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Post by Kelsey Spencer on Sept 21, 2016 4:07:44 GMT
“Goodnight Tonight”
I unsteadily stagger up the stairwell of my crummy apartment building, hauling my feet as I clutch my shoulder. I’m in a lot more pain than I’d like to admit, but I’m determined to keep it hidden from everyone. My shoulder’s screaming in agony every waking moment, and my legs are like jelly. I know I’m pushing myself way too hard, but the way I see it, I don’t have any other choice right now. So what if I break down? Nobody else is gonna take care of my mum - it’s my responsibility.
I don’t know if a strong will to help others is going to be enough to get the job done, at this point. This mold situation is starting to take control of every aspect of my life; I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I can barely breathe through anything but my mouth - and even then, I’m gasping for air rather than breathing comfortably. My body’s aching from head to toe and I’ve got no energy most of the time - although that could be attributed to a lack of fruit and vegetables in my diet these days. I’m stuck in a constant cycle of agony.
I had a moment of weakness the other day - a relapse to my old ways, if you will. It’d been several years since I had these feelings of desperation, where I couldn’t see any way out. There I was, all alone in the locker room following my match with Summer on Addiction. I had the razor blade in my hand, staring down at my exposed wrist. “One swift swipe and it will all be over,” I remember telling myself. I wanted out; I didn’t want to live this way anymore. The idea of going back to my apartment to die a much slower, painful death wasn’t appealing when stacked up against a much more permanent solution. A state of constant sickness is no way to live.
Maybe I’m sick in the head for even thinking of it, but that’s always been my go-to in situations like this - drown the emotional and mental pain out with physical torture. But me taking the easy way out isn’t going to benefit anybody. As you could probably tell, I decided I couldn’t go through with it - the thought of Annabel, my mum, AJ, Zoey, Becky, and countless others having to live their lives without me in it was enough to change my mind. If this happened ten years ago, I’d be dead on the floor right now; I had no-one. Now, today, I have so many loved ones that I’d have to take my shoes and socks off if I wanted to count them all; that's how blessed I am. The pain I’m going through now is nothing compared to what they’d go through if they lost me.
I’m not alone.
September 16, 2016
Purity, Louisiana
I fumble with my keys to try and open the rusty lock on my apartment’s front door - but it’s already unlocked. I push it open to see a very familiar scene - Becky Saint sitting there with pizza in her hand.
“It’s about time you showed up!” she calls out with a smirk. She tosses her pizza down and stands with arms spread wide. “Don’t leave me out in the cold!” she chuckles. I hobble over as quickly as I can and give her a gentle hug - it probably sounds weird to anyone that knows me, but I actually missed her while she was away in Canada. We don’t have a whole lotta money, so we used what we had to send her away and get her concussion symptoms checked out; it’s actually one of the main reasons she hasn’t been wrestling recently, along with being burned out. It might not seem like it to the fans, but wrestling takes its toll on your mind and your body like you wouldn’t believe.
As she pulls away from the hug, she looks me up and down, her main focus being the stapled-shut wound just above my hairline. “My god, look at you! You’re a wreck, what happened?!”
“Summer happened,” I bluntly inform her, burying my hands in my pockets out of insecurity. That attack came out of nowhere, which made it that much more difficult to defend against. I know I look terrible, like I’m in some underground fight club, but how I look is probably nothing compared to how I feel on the inside. Lucky for me, that’s easy to conceal - I’ve done it my whole life - so it just comes as second nature. Summer didn’t hurt me physically as much as she wounded my pride; I didn’t wanna win the match that way. When she told me on Twitter that she wanted to give this match her all, I believed her - we were gonna help each other improve, much like Anna and I did. That was the deal. But instead, I was on the receiving end of an unwarranted assault. “I don’t wanna go into details,” I tell Becky. “I just wanna take it easy…”
“So, I’ve been following your Twitter account lately,” she announces, probably referring to my conversations with Cross. I heard the news go public about the two of us hanging out together; as with all media, it was blown out of proportion. “Got yourself a boyfriend, huh?” She winks to indicate she’s just stirring me - at least I think that’s what she’s hinting at. I can feel my cheeks turn red and my face get flushed.
“Oh, he’s not my boyfriend,” I feel the need to correct her - even though a small part of me wishes I didn’t have to. “He’s just a boy who happens to be my friend.”
“Right, right…” She touches a single finger to her chin with a sly smirk on her face. She stares off into space, pursing her lips before she continues her thought. “He’s loaded, isn’t he? If you’re not going to punch that meal ticket, I might have to take a swing…”
“No, don’t!” I instinctively call out - I instantly bite my tongue. A sly smirk appears on her face; I really shouldn’t have said that, because now she’s gonna tease me like there’s no tomorrow. I like him; I can admit that. I don't know if that like is love, though, because I don't know what it's like to be in love. I don’t quite understand all the feelings I’m having, but I know they’re genuine. From my personal experiences with her, Becky can manipulate people into doing what she wants; if she really did want Cross to herself, he’d be hers.
Or, maybe she expected me to think that, and I was the one who got played. Man, she’s good!
I flop down onto our terribly-old foam sofa, right under a dripping hole in the ceiling, its damp cushions producing a squelching sound as my body hits them. I turn my head to the side to avoid the dirty water dripping directly on my nose and in my mouth - even if it were, I probably wouldn’t care right now. I just want to hibernate.
Through my thumping headache, something on the table catches my eye - an envelope with my name on it. I sit up slightly to inspect it closer.
“Hey, Bec…” I start, trying to grab her attention. I raise my hand to point, even though there’s no possible way she’d be able to see my finger from her line of sight. “What’s that over there?”
“Beats me,” I hear her respond. “It was in with the mail; I figured it was something you were expecting.”
I reach for the envelope and inspect it - it’s light. Very light. Some kind of letter, perhaps? As Becky curiously sits by my side, I ever-so-gingerly open the envelope and remove its contents… I’m shocked by what I find.
“Holy…” That’s all I can manage to verbalise.
“Woah!” Becky reacts. “There’s gotta be at least five hundred bucks right there!” I’m speechless. Where did all this money come from? Who sent it, and why? I inspect the envelope inside and out to try and find some answers - a card, a return address, a name - but there’s nothing. Becky’s sentiments reflect my own perplexity: “Where’d it come from?”
“I have no idea,” I respond, baffled. “Whoever sent it obviously didn’t want me to know they did…”
“Which means they know how stubborn you are,” Becky’s quick to respond, examining a couple of the hundred dollar bills by holding them up in the flickering light. She glances down at the envelope, and points out one very important detail. “Look - no stamp.”
This just keeps getting weirder. Whoever left this cash knew I wouldn’t have accepted it in person and must’ve delivered it by hand. That leaves a few suspects, but many more possibilities - I’ve been very vocal about not wanting any financial help from people, but at the same time, it’s also obvious that we’re living in near-poverty right now. It doesn’t necessarily need to be someone I know - countless PAW fans could’ve dropped that in the letterbox as a gift; my apartment’s only a few blocks from the amusement park.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Becky questions. I turn my head slightly to see she’s studying my mannerisms - she’s always had a knack for identifying what kinda stuff’s going through my mind, just by observing me.
“I can’t accept this money,” I announce, placing it gently on the splintered wood of the coffee table before folding my hands and placing them on my head.
“Are you joking? Why not?”
“It’s not mine; I didn’t earn it.”
“Kelsey, sweetheart, listen. Someone out there cares about you enough to give you this money. People don’t just give money away - especially not five hundred dollars.” She picks the money up off the table and waves the wad of cash in my face. “You’ve got to think, you must’ve impacted someone’s life in such a positive way that they’d leave you this much money without expecting so much as a thank you.”
I don’t respond. Not right away, at least. She raises many good points, but it still feels wrong. What if whoever left this money runs into trouble and needs it? As inviting as the idea of a hot meal is right about now, I can’t give in to temptation - I have to do the right thing, and the right thing is finding who left this money and returning it to them. I think. I don’t know what’s right anymore.
“Just think of all the KFC we could have with this!” Becky tries a new tactic.
“I don’t want any KFC,” I mumble.
“Geez, this really is serious!” She tosses the money down and places a single hand on my knee - my arms instinctively fall by my side as I tremble just a little at the feel of human contact; it’s something that’s still pretty foreign to me- except for the wrestling aspect of my life, of course. I get jittery when someone touches me while I’m upset. “Do you trust me, Kelsey?”
“Well, I-”
“Look at me.” I slowly do as I’m instructed, glancing up to make eye contact with her. I’ve heard that someone’s eyes reveal a lot about a person, and her eyes tell a different story than they used to - her gaze is softer, not as sharp as it used to be. “Do you trust me?” She repeats the question. Looking into her eyes, I can’t see any reason not to - there’s no malice, no selfishness.
“I do,” I reply with a slight nod.
“Then believe me when I say there is nothing wrong with you accepting this money to get yourself back on your feet.”
I bow my head to break eye contact. She’s probably right. She knows a lot more about this stuff than I do.
“Alright, fine,” I finally break. “But if we find out who gave us this money, we’re paying it back as soon as we can.”
“If that’ll make you happy,” Becky replies. We both stare at the money on the table, not uttering a word to each other. “I just had a thought…”
“What’s that?” I question, tilting my head toward her with curiousity.
“When was the last time you went to therapy?”
“Therapy? I’ve, uhh...never been to therapy.”
Her eyes widen and her eyebrows raise at the sound of my response.
“You’re kidding me, right?” She asks, and I shake my head. “Out of all the people I know, you probably need to see a therapist the most.” Well, that hurts. I thought I was coming along pretty nicely; I got through my training with Cross, I felt confident for the first time in I don’t know how long when I spoke about Summer, and I wrestled one heck of a match with all things considered. I guess Becky sees that her words have stung a little, because she comes back with a follow-up statement. “Oh, look, I didn’t mean to offend you or make you feel like crap. I’ve noticed you’ve been depressed lately, and-”
“It’s okay,” I wave her off and put on a smile. “I know it was an accident. But, I see your point. Maybe I should talk to someone…”
September 21, 2016
Pure Amusement Theme Park
I meet up with AJ at our usual rendezvous point to discuss promotional footage for Wicked.
“I want you to do this whole thing in one take,” I instruct AJ, while he fits the camera with the good microphone.
“Are you sure?”
“Yep - coughs and all. Don't stop for anything…”
I should be okay. I’ve been working on controlling my coughing, just like I can control my ASD twitches. Soon enough, they just become a part of who you are, like the simplest of mannerisms. I want this to have a raw and genuine feel to it, not a spliced collection of sound bites - a theater performance, not a movie. There may be long, awkward pauses scattered throughout, but that’s who I am.
AJ gives me the thumbs up from behind the camera to let me know we’re rolling - here we go.
~~~~~~~
“I haven’t been having the best time lately,” I confess to the camera. “Whether it’s waking up constantly on the borderline of suffocation from the mold in my apartment, or people trying to bust me open and cause serious injuries, my life hasn’t been the envy of anyone’s eye. I know that sounds like me fishing for pity, but believe me, it’s not - I hate when people pity me, it makes me feel worthless - more than normal, at least. I’m just saying that for the most part, it hasn’t exactly been the Summer Of Spencer - no pun intended.
I have a bit of a confession to make - those rumours about me having health issues? They’re true. I’m sorry I lied to everyone and said they weren’t, but I didn’t want anybody to worry about me. The fact of the matter is, I find it very difficult to perform even the most simple tasks most days, which can only be attributed to the mold in my apartment. To be honest with you, I uhh...sleep on the lawn the night before my matches, just so I can feel at least a little refreshed before it’s time to go.”
I look down at the floor, scratching my shoulder while I’m feeling insecure. Do you have any idea how hard it is for someone like me to open up to a vast audience of fans about something so personal? I don’t even tell my own mother this stuff - except she’s gonna know now, seeing as she watches everything I say and do in PAW. I fidget with the wraps on my forearm, trying to think of how to follow that up - my mind wanders, fixating on what happened on Addiction.
“Summer, I’m sure you’re out there somewhere watching this,” I deliberately speak in a lower tone. “I dunno for sure what your beef with me is, but I think I have a fair idea. The only thing I can put it down to is jealousy - you’re jealous that I had an amazing match on the first Addiction, while you were busy eating concrete in your match with Cross on Wicked that week. You’re jealous that even in defeat, I was able to turn heads and get noticed as the athlete I am. While you...didn’t quite get that kind of attention, did you?” I shake my head a scowl. “You planned to brutally attack me from the moment our match was announced, I bet… Take me out so that I can’t steal the spotlight again. But the thing is, it never even crossed my mind to upstage you; I feel terrible for making you feel bad, it wasn’t my intention. I understand you’re upset and frustrated, but that’s still no excuse to try and injure someone - can you imagine how you’d feel if someone tried to do that to you?”
It irks me when someone can be so delusional that they actually believe they're doing the promotion a favour by taking out one of its talents. The worst part is if I don't see it coming, my dreams could be crushed - my career could end in the blink of an eye. That's it; eight years of hard work, gone.
“I think I understand why you were so upset with my 'time for Summer is over' line in that video I made about you before our match,” I continue. “It was a…” I snap my fingers a few times while trying to remember the phrase Becky used to describe it after she’d seen it. “...it was a tongue-in-cheek statement that was never meant to be taken so literally. I wasn’t referring to Summer the season, I was referring to Summer the wrestler - I just made a little observation that Summer was coming to a close and found it fitting.
But that’s where you took offense… You knew what I was talking about all along, huh? You tried to shift the meaning of my comments because it’s never been your time, and that makes you feel bad about yourself. It bothered you so much that you tried to take me out just for reminding you of it. Claiming I don’t deserve to be here is no justification for your actions - I’ve been proving every match I have that I do deserve to be here. I earned my way into the first Addiction main event, just like I’ve earned my way into this one.”
I feel a smile appear on my face; I start getting those excited shakes again at the very idea that I’m gonna be in the main event!
“There will be plenty of time to talk about Summer in the future - for now, let’s talk about the task at hand. This really is a dream come true,” I state, the excitement protruding through my voice, causing it to go up an octave; I clear my throat to bring it back down. “It’s my first time on Wicked since it debuted on the Circle TV Network, and I’m in the main event… Nothing against Addiction, but that show is taped - Wicked is live! That means the fans at home get to see me wrestle as it happens; they get to see me wrestle my good friend, Cross Recoba. The last time I faced a friend in a main event match, it didn’t really turn out the way I hoped it would. But I’d like to think I’ve learned from my mistakes.”
“Cross, I’m…” I scratch my head and let out a nervous chuckle. “I’m not quite sure what to say here. I appreciate all the help you’ve given me with my self-esteem issues; you’ve been a big help. In fact, I'm not sure I'd have the courage to be standing here right now if it wasn't for your coaching. But I've been doing this for a very long time - long before I knew who Cross Recoba was. When I first signed with PAW - I think I’ve already mentioned this several times before - I went back and bought every Wicked DVD available. There were only eight at the time, but I studied those tapes like an uber-fan to learn all I could about my soon-to-be PAW peers. Through your matches with guys like Ryan McCollum and Press, I watched you chase down that PAW Heavyweight Title. Not always in the most dignified of ways, either.
Going back and watching the latest Wicked, I was disappointed with how your match with Caroline ended. If there’s one thing I can’t stand about this sport, it’s when someone feels it’s necessary to cheat to win. I believe in respect and honour; two qualities that I don’t share with a lot of people on the PAW roster, it seems. I guess when you think of it like that, you haven’t always stuck to the rules. Cat made a passing comment that you would’ve done the same thing, if you were given the opportunity. That really got me thinking… Would you..?”
I furl my eyebrows and take a deep breath.
“See, I’m not interested in the Cross Recoba who put a $50,000 bounty on the PAW Champion, or the Cross Recoba who aligned with Calvin Harris and Jack Nomad to try and end Press’s career… To me, that’s not who you are, Cross. You’ve been nothing but kind to me since we met, and I absolutely refuse to believe you’d ever do anything to hurt me…”
I’m reminded of just how kind Becky was to begin with in order to earn my trust… What if Cross is doing the same exact thing? He could just be luring me into a false sense of security so that he can stab me in the back; it’s happened to me before. Maybe he expects me to believe he’s gonna give the straight-up wrestling match I want, but he’s actually gonna pick his spot and strike - just like Summer did on Addiction - and then I’ll be left feeling sorry for myself for trusting someone I shouldn’t have again.
But, how could he know ahead of time that we were gonna face each other? Was that really his plan all along? No, it couldn’t have been… He cares about me. Why else would he take time to come to my crappy apartment to train me? That doesn’t make sense.
“You’ve gotta pay your dues in wrestling,” I say with pride, a single finger raised like a lecturer. “That’s what Trip Johnson - the guy who trained me to wrestle - always used to say to me. I look at this as a transitional period; my best days are ahead of me. This nightmare-ish life I’m living day-to-day is only temporary - I’ve gotta keep fighting with everything I’ve got to make the changes I need to. People believe in me, even on days I don’t believe in myself.
That's something I've struggled with for a long time... And I'm sure a lot of the fans out there do, too. Let me show you guys something…”
Cautiously, I slide the wrap off my arm - I’m tired of withholding information about myself from my fans. They’ve been loyal to me, and I feel like I’m lying to them. I nervously turn my arm to the camera, displaying my bare, pasty wrist to the camera to expose the scars that are all over it.
“These scars are from my teenage years,” I announce with tears in my eyes. “I used to cut myself.” I run my index finger across the biggest scar, right under where my arm meets the palm of my hand. “This one was the last one; I slipped with the razor, cut too deep, and it almost cost me my life. I knew that after that, it was time to stop. If things went differently that day, I wouldn’t be here. I used to cover these scars up because I was scared of what others would think of me; that’s why I purged in school, because everyone told me I looked fat and that bothered me.
"But you know what? I’m tired of worrying what toxic people think of me!” I declare with defiance, throwing the arm wrap down to the ground. “I believe that people change people - kindness is infectious, but so is toxicity. Only when we stop caring about what those nasty people say about us do they lose their power over us. The only opinions I care about are those of my friends, my fans, and the ones who actually care about me - and Cross, that’s who I’m fighting for. We’re both vying for a chance to challenge for the PAW Heavyweight Championship, and yeah, I can admit I’ve got my selfish reasons for doing this. I’ve wanted to be the PAW Heavyweight Champion since day one, that’s no secret - it’s always been my goal to be the best wrestler I can be. But, there’s more to it than that… While you’re doing this to make a name for yourself and become famous, I’m doing this to provide a better life for my mother, to help my friend get back on her feet.
Lastly, and possibly more important than anything else, I want to show those young kids and teens in the crowd who cut themselves because they think nobody cares that someone does, and she’s always gonna be there for them. They’re the kind of people that others try to keep down because they’re scared of their potential - this messed up society we live in believes that people with no money or people who have mental health issues are useless, and the should be tossed aside. That sickens me. Everyone is special. Take someone like me, for example - I'm an almost-30-year-old pizza delivery girl/professional wrestler with Asperger's who lives off dry crackers to make it through another day. I’m living proof that absolutely anyone can do what they set their mind to, even if they don’t believe it can happen - I’ve had my moments of weakness, we all do - but I’ve never given up; if I do, no-one else is going to step up for the ones I love.
People are counting on me to succeed, Cross - I can’t fail. Every day I wrestle, it's for myself and for them. I’ve been letting people down my whole life, and I refuse to let that continue… How about you..?”
I take a minute to compose myself before elaborating on that question further. I’ve gotta find a way to get this off my chest without coming across as cold or heartless - I’m told I have a tendency to do that a lot, even though it’s never on purpose.
I cover my mouth for a moment to hide my quivering bottom lip - I'm on the verge of breaking down from the whirlwind of emotions pouring from my body, but I'm miraculously keeping it together.
“Are you gonna let me down? Because I believe that behind all the deceit and the lies that you’re actually a good person,” I express, arms squarely by my side. “I’ve defended you numerous times when people have said otherwise, because I’ve seen the real you - not this facade you put up to make yourself look like the cool kid. I’ve tried to be someone I’m not, Cross, and it never works out the way you want it to… Maybe that’s the reason you haven’t seen much success during your time in PAW - because you haven’t been true to yourself.
Cross, the way I see it, you have two choices...”
I pause, shuffling a little on the spot to try and control my emotions. I can feel the pressure building up; the dam's about to break. “One; you can prove everything they're saying about you right by taking the easy way to victory. You can break my trust, shatter my heart into a million pieces, cheat your way into the Seven Deadly Sins Ladder Match… Or, two; you could give me the main event match I've always dreamed of since I was a little girl - a clean wrestling match where the best competitor wins.
Come on, Cross… What do I mean to you? Am I worth it? Would you throw away what we have by proving everyone else right? You're better than that, Cross… I can feel it, I-” I've lost what little control I had left over my emotions. Tears start falling from my eyes and stream down my face; I try all I can to remain coherent. “I can't explain it, but I just know you're not a bad guy… You've gotta understand that this is a big deal for me. The only other guy I’ve ever liked in this way let me down.”
That was incredibly hard to say, seeing as he’s in the room with me right now - I can see AJ bow his head a little in disappointment behind the camera. I’ll have to tell him afterwards that I don’t blame him for the way things worked out between us.
“Honest truth, Cross… I've never felt this strongly about anyone before… My feelings can't be wrong, they just can't…” I blubber just a little before sniffling, running my arm under my nose to catch any runoff. I step closer to the camera.
“Don't be like Summer,” I plead with the camera lens, as if I were speaking with Cross in person. “I don't think my heart could take that. I’ve been betrayed by so many people in my life that the thought of trusting someone new is really scary. I wanna be seen as the best wrestler PAW has to offer, like I know I can be one day - but that's never gonna happen if I win my matches by disqualification or other shady circumstances; I don't want asterisks next to my wins for the rest of my career, do you understand? I think you and I could have a future together, but not if you throw me under the bus for your own selfish ambitions; not if you try and take the easy way to the holy grail and leave me behind. All I’m asking is you honour my request for one wrestling match where I’m not blindsided while my back is turned, or beaten to a bloody pulp when I’m closing in on a victory.
They don't think you can do it, but I know you can. I don't wanna fight you or hurt you in any way, but you're standing between me and a better life for myself and my family - you're preventing me from achieving my dream of becoming PAW Heavyweight Champion - which means I have no choice but to beat you. The thing is, I can promise you that I won't cheat to get ahead at any point. Prove me right about you, Cross… Please.” |
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Post by Cross Recoba on Sept 26, 2016 20:41:16 GMT
It’s funny how this game we find ourselves in works. I was within reaching distance of the win last week, I had her Royal Highness softened up and ready for the Guillotine…then one shot of perfume to the eyes and it’s gone before you even realise. It’s brilliant in its simplicity, if we’re being completely honest – and apparently that’s the name of the game this week. So while I lost I’m a big enough person to admit – O’Hara, you’re alright.
Besides, what does the lucky victor get? It seems that there is a mistake…you’re on Addiction…the taped show…and I…I’m in the Main Event on the big show? Surely it’s a mistake? After all, you’re the Queen of PAW? Maybe, and I’m just riffing here – you delivered a win in a mechanical fashion? That even though I lost I’m still the reason that folks buy their tickets to come see Wicked, I’m still the guy that everyone loves to hate, and you…well, have fun and don’t get too beat up – I’d hate for you to miss out on pointers from me on how to carry yourself if you’re going to make it to the main event.
“You’re really pulling the patience card?” Joe’s voice was strained.
His mind was still trying to piece together what any of this had to do with him. He was a journalist for a local paper and so far he couldn’t work out the story. Everyone knew about brothels in Vegas, sex tourism in Vegas would return over six and a half million results in Google. It didn’t sell papers or generate clicks for newspapers; the residents would rather ignore the rather inconvenient truth and just claim that gambling was great for an economy.
Cross’ face still maintained the look of a cat playing with a mouse; he seemed to be enjoying the suspense that his yarn was generating.
“There’s an old Chinese saying – when man owes other man large sum of money…he shut the fuck up.”
Even though I’m in the main event it does seem like the PAW matchmakers made it to the TMZ Booking seminar, how else do you explain this week’s match-up? It’s a qualifier for the Seven Deadly Sins Ladder match – a match entirely set-up to write the tale of how I came back from nearly being crippled by Press to steal his belt in a match that those who know your history and your stats can tell everyone is my specialty. The narrative is beautiful, do you not think?
Where does TMZ factor in? I get to face Kelsey Spencer and the only reason I can see this being made is because it seems everyone likes a bit of gossip, a soupçon of salaciousness, if you will. So as it seems to be the question on everyone’s lips – yeah, we’re pretty close, no, I won’t elaborate, and if you really must know then use your imagination or go find some fanfic that’s been written about it.
I’m not taking anything away from Kelsey as a competitor, she works hard, she trains hard, and she’s a paragon of virtue in a world where that’s few and far between but – is this match really fair on her? Is it not just building up her hopes and dreams only to have me come in and play spoiler on the childhood dream of the little girl from Down Under?
Belle fumbled the cigarette into her mouth on the third attempt, her hands understandably shaky. Cross brought a lighter to her mouth to save her the ignominy of trying to light her own. She took a heavy drag on it and coughed. She only smoked for clients on request but this wasn’t a run-of-the-mill occasion.
Cross looked round the room and spotted a stool over by the make-up counter. He grabbed it and pulled it up to the side of the bed, he made sure to give her some space given what he could only assume had happened.
“Belle, my only job here is to make sure this sort of thing doesn’t happen. I can’t do anything to protect you from it in the future if you don’t give me anything to go on.”
Cross’ words were firm; he could allow her to be reticent to a point. Currently the silence was solving nothing. He wondered if the silence was to betray a sign that she felt it was her fault that this had happened.
He looked round the room to see if he could piece together a narrative from the bedroom. There was nothing broken to show that she tried to escape, he looked at her wrists and saw slight marks on her wrist…had he tied her up?
“He tips well…” The words fell out from her, her tone keeping with Recoba’s assumption she was blaming herself. She looked up briefly at the Illinois native but before making eye contact her gaze went back to the floor.
“Well enough to get that sorted out down at the hospital?” Recoba’s face lost its emotion; he wasn’t willing to have the incident explained away.
“What do you want to know? I don’t exactly do this for the job satisfaction!” Belle’s words were filled with loathing.
“I just want to know who he is, and what happened.” Cross made sure his words were measured.
“He’s some guy, he comes in, he tips well, he lives in Vegas…” Belle seemed bored by the questioning.
“What does he do?”
“He never talks work, not with me or any of the other girls.” Her tone was now dismissive.
“Does he normally come in and get violent?” Recoba knew that not being drawn by her tone was paramount to getting the information he needed.
Belle took a succession of quick drags on her cigarette and pressed against the ice pack that was placed on the bridge of her nose.
“It’s his thing…” Belle’s tone made Recoba wonder why he was even bothering.
“His thing is to shatter your nose? Does that seem a smart move? You should be able to get this time fixed up but next time? You’ll end up looking like a Jake LeMotta tribute act. How many guys have that as a thing?”
Belle looked hurt by his words.
“What is his name?” Cross went back to questioning and trying to work out what he could.
“He tells us all different names. It’s never the same.” Belle’s voice sounded helpless now.
Cross tried to work out his next logical step but found he was coming up with nothing that he could get from her right now. He had no name, no job, nothing beyond the fact that he lived in state.
“Did he tie the other girls up?” Recoba figured he had nothing to lose by asking the question.
“What?” The question seemed to catch her off-guard.
“Before he beat them…did he tie them up too? You’ve got ligature marks on your wrists, no defensive wounds which I’d imagine you’d have, even if it were just instinct to protect yourself unwittingly. It’s not exactly a massive jump to suggest you couldn’t put up much of a struggle…” Recoba felt like he was in some network procedural.
“He…paid for it.” The words came out meekly,
I know your story, Kelsey; you’re not the only person who comes from a childhood tragedy. While you lost your brother, I lost my father. I’d love to tell you what happened to him but I think you already know the story, but to refresh your memory…
My family moved to Illinois fifteen years before I was born; only Turi was around back then, and in a way it was fortuitous that he was born so far apart from me. Then came Maria, ten years after him – the first American in the Recoba family. By the time I was born my family had become settled in their new country, Americanized in their ways.
I have very few memories of my father; such is the way when you’re a toddler. My mother, she talks to me over pictures of the two of us but really I’m not sure which are genuine memories and which are memories formed from hearing her stories so many times. I remember playing soccer with him in the yard, there aren’t any pictures of it, but I still have the Palermo shirt he bought me and that I wore to play against him. He told me that the pink color might seem odd to our neighbors but that all Sicilian men needed to toughen up quickly, it was part of the heritage and the pride of our island. I wore it until I outgrew it, I wore it even after being told by other kids in my class that pink was for girls, and why? Because it’s one of the few ties I have to my father.
We weren’t rich when he was around, we’d occasionally get treats or live like royalty for a few weeks but we were never comfortably off on the reg. After he was gone we survived thanks to the generosity of his associates, and family.
Where did he go? I’d love to tell you but I honestly don’t know. He had some business to attend to and got into his car, he was a great driver for what it’s worth, and that was the last we ever saw of him. When I started making paper out here in Vegas I enlisted a PI to look into his disappearance but while the retainer still ticks over the information is few and far between, the leads peter out into dead ends.
I’ve never given up hope about finding out what happened to him or where he is now but equally I refuse to let it define me like your losses define you. Living in the past and asking ‘What Ifs’ isn’t a way to operate, and least not for me – you can’t change what has already happened…all you can do is learn from it.
We’re not all that different, no matter how many times your friend, Becky, wants to suggest otherwise. I might be comparatively well off now but for years my mother scrambled to put food on the table. My brother, Turi, he dropped plans to study out of state to make sure he could be here to raise Maria and I when my mother was working – in many ways he became a surrogate father to me. He taught me how to fight when I was eating punches for having the temerity to be blonde and Mediterranean, got me my first job when I was 12 and needed to earn my share at the table, in many ways the memories make me feel guilty that we don’t talk so often but then we’ve grown to be at diametrically opposed viewpoints on the judicial system within this country.
I didn’t always have the ability to drop money like I do. I worked for each and every penny, I had to. I learned from an early age…from Turi…that you always need a back-up plan. For him it was studying in-state because the situation required it. I had to pivot when I suffered a high-school football injury, I continue to pivot in the ring. You might not want to hear this but I’ll tell you because I’ll stand by my promise to never lie to you – what you may consider underhanded is born out of a necessity to survive, to prosper, it’s what happens when you’re never sure how long your luck will run. I don’t always play in the grey areas of the rules – but when my pride or survival dictates it then I have no choice.
I know what I’ve said might wound you, but it needed saying. You see I have no intention in going into those grey areas, but I can’t tell you what will happen when that bell rings in the main event. I can’t tell you what you’re going to do to win; I can only adapt and reassess my game-plan.
Recoba threw down the pack of cigarettes from his pocket onto the bed and left Belle to come to her senses. She might volunteer more information later but at the moment it wasn’t getting Recoba any closer to the truth.
Cross saw Joanna still loitering around instead of getting on with what she was paid for.
“How long do we keep CCTV for?” Recoba’s tone made it clear he wasn’t going to let this incident drop.
“Two weeks, why?” Joanna still held resentment for what she saw as someone who didn’t know the business poking around.
“I want the times and dates of when he came in the last two weeks, I want the tapes, and I want the books.” Cross demanded.
“We don’t do our own books; that’s your people’s work.” Cross couldn’t tell if she enjoyed being difficult but she was good at it.
Cross made a noise of irritation and walked back to his office, it was time to call Costello.
I hate to say this but I need to destroy your dream this week. I need to break your heart and win this match. You see, if you lose no-one will see it as a loss, the fact you’ve impressed so much to get into this match should be seen as a victory won already but the fact remains – I can’t quite express how much winning this match means to me.
It’ll be the vindication of every tap I heard for all those months after Press assaulted me. If I can step into the ring with him and the other qualifiers I can win that match, you know I can. Recovery is an isolating process, it consumes your thoughts, it gives you hope when there is none found elsewhere.
I spent far too many weeks in agony, and that was only physical. The mental anguish of being told you have to step away for good is what gets you. It saps your morale, it drains your mood, it leaves you with the threat of being an empty husk of a man.
PAW asked me to do The Box Office, mostly because I threatened to take legal action against them, but also because they know that I have an innate ability to draw the crowds. I agreed, partly because courts are odious places, but mostly because I saw it as motivation to not give in, to not take the first doctor’s prognosis as gospel. If I could force myself to be in the same building as Press then I could use it, and my hatred for him, to propel me back to recovery.
Qualifying for the ladder match brings me to the conclusion of my recovery. Six men will stand between the title and me. You might think that being champion means you could truly change the world but my aim as champion is much less altruistic – I’ll defend it against anyone.
Give me Parker van Peters, bring me Ash Scion, I’ll even get Griffin Hawkins down to Purity and take him on.
I don’t just want to take the PAW Heavyweight Title from Press I want to spend every week after showing him what a true champion should do. Being the champion he wishes he could have been. I’ll take every opportunity I can to remind him that when it came down to it – I’m the better man.
You see, that ladder match is personal for me. That ladder match literally makes me take steps to the title, steps that three or four months ago were seen as impossible to everyone in the industry. I don’t want to have to go through you to get there but I have little choice. You being you gives me little choice.
I can’t offer you money, you’re too proud. I can’t use brass knuckles on you because you’d never forgive me and I don’t want to throw a punch at you, let alone one that might break one of those cheekbones I get to admire. All I can do is make sure that I leave no room for error in how I approach this.
You want me to prove I’m the Cross you know, I can try, but I can’t guarantee anything. While I refuse to let my past define me I still can’t shake the traits I developed to help my family survive – those traits apply to the guy who’ll roll his eyes as you insist on our millionth fried chicken trip, or the guy who put a bounty on the champ’s head.
“Why did you go to Costello?” Joe seemed to genuinely be questioning the move.
“Joe, I don’t owe you an explanation on my actions.” Recoba seemed irked by the question. In truth, Costello had been the surrogate father to follow Turi. He’d learnt more in the last four years from Costello than he had at any other point in his life from anyone else.
“Fine, what did he have to say about the matter?”
Recoba leant back and lit yet another cigarette.
“You see, this is where it starts getting interesting.”
You’re almost backing me into a corner, and I don’t mean for you to be offended by my saying that. I feel trapped between the goal that has driven me to return to the ring and the girl I adore spending time with. The world isn’t as black and white as you make out – what you see as awful actions may well have foundations in good motives.
All I can tell you is why I’m confident you’ll get your dream main event. I won’t hold back, I have little choice but not to. I spent my time training with you studying your in-ring style, I know that the Cloverleaf is where you want to lead to. That if you go for that then the Spitfire Suplex and Blue Thunder Bomb will follow it.
I know you’re wrestling hurt and as much as I’m trying to be compassionate about it all I’m really thinking is – you’re pre-softened for Garibaldi’s Guillotine. I know that you’ll try to mask the pain as you try and lift me and adapt for your size disadvantage, and I know you’re going to take risks because that’s just who you are between those ropes.
I tell you this because I care about you – are the risks worth it? Will that rana you try and pull off backfire on you? Will it end up in the Guillotine? If you miss the Frog Splash, will your shoulder be able to take it?
I can’t take shortcuts with you out the ring and I can’t take them in this match. You’re banking on me underestimating you, the tale of a career underdog. I know I can’t afford to do that, that if I give you a small opening I’ll have to start from square one again and face the possibility that someone else might finally knock Press of his perch.
We both know what awaits us if we win but while your win grants you opportunity, mine grants me salvation. If you make the ladder match you’re pretty much outdoing the critics, when I make the ladder match I know my expectations have just begun.
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