. She sighed. The eldery woman was pleasant enough, but for keeping order on the playground, she was worthless. Theresa had wondered if the woman could even see beyond ten feet, the way she squinted.
She heard a whooshing sound, and looked up. The ball had passed within less of a foot of her, right back into Clint’s hands, and he stood in front of her, juggling the ball from one hand to another, as if taunting her to come and get it. She heard panting and footsteps behind her, and turned as Brianna came running up, still trying to desperately get her ball back.
“Hey, Brianna,” Theresa said loudly. “Forget these idiots. Come and play four-square with us.”
Brianna, stunned at actually being invited to something, stood transfixed for a second, then cast another, longing look at her ball. She wiped tears from her face with her sleeve, then nodded. She heard a faint groan behind her, knowing that some of her own friends would be displeased with the thought of an intruder in their clique, but she didn’t care. She just wanted to deprive Clint of his sick little game.
“Come on,” she said, grabbing Brianna’s hand, and leading her away, out of the circle of boys. She saw her girls trudging back to the four square game, Rose running to the tetherball courts to retrieve their own playground ball. A sudden thought hit Theresa’s mind, and she looked over at Brianna. “Do you know how to play four-square.”
Brianna, tears still shining in her eyes, shook her head. Theresa smiled reassuringly. “It’s really easy. All you have to do is-”
“Hey- Terr-Rat! Think fast!”
Instinctively, Theresa turned at the sound of Billy’s voice- a mistake. No sooner had she looked up than the ball came smashing into her face, knocking her to the ground. Tears of both pain and humiliation flooded her eyes as she scrambled back up, one hand over her face where the ball had struck.
The boys were all doubled over laughing, a couple collapsing on the ground, rolling. Clint was laughing the hardest of all, clutching his side from the mirth. She felt her face burn again, as she wiped the tears from her eyes, only for them to be replaced by more. Through blurry eyes, she saw Brianna running to retrieve her ball, a look of trepidation and relief mixed on her face. Then she looked back at the still laughing boys, and a red tint came over her vision. She took a step forward. Then another. Then another. By the fourth she was jogging, and by the tenth, she was sprinting, her fists clenched at her side, directly at Clinton Sickles.
All the while, Clint continued to laugh, oblivious. It wasn’t until she was five feet away that he realized what was going on, and the laughing stopped immediately.
But by then, it was too late.
And that’s when the screaming began.
9-12-13
It felt so weird watching Velocity from home tonight. I couldn’t even remember the last time I took a show off. And I probably shouldn’t have either. It is, after all, the last show before Sin & Sacrifice. Before my first ever FFW title shot. I should be doing everything I can to promote it. After all, I’m the one who wanted this match. I’m the one who has to deliver, both in the ring and at the box office. The pressure’s on, and it started the moment I was named number one contender.
But I just couldn’t bring myself to go to China, and give myself, if even for one night, to a country that treats its citizens so horribly. I know the people of China are just like us, and certainly deserve to see some professional wrestling they’re no doubt starved for. But the problem is, no matter how noble our intentions are, we’d just end up being pawns to the government’s needs. I just didn’t want to be a part of any of it.
Thankfully, Mr. Kincaid was a very understanding boss, and gave me the show off. It wasn’t a horrible business decision either- plenty of Americans will be buying Sin & Sacrifice, and it’s here I’d be be served promoting the event. The amount of radio and TV interviews I’ve given in the past few days alone… it’s nearly as exhausting as travelling.
But anyways, the show. Velocity was both elating and horrifying. Horrifying because of the ending, when that vile witch Hexstar somehow managed to injure Kinsey’s husband like that. It’s one thing to attack and torture a wrestler, but when you go after someone’s family…
Perhaps it’s because it hits too close to home for me. I remember two years ago, back in X3, the week before my ladder match against Madman Szalinski. He put Terrence in the hospital by blindsiding him in the locker room, in front of our daughter, no less! The feeling of helplessness you get when someone you loved is injured like that while you’re out in the ring doing your job… it’s a sickening feeling. I hope Kinsey thrashes Hexstar from pillar to post, and then the woman is promptly released from FFW, because there’s no place for that in this company.
But on the flipside, there’s Misty. She has become at nineteen everything I should have been at twenty-two, when I had the same experience she did. Someone who refuses to play the victim, who will stand up for herself and others. My fears about Maddy and Holly running roughshod over this company are unfounded, because they don’t stand a chance against one irate Whitmore, let alone two. And that’s what we need to happen in two weeks. For good people like Misty, and Nicole, and Kinsey, and Sunny, and Steph to rise through the walls of inequity in front of them and claim triumph over the bullies that are tormenting them.
Bullies are everywhere. At school, at work, on the street, even in restaurants. And the definition is vague. Too many times people think a bully is any adversary who gets the better of them, because too often we live in a culture of victimization. But sometimes you don’t need a clear cut definition to recognize a bully when you see one. The Blondetourage. Hexstar. The Rudos. There’s a lot in wrestling.
Which is ironic, because wrestling is one of the few things in the world that allows you to deal with bullies in the most direct and simple means necessary- by fighting them on an even ground, beating the tar out of them, and forcing them to respect you- or at least instill enough fear in them to leave you alone. You don’t the get to do that to the obnoxious customer treating the waitress like dirt, or the kid on the playground who builds himself up by tearing others down. There’s consequences out there, but in the ring, so long as you play by the rules of the match, it’s fair game.
But that still doesn’t mean you can’t stand up to them. But while being able to stand up for yourself is great (and a MUST in wrestling, because you can’t afford to look weak by having someone else fight your battles for you), you have to be prepared to stand up for others as well. After all, not everyone is made of the same material, and courage and virtue are too rare of traits in today’s world. Those of us who have them need to spread them around. It’s something I try to do, and it’s something I tell my daughter to do as well. There will always be strife and friction, that’s the way of the world. But we need to have ZERO TOLERANCE for injustice, sadism, and self-absorbtion.
Because for every bully that gets put down, the world shines just a little brighter. And for every Holly Adams that gets whipped by a Misty Whitmore in FFW, the company becomes that much better, and we all sparkle just a little bit brighter. And that includes the FFW Championship.
I’m proud of FFW as is, and I know that when I put my hands around the FFW Championship at Sin & Sacrifice, that will be the most proud I’ve ever been of any accomplishment I’ve ever had in my career. To be the champion of the greatest company the world today… that’s an honor. But that doesn’t mean we can’t shine even brighter.
Because how much more brightly will it shine when we’re the company when little former gymnast Misty Whitmore, along with her recently-injured sister, walk down to the ring and smack two loudmouth blondes who only for shallow aesthetics? How much better of a company will we be when a bartender and former valet overcome the odds and win gold off of a pretentious, mean-spirited poet and her sidekick, along with two masked cheaters who’ve never wrestled a clean match in their lives? And God, how much nicer would we be if Kinsey Robinson finally shut Jessika Hexstar up?
I almost feel envious that they have such a righteous cause to fight for. My clash with Val is no less important, but it is for personal, selfish reasons- my own glory, my own prestige. And there’s nothing wrong with that, of course- the FFW Championship is the ultimate goal of everyone in the company. But it’s not because of me that belt is the most prestigious prize in all of women’s wrestling, if not wrestling period. Nor is it because of Val, nor Isabella, nor Scarlett, nor anyone else who came before them. It’s all of us, from Val to me to Eileen to Tara all the way on down to women like Jo and Alysson and Kinsey. Anyone who’s walked out there every night and wrestled the best match they could, and didn’t focus on compensating for their shortcoming with sneak attacks or interference or distraction or any other kinds of cheating. They’re the reason the FFW Belt means what it does.
Do me proud at Sin & Sacrifice, girls. I know you will. And after your turns have come and gone, it’ll be mine. And then I’ll do everything I can to return the favor!
===================
Monday September 23, 2013
College Park Elementary School- Playground
Indianapolis, Indiana
2:41 PM Local Time
Theresa Thompson leaned forward on the balls of her feet, toeing the line that bordered the number two square. Just feet away, Heather was serving the ball to Lily, who had just taken her place in the fourth ranked square. The ball bounced once, and the dark-haired girl hit it towards Theresa, who batted it diagnoally across to Rose. Rose hit it weakly to Heather, who hit it harder to Lily, who then tapped it to Rose. To Theresa’s surprise, Rose sent the ball flying straight at her, and she had to spring back to let it bounce, winding up to hit it at Lily. But suddenly she spun on her heel, backhanding the ball at an unsuspecting Heather, who had no time to react as the ball bounced at her feet, then through her legs out of the square.
Theresa grinned as all the other children groaned For the fifth straight recess, she got into the number one square!
And just like the other four, she planned on holding it all the way until the end of recess.
Heather had a pout on the face as she retrieved the ball, and threw it at Theresa, who caught it, still grinning. Heather sulked to the back of the line of kids waiting to play, as Theresa’s best friend Angela stepped into the fourth box. Lily stepped up to the third, and Rose moved across into the second. Theresa took her place in the first square, smirking as she looked over the kingdom she now ruled.
Was there any doubt that she was the queen of four-square at College Park?
She served the ball to Angela, a little too gently, who hit it over to Rose. Rose smashed it at Lily, who dove to hit it before it went out of her reach. The ball arced high in the air, right at Theresa, who stepped back, her teeth chlenched in triumphant determination. The gentle lob was going to give Theresa the easiest knockout spike in the world- and Theresa never missed.
The ball hit the ground, bouncing to a perfect height, just above her head, and the other three girls braced themselves, hoping their square wasn’t the target, and if it was, by some stroke of luck, they could save themselves.
The hit never came. Instead, the ball bounced harmlessly a second time, a collective gasp rising from the other girls. Theresa was out… and on the easiest shot in the world too!
Theresa, however, was no longer paying attention.
She had turned away from the game, and the ball, stepping out of her square, looking across the playground, her emerald green eyes narrowed. Behind her, Rose idly picked up the ball, but everyone else was watching the brown-haired second grader striding across the playground.
“You leave her alone!”
Clinton Sickles was large for a third grader (rumors had it that he’d been held back… twice, although Theresa knew they were false). He also was one of Theresa’s least favorite people in the whole world, an arrogant bully of a jerk who took special delight in torturing the helpless and weak. Growing up across the street from him, she’d fallen prey to his ‘pranks’ a few too many times herself.
Right now, Clint was playing keep away with his friends, tossing a playground ball back and forth, with Brianna, a small frail, shy second grade girl who always sat alone at lunch, in between. Brianna was running back and forth, tears running down her face, trying to get her ball back, as the boys laughed and tried to get the ball as close as they could to her without her reaching it. The tantalizing and taunting only seemed to make the small girl even more distraught. Theresa bit her lip, it was sickening.
“Hey, look! It’s Terr-Rat!” Clint chuckled, and Theresa felt her face flush. Clint had come up with the unflattering nickname after overhearing her mom call her ‘Terr-Bear’ one day, and decided she was more of a rat than a bear. Theresa did her best to shrug off the insult- she didn’t want to give Clint the satisfaction.
Instead, she simply folded her arms across her chest, staring directly at Billy. “Give the ball back.”
“If you want it back, take it!” Clint said, holding it out. Theresa stepped forward, but wasn’t surprised when just before she grabbed it, Clint pulled back and tossed it to a weasely looking kid named Billy. Brianna ran at Billy, trying to get the ball, only for him to lob it across to a kid who’s name Wendy didn’t know. He held the ball up, everyone laughing as Brianna jumped up fruitlessly, trying in vain to knock it out of his hand.
Theresa didn’t even turn around, her eyes never leaving Clint’s. “I said give it back.”
“Or what?” Clint sneered. “You gonna run and tell? Gonna have your mommy come and beat me up?”
The other boys hooted and chuckled. Theresa spared a glance over her shoulder, where her own group of friends still stood watching. Rose must have at some point dropped the ball, as it had rolled away over by the tetherball courts. Beyond that, she could see Mrs. Dillon, the playground monitor, talking with another group of girls. She sighed. The eldery woman was pleasant enough, but for keeping order on the playground, she was worthless. Theresa had wondered if the woman could even see beyond ten feet, the way she squinted.
She heard a whooshing sound, and looked up. The ball had passed within less of a foot of her, right back into Clint’s hands, and he stood in front of her, juggling the ball from one hand to another, as if taunting her to come and get it. She heard panting and footsteps behind her, and turned as Brianna came running up, still trying to desperately get her ball back.
“Hey, Brianna,” Theresa said loudly. “Forget these idiots. Come and play four-square with us.”
Brianna, stunned at actually being invited to something, stood transfixed for a second, then cast another, longing look at her ball. She wiped tears from her face with her sleeve, then nodded. She heard a faint groan behind her, knowing that some of her own friends would be displeased with the thought of an intruder in their clique, but she didn’t care. She just wanted to deprive Clint of his sick little game.
“Come on,” she said, grabbing Brianna’s hand, and leading her away, out of the circle of boys. She saw her girls trudging back to the four square game, Rose running to the tetherball courts to retrieve their own playground ball. A sudden thought hit Theresa’s mind, and she looked over at Brianna. “Do you know how to play four-square.”
Brianna, tears still shining in her eyes, shook her head. Theresa smiled reassuringly. “It’s really easy. All you have to do is-”
“Hey- Terr-Rat! Think fast!”
Instinctively, Theresa turned at the sound of Billy’s voice- a mistake. No sooner had she looked up than the ball came smashing into her face, knocking her to the ground. Tears of both pain and humiliation flooded her eyes as she scrambled back up, one hand over her face where the ball had struck.
The boys were all doubled over laughing, a couple collapsing on the ground, rolling. Clint was laughing the hardest of all, clutching his side from the mirth. She felt her face burn again, as she wiped the tears from her eyes, only for them to be replaced by more. Through blurry eyes, she saw Brianna running to retrieve her ball, a look of trepidation and relief mixed on her face. Then she looked back at the still laughing boys, and a red tint came over her vision. She took a step forward. Then another. Then another. By the fourth she was jogging, and by the tenth, she was sprinting, her fists clenched at her side, directly at Clinton Sickles.
All the while, Clint continued to laugh, oblivious. It wasn’t until she was five feet away that he realized what was going on, and the laughing stopped immediately.
But by then, it was too late.
And that’s when the screaming began.
Monday, August 12, 2013
EPISODE 222: All-In, Part 3
Monday July 29, 2013
Grand Nugget- Poker Room
Atlantic City, New Jersey
3:10 PM Local Time
Wendy Briese sighed as she glanced at her watch. Nearly two hours she'd sat here, and still felt no closer to her goal than when she had sat back down. Foster still sat a couple of places away, his face ruddy from imbibed drink, his mustache quivering with glee everytime he scooped up some poor sap's chip total.
And there had been many, many poor saps, men (and some women) with far too much confidence and aggression and far too little common sense, making decisions based on greed that she felt put her initial playing to shame. To her annoyance, Pollaski never slapped any of THEM, although in a couple of instances she had the feeling he really wanted to.
Things had gone the opposite for her- after getting a quick crash course on which starting hands were actually worth playing, Wendy had settled into a successful groove. Her natural cautiousness proved to be a virtue, and she had managed to stop herself several times from making bets that would prove to be fatal. In the contrary, she had amassed a small fortune through her conservative play, and now sat with nearly nine thousand chips in front of her- more than double what she had first played.
But the one that mattered most to her remained out of reach, firmly in DePeeple’s hands. She had managed to catch onto a pattern fairly quickly- the man only bet his “lucky chip” when calling an all-in wager. But everytime she had gone all-in, he’d folded, and she’d been left just to pick up the blinds and early wagers.
Wendy broke away from her thoughts to look at her next hand of cards. A six of clubs and a seven of diamonds. With a sigh, she pushed the cards into the center of the table, face down. The worst part about poker was the waiting. With so few hands evidently playable, you could go for long stretches simply folding the moment you looked at your hand. It got pretty boring, and made her impatient. But she knew that impatience was death in poker, and kept grinding away, picking her spots, and more or less coming off the better for it, even if her ultimate goal eluded her.
She tried hard not to think about how it alluded to her own career in FFW. She was winning a lot- especially small and medium pots, and even a couple big ones. She’d also taken a few disappointing losses. But ultimately, even after all this time, the ultimate goal still alluded her. Had Pollaski intended this, to get her thinking about things? She glanced back at her manager, who was sitting in a chair behind her, sipping on what was probably his twenty-fifth Diet Pepsi. At least that stupid cigar was not in his mouth anymore, instead tucked into the breast pocket on his shirt.
The hand was mercifully a quick one, and soon another pair of cards was in front of it. An Ace of hearts.... and an ace of diamonds! Wendy sat up a little straighter- she knew it was a tell, but she doubted it revealed much. After all, simply playing your hand was somewhat of a tell, right?
She thought about going all-in again, but something stopped her. Every time she’d done that, everyone, including DePeeple, folded. If she wanted to get that chip, she needed to make him call it. Being excited and aggressive was a dead giveaway for her. She had to act calm, and be her normal, more cautious self.
“Raise to $500,” Wendy said quietly, sliding a small stack of chips in front of her. She bit her lip as most of the rest of the table folded, except for DePeeple. The South African stared at her for a long time, chewing on his lip, before pushing his own small stack in.
“Call.”
The flop came down- a Queen of Spades, a King of Diamonds, and... an Ace of Clubs! Wendy tried to keep her face impassive. She had three of a kind, and although there was a definite straight draw on the table, the likelihood that Foster was sitting on a jack and a ten were low. Still, cautious was the word of the day, right? She tapped her hand on the felt table twice, signifying a check- passing play to her opponent without making a bet.
“$1,000” the South African said, sliding more chips in. Wendy glanced at him. There was a definite smugness to him, and for a second she balked. But an overwhelming feeling was telling her she had the better hand.
“Call,” she responded.
The fourth card was flipped over, and Wendy had to fight down the urge to leap up and scream in excitement. It was the Ace of Spades! She had a four of a kind!
She tried to keep her face impassive, maybe even disappointed. Maybe, with luck, DePeeple would think she was missing her own straight draw. Her mind racing, she checked again. Bite the bait, you big ugly fish... just bite it...
“$5,000” Foster announced, adding more chips to the pot, his monocole glinting as he turned to glare at her. She fought down the urge to laugh. If he was trying to intimidate her, it was failing miserably.
“All-In.” She said, as cool as she could. She knew he would call this time- simply calling the bet would have taken most of her remaining chips. But she had the lure in the sharks mouth, and now she was setting the hook.
She nearly whooped as the chip in his hand pattered onto the table, and the remaining balance was pushed forward. She stood up, flipping her cards over, and the rest of the table gasped as they saw her hand. Foster DePeeple flipped his card over too, and Wendy grinned- a ten and a king, both spades. Her four of a kind absolutely trounced his pair of kings!
“Nice going,” Pollaski breathed from behind her. She turned around, and flashed him a smile. Mission complete! And she’d be taking home twenty thousand dollars to boot!
The fifth card was turned over... a jack of spades. Gasps and applause broke out throughout the bystanders, and Wendy began to lean forward to gather up her chips, but stopped suddenly at Pollaski’s groan from behind her.
“Oh, fuck me...” Pollaski grumbled.
She glanced over at Foster’s cards again, then to the common hand, and her heart sank. A four of a kind was unbeatable...
To anything but a royal flush, that is.
That insufferable smirk on his face, Foster plucked up that chip yet again into his hand, then grinned as the pot- and all nine thousand of her chips, were shoved over to join his stack. “But...” she said helplessly, as Foster sat back down, that blue chip still turning over in his hand.
“Alright, I think that’s good enough,” Pollaski said gently, grabbing Wendy’s arm and gently leading her away from the table. “Tough break, kid.”
“But...” Wendy repeated, feeling her throat tighten in disppointment.
“Yeah, that happens sometimes. And it’s a downright bitch every time,” Pollaski consoled. “Still, you did what I wanted, so we’ll give you a passing grade here.”
“But...” Wendy couldn’t even bring herself to turn away from the table, even after being guided out of the room and out of sight of the table. “I didn’t win...”
Pollaski led her back into the rows of slot machines, and sat her down on one of the stools sitting down in adjacent one, and spinning to face her. “So,” he said, grinning at the distraught woman. “What did we learn?”
Wendy seemed to snap out of her daze, blinking at her manager. “Um...” she said, biting her lip. “I’m not sure, to be honest. I guess there were some similiarities between playing and my career. I won some hands, even some big hands, but I couldn’t figure out how to get a good crack at the ultimate prize.”
“You did in the end,” Pollaski pointed out.
“And didn’t get it.” Wendy groaned. “Does that mean I’m not going to...”
“Don’t be an idiot.” Pollaski snapped. “One card in forty-three could have saved his ass, and he just so happened to be lucky enough to get it. I’d bet you’d kill to be able to face the FFW Champion with a 98% success rate. And besides, wrestling’s a lot like Poker- you can do everything right, and still get nipped out by unfortunate circumstances.”
“Like what happened to Colleen,” Wendy sighed.
“Pretty much,” Pollaski agreed. “So here’s the question for you... who told you slowplaying your hand like that was going to work?”
Except it didn’t work, Wendy wanted to say, but she was too tired to argue the point. “No one really,” she said. “I just figured that since I got excited and aggressive every other time I went all-in, maybe if I-”
“Was yourself?” Pollaski pointed out. “You are, after all, a pretty conservative, cautious person,” he grinned, “at least as far as professional wrestlers go. But yeah, notice how well just being Wendy Briese worked out.”
Wendy snorted. “So you’re saying that the best way I can get the shot is to just be myself.”
“Yup, and I know what you’re going to say next- it didn’t work so well at the other companies. You never were as efficient in NGWA and CCW as you are now, and PWX... well, they dropped the ball on a lot of things. You were just one of the bigger balls.” He snickered as Wendy raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have that problem here. As long as Cody Kincaid is on staff, you have zero danger of being overlooked. That guy knows your value.”
“I suppose your right.” Wendy smiled. “So it’s crossing the fingers, after all.”
“Sure. BUt also think back to the game. The other important part is... you knew WHEN and HOW to make your move, and you didn’t need anyone else to tell you. Transcribe that to reality.”
“I did it, because I had just about the best hand there is.” Wendy said, chewing her lip. “I have a pretty good hand now... but I can make it better.”
“There ya go,” Pollaski said, clapping Wendy on the shoulder. “You got Emma Mac coming up- and SHE’S what you truly need to be worried about. All this title crap... it’ll sort itself out afterwards in one way or another. Focus on Emma. It’s a long time coming between the two of you, and don’t worry about any of the distractions. When you’re focused, determined, and much more importantly... yourself, you don’t lose.”
“At least ninety-eight percent of the time,” Wendy grinned. “Thanks Dan. It was an... interesting way to get the point across, but I’m glad we talked.
“It’s why they pay me the big bucks,” Pollaski grinned, tapping a small bag at his side that still carried his own poker chips. “Now get out of here, and enjoy the rest of the day, aight? We’ll have plenty of work to do on the morrow.”
“Alright, Dan. Take care,” Wendy said, squeezing her manager’s shoulder and standing up. With a last wave, she turned and headed towards the exit of the casino.
Pollaski waited a full minute and change to make sure she was gone, then pulled out his phone, quickly dialing it, and putting it to his ear, chuckling as he waited for an answer.
“Yeah, it’s me. She’s on her way back to you right now. How was bungee jumping with Theresa? Awesome! Get a pic? Yeah, I’ll see it tonight. Oh yeah, she totally would have flipped. No problem, man. Glad I could distract her for you. What? Oh yeah, she lost. Four thousand. HA! I guess she won’t be giving you any lectures on wasting money in the near future, eh? Ah, consider it just an added favor. See ya tonight, dude. Yeah. Have fun. Bye.”
Pollaski hung up, and leaned against the slot machine, sticking his unlit cigar back into his mouth as he surveyed the goings on of the casino. He sighed contentedly as he patted the pile of chips in the bag next to him.
Sometimes, it was very very good to be Daniel Pollaski.
==============
Saturday August 10
MEO Arena- Auxillary Production Room
Lisbon, Portugal
5:11 PM Local Time
Before we fade in, a small graphic appears on the screen, saying:
APRIL 18, 2013
And then we fade into a moment from Velocity, ironically, on April 18, 2013.
Allison: Given the issue between Undine and Kate already, I’m sure you aren’t alone in that regard. Another return we saw at Chaos Theory happened in Ten Femme Chaos, when we saw the arrival of Wendy Briese. And also the surprising actions from Scarlett and Kelly. I’d like to get your thoughts on Wendy’s return, and being as close to the Kincaid family as you are, did what Scarlett and Kelly allow to happen surprise you?
Emma thinks for a moment, then shakes her head a little.
Emma: It should, but it doesn’t. Kelly really only looks like she’s been influenced by Christian to stop playing the good girl card, and Scarlett? Let’s be fair here, she’s been taking the golddigger or sleeping her way to the top crap for so long it’s really not a shock she finally said “screw this” and walked away.
“Sometimes, omission can speak volumes.”
Given that it’s about 100 degrees (F!) in Lisbon today, and sunny as hell, Wendy’s inside today, in a small studio with the FFW banner hanging behind her. Evidently she’s not exactly in the mood to risk sunburn right before going toe to toe with one of the hardest hitters in the company.
Anyways, Wendy’s dressed fairly casually tonight, wearing a pair of capri-cut jeans, as well as one of the new Eileen Amaro Evolution Championship T-shirts. Despite her fairly casual dress, she is formally in a bad mood, trying to keep her voice light, at least in somewhat of a sardonic matter. It’s not working so well.
“The entire time I was out injured, Emma MacNamara LOVED to take potshots at me. My four title reigns? The low points in company history. My injury? I had it coming, the piece of filth that I am. Over and over, she just loved taking these little digs at me, knowing full well that I was sitting at home on my couch, unable to so much as train, let alone compete. Real brave of you, Emma.”
“And then at Chaos Theory, I come running down the ramp to help out against a five on three beatdown, and send all your friends fleeing to the back with their tails between their legs. Allison Marx asks you point blank a couple weeks later your opinion on a girl coming back who you spent MONTHS taking potshots at during her injury, and it’s let’s talk about Kelly and Scarlett and move on, thank you very much. In fact, you haven’t talked about me much at all since my name reappeared on the roster page.
“Sad, Emma. For all the issue’s I’ve had with you, all the problems we’ve had, I never once figured you to be someone to hold her tongue.”
Wendy snorts, and shrugs.
“But you have to have known this was coming sooner or later! You don’t get to whack your own teammate over the head with a lead pipe and leave them a bloody mess in the middle of the ring on live national television, and not expect there to be some sort of consequence. I was hoping for a... pardon the pun... crack at you a lot quicker than this, but of course, there were all kinds of issues. Femme For All, injuries and the like.”
“By the time I came back, I was pretty much fed up with the whole lot of you that I wanted to take every single one of you on, bit by bit, and it didn’t matter a darn which one of you I started with. So I made that open challenge, willing to take anyone in the Power Trip offered, but deep down, I was kind of hoping it’d be you to be shoved forward.”
Evidently, whatever amity Wendy’s achieved with Isabella in the wake of Unstoppable isn’t carrying over to her former stablemates.
“Of course, you had that parking lot brawl two weeks prior, and there wasn’t much of a chance that you’d be patched up enough to be ready to compete at Relentless. But I pretty much knew that you wouldn’t be stepping forward the moment you shoved your head in the sand and evaded Allison’s question.”
“Well, you can’t hide from your problems forever, Emma. And I’d say an irritated housewife from Indianapolis with a chip on her shoulder can be a very, VERY big problem. So this is it- no more delays. Tonight, I have you all in that ring to myself, one on one, and you’ll be getting everything I have. And since I have your attention now, I might as well give something else- a piece of my mind. Because I’ve been waiting a little over ten months to say what I’m about to.”
A small smile from Wendy, and a deep breath.
“I’ve been trying to come up with a good adjective to describe you. Evil’s too harsh- you’re really not evil, despite some of the horrible things you’ve done. But misguided is too soft- you know full well what you’re doing is wrong. What you are Emma, is backwards. Completely backwards, right up to the fact that you’re okay with it... even proud of it!”
“You’ve said and done some pretty horrible things over the past few months, Emma. To me. To Cara. To Kate. To Misty. The list goes on, and you don’t bat an eyelash. And yet, I can’t help but think about to the last day of last September, when you threw a Twitter Tantrum for over a FULL HOUR because I said something so horrible, so low, that you couldn’t believe it. Wendy Briese insulted your parenting! Wendy Briese brought your kids into this! Wendy Briese crossed the line! Wendy Briese is so goshdarn JUDGEMENTAL!”
Wendy scoffs, and rolls her eyes, clearly irritated almost to the point of amusement.
“Wendy Briese actually simply pointed out that betraying your team mates in the middle of a competition is setting a pretty bad example, and that you wouldn’t be so callously dismissive if the same thing happened to you or your family. The mere fact that such a simple common sense statement serves as a berserk button for you is backwards.”
“You might have noticed, Emma, that I see a lot of things I don’t quite agree with, that I don’t make a fuss about. I’m not out to destroy everyone who doesn’t measure up to my expectations, because that would be everyone including myself. I dont’ have the time or the inclination to go around being a Knight Templar, and even i I did, I’m well aware of what an unbearable DRAG I’d become around my friends.”
“But there’s a line, Emma, and if you’re too backwards to even see it when you’re walking, well, maybe you should consider turning around. It’s not going to be crossed. Not with me, and not with my friends. YOu crossed that line at Sin & Sacrifice, and you’ve shown no inclination to go back. Just because it took this long for me to catch up with you... that doesnt’ dim any of the memories in my mind.
“Neither does the fact that it’s completely rich of you to throw all your toys out of the pram becasue someone else JUDGED you, when you are the first person in this whole COMPANY to dump on ANYONE for doing something you don’t like. Kate, Cara, Serafina, myself, the list goes ON, but the moment it turns around back on you its a simple YOU HAVE NO RIGHT! I KNOW I’M NOT A GOOD PERSON AND SO I’M LEAST I’M NOT A HYPOCRITE!”
Another eyeroll from Wendy, followed by a single sarcastic chuckle, and another shake of her head.
“No, Emma, you’re so very wrong. So very backwards. I’m the one you clubbed with a lead pipe at Sin & Sacrifice. I’m the one you left lying in a puddle of blood. I have EVERY RIGHT IN THE WORLD to call you out on it. And if you don’t like it, then maybe you shouldn’t have DONE IT.”
“Imperfection does not absolve you or excuse you, no matter how many times you praise it as a virtue. And the mere fact that you have to resort to semantics and literalism and technicalities to justify yourself PROVES how backwards you really are. ‘Lead pipes are allowed in War Games and I was on the other team too, and so it’s all okay.’ THE HELL IT IS!”
Wendy pauses to catch her breath, the last four words coming out as quite the outburst- even for her.
“It’s because of people like YOU, Emma, that our legal code is as complicated and convoluted and so freakishly huge as it is. People like YOU, who instead of sucking it up, taking their lumps, and attempting self-improvement look for every little loophole and caveat they can to justify themselves. It’s because of people like you that common sense and critical thinking has been rendered to an AFTERTHOUGHT, because simple application of it would blow every lame justification you come up with out of the bloomin’ water!”
“I’ll always remember what you said to Cara. ‘I’m not a traitor. I’m simply someone who looks after herself, and only herself.’”
Wendy busts out into open contemptious laughter here, shaking her head incredulously.
“THATS WHY PEOPLE BECOME TRAITORS, EMMA! You think Benedict Arnold wasn’t looking out for himself when he SOLD West Point to the British? You think the Rosenberg’s weren’t spending the money the Soviets gave them for nuclear secrets? You think Judas would have handed Jesus over if thirty pieces of silver weren’t on the table? Traitors are people who put their own self worth over the group they belong to! THATS WHY THEY BETRAY THEM!”
“You didn’t want to team with Cara or I because we were goody-two shoes or co-dependent or whatever other lame excuse you came up with? Fine. You should have said something BEFORE the match started, so either we, or you, could have been replaced. You wanted to leave the Mafia for the Power Trip? Fine, there were other ways to do it. But no, you wanted to do it in the most heinous way possibly on purpose. You wanted to make as big an impact as you could, so you did it in the middle of a Pay-Per-View Main Event.”
“Well, congratulations, Emma. You got your impact. For all the good it did you. Was it worth it? Truly worth it? Because let’s fast forward ten months.”
“All along, you bragged that the Mackenzie Mafia was dead. You said it was over, the Power Trip reigned supreme, and you SCOFFED when I told you that the spirit of the Mafia would live on, even if the name did it. And I was right. Did we have our rough spots? Yeah. Did we have our casualties? Sadly, yes. We lost Cara and Colleen due to termination, and Caroline to injury, and even myself for several months. But those of us who survived, we kept going, on and on. And now look at us now.”
Wendy does one of her normal small smirks, but isn’t quite able to hold it, and it turns into an almost full mocking grin.
“Val’s the FFW Champion, and she did it by knocking off Power Trip member Starla McCloud... twice. Eileen’s the Evolution Champion. I just beat the CAPTAIN of the Power Trip, Isabella Pazzini, and put her into retirement. Camilla’s gearing up to help Val smash Fight or Flight on Thursday in a massive match. Colleen’s over in SVW, making Legendary’s life even worse than she made all yours. Even Caroline’s hinting more and more about a possible return. I think the lot of us are doing pretty considering what you guys tried to do.”
“And it’s certainly better in comparison, because where’s the Power Trip? Dead! Gone! In both name and spirit. You guys are now on your own again. No superclique to torment the rest of us anymore!”
“I’d say, Ms. MacNamara, we won after all. It may not have been any of us who dealt the death blow to your clique, but we still have outlasted and outsurvived you.”
That smile remains. For a second, Wendy looks a little bit smug. Yeah, she gets a little less rigid when there’s some serioius contempt going on.
“And what have you ultimately gotten? A ten month run as a second tier member in a now dead stable? A three and a half month Ultraviolence title reign? I’m actually insulted that high-level betrayal is bought so cheaply these days.”
“And where are you now, Emma? The Power Trip’s dead. Your title’s gone, and in the hands of a woman you so despise you refuse to say her name. Last year, as the Mafia’s hitgirl, you were in the main event in your homeland. You think your recent actions and comments might have had anything to do with you not even being booked for a return trip?”
“So, I’ll ask you once again, Emma MacNamara. Was it all worth it?”
Wendy pauses for a second, her body language almost suggesting ‘go on, I’ll wait’, for several seconds.
“Of course, by this point, I’m sure you’re rolling your eyes. Probably laughing, even muttering to yourself. I’m sure ‘not what I said,’ or ‘putting words in my mouth’, or ‘not paying attention’ are coming out, since those seem to be the standard fall backs you have whenever someone calls you out on things you’d rather not deal with. And then, of course, there’s the tried and true line about how this is who you are, and you know what kind of person you are, and where you’re headed, and not interested, and la la lalala you’re not listening.”
Wendy finishes by putting her fingers in her ears, and talking in a singsong voice. She chuckles as she pulls her fingers out.
“I shouldn’t laugh, but it is a little bit funny. Or at least ironic. I remember a couple years ago when you confronted Jo McFarlane at catering over her decisions and acting like a petulant child. And now here you are, acting ten times worse, without even the ability to use inexperience as an excuse.”
“And just like Jo did, you’re probably going to spout of the same tired CRAP she did to me already. I’m a phony. I’m hiding behind my manager. Everything I do is just for publicity. Please, for the love of God, find something different. I’m sure I have enough REAL imperfections to harp on without you making some stuff up.”
“You wanna be a bad person, Emma? Go ahead. Be as miserable a wretch as you can possibly be. Go be a bad person with your new friends in Club CK, where you practically FLED so dang quickly after the dissolution of the Power Trip. Go be a bad person at home. Go be a bad person on a Virign Airways flight. Go be a bad person in your strip club. I don’t care. But do it on your own time to where the rest of us in this company don’t have to deal with your consistently negative and sadistic CRAP.”
A small shrug.
“Of course, that won’t happen. You wouldn’t take my advice in a million years. You probably aren’t even listening anymore. You probably started tuning me out two or three minutes into this, because you just don’t want to hear it. But I don’t care. Because honestly? After ten months of watching you treat pretty much everyone in this company like garbage, it’s quite cathartic to say it.”
“But that’s NOTHING in comparison to tonight, Emma. Because this was just me getting some stuff off my chest. Tonight, THAT is going to be where you’re going to learn the meaning of regret. THAT is going to be when you learn that you should have picked a far better time to join the Power Trip. And THAT is going to be the moment when anyone who’s ever thought about taking a lead pipe to my head will immediately gain very VERY substantial reservations.”
Wendy leans forward, and we can see the intensity and anger burning in her eyes- on a significantly higher level than what we normally see when she’s annoyed with someone.
“Because I don’t need to break rules to make you feel pain, Emma. I don’t need to cheat to make you scream. Just remember, though- I’m ultimately out to win, so once it starts, feel free to acquiesce at anytime, and it will stop immediately. Even in vengeance, I can be merciful once it’s over.”
Wendy’s voice softens, and she leans back, taking a deap breath.
“Because despite all that you’ve done to me and others, Emma, I don’t hate you. I don’t think you and I will ever be bosom buddies, but I know there’s a likeable side of you, and as much as you want to go around pretending it was all an act, it’s still there. But you went over the line, Emma, and you’ve been over for far to long, and tonight, I’m going to drag you back, kicking and screaming if I have to. Just try and keep your eyes open as it happens. This way, for future references, you’ll know where it is.”
Wendy starts to turn to go, but stops, and turns back around, looking one more time at the camera.
“Just remember, Emma. You could have avoided all this easily with a little bit more common sense”
And fade.
Grand Nugget- Poker Room
Atlantic City, New Jersey
3:10 PM Local Time
Wendy Briese sighed as she glanced at her watch. Nearly two hours she'd sat here, and still felt no closer to her goal than when she had sat back down. Foster still sat a couple of places away, his face ruddy from imbibed drink, his mustache quivering with glee everytime he scooped up some poor sap's chip total.
And there had been many, many poor saps, men (and some women) with far too much confidence and aggression and far too little common sense, making decisions based on greed that she felt put her initial playing to shame. To her annoyance, Pollaski never slapped any of THEM, although in a couple of instances she had the feeling he really wanted to.
Things had gone the opposite for her- after getting a quick crash course on which starting hands were actually worth playing, Wendy had settled into a successful groove. Her natural cautiousness proved to be a virtue, and she had managed to stop herself several times from making bets that would prove to be fatal. In the contrary, she had amassed a small fortune through her conservative play, and now sat with nearly nine thousand chips in front of her- more than double what she had first played.
But the one that mattered most to her remained out of reach, firmly in DePeeple’s hands. She had managed to catch onto a pattern fairly quickly- the man only bet his “lucky chip” when calling an all-in wager. But everytime she had gone all-in, he’d folded, and she’d been left just to pick up the blinds and early wagers.
Wendy broke away from her thoughts to look at her next hand of cards. A six of clubs and a seven of diamonds. With a sigh, she pushed the cards into the center of the table, face down. The worst part about poker was the waiting. With so few hands evidently playable, you could go for long stretches simply folding the moment you looked at your hand. It got pretty boring, and made her impatient. But she knew that impatience was death in poker, and kept grinding away, picking her spots, and more or less coming off the better for it, even if her ultimate goal eluded her.
She tried hard not to think about how it alluded to her own career in FFW. She was winning a lot- especially small and medium pots, and even a couple big ones. She’d also taken a few disappointing losses. But ultimately, even after all this time, the ultimate goal still alluded her. Had Pollaski intended this, to get her thinking about things? She glanced back at her manager, who was sitting in a chair behind her, sipping on what was probably his twenty-fifth Diet Pepsi. At least that stupid cigar was not in his mouth anymore, instead tucked into the breast pocket on his shirt.
The hand was mercifully a quick one, and soon another pair of cards was in front of it. An Ace of hearts.... and an ace of diamonds! Wendy sat up a little straighter- she knew it was a tell, but she doubted it revealed much. After all, simply playing your hand was somewhat of a tell, right?
She thought about going all-in again, but something stopped her. Every time she’d done that, everyone, including DePeeple, folded. If she wanted to get that chip, she needed to make him call it. Being excited and aggressive was a dead giveaway for her. She had to act calm, and be her normal, more cautious self.
“Raise to $500,” Wendy said quietly, sliding a small stack of chips in front of her. She bit her lip as most of the rest of the table folded, except for DePeeple. The South African stared at her for a long time, chewing on his lip, before pushing his own small stack in.
“Call.”
The flop came down- a Queen of Spades, a King of Diamonds, and... an Ace of Clubs! Wendy tried to keep her face impassive. She had three of a kind, and although there was a definite straight draw on the table, the likelihood that Foster was sitting on a jack and a ten were low. Still, cautious was the word of the day, right? She tapped her hand on the felt table twice, signifying a check- passing play to her opponent without making a bet.
“$1,000” the South African said, sliding more chips in. Wendy glanced at him. There was a definite smugness to him, and for a second she balked. But an overwhelming feeling was telling her she had the better hand.
“Call,” she responded.
The fourth card was flipped over, and Wendy had to fight down the urge to leap up and scream in excitement. It was the Ace of Spades! She had a four of a kind!
She tried to keep her face impassive, maybe even disappointed. Maybe, with luck, DePeeple would think she was missing her own straight draw. Her mind racing, she checked again. Bite the bait, you big ugly fish... just bite it...
“$5,000” Foster announced, adding more chips to the pot, his monocole glinting as he turned to glare at her. She fought down the urge to laugh. If he was trying to intimidate her, it was failing miserably.
“All-In.” She said, as cool as she could. She knew he would call this time- simply calling the bet would have taken most of her remaining chips. But she had the lure in the sharks mouth, and now she was setting the hook.
She nearly whooped as the chip in his hand pattered onto the table, and the remaining balance was pushed forward. She stood up, flipping her cards over, and the rest of the table gasped as they saw her hand. Foster DePeeple flipped his card over too, and Wendy grinned- a ten and a king, both spades. Her four of a kind absolutely trounced his pair of kings!
“Nice going,” Pollaski breathed from behind her. She turned around, and flashed him a smile. Mission complete! And she’d be taking home twenty thousand dollars to boot!
The fifth card was turned over... a jack of spades. Gasps and applause broke out throughout the bystanders, and Wendy began to lean forward to gather up her chips, but stopped suddenly at Pollaski’s groan from behind her.
“Oh, fuck me...” Pollaski grumbled.
She glanced over at Foster’s cards again, then to the common hand, and her heart sank. A four of a kind was unbeatable...
To anything but a royal flush, that is.
That insufferable smirk on his face, Foster plucked up that chip yet again into his hand, then grinned as the pot- and all nine thousand of her chips, were shoved over to join his stack. “But...” she said helplessly, as Foster sat back down, that blue chip still turning over in his hand.
“Alright, I think that’s good enough,” Pollaski said gently, grabbing Wendy’s arm and gently leading her away from the table. “Tough break, kid.”
“But...” Wendy repeated, feeling her throat tighten in disppointment.
“Yeah, that happens sometimes. And it’s a downright bitch every time,” Pollaski consoled. “Still, you did what I wanted, so we’ll give you a passing grade here.”
“But...” Wendy couldn’t even bring herself to turn away from the table, even after being guided out of the room and out of sight of the table. “I didn’t win...”
Pollaski led her back into the rows of slot machines, and sat her down on one of the stools sitting down in adjacent one, and spinning to face her. “So,” he said, grinning at the distraught woman. “What did we learn?”
Wendy seemed to snap out of her daze, blinking at her manager. “Um...” she said, biting her lip. “I’m not sure, to be honest. I guess there were some similiarities between playing and my career. I won some hands, even some big hands, but I couldn’t figure out how to get a good crack at the ultimate prize.”
“You did in the end,” Pollaski pointed out.
“And didn’t get it.” Wendy groaned. “Does that mean I’m not going to...”
“Don’t be an idiot.” Pollaski snapped. “One card in forty-three could have saved his ass, and he just so happened to be lucky enough to get it. I’d bet you’d kill to be able to face the FFW Champion with a 98% success rate. And besides, wrestling’s a lot like Poker- you can do everything right, and still get nipped out by unfortunate circumstances.”
“Like what happened to Colleen,” Wendy sighed.
“Pretty much,” Pollaski agreed. “So here’s the question for you... who told you slowplaying your hand like that was going to work?”
Except it didn’t work, Wendy wanted to say, but she was too tired to argue the point. “No one really,” she said. “I just figured that since I got excited and aggressive every other time I went all-in, maybe if I-”
“Was yourself?” Pollaski pointed out. “You are, after all, a pretty conservative, cautious person,” he grinned, “at least as far as professional wrestlers go. But yeah, notice how well just being Wendy Briese worked out.”
Wendy snorted. “So you’re saying that the best way I can get the shot is to just be myself.”
“Yup, and I know what you’re going to say next- it didn’t work so well at the other companies. You never were as efficient in NGWA and CCW as you are now, and PWX... well, they dropped the ball on a lot of things. You were just one of the bigger balls.” He snickered as Wendy raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have that problem here. As long as Cody Kincaid is on staff, you have zero danger of being overlooked. That guy knows your value.”
“I suppose your right.” Wendy smiled. “So it’s crossing the fingers, after all.”
“Sure. BUt also think back to the game. The other important part is... you knew WHEN and HOW to make your move, and you didn’t need anyone else to tell you. Transcribe that to reality.”
“I did it, because I had just about the best hand there is.” Wendy said, chewing her lip. “I have a pretty good hand now... but I can make it better.”
“There ya go,” Pollaski said, clapping Wendy on the shoulder. “You got Emma Mac coming up- and SHE’S what you truly need to be worried about. All this title crap... it’ll sort itself out afterwards in one way or another. Focus on Emma. It’s a long time coming between the two of you, and don’t worry about any of the distractions. When you’re focused, determined, and much more importantly... yourself, you don’t lose.”
“At least ninety-eight percent of the time,” Wendy grinned. “Thanks Dan. It was an... interesting way to get the point across, but I’m glad we talked.
“It’s why they pay me the big bucks,” Pollaski grinned, tapping a small bag at his side that still carried his own poker chips. “Now get out of here, and enjoy the rest of the day, aight? We’ll have plenty of work to do on the morrow.”
“Alright, Dan. Take care,” Wendy said, squeezing her manager’s shoulder and standing up. With a last wave, she turned and headed towards the exit of the casino.
Pollaski waited a full minute and change to make sure she was gone, then pulled out his phone, quickly dialing it, and putting it to his ear, chuckling as he waited for an answer.
“Yeah, it’s me. She’s on her way back to you right now. How was bungee jumping with Theresa? Awesome! Get a pic? Yeah, I’ll see it tonight. Oh yeah, she totally would have flipped. No problem, man. Glad I could distract her for you. What? Oh yeah, she lost. Four thousand. HA! I guess she won’t be giving you any lectures on wasting money in the near future, eh? Ah, consider it just an added favor. See ya tonight, dude. Yeah. Have fun. Bye.”
Pollaski hung up, and leaned against the slot machine, sticking his unlit cigar back into his mouth as he surveyed the goings on of the casino. He sighed contentedly as he patted the pile of chips in the bag next to him.
Sometimes, it was very very good to be Daniel Pollaski.
==============
Saturday August 10
MEO Arena- Auxillary Production Room
Lisbon, Portugal
5:11 PM Local Time
Before we fade in, a small graphic appears on the screen, saying:
APRIL 18, 2013
And then we fade into a moment from Velocity, ironically, on April 18, 2013.
Allison: Given the issue between Undine and Kate already, I’m sure you aren’t alone in that regard. Another return we saw at Chaos Theory happened in Ten Femme Chaos, when we saw the arrival of Wendy Briese. And also the surprising actions from Scarlett and Kelly. I’d like to get your thoughts on Wendy’s return, and being as close to the Kincaid family as you are, did what Scarlett and Kelly allow to happen surprise you?
Emma thinks for a moment, then shakes her head a little.
Emma: It should, but it doesn’t. Kelly really only looks like she’s been influenced by Christian to stop playing the good girl card, and Scarlett? Let’s be fair here, she’s been taking the golddigger or sleeping her way to the top crap for so long it’s really not a shock she finally said “screw this” and walked away.
“Sometimes, omission can speak volumes.”
Given that it’s about 100 degrees (F!) in Lisbon today, and sunny as hell, Wendy’s inside today, in a small studio with the FFW banner hanging behind her. Evidently she’s not exactly in the mood to risk sunburn right before going toe to toe with one of the hardest hitters in the company.
Anyways, Wendy’s dressed fairly casually tonight, wearing a pair of capri-cut jeans, as well as one of the new Eileen Amaro Evolution Championship T-shirts. Despite her fairly casual dress, she is formally in a bad mood, trying to keep her voice light, at least in somewhat of a sardonic matter. It’s not working so well.
“The entire time I was out injured, Emma MacNamara LOVED to take potshots at me. My four title reigns? The low points in company history. My injury? I had it coming, the piece of filth that I am. Over and over, she just loved taking these little digs at me, knowing full well that I was sitting at home on my couch, unable to so much as train, let alone compete. Real brave of you, Emma.”
“And then at Chaos Theory, I come running down the ramp to help out against a five on three beatdown, and send all your friends fleeing to the back with their tails between their legs. Allison Marx asks you point blank a couple weeks later your opinion on a girl coming back who you spent MONTHS taking potshots at during her injury, and it’s let’s talk about Kelly and Scarlett and move on, thank you very much. In fact, you haven’t talked about me much at all since my name reappeared on the roster page.
“Sad, Emma. For all the issue’s I’ve had with you, all the problems we’ve had, I never once figured you to be someone to hold her tongue.”
Wendy snorts, and shrugs.
“But you have to have known this was coming sooner or later! You don’t get to whack your own teammate over the head with a lead pipe and leave them a bloody mess in the middle of the ring on live national television, and not expect there to be some sort of consequence. I was hoping for a... pardon the pun... crack at you a lot quicker than this, but of course, there were all kinds of issues. Femme For All, injuries and the like.”
“By the time I came back, I was pretty much fed up with the whole lot of you that I wanted to take every single one of you on, bit by bit, and it didn’t matter a darn which one of you I started with. So I made that open challenge, willing to take anyone in the Power Trip offered, but deep down, I was kind of hoping it’d be you to be shoved forward.”
Evidently, whatever amity Wendy’s achieved with Isabella in the wake of Unstoppable isn’t carrying over to her former stablemates.
“Of course, you had that parking lot brawl two weeks prior, and there wasn’t much of a chance that you’d be patched up enough to be ready to compete at Relentless. But I pretty much knew that you wouldn’t be stepping forward the moment you shoved your head in the sand and evaded Allison’s question.”
“Well, you can’t hide from your problems forever, Emma. And I’d say an irritated housewife from Indianapolis with a chip on her shoulder can be a very, VERY big problem. So this is it- no more delays. Tonight, I have you all in that ring to myself, one on one, and you’ll be getting everything I have. And since I have your attention now, I might as well give something else- a piece of my mind. Because I’ve been waiting a little over ten months to say what I’m about to.”
A small smile from Wendy, and a deep breath.
“I’ve been trying to come up with a good adjective to describe you. Evil’s too harsh- you’re really not evil, despite some of the horrible things you’ve done. But misguided is too soft- you know full well what you’re doing is wrong. What you are Emma, is backwards. Completely backwards, right up to the fact that you’re okay with it... even proud of it!”
“You’ve said and done some pretty horrible things over the past few months, Emma. To me. To Cara. To Kate. To Misty. The list goes on, and you don’t bat an eyelash. And yet, I can’t help but think about to the last day of last September, when you threw a Twitter Tantrum for over a FULL HOUR because I said something so horrible, so low, that you couldn’t believe it. Wendy Briese insulted your parenting! Wendy Briese brought your kids into this! Wendy Briese crossed the line! Wendy Briese is so goshdarn JUDGEMENTAL!”
Wendy scoffs, and rolls her eyes, clearly irritated almost to the point of amusement.
“Wendy Briese actually simply pointed out that betraying your team mates in the middle of a competition is setting a pretty bad example, and that you wouldn’t be so callously dismissive if the same thing happened to you or your family. The mere fact that such a simple common sense statement serves as a berserk button for you is backwards.”
“You might have noticed, Emma, that I see a lot of things I don’t quite agree with, that I don’t make a fuss about. I’m not out to destroy everyone who doesn’t measure up to my expectations, because that would be everyone including myself. I dont’ have the time or the inclination to go around being a Knight Templar, and even i I did, I’m well aware of what an unbearable DRAG I’d become around my friends.”
“But there’s a line, Emma, and if you’re too backwards to even see it when you’re walking, well, maybe you should consider turning around. It’s not going to be crossed. Not with me, and not with my friends. YOu crossed that line at Sin & Sacrifice, and you’ve shown no inclination to go back. Just because it took this long for me to catch up with you... that doesnt’ dim any of the memories in my mind.
“Neither does the fact that it’s completely rich of you to throw all your toys out of the pram becasue someone else JUDGED you, when you are the first person in this whole COMPANY to dump on ANYONE for doing something you don’t like. Kate, Cara, Serafina, myself, the list goes ON, but the moment it turns around back on you its a simple YOU HAVE NO RIGHT! I KNOW I’M NOT A GOOD PERSON AND SO I’M LEAST I’M NOT A HYPOCRITE!”
Another eyeroll from Wendy, followed by a single sarcastic chuckle, and another shake of her head.
“No, Emma, you’re so very wrong. So very backwards. I’m the one you clubbed with a lead pipe at Sin & Sacrifice. I’m the one you left lying in a puddle of blood. I have EVERY RIGHT IN THE WORLD to call you out on it. And if you don’t like it, then maybe you shouldn’t have DONE IT.”
“Imperfection does not absolve you or excuse you, no matter how many times you praise it as a virtue. And the mere fact that you have to resort to semantics and literalism and technicalities to justify yourself PROVES how backwards you really are. ‘Lead pipes are allowed in War Games and I was on the other team too, and so it’s all okay.’ THE HELL IT IS!”
Wendy pauses to catch her breath, the last four words coming out as quite the outburst- even for her.
“It’s because of people like YOU, Emma, that our legal code is as complicated and convoluted and so freakishly huge as it is. People like YOU, who instead of sucking it up, taking their lumps, and attempting self-improvement look for every little loophole and caveat they can to justify themselves. It’s because of people like you that common sense and critical thinking has been rendered to an AFTERTHOUGHT, because simple application of it would blow every lame justification you come up with out of the bloomin’ water!”
“I’ll always remember what you said to Cara. ‘I’m not a traitor. I’m simply someone who looks after herself, and only herself.’”
Wendy busts out into open contemptious laughter here, shaking her head incredulously.
“THATS WHY PEOPLE BECOME TRAITORS, EMMA! You think Benedict Arnold wasn’t looking out for himself when he SOLD West Point to the British? You think the Rosenberg’s weren’t spending the money the Soviets gave them for nuclear secrets? You think Judas would have handed Jesus over if thirty pieces of silver weren’t on the table? Traitors are people who put their own self worth over the group they belong to! THATS WHY THEY BETRAY THEM!”
“You didn’t want to team with Cara or I because we were goody-two shoes or co-dependent or whatever other lame excuse you came up with? Fine. You should have said something BEFORE the match started, so either we, or you, could have been replaced. You wanted to leave the Mafia for the Power Trip? Fine, there were other ways to do it. But no, you wanted to do it in the most heinous way possibly on purpose. You wanted to make as big an impact as you could, so you did it in the middle of a Pay-Per-View Main Event.”
“Well, congratulations, Emma. You got your impact. For all the good it did you. Was it worth it? Truly worth it? Because let’s fast forward ten months.”
“All along, you bragged that the Mackenzie Mafia was dead. You said it was over, the Power Trip reigned supreme, and you SCOFFED when I told you that the spirit of the Mafia would live on, even if the name did it. And I was right. Did we have our rough spots? Yeah. Did we have our casualties? Sadly, yes. We lost Cara and Colleen due to termination, and Caroline to injury, and even myself for several months. But those of us who survived, we kept going, on and on. And now look at us now.”
Wendy does one of her normal small smirks, but isn’t quite able to hold it, and it turns into an almost full mocking grin.
“Val’s the FFW Champion, and she did it by knocking off Power Trip member Starla McCloud... twice. Eileen’s the Evolution Champion. I just beat the CAPTAIN of the Power Trip, Isabella Pazzini, and put her into retirement. Camilla’s gearing up to help Val smash Fight or Flight on Thursday in a massive match. Colleen’s over in SVW, making Legendary’s life even worse than she made all yours. Even Caroline’s hinting more and more about a possible return. I think the lot of us are doing pretty considering what you guys tried to do.”
“And it’s certainly better in comparison, because where’s the Power Trip? Dead! Gone! In both name and spirit. You guys are now on your own again. No superclique to torment the rest of us anymore!”
“I’d say, Ms. MacNamara, we won after all. It may not have been any of us who dealt the death blow to your clique, but we still have outlasted and outsurvived you.”
That smile remains. For a second, Wendy looks a little bit smug. Yeah, she gets a little less rigid when there’s some serioius contempt going on.
“And what have you ultimately gotten? A ten month run as a second tier member in a now dead stable? A three and a half month Ultraviolence title reign? I’m actually insulted that high-level betrayal is bought so cheaply these days.”
“And where are you now, Emma? The Power Trip’s dead. Your title’s gone, and in the hands of a woman you so despise you refuse to say her name. Last year, as the Mafia’s hitgirl, you were in the main event in your homeland. You think your recent actions and comments might have had anything to do with you not even being booked for a return trip?”
“So, I’ll ask you once again, Emma MacNamara. Was it all worth it?”
Wendy pauses for a second, her body language almost suggesting ‘go on, I’ll wait’, for several seconds.
“Of course, by this point, I’m sure you’re rolling your eyes. Probably laughing, even muttering to yourself. I’m sure ‘not what I said,’ or ‘putting words in my mouth’, or ‘not paying attention’ are coming out, since those seem to be the standard fall backs you have whenever someone calls you out on things you’d rather not deal with. And then, of course, there’s the tried and true line about how this is who you are, and you know what kind of person you are, and where you’re headed, and not interested, and la la lalala you’re not listening.”
Wendy finishes by putting her fingers in her ears, and talking in a singsong voice. She chuckles as she pulls her fingers out.
“I shouldn’t laugh, but it is a little bit funny. Or at least ironic. I remember a couple years ago when you confronted Jo McFarlane at catering over her decisions and acting like a petulant child. And now here you are, acting ten times worse, without even the ability to use inexperience as an excuse.”
“And just like Jo did, you’re probably going to spout of the same tired CRAP she did to me already. I’m a phony. I’m hiding behind my manager. Everything I do is just for publicity. Please, for the love of God, find something different. I’m sure I have enough REAL imperfections to harp on without you making some stuff up.”
“You wanna be a bad person, Emma? Go ahead. Be as miserable a wretch as you can possibly be. Go be a bad person with your new friends in Club CK, where you practically FLED so dang quickly after the dissolution of the Power Trip. Go be a bad person at home. Go be a bad person on a Virign Airways flight. Go be a bad person in your strip club. I don’t care. But do it on your own time to where the rest of us in this company don’t have to deal with your consistently negative and sadistic CRAP.”
A small shrug.
“Of course, that won’t happen. You wouldn’t take my advice in a million years. You probably aren’t even listening anymore. You probably started tuning me out two or three minutes into this, because you just don’t want to hear it. But I don’t care. Because honestly? After ten months of watching you treat pretty much everyone in this company like garbage, it’s quite cathartic to say it.”
“But that’s NOTHING in comparison to tonight, Emma. Because this was just me getting some stuff off my chest. Tonight, THAT is going to be where you’re going to learn the meaning of regret. THAT is going to be when you learn that you should have picked a far better time to join the Power Trip. And THAT is going to be the moment when anyone who’s ever thought about taking a lead pipe to my head will immediately gain very VERY substantial reservations.”
Wendy leans forward, and we can see the intensity and anger burning in her eyes- on a significantly higher level than what we normally see when she’s annoyed with someone.
“Because I don’t need to break rules to make you feel pain, Emma. I don’t need to cheat to make you scream. Just remember, though- I’m ultimately out to win, so once it starts, feel free to acquiesce at anytime, and it will stop immediately. Even in vengeance, I can be merciful once it’s over.”
Wendy’s voice softens, and she leans back, taking a deap breath.
“Because despite all that you’ve done to me and others, Emma, I don’t hate you. I don’t think you and I will ever be bosom buddies, but I know there’s a likeable side of you, and as much as you want to go around pretending it was all an act, it’s still there. But you went over the line, Emma, and you’ve been over for far to long, and tonight, I’m going to drag you back, kicking and screaming if I have to. Just try and keep your eyes open as it happens. This way, for future references, you’ll know where it is.”
Wendy starts to turn to go, but stops, and turns back around, looking one more time at the camera.
“Just remember, Emma. You could have avoided all this easily with a little bit more common sense”
And fade.
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