SIX MONTHS AGO
Simone: Oh my… god… That can’t be good! I heard her head collide with the mat all the way over here!
Adams: Is that blood? This is serious. Drew Patton is calling for medical attention immediately.
Cassie slowly gets up, seeing the medics rush to the ring, and she is confused. She turns to look for Amanda, only to quickly get hit with the #1 Stunner! Amanda watches them file in and then quickly drops down for the cover.
Before the match reaches its apparent conclusion the television screen flickers once before going dark. With a hefty sigh, Goldenboy Gene Banton sets the remote control atop the coffee table and leans back into his padded, tan leather recliner. He glances to his right at his friend and trainer Erika Stark, who brushes back a strand of chestnut curls and bows her head as if sharing the same thought.
“Clumsy, awkward, unsure..,” He begins in a somber growl. “I’m at a loss for adjectives to describe it. It’s as if the arrival of the medics confused her”.
“I think it may be more than that”, Erika offers, casting a sidelong glance to him. “Throughout the match she seemed.., well, slow, and not deliberately so. Don’t get the wrong idea,” She quickly interjects to defuse any possible misunderstanding, “she certainly knows what to do, we’ve gone through that. It’s just..; it just occurs to me that perhaps she isn’t comfortable with the style she’s learned”. Her voice trails off as her thoughts shift to an image of Cassie slowly reacting to the actions of her opponent. “Her mind is telling her to do one thing while her body wants to do another”.
“Do you really think so?” Gene asks as his friend nods her silken mane in affirmation. “It’s certainly possible”, he agrees. “The catch style we taught her is pretty easy to break away from and Lord knows she had plenty of opportunity to escalate matters..,” his voice backpedals into the darkness of silence, chased away by an intruding muse, “opportunities she ignored. Why?” Once more his voice is fleeting as the muse takes shape. “God damn it Erika, you’re a genius”! Casting a grin in her direction he bolts to his feet and darts towards a large, mahogany desk across the room by a draped window and swipes a cell phone from atop a stack of papers bearing the SCW logo.
“What are you thinking”? Erika asks, rising up to join him by the desk, her brown eyes glancing curiously over his shoulder, watching as he plays with the silver cased device.
“I made a mistake”, he replies, thumbing through a list of phone numbers, “I assumed that just because she was so similar physically and athletically to you that she would acclimate to the same style that worked so well for you. But I didn’t take her personality into account, and that’s where you two are apples to oranges. “You’re a thinker, methodical while Cassie is emotional, whimsical. She has a temper like her mother..,”
“So you want to take the leash off”, she says, finishing the sentence for him.
“In a manner of speaking, yes”, Gene acknowledges with a light bob of his head. “As you noticed she wanted to do a few things differently but was conflicted, as if she were questioning herself. I want to remove any questions and expose her to a different style. Another style can only help her during transitions, more options to draw upon”. With the phone firmly in hand he plods across the royal blue shag carpeting of his office floor back to the sofa he had vacated moments before with Erika in tow.
“I have a friend”, he says dropping his bulky frame into the heavily padded seat with a soft groan, “Well, not a friend, more of an acquaintance I suppose from our PWL days, you may remember, Brandi Constantino”?
“Sure, I remember her quite well”, Erika nods. “But as I recall she was more of an enemy back then”, she says with a wry grin. “What makes you think she’ll help”?
“Well, money is a pretty good motivator”, he replies, flashing a wry grin of his own. “But I’ll be honest here; I’m also counting on father time to heal some of those old wounds”.
“You have the same wounds”, Erika smartly observes. “How has he treated you”?
“In all honesty, I could walk up to her and shake her hand and thank her for bringing out the best in me”, he answers while pulling the phone back into his gaze. “I’ve moved on and I’m confident... not to mention hopeful that she has done the same”.
“Well you do have her number”, Erika notes. “I would say that’s a good indicator”.
“Christian got it for me a while back”, he chuckles, “payment on an old debt. He was on much better terms with Brandi and her people than I was. I never used it though, “he casts a thoughtful gaze on the screen bearing the name, number and address of the subject. “To this day and after all of those years I never thought I would need it, but for some reason I kept it any way, and now, here we are”. Bringing his thumb and index finger to the touch screen pad he brings the number to the center of the screen but pauses, his brow furrowed into a frown.
“What is it”?
“Nothing, he mutters. I’m day dreaming”.
Has anyone ever noted the similarities between school and prison? Both serve up garbage and call it food. Both have guards and wardens, though they may go by different titles their jobs are effectively the same. Both tend to stuff as many people into as small a space as possible and both punish one by adding additional time to their ‘sentence’, although a school refers to it as detention. Teachers, guards, principals, wardens, it did not matter. In the eyes of Gene Banton Jr. they were all the same. For 19 years of his life he has had to endure such a sentence, told when he could take a break, when he could eat lunch and when he could speak. Even now, as he sits trapped in an auditorium on the UNLV college campus forced to listen to the ramblings of professor Herk he found himself wishing he were elsewhere.
They say that misery loves company and he was appreciative that his twin sister Cassie has also been forced to endure the same sentence as he. Glancing over to her in the seat beside him he could tell that she seemed to be as bored as he was looking on in ambivalence as the professor’s voice echoed off the painfully gleaming walls, his monotone voice droning on and on. Was he even breathing? Finally, with an indifferent shrug he leans over against his sister. At least he could use her shoulder for a pillow.
“Remember, don’t suck your thumb in public”, she whispers, her satiny voice quivering with a hint of a giggle.
“Kiss my ass, and try not to make any noise”, he fires back through a stifled yawn. Nestling his head against her shoulder his eyes slowly close, his mind focusing on the toneless treadmill of the Professor’s words. The silken top of Cassie’s sweater feels good against his cheek and helps to quickly chase away the remaining remnants of consciousness.
”Whoah, fluffy”.
Looking down Junior finds himself floating through the air atop creamy white tufts of nebula, his body at ease with the sensation of weightlessness. Reining his gaze back in, he directs it to survey his surroundings taking in a sky full of nebulosity as he is lifted higher and higher until reaching a billowy pedestal. Carefully stepping off of his woolpack and onto the plinth, his blue eyes make contact with another young man, roughly his own age, and sporting straight, shoulder length blond hair which frames a somewhat oblong face which greets him with a smirk. Matching the smirk with one of his own Junior strides toward the other caramel skinned young man and looks him over. His trim, hairless body, clad only in a pair of nauseously colored board shorts leaning against gossamer surf board, a pair of white, feathered wings folded behind.
“Who are you?” Junior asks of the unusual looking surfer.
“Dude, I’m Saint Pete!” he exclaims, extending his right hand to a fist bump. “I’m like, the keeper of the pearly gates or something!”
“Wait..,” Junior demands extending his arms out. “I’m dead?”
“Oh totally!” he cries excitedly. “Dude, it was the most awesome thing. God wakes up with this gnarly head cold, right? So he like, gets up and totally sneezes but he don’t have any Kleenex so the snot like, turns into this radical meteor shower that slams into the Earth causing a total wipeout!”
“Cool!” Junior says, his eyes coming to life.
“You know it dude, so now I gotta take you to heaven”.
“This isn’t heaven?”
“Naw dude, this is the lobby where all of God’s appointments have to wait and stuff. Normally we would totally cruise the elevator up there, but it broke down and his Gnarleyness can’t afford to have it fixed yet so we gotta take the stairway to heaven”. He gestures for Gene to follow him as he sets off towards an impossibly tall spiral staircase which winds through several layers of clouds seeming to continue on without end. “Let’s rock!”
Gene follows Saint Pete closely and the pair begins their ascent of the stairway to heaven, his mind suddenly bloated with thoughts and questions over the news just given him. He tries in vein to sort them out, to categorize them in order of importance, but some thoughts simply refuse to take a backseat so he instead elects to blurt out whatever comes to his mind first.
“So we can have sex in heaven right?” He asks.
“Oh dude, dude, dude! Check it out.., so God’s on the can scoping out the newspaper one day right? So he’s checking out this story on the camel dudes in the Middle East and he says like, whoa, those Muslim dudes got it right! So he calls all of us; me, Moses, Jesus, Mike, Gabe and Arnold to a meeting and says that we’re switching everybody to Muslim faith. Moses is like, no way! But God says way! free virgins for life, I’m there! So now when you get to heaven you get a different babe to do every day! Everywhere you look its wall to wall dudettes rockin’ see through veils, edible panties and stuff. Don’t even need a dude pack. It is the mostest!”
Glancing down at the puffy foundation on which he stood moments ago Gene notices it slowly shrinking as they climb further up the staircase. Pressing his hand firmly against the pearl banister he presses on matching stride with Saint Pete.
“That’s freaking awesome!” He says enthusiastically just as his thoughts turn to his sister Cassie. “But wait.., what about Redheads, do they go to heaven too?”
“No way dude,” Saint Pete replies shaking his head. “Redheads are mutants and God don’t like them, so they have to go to hell”.
“Nice knowing ya sis”, Gene says softly with an indifferent shrug, casting another glance down. “So hold on..,” he says, raising his tone. “All the cool people like us get free virgins for life, but how do we know they’re virgins? I mean if they’re free and everybody’s doin’ ‘em then how can we be sure?”
“That’s easy, we just recycle them, that’s all, like tin cans”.
“That’s cool, but suppose the dude going to heaven is a Christian or Baptist or something, what do they get?”
“Christians, Baptists, Lutherans and Catholics are cool with the big dude, so they get the virgins”.
“Right on, but what about Scientologists, atheists and Wiccans, do they get virgins too?”
“Dude..,” Saint Pete starts with a stifled snort, “That’s funny. Atheists are already going to hell or something so they get all the mutants. Besides, Satan has a thing for red hair and freckles. Scientologists get a free nudie of Tom Cruise with a different pose every day and Wiccans get free brooms for life”.
Gene chuckles softly, his chest beginning to heave as the climb starts to take its toll on his lungs. “How about Lesbians, chicks and gay dudes?” he asks.
“Lesbians are totally set already ya know? But regular chicks are gonna have to start liking babes and gay dudes are sorta sol, know what I mean? God says he’s gonna make proper plumbers outta those dudes one way or another”.
Joining with his heaving chest, his thighs start to burn in concert, together creating a symphony of misery. Looking down again, he pauses to catch his breath and allow his quadriceps a moment to recover. “Damn, man. Does this thing ever end?”
“Brah, it’s not like we’re going to the second floor. Heaven is the friggen penthouse suite!”
“So how come you’re not tired?”
“I been climbing this every day since ’82 when that Nurse shark got me off the coast of Nebraska, I’m used to it. I was hangin’ 10 fully macking a double overhead corduroy to the horizon when that sharkie just laid down some epic buggery on me. Now just hang loose, we’ll be there soon then you’re gonna be all stockaboka”.
“You got killed by a shark in 1982?”
“Ya,” Saint Pete replies. “That was way hairy”.
His brow furrows as he ponders the reply, continuing his ascent. He reaches out with his right hand gripping the rail tightly to pull himself along, doing anything he can to ease the tightened inferno that was once his legs. “Hey, if you were killed in ’82, how did you become a Saint so fast”?
“Duuuude! That was totally tubular! I get up top and the big dude tells me that he hosed it, right? So he says he created Nurse Sharks to help take care of us and stuff, even made them take the Hippocratic Oath. So then he gives me these rad wings and says he’s making it up to me by turning me into a Saint”.
His lungs are now heaving mightily devouring precious oxygen as quickly as they can. Now using both hands to help pull himself along, each foot landing with a breathless thud, each step becoming an imposing cliff over which he must climb. Gene pulls his body over yet another step his legs trembling in submission. He glances down at the stairs desperately wanting to take a moment of rest but images of naked women flood his mind, luring him further along reaching through his thoughts to pull him onward and upward. There is nothing quite like a little motivation, no matter how fleeting it may be. He allows his thoughts to take over, day dreaming of the coming moments, and the beginning of his afterlife. Catching a second or perhaps a 50th wind he trudges on, determined to finish his arduous journey. An angel appears in his mind’s eye blowing him a kiss and shaking a pair of pom poms to cheer him on.
“Uh oh!” Saint Pete cries out with his raspy California drawl jolting Gene from his reverie. “Aww, no way dude”! He groans.
“What, what, what is it?” Gene asks anxiously, his voice quivering with dread.
“I think I see me some sweet nectar”!
Saint Pete finally stops and looks on as Gene determinedly pulls himself over the final step. His weary eyes are greeted by a surreal visage; a thankfully short flight of steps through a puffy white veil leading to an erected marble pulpit. Gleaming pillars of white and gold encircle the dais with wisps providing celestial scaffolding. Several figures mill about the terrace their feathery wings providing testament to their status. Junior slowly makes his way towards them, his legs not yet released from their burden but resolute in their stride. Approaching the tiresomely clean belvedere he settles his gaze on a lone redhead seated at the top of the steps clad in a sheer frosted toga, her hands folded across her lap. She pays no mind to the newcomer as he takes note of her milky skin bearing a smattering of freckles. Looking on through distant beryl faculty the woman appears indifferent as he sets his heft down beside her with a heavy sigh.
“Later dude,” Saint Pete says flashing the two fingered sign of peace. “His dudeliness just hit Singapore with a typhoon so I’m gonna go catch me a mack corduroy”.
Gene absently waves to the departing surfer, his attention focused solely on the comely young woman beside him. “What’s your name babe?” he asks, reaching up to brush his fingers along her silken cardinal mane. She remains silent, her gaze fixated on some unseen object far in the distance. Taking his hand he runs it gently along her sinewy shoulder, down her arm and brings it to a rest on her thigh, giving it a light squeeze. “You’re the silent type huh? That’s cool; words only tend to slow things down”. She responds by lifting his hand from her leg and setting it back down in his lap.
“Oh baby, don’t be like that,” he whispers, bringing his hand back into action. “We’re in Heaven where everything is perfect, especially me”. Once more his right hand slithers onto her thigh while he raises his left arm to place it along her shoulder. Again she lifts his hand from her knee and sets it back down into his lap, this time with a bit more emphasis.
He would not be deterred however; and brings the hand to her stomach, running it upwards over the velvety fabric. “I get it”, he says. “You’re not into foreplay and that’s cool, because neither am I”. Continuing its carnal odyssey his hand ventures further north until it reaches a spongy apex and he whispers breathily into her ear, “You just wanna get down to business”, finally giving it a firm squeeze.
“That’s my tit you fucking hillbilly!”
Courtesy of his sister's foot Gene lands with a thud and the woman prematurely retreats into the hazy cobwebs of his flickering chimera. The lecture hall suddenly breaks into a rolling laughter as he distinguishes the angry visage of his sister glowering down at him.
“What the.., was I dreaming?” he asks clamoring to his knees.
“Hey, you gotta get it somehow!” a voice rings out fueling additional laughter.
The laughter is brought to a quick conclusion by the sharp wallop of a yardstick slamming into a chalkboard. “Cassiopeia and Eugene Banton, you are both dismissed!” a shrill voice cries out, a voice belong to professor Herk.
“Wait a minute,” Cassie laments. “I was listening to you when this idiot started fondling me!”
“This is a lecture hall not an arena”, Herk replies in a nascent tone, “and I will not tolerate interruptions. Now pick up your belongings and please exit the building”.
With a heavy groan Cassie picks up her satchel and flings it over her shoulder. Following her listless brother into the aisle she places a swift kick into his behind. “You fucking asshole”, she growls.
“Hunh”, the elder Gene Banton declares, cradling the warm butt of the phone against his cheek“, she was more receptive than I expected”.
“What did she say?” Erika asks leaning forward.
“She thought it was a great idea”, he says setting the phone back down on the desk. Cupping his hands together he brings them up and perches his angled jaw atop them casting a thoughtful gaze to his friend seated across him. “She says it would be advantageous for any wrestler to undergo training in multiple styles. In fact, if this works out she proposed a talent exchange where we would expose some of our more promising students to this sort of cross training”.
“It sounds like this could get very big very quickly”, she dryly observes leaning back in her seat and clasping her hands behind the back of her head. “We’d have to proceed slowly and carefully”.
“Yeah”, Gene mumbles in agreement, “that much is obvious. Brandi saw it too and suggested we treat Cassie as a trial run. So while she runs Cassie through the ringer we focus our attention on Junior..,”
“Which won’t be a problem since we were already planning on that and booked him”, Erika adds in tawny articulation.
“Mmm hmm,” Gene grunts pushing his chair from the desk and rising to his feet. “I’m just concerned how separating he from Cassie is going to affect his concentration. Being fraternal twins those two are a lot closer than their behavior would have anyone believe”. Clasping his hands together he raises them overhead, stretching his limbs to promote blood flow. “This is no easy match either; Jordan Williams is one tough nut to crack, and we don’t know much of anything about Karina Koji”.
“I’ll try to dig up some tape on her”, Erika offers also rising to her feet. “When do you plan on breaking the news to them?” she asks.
“In a few minutes”, he replies curtly. “I just want to talk it over with Morrigan first”.
“So how do you think your wife is going to react then?”
“I’m sure she’ll be favorable. Hell, she’ll probably relish the peace and quiet. Junior shouldn’t be a problem either; he is usually pretty open-minded. It’s Cassie I’m worried about. I’m not sure how she’s going to take it”.
“Un – fucking – believable!” her voice echoes off of the walls leading from the lecture hall towards the campus parking lot. “I just don’t believe this!” She sputters semi coherently while ambling through the corridor. “Of the entire weirdo fucking incestuous pervert population in this world my own brother has to go and grab my breasts in class!”
“Hey..,” Junior’s voice trails behind her as he traipses several paces behind his sister. “In my own defense, you are kinda hot”.
“Ugh!” sharply spinning around Cassie stops in her tracks allowing her bother to close the gap. Sternly she pinches his lips closed with her thumb and fore finger and venomously admonishes him, “One more word, just one fucking word more out of you and so help me you’ll be leaving this campus wearing your balls as earrings”.
Just as abruptly she turns about face leaving her snickering brother in her wake. Emerging through a pair of double doors and into the sunlight of an unseasonably cool Las Vegas day she does not notice the afternoon shadows trailing behind them, her attention focused on the parking lot a hundred yards ahead. She walks briskly over the sidewalk past the rows of freshly mowed grass, oblivious to the stragglers heading towards them on their way to class.
Trailing behind his sister a good ten feet Gene sighs, grateful for being excused from Herk the jerk’s ever so boring lecture on economics in the new age. He soaks in his newfound freedom with a deep breath of crisp, cool air and fumbles about his pockets looking for something to occupy himself with during their journey to the parking lot. Feeling over his right front pocket he detects the rigid outline of a smartphone, a detection which prompts him to furrow a brow in puzzlement having no recollection of bringing a phone to class. Reaching in; he pulls out a gold colored Apple Iphone 5c for inspection. Gazing at the cracked touch screen he suddenly remembers having borrowed the phone the night before from his friend Anthony to make an anonymous call and forgetting to return it. Looking ahead to the hotly marching redhead and then back to the phone his lips purse into a tight grin. He turns the device on and puts his fingers to work in earnest; dialing in his sister’s number and then brings up the onscreen keyboard typing away.
Hearing the chirp of her own phone alerting her to an incoming text message Cassie pulls it from her pocket and glances at the message appearing on the screen. ‘y r u nt n skul?’ the message reads. “What the hell?” she mutters aloud staring at the so-called text speak. Redheads have long been notorious for their tempers. Often this stems from certain intolerances to matters perceived as trivial and one such intolerance in Cassie’s case happens to be the over abundant use of text speak which she often described as lazy and likened it to the efforts of chimpanzees chained to typewriters. ‘Because some asshole who types like a damned orangutan needs class time more than me’, she fires back, her thumbs a tangled blur as she writes and sends the message.
Gene reads the message, trying not to snicker out loud, his eyes carefully monitor his sister in case she was to suspect him. She does not appear to have given the message a second thought having already returned the phone to her hip pocket and continues on her way. Putting his thumbs to work the young trouble maker begins typing out his next message; ‘skul mks u smrt u nd 2 go bk’.
Minding the chirp Cassie retrieves the Black Samsung Galaxy S4 Zoom phone and stares incredulously at the inane appearing message. “Of all the..,” she mutters, her voice trailing off as her mind is lost in a smoldering sea of annoyance. She ponders briefly trying to forge a reply but elects to keep it simple, ‘Says the poster child for dyslexia’. She sends the reply and is about to return the phone to her pocket but then decides to fire off another message, a not subtle warning; ‘If you text or call me one more time I am going to find out who you are, rip off your head at the waist and go bowling in a minefield’. Satisfied with her response Cassie shoves the phone back into her pocket, hoping to have received the last message from her mysterious antagonist.
Behind her Junior carefully dials up a different phone number and sends another text, ‘Mom, please call Cassie”, it says. Without any further diversions he powers the device down and returns it to his pocket waiting for the fireworks to begin. He does not have to wait long as the “Ride of the Valkyries’ ringtone alerts his sister to the call.
“God damn it!” Cassie grumbles reaching for the phone. “It’s on now asshole”. Without bothering to check the return number Cassie angrily accepts the call pressing the device to her cheek. “Listen you slobbering, knuckle dragging, mouth breathing, uni-brow having, anencephalic troglodyte if you bother me one more God damned time I swear to Christ I’m going to..,” her voice suddenly trails off as she comes to a stop, her eyes shrinking in realization of a very big mistake. “Yes ma’am” she says demurely. “I – I’m sorry mother, please accept my apologies I thought you were somebody else..,” with a grimace she yanks the phone from her ear as the tongue lashing grows louder, loud enough in fact for Junior to make out his mother’s voice on the other end.
“Hey sis, how many times have I warned you about that temper?” he asks ripe with laughter.
“Fuck you, you half-baked Happy Meal!” she cries returning the phone to her ear. “No! Not you mom! Please, Junior’s just being a shithead again!” enduring another diatribe from her mother, Cassie grimaces but bears the brunt of the verbal assault, maintaining her grip on the phone. It carries on for several moments much to the delight of Gene who wallows in the scene, chuckling heartily. Finally the blast subsides and Cassie is again allowed to speak, “Yes Ma’am”, she answers softly with a nod of her head. “Yes ma’am he’s right here behind me”. Turning around to face her teary eyed brother she hands him the phone, “Mom wants to talk to you”, she sedately informs him.
Cradling the device into his palm Junior slowly brings it to his cheek, his gaze belying the grin on his face. “Yo mom, what’s cracking babe?” he answers brightly, masking the underlying fear of a tongue lashing of his own. Fortunately he does not receive one, “Umm no,” he says with an audible exhale. “I just forgot it at home today. What’s pop want any way?” He listens intently as his mother explains the events having unfolded at the homestead. “You mean that Blast from the Past tag team tournament? Yeah, that’s cool, we’ll be home soon..,” he pauses to allow that familiar smirk to return to his face, “assuming Cassie can still sit down after that ass chewing”. With a chuckle he powers the device down and hands it back to his suddenly timid sister. “We gotta get home; pop’s got something going down”.
He lands with a heavy thud, his broad back bearing the brunt of the impact of the tiled kitchen floor having taken a spill off of a shaky ladder. With a profound groan the elder Gene Banton battles the pain of the fall while shakily rising to his feet.
“It might help if you could hold the ladder steady”, he says gruffly casting a slightly annoyed glance to his wife hanging up the phone. “This floor isn’t exactly made by Serta”.
“I’m sorry, I was on the phone with the kids”, she replies nonchalantly. “They’ll be home in a few minutes. I informed Junior about his being booked in the match”. Quietly she scuttles across the soft blue tiling towards the kitchen table with an opened copy of the Weekly world News lying face down on the glass surface. Taking a seat in the gold piped chair she lifts the magazine and begins reading, the headline on the cover boldly proclaims “Bat boy elected to British Parliament!”
Looking on Gene Senior sighs loudly and leans against the ladder hoping to draw her attention to the task at hand but his wife seems not to notice, her head buried in her literature. Shaking the ladder, he rattles the plastic covered metal base against the floor hoping to divert her attention but to no avail.
“Keep it down please, I’m reading”, she says without looking up.
“Fine,” Gene announces sorely. “I’m sure we can eat in the dark”.
“Or you can change the light bulb when I’m not busy”, Morrigan retorts.
Folding the tool he prepares to take it outside to the patio but his intent is interrupted by the animated chatter of his son as he enters the house followed by his surprisingly reticent sibling. “I’m telling you Cassie, this match is the ladder I’m gonna use on my path to greatness!”
“You can start your ascent by climbing it now and screwing in this light bulb”, Gene Senior announces, setting the tool back up as his son approaches. “I’ll hold it steady and give you the low down on the match”.
“Pop, come on dude,” he complains. “I’m gonna be world champion! I don’t have time for this Mickey Mouse junk!”
“Do as your father says young man,” Morrigan says sternly, “and Cassie, you’re grounded”.
“But Mom… I’m 19!” Cassie cries plaintively.
“You are also grounded, now get moving missy”.
Cassie grudgingly obeys, the plodding of her footsteps languidly disappearing into the hallway as she exits the kitchen. Her father looks on in silence as she fades from view before turning his attention back to the six foot step ladder in hand, which he erects anew beneath the blown bulb in the ceiling.
“Huh, she must have screwed up”, he observes, holding it steadily as Junior starts to climb.
“Big time pop”, he says.
“To put it mildly”, Morrigan adds softly.
“Alright, so I’ve booked you for this weekend”, the father says looking up at his son watching him scale the steps. “You will be teaming with Amy Marshal to take on Karina Koji and Jordan Williams in a mixed tag team match, the entire tournament is mixed tag team matches”. He pauses to ensure his grip on the ladder bearing his son’s weight and continues, “Erika is digging up some film on Karina Koji but for the most part she’s not going to be your problem given that’s it is mixed tag team rules. Jordan Williams on the other hand is your problem and a very big one at that. This guy not only won this same tournament last year, but he’s also a multiple time champion. He’s been around the block and really knows his stuff so I’m going to need you to be focused when we hit the gym”.
“Come on Dad,” Junior replies pompously. “It’s me!”
“That’s what I’m worried about meathead”, the elder snaps back, “that you won’t take this guy seriously. He’s an 18 year veteran, got it? He’s been doing this for about as long as you’ve been alive. His style is also quite similar to yours so anything you have up your sleeve, the chances are pretty good that he will have a counter”.
“Yeah, yeah, sure thing pops”, Junior replies dismissively. “Now hand me that light bulb”. Taking the bulb offered by his father the youngster steadies himself on the top rung of the ladder preparing to put it in. “That’s the thing about you old folks”, he continues, “You worry too much, and for what, some geriatric dinosaur who can’t get it up? His time has passed; it’s my time to shine”.
“You weren’t ready for Blade Alexander and you know what happened. Trust me when I tell you that you’re not ready for Jordan Williams. If you go into this match thinking he’s too old he’s going to light your ass up and run circles around you”.
“That was just bad luck against Alexander, and as for Jordan, he’s not ready for me,” Junior says, tightening the bulb into its socket. “Hell, mom wasn’t ready for me, which is why I popped a week early, the world isn’t ready for me and you know it! Hey, when that bell sounds you know I’m in it”. He stands on the ladder extending his arms in fabricated presentation, “They’re gonna fall in love with me”, he says. He brings his arms outward, rubbing them across his stomach while slinking into an impromptu dance. “Trust me pops, when we hit the gym tonight I’m gonna show you what it’s all about. Just like I’m gonna show Jordan Williams. There’s just one thing though..,” he says casting a glance down to his father. “You haven’t told me the important stuff about this match”.
“What? I just gave you all the details, what did I leave out?”
“My partner, Amy Marshal” he answers. “Is she hot?”
Sensing an opportunity the elder Gene quickly nods in approval. “She’s smoking”, he says, and she even told me what turns her on most in this world”.
“Really, what’s that?”
“She says nothing turns her on more than a man who gets things done in the ring. If you can go out there and tackle somebody like Jordan Williams you have a good shot at scoring”.
“Oh hell yeah!” Junior cries clenching his fist and pumping it excitedly. “I’m gonna get laid I can’t wait!”
Suddenly the ladder topples over onto its side spilling the delighted youngster onto the floor with a violent crash accompanied by the heavy thud of his body landing. Looking up bewilderedly he notices his mother having risen from her feet return to her seat at the kitchen table and groans.
“Heaven can’t wait either if you’re going to interrupt my reading”, she says.
