It is another lazy Sunday in the Las Vegas valley; the weather is a few degrees warmer than usual, encroaching on the 100 degree mark with sparse cloud cover and a light breeze filtering in through the gap in the surrounding mountains which brings with the anticipation of the arrival of autumn with its slightly cool kiss. On the eastern side, far away from the hustle and bustle of downtown, the Project Neon highway widening spawning ceaseless traffic jams for nearly a year now and of course, the notorious strip; nestled snugly into the foothills of Sunrise mountain the sprawling training complex of Gene Banton sits quietly indifferent to the goings on elsewhere. Encircled by Birchwood trees which provide shaded relief from the constant sunlight for both birds and people alike the enormous blue and gold concrete and steel structure stands amidst lush, sprawling greens which flank tidy sidewalks and an asphalt parking lot sheltered from the elements by an expansive carport.
Inside of the building Cat Riley busies herself on a blue padded exercise mat performing box jumps, a simple exercise where one begins in a flat footed stand jumping onto the box with both feet and then dropping back to the floor to begin anew. Sitting beside her is her flame coifed co-manager Cassie, who watches the profusely sweating Briton work through the routine while holding onto a deck of playing cards and counting aloud,
“Eight, nine.., and that’s ten”. She says pulling out another slick feeling card from the brightly laminated deck. She pauses to read the card, her thin lips pursed to reflect the image before her blue eyes, “Ace of clubs, that’s 20 lunges”.
Reaching down to adjust the sopping wet black sports bra Cat complies by dropping into a forward lunge, the sheer black fabric of the nylon leggings stretching with the extension of her limbs and the soles of her matching Adidas high top sneakers squeaking against the vinyl layered matting. The training routine is one she has done since her early teens since it was taught to her by her uncle, a grizzled veteran of the catch wrestling scene. While simple in concept the routine is an excruciating test of endurance in its execution. It consists of assigning a particular exercise to a suit; in Cat’s case on this day with clubs equal to lunges and the value of the card indicating the number of repetitions with the exception of face cards where the reps are doubled. Exhaling heavily Cat completes the grinding sequence and looks to Cassie, her chest heaving as she wipes the sweat from her brow.
“Two of hearts”, she says softly before tucking the card back to the bottom of the deck.
While two reps may sound easy enough, when it comes towards the bottom of the deck after having gone through more than 40 sets they can prove quite difficult and the observation is affirmed by Cat’s deep gasp as she drops into push up position. But rather than standard push-ups with the hands placed shoulder width apart Cat places her hands side by side beneath her face, holding them in a diamond formation and drops down, bringing her nose to the mat in between the spread of her opposing hands before pushing her body weight back up. One more mighty effort and she perches on her knees looking up expectantly at her co-manager for the next assignment.
“Five of diamonds”, she mutters in compliance. “That’s the last card so make them count”.
The hot air pushes through her burning lungs as Cat pulls herself back to a vertical base, placing her feet side by side and supinating her palms against her hips with the gruff yet willowy sounds of “Untouchable” by DMX swimming in the sea of perspiration as she breaks into a labored set of jumping jacks. No sooner than she begins however, the music is interrupted by a shrill announcement bellowing over the public address system,
“Catherine Riley report to the bosses’ office, Catherine Riley to the bosses’ office and no, I am not saying please. I’m the boss so drop your Barbie dolls and get your ass in here now”.
Cassie groans in annoyance recognizing the voice as that of her brother Gene junior and directs and angry gaze towards an office a mere 20 feet from the duo where she can see him seated behind the expansive desk of their father.
“She’s working out you moron”! She fires back fiercely. “Can’t you see that”?
“The boss has spoken”, he responds over the PA, not bothering with raising his voice slightly to cover the short distance between them. “When he speaks, you jump, now hop on in here”.
As Cassie clenches a fist and turns towards her brother she is stopped by a sweaty hand clamping onto her shoulder, “It’s ok”, Cat says she pleated breaths. “I’m finished now; all I have left is a bit of cardio to cool down. Let’s go see what the little twit wants with us”.
Snagging a red towel from a nearby weight rack Cat wipes her face and follows Cassie towards the office assuming he wants to inform her of the tag team match with Mercedes Vargas pitting them against the tandem of Kate Steele and Jessie Salco at the Prescott Event Center in Arizona the coming weekend; a continuation of her rivalry with Kate Steele and a match she had already been informed of by Cassie relaying the contents of the text message as she exercised.
“Idiot’s gonna waste our time by telling you what I’ve already told you,” The red head seethes through tightened lips.
As the pair steps into the office Geno junior leans back in the high backed padded chair kicking his white Converse sneakers off and propping his multi-colored socked feet on top of the desk. The fabric of the white nylon jumpsuit bristles as he crosses his legs. Cat immediately marches to the small, room-sized refrigerator nestled into the corner and retrieves a bottle of Aqua Fina water. She twists the blue cap open and takes a swig, gulping the cold liquid down a grateful throat and takes the open chair in front of the desk eyeing her co-manager expectantly.
“Alright doofus,” Cassie begins in mild vitriol. “Go ahead and tell us all about Cat’s match this weekend, teaming with Mercedes Vargas against Kate Steele and Jessie Salco. Go ahead, waste her time”.
“You think I care about that”? The young man demands, clasping his hands behind his curly hair, “Psh, I had already forgotten about Christian’s text, No, screw that, what I have for you is far more important”.
“More important than my match against a heated rival”, Cat queries behind a furrowed brow. “How so”?
“I have a reputation to uphold”, he begins. “Thus I must insist that my clients be held to a higher standard than what is typical in the industry,”
“What”? She interrupts. “What are you talking about”?
“Something remedial I assure you”, Cassie offers starkly.
Feigning a yawn of bored annoyance Geno otherwise ignores the jab thrown by his lifelong sparring partner and trains his attention on Cat who regards him curiously, not yet knowing her recently assigned manager well enough to ascertain any viable indication of his intentions. From behind the shimmering glare of the wall lamp behind she notices a smug grin slithering onto his humoristic façade and settles into an embrace of dread made cold by the ceiling fan whirring above and pouring a breeze of cool air onto her clammy skin. Releasing his blonde mane from the grip of his fingers the former SCW cum manager pushes back his chair and rises to his feet. Stepping out from behind the glossy wood desk he starts to pace behind the two women while formulating his thoughts into words.
“I demand nothing but the best”, he begins in an unpolished authoritarian tone befitting his inexperience. “The best, or nothing, that’s my motto”,
“That’s the Mercedes slogan you dimwit”, Cassie blurts while rolling her eyes back into her head. “Jesus, are you really going to waste her time like this”?
“I shall ignore the outburst by my recalibrated..,”
“That’s recalcitrant, you idiot”!
“Whatever, I am going to ignore the outburst of the insignificant and focus on the matter at hand”. Clasping his hands behind his back and continuing to pace he resumes his dialogue still trying to find a proper autocratic tone. “As I have stated, my standards are high and I expect my clients to meet the standards I set as it is imperative to the image..,”
“Get to the fucking point you ignoramus”! Cassie cries out in a piercing wail.
“Cat,” he stops behind the blonde, placing his hands on her shoulders and says, “You need a makeover as badly as Cassie needs human blood to survive”.
“I am not a vampire you..,”
“I need a makeover”, Cat demands, interrupting his excited sibling, “what the bloody hell for”?
“How do I put this delicately.., you are as plain as a pikestaff, so I am taking you to have a makeover done. Don’t worry”, he adds, the familiar smirk returns to his face as he adds, “Cassie’s paying for it”.
“Like hell, I’m not paying for anything”!
“I’m not doing it”!
“Yes, you are! I’m in charge here and I am going to take you to the best makeover stylist I know, the same person who managed to make my mutant sister look almost human for the prom”.
As Cat is about to lunge forward to escalate the situation she is abruptly grabbed around the arm by Cassie and held back. Regarding her co-manager curiously she pauses as the redhead leans in whispering into her ear. Unheard by junior the words do manage to have an impact on Cat who listens intently for a moment and then breaks into a beaming grin. Pulling away she nods in affirmation and agrees,
“Ok, I’ll do it”, she says. “But I would appreciate a shower first”.
Plugging his nose and waving her off Geno signals his agreement with a shrug of his sinewy shoulders, “I insist”.
20 minutes later Cat emerges outside in the parking lot, her blonde hair still wet and smelling like Head and Shoulders shampoo. She has ditched her workout attire in favor of black leather pants with matching short boots topped off by an orange tube top and a black leather jacket sporting rows of gleaming studs and zippers. She strides purposefully across the asphalt towards a matte black Tesla Model P 100 D where Geno and Cassie await her arrival, the siblings passing the time bickering between themselves. Stopping short Cat leers slack jawed at the swooping sedan connected to an electric charging unit. She notes the multi spoked racing style wheels giving a wide, aggressive stance, the venomously angled nose sporting sinister snake-eyed headlights and the darkly tinted windows without a trace of chrome leaving her with the impression that this could pass as Darth Vader’s personal warship.
“Wow”, she whistles incredulously. “This is a nice car”.
“The best deserves the best”, junior replies, “and this baby will outrun anything on the road”.
“Wanna bet”? Cassie challenges with a knowing smirk.
“You’re a mutant, you don’t qualify”, he gestures both women into the backseat grabbing the door by the non-descript handle molded into the panel, “you two sit in the back. I can’t have you stinking up my driving experience”.
Sharing a giggle the ladies shuffle into the roomy back half of the cabin and plop down on the firmly padded leather bench seats as Cat fumbles with the window controls mounted on the armrest. Geno drops into the driver’s seat and spends a moment fumbling with the infotainment system before strapping himself into the racing inspired bucket seat with the polyester webbing three-point harness and depresses the start button which brings the car to life with a soft hum. Turning in her seat towards Cassie Cat asks,
“What do you drive any way”?
“I ride a bike”.
“What, like a Huffy, a Schwinn”?
“No silly”, the redhead answers with a snicker. “I ride a Ducati, a motorcycle”.
“Hunh, I never pictured you for a biker chick”.
“My dad likes bikes”, she explains, grimacing over the driver’s choice of music, a mumble rap called Timmy Turner by Desiigner. “He taught me to ride and turned me onto them; it’s a lot of fun”.
“All I had was a beat up old Schwinn”, Cat laughs. “The seat was torn, the forks were bent but she was reliable. I rode her to and from school and around town for 15 years. I still have it back home in my parent’s shed”. Smiling fondly at the memory of years gone by she peers absently out the window at the road, watching the asphalt whiz by, trying to distract herself from the annoyance rattling through the custom speakers nestled into the headrest. Failing miserably she returns to the former topic of transportation, this time raising her voice in hopes of drowning out the sorrowful gurgling. “So what does it look like”, she asks. “Do you have a picture”?
Obligingly Cassie reaches into her black leather handbag emblazoned with her name in bright pink lettering across the side and pulls out her cell phone. “Sure, lemme bring it up”. Flipping through what seems to Cat like a thousand pictures she finally settles on an image of her holding a red and white helmet with splash graphics seated a sleek two wheeled machine sporting wide, minimally treaded tires set onto chrome multi-spoked wheels, side fairings matching her helmet and racing leathers and an angled nose bearing a pair of menacing ‘stinger’ headlights. “That’s my baby,” she says, raising her voice to match Cat’s. “It’s a Ducati 1299 Superleggera, which is Italian for super light. She has 215 horsepower and only weighs 368 pounds. She’s the fastest production bike in the world. Dad bought it for me as a birthday present back in February”.
“How much did it cost”? Cat asks as junior trumps their rising voices by turning up the volume on the stereo. “It looks expensive”.
“I think he said he paid something like 80 thousand for it”, Cassie answers, raising her voice further to a near shout.
“Holy shite”! Cat cries in astonishment as junior once more bumps the volume bringing the melancholy to a deafening pitch and effectively drowning out both women with its doleful drawl.
Cassie angrily rummages through her handbag to retrieve a 20 ounce sport water bottle and rips the cap off before climbing between the seats.
“I’ve had it with your shitty fucking music”, she shrieks while pointing the bottle at the electronic console. “Turn this shit off now or I spray your console with water! This is an electric car”, she reminds him. “So it won’t take too kindly to it”.
Heeding the rancorous warning of his sibling he grudgingly complies and turns the music off, bringing a grateful end to the mirthless mumbling while muttering various unheard adjectives under his breath. The rest of the trip is spent in relative silence, save for sparse small talk as they traversed interstate 95 northbound before turning onto 15 south. Despite the ongoing highway widening project in anticipation of the arrival of the Raiders football team, traffic is fairly light; save for a pair of lane closures which briefly slows them down but the lack of vehicles vying for space in the available lanes makes the transition considerably less painful and within minutes they are turning off the freeway and back onto the streets. They arrive at the SCW office building in short order; the sprawling duplex is nestled away between neatly trimmed groupings of hedge bushes and pine trees which stand high above the up kept landscape providing shade to those who wander beneath. Patches of wet are smattered about the sidewalk, the telltale sign of the lawn having been recently watered. Geno opens the door to let himself in, obnoxiously allowing it to swing shut in Cassie’s face as she is following close behind. With a groan she opens the varnished chestnut door and gestures Cat inside.
The reception area is vacant, save for a bird cage with a number of feathers strewn about the floor. The receptionist’s desk sits unattended, a small pile of unfinished paperwork sitting atop the desk calendar beside the multi-line phone system. To the trio’s right is a door leading to the office of Mark Ward as indicated by the polished brass name plate covering the peep hole, and to the left, almost directly behind the reception desk is a an open door leading to an unoccupied bathroom. Further left still is a third door, this one, similar to Mark Ward’s instead bears Christian Underwood’s nameplate. Without bothering to knock junior abruptly grabs the brass door know and thrusts it open to find Christian kicked back in his leather, high-backed chair with his hands clasped behind his head and feet propped up on a meticulously clean desk, obviously expecting their arrival.
“I heard you and Cassie fighting in the parking lot”, He reveals. “It’s a very dependable alarm system. So what brings you to this side of town, mom on the rampage again”?
“Tell me Aunt Christian,” Geno begins, helping himself to a bottle of water from the small, bedroom fridge and plopping down in one of two folding chairs in front of Christian. “Do you like a challenge”?
“Not really, I’ve grown rather fond of my routine”.
“Because I almost feel guilty for what I am about to ask of you..,” he continues, ignoring Christian’s initial response. “Do you see this poor, pathetic creature standing to my right”? He gestures to Cat who shoots an angry glare in his direction. “I require the impossible, for which Cassie will pay you handsomely, almost as handsome as I am”.
“Hi kitty cat”, Christian smiles and offers a curt wave and she responds in kind. “What exactly do you need”? He demands, sitting upright in his chair as Cassie falls in behind him, tapping away at the screen on her phone. “As you can plainly see I’m really quite busy at the moment”.
“I need you to give this woeful pile of human flesh a makeover”.
“Ohh I don’t know..,” he answers with a grimace before turning his head to flash a wink to Cat. “You’re asking an awful lot and I’m really busy..,”
“Is it hot in here?” Geno asks of no one in particular while reaching for the hem line of his plain black tee shirt and beginning to pull on it in what has become something of a routine between him and his ‘aunt’ Christian. “Or is it just me”? Long ago he had discovered that he could manipulate his gay, flamboyant ‘aunt’ by flaunting his toned, muscular physique which Christian openly admired as evidenced by the grin on his face as he leans forward in his chair watching with interest as the chiseled young man fully removes the shirt and jettisons it to the beige shag carpeting. Reaching down he runs his hands along his ‘six pack’ abdomen oblivious to the presence of Cat and his sister, who holds her phone up recording the show. “I think I may be starting to sweat”.
With Cat and Cassie snickering behind Christian’s admiring visage He turns to the wall, grabbing a metal folding chair which had been settled behind the now closed door. He sets it up and then steps onto the chair placing the wall thermostat at hip level and coyly leans over to adjust the device. His firm backside is now on full display with the nylon fabric of his black track pants stretching and straining to adhere to the contour of his body with Christian looking on barely able to contain an oncoming fit of laughter. With junior’s attention on the dial he rears his head back to Cassie and mouths the words “Are you getting this”? To which the redhead nods enthusiastically. With his left hand the former SCW heavyweight champion gently tugs at the drawstring his track pants up, loosening it and allowing the garment to fall to his feet and expose a matching silk thong.
“Silly me, I forgot to tie the string. I think this will work for me”, Geno says, turning his head to flash a flirtatious grin to his ‘aunt’, “how about you”?
“Alright, alright”! Unable to control himself any longer, Christian quickly agrees to the self-styled God among men’s request and buries his head between his arms over the desk to suppress the excited hornet’s nest of hilarity against his arms. “Just.., let me collect myself”.
Cassie, beaming from ear to ear quietly puts her phone away, tucking it into the hip pocket of her snug fitting blue jeans while her brother pulls his pants back up and Christian fights off a few stray chuckles.
“Alright,” he says, finally having regained his composure, “step into my office”.
“But we’re.., already in your office”? Cat mutters, her bushy brows arcing to an addled point.
Reaching under the desk Christian depresses an unseen switch and the loud clang of metal is heard as latches are released, followed by the grinding of gears which turn the wall around and reveal a secret room behind him. He rises from his seat and gestures the trio to follow him, ducking into the dark opening.
“I don’t believe it”! Cat peers past the shadowy entrance and stammers in astonishment at what lies hidden behind the veil. “I knew you took your styling and makeup and stuff seriously, but this is just..,”
Cream colored wallpaper stretches across the expanse of the room accentuated by a low hanging turquoise chandelier. To the left are four hairstyling stations with adjustable padded chairs layered in faux white leather facing individual mirrors; large and tucked into ornately carved wooden frames with wall lamps stationed between each. A hair dryer sits holstered against the wall flanked by a small counter top loaded with brushes, combs, creams and other assorted beauty supplies. Behind the station a love seat is settled onto the soft rosewood colored floor facing the back wall with a glass coffee table offering donuts and coffee in front of it. A flat screen television on the far wall is flanked by two shelves of mannequin heads showcasing various wigs and to the right of them a door sits ajar leading into a walk in closet loaded for bear with dresses, shoes, more wigs, and other assorted garments, all in bright colors. Against the far right wall stands a quartet soft white of adjustable facial/medspa beds, each of which is flanked by a rolling cart bearing a selection of polished tools and utensils. Further left is a pair of hair and face washing sinks with towels racked and ready, hanging by a bronze hook on the wall between them. Christian takes his flabbergasted customer by the elbow and gently guides her to a hair washing station. As she drops onto the stool in front he throws a bib around her and ties it at the back of her neck.
“Now, just sit tight for a moment while I get the shampoo ready”, he advises.
“But I already shampooed my hair, right before coming here. It’s still wet”, she says in a plaintive whine.
“Girl please”, he snorts. “If you shampoo the way you dress then I have to re-do it. Now sit tight, I’ll be back in a moment”.
As Christian recuses himself to rummage through an assortment of shampoos, junior drops onto the love seat stretching out horizontally while snagging the remote control. Gripping the cold plastic into his hands he begins to channel surf while Cassie walks about the hide away beauty salon, taking in the serenity of the décor while the fragrances of a diversified collection of creams and conditioners lightly caress her nostrils. Never one to be left out Cat lifts her head from the wash station to take in the sights and smells as well, her blue orbs wide in stupefaction over the attention to detail. She shakes her head in awe as Cassie meanders over to her side. She grabs the redhead by the black fishnet sleeve and pulls her in close whispering softly,
“I’m dying to know.., what do you plan on doing with that video of your brother?”
Cassie smirks and leans down, bringing her lips to less than a centimeter of Cat’s ear, “I’m going to create a profile on a gay matchmaking site for him and upload it”.
The blonde quickly buries her face into a plush lavender scented towel swiped from the wall for use as a muffler to stifle the oncoming stampede of giggling as Christian returns to her side. He takes Cat’s quivering head into his hand and presses it over the sink. Turning on the water he grabs the spray hose and uses it to wet Cat’s hair, while beginning to hum. After a moment and satisfied that he hair is ready he squirts a generous amount of Nexus Therrapy shampoo onto it and uses his finger tips to knead it into her scalp.
With his fingertips gently massaging her head Cat allows herself to relax, and with her heart rate dropping she closes her eyes while her mind wanders down the stream of subconscious thought. Casting a line she reels in an image of Kate Steele, her recent and upcoming opponent standing across from her in a wrestling arena in front of a hooting and hollering crowd of spectators. She sees them locking up in the middle with their respective partners Mercedes Vargas and Jessie Salco standing on the apron cheering them on. The fans roar in approval as Cat executes an arm drag takedown and quickly rolls over onto the other woman ensnaring her into a side headlock. She can feel the perspiration beginning to form on her brow courtesy of the intense overhead lights and the collective body heat of more than 10,000 onlookers. The sweat intensifies as she exchanges in a rapid fire succession of holds as Kate returns the favor from earlier, capturing Cat into a grinding side head lock. She feels the skin on her head stinging, like blood returning to a numb limb and suddenly as Kate hip tosses her to the mat Mercedes charges into the ring and dowses her head with a bucket of hot water.
“Bloody hell”, she exclaims abruptly emerging from her reverie. “That’s hot”.
“It helps get the shampoo out more quickly”, Christian answers. Taking the towel from Cat’s lap he wraps it around her head, tying it like a turban and gestures for her to rise from the seat. As she complies he leads her to the hair styling station. “Take a seat kitty cat”, he mumbles, “while I dry your hair”.
“Can you just go back to massaging my head? That felt so good”.
“Hah, not a chance girly, now sit still so I can put these curlers in your hair”.
Cassie looks on from the station to Cat’s left while Geno continues to hang ten over the pipeline of uninteresting mid-day television shows; reality TV, courtroom dramas, soap operas, news broadcasts, and infomercials collectively assault his eyes and ears with a mind numbing blast of boredom. He yawns heartily and kicks his sneakers off onto the floor and grabbing a purple with gold embroidering pillow rolls onto his side to take a nap. The contagion of his yawn reaches Cat who ignores the gentle pulling of her hair against her scalp as it is rolled into the plastic white curlers and stifles one of her own while her eyes veer out of the right corner of their sockets, settling onto a surprise which brings her heart leaping into her chest and bringing with it a forceful gasp.
Seated in the station to her right, with her long, white fur also rolled up in curlers, Christian’s Persian pet, and Cat’s four legged nemesis Genie sits quietly, her sparkling blue eyes trained on the shocked young woman. She offers a delicate meow in greeting and twitches her tail in acknowledgement of Cat’s presence. Reciprocating with a wary bobbing of her head Cat eyes her suspiciously.
“You came here for a rematch didn’t you”? She hisses with certainty. “You’re so desperate for revenge that you followed me here so we can tear down this place just like the house”.
“She knows better than that kitty cat”, Christian chimes in while menacingly brandishing a steaming hot curling iron. “And if you value your life, so do you”.
Returning his heated glare through bulging eyes she exclaims in a breathless stammer, “You wouldn’t dare”?
“With this?” he asks, holding up the Karrie Mae and Angie cuddly cute kitty curler. “No way, this thing cost me a fortune. I’ll just grab a shovel and a gun”. Approaching her he grabs the shaky Cat by the shoulders and commands, “Sit still, I’m gonna tease your ends. I don’t want you to get burned by this thing”.
With Christian going to work in earnest Cat and Cassie engage in idle chit chat which runs the gamut from the weather, to politics, to Christian’s unusual obsession with his equally unusual cat, to their mutual love of flaming hit Cheetos and finally to Climax Control where Cat is scheduled against Kate Steele and Jessie Salco in a tag team bout with the “Argentine Assassin” Mercedes Vargas as her partner. Cassie fills her in on Jessie Salco, explaining Jessie’s penchant for high risk maneuvers, her love of heavy metal music and her various title reigns in SCW as the holder of the now defunct internet title, the roulette championship, and three separate reigns as a co-holder of the tag team championship. She has enjoyed quite a career thus far and sports a resume that impresses Cat. Despite her own distaste for so-called high spots she nevertheless holds a degree of respect to those who can execute them and going by Cassie’s tale, Jessie Salco is most certainly such an individual. With experience with Kate Steele and having already developed a feel for her from their previous outing at Violent Conduct Cat feels confident in her ability to handle her fellow Briton her thoughts turn to her own partner, a South American woman who, despite her omnipresence about the halls of SCW events remains a bit of an enigma to the rising star.
“What about Mercedes Vargas?” she asks.
“Mercedes is another high flyer”, Cassie explains dutifully. “But she’s more of a luchadore and she has a very sound technical ability. She’s been around for quite some time; she has a ton of experience and I assure you, it shows. You’re in pretty good hands with her”.
“What about titles and stuff”?
“Umm, well her list of accomplishments is long like, really long. It’s too much to go over in detail really, but she’s held pretty much every title in SCW as well as a few other promotions and even holds a bunch of records. Trust me Cat, she’s damned good”.
“I’m curious about how well we’ll mesh as a team”.
Cassie shrugs, “about as well as Kate and Jessie I imagine. I mean, neither team has worked together before but I would suggest that yours and Mercedes styles would complement each other nicely. With her aerial style and your ground based submission style I can see them trying things on you that might be better suited for Mercedes and vice versa, stuff that you’ll counter easily. We’re talking two different mindsets when facing a submission specialist vs a luchadore and with quick tags you’ll likely manage to confuse them at times”.
While Cassie rambles on Christian puts the finishing touches on Cat’s ends and strides across the room to fetch a salon floor hair steamer from the corner, rolling it on metal casters behind her and plugging the device into the wall outlet. He adjusts the base of the chrome and black arm to match the height of his client’s head and swings the helmet down over it before turning his attention to the control pad where he punches the instructions into the console and flips an LED lighted switch, turning it on. Feeling the warmth emitted by the clear, plastic dome she sighs and settles in, preparing for a lengthy session.
“I don’t suppose you have any magazines lying around, do you?” she asks while looking about as far as her eyes will allow under the constraints applied by the hair steamer.
“Umm..,” setting down a black plastic container which serves as a home to an acrylic nail kit Christian pulls open a drawer under the counter in front of Cat revealing a wealth of reading material in the form of dog eared periodicals including Vogue magazine, Cosmopolitan, Teen, Cat fever, Cat life, Cat house, Cat care, Cat happiness, a cat toy catalog, a cat clothing catalog, and a three inch thick, nine pound copy of the Karrie Mae and Angie pretty kitty city catalog which her stylist heaves from the wooden rolling drawers and drops into her lap with a muffled thud. “That’s my favorite”, he says pointing to the cumbersome compendium. “I don’t know what it is about those two twits, they’re the two most sickeningly annoying brats on the face of this Earth but damn if they don’t have everything I want or need. It’s like they can read my mind sometimes”.
The comment draws a hearty chuckle from Cassie who rises from her seat, “I’m gonna grab a drink, you guys want anything”?
“Genie and I would appreciate a Wendy’s Baconator”, Christian says prompting a groan from the redhead. Cat offers a mumble as an indicator of a similar desire.
With a helpless genuflection she leans over her brother to ask the same only to find him snoring on the couch, fast asleep. With a naughty grin she reaches over with her right hand and begins to carefully rummage through his pants pocket. He stirs over the sensation but does not wake, offering no more than a sleepy murmur,
“Mmm baby just a little harder”.
Grimacing in disgust Cassie yanks her hand from his pocket with the keys, turning to Cat and Christian dangling the plastic black fob in triumph. “This will give me the chance to change all of his radio stations”, she says mischievously and shuts the door on her way out.
“They always do that”, Christian muses, returning to his nail kit. “Well, it was usually junior starting all the trouble but Cassie seems to have started taking the fight to his doorstep, so to speak. “As it turns out she’s actually pretty good”.
With her head trapped in the red accented heat dome and her arms strapped down to the chair Cat finds herself in a helpless predicament should her nemesis to her right decide to even the score, but a quick glance catch Genie snoozing peacefully under a custom made Karrie Mae and Angie pampered pussy poofy perm heat lamp. The device, which hums quietly, is essentially a miniaturized version of the one caressing her cranium sports neon pink hues with blue accents and bears various images of fluffy kittens at play. Cat shakes her head in subdued awe.
“Is there anything they don’t sell?” she asks.
“Yeah, for some reason or another they don’t seem much interested in dog products, go figure”.
With a few more strokes of the water marble precision manicure brush, Christian rises to his feet and unstraps Cat’s hands from the armrests and taps her on the shoulder.
“Just holds your hands up with your fingers apart”, he instructs. “Let them air dry while I go pick a suitable outfit for you.., and don’t touch anything”.
Ever curious Cat holds her hands aloft inspecting her nails and is surprised by the masterful piece of art work she finds. Her nails are a soft, two-tone blend with a hot pink at the high end and cool white towards the outer edges with tiny specs resembling gems layered over top.
“Holy shite!” she cries. “This is unbelievable”. Reaching over to the purring Persian seated next to her she is unable to resist the temptation to show off and flashes them in front of the feline’s nose. “Let’s see you get nails like that”, she challenges.
Genie offers an appreciative meow in response and lifts a paw directing Cat’s eyes to a magnifying glass resting on the roll cart. The blue eyed fluff ball then extends her paw onto the edge of her armrest, extending her claws as if asking Cat to take a closer look. Grabbing the magnifying glass Cat is only too happy to oblige.
“There’s no way he can match what he did with my nails on your tiny little claws”, she chuckles while leaning over for a closer look. “But I’ll humor you”.
Expectations are often exceeded and this proves to be one such case as her eyes bulge in disbelief while peering through the rectangular lens at a most unexpected alien encounter. Expecting a simple scrawling such as initials or something similar given the miniscule canvass Cat’s saucers are beholden to a spectacular, full color rendition of Grumpy Cat, decked out as George Washington crossing the Delaware in his familiar royal blue jacket with gold embroidery and decorative buttons standing at the forefront of a rowboat surrounded by his lieutenants looking outward clutching a flowing beige cloak. Blinking rapidly she pulls her eyes away from the black plastic framed magnifying lens and shakes her head in disbelief and muttering aloud,
“That’s not bloody possible”, she muses and attributes it as a false perception based on an image previously seen. “Nobody can do that”.
Bringing the glass to her face she leans forward to take a second look and immediately rears her head back, stunned. She had seen it the first time correctly and the second viewing does nothing more than to reinforce the first. With a trembling hand she releases the cold, plastic handle of the tool, allowing it to drop with a sharp clunk onto the counter. Exhaling a grievous sigh she slumps back into her chair, the wind forcibly taken from her sails by a most unexpected encounter. She begins to ramble unintelligibly, her mind at a loss to decipher such a task.
“H-how.., I mean.., who the.., I don’t.., what the bloody hell?”
“It took me six hours to do her claws”, Christian explains returning from the closet, his arms laden with a neatly folded pile of clothing. “I didn’t really have any ideas at first but then I saw a picture of the Washington crossing the Delaware painting and it hit me. I don’t think I want to try that again”. He plops down in the empty seat to Cat’s left and sets the clothing down on top of the white medical style cart bearing his toolset. “Detailing the wrinkles and folds of the clothes kicked my ass; my eyes are still trying to adjust”.
“But.., but.., that’s Impossible!” she cries, her voice choking in astonishment. “How did you.., I mean.., nobody can that. That’s beyond micro art”!
“I did it”, he replies with a gentle shrug of his taught shoulders. “But it sure as hell wasn’t easy”. Standing back on his feet he points at the clothes lying on the roller between them. “Now pick the outfit you like best, I’m going to look for a pair of shoes for you”.
“How do you know you got the right size”? She asks, her voice following him into the walk-in closet.
“Girl please, you’re a size two, the easiest size in the world to fit, and I should know”.
“I’m bigger than that”, she objects. “No way am I that little”.
“You are, trust me”.
“But I don’t want to be little”, she pouts, jutting her bottom lip dejectedly. “I want to be a giant, like Casey Williams”.
“You’re little kitty cat, just accept it. Besides, you have ten times the clothing options than anyone that big has”.
With a perforated whistle of reluctance she starts to sift through the pieces of neatly kempt finery one piece at a time. A black ruffled dress sewn in silk is first up as she inspects the garment, rubbing the fine threading over her fingertips and noting the glossy sheen in the ruffles which trim the neckline courtesy of the wall lamp between the mirrors in front of the station before casually discarding it into the seat on her right and on top of the snoozing Genie. Next up is a black pant suit with gold piping and a double breasted blazer. The construction is decidedly heavier and more robust than the dress before it and despite the soft silken interior lining which draws a brief smile of approval she drops it on top of the first, casting it off as too formal, and paying no mind to the squirming going on beneath them.
She lifts a sparkling blue sequined dress, holding it to the light for a better view. With strong blue accents fading into a white background the dress strikes her as a form fitting, less than formal piece with a short overall length, promising a leggy display and does not go unnoticed by Christian who returns with three boxes, each containing a distinct, and stylish pair of shoes.
“That wouldn’t be a bad choice”, he offers. “A little bit of shadow and the right ear rings can really bring out your eyes”.
“I don’t get it, “Cat asks handing him the singularly crafted raiment, which he takes and sets off to the side on the counter top. “Since when did throwing some clothes on become such a chore”?
“Fucking traffic”, the door bursts open with Cassie trudging in, her arms loaded with several white, grease stained bags which she drops onto the coffee table and then carefully wedging her brother’s car key between the cushions so as not to wake him. “Asshole in front me orders six large frosties with one third vanilla, one third chocolate and one third strawberry. What kind of idiot does that”?
“Did you get Genie’s triple Bacnonator with hand shredded Swiss cheese?” Christian asks while poring over the contents of the shoe boxes.
“Yeah, yeah”, Cassie sighs and trudges up behind Cat and settles her fingers around the blonde’s shoulders and leans over her to whisper, “When that meathead turns on his infotainment system he’s going to be treated to around the clock Mariachi”.
With the smell of hot beef and fresh bacon in the air the pile of clothes to Cat’s right begins to stir anew. Writhing and wriggling it rumbles and quakes until one of the pieces falls to the floor with Genie’s soft white head poking through. Behind the women, the figure on the love seat also begins to ferment with Geno junior raising his head in the direction of the mouthwatering aroma, his eyes fluttering rapidly as they adjust to the light. He stretches his arms out, yawning and sits upright gazing at the bag through hungry hazel plates.
With Geno distracted by the contents of the bags Christian switches the heat lamp affixed to Cat’s head off and removes the half globe, tucking it by the arm and rolling it to the far side of the room where it joins the other lamps. Picking up the blue dress selected by his would be client he tosses it to her followed by a pair of matching blue flats which she takes into her grasp with a delighted grin.
“Hey, these are flats”! She exclaims.
“”Of course they are, I remembered that you don’t know how to walk in heels”, Christian asserts calmly, turning his attention to the bags of food. “Put them on, I’ll add the makeup after so I can color match it to the outfit”.
“What kind of chick don’t know how to wear heels?” Geno opines in a snarky timbre while unwrapping a sandwich and bringing it to his face preparing to devour the grease trap. “A dumbass, that’s who”.
Cat pauses momentarily to cast a heated stare through laser like diodes but ultimately elects to ignore the sarcastic remark and turns toward the restroom, shutting the door behind her with a heavy clunk as Cassie joins her brother, Genie and ‘uncle’ at the coffee table, digging into the bags of food with zeal, and selecting a small bag of fries with a crispy chicken tender sandwich.
“I think you’re gonna be happy with how she turns out”, Christian mumbles in between bites of French fries. “Don’t tell her this but she has a very good foundation for this sort of thing. Her eyes and cheeks are set just right and her hair is fine and easy to style”.
“You can’t polish a turd”, junior spits through a mouthful of beef and bacon.
“And you’re living proof”, Cassie adds, seizing on the opportunity before her lifelong antagonist can add to his reply.
“Whatever”, he groans. “She’s going to be in there all day, you know how girls dress. Well, Aunt Christian does any way”.
The door suddenly swings open, violently colliding with the rubber stopper affixed to the wall with a thump, harshly dispelling the notion of women getting dressed. The sequins of the snug fitting cocktail dress shimmer under the hazy lighting of the makeshift beauty salon as Cat steps out into the main room. Her legs are covered with soft, flesh toned hosiery extending from her waist to her feet which are tucked into a gleaming pair of dark blue Franco Sarto peep toe flats which clack against the wood grain of the floor as she stride towards the group. Her blonde mane shines big under the scrutiny of their collective gaze, volumized under the heat lamp and boasting light as well as dark highlights which present the carefully crafted coif in a shimmering reflection. Christian rises to his feet beaming and wiping his hands with a napkin approaches Cat embracing her shoulder proudly.
“That’s my girl”, he beams. “And I’m not even done yet. Wait ‘til I add the jewelry and makeup. What do you guys think”?
“Wow”, Cassie stammers, and turns her gaze onto her brother, leaning over to plant an elbow into his ribs and offer a less than friendly reminder,
“Say something nice asshole, this was your idea”.
“I’d hit it”.
Rolling her eyes in a feigned annoyance Cat nonetheless is forced to suppress a chuckle over the predictable response.
“In your wet dreams boy”, she answers in a salty inflection kneeling down to join them at the table with her vision acutely tuned to the remaining bag of fries. “Kate Steele and Jessie Salco aren’t going to know what happened”.
“You should have made this a catwalk match”.
