He loosens his grip just enough so that my lungs explode into fire as I take in a strangled breath. The air that he breathes out across my face is scalding in its absolute certainty, threatening to blister the delicate skin of my ear as he whispers a last secret between us.
“This time stay dead.”
I’m not here, not really. There is no ring, no fans, no Ayla. Just me standing on the edge of a bridge with no rescuer in sight as my grip begins to loosen and I move to take a step forward. In a minute it’ll be all over with, like the last several weeks had been nothing more than a fever dream or the result of bad Chinese food. I’ll step off this bridge and it’ll all be over.
Until his words. Words that came like a bolt of electricity delivered directly to my nervous system. Suddenly I was jerked off the bridge and violently thrust back into myself with the force of dying and being reborn all at the exact same moment. I scream because that is the first thing that we all do when we are born.
“Vhodka?”
He interrupts my train of thought and brings me back to the cramped New Orlean’s studio that we presently found ourselves in. The studio had not changed much in the time since my last visit, as a matter of fact I had this sneaking suspicion that the opened package of gushers sitting on the table between us was the very same package that had been sitting there the last time that I’d been here. I hated this place. Hated it in the way a menopausal woman might hate working a twelve-hour shift in an air conditionless office while wearing Spanx that was two sizes too small.
But it was tradition. Champion’s tradition, that is.
Once upon a time upon winning the Outlaw Pro Wrestling championship Xavier Black had walked into this very radio show to send a message to one Stephen Stratford. Stratford, after dethroning Xavier Black had sat in this same very sticky chair and looked across at the same man that was now sitting across from me and given his first statements as a champion. And now they were both gone and I was here. I was the champion now. The king.
But it was... different. They’d had each other to propel them forward, one another to keep them hungry. I didn’t have a rival, there was no dethroned champion coming to take back what had been his. Damian Ayla had declined his opportunity for a rematch and slunk back to whatever oblivion he had originally emerged from. If I was the type of person to take the low road I might say
I told you so.
If the low road was what I was after I might pontificate on the fact that the belt really had made the man and upon its removal Damian Ayla had done his best impression of Cinderella when the clock struck midnight and the carriage he had arrived in turned back into a rotted pumpkin. I’d talk about how while we had both wanted it, I wanted it just a little more. I needed it just a little bit more. And if I really wanted to be low, I’d say that I deserved it just a little bit more. But I’ll take the high road.
It’s true, every prediction I’d made had come true. It should have felt good to be right and yet all I could do was think about two men who were long gone and wonder what might have-could have-should have been.
I wish you were here.
“Earth to Vhodka.”
He lifts his can of Mountain Dew Code Red in my direction, shaking what is left of the beverage against the sides of the can in his attempts to draw my attention. He is a vaguely humanoid looking man, like someone put a normal human into a meat grinder and then used that to stuff this grotesque sausage casing of a human until it resembled something that might pass for polite society. The backwards Saint’s hat on his head is smudged with sour cream and onion finger prints from the ever-present half eaten family sized bag of chips at his elbow.
“My bad, Green. It’s been a long week.”
That was an understatement. This last week was a blur. Flights, hotel rooms, appearances all blurring into each other as I settled into my new role as the face of the company. I had moved from place to place hardly even noticing when one had shifted to another, a plasticine smile affixed to my face as I gave the soundbites that I knew people like me were supposed to say, whether I believed what was coming out of my mouth or not. I had done what the title had required of me, spoke about what I had accomplished by overthrowing Ayla, but I had never really stopped to enjoy what I had achieved. Was it like this for you too?
“It’s Greer, Champ.” He corrects me with a small smile as if he hated to do so.
“Yeah, that’s what I said.” It’s not.
“Alright, you ready to do this, Champ?” He questions as he lifts his headphones up to place them upon his hair that is four days past needing washed. I do my very best not to look too closely at the headphones in front of me for fear of whatever flesh-eating bacteria and ear wax might be lurking in them from the last c-list celebrity who was on this show. He lifts his hand and begins a countdown on his fingers, closing it into a fist as the On Air sign between us lights up.
“What’s good? This is Greer back in the studio with new Pro Wrestling Excellence Champion Vhodka Black. How’s tricks, Champ?” I can tell this this nickname will be my least favorite part of holding this belt.
“For kids, you rascally rabbit.” It takes a moment for the joke to land but when it does, he laughs hard enough to send spittle out on the table between us.
“So, you’re coming off an absolutely dominant performance at Magnificence just a short week ago where you defeated the reigning champion Damian Ayla for the Excellence Championship. That’s got to feel good right? To walk into a company and take the belt off the top guy in, what was it? Three shows? That’s impressive.”
“It’s pretty surreal. But it’s good to be king, ya know?” I’m lying through my teeth. Don’t get me wrong, I am elated to be the Excellence Champion. Really, I am. But it doesn’t feel exactly like I thought it would. It feels, I don’t know... hollow? You spend a lifetime scratching and clawing your way to the top and then one day you get there and it’s like where do you go from here?
“It was quite the upset, wasn’t it? I mean, the good money was on Ayla to retain and here you come from out of nowhere and steal the strap right out from underneath him. Here I am thinking that’s got to really stick in his craw but then word came down that Ayla has elected not to take a rematch against you. How do you feel about that?”
“I mean, it is what I said it was. When it came time to back up all the talk, he did good but he couldn’t hang long enough to seal the deal. So now he has the option to walk away and be able to say it was a fluke or I got lucky or he takes the rematch and the outcome is the same as the first time and then he has to confront the fact that he’s just not on my level. I think he made the smart decision.”
Now that I had faced him there was no doubt in my mind that I could beat him should he ever decide to step up again. He had given it his all and it was a great performance but I knew my ability. And now Ayla did too.
“We saw another shocking win at Magnificence and that was Allen Chaney winning the Olla-Rumble which grants him a title shot. Now it’s no secret that Chaney wasn’t exactly happy about your remarks about the talent in PWE and will be looking to prove a point about it.” He swishes his Code Red in his can before taking a swig.
“Good, that’s why I said it.”
“What do you mean by that?” he asks.
“Look at me for example. Damian discounted me and gave me a personal vendetta to make him eat his words. Now look at Allen who won a match that, quite frankly, no one expected him to win. Do you think the Allen Chaney that faced off against myself and four other men a few weeks ago would have been able to beat Damian Ayla? Probably not. But look at the Allen Chaney we have now, the one who had something to prove because he lost a match that he was the favorite to win. The Allen Chaney who heard me call him mediocre and set out to prove me wrong. That is the Allen Chaney that will get things done in this business.”
There was irony in this. I had called Damian Ayla a mediocre champion because he had beat a mediocre field of talent but if that were true (and it was) then what did that make me? Maybe that was the source of the hollow feeling every time I looked at the belt. I had no adversary, no real competition. I had taken a belt from a man not as good as me who had taken it from people not as good as him.
“Let's shift gears to the present. Your first match as champion is against a woman named Ruby Steele.” He says this as if it means anything.
“Yeah, she’s pretty new to the business. Looks like she’s had a rocky start in PWE so far, I know she lost to Holly Rhodes not long ago and the match before that was no contest. But that’s not a huge thing for someone as young as she is. Plenty of time for her to bounce back and establish herself as someone to contend with.”
Ruby Steele was fine. I had nothing against her and I would enjoy getting to test out some of the greener talent in the company. After all, I was their leader now. Not a leader like Ayla had been, ruling with fear and derision. But someone who had the opportunity to not just grow this company but to grow talent like Ruby Steele.
“So, you think Steele has what it takes to be a real threat?” He questions, leaning back in his chair. I shrug my shoulders.
“If she can get out of her own head, I think she can do anything she sets her mind to. But she can't have a defeatist attitude like we’ve seen a little bit of in the past. This is a physical business and it’s a business built on talent, sure, but it’s also a business that is built on mental strength. If you aren’t strong of mind, if you don’t have faith in yourself, then you’re never going to survive. That mental strength is what is going to give you the edge over people who are just as talented and just as physical.” I pause. “I’m not sure where her head is going into this match but I hope that she’s going to come in confident and give it her all. This is her chance to really make an impression and start to get herself a little momentum going.”
“You’re a tall order though, right?” I fight the urge to roll my eyes as he winks at me across the table.
“I’m good. But there is always going to be someone better that comes along. This moment is mine but it’s fleeting. One day someone better will come along and I’ll step back just as Ayla has done.” Probably not what I was supposed to say.
“And who would you say is better than you?” He leans forward in his chair as if he’s very interested in my answer.
I think about Pro Wrestling Excellence but then I think beyond its walls. There is so much talent out there, I know it because I’ve seen it. I’m friends with it. I have competed alongside it. A plethora of people who I know could step up and bring the fight on any given day. But of all of them there are only two of them I really care about.
“Better than me?” I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know if it’s a matter of anyone being better than me at this moment but more so I think I’d like to see how I measure up against them.”
“And who do you mean when you say them?”
I could say it. I could put the call out right here and now and they would hear about it one way or another. Maybe they’d come and we’d find out where we all ranked. Or maybe not. I smile at Greer.
“A lady never tells.”
The rest of the interview was the usual fodder that you hear on these sorts of cheap dirt sheets. We talked about the match, about the company, about where I would go from here. But when I finally stepped out into the early morning brightness I was practically wound tight enough to snap.
Last night after very regrettably eating eleven entire birthday cakes lovingly prepared for me by my doting husband I had made an agreement. An agreement that I had never had any intention of abiding by, if we’re being honest. The good thing about this was that my husband knew me well enough to know that I would find every loophole possible in order to make this work in my favor, therefore, when I did what I was about to do he might not be very angry. Maybe.
It only took three rings before the phone was answered and a voice I had not heard in nearly a year said hello.
“How’s the weather?”
—————————————————————
There has always been something, I don’t know, exotic about the two of them. Otherworldly. It’s a quiet undercurrent that somehow they are not a part of this great big thing that the rest of us are. They exist outside of it while simultaneously possessing the ability to frequently weave in and out of our world as it suits them. And when it no longer does? They vanish just as quickly as they appeared in the first place. Never overstaying their welcome, never succumbing to the pratfalls of the business as their contemporaries do. Gone just as quickly as they came. But always one step ahead.
Her face is blank. Not a practiced blankness like some people have but rather as if she was a vessel waiting for something to come along and fill her up so that she might animate and become something resembling human. It’s unnerving. But then he enters to kneel down beside her chair, his tongue darting out to lick across her bottom lip before they kiss. A submissive greeting, the way that leopards in the wild do when they come across a cat more dominant than themselves. I’m seeing something that I shouldn’t understand, that they don’t intend me to understand, but I do whether they realize or not. Leopards are solitary animals, not like wolves who stick together in packs finding safety in numbers. This couple is solitary too.
The weight of her personality fills her eyes as she watches him take the chair from between us and move it beside her, close enough so that he may rest his palm on her thigh. What was once unnerving has now been made beautiful and welcoming just by the nearness of the man beside her. He looks at her as if she has hung every star in the night sky just for him.
As I watch them together I realize that they are slipping into roles like actors preparing for a sequel to a film they’ve already made. They want to sell me an idea of who they are, of which one is in control, but I’ve already read the spoilers. It’s why I came here in the first place.
“Is this about the boy?” He asks, tilting his head in a way that conveyed mild curiosity. I shook my head in response.
“I didn’t come here for you.” I paused, my eyes leaving his face to travel to hers. “I came for her.”
A wry smile from him. “That makes two of us.”
It took me a good thirty seconds to realize that he had made a joke. It startled me, threw me off my train of thought. He isn’t known for his sense of humor, and though I know that he’s hardly the reputation afforded to him, it still caused me to mentally stumble. He notices this, his expression turning thoughtful as if he was filing this bit of information away to use later. Her expression never changes though, she just stares at me as if she were trying to look not at me but through me.
“I have a problem.” I said.
“Numerous, actually.” That sense of humor again. “But tell me why any of them concern my wife.”
“Does she speak? Or do you have to shove your hand up her ass first?” See, I’m funny too.
“Only if she asks.” A small smirk tugs the corner of his lips as he crosses one leg over the other, shifting his weight towards his wife.
“Enough.” Her voice is pleasant enough but commanding, leaving no room for argument. She shifts her hand to rest it atop of her husband’s where it rests on her thigh. “You’ve just been given the keys to the kingdom. Of all the things you should be doing, why is it that the first thing you did was get on a twelve hour flight that would bring you to us?”
“And why are you alone?” He smiles as he speaks, knowing the answer already.
It occurs to me at this moment that I am minutes away from making a deal with the devil. On some level I knew this before I boarded the plane, knew it before I made the call. But now that I am sitting here looking at them the weight of this decision hits home. It is the weight of betrayal. Betrayal of my husband, of my family, everyone I love. And so you must understand that I would not come here lightly. Only if it were the absolute last resort. Only if I were absolutely certain that the people sitting in front of me were the only hope I had of protecting my family.
“As I said, I have a problem. A problem that the two of you created, might I remind you. It is also a problem that I thought was taken care of but clearly Mexico has proven otherwise.” I can’t believe I’m doing this. “She left something in our locker room and then later in the night she attacked Vincent.” My body shuddered with fine rage tinged with the barest edge of guilt. I should have been there.
“Our hearts weep, I assure you.”
“She’s not going to stop coming for him.” I said. She shrugs her shoulders, eyes darting away as she considers my words.
“No. Probably not.” She sighs, looking back at me. “The foreplay is tedious and it doesn’t suit you. Tell me why you’re here or get back on that private jet you came on. Your dysfunctional Wolf family bullshit is boring me.”
“I think I liked it better when he was talking.”
“Boring.” She says the word as if I needed a reminder.
“The fact of the matter is I can’t protect us, alright? Not from her.”
“A Wolf admitting weakness? That’s rich.” The woman chuckles.
“I’m not a Wolf. They aren’t even Wolves anymore.” I corrected more out of habit than anything.
“Names change, nature doesn’t.” She responded curtly. He did not speak, only watched the two of us as if we were doing something more interesting than having a simple conversation.
“Whatever. The reason I’m here is because I obviously need you. I need you to deal with her for me because I can’t.” There, the truth.
She arches her eyebrow. “Why?”
I sighed. “Because when the time comes I don’t trust myself not to flinch. We can’t afford to flinch.”
“And I won’t flinch.” Her words are firm, confirming what I already knew.
“No. You won’t.”
“That can’t be the only reason you picked me.” Her head tilts again like she’s trying to see the words in my mind before my mouth speaks them. “Why not him?” A nod toward her husband.
It was my turn to scoff. “You know why not him.”
“You’re fooling yourself if you think it will matter to them less.” The woman squeezes her husband's hand before releasing it. “And if I were to agree to this request. What do we get out of it?”
It was my turn to stare at the two of them, quiet for long enough that the silence turned awkward between us.
“It will hurt him that I turned to you.” All of them.
“You think hurting Vincent is enough of a reason that we should put my wife in potential danger to clean up your petty family squabble?” His voice has an undercurrent of something I cannot decipher.
“I wasn’t talking about Vincent.” The weight of a thousand unsaid words stretched between the two of us as we stared each other down.
“Won’t my involvement put you in a difficult position with your family?” She intercedes, pulling my attention reluctantly away from his face and back to hers.
It irritated me that she knew us well enough to ask the question but I only got one shot at this, I had to hook them. “Yes. Which I imagine only sweetens the deal.”
The woman moved her hand to once again cover her husbands, only this time she did not rest it on top of his. Instead she used a nail to trace idle circles on the delicate skin on the back of his hand as she considered the request.
She stands and he follows suit, wrapping his arm around her waist so that their bodies form a solid line against one another.
“I’ll be in touch.”
And there it was. A deal with the devil.
